#it just stays there like blood on your hands and seeping around your fingernails

[topazy]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × oc, Rick Grimes × sister

Warnings: Swearing, mention of past assault

Chapter: 4.03

You rock back and forth on the floor in a daze, unable to tear your eyes away from the blood beneath your broken fingernails. You wince when the sound of gunfire pierces the air, followed by a thud, and then a few seconds later it happens again.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you listen to what sounds like something heavy being moved, scraping the wooden floorboards.

As you try to process what just happened, you hear Rick’s voice through Shane's radio. You were unsure how much time has passed, but Rick was asking Shane to respond and for his location repeatedly.

This can't be real.

Hearing footsteps approaching your breathing becomes more difficult. Shane kneels down in front of you, and when he attempts to wipe blood from your cheek, you flinch. “Oh baby, what can I do? What can I do?”

“I just want it to stop.”

When you start sobbing uncontrollably, Shane pulls you in for a hug, your face buried in his chest. “You’re safe,” he mumbles. “I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you, never again.”

As you toss and turn in your sleep, your stomach churns uncomfortably. The smell of death seeps into the cell, making the wave of nausea worse. You try to ignore it, but eventually you can't hold it in any longer.

You start to gag, and you’re suddenly rolled onto your side, and someone quickly moves to find you a bucket or something to puke into. You retch for a few agonizing moments, but nothing happens, aside from sweat dripping.

Everything is strange. Someone brushes hair out of your face and dabs at your forehead with a damp cloth. But when you open your eyes, your reality and past start to merge.

You’re no longer in the prison; you’re back in that goddamn apartment.

“Shane… get him off of me.”

—

The room spins around you as you try to sit up, your body weak from being ill. You groan, clutching at your throat as a coughing fit overtakes you. Glenn, whose sitting on the floor stirs from his sleep on the other side of the cell.

Glenn stretches his arms and gives you a pained smile, “glad to see you no longer resemble a walker.”

You go to laugh but end up coughing. When you’ve stopped, Glenn helps you sit upright, and you see how poorly he looks. He was sweating profusely. You go to ask how he is, then it suddenly hits you. Jace isn’t here. “Where’s Jace?”

Glenn brings a cloth to his mouth and coughs into it. “He’s fine. Beth’s been looking after him and Judith.”

“Who else is sick, aside from us?”

You try to get out of bed, but Glenn keeps you back. “Hey, hey, easy. You’ve been out for days.”

Ignoring him, you swing your legs out of the bed and put your head between your thighs. “Carl, Daryl, Rick, Maggie...”

The list was endless.

“A few people who stayed in this block have died. Hershel made tea with the elderberries he and Carl collected, and that’s helped a lot of people. There was a supply run to get antibiotics, but they only managed to get a handful.”

“What else has been going on? Anything about that bastard Philip?”

Glenn shakes his head.

Dealing with walkers was one thing, but knowing the governor was still out there makes everything feel more dark and ominous, like something more dangerous than the dead lurking around each corner.

“I-listen,” Glenn lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know exactly what's going on with you and Daryl, but I know something changed after Woodbury. He cares about you.”

“I care about him.”

“I know,” Glenn nods his head, agreeing with you, but his tone would suggest otherwise. “I’m only saying this so you're aware; I don’t want to be involved—”

“Whatever you’re trying to say, just say it.”

“Daryl came to see you, and you called out for Shane.”

Your stomach drops.

“Nobody else was supposed to be in this block, but when Daryl heard you’d become unconscious, nobody could stop him. He said if we didn’t let him in, he’d find a way to break the door.” Glenn lets out a small laugh. “Of course we knew he would, so we let him in, and when we reached the cell, you were covered in vomit and had blood coming from your nose. Hershel didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“Oh my god,” tears threaten to spill, but you manage to hold them back. “I don’t have any memory of this.”

“It was touch and go; Hershel had to crush up the antibiotics and put them in water so you could take them. And then about a day later you started to wake up, and Daryl was by your side, and you started calling for Shane, telling him to make whoever was touching you stop. Daryl, he looked crushed and hasn’t come back to see you since then.”

“I need to find him.”

“That won’t be possible.” Hershel steps in front of the cell and slides the door open. “I need to make sure you won’t pass out again before you go anywhere.”

You’re lost in your own thoughts when Glenn gets up and leaves; you don’t even hear what he says to you. Hershel clears his throat loudly, gaining your attention. “It is known that a severe case of the flu results in a disoriented state of mind.”

“I wasn’t here.” You look down at the dirty ground, your heart heavy as you try to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “I was somewhere else.”

—

By nightfall, you felt stir crazy. Staying away from Jace was hard, but you knew it was only temporary; once the flu had passed, you got to hold him again. And knowing you hurt, Daryl was weighing on you heavily.

You felt defeated.

Before the outbreak, you went to Atlanta to catch up with some old friends, and you desperately missed Shane because you were alone and wanted to feel safe. But with Daryl, it was different; it was small things you missed about him. From the way he hummed while kissing you to the sarcastic manner in which he’d roll his eyes.

You jump slightly when Glenn suddenly appears; he looks sicker than he did before. “Hey, someone wants to talk to you.”

“What?”

“Just go to the visitation room.”

You had no idea what Glenn was talking about, but having nothing better to do, you get up and go.

—

Your nostrils flare as you let out a deep breath, and your fingers shake as you pick up the phone. You try and wipe the thick layer of dirt off before bringing it to your ear. There was a glass panel separating you from your brother, meaning you could speak to him without making him sick.

“You look like hell.”

Rick chuckles; his hair was wild and untamed, and dark circles hung heavy beneath his eyes. His skin is paler than normal because of how tired he is. “I’ve not seen you look this bad since the first time you tried alcohol.”

A heaviness lingers over you both.

Rick’s voice cracks, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“But I’m still here.”

He swallows thickly, tears glistening in his eyes. “Hershel told me you've been calling out in your sleep. He thinks you're hallucinating, but you’re not, are you?”

“What the governor did put my back in that place. Back in that apartment.” Almost in a whisper, you say, “I should never have let them in.”

“What Rivers and Young did wasn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I need to explain-”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong.”

Rage flickers inside you as you try and explain three more times, and each time Rick cuts you off. What happened that night was a sensitive subject for both of you, but certain things needed to be said.

“Just stop!” You smack your hand on the ledge in front of the glass, startling him. “You need to let me talk about it, Rick. What happened to me wasn’t my fault, but everything that happened after was.”

He tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I knew Shane was lying about Randall.”

“We both did.”

“I—” you cut yourself off trying to think; you’re unsure as to what to say next. “I think Shane was right when he said I’m just as fucked up as him. That’s not the first time I’ve seen him do something bad and not say anything.”

“Lil,” Rick’s voice is softer than before. “When was the first time?”

“That night…I just went along with everything Shane said, even though I knew he was lying.” You lean back in the chair. “The cops who attacked me didn’t have his gun on him when Shane killed him, but when he said they tried to shoot first, I didn’t say anything.”

Rick rests his head in his hands. “You were in shock.”

“But if I had said something, then maybe Shane wouldn’t have become so good at lying, and things would have been different at the farm. He wouldn’t have killed Otis or tried to kill you.”

Rick puts his hand on the glass. “I need you to hear when I say this. What happened that night wasn’t your fault. What the governor did wasn’t your fault, and anything Shane did wasn’t your fault. You were a victim—”

“Please, don’t call me that,” you squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate being called that.”

“Is that what you were seeing when Daryl was there?”

“I thought I’d moved on,” you sob. “But after what happened in Woodbury, it’s been on my mind all the time, and I keep thinking how different things could have been if I’d just done one thing differently.”

“You’re looking for ways to blame yourself.” He sighs, “I know you made me swear to never speak about it with anyone, but have you ever thought of speaking to anyone else? Maggie, Carol, Daryl?”

“I don’t want Daryl to know. I don’t want him to look at me as if I’m broken.” Deep down, you didn't think Daryl would think less of you, but it was much easier saying others would think that than admitting that’s how you felt yourself. “I care about him a lot, more than I ever thought I would, and I know Daryl would never hurt me, but when I felt someone's hands on my hair, I could see Shane bursting through the door while that asshole was dragging me by the hair.”

“If you don’t want to tell Daryl everything, at least tell him how you feel. Once you’re out of prison anyway.”

You laugh at the last part and wipe tears from your cheek. “How bad is the walker piling up at the fences?”

Unbeknownst to yourself and Rick, Daryl had just heard everything you said before changing the conversation.

[cats-and-dr-pepper]

[xoxo-sarah]

Easy Street

(Gif by @amazingmaeve)

↝a/n: not completely accurate but I didn't feel like rewatching the episode rn. Also didn't have a good title for this...Enjoy <3

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

↝warning: based on season 7 episode 8, after Daryl escapes the sanctuary, easy street mentioned, soft/ sad Daryl, reverse comfort, Daryl not use to comfort, bathing, getting underdressed (Innocently / non-suggestive), angst, fluff idk, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 7.18.24

Daryl Dixon Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Feeling the dirt under your fingernails, you continued to pluck the vegetables from the garden of Hilltop. Ever since the night your group was forced on their knees to endure your friends getting murdered, it wasn't the same. You felt hollow. Daryl getting taken only added to that feeling. But you tried not to think of him much, it only made everything worse. Staying in Hilltop with Maggie was the safest option. You had someone to look after, something to do to not go out looking for Daryl yourself. Maybe even try to kill Negan with your own hands. Hearing a commotion coming from the gate, you stood, dusting your hands off on your pants as you went.

Looking up, you saw Daryl stumbled off of the motorcycle that wasn't familiar with Jesus by his side, being greeted by Maggie. His eyes were downcast, trying to hide the vulnerability that threatened to spill over. You watched from a distance, your heart aching for him. Blinking back the surprise, you approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.

Daryl looked up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. Whatever he endured during the sanctuary shown in the bags under his eyes, the glaze in his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.

Feeling your arms gently wrap themselves around his middle, he was hesitant to reciprocate- as if you were the one that had been through everything. Your hug was the first real comfort he'd felt in a long time, and he clung to it, fighting back tears.

Looking up at his face from up close, you could see the grime, dirt, and blood coating him. You figured you were the same. Busying yourself with gardening and killing any walkers you see outside the walls was therapeutic, well, as much as it could be. It got your mind off of the issues at hand for a minute or two.

Pulling away, you grabbed his hand, nodding at Maggie and Jesus, before dragging him with you.

Silently, Daryl let you lead him to a small trailer in the corner, and to the even smaller bathroom. He watched as you began running the water, pushing his hair away from his sticky forehead. There was a mixture of gratitude and hesitation in his gaze, as you caught it.

Here you were, running a bath for him after you, yourself, had the posture to say you needed warmth to seep onto your bones just as much as him. But you didn't say a word, putting his discomfort as a higher priority.

The picture of you, kneeled down on the rocks and dirt entered his mind. Your eyes that, no matter how hard you tried to mask it, showed how scared you were. The shellshock you went through when Lucille struck down the first time. The tears that cascaded down your cheeks when Daryl had stood, anger getting the best of him. The sob that escaped your lips when he was dragged to the back of a car and carried away. He couldn't imagine how you felt when he was away.

He would listen to Easy Street a thousand times over if it meant that you would never have to go through anything of that sort ever again.

After standing in silence, watching his brain wonder, you stepped forward, hands tugging at his dirty clothes. Gently, you helped him peel his shirt from his body, along with every other article of clothing.

As you kneeled beside the tub, you carefully washed away the grime and blood. You began speaking in soothing tones, "Wanna talk about it?" You knew the answer. He didn't like talking about stuff like that, stuff that happens to him, stuff that hurts him deep down. That just wasn't him, as much as he wanted to be, for you, it seemed impossible to open up like that. To be vulnerable. Shaking his head, he let the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he relaxed under your care. He wasn't going to tell you the hell he went through, the things he saw. He certainly wasn't going to tell you that you were the only thing on his mind while he was kept in the stale building, in the cold little cell.

Not much else was said, only your humming and Daryl's thoughts swimming in his head.

Once he was clean, you helped him get dressed, tracing at the scars on his back, reminders of all he's been through. He was strong, you made sure he knew it. He hopes you know you're just as strong, if not stronger, than him. Words died on his tongue when he looked down at you taking care of him. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, "Thanks." A simple tight-lipped smile let him know that you knew that one word has a thousand confessions behind it. He wasn't the best at speaking his feelings but he didn't have to be with you. You just knew.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 4

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 2,6k words | masterlist

You are alone. The room is dark. Silent. Not a single noise audible. Not a single candle burning. Nothing but deafening silence and darkness, almost like an endless void.

And you. You are alone with your thoughts. Your fears. Your memories. 

Nesta has left a moment ago, the wooden door is now closed, the room dark. She had asked you a few times if it would be alright to leave you alone, and of course, you said yes. You decided that you like Nesta. She has a powerful aura around her and is definitely not one to mess with. You would have loved to talk to her a bit more, but you couldn’t keep her here. 

But damn, do you hate being alone now. You said you would be alright, but deep inside you knew you wouldn’t, but you didn’t want to keep her here. You couldn’t do this to her.

You are miserable and considered one of the most dangerous beings in this world — what would she do here? With you. She definitely has better things to do...

But now that you are alone, the room suddenly scares you. Being alone does. You didn’t want to keep her here, but you also don’t want to be alone.

Your curl your fingers towards your palms, drawing blood when your sharp nails pierce into your flesh. But the pain…you don’t even notice it anymore, having done this so many times over the past centuries. Whenever you were scared, or panic.king It was not in order to harm or hurt yourself, but to remind yourself that what is happening to you real, not some wild nightmare or hallucination, that you haven’t gone mad.

You lift your gaze and turn your head slightly, your neck aching. You realise quickly that you can’t stay here. You don’t want to stay here. Not alone. Not in the dark. Never again. You can’t do this. You can’t stay here right now. 

No one told you you had to stay in your room, only in the Library. So the Library is where you want to be. Outside of this room. In the light. Surrounded by books and maybe one or the other person – the priestesses.

You shoot to the door and rip it open, dashing toward the first light source you spot. The large, towering bookshelves at the end of the corridor are lit and this is where you are heading right now, tired feet still carrying you over the floor rather quickly.

Once surrounded by many books, the scent of the old pages seeping into your nostrils, you inhale deeply and close your eyes for a moment, trying to level your breathing and still your mind.

The Valkyries once had breathing techniques you still like to use. Mind-stilling techniques that helped you to not go insane in your time in the Prison.

You hand reaches out and you brush over some books.

It is a soft, female voice that startles you slightly when you hear it behind you. “You must be, Y/N.”

You spin around and are met with a beautiful, tall female with teal eyes. She kindly smiles at you and you nod.

“I‘m Gwyn. I also live here. Welcome to the Library.”

You meet her gaze and stop dead in your tracks. "Gwyn?"

"Yes," she says, "actually Gwyneth Berdara, but I prefer Gwyn. Just Gwyn."

You look at her in slight surprise, feeling both nostalgic and sad. Your friend, a former member of the Wild Hunt, was called Gwyn. He is dead now.

"You are not scared?" You don't want to think about him, the friend you have lost. Another person who left the world too soon.

You swallow around a lump in your throat and your sharp fingernails brush over the spine of a book. You are thankful for the sweater Nesta has offered you on your way down here, having seen how much you shivered, now hanging loosely over your shoulders, the nightgown beneath still the same you have been wearing for centuries.

"Of you?" Gwyn asks with a smile and takes one step closer. You almost want to warn her to not get too close, but you know you would never hurt her. It’s only what you’ve heard your whole life. Don’t get too close to the demon. Stay away from the evil female. 

The Bloodthirsty Baroness comes at midnight to steal your soul and leave you to bleed out. The Silent Reaper executes you before you can defend yourself. Not once have you done such a thing - only tales and legends made you seem like this demonic monster. You only ever avenged victims, took care of those who hurt them, and devoured the revenge you exerted. But you never hurt someone only to hurt them.

"Yes, of me." You meet her eyes again and see how she shakes her head.

"I have a lot of respect for you, but scared? I know you won’t harm me, so I'm not scared."

"Because the High Lord would kill me for it."

Her warm, soft palm lands on your chest before you have time to react. It startles you, massively, and you nearly choke on a breath. Your eyeballs threaten to fall out of their sockets by how wide your eyes are open — she is touching you. You are not irritated or shocked about the audacity, you are confused, startled, about her...kindness.

She smiles when she takes in the shock on your face.

"I am not scared of you because I know you have a good heart. Right in there, you are good, and I don’t have to be afraid of you, with the High Lord’s protection or without it. I know you wouldn’t harm me."

She pulls back her hand and you almost want to reach for her and just pull her into an embrace. She reminds you of your sister and right now you would give the world for just a simple hug from your sister. Or just a simple hug. Just someone caring enough for you to hold you.

“The fangs? The claws, the—”

“Incredibly amazing assets and most definitely very handy in battle. And as I said, I have a lot of respect for you, I can feel your power and I know what you are probably capable of. I am incredibly impressed by you and your powers, but they don't scare me.”

You almost want to laugh about the powers part. Because right now...you don't have them. Not with the amulet not being in your possession, not with some training. Every ounce of power you had, slowly drained from your body during the imprisonment.

But you shake your head and inhale deeply. You don't want to let your anger and frustration show right now, it wouldn't be fair when Gwyn has only been kind to you.

With a little chuckle slipping through your lips you shake your head. “You have a heart of pure gold, Gwyn.”

She only smiles politely, but a faint blush stains her cheeks. “You want company this evening?”

A sigh of relief leaves you. “There is nothing I would rather want." You sling your arms around yourself. "If you don’t mind, of course.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

The following day – armed with several books Gwyn helped you collect in the Library– you start to read up on Koschei, on spells and curses, on anything that could be important. 

You dive into one book after the other, each one captivating you so much you forget about the time and world around you as you gather information, noting things done or remembering by heart. Your mind is sharp, fully focused on the book, eyes scanning every single word, taking it all in. There is so much that is important, you let your head fall back and then you inhale deeply. 

Hopefully, they will give you back your amulet soon. You need it and you also want it back. It has been in your family’s possession for centuries, until Azriel–

You don’t dwell on this thought, straightening up and focusing back on the task at hand – going through yet another book and some pieces of parchment that come along with it. 

By the special request of Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court, you are always working upstairs, in the living room of the House of Wind. It doesn’t bother you; most of the time you are alone, some tending to business inside the house, others training (Gwyn told you so) on the rooftop. 

Sunlight brushes your skin and you revel in the feel of it. You haven’t felt, nor seen, sunlight in so long it now feels like balm against your skin. It is so good, you haven’t felt that alive in so long. 

You are still kept somehow locked in, but it almost feels like freedom. You are allowed to roam freely in the House of Wind and the Library. You haven’t got your powers back, but as long as you are in here, you don’t need them. You only need a bit of sunlight, some wonderful conversations with Gwyn, a soft bed to sleep in and good food. It is enough and slowly contentment crawls back into your body – nothing you’ve never thought to ever happen again. 

But now there is hope for you to find happiness again. Not with Azriel, and also not with him in your life, but there will be a way to avoid him somehow. Once you have your powers back and Koschei is defeated they might let you leave. You would go to the continent or even further away. As far away from the male who caused you that much pain as possible. 

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

The voice startles you and you almost shriek, jumping up in your chair, snatching the book close. Your heart races like a wild horse and you whip around to look at Nesta. 

There is a smile on her face, one that is too kind and empathetic – you are not used to that sort of friendly behaviour towards you. 

“I am fine.” You'r answer is too quick. Too tight, and Nesta purses her lips.

“You may pretend to be, and you are damn good at it, but I know you are not.” She closes the door behind her and moves toward the table, bracing her slim hands upon the surface, manicured nails tapping against it. “What you have gone through…I think none of us can imagine, but I don’t want you to have to swallow it all up.”

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I know what it does to someone, not opening up or not having anyone to talk to.”

“I don’t need anyone to talk to.” You meet her gaze. “I don’t need anyone.” You want this statement to be strong and steadfast, but your voice gives you away, breaking slightly towards the end, so you quickly add. “All my life, I’ve been alone. I was orphaned when I was a babe, later no one ever cared about me, then my powers manifested and everyone got scared and they started to fear and hate me.”

“You were part of the Wild Hunt.” Nesta interrupts you and you don’t like it. But her statement surprises you. How the hell does she know? Well, Rhysand has probably told everyone. How he knew? Either from his father or Azriel.

“I was.”

She claims the seat across you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m sure they cared about you.” Neither of you looks away and power stretches out between you. You are both strong-willed and powerful, neither of you is giving in now. You wonder if she really only wants to help you, be there for you. There is not a kernel of bad blood inside her body, your soul detects nothing, and so it makes you truly think she might only want to be nice to you. But why?

“We didn’t care about each other. We tolerated each other, had our backs when we went out for the hunt, but that was it.” Slowly, you scrape a talon down the cover of the book. 

“Did you give yourself your nicknames?”

Does none of them have manners? No knocking, no announcing oneself, just showing up. 

You turn to Gwyn and raise your brow at her. You can’t be mad at her, she was too kind to you the other evening, and her words have strung cords within your heart you thought no longer to exist. So, inhaling deeply and calming your heart, your decide to be polite to her.

“The Bloodthirsty Baroness.” Gwyn walks up to Nesta, nothing but curiosity shimmering within her teal eyes. "The Silent Reaper."

Your eyes flick to her and in a smooth, polished voice you say, “I earned myself the titles.”

Neither Gwyn nor Nesta show a reaction but a chill courses through the room, cooling the temperature at least two degrees.

“But probably not for the reason you think," you silently add. You move the book away from you and flex your fingers, then curl them towards your palms. “I wasn’t bloodthirsty for innocent people, I only took revenge for those who could no longer do so. My hands were drenched in blood, but it wasn’t spilled in vain.”

“See,” Gwyn says with a small smile and slumps into the chair next to Nesta. “I knew you had a good heart.”

A cold chuckle parts your lips. “I wouldn’t quite say that I have a good heart, but I’m not quite as cruel as the legends and stories paint me. And the silent part is definitely true - always appearing at midnight, taking the souls of those with me who deserved it. No noise could be heard, no one could be seen and no trace was left behind.”

A smirk appears on Nesta’s face and she slowly bows her head. “Are you alright with being here?” She changes the topic and you are incredibly thankful for it. Or would be, if she hadn’t asked this question. 

You can’t quite say no, because being here is not the worst place you have ever been at, but then, with Azriel always being somewhere around, it kind of is (not as bad as the Prison though…)

“It is alright.”

“I asked if you are alright.”

You chuckle again and give your head a shake. “I’m alright.” 

Now, Nesta dips her chin and seems content with your answer. Insufferable, you think, but you have to admit you actually like her. She partly reminds you of yourself. 

There is a little spark inside your mind, just a very small thought, a fleeting moment, that lets you think what if. What if you stayed here and became friends with Nesta and Gwyn. You could see yourself being friends with them and–

You immediately cut off your string of thouhgts. 

This is bullshit. You won’t stay here. The first chance you get, you will be gone. Far away and never return. People who live here have hurt you, and you will never find forgiveness for them.

“Shall we let you work again?”

With a smile you dip your chin at Gwyn. “That would be nice. I’ve found quite some things already.” You don’t really know why you share so much, but you are all in this together, so why keep things from them. And so you continue, letting them in on what you have found out already, sharing some bits and pieces with them that could be of interest. 

When the sun already starts to set outside and Gwyn and Nesta leave for training with the other priestesses you are for the first time reminded how much time you have spent bent over the books this day.

“Nesta,” you call after her once she is nearly out of the door. 

She slowly turns to you, waiting, but Gwyn is already gone, her humming filling the otherwise silent corridor. 

“Thank you for offering me to talk to you whenever I need it. And thank you…just thank you.” You smile a little sheepishly but she returns it with a bright grin. “Anytime,” she says and you add, “If you get a chance, just tell Gwyn thank you from me again as well.”

She bows her head and is gone in the next moment. 

With a small, barely-there smile on your lips you focus your attention back to the task at hand. Spending so much time researching seems like a good thing to make time pass, you realise and reach for yet another book. It is big and has a thick velvety binding. Your fingers stroke over the golden lettering that says something about darkness and its creatures. 

When you flip it open the first lovely being revealed to you is the Naaga. You haven’t seen them in a long time, you think, but you have had both good and bad memories with those little beasts. You flick through more pages, getting lost in every little word you read, reminding you of a time long ago. 

So enthralled by the knowledge you gather from the book, you haven’t noticed that someone opened the door, nor that someone has walked in.

Not someone – Azriel. 

"Can we talk?"

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[leviraaaaaa]

"LEEEVIII!"

Levi snapped his head back, eyes widening when he caught your figure hurtling through the air, the distance making you look smaller than you were. With a flip, you landed on the branch beside him, shooting him a grin.

"Hi."

Levi glared at you, as if to burn you with his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He hissed, sheathing back his sword. "What are you doing here?"

"I got lost. Then I saw you." You beamed, uncaring of his outright pissed expression, all too used to him and the sharpness of his words. Your expression wasn't the slightest bit of upset that you got lost in a middle of a fucking forest filled with titans. Instead, you looked like someone just stuffed you with sunshine and rainbows.

"You got lost?" He said in disbelief. "How the fuck did you get lost? You were supposed to be with Hange. How do you lose Hange?"

"Ah well." You shrugged, looking down at the ugly little titan by the foot of the tree that was trying to climb up. "That's a pretty big one. Should we capture it?" You mused, tilting your head to see it better.

"No. Go back to your position." He seethes. "Stop pulling stunts. You're gonna get killed."

"Well, that's why you're here, aren't you? To stop me from getting killed."

Levi glowered, his jaw twitching.

"Fucking walls." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm two seconds away from throwing you down there."

"But you won't." You grinned. "You like me."

"Not enough to resist the temptation to shove your ass off here."

You reached for his head, playfully smacking him.

"Don't be pissy." You stood up, balancing yourself on the branch. Levi stood up with you, body tense like a cat, ready to catch you if you fall. His eyes warily flicked from the titan underneath to you. "It's less boring to work with you."

"Nice to know I'm entertaining." He huffed grumpily. "Being around you is like babysitting a fucking child. I will never understand how you became a scout in the first place with your brains."

"Rude. I ranked in the top 10 of my class." You pouted.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved you off. "Does Hange know you're here?"

"I told you I got lost."

He groaned. "One of these days you're gonna get in so much crap for pulling shits like this."

"I got lost."

"I'm sure you did."

"Okay, fine." You threw up your hands in defeat. "I just wanted to be with you."

His eyes softened, watching you as you sulked. "Fine." He let out an exaggarated sigh. "Fine. You can stay with me."

You face brightened up instantly and you hissed out a joyful 'yes' under your breath. But before you got to say anything else, he cut you off.

"But."

"But what?" You squinted your eyes in confusion.

He reached for the back of your head, pulling it closer and looking you in the eyes.

"But." He said. "You stick with me. Close. You got that?"

You gave a sheepish nod.

"Do not wander away. Do not try to look cool midair. Do not go off to kill titans, that's my job. Do not fall off of trees–"

"Hey, it was that one time and you startled me—"

"And absolutely do not get killed. Hear me?"

With a slight pull on your hair, he let you go. "Oi. You heard me?"

Rubbing the back of your head, you nodded. "Yes, heard you. Loud and clear." You mumbled. "What else? Would you like to carry me as well? Piggyback ride?"

Levi glared at you, but pretended not to hear your sarcastic remarks. With that, he pulled out the ODM triggers, flexing his fingers over it. "Do not get killed." He repeated.

"I won't." You reassured, bringing out your own triggers. "Cause I'm with you, aren't I?"

Levi scoffed.

-

Levi swallowed when they carried you out, his fingernails digging into his palm. Blood has seeped through the white cloth you were wrapped in. And though you were covered from head to toe, he knew it was you.

And they took you off. Somewhere. To put you in a hole 6 foot under and leave you there.

Alone.

You never liked being alone.

That's why you always seeked him. In expeditions and meetings, always finding a way to find a place beside him, to slot your hands in his and give him that oh maddeningly annoying grin that always pissed him off but never failed to make his heart flip. And that's why when nights you couldn't sleep, you'd find yourself curled up in his bed, softly ranting about some weird dream you had or some shitty gossip in the facility that he didn't give two shits about but he let you talk because he liked watching you.

And he never thought of himself as someone people would look for if they were lonely, but you had chosen him, from the very first day.

No you never liked being alone. Or quiet. Or still.

Look at you now.

You never liked being alone.

But Levi liked being alone.

But then you came and he doesn't know how to live alone anymore.

How cruel of you to leave him alone.

-

Levi sat in his desk. For how long, he doesn't know. But it must've been a while because his spine ached and his eyes were heavy.

He'd been staring at the file in front of him for a long, long time.

He couldn't remember the last time he blinked.

The last time he took a breath.

He only stared, eyes focused only on the words on top.

Your name was written in a blood red ink.

Like the blood that you had spilled.

And besides that.

On black bold letters.

Deceased soldier.

Deceased deceased deceased.

That's what you fucking were.

Dead.

He jolted when a something touched his shoulders, breaking out of his daze. He turned to look, his heart beating out of his chest.

It can't be it can't be it can't—

"..Levi?"

He exhaled sharply. No, of course not.

Hange stood beside him, their glasses gleaming as the fireplace reflected off their glasses, it magnified their eyes, making it look bigger than it was. But the concern in them was clear.

"Four-eyes." He muttered, his voice hoarse. It sounded strange even to his own ears, as if coming from a far away place.

"Levi?" Hange said again, grip tightening.

And for the first time in his life, Levi didn't push Hange away. He let them touch him. He needed something, anything to ground him. Something to latch his sanity onto.

There wasn't you any longer.

"..Hange." He mumbled. He was so, so tired. "..I think I can sleep tonight."

@sad-darksoul @anxious-chick @raginginferno267

[layraket]

For you :3

“Traveller breathe,” Someone urged, a loud calling in his ear.

Breathe? That seemed impossible, his frantic gasps of air the only air he could get into his lungs before it escaped, making his chest tight. He felt the red liquid seeping through his fingernails, and trailing down his arms, his side and grass poking into his skin, being stained with the only thing he swore never to let be used against him. 

“It’ll be okay, but I need you to breathe okay?” 

He met Four in the eyes, staring at crystalline violet eyes, with a hint of red in them. Red. Red. Red like the blood that was seeping out of his body, and would be used to resurrect Ganon. The one thing he swore would never happen was unfolding right in front of him. 

“Hyrule!” Four called but his voice sounded far away. 

He felt a sudden firm grasp on his wrist and he struggled before seeing that it was just the smithy, still there, still trying. 

Hyrule didn’t know why. He was failing, why would Four care? 

He felt arms wrap around him, and the steady rise and fall of Four’s chest. Miniature as it was, Hyrule felt that maybe he could follow it.

“In and out, traveller, I’ve got you.”

He copied as best as he could, squeezing his eyes shut to ignore the thoughts and the panic of his blood curse and focused on drawing air into his lungs. It was the least he could do for the trouble he was causing for Four. Battle raged around him, monster flesh being pierced and grunts as the heroes continued to fight around them. The real heroes, Hyrule thought bitterly.

He needed to fight alongside them. Even if he wasn’t like them. He eventually breathed steady and started to stand up but staggered, pain shooting through his side. “Whoa, slow down. You’re not going to fight while you’re that injured,” Four helped the traveller sit back down, an arm around his shoulder and pressed his hands to the bloody side, his eyes now a sharp green. “You’ve already lost a lot of blood. I couldn’t get you a potion, but now I can. Wind is buying us some time.”

He gritted his teeth at the pressure, so badly wanting to go out and help with the fight but he couldn’t argue with the smithy’s logic, so he tried to stay still. Soon red potion, a bitter and cold liquid entered his mouth, and his arm felt better but his side still throbbed with the sting of the blade that had stabbed it. “What? That should’ve gotten rid of the wound in your side too,” Four murmured, eyes widening.

Hyrule felt the blood loss catching up to him, his vision spinning and he felt his eyes began to close, though he tried to resist. “Link, stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. For me, okay?” 

 “S’rry,” He slurred as his vision tilted and his head dropped. 

Now he could clearly see the sodden ground, worn from the fighting and splattered with black and red blood. He could see Legend’s Pegasus Boots, dancing with the grace Hyrule had seen him fight, and the captain’s heavy metal boots that marched with order and practice. His vision gained black spots as he heard fuzzy noises, a call of his name maybe? That’s probably not good, he thought distantly before he fully succumbed to the darkness. 

                          ~~~~~~~~~

Hyrule’s eyes fluttered open and he was met with agonizingly bright light. He couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat and he raised his hands to cover his eyes from it. 

“Traveller? Link? Are you with us?” 

“I swear his eyes were open for a second.”

His eyes soon adjusted and he was able to see sky and trees. He looked around and met the eyes of his friends. 

“He is awake!” 

“Can you say something, ‘Rulie?” 

He recognized the last one as Legend’s soft, worried tone he rarely used. “Yeah,” Hyrule replied. “W-what happened? Why are you guys looking at me like that?” 

Silence followed his words and he started to panic but he got a clipper answer from Four, “Well, you got hit in the side. Lost too much blood.”

Hyrule frowned but then slightly recalled the moments and paled. “What happened to my blood. Was it still on the ground?” 

He had no reason to assume the others would do anything about that. They didn’t know anything about his blood curse. There were resounding yeah’s and he cursed, jumping out of his bedroll, standing even though pain coursed through his side. “Hey, no, you have to rest. Don’t push yourself,” Legend chided.

“You—You don’t understand. I have to do something right now,” Hyrule gritted his teeth as he started to walk. 

It was sheer will that he was standing on his feet but he didn’t care. He took off before the others could protest and found the battleground from before in a while. He heaved a breath and grabbed his water flask from his bag, pouring it over where he could see red blood. He tore a piece of fabric from his clothes and wiped the blood off the grass as best as he could, like his life depended on it…which he guessed wasn’t too far from the truth. He heard the footsteps before he heard the others’ voices and he paid them no mind. “Why—“ There was a pause as Four considered his next words. “—Why are you doing this? It’s blood.”

Hyrule laughed, a bit hysterically, as the blades of grass were nearly ripped out once the traveller was done with them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and it admittedly hurt to see the look in his predecessor’s eyes, the vet hesitant and confused, along with the glimmer of hurt hidden behind the clouds of violet. He felt their eyes burning into his back as he finished getting rid of the blood after a long while. He didn’t care. 

Anything to make sure his blood doesn’t get in the hands of the enemy.

He made sure to burn the piece of fabric that was torn off, and then turned to the rest of them before his legs buckled from pushing himself too hard and he was barely even caught before he was out.

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~

When he had awoken next it was bright again, but less painful. He saw the veteran leaning over him. “‘Rulie? You there?” 

“Yeah…”

Hyrule saw the disappointment and hurt shining in his predecessor’s violet eyes and it stung horribly but he didn’t regret what he had done. “It’s just me and the smithy here right now. He’s off guarding the camp…you trust me right?” 

“Of course,” Hyrule narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Can you tell me why you—why…Why did you do that? You seem…afraid of your blood. You don’t panic when you see anyone else’s blood…” 

Could he tell the vet why? He trusted him, of course, but he had known to keep his blood curse an absolute secret, lest he be betrayed and killed. 

"I-I don’t know if I can tell you…”

“…Okay. That’s fine but…unless you have a very good reason I’m not going to let you injure yourself further, push yourself when you need rest.”

If something happened like that, again, he needed someone to get rid of the blood and he knew that even a single nick on his cheek could be salvaged and used to resurrect Ganon. He couldn’t let Legend do that. 

So do I tell him? 

After contemplating for a while, he made an ultimate decision. “I have a blood curse,” He whispered tightly, hoping to be quiet enough that the only one that would hear him was the veteran. “If anyone has my blood, they can resurrect Ganon with it. I…I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

He was admittedly nervous as to Legend’s reaction. He only told him because it felt right, he trusted Legend more than anyone, and he could use a little bit of help with it. When he looked up at the veteran he didn’t see what he expected, he saw sympathy and guilt shimmering in Legend’s eyes and suddenly there were arms wrapping around him. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Thank you for telling me, I understand now. Next time, I’ll help you out instead okay?”

“Okay…”

It felt like a weight off his shoulders now that that somebody other than him knew. He let himself sink into Legend’s embrace and Four didn’t even blink when he saw them, he just quirked his lips upward slightly and gave a nod, eyes green with a hint of red.

Uni im gently grabbing your hand and putting all my love on it cuz WAHH

Rulie scared about his blood curse not caring if he overworks himself gets me, and and Four staying there to try and calm him and assure him that everything will be okay

AND LEGEND COMES AND HE MAKES SURE THAT HE'S FINE AND DOESN'T PUSH HYRULE AND HOW UNDERSTANDING HE IS WHEN RULIE TELLS HIM ABOUT THE CURS KDSFJKHJDS

screaming and sobbing the ending with Legend and Hyrule hugging i love downfall duo so much 🥺🥺🥺 thank you s much i dont know how to repay you this is beautiful

[cyberneticlagomorph]

In all your life, very few people have ever seen you angry. 

They've seen you hurt, scared, annoyed and upset but never ever angry.

Until now. 

Standing hurts, breathing hurts, but that's fine.

You can handle hurt, you've handled it all your fucking life and today won't be any different.

"What do you think you're doing?" Says the hole where your hearts should be.

You stumble to the bathroom, leaning on your IV pole for support as you do. Null is there in an instant, holding you steady.

"That pole isn't going to do much for you, my dear. Let me help."

You smile at them, your wound shrieks.

"Get. Away. From. Me." Your open chest hisses dangerously, each word punctuated by a spray of ink.

"Shut up." Your tone is... alien to say the least, devoid of love or light. Even Null stiffens, eyes flickering between curiosity and discomfort.

But it seems like your smile is enough to assure them the harsh words are directed at the mouth, "Pay it no mind, old friend. I think it's afraid of me! Ha! What a silly thing to be. I'm perfectly harmless."

You practically throw yourself at the bathroom sink, gripping the porcelain hard enough to leave deep scratches in it. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you with eyes full of a deep cold rage that seeps into your own bones and makes you grit your teeth.

You look disgusting.

Eyes bruised and blackened, face crusted with tear-salt and dried snot. Your hair is a mess, your lips are dry and cracked, ink has settled beneath your fingernails and made them filthy.

Your chest looks worse though.

A vertical slit full of pulsating meat, ringed with human teeth that wiggle and squirm with all the dexterity of fingers. Beyond the initial stab wound is Nothing, a warm wet void right above your hearts.

It looks like a nightmare rendition of a vag, and under normal circumstances that might be funny but after all the hell this thing has put you through you just want it GONE.

You retch, bringing up a pile of soggy paper balls that scuttle helplessly in the slippery sink. The wound laughs and laughs and laughs.

You grab one ragged edge and dig your nails into it.

It hurts.

And that's OK.

The wound screams, trying to bite you but you grab the other side and force it open. Ink and blood and worse forces its way up your throat and out of the hole. You cling to your own meat and struggle to stay upright.

"What do you think you're doing Jack? You're just hurting yourself, you're just making everyone worry. But you like that, don't you you little attention whore?" The mouth's words sound distorted and desperate as it struggles to speak around your probing fingers.

Don't acknowledge it, don't give it anymore ammunition.

"Even if you shut me up, I'll always be apart of you, some dark and slimy part of your missing soul that you hate."

You shove your hands in, both of them at once. "There's a lot about me that I hate so please get in line."

The mouth snaps shut around your wrists, teeth sinking through flesh until they meet metal. You bite your tongue to keep from crying out, tears rolling fresh down your cheeks.

Be angry, be sad, be upset, it's ok but don't just sit there and let that THING speak for you.

Not now not ever.

Crunch!

Teeth meet metal.

Crack!

Metal meet teeth.

Teeth break, blood floods the maw your hands are trapped in. Thick and slick, you pull your hands free.

Mangled, trailing broken bits and wires.

But free.

The hole hisses in rage, spitting bloody broken teeth like bullets and curses.

"You HURT me! You hurt YOURSELF you FREAK!!"

"Yeah, I do that a lot." You chuckle, slightly manic. The voice sounds... quieter now?

Weaker?

It starts to say something else but you grab a dangling tooth and pull it out.

The wound screams and screams but softer than before.

You drop the tooth in the sink, the expression on your face is wrong and strange but that's OK.

"You break everything you touch like some kind of badly behaved CHILD... that's all you are aren't you? Just some overgrown fucking child running from one replacement mommy to another like the next one is going to fix you." The hole is writhing less now, the squirming movements of its teeth seem labored almost like they hurt to do. "Nothing can fix you."

"Well... you're right about one thing." You meet eyes with Null, your Nothing, as deep and endless and beautiful as the crushing void of space. The horrible creature that smells like Home in the Worst Way. "Nothing CAN fix me."

[charkyzombicorn]

Hey for the yoinked au, imagine if Luffy wasn't helped. If he just stayed with cipher pol and got progressively worse.

If Ace had to fight him to keep Sabo safe and him not recognize him, but Luffy recognized Ace.

If he just got worse and worse and started to be truly loyal to the world government.

If dragon had to kill him, if Sabo and Ace had to live with that knowledge.

Dragon has seen too much death, far too much, his soul was tainted, stained - the only reason he still fought was to make the world better for the next generation.

But blood was sticky, it left a feeling when it seeped into the wrinkles and cracks of your hands - a feeling Dragon could never fully shift his focus from.

He knew his charge had seen hell, it was obvious from his scarring, the way he held himself, the way he breathed and walked and talked. But Sabo sat on the floor of his own office cradling the head of the son Dragon never bothered with and held an expression Dragon had never seen before.

Blood was hard to wash, once it dried. Little flakes of it would never leave those little details in a hand.

Sabo looked lost, staring at Luffy.

Dragon remembered seeing the same look on Luffy's mother when he first held him. The bafflement, the disbelief, the horror, the rejection

When blood got under fingernails it stayed there.

Sabo held scars, he was stained, too. That's why Dragon let him into the revolutionary army. Gave him a home, gave him a fighting chance and the ability to help those his age, keep them clean.

Luffy held scars far more purposeful. Twisted white skin around his wrists and ankles, a handprint on his shoulder, some small neat white spots on his stomach and a deep red brand of the world government on his chest as the centerpiece.

Dragon knew this was a ploy to mock him - make him reckless, make him risk his army for the sake of his son. He barely considered it, sending a pair or two to try freeing him once or twice when his existence got too obvious, but he refused to risk Sabo's life for Luffy - told himself he trusted the will of D, that Luffy would make it out himself.

He didn't know his children were brothers, didn't know what to do with the way Sabo held Luffy's corpse like it might wake up any minute, didn't know what to do while his charge watched the blood drain from his son.

The blood on his hands was drying, it pulled his skin and stuck his fingers together and it would never really wash off.

[luvvewan]

promptsssssss!!!

13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️

Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.

—

The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.

Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.

“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”

Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.

“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.

“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.

He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.

He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”

Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.

Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.

The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.

Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.

Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.

From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.

“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”

He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.

“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.

Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.

“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.

Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.

And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?

Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”

Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“

“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.

Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.

In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”

“Nuh, Evvi.”

“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”

Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.

My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.

“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”

Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.

Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”

“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”

They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”

Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”

“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”

“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”

“Oh yes. That was it.”

Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.

“Nearly done,” Evvi said.

Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”

“M-Master…”

“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”

“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”

Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”

For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”

Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It’s out, Master Jedi.”

“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”

His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.

—

Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.

They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.

But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.

He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.

Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.

—

When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.

Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.

“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.

Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.

—

Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.

Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.

Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.

He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.

“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”

Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”

“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”

“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”

“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.

Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

—

They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.

[atomicwriter]

my teeth in your heart → xiao

00. An Amputated Soul

DESCRIPTION: in liyue, wuwang hill is spoken of as the place where the dead dwell, and there’s a fable that’s oft–repeated among the youth of qingce village. xiao knows this tale, he witnessed it firsthand, and it is as familiar to him as the wind that he coils between his fingers. he does not speak of it much, for who is he to tell it to? all he knows is that the memory is prevalent as the disembodied whispers of karmic debt that call his name.

DISCLAIMER: gender neutral reader. brief mentions of nudity and death. multi-chapter fic.

WORD COUNT: 3k.

It’s a strange sensation.

There’s no pain, just an all-consuming numbness that spreads throughout your entire body. Your fingers flex, although you’re barely able to make sense of their movements. You can only recognize the metronome of your heartbeat as you float wistfully, the blood in your veins roaring so loud that all other sounds fall deaf to your ears. This serenity, a moment free from shouldering the hardships of the world, seems all too foreign for you, although you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

Here, you drift in the endless cosmos, wet and thick. You’re untethered, a lone particle with no sense of gravity in the middle of space. Reality seems discombobulated, and life consists of fractured memories that you’re unable to put together, as if you are missing the puzzle pieces necessary to do so. There’s a heavy pounding in your temples, and the tresses of your hair float around your head like wisps of smoke caught in the moonlight.

It’s when you open your eyes that you realize you can’t breathe. You suddenly become aware that you’re submerged underwater, and the previous tranquility is replaced by a fervent hysteria. Curled up in a fetal position, your bones knock together at the joints, trying for a foothold over the slick crossings of the river floor. Withal, your limbs are constricted by the water reeds, rendering you practically immobile, and your feet sink into the slick, black earthsoup. The surface seems far away from your stricken fingers as you desperately flail them in an attempt to stay afloat.

You can feel your heart pulse sporadically in your teeth, and your spine convulses as you choke on the air that you can’t breathe. In a brief moment of clarity, you retract your arms, beginning to uproot the reeds that confine your body to the riverbed. Determination numbs the burning sensation that coruscates throughout your chest, snuffing out the white-hot sensation that begins to gnaw at your lungs. This newfound electricity swallows you whole, surging through your veins like an incinerator that’s sweltering hot and nuclear-powered. Mud billows up in waves from the floor.

You can taste the acrid tang of death as you bite down on your tongue, and you know it’s coming when your periphery turns white. An abrupt coolness rushes in, igniting a formication along your skin. In mere moments, you realize, you will float like the water reeds, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. It’s unnerving to realize, it’s unnerving to even think about, and you want to push against the exhaustion that barrels onto your body; to strain for the moonlight that dims above. But your limbs grow heavy, your fingers turn bloated and blue, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning…

A rough hand clamps down on your shoulders and you’re jerked out of the water before the darkness completely takes over your vision.

You break the surface, coughing and spluttering. Your chest heaves violently, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air that you had previously been so cruelly deprived of. The disturbed water sloshes around as you’re pulled onto the surface of a raft, and you collapse to your knees. Spindly fingers anchor themselves against the dried bamboo stakes, unable to let go until you’re steady once again. Your breath releases in sharp heaves, but it’s there, and that’s all that matters.

When the chill finally seeps into your skin, you see everything in pieces: the shadow of a silhouette in the fading moonlight, dark eyes fraught with concern, and frantic hands thrusting a sheet around your trembling body. Panting hard, you find a certain sense of relief when you cut your eyes to the person who stands by your shivering form. The landscape is blurry before you, and a restless energy hums beneath your skin.

“Are you alright?” the man asks you.

You don’t answer him at first. Instead, you swivel your head around as you take in your surroundings. You’re encircled by calm waters, serene despite their previous menace. Ripples lull the boat, and you follow their path to a shore that doesn’t lie too far from where you are now. You can barely make out the bamboo stalks that extend towards the night sky, framed by the gray cliffs that confine the surrounding land within an alcove of shadows.

“Where are we?” you ask him.

“This is Bishui River.”

The name rings with an unknown sense of familiarity, and you repeat it under your breath.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the man crouches down beside you, “but, what happened to you?”

You wish you could answer him, and when you look down, you notice your hands are shaking. From the frustration of being unable to recall anything or your apparent weakness, you don’t know. It’s like there’s a roadblock in your mind, a screen that reaches from ground to sky that disconnects you from the world around you. Faint sounds plug your ears, memories float across your eyes, and you’re unaware of what you have forgotten. Your past is something hidden, but in this moment you cannot fathom what it might be.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You ball your hands into fists, knuckles blanching and fingernails digging deep into your palms as you turn to glower at the waters below. A sharp pain lances through your skin, but you don’t release them. All you can do is tell him your name.

“I see,” he hums, and you look towards him, whose cloak reveals a subtle beard of black hair and callous hands - working hands. There are wicker baskets that lie adjacent to his feet, filled with scavenged fish and herbs, carrots and sunsettias. “I stopped using my real name a long time ago. You can just call me Jiangxue.”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t lose focus. Your nature is to piece this puzzle together: a fisherman out in the dead of night, an unknown land that is strangely familiar, and you, a person composed of seafoam who was pulled to the surface with nothing but a name. You admit that that’s what bewilders you most, but you suck in a breath and push the thought away.

“There’s a village near here. I can take you there if you’d like,” Jiangxue speaks when your silence persists. His eyes glance towards your figure before quickly looking away. A cough catches somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “It consists of amiable folk. You should be able to persuade them into getting you some clothing.”

You look down at his words, and your throat drops to your stomach when you find your bare skin on display. A hypodermic heat rushes to your face, and you wrap the thin sheet tighter around your naked body.

“I … uh … sorry,” you manage to sputter out, bowing your chin down to your chest as if the simple action alone could erase all traces of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s no matter,” he affirms, paddling towards the land.

It begins to rain once the raft reaches the shore, and an argentine fluorescence seeps from the sky. The drops plummet from the sky, rapid and ruthless. As you step onto the bank, you find that the mossy ground is damp and sodden, a deep green pigmentation that indicates the fallen rain as a usual occurrence. Jagged stones press uncomfortably into your heels, and you can feel the way the air stills around you.

You don’t understand why these plains seem so disorienting, why the soft susurration of the leaves feel so heavy in your ears. This stupor comes alongside that previous sense of familiarity - an ambient nostalgia for a native land that you yearn to experience once again. There’s an entwining reassurance, distant childhood memories, and the comforts of home. Perhaps one day you will find out why.

When you see the man step off of his raft in an attempt to follow you, you stop him with the shake of your head.

“I’m fine from here on out,” you say before you can even make sense of the words. “I know my way there.”

Skeptical of your proclamation, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dawn will be here soon, you should return to fishing before the world wakes up.”

“You misunderstand,” he says, walking towards you nonetheless. “I do not fish for a living. Neither the process nor the result means much of anything to me.”

“Oh,” you frown. “Is it just a way to pass time, then?”

“Precisely that.” And then he smiles, reaching out his hand and placing it on yours. When he retracts, you find a sunsettia placed into the cocoon of your palm, accompanied by a glowing ornament composed of Varunada Lazurite. There’s a delicate swirl–like design imprinted in the middle of the gem, and your breath catches in your throat when you realize what it is: a Hydro Vision. It must have resurfaced alongside you.

You wish to thank him, but you can not find the voice to do so.

“Safe travels,” Jiangxue says. He turns away, only walking a few steps before he pauses entirely. He opens his mouth, and a look crosses his face then as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yes?” you ask of him. “What is it?”

He still doesn’t speak, and you watch as he unclips the cloak from around his waist, slipping it off his arms and rolling it within itself. He hands you the bundle of cloth.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, waving your hands in front of you. “I couldn’t possibly. You have given me far too much.”

“You are cold,” is all he says. “Take it.”

“Really, I don’t-”

“I implore you. Please take it.”

There’s something in his voice then, a plea that is all too unfitting for the composed man before you. Unable to fight against his wishes, you timidly reach forward and remove the article from his grasp.

“There should be no monsters to block your path,” Jiangxue says. “He has made sure of it.”

There is nothing to stop the bewilderment that illustrates your face.

“He?” you question, but the fisherman’s back is turned to you. Befuddled, you do not say anything more, and the quietude encroaches in.

Somewhere in the near distance, a bird squalls — the only sound to penetrate the silence. Jiangxue moves back onto his raft, situating a paddle between the calloused texture of his hands. You don’t wait to watch him leave, instead bowing your head in a display of gratitude before pivoting on your heel and weaving through the clotted bamboo.

When you are certain that you are adequately hidden, the soaked-through sheet that had previously found home on your shoulders falls to the floor. You cinch the cloak that Jiangxue gifted you around your body, and the linen cocoons your body heat comfortably. Pocketing your Vision and the sunsettia, you pluck the sheet from off the ground, and begin to walk forward once more.

It’s not a long trek, that much you can recall, but when you reach the edge of the village, you find that the world has flung itself over and a new sun breaks the horizon. It’s a nectarine-sweet sky, mingling above the mountain that cradles the abundant crop lands within its embrace. You cross the bridge over the terraced fields of crops and wildflowers, inching closer to the livening village. It remains peaceful and quiet all the same, even as its occupants begin to stir.

This isn’t a place that receives many guests, that much you can affirm, despite the boundless beauty the land withholds. The rising sun embraces your skin, silky and warm, and even the rough texture of the stairs beneath your feet seems to hold a fount of comfort within themselves. You can hear the hummingbirds philandering with the flowers, their birdsong coming in lulls and bursts. The aromatic hints of Jueyun Chili and Violetgrass invade upon the atmosphere, inspiring a warmth to pool within your stomach.

It’s when you near the top of the stone path that you can make sense of a hunched figure beneath the strung lanterns, still lit despite the day’s arrival. She paces from side to side, graceful in her steps regardless of the aged lines that sculpt her face, on display due to her gray hair tucked in a low bun. As if sensing your presence, she stops, the green of her dress swiveling with her movements as she pivots on her heel to face you.

“My dear,” she calls, as if she has known you all this time. “Welcome to Qingce Village. Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

The elderly lady nods her head towards the courtyard, and there you can see a conglomeration of buildings that frame the square, constructed of wood and bamboo stalks. Fruit stands are tucked into corners, and a little ways down, a water mill sits adjacent to a bridge, converging with the path that leads further up the mountain. From nearby, the sound of a waterfall marginally emerges above the noises of early morning, and a rush of wistfulness overwhelms your entire being.

“Have you been aware that I would come?” you ask as you step beside her. She leads you towards the bridge.

A small smile sets apart her lips. “You must know we have quite the accumulation of spies here.”

A look of confoundment overtakes your features, and before you can request her to explain any further, a muffled chorus of giggles is heard from behind you. When you turn around, three pairs of eyes stare curiously at your form, and petite hands latch onto the edges of the cart that the children hide behind.

“I was not aware that I’d been under surveillance.”

“Outsiders are rather rare here,” the elderly woman muses, turning her head to where you gaze. “Of course, they still have a lot to learn.”

A sense of amusement flutters within your chest.

“Might I inquire as to why you have come?” she asks you.

The question momentarily startles you, although you reason that it is not unexpected. Attempting to grasp at your thoughts, you press your teeth down onto your lip, and all answers that are brought to mind prove insufficient to her question.

She must notice your inner turmoil, because she provides a reassuring expression before speaking: “It is fine if you do not wish to indulge me. We all have things we wish to keep to ourselves.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … how do I put this?” you reply, taking a grounding breath before voicing further. “There are many memories before this morning that have escaped me, including the answer to your inquiry. Although, I do suppose I hoped that I might be able to acquire some assistance here.”

She seems to contemplate your words, and stops walking just before your feet make contact with the bridge. A middle-aged woman appears in your periphery then, raising her hand in greeting to the lady beside you, the other arm slung over a wicker basket that rests on her hip. She must be preparing for a day's worth of field work, you presume.

“I see. Let us go somewhere more private. We will converse there,” she says. “And perhaps we might find you some more suitable clothes.”

She leads you to a building that rests on a wedge below the peak of the mountain. It’s certainly the largest structure of the village, composed of wooden posts and joists to encircle the open space. A shallow pond borders the front entrance, lotus heads and lily pads peaking above its glassy surface. The inside is completely exposed to the external environment, and from here, you can make out the entirety of the village. Nonetheless, being under a roof grants you a gratifying sense of privacy.

With a fragile hand on the small of your back, the lady leads you to a painted screen wall that rests off–center of the building, framed by wooden beams. It’s a picture of the mountain, you promptly recognize, with streaks of orange and blue that appear to glow in the morning light. She gently encourages you behind it, and you don’t realize that there is a set of garments in her other hand before she’s pushing them into your own.

“There is no one around to see,” she says, as if sensing your hesitation, and leaves you to your own.

Once the woman rounds the corner, you make haste in removing the cloak, slipping on the pants that tighten at your waist. The silk laced fabric flares out to brush at your ankles, and the cerulean trimmed edges barely graze upon the ground. The main portion is a dark umber, much like the short sleeved shirt given to you, with stitched decals of ochre and blue. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to bind the fastenings down your chest.

There is no mirror nearby, but you are gently pleased by the choice in fabrics. You run your fingers over the material, feeling the ridges, the needlework, and the cotton–like texture. You know you’re in no position to experience such a luxury at the given moment, but you also have no entitlement to brush off such a thing. Your body hums with gratitude, and you step out from behind the wall.

The elderly lady seems to be equally as pleased, as she sends you a tight–lipped smile. From where her hands are clasped behind your back, she motions towards the chairs that circle the center of the building, fringing on the carmine painted engraving of a flower–like design. You take a seat.

“Might I ask your name?” You are the first to speak.

“You may call me Granny Ruoxin,” she muses. “I do apologize if it isn’t too lively around here, but life is pleasant here, and I hope you find a sense of enjoyment within the village.”

You learn forward, eager. “You mean it? I can stay?”

She nods, and it’s like the Universe has bursted into light. “There is plenty of room. You may stay until you are certain of where your journey will take you.”

A glint from the sun sparks your gaze, and you watch as Granny Ruoxin moves to sit beside you. Her movements are leisurely, hands crossed–hatched with scars reaching down to clasp yours in her own, and you dare to wonder of all the ways in which your life is about to unfold.

hello! i hope you enjoyed this. it’s my first time posting something genshin related on tumblr, so feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

additionally, i am considering making a tag list for this story, so if you are interested please message me!!

also! you can read it here on a03!

[proserpina-magnus]

Hi hope your day is going well and you’re staying hydrated 💖 I wanted to ask if you could write a bittersweet angst Regulus x reader where they were very close and both got the death mark but the reader was secretly working for the order and Regulus still believes in Voldemort’s ideas so he snitches on her and as the death eaters are torturing her she has flashbacks to memories she made with him and at the end he regrets it but can’t do anything- yes I want to cry my eyes out today ✨

Bestie I am so sorry this took so long!! I had to motivate myself to write this because Regulus angst hurts me to the core.  I really hope you enjoy this! xoxo

Tacanda [ Regulus Black ]

little information before reading: The italics are passed memories.

Tacada: Things better left unsaid; Matters to be passed over in silence.

Word Count: 1336

[ Warning: female reader, (light)ANSGT, sorta cannan Reggie, blood/bruises mentioned, betrayal, heartbreak, slight bone breaking, torture, petnames such as "darling" and "mon amour", hints directed towards child abuse revolving around the Black Family, Bellatrix makes a appearance ]

"I'm sorry darling, this wasn't how it was supposed to go," Regulus's voice wasn't kind, his words were plain, said without any emotion. his dark eyes squinted slightly, opening the door to the damp and dark cellar. A few of your fellow deatheaters slipped inside the room, their wands in hand, a dark smile over their features.

"Regulus! Regulus please," you yell in desperation, your eyes are as wide as saucers, filled with fear. He only turned his back to you, nodding at the deatheaters as he walked outside of the room. The door shut tight, locking you inside.

Your arms bound by magic to the chair rest, you wiggle and squirm to try and move. You're screaming out for him to come back, saying empty promises to try and get back on their good side.

Your pleas aren't heard and if they were, Regulus had ignored them. Resentful doubt filling in your nerves, Regulus wouldn't have left you. This wasn't happening, it was just a scare tactic for you to join their side.

"Please, I'm on your side!" You cry as they hit you with the first curse, it's a simple charm of pain. Your ears fill with their horrible laughs, their mumbles of insults slipping past your mind.

"I'm [ name ], you're Regulus Black right?" Your voice expands through the now open train compartment. You don't wait for his answer, instead, you slip onto the seat opposite of the smaller boy.

"Yeah, why do you wanna know," the boy said, a huff in his voice. His hair was combed back with gel, making him look more boyish.

Somehow, you had gotten him to talk to you and by the end of the train ride, you both had been well acquainted. You will never forget the first smile you ever saw him make, it was heart stopping.

Your body felt waves of pain, a stinging vibration hitting your skin. You saw their wand move from the corner of your eye, hearing them yell the Crucio curse. A loud scream ripped from your throat, your nails clawing at the wooden chair.

You fell back onto the floor, your stomach pressing into the chair leg as you stay strapped to it. The deatheaters chuckle insanely, each taking turns to send you awful spells.

"Reggie! We have all our classes together! Even potions!" You exclaim. It was your fourth year, you had been worried all summer that you wouldn't get to spend time with him.

"Really? That's... great," Regulus emitted, his voice was bored but his eyes were wide. He was filled with joy. Regulus flushed red when your arms wrapped around his side, pulling him closer into a warm hug.

He shrugged you off, looking around to see if his Slytherin friends had seen. You pouted, saddened. Regulus made a small frown, before leaning down and placing a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"Fuck you," you spat at them, sour blood leaking from your opened wounds. Your lip was bruised, a gashing wound on your forehead. You struggled to keep your eyes open, sneering at them.

"You fucking bitch," one of them rasped, bringing his hand into your hair as he grabbed it. He smashed your head into his knee, a hurtful crack filling to room.

With blood seeping from your nose, a dainty pain ached over every part of your body, you let out a cackling breath. Laughing in their face only made them angrier, another painful spell was casted.

You saw white flashes, eyes blurred as you choked on your blood. Metallic copper filled your mouth, you struggled to keep your teeth from biting your tongue.

Regulus planted his lips on yours, the Slytherins cheering in the distance. The Slytherins had won a quidditch match against Gryffindor, but Regulus had pulled you to the side behind the stands instead of celebrating with his mates.

Your eyes widened, his sweat and dirty hand coming to hold your jaw. It took him 5 years to finally kiss you and you weren't about to waste it. Before he could pull away, you brought him back down with a fistful of his hair.

"Regulus..." you whispered, lips warm as you feel the heat rise from the back of your neck. His eyelashes batted, he wasn't the small boy he used to be.

"I'm so in love with you, I have been since the moment you stepped into my compartment during the first year. Please, I'm begging you, love me back," Regulus whispers, his words hushed like he can't believe he's admitting it. Your eyes fill with longing, a gorgeous smile on your lips.

"Oh Reggie," you whisper back, pulling him down to a hug. He pulls you closer, holding you like it's the last time he would get to hug you.

Regulus listened outside the door, hearing snaps and loud crying whimpers from the room. His fingernails dug into his palm, eyes filled with rage. He gripped his wand, his knuckles during white.

Was the lord's acceptance more important than love? He shared wonderful moments with you, you've seen him cry and all the possible worst parts of him, how could he repay you with such cruel punishments?

"She's not the girl she was Regulus, she lied to us... she lied to you," Bellatrix whispered in a chilly voice, but Regulus paid her no mind as he stared hardly towards the ground.

Regulus almost lost it when he heard you call out for him, his eyes filling with hot tears. He was surprised he was hit from showing so much emotion towards a traitor. "Suck it in! A Black doesn't cry!" Bellatrix hisses, pulling him harshly away from the door.  Regulus let himself get pulled, he felt like a failure.

You hummed to yourself, a happy glow flowing around you. You had attended to some plants in the garden, casting charms to keep them healthy. Regulus watched with loving eyes, a small smile on his lips. There were only a few more weeks of school left, soon you and Regulus would leave Hogwarts and start your lives together.

"Mon amour, let me show you something after you're done," He called, making you turn your head to see him. With a confused smile on your lips, you asked him; "what are you going to show me?"

"It's a surprise darling, I think you'll enjoy it," Regulus persuaded, you finished charming the plants quickly. You turned completely around, seeing Regulus hold out a hand for you to take.

Your hand found his, clutching it with warmth. He brought you away from the garden, leading you back to the castle. You kept persisting he tell you what he wanted to show you, but he only smiled at you and kept walking.

In a moment, Regulus was on one knee, a small box in his hand. Your eyes peered open, taking in a deep breath as you watched him open the box.

"Please, I'm begging you, will you marry me?"  Regulus asked, you nodded your head as quickly as you could, your words getting caught in your throat.

"Of course ill marry you!" You choke out, watching on shaky limbs as Regulus pushed the silver ring against your finger. Your eyes filled with tears, Regulus soon scooping you up in his arms, twirling you around the room.

Your eyes had shut tight, they had no reason to open. You thought about your last order meeting, a promise to Sirius that you would change his brother's mind and get him on the good side. Your promise fell short, laying in a puddle of your dark blood, you let out one final cry. "Regulus please, I'm begging you,"

Your lover was long gone, you had only wished for death at this moment. Nothing could hurt worse than the heartbreak that filled your lungs, or maybe it was blood.

"Stupid bitch," was the last words you heard, before a blinding green light casts over the room. No amount of begging could bring you back, not even if Regulus said please.

[undead-merman]

Could you do yandere headcanons of harpy mammon and naga leviathan please . Thank you

This one was fun to do.

🦅Harpy Mammon🦅 and 🐍Naga Leviathan🐍 (Monster Edition) GN- Reader SFW

Mammon

Appearance

Mammon is the unquestioned King of his Murder and the only Albino Crow Harpy. He always stands out in his clan.

His feathers are a snow white unlike others of his kind. The bits of down feathers on the sides of his face, the long elegant wings, and even his tail feather don’t have a trace of color to them, they shine brightly in the morning sun, and glow ever so softly under the moon.

His legs from the knee down are avian like and tipped with golden talons. One foot is large enough to grasp a human head all the way around and strong enough to crush one easily. His hands are more human-like only with sharp talons for fingernails.

His wrists and shoulders hold some feathers as well, and a large chunk of his upper back is covered in plumage. It looks so soft and plush, but the softest feathers are the ones on his cheeks.

Avian Habits

His avian instincts are extremely strong and he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing unless he’s called out, though none of the other members of his crew say anything, worried that he’ll get angry at them.

If he’s flying and notices something shiny, he’ll probably forget what he was doing immediately and dive down to inspect it. He’ll coo at it like it was a baby while cuddling it in his arms and take it back to the house to his nest and find a nice place for it.

He’s very protective of his nest and room, he gets all bristled and puffed up if someone knocks on the door. If they just suddenly come in, Mammon will screech at them.

He has a very sensitive stomach and will never admit to having one, so he’ll secretly eat small rocks to help his digestion like other birds do.

Spending time with you

At first he wanted nothing to do with you, but now he never wants you to leave his side. He doesn’t want anyone else to spend time with you, he wants to be the only thing you look at.

If someone touches you he’ll spread his wings and tail feathers out and hold you behind his back while he yells at whoever touches you. Afterward he pouts and becomes needy/broody, wanting to be touching you or if he’s mad enough just sits on you while he calms down.

Eventually he’ll have slowly moved all your stuff into his room and has made a bunch of excuses for you to stay inside his room. He wants to be the first thing you see when you wake up and go to bed. If you try to sleep in your own room he’ll whine until you open the door, or even just break in and steal you back to his room and tuck you into his nest.

He will never admit it but he loves it when you give him head pats and you brush your thumb right between his eyes. It sends such a happy shiver up his spine and all his feathers fluff up, as his tail feathers wag briefly. He’ll deny up and down that he enjoyed it that much however.

He also enjoys the thrill of carrying you around while flying. He loves to laugh at you as you hang onto him. He loves to swing you around and throw you only to catch you again. If you’re scared of heights however he’ll do baby exposure until you trust him enough not to drop you or you don’t freak out as he flies.

Whenever he sees you by surprise his feathers puff up high and his tail feathers wag a bit, as he runs towards you no matter what he was doing beforehand.

His Dark Tenancies

In his mind, you’re already mates ever since you hurt your arm and seemed so small and fragile. After the event you were constantly tailed by him. He's right at your heels even when you don’t want him to be, you’d be able to feel his eyes on you at all times.

He LOVES your smell and he loves leaving you smelling like him too. He scents you often, nuzzling his nose and cheeks on the back of your neck and wrists and anywhere else he can.

You’ll have some freedom, he’ll allow you to wonder the House of Lamentation but should you for any reason make him feel like you and his brothers are getting to close or you prove your self ‘untrustworthy’ he’ll take you to an isolated mountain nest, the location only known by him and his Murder.

You’ll have your freedom there too, but it’s really hard to call freedom. If you wander too far you’ll freeze to death and even before you perish one if his cronies will take you back. Always watching and waiting to bring you home to their master.

If anyone came to try and ruin what you two have, he’d make sure they were beaten to within an inch of their life, promising to whoever it was that he’d kill them if they ever tried again; gathering black mail and pressuring them to give in and forget everything that happened between you all.

If they continued to threaten you two, Mammon would simply let his Murder tear them to pieces and leave them to fester and rot. or if he’s feeling particularly angry that day, he’ll crush their skulls with his claws.

Misc Stuff

He likes the rain, even more he loves thunderstorms. He likes to sing in the cover of rain and he has a beautiful voice though he’s extremely self conscious of it. If he trusts you enough he’ll sing to you but he gets too embarrassed to finish the song.

His songs can influence the listeners emotions, he can make you feel giggly, angry, or scared at any point.

He hates being called a ‘bird brain’ He always gets all hissy and throws a bit of a tantrum before giving them the silent treatment.

Leviathan

Appearance

Leviathan’s body is monstrously long and extremely lithe. His tail constantly curling into perfect loops. His navy blue scales are perfectly smooth and he has black and neon yellow raindrop patches.

He has large hands, larger than most humans, his fingers have transparent navy webbing. His fingers are tipped with long black claws with navy blue coloring. His claws secrete an oil which if entered into the bloodstream could instantly kill a whale, let alone a human. In order to safely touch you with his own hands, instead of his tail, he wears special gloves that prevent the oils from seeping through.

His fangs and indigo forked tongue are long and poke out of his mouth. If bitten he has a completely different venom which causes complete paralysis for a few hours and extreme fatigue afterwards.

He has fined ears which twist and flick with his emotions, they have yellow speckles which glow in the dark or if he’s mad or upset enough.

A Water Naga’s Daily Life

He is not a mermaid. He doesn’t have a tail fin, he doesn’t sing, and he doesn’t play with cute dolphins, he’s a scary monster and he hates it.

He’s nocturnal and bright lights hurt his eyes, if a bright light is suddenly flashed at him he’ll curl into himself in a corner while nursing his burning eyes.

He uses a heating pad, since heat lamps are a nuisance, to warm his cold blooded body, he’ll also listen to the weather forecast to go out on humid nights and lounge while playing on a handheld console to pass the time.

His skin gets really dry if he’s not in water, he gets particularly cranky when dehydrated don’t let him get too dry or he’ll turn into his true water monster form and destroy everything till he can get to water.

He has adaptable lungs so he can breathe in both air and water. He often just sleeps in the bathtub full of water. He enjoys mostly being in water but will breech to play games.

Spending Time with You

He only wants alone time with you, nothing else matters besides spending time alone with you. He prefers it to be inside, but it doesn’t matter what your doing be it baking, playing video games and watching anime it doesn’t matter to him.

Since there's no sun in the Devildom he doesn’t mind taking you out so long as it’s not too crowded and you can bring water bottles with him. He loves waiting in lines for events with you sitting on his tail helping to keep him from drying out.

He loves lounging with you. Be you swimming around his immense body or using him as a flotation device. He likes being in his element with you, it makes him feel so euphoric to see you swimming around with streaks of light beaming through the water on your face while your hair floats around you like a halo, you look so innocent and warm.

He always has his tail wrapped around one of your legs, he even does it unconsciously, he has a fascination with your legs he finds the appanages cute. Sometimes he’ll even wiggle your toes if he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

His tail quivers if you gently pat his head and praise him, he always covers his head and shrinks down but he loves every second of it. He also loves it when you scratch behind his ear, he lets out a soft whine of content.

His Dark Tendencies

He does NOT like anyone seeing you at all. He wants to be the only one you pay attention to or even think about. He’ll have a nice comfortable chain for you so you can’t leave the room. He’ll want to do everything for you, feed you, dress you up as his favorite characters, clean you, he sees you like a little doll to play with and dress up.

If you make him upset he’ll bite you and force you into a paralyzed state you can’t move, you can’t talk, you can only watch and listen to what is happening around you. He punishes you by just leaving you there unable to move, unable to eat or drink, he’ll only come back when he feels you’ve learned your lesson.

He loves to play with your hair, petting it with dangerously sharp claws. He loves how soft it is and the color is just so appealing to him he can’t help but admire it. While he may be self deprecating he at least knows he is capable of keeping you in your place.

He does not like competition or anyone ruining his time with you. As soon as it becomes a problem to him, he goes into a fit destroying whoever it was who made him angry, afterwards he clings onto you like his life depended on it.

He sleeps with his tail completely wrapped around you. That way he can be close to you and you don’t have a chance of slipping away from him as he sleeps. His tail is heavy against you and just a light squeeze from him could break you.

Misc Stuff

When he sheds he complains constantly of the itching. He applies lotion and will be so grateful if you help him apply it, but after shedding his skin is very sensitive and he hides in his tank with Henry until the sensitivity calms down.

Under black light his liquids glow insanely bright, and some scales shine bright.

He has super soft hands from washing them a lot cleaning off the oils, unfortunately you’re prohibited from touching them for safety reasons.

[germvity]

RISES THE MOON

leon s kennedy x reader // 8 // two-way mirrors

"ah..!" he sighs, letting you off as you swallow. "good boy. you feel okay?" you ask softly, fingers tracing lines on his outer thighs. leon nods, drowsy from his intense peak. "good, this trial will probably last for a little while longer and i wanna see how many times i can make you cum." you grin as leon whimpers.

tags: protective!reader in this one, david being a bully 3.0, fighting (physical and verbal), leon being a sub part 2, smooches, he's a simp for you pls

warnings: fighting (physical and verbal), mild smut, hurt/comfort

sorry this chapters late i was writing a lot theres like-- 7 drafts in here 😭 enjoy!

---

you wake up with leon curled around you. memories of yesterday came back to you, and you can't help but smile. leon was truly smitten with you after it, clinging to you like butter on bread. "leon~.." your voice is soft as you comb your fingers through his hair. the blonde mumbles slightly, nuzzling your collarbone as he exhales slowly. "come on, wake up for me. trials will start soon." you purr, gently tapping his cheek. "mmn. y/n?" leon yawns, tightening his hold on you. "be a good boy and wake up for me." you tease, watching leon's ears turn red as he whines. "stop..."

you giggle, kissing his head softly as he stretches. "sleep well?" you grin, letting him kiss you before nodding. "i haven't slept like that in years." he jokes, his nose kissing your neck as he cuddles into you. "i'm not surprised that you slept so well, you went for about 4 rounds." you tease as he makes a small embarrassed noise. "what? you don't like being my good boy?" you tease, and he shoves your shoulder slightly. "shut up.." leon pouts, and you chuckle, kissing him sweetly.

melting into your lips, leon hums into your mouth as he tilts his head for you. "good boy." you smile when you pull away, admiring his soft blush and slightly parted lips. "knock it off-.." he huffs, sitting up and shuddering when your fingernails traced soft lines over the hickeys on his back. "you did so well for me." you breathe, and leon hums softly, back arching into your touch. leaning forward, you kiss one of the hickey's softly, making him jump. "sorry, you're too tempting." you smile, kissing his shoulder.

leon's back is to you, but you can just tell how flustered he is at your attention. "aww, is my baby embarrassed?" you tease, and leon groans slightly as you press down on one of the hickeys. "please-.." he mumbles, but you tut. "not now, we have to get ready for trials." you smile, kissing his neck softly. "you're so mean." he fauns hurt as he leans back onto you, placing his forearm over his eyes dramatically. "oh hush, you might get a treat tonight." you grin, kissing his jaw.

leon seems satisfied with your answer, getting up to get dressed. a bell tomes, signalling that trials will be beginning shortly, so you join leon in getting ready. "need anything?" you ask, rummaging through your items. "no, i'll be alright." leon smiles, grabbing your hand to get your attention. "for good luck?" he asks, and you catch on immediately. smiling, you give leon a soft kiss as black fog rolls in to collect you both.

unluckily, the two of you start separated. in fact, all of the survivors were separated. cursing, you step over to a generator, starting it up carefully. a yell catches your attention, and you stand slightly, turning to look over your shoulder for the source of the noise. silence. sighing, you turn back to your generator, connecting the wires carefully. nea finds you, giving you a small smile as she crouches next to you. "y/n, long time no see." she teases, and you glance at her with a polite smile. "yeah... how is everything?" you ask, not really that interested in knowing about the survivor camp. "eh, same old. david's still a tyrant." she sighs, falling silent before murmuring a small. "and i miss you."

you sigh at her confession, not knowing how to respond as your dull eyes stare at the belly of the generator. "will you ever come back if we manage to knock david off his pedestal?" she asks, trying not to seem hopeful. "i can't... i'm sorry." you sigh, falling silent once more. "oh.." she mumbles, and it was clear she still had feelings for you. "i just... really miss you." nea breathes out, and you nod. "i know... i just... me and.." you take a breath and turn to nea. "i'm seeing leon.." you whisper to her, and she seems so hurt. "what?" her hands are trembling and you're nervous she'll fuck up the generator.

"i'm sorry... he just.. cares for me, a lot." you sigh, looking back to your hands. "and i don't?!" the rebel yells, standing from the generator. "shh..! i'm sorry! it's just... we weren't official, nea." you huff, standing to soothe her. sniffling, nea storms away, and you sigh. "nea wait..!" you want to go after her when another yell comes from around the corner. furrowing your brows, you decide to leave your gen, not caring that ruin was currently eating away at it's progress. upon following the source, you see david standing over leon, a foot on his throat and a bloodied stick in his hand. "leon!" you yelp, charging david off of him. "you fucking whores! i hate you both!" david snaps as you struggle to get the heavy stick from his grasp. "you ruined everything!" the fighter growls, pushing you away to try and hit you.

quickly, you evade his swing and snap a sharp piece of metal off of a nearby hook. "david, please." you try to reason, arming yourself and not caring if it cut your hand. "y/n..!" leon rasps, trying to get to you. "stay there, leon." you demand, keeping david's focus on you. "you fucker, i swear. all you had to do was not say no-!" he swings, and on instinct, your sharp metal finds his throat. spluttering, david drops his weapon and grabs the metal, falling to his knees. you gasp, ignoring the way his blood had splattered onto your face as david collapses. the fighter gurgles, and you glance at leon, seeing his broken form. grabbing the stick, anger fuels you as you bludgeon david brutally.

gasping at the small whimpers, your attention shifts to leon, his hazy eyes are fluttering closed as he looks away from you. "leon!" you scramble to his side, cradling him in your arms. an ugly bruise blooms on his throat as he coughs sharply, blood seeping down his face. "y/n..?" he mumbles, clutching you tightly. "hey, it's okay, you're okay! tell me what happened, baby." you smile, ignoring your shaky hands as you hold his hand tightly.

"i was working on opening a chest, and he just-..." leon pauses to cough again, and you hush him softly, rocking him carefully. "he hit me, and tried to choke me and-." leon can't finish as his eyelids flutter. "hey, hey..! open your eyes for me, it's okay..!" you breathe out, your tears dripping onto his face and mixing with his blood. "it hurts.." he admits, managing to keep his eyes open for you. "i know baby, i know." you sigh, looking around for nea. the rebel stood nearby, clearly terrified of the situation, but she clutched a med kit tightly.

"nea, please help him!" you beg, and she sighs softly. moving over to you, nea crouches and unzips the med kit. "i can't stay mad at you... i'm no monster." she smiles, pressing some antiseptic onto his gash. leon whimpers, and you hush him, easing your rocking so nea could heal him. the antiseptic gives him a bit of oomph to sit up slightly, letting nea bandage the gash on his forearm where he had defended himself. "you poor thing.." you gush through tears, gently stroking his face with your hand. nea's hands freeze at your words, but she keeps going despite her own feelings. "thank you so much nea.. i owe you big time." you sigh as she presses a small needle full of red liquid into his arm. "yeah, you do." she smiles despite her watery eyes.

"i'm sorry that we didn't work, but despite us being separate.. can we still be friends?" you ask softly, and nea nods. "of course." she smiles, wiping her tears away as she hugs you tightly. "thank you.." you smile, hugging her back despite leon being squished between the two of you. heartbeats pick up as the killer approaches, and nea pulls away. "shit.." you mumble, grabbing leon's hands. "can you stand..?" you ask softly, and the officer nods slightly. "i think so.." he says, still holding you tightly as you help him stand. "come on, we gotta go." you usher leon away from the scene, but ghostface cuts you off.

"jesus christ, what happened here?" he laughs, voice modulator crackling. "leon, stay behind me." you mumble, stepping in front of the blonde protectively. "damn, relax cutie. i'm in a good mood today so i'll give you time to run." the killer is masked, but you could tell he was smiling. quickly, you push leon the other way, staying behind him as he runs. footsteps gain on you, and you grunt as the ghostface's knife slashes against your back. you split up from leon, vaulting the killer shack's window adeptly. "fuck, i hate this place." the killer grumbles, climbing through the window clumsily. "good! get used to it!" you snap, darting out the door.

you keep him there for two gens, and he huffs, leaving agitated as the third one pops. you sigh, resetting the shack pallet carefully before heading off in the other direction. "y/n!" leon calls, and you turn to see him ushering you over. "leon, are you alright?" you ask, jogging over as you cup his face with your hands to inspect him. "i'm feeling better yeah, those syringes are good shit." he chuckles, and you smile, giving him a soft kiss. "i'm glad you're feeling better." you say, grabbing his hand to lead him to another generator. "come on, let's try and get out of here." you say, crouching before the generator.

"i saw you looping ghostface.." leon trails off, and you glance at him. "it was hot." your blonde grins, and you laugh slightly. "thanks, maybe i can teach you a thing or two." you chuckle, grinding on the generator as nea pops danny's ruin. "let's go!" you smile, letting go of the gen to kiss leon lovingly. he gasps, letting go of the generator too. "y/n..!" he whines, grabbing the wires once more. "sorry, but letting go of a gen every now and then feels good." you smile, brushing his hair out of his face.

finishing the generators was easy as nea now keeps the aggravated killer on her tail, and you lead leon to the gates. luckily, your spine chill managed to carry you in small bursts to 99 the gate, and the two of you wait for nea to find you both. "so.. while we wait-..." you tease, pulling leon's jacket to kiss him. "open the fucking gate!" nea calls, and you look over to see her hauling ass towards the two of you. "got it!" leon calls, opening it quickly and pushing the two of you to safety.

the three of you cheer as danny storms off, angry at his loss. "take that you tosser!" you yell through the thorns as leon pulls you into him for a kiss. "gross..!" nea fake gags, and you roll your eyes. "hey, before we split... are we good?" you ask, and nea nods. "as long as we can kick ass in trials, we're good." she smiles, hugging you once more before waving and heading off to the survivor camp. leon seems confused, going to ask you what was going on but you cut him off. "come on, let's go relax before any more trials." you smile, pulling him along to your shack.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Who’s Got Their Claws in You My Friend

Pairing: Robert Pronge x hit woman!Reader

Words: Another mobile entry so no fucking clue

Summary: You get the pleasure of working another hit with your favorite colleague.

Warnings: DARK!!!! Dark, dark, dark, please be mindful of all warnings! Violence (m to f, f to m, blood, gore, death), explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, hate fucking, mentions of penetration with a foreign object, spit kink, choking, overstimulation), SMUT!!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!!!

A/N: This was totally unplanned! Something just clicked in my brain and I thought, “Y’know what, I’m gonna write a Freezy fic.” Anyway, this is super fucking dark y’all, even darker than the first one, if that’s possible, so if you are one of my soft babies maybe skip it. All you dark hoes are in for a real treat though!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth kitten.” Robert growled as looked down at you, one hand wrapped in your hair and the other squeezing your neck, cutting off your air as he fucked your throat. “Shit, I can feel myself in there. I bet you’re so fucking wet. You gonna cum like a good little whore?”

You whined around his cock as you squeezed your thighs together, your eyes rolling up into your head as you clenched around nothing, arousal soaking your panties and leaking down your thighs. Your clit was throbbing with need as your vision started to go black at the edges.

He hissed as your teeth scraped against his length and you swallowed around him, his cock twitching at the back of your mouth before he shot his load down your throat. His fingers squeezed your neck in a bruising grip as you almost passed out, your cunt fluttering as you came apart from nothing but the feel of his thick seed sliding down your throat.

You almost passed out before he released your neck and backhanded you across the face, his ring raising a cut along your cheekbone. You managed to catch yourself on your forearm before you went sprawling across the alley, wiping the mixture of blood and cum from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

He gave you a wolfish grin as you stood up, tucking himself back into his slacks as he stared at you.

“How do I look?” You said with a grin of your own, blood staining your teeth.

“Fucking terrible.” He muttered. Your cheeks were stained with mascara and tears, and your lipstick was smeared all over your chin. A thin trickle of blood was starting to seep down your face where he had struck you, and the skin around the cut was starting to swell. His handprint on your neck was starting to bruise. “Missing a little something though.”

He took a step towards you and ripped your dress down the front before tearing one of the sleeves loose. You weren’t wearing a bra, and you did your best to cover yourself with the tatters he’d left you with.

“I liked this dress, cocksucker! I’m gonna get you back for this.” You growled at him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.” He said as he pulled his gun out of his waistband. “Now run.”

You winked at him before sprinting out of the alley, letting out a terrified shriek as he strode after you shaking his head.

You pounded on the door to the townhouse, screaming and crying as you did your best to keep yourself covered with the ruins of your dress.

“Let me in, please!” You wailed, your nails scrabbling on the painted wood of the front door.

A giant man in a police uniform wrenched the door open, cursing when he got a good look at you and ushering you inside quickly.

“Thank you!” You cried, collapsing against his chest with a sob, your voice completely blown out from the abuse you had taken.

“What happened honey?” He said as he ran his hand over your back in a soothing gesture.

“He cornered me in an alley.” You mumbled against his chest as you peeked out to the rest of the house. You saw two more cops in the kitchen, and an asshole in a suit lounging in the living room. “I don’t know how I got away, he said he was going to kill me!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re safe here.” He nodded over his shoulder to the two officers who were coming out of the kitchen now. “O’Dowd, Mangione, go check it out.”

“We’re supposed to stay with the witness, Sarge.” One of them grumbled.

“I think I can handle it. I feel like a rapist running around is a more immediate threat.”

The two officers headed out the front door, shaking their heads.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go with them Sergeant?” You whined, batting your eyelashes at him. “I know I’d feel safer if you were out there looking for him.”

“Someone’s gotta stay here with you, darling. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone after what you’ve been through.” He murmured, looking down at you with a warm smile.

“Well, fuck.” You said with a heavy sigh before pulling the knife out from under your skirt and plunging it into the base of his skull. “I hate killing cops. It’s so fucking messy.”

The idiot in the living room cursed and dove off the couch as you wrenched your knife free. He scrambled towards the back door as you followed after him, letting the tatters of your dress pool around your waist.

He just made it to the back door of the kitchen when Pronge burst through it, leveling his silenced pistol at the mark’s head.

“Where ya goin’ Joey?” He said around a smirk as he cocked the pistol. “You don’t seem that happy to see us, rat.”

Joey raised his hands in supplication as he backed away from Robert, and right into your knife. You twisted it against his spine before ripping it out of him and slashing it across his throat.

Robert came to stand next to you as the two of you watched the snitch bleed out on the kitchen floor, tucking his gun back into his pants as he scowled at you.

“This one was supposed to be mine, cunt.” He growled at you.

You just shrugged as you twirled your blade between your fingers. “They said they wanted to send a message, and I feel like a good stabbing says a lot more than a couple of bullets.”

He watched you bend over the body and open its mouth, slicing his tongue out and slapping it on the kitchen table. You grabbed one of the chef’s knives from the counter and plunged it through the center of the thick muscle, pinning it to the table.

“That oughta do it.” You said as you surveyed your handiwork, wiping your own blade on your skirt before tucking it back into the sheath on your thigh.

“You’re sick sweetheart.” He said with a shake of his head, following you out the back as he watched you ass swaying back and forth in your boots.

“Quit sweet talking me.” You said over your shoulder, accepting his jacket he handed you to cover up as you made your way back to his car parked in the alley.

He pinned you against the wall as a group of cop cars sped past. His face was buried in your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply. You smelled like blood and sex and he could feel himself getting hard again as he slotted his knee between your thighs.

“Fuck, kitten.” He growled into your hair as he ground his hips against yours. “I wanna wreck that whore pussy of yours.”

You punched him in the nose as you laughed in his face, making him hiss as he stumbled backwards.

“That’s for my dress, bastard.” You said as you started sauntering towards the alley again.

He wiped his sleeve across his face and winced when it came away bloody. The snarl he let out was absolutely feral as he charged after you.

It only took him a second to catch up to you right as you entered the alleyway, grabbing the hair at the back of your head and slamming your face into the hood of his car.

“You goddamn fucking bitch!” He hissed in your ear as he bent over you, grinding his cock into your ass as you moaned wantonly.

You threw your elbow back and caught him in the ribs, smirking as you felt a crack and he released you with a groan, pressing a palm to his diaphragm.

You turned yourself over and wrapped your hands in the front of his shirt, ripping it open and running your palms over the plains of his chest before bending forward and sinking your teeth into the firm muscle there as you worked to undo his belt. A thin whine emitted from your throat as he gripped your jaw hard and drew your face back, tilting your chin until your neck was bent at a painful angle as you looked into his lust blown eyes.

His other hand dug painfully into your breast as he slotted himself between your thighs, your fingers still working at undoing his pants. You let out a whimper and felt your cunt clench when he slapped your nipple harshly, a new rush of arousal seeping down your thighs from your already soaked panties.

“You gonna be a good little slut for me?” He asked as you finally freed his dick, wrapping your hand around him and swirling your thumb through the precum that had collected on his angry red tip.

“Fuck you Pronge.” You hissed through clenched teeth as you gave his balls a harsh squeeze, making him groan.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, kitten.” He growled as you lined him up at your entrance, running his tip through the slick that had coated your mound. He moved his hand from your breast to tuck under your ass and drew you onto him in one smooth motion, your pussy fluttering around him as he stretched you open. “Goddamn, this cunt is so fucking tight. Squeezing me so good.”

His hips started slamming into you, barely giving you time to adjust to his girth before you devolved into an simpering mess. You both hated and loved the loss of control you felt ever time he fucked you, but the knowledge that you could turn him into a needy, demanding animal always filled you with the heady feeling of power that nothing except killing had ever given you before.

You gripped one of his biceps painfully as your other hand dug into his chest, your fingernails raking across his skin in deep gauges as he kept your head bent at its unnatural angle, his teeth running over your throat as he rutted into you. He nipped at the soft skin of your neck and you felt your pussy clenching around him as he pressed you into him, blood seeping from the wounds you’d left on his chest smearing across your tits as your breath started to hitch.

“That’s my pretty little whore.” He murmured against the shell of your ear as his hips slammed into you. “Lemme feel that cream all over my dick kitten.”

You moaned as your pleasure overtook you, riding its wave as your torso spasmed and rolled underneath his, your cunt fluttering as your released flowed out of you around his cock, making it easier for him to start moving even faster.

“God, I fucking hate you.” You moaned as he fucked you through it, your eyes rolling back as aftershocks vibrated through your core.

“The feelings mutual, bitch.” He said around a grin, turning your head so you were facing him. “Now open your mouth.”

You did as he ordered and he spat into the back of your throat, slamming your jaw closed with a clattering of teeth before ordering to swallow with nothing but a glare. He beamed as he watched your throat constrict before bending to catch your lips with his, sending another shockwave through your body.

His kiss caught you off guard. It was all desperation and need as his teeth pulled at your lips and his tongue slipped between your teeth. You felt the echo of it in your core as he ran his thick muscle over the swell of your bottom lip and you moaned into his mouth before kissing him back with equal fervor.

Another drive of his hips had you cumming again and he let out a snarl as you sank your teeth into his bottom lip, relishing the metallic taste of his blood as it filled your mouth. Your body shook underneath his as your pussy clamped down on him.

You were left breathless as he broke his face away from yours, panting hotly against your cheek before he pulled out of you suddenly, making you whine. Before you had a chance to adjust he was flipping you over and running his hand over the curve of your ass. He slapped his hand against your cunt suddenly and you let out a yelp before he ran his tip over your slit, teasing you with it as his teeth ran over your shoulders.

“This is my pussy now kitten.” He murmured against your skin as he slowly sank into you, grinning at the moan you let out. “I’m gonna fuck her so hard, she’ll never be able to forget me.”

He drew himself out halfway before slamming back into you and you let out a shriek as you came, your legs turning to jelly as his tip kissed your cervix.

“I ever find out you let some other cock anywhere near my pussy,” he growled into your hair as his hand wrapped around your throat, his hips slapping against your ass at a punishing pace. “I’m gonna shoot him in front of you then fuck you with the gun until you beg me to cut your throat.”

You were sobbing with pleasure against the hood of the car when he wrapped his other arm around your front and pinched your clit hard, ripping another orgasm out of you that had your vision turning white as drool leaked over your chin and ran down across his fingers.

“Now,” he hissed at you, his teeth scraping over the shell of your ear as his fingers circled against your overstimulated bud harshly. “You gonna tell me whose pussy this is, or did I fuck your too stupid to talk?”

“Shit!” You screamed as you came again, fighting against your own body as you struggled to keep from blacking out. “Fuck you, it’s yours!”

“That’s my good little cockslut.” He purred against your neck. “I’m gonna fill you up, and you better not fucking spill any of it. I want you to carry me with you for days.”

You felt his cock twitching inside you and let out a shriek as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, his spend shooting into in thick ropes that filled you with warmth. Your body sagged against the hood of the car as your final orgasm rippled through you, shaking your overworked muscles as you struggled to stay conscious.

He stood up over you and let out a groan of satisfaction at the sight of your throbbing cunt brimming with his seed. He scooped up a few errant drops with his fingers and shoved them back inside you, yanking your panties back into place and giving your pussy a pat like a well trained bitch.

You finally caught your breath and turned to glare at him, making him chuckle darkly at you as he wiped his dick clean on your skirt before tucking himself back into his pants.

“You fucking bastard.” You spat at him, seriously considering drawing your knife and stabbing him in the chest.

He seemed to read your mind and caught your wrist, gripping it painfully as he stepped into you.

“That’s enough for tonight kitten.” He growled as he brushed his teeth against your swollen lips. “I can fuck you unconscious tomorrow.”

You hated the grin that spread over your face at the thought.

“Promises, promises.”

A/N: I’m not even a little sorry, hope you enjoyed, ya sluts!!!

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[fangmaw]

Big Bad Wolf

This is a fanfic based on Heart Pangs by @mmmleckerlecker ! Absolutely go read it if you haven’t already!

This fic diverges from Heart Pangs at the end of Chapter 48. After his interaction with the collector, Lux changes his mind about his newly acquired prey. When he returns to the hotel, Benji is gone. We begin as a starving Lux finds Benji—and the aftermath of Benji's rescue attempt.

The door was knocked in, laying in splinters across the threshold. Lux stopped short for a precious second at the horror of it, an ugly gash interrupting an otherwise picturesque scene. The house was quiet, and a soft yellow glow peeked out from the curtains. Then the breeze shifted and he smelled the blood.

The room was unrecognizable. The entire stretch from the door to the kitchen was pooling, sopping red, seeping into the carpet and under the wreckage of furniture strewn about the space. Lux swallowed hard, the scent of fear electric over prey. His eyes locked on the trembling figures huddled in the mess, and the struggle to process the tableau kept his mind occupied just enough not to lunge for his target on sight.

Camille was hunched against the far wall. Her body and face were plastered with deep acid burns and she was struggling to stay conscious, but Lux could hear the rapid shudder of her heart—and smell the twist of bile rising off her skin. Any questions he may have had were answered in the next moment when he found Benji, camouflaged beside a massive corpse. Both were absolutely soaked with blood, and indistinguishable viscera piled at Benji’s knees. Rattling breaths shook his tiny frame. Alive. Lux took a step closer and smelled Benji’s blood through the pred’s—hurt.

With a gasp, Benji twisted to face Lux, staring up at him in wide-eyed horror and brandishing a knife. Blood flicked off the blade and landed amongst the other blood. Benji kept his grip on the knife, extended arm shaking while the other hung awkwardly at his side. Lux dropped to his knees like he’d been shot.

“Benji,” he breathed. The scent of the Marottas, their blood and their house, washed over his tongue like smoke, fleeting and vibrant. The whites of Benji’s eyes were stark against the gore covering his face. Lux began to crawl forward, one arm outstretched. “Your shoulder…”

Benji scrambled back, dropping the knife immediately. His limbs tangled with the dead pred’s and Lux finally saw the face for the first time. Cecil. Even gutted like a fish he looked smug.

He shouldn’t think like that. The man was dead. He should...Felix didn’t know what he should do. He was confused, and hungry, and Benji—

“You.” Camille’s sharp hiss caught his attention. Lux glanced over to see that Benji had pushed himself fully away from Cecil and was rising to his feet.

Lux stayed on his knees, one hand planted firmly in the blood and the other curled against his stomach. They were alive. They were both alive, and here—and afraid. Camille was talking, babbling in shock, a scattered stream-of-consciousness that would have been difficult to follow even if Lux had been fully present. Something about the Facility—they’d come with cars, or Cecil’s car, but they’d left when they saw it was just her, just one scared prey and not an Epomis nest. Cecil had taken it from there.

Lux couldn’t take his eyes off the body. He could see flitting movement in his peripheral vision as Benji and Camille assessed the state of each other, nervous and quick in a way that gripped his stomach like a vise. Every second twisted further, tugging his rational mind deeper into the black hole of his gut. He snarled and the Marottas froze.

“They’ll come back. The Facility.” Lux winced as hunger shot through him. His fingers twitched against his will. The house was silent for a moment.

“Or McMullen,” Benji whispered.

Camille and Lux both looked toward him as he took a slow breath.

“I was thinking on the drive here. It had to have been- if he doubted your loyalty… it would be easy enough to tip them off.”

Camille paled, as much as she could under the burns. “He gave me a new mission. In front of everyone. I was supposed to hunt you down.” She stared at Lux. “I was supposed to disappear.”

The thought was too much. Lux shook his head and staggered to his feet. “No, no … you…” His thoughts kept dissolving into ugly instincts. “I have to do this. Keep you safe.”

Lux was far too distracted to see the horror on Camille’s face at his words, the way her fingernails gripped the ruined fabric of Benji’s shirt. He didn’t see Benji’s grim expression as he grabbed Cecil’s wrists and began dragging the limp form down the hall. They both stayed frozen in the kitchen for the few seconds it took to get Cecil into the bathroom.

By the time the spell broke, Lux had managed to wedge himself and the body into the tiny room. His hands were slick with tepid blood as he folded Cecil against the sink and braced himself against the door. Benji knocked on the wood, sending shockwaves through the muddle of Lux’s mind.

“Felix?”

Lux let his back slide down the door until he was seated on the tile, face-to-face with Cecil. He felt Benji turn the knob, but it was held fully shut by the weight of Lux’s body between them.

“Felix, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” His voice was still shaky, but growing firmer. Lux inhaled, sinking under the scent of the house, of the man behind the door. He could almost ignore the cloying smell of pred blood smeared across his body. He reached out and gripped Cecil’s hair.

“Let me in. Please.” Benji’s voice came from the base of Lux’s skull. He shook his head.

“I can’t.” Lux twisted his fingers in the pred’s hair and heaved his body onto his lap. “Go help Camille.” He waited for two of his own slow, ponderous heartbeats, but Benji stayed where he was. It didn’t matter. Lux had to do this now, before he came to his senses.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened his mouth.

It was repulsive. Every second he was confronted with the wrongness of his position, the stretch in his jaw and the taste on his tongue. At the same time, Benji’s nervous movements inches away made his mouth water. The towels beside him smelled of Camille, of life. The contrast with the limp thing in his throat was jarring, but the reminder—alongside his bullheadedness—were the only things keeping Lux from retching.

Each fraction of an inch was a struggle, but the pred remained unphased. He knew his body was capable of this. He felt Cecil’s form begin to curl as it entered his stomach and faltered, knocking his shoulder against the sink.

“Felix!” came a yelp from beyond the door.

Lux squeezed his eyes close. He could do this, he thought. For Benji.

For once, he wasn’t hurting anyone. Well, anyone else.

Even as the clumsy limbs of the dead pred strained against him, his stomach gripped and twisted around its new contents, growling inquisitively. Lux groaned as he passed Cecil’s hips, half in pain and half in relief. Benji rattled the knob, but he remained quiet. Now that the man had been mostly consumed, Lux had space to lean forward slightly, trying to get some leverage to hurry the process along. He was in for a god-awful next few days, and he’d rather get it over with.

His pants had already been pushed aside by the wretched stretch of his belly, but Lux took a moment to properly unbutton the waistband. In the same way, the loose t-shirt he was wearing had ridden up nearly to his chest, framing the painful skin beneath. Not that his clothes would have done anything to really hide a prey belly, but at least he wouldn’t feel so exposed, so lurid in that situation.

Finally, finally he reached the end, gripping the feet and ramming the limbs into his throat with as much force as he could muster. A sharp pain struck his side and he held back a gasp, biting into the fabric around the ankles. Lux was fully laying down now, curled on his side. He pulled and swallowed and prayed this nightmare would be over as the knob rattled again.

The body was gone. Lux felt the last awkward bend as his organs rearranged themselves around his stomach. A low burp startled him, bringing with it the beginnings of a heave. Lux grit his teeth and held it down. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he threw up right now, but he didn’t want to find out. Already, his stomach was whining as digestion kicked in. It wasn’t that Lux felt full. God, this was lightyears beyond the pleasant tightness of a prey curled up inside him. Lux felt inert. Neutralized.

The door opened, pushing Lux’s feet out of the way just enough that Benji could slide in.

“No, please…” Lux tried to curl away, but the distension of his middle forced his limbs into a cramped sprawl. He settled for turning his face toward the tile floor.

Benji approached slowly, deftly maneuvering around the tangle of Lux’s body. His stomach clenched as the prey kneeled down beside his head.

Lux became aware of his own heavy breathing, practically panting after the strain of the ordeal. Over the next minute, Benji’s breath went from shallow to consciously deep, each exhale a little victory over his fear. The weighty silence was broken by the snarl of Lux’s gut. He winced.

“I’m sorry, Benji.” 

“Are you okay?”

Lux opened his eyes. From his position, he had to look up to see Benji’s face. He was still drenched in blood, but his eyes were familiar. Resolute.

“I’m-” Lux froze, unsure. Something shifted in his stomach and he whimpered. Desperate. Pathetic. Neutralized. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

“It hurts, Benji.” He looked up again, to see Benji’s slow nodding. “God, you don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not leaving.” There was no aggression, no sadness in his voice. Just a statement of fact. Benji sighed. “He consumed Camille. I thought she was gone. I…” Benji went still.

“You saved her.”

“I killed him.”

Lux frowned. “And I consumed him.”

After a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah. Yeah you did.”

“We’re going to figure this out. With Epomis, and Camille, and-” he paused as his stomach rolled, threatening him. “Ugh. The Facility.”

Benji laughed, short and bright. “Big talk coming from you, given-” he waved his hand in the general direction of Lux’s belly, “-this.”

“Mm.” Lux knew he was rapidly losing coherence as all his body’s energy went into breaking down its unexpected meal. The relief of earlier finally caught up with him, dragging down his eyelids; Benji was beside him and he could hear Camille moving about the living room. They were safe. Even if it was fleeting, they were safe.

It could have been a dream when Lux felt Benji curl up against his chest. He seemed unsure at first, wary of the warped skin, but relaxed when Lux hummed in approval. The writhing of his traitorous stomach was an afterthought as he felt the gentle rise and fall of Benji’s shoulders against his body.

This is a fanfic based on Heart Pangs by @mmmleckerlecker !

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】