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awritesthings1 · 5 months

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Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

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A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

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usedpidemo · 2 months

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More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

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jointherebellion215 · 2 months

Text

His Kiss, The Riot

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: When you and your secret lover make plain to Feyd-Rautha your wishes for a life together, despite the proposed arranged marriage, he surprisingly acquiesces. But he can't let you go so easily, can he? Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.6k

TW: manipulation, Dark!Feyd-Rautha, arranged marriage, NONCON elements, gore, violence, she/her pronouns, female!reader, tragedy, star-crossed lovers, songfic, not quite a happy ending (oops), dark dark dark interpretations of Hadestown and the story of Orpheus and Eurydice.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read If It's True and liked, reblogged, or commented. I appreciate every single one of you. As always, I would love some feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs if you can :)

This is Part Two to my Feydestown trilogy (I'm so sorry for the pun). You can read Part One here.

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

The devil takes this Orpheus

And his belladonna kiss

“So you wanna get married? Take away the woman I just offered my hand to, to whom I all but have legal claim?”

Your beloved’s replied words of affirmation to his words hold the slightest tremor, but like a dog to fresh meat, Feyd-Rautha sniffs this out immediately. Another smile graces his face. Feyd speaks to the crowd now, “Yes, I was promised the Lady’s hand in marriage. But! I am a benevolent figure, so I guess I’ll let the lovebirds go.”

The crowd starts to give polite applause, while your knees grow weak at the news. You can go? Has love really prevailed on this day?

“However,” and with that, your heart drops “I have some conditions for these… nuptials.”

You could sense the air growing thick with tension as the reality of the na-Baron’s ruling twists out of your favor.

“Conditions?” You whispered.

“Of course, my darling! I can’t make this too easy on you, now can I?” Feyd paces back and forth on the steps from which he speaks, making your eyes dart back and forth with each step he takes. Vigilance overtakes your body in case of any rash decisions.

“You two can leave the city, but it won’t be hand in hand. This pair will have to walk in single file, with the boy in the front and my darling Lady at least thirty paces behind. No ships, no speeders, no running. Walking.”

The energy of the room starts to grow more electric as the points of this term seem to set in.

“The Lady cannot speak out or make any indication of her following behind. You’ll be faced forward the whole journey. Once you reach the edge of the city and passed the threshold, you can be together for eternity.”

Your breath hitched. Seems easy enough, right?

“But, if the boy so much as turns his head to check and see if the Lady is following, the deal is off. She’ll return to me, and we will be married.”

Nothing makes a man so bold

As a woman’s smile and a hand to hold

“Is this a trick?” Your beloved asks plainly.

Feyd tilts his head, pacing down the steps to ground level. “Now, what makes you say that? I’m being generous. I’ve set my terms.” He is now nose-to-nose with the man attached to you.

“Now meet them or face the consequences.”

The hand holding yours is now pooled with sweat. You quickly and subtly jerk the arm of your beloved when he starts to protest, not recognizing a gift when he sees one. You bow, the picture of poise and grace that you were raised to be. There is still time to leave with all of your limbs intact, you could not afford to slip up now.

“We offer our most sincere gratitude, my Lord na-Baron. Thank you for this most auspicious opportunity. We will not squander it.”

Your beloved gives a clumsy bow to match yours. Feyd’s manic smile grows as he clasps his hands together. The sound echoes through the hall.

“So it shall begin!”

But all alone his blood runs thin

And doubt—doubt comes in

The pair of you hold hands, side-by-side, at the entrance of the palace gates. A crowd has followed you to the edge, with onlookers from the outside spectating the unexpected appearance of a noble. Occurrences like this did not happen often, if ever.

“You heard the terms. The Lady must walk thirty steps behind. She must not speak to you.” Your hands reluctantly separate, following the orders you were given. You can feel your heart pounding with each step that you take away from each other.

“Some of my guard will accompany you, to ensure that you comply to the letter.” Four Harkonnen warriors step forward and encase you in a square formation, leaving the love of your life alone and vulnerable. He looks back towards you, fear and doubt creeping into his eyes. You nodded at him, believing that you could succeed in your task. That you would prevail.

“You may begin.” Feyd voices, and with that—you start your journey. Step by step, you walk further through the foliage that immediately surrounds the castle gates and into the city square.

Once you and your beloved reach the horizon, Feyd turns to walk past the crowd and back into the corridor.

Your father, the Duke, bows quickly and offers his gratitude, but is ignored as the younger Harkonnen goes to gather his blade and shield. With a yell, he summons his guards to formation. As Feyd checks the integrity of his weapon, one of the Baron’s advisors tentatively steps towards him.

“My Lord, perhaps you should consider letting them go—” In the blink of an eye, the man is silenced with a swift slash to the throat. Blood spills through the advisor’s hands as he struggles to put pressure on the opening. His body flops to the floor and Feyd carelessly steps over the writhing body to march forward.

“Let’s go fetch my bride.”

Dangerous this jack of hearts

It had been almost an hour of walking by this point. There had been almost a dozen times where you wanted to give any audible indication to your lover that you were here. A whisper, a whistle, a stomp of your foot. Anything. But now you could see the edge of the city, you could almost taste it.

A life with your love was within reach.

The guards accompanying you shifted inward, almost boxing you in. You were hopeful, but nerves were creeping in.

This was going well. Too well.

The grand arch signifying the edge of the city was above your lover now. The field that you used to meet at in secret lay just beyond it. You’re almost there. Just twenty more steps and you could be together, forever.

He steps over the threshold, you see his shoulders lift and fall in an exhale. Then, the man you had fallen in love with— who you wholly believe in— slowly turns his head to lock eyes with you. A pale figure steps out from behind a pillar accompanying the arch.

The growing smile on your face immediately falls. You call out his name.

Oh no.

The na-Baron tsked and shook his head, as if scolding a child. Harkonnen troops flanked the area, giving Feyd-Rautha enough berth to have his fun. The three of you were surrounded, but only one really had the advantage.

“You were so close!”

Your beloved held out a hand, “Wait, wait! I made it over!” He started to back away in fear, unarmed and exhausted from the long walk. Colorful, ripe foliage brushed his legs as he back into your field.

“Ah, but she didn’t. So, face the consequences.”

Then his blade pierced the man you love.

Your ears started to ring, throat working itself raw as you wailed. Tears blurred your vision, you could hear the gurgles of the blood leaving your fiancé’s mouth and the slosh of his newly disemboweled entrails hitting the lush field before you.

With his kiss, the riot starts

His body made a sick thud on the floor, and your body jumped along with it.

You ran towards your dead lover, cradling his face and sobbing for the soul that was just ripped away from you. He didn’t deserve such a violent end. His only crime was loving you and being loved in return.

A chuckle sounded from above you, and you turned your tear-stained face to the brutal Harkonnen. He was covered in the blood of your lover, his spoils of war staining his pale skin. Black teeth on full display, his shoulders gave a slight shake as he expressed his humor. His laughter sparked a rage in you like you’d never seen before. It didn’t matter what bonds you may or may not have formed over the conversations you had the last week. He’s a monster. He needs to pay for what he’s done.

Red flooded your vision.

With a roar, you lunged for the man. His laugh grew more manic as you smacked, punched, kicked, and hit every visible part of him that you could identify. In your grief, every ounce of training that you received flew out the window. He took every blow with a smile, as if he enjoyed the punishment you were attempting to bestow on him.

“There we go, my darling. Show me your pain. Your rage!”

Your mind started to clear with the more hits you landed. With a quick swipe, you had the weapon that killed your beloved against the naBaron’s neck. The Harkonnen soldiers immediately stepped forward, but Feyd stopped them with a wave of his arm.

“Ah ah ah! Leave her be.” His grin almost split his face in half, specks of dried blood making a painting of his face.

“Do it. Go ahead, come on.”

He pressed his neck forward, purposefully putting pressure on his own blade. Fresh blood started to trickle down his neck, adding to the gallons already spread all over his uniform.

The shock of his willingness to put his life on the line made you hesitate, which made him cackle in your face. Your anger made you draw the blade back and slice it across his chest. A groan left Feyd’s mouth,

“Good girl.”

An unexpected thunk to the head made your vision start to spin. Feyd’s arms braced around you, slowly lowering you to your knees and down to a lying position. He cradled your head as if you were a precious commodity, when he leaned forward and captured your limp lips with his.

As black started swallowing your vision, you heard him say,

“Don’t worry, my darling bride. It’ll all be alright. You won’t feel a thing.”

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plainly-plain · 1 year

Text

Mental stability

#tsumugi shirogane #shirogane tsumugi #shuichi saihara #miu iruma #danganronpa incorrect quotes #incorrect danganronpa #danganronpa #ndrv3 #drv3 #danganronpa killing harmony #plainly plain #plainly-plain #shuichi #ignore the bad quality

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moineauz · 1 month

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side comments: a little warm up piece to get me writing again...

Doctor Veritas Ratio sat unmoving on the barstool, his eyes travelling throughout your studio.

He noted the modest light fixtures, the plain white backdrop and the reflectors. A record hummed in the background while casting the occasional scratch while night crept on the edges of the horizon.

Why was he here? Seated rigidly in front of your camera?

"Ready for your photo, Doctor?"

Dr. Ratio turned his head towards you, his eyes dancing over the curves and lines of your face and the acuteness of your eyes.

"Ah, of course," he replies plainly, flicking a nonexistent spec of dust off his shoulder, "Get on with it."

However, underneath his placid and smooth rhetoric, Veritas trembled and second-guessed himself- an act by nature that was seldom to a man of such reputable and self-assured stature.

"Right then," you mutter promptly, bringing the camera to your eye.

From there, the dewy glow of Veritas's skin and the luminescent shine of his eyes bloomed in the dullness of your studio. A part of you stirred in envy: a man whose entire life revolved around perfecting the pursuit of knowledge and spreading it seemed fleeting and untouchable- a dream. In addition to that: he was praised and saluted for his artistic and, plainly, handsome features.

Nevertheless, he was your subject and nothing more.

"Mx. ( Name )?"

You place the camera down, your eyes meeting his. "Yes?"

Veritas paused, glancing down at his shoes before back at you: hair frayed and clearly tousled, eyes a touch weary yet brimming with a vague indefinite emotion- one that Veritas himself could not capture in its entirety.

"Delete the photos."

You blink, startled by his blunt manner before hastily replying in evident bewilderment, "How- how so?"

Veritas gingerly rises from the barstool, his feet treading your studio's cool wood flooring as if it were glass. The sun had already set, and a crisp bitter breeze brushed over your face while your hands firmly clasped the camera, your knuckles turning white.

Taking a deep breath you stand your ground as Veritas now stands mere inches apart from you, the warmth of his tender breath soothing the chill of your face, "Why should I delete the photos- doctor?"

Veritas pauses, blinks then sighs stilly before muttering under his breath-

"Because… I need to take you out for dinner."

masterlist

#writing ᝰ.ᐟ #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio angst #hsr veritas #veritas ratio x reader #veritas ratio

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andypantsx3 · 6 months

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INCENDIARY | 8 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader, 18+ mdni LENGTH: 3k, FIC MASTERLIST

For a few seconds, nothing made sense.

There was a rush of heat over your skin, skin-meltingly hot, and an arm around your waist. Then an explosion blew out all the sound around you. Your ears rang, and your hands scrabbled for purchase in Bakugou’s uniform as you were violently jerked backwards.

A rush of cooler air met your skin, and you realized you’d been pulled out of the car just as you watched it swerve and hit a light pole, the glass of the passenger windows shattering. You couldn’t hear the crunch of metal over the muffled ringing in your ears, but you could see the side of the car wrap around the pole, could imagine the metal squealing and screaming.

You were jerked out of the way again just as another rush of flame went flaring past you, so hot it felt like it had singed your skin, Bakugou’s arm curling around you as he aimed an explosion into the flames to blow you clear.

It was a testament to his strength and control that he was able to maneuver you with one arm, even as the two of you twisted midair, holding you tight against him as he caught his balance, bracing to steady you as you tripped wildly over yourself. He yanked you behind a parked car, blocking any clear shot at you, leveling a hand over the roof. Your hands still fisted in his uniform, you whipped around for the source of the flames—

Only to find him clearly, grinning wildly in the middle of the street, watching you over the top of the car.

Matsui looked just like the picture you’d been shown, all those months ago in the police station. He was plain, with dark eyes, thick dark brows and wisps of curly black hair. He might have been any other salaryman in the country, except for the naked hate that hung off his features as plainly as his clothes from his wiry shoulders.

Your heartbeat thudded against Bakugou’s chest, your nails digging crescents into the material of his uniform as a cold thrill of fear went down your spine.

And Matsui wasn’t alone. A jolt went through you as you noticed another figure beside him—a figure you’d last squared off against over the prickly grass of your campus lawn.

It was one of the QRAs. He seemed to be missing his other friends from that night, as the YouTube video you’d rewatched had made it clear you’d been yelling at three men the evening this had all started. And you were at least gratified to note he looked nervous, small and sweating, but the same hatred glowed clear across face.

It was funny, that all these months later, you had never actually learned his name. He was just some faceless jerk to you, a symptom of a cultural disease.

Bakugou’s voice in your ear, slightly muffled, notified you that your hearing was slowly returning to you. “—eyes on Matsui,” he was growling, and you realized he was speaking into an earpiece. “Some other fucking chump is with him, quirk unknown—”

But you knew it. You remembered from the comments of the video that had started this all: my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior.

“It’s—he can square the tip off of cylindrical objects,” you said, your voice slightly too loud in your own ears. “He was on my campus.”

A blonde eyebrow went up, but Bakugou quickly relayed the info, his eyes never leaving the pair in the middle of the street. “Get Monoma on the fucking cylinder idiot, I’ll get Matsui,” he finished. His mouth went hard as he seemed to listen to something back, grunting in return.

“Alright brat,” he said, turning to you. His tone seemed just a little bit clearer, the gravel in it pronounced. “Genius Office has a bunch of heroes on the way, not that we’re gonna need them for two fucking idiot civilians. Our backup is just a few streets that way,” he gestured in the direction of Matsui and the pencil sharpener guy. “I need you to get around them and make a run for them while I cover you. Can you do that for me?”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and your legs went weaker at the idea of moving out from behind the car. But Matsui had just torched one car—you were sure he’d be at it again in a minute.

You gathered yourself up, nodding. “Yeah. I can.”

At least Bakugou had been putting you through the paces this week so you had some level of exercise under your belt. You suddenly wished you’d had more, though. “I can run,” you said, to reassert yourself.

“Good girl,” Bakugou said, scarlet eyes flickering down to you momentarily. A little smirk touched his mouth, like he knew what he was doing.

You were embarrassed when a feeling like determination surged through you, your body responding to him even at a time like this. You let go of your death grip on his hero costume, testing your legs out under you. Somehow, the burn of your face was helping distract you from the weak, jelly-like consistency of your knees.

A spurt of flame made you jump, but it was just Matsui shaking out his hands, grinning at you over the roof of the car. He seemed to like that he’d scared you, and the guy with the pencil sharpening quirk laughed, pleasure twisting his thin mouth.

“Come on out, drunk girl,” Matsui finally crooned, his tone soft and medial. The sound of his voice made your skin crawl, and you suddenly wished for the deafening ring of Bakugou’s explosions again. “You think you’re my equal, don’t you? Weren’t you just on your way to tell the whole world that? Come on out and show me, little girl. Come out and show everyone how equal we are.”

The little pencil sharpener next to him looked smug, as though his quirk was any match up to Matsui’s either. You glowered at him, lip automatically curling.

“Just fucking run, brat,” Bakugou told you. “‘M gonna rip his intestines out right through his asshole, you’re not gonna wanna see it.”

A horrible little gurgling laugh escaped you. It was reassuring, Bakugou’s confidence. Fear still tingled down your spine but you thought if you started, you’d be able to keep running.

“Tell me when to go,” you breathed, testing your step again.

“Start running left as soon as I get out over this car,” Bakugou commanded. “He’s just some overpowered internet troll, he’s not combat trained. He’ll take the shot at me as soon as he sees me move and it’s gonna hit the right side of the car. It’ll block his visibility and you can get behind that bus stand before he’s done.”

You nodded. “And then?”

“As soon as he takes his next shot you keep going and don’t stop. I’ll handle him from there. Monoma’s in range and he’ll get the cylinder fuck as soon as I can get him clear of Matsui.”

You made a noise of acknowledgement, grateful you had Bakugou’s combat experience on your side. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Bakugou’s gloved fingers briefly touched yours and he nodded. Then he shook out his arms, bracing them behind him. “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a devastatingly feral smirk your way.

You had just a single moment for your heart to trip over itself, a flush breaking out across your skin. And then an explosion ripped apart the pavement behind him.

Immediately, a towering column of flame whirled past and you launched yourself out from behind the car just as you saw Matsui’s figure disappear behind it. The heat distorted the air in front of you, shimmering and waving as you threw yourself through it, tearing down the street as fast as you could.

A roaring explosion from Bakugou’s direction drowned out the slap of your feet, and you slid behind the ads papering the wall of the bus stop just as Matsui’s flames dissolved into the air. You heard another volley of explosions, crackling like fireworks, loud and obnoxious and clearly designed to draw attention.

The clatter of loose gravel pinged off of the bus stand, kicked up by the force of Bakugou’s power. Some of it skidded underneath, bouncing off your shoes in a riot of dusty pebbles and chunks.

You peered back out, trying to judge when to make your next move. You caught sight of Matsui aiming another shot after Bakugou, and your grip reflexively tightened on a piece of gravel, the rough, grainy edges cutting into your fingers. You watched as Bakugou dodged some sort of projectile thrown by the pencil sharpening asshole, too, and then maneuvered quickly as Matsui’s flames blazed to life in his hands.

As you watched, a sudden, overwhelming incredulity seized you. Matsui and the little pencil man were so dedicated to the idea of their own superiority that they were willing to risk life and limb against pro hero Dynamight. Their inflated fucking egos surpassed even quirk supremacy—like they thought they needed to feel truly supreme in all things, even against the firepower of one of the most dangerous pros of all time. Even as Bakugou clearly was just drawing attention and dodging until you were clear of the situation. He was so obviously just playing with them.

It was insane. It was stupid—they were so fucking stupid. They were so unbelievably full of themselves, and a white hot feeling choked you, all-encompassing in its intensity.

A certainty gripped you, like the memory of that night on campus when you’d first encountered the pencil sharpener QRA. It was so reductive, the idea of measuring yourself against someone based on arbitrary traits like strength or quirks. It was the ideology of a child, of an idiot, of someone so insecure in their own place in the world that they needed to dig people out of their own places so they could be insecure too.

But people were better than that. People could learn to be better than that, like Bakugou.

If anyone was lesser in this world, it wasn’t quirkless people. It was people who let themselves act lesser like this in their desire to be more, instead of confronting the reality of their own character.

And you had already proved you were not the type of girl who could keep taking things lying down.

Before you knew what you were doing, your grip was tightening on the piece of gravel. Your vision squared in on Matsui and the QRA, and your arm drew back, hefting the gravel in your hand. And then in a wild fit of emotion, you sent it arcing through the air, spiraling tightly, a messy but certainty-fueled throw.

It hit the pencil guy square in the back of the neck, knocking him into Matsui. Matsui stumbled, and the flames at his fingertips stuttered and guttered out.

Even from a distance, you could read the surprise on Bakugou’s face. An ugly, shocked laugh suddenly escaped him. Matsui quickly staggered back to his feet, wheeling on you.

But then an explosion swept across the street, blowing Matsui and the pencil guy right into the side of a building, your distraction the only opening Bakugou needed. They hit the stone with a dull thud, sliding down in a heap together, the pencil guy letting out a groan.

Bakugou and the hero you recognized as Monoma were there in an instant, strapping quirk suppressors right around their wrists, bearing them down to the ground. As soon as they had, a flood of other heroes and officers came washing out into the street, boots quickly scuffling in their direction.

You watched as officers cordoned off the street, ushering curious civilians back into their homes, and began to document the damage Matsui had caused. Several squad cars and an ambulance rolled into view, their lights sending flashes off of the surrounding windows, and Matsui and the pencil QRA were bundled away into them.

An officer came over to take a statement from you, and you fumbled your way through an explanation, mind still churning. You’d ended it. For all the talk about the superiority of their power, all it had taken was a wild throw from you to make both Matsui and the QRA stumble. All it had taken was the strength of your conviction to give Bakugou the opportunity to disable them for good.

Bakugou stalked over as soon as he’d given his own report, tearing off his gloves with his teeth and stowing them on his belt. His hair was a little windswept, and there was soot along the hinge of his jaw, but he was otherwise unharmed, not even a single burn through the fabric of his uniform. He glowed with the flush of a fight, of a job well done, and you thought he had never looked quite so handsome.

“Nice shot, princess,” he told you, flashing you a wicked white smile, sending a searing heat pooling in your stomach. “Thought I told you to run though.”

But he didn’t seem angry, because then his calloused fingers came up to take your chin, and he seized your mouth in a hard kiss.

You felt yourself flush all the way down to your toes, kissing him back eagerly. You were heady with your own success, with the way Bakugou had looked at you.

“We’re gonna be late for the interview,” you said when he finally let your mouth free.

Bakugou looked momentarily like he would rather bear you back off into the safehouse than let you go to the interview. And you did plan to thank him incredibly thoroughly for the save, once you’d made it back into some semblance of privacy together.

But you had things to say, still. Things to say now especially that you’d shut down a couple more internet trolls so handily. Now that you’d proven the ferocity of their ideology didn’t hold up in the real world—not when regular, everyday people like you had something to say about it.

“Always running that fucking mouth, brat,” Bakugou said, but his tone was nothing but appreciative. He set upon a nearby officer with alacrity, commandeering him and his car to shuttle you over to the studio, stuffing himself in after you resolutely.

He kept a hand on you the entire way, and stalked after you down the halls of the studio, sending the hordes of producers and production assistants into a frenzy. When they finally let you out of hair and makeup after scrubbing all the street grime off of you, he watched you carefully, those eyes hot on you as you settled into the chair opposite your interviewer, his mouth quirked up in a ferociously appreciative smirk.

The interviewer greeted you, and you answered her back, feeling safe and warm and secure under your boyfriend’s watch. And then the interview began, and she prompted you carefully, the same questions you’d been running over in your head for days.

“We’ve asked you here today for commentary on the cultural barriers that quirkless people like yourself face, and the National Diet’s efforts in passing a bill that would help tackle these issues,” she said, nodding at you warmly. “Is there anything you think is especially important for people to know about what it’s like to be quirkless in a society like ours?”

You took a breath in, and reviewed your answer determinedly. You’d bash quirk supremacy the way you had Matsui, like it was a neck and you were a bit of gravel, kicked up in all the fighting.

You leaned in and ran your mouth like you always did. This time, with nothing but firm resolution, assurance, and one admittedly hot, supportive boyfriend behind you.

UPDATE: QUIRKLESS LEGEND TAKES DOWN PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.19M subscribers 3 hours ago · 11:24 · 1,006,041 views Description Hey guys, quirkless girl aka “drunk girl” is back on my channel in a jaw-dropping joint takedown by her and pro hero Dynamight. Right before an interview on New Day Japan yesterday… [SHOW MORE]

karma is a rock, karma is the gravel to ur neck on the weekend greenhopp 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 900 [Thumbs Down]

omg they gave him the fucken combo!!!! 🪨💥my man got the 10 piece with a biscuit no drink goddamn Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

yooooooo remember the time i said she didn’t need a quirk to put one of these bros in a coffin?? dm me if u want ur future told. now accepting venmo and cash app. yeetus deletus 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.2k [Thumbs Down]

END NOTES: We finally made it, guys!! Thank you so much for sticking with this series for what ended up being over 1.5 years, my longest fic span yet, and being patient with me every step of the way. I have said it before but this fic especially has been my biggest challenge, and I am so grateful for the support that helped me make it all the way to the end.

I also want to say thank you again to my sensitivity readers @darkenedniqhts and @cat-slippered for helping me tell this story in the cleanest and most respectful way possible. I would not have tried my hand at anything with themes like these if it wasn't for you guys helping hold me accountable and educating me at key points. I appreciate everything you have done to make both the story and myself better over the course of its telling. I will be forever grateful.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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scribbledghost · 2 months

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I'm neck deep in a maladaptive daydream scenario right now so lemme share it:

You come home after a long day. Your mood is low, you're sore, and you just want to lay down somewhere dark and cry for a bit before you have to wake up tomorrow and try to be human again.

Except when you walk through your front door, you notice something very, very conspicuous. And equally as alarming.

You live alone. So why is there a massive guy just hanging around in your house?

You start to panic, naturally. But before you can sprint back out of the house, a deep, British voice calls to you.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, love. It's okay, it's just me. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The voice stops you cold. Because you recognize it.

From the video game you were playing last night.

You steal a glance at the television, and the man standing in front of you catches the action. He's got his hands up - clad in black gloves, of course - like he's trying to approach a spooked animal.

"You know who I am, love."

"Y... you're not real."

"Depends on your definition of 'real'," he corrects. "Might not have been out and walkin' about, but I was real enough to you."

You're still confused. Of course you are - some stranger is in your house pretending to be the video game character you've been fantasizing about for months. But the man in front of you isn't Ghost. He can't be.

Right?

"I know you still don't believe me," he says. "Can't blame ya. Here, let's see if this helps."

And then, right before your eyes, the man shifts. He doesn't look - or sound - like Ghost anymore. He sounds like another favorite character of yours.

"Look familiar?"

He shifts again. Another face you know from your imagination.

"How 'bout now?"

Once again, he shifts. Three more times, three more characters, before he goes back to Ghost.

You do everything you can think of to debunk what you're seeing. But everything points to the same conclusion -

Your fictional crush is standing in your living room, plain as day.

Your face must betray your disbelief, because "Ghost" spends the next ten minutes trying to convince you that you're not having a big, grand hallucination. He gently grabs your hand, runs a thumb along your cheek, even presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

They all feel real. Real enough for your chest to ache.

"Why are you here?" you manage to ask. "Why now?"

He shrugs.

"'Cause you needed me," he says plainly.

It stirs something inside of you, and you slowly reach forward to place a hand on his chest. You feel his warmth radiating from beneath the black hoodie he wears, and if you concentrate enough, you can feel his heartbeat too.

“If y’really don’t want me here, I’ll go,” he says, resting one of his hands atop yours. “I’ll tuck back into your head and leave you be.”

“...What do you want?”

“I wanna help. ‘S my job, innit? ‘S why I’m here, lovie. ‘S why you made me.”

You don’t tell him to leave.

#may continue this if anyone asks #imaginary boyfriend come to life? imaginary boyfriend come to life. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY.#sort of like a tulpa? but idk if calling this a tulpa AU would be uh. appropriating anything or not :x Googling the subject tells me nothin #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost scribbles

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lemoncakz · 2 months

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LIST OF ALL SANSA OUTFITS MENTIONED IN ASOIAF BOOKS

THIS WILL ONLY INCLUDE OUTFITS SHE ACTUALLY WORN (not ones she had dreams of or ones she saw but never worn).

AGOT—

outfit one:

“She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks.” - sansa i

“His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She” - ned iii

outfit two:

“Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.” - sansa ii

outfit three:

“Sansa had put on a lovely pale green damask gown and a look of remorse—“ - sansa iii

outfit four:

“It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again—“ - sansa iii

“She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey.” - sansa iii

outfit five:

“She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.” - sansa v

outfit six:

“She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collar and sleeves. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she struggled with the silver fastenings without the benefit of servants.” - sansa iv

outfit seven:

“And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy.” - arya v

ACOK—

outfit eight:

“She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well.” - sansa i

outfit nine:

“One of the women went away and came back with a green wool shift that was almost her size. "It's not as pretty as your own things, but it will serve," she announced when she'd pulled it down over Sansa's head. "Your shoes weren't burned, so at least you won't need to go barefoot to the queen." - sansa iv

ASOS—

outfit ten:

“Cersei herself arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Sansa in her new clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. And it was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee covered over with a panel of ornate Myrish lace in dove-grey. The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Sansa had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed. am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "Oh, I am." She could not wait for Willas to see her like this. He will love me, he will, he must . . . he will forget Winterfell when he sees me, I'll see that he does. Queen Cersei studied her critically. "A few gems, I think. The moonstones Joffrey gave her." - sansa iii

outfit eleven:

“She had no blacks, so she chose a dress of thick brown wool. The bodice was decorated with freshwater pearls, though. The cloak will cover them. The cloak was a deep green, with a large hood. She slipped the dress over her head, and donned the cloak, though she left the hood down for the moment. There were shoes as well, simple and sturdy, with flat heels and square toes.” - sansa v

outfit twelve:

“You said I must wear the hair net. The silver net with . . . what sort of stones are those?" — "Amethysts. Black amethysts from Asshai, my lady." - sansa v

Shae was helping Sansa with her hair when they entered the bedchamber. Joy and grief, he thought when he beheld them there together. Laughter and tears. Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight." - tyrion viii

AFOC—

outfit thirteen:

“This morning her eye was caught by a parti-colored gown of Tully red and blue, lined with vair. Gretchel helped her slide her arms into the belled sleeves and laced her back, then brushed and pinned her hair. Alayne had darkened it again last night before she went to bed.” - alayne

“Alayne looked down at her dress, the deep blue and rich dark red of Riverrun. "Is it too—“ - alayne i

outfit fourteen:

“The dress she picked was lambswool, dark brown and simply cut, with leaves and vines embroidered around the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden thread. It was modest and becoming, though scarce richer than something a serving girl might wear. Petyr had given her all of Lady Lysa's jewels as well, and she tried on several necklaces, but they all seemed ostentatious. In the end she chose a simple velvet ribbon in autumn gold.” - alayne i

outfit fifteen:

“Alayne was already wearing woolen hose beneath her skirts, over a double layer of smallclothes. Now she donned a lambswool overtunic and a hooded fur cloak, fastening it with an enameled mockingbird that had been a gift from Petyr. There was a scarf as well, and a pair of leather gloves lined with fur to match her riding boots.” - alayne ii

outfit sixteen:

“It would be cold, she knew, though the Eyrie's towers encircled the garden and protected it from the worst of the mountain winds. She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.” - alayne vii

divider by @iwonbin

#my post #asoiaf #sansa stark #a song of ice and fire #fashion #asoiafwomensource #thenorthsource

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nexysworld · 8 months

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Chapter Summary: Waking up after your night in the woods leaves you grappling with emotions and uncertainty. There's only one lifeline you have - Leon. Pairing: Yandere!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, Dead Dove, Dubcon, Kidnapping, Stalking, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, violence, gore, MDNI, masturbation, murder, slow burn.

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Everything felt sore and raw the next time you opened your eyes. Sleep had built up crust in the corner of your tear ducts, mouth cottony and dry. Despite feeling physically worse than the first time you woke up, mentally you were a little more there. ‘He has soft sheets. ’ You curled up more under the soft blanket, not yet wanting to acknowledge your own consciousness. The soft blanket that encompassed you had the faintest smell of Leon’s cologne, it was familiar and comforting.

Only when your eyes began to itch did you finally decide to join the waking world. Sitting up felt awkward, one foot was heavy and numb. Tossing the gray blanket to the side you found the culprit, a thick cast hardened around your ankle and foot.

Your brain flashed you images of the darkened forest, the root that had caused you to trip, feeling your ankle crack with a burning pop. The memory made your chest feel heavy.

“Leon?” Your voice was cracked and raspy as you called out for your friend. Vague bits of your previous conversation came back to you. “Leon?” You tried to call again, louder this time. A muffled, “Be right there!” Was heard through the closed door.

To distract yourself, you decided to take in your surroundings more, with it surprisingly having been the first time to see the inside of Leon’s apartment. His room was plain in another way that just seemed so fitting for him. The bedding, a soft and expensive cotton, different shades of gray. The walls plainly wallpapered, no real decor besides a few shelves with some knick knacks. Only the basics were there, a brown dresser and matching nightstand alone with a TV. You noted the carpet looked far more plush and newer than the one in your own apartment – in fact despite the lack of decor it was clear that Leon had made upgrades.

The door opened and Leon entered, a cup of water in his hand. “Sorry, that took a minute, I had to finish a work call. Hope you’re feeling better, you seemed really out of it earlier.” He reached out to hand the cup to you, from his other hand he produced two little red pills. “Ibuprofen, it’s what the hospital recommended.”

You popped the medication into your mouth before greedily gulping down the water, relishing the way the cool liquid felt as it ran down your throat. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He took a seat at the end of the bed, shooting you a weak smile. “So uh, you wanna talk about it? I was really worried, you know.” Handsome features melded into a concerned look as he scooted a little closer to you.

You pondered his question for a moment, more memories of the previous night coming back in short bursts. “Well I–” Something just felt wrong, it was like you were watching someone else’s memories, not your own. Of course your current physical state aligned with them – but the thought of Derek’s face twisting and morphing into that thing felt surreal. ‘No, that couldn’t have happened. It’s not possible.’ Realizing you’d left Leon hanging in silence, you finally looked back to him. “I don’t really know … Do you know where my phone is?”

“Yeah, I think I left it on the coffee table. Hold on.” He stood, exiting the room, returning quickly. “Careful, the screen’s pretty cracked.”

Taking the device from his hand, you tested it to see if it would even work. Luckily the screen lit up, Apple Logo coming to life underneath the cracked and rough glass. Breathing a sigh of relief, you immediately opened your contacts list scrolling to find who you were looking for. “This can’t be right.” You said, mostly to yourself. Derek’s contact was nowhere to be found, your last text thread, completely gone too.

Leon said something, but you didn’t register the words far too engrossed in your phone. Facebook? Relationship status set to single, no sign of Derek’s profile. Snapchat? Nothing. All the couples’ dates and holiday photos were wiped from your Instagram too. Chewing your lip, you checked the gallery of photos on your phone, nothing there either.

Anxiety began to overtake you once more, heart picking up speed. “What the fuck.” Searching through messages with friends, there wasn’t even a mention of your boyfriend. Everything was exactly as it should be, minus one person. “What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

“Is everything ok?”

“No!” You snapped at the blonde, hands shaking. “No I am not o-fucking-kay.” In one last ditch effort you dialed his number from memory, bringing the phone to ear. There was the familiar ringing sound on the other end of the line, before it stopped abruptly. The narrator’s voice picked up, “We're sorry you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

“No. No, fuck!” You dialed it again. Then a second time. A third time. A fourth time. By the fifth time, tears were staining against your cheeks. Each and every time you tried, the automated voice said the same thing. Derek had that number since highschool, you’d known it by heart there was no way you dialed it wrong. Before you could try again for the sixth time, Leon’s hands came forward to cup your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey, look at me.” He cooed gently. His features unblurred as your eyes adjusted through the tears, blue orbs looking back at yours. “Sweetheart, I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Derek. Derek, he’s gone. He’s not in my phone, he’s gone Leon.” Your hands came up to grip his wrists desperately trying to ground yourself. “How can he be gone, I was just with him and, and –”

“Shhh. Shh.” He shushed you softly, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks, swiping the wet tears away. “Take a deep breath, in, and out.” Doing his best to follow his instructions you gasped in and out, chest heaving with each one. “Just like that. In, and out.” Soon the breaths evened out and returned to normal. “Good girl, shhh.” He moved his hands from your face, to wrap his thick muscled arms around you in a tight bear hug. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

Leon held you against him, rubbing your back as you clung to him for dear life trying to calm yourself down. He waited a few moments after you calmed down, not letting you out of his arms as he spoke. “Derek, you said that name earlier when you woke up. Is he someone important?”

Brows knitting together you brought your face out of his chest enough to look up at him in confusion. “Important? How could you even ask me that, you know how important he is.”

It was his turn to return your look of confusion. “I’m sorry, but I don’t even know who that is.”

Astonishment. Absolute astonishment was the only feeling you had, launching backwards out of his arms, hitting your back against the pillows again. “Leon Scott Kennedy, that is not funny. You know damn well that Derek was important to me. I told you I was moving in with him. I texted you –”

Leon’s hands came up defensively. “Look, I know you’re a little out of sorts right now. Whatever happened last night must’ve been scary. But I promise you, I’ve never heard you say anything about a Derek, or a boyfriend for that matter.”

“That’s…that’s not true. It can’t be I was with him last night and –”

“What exactly happened last night. Do you remember?”

“I think so…not entirely…I don’t know.” You admitted honestly, looking down at your hands. “I was supposed to be camping with him. And while we were out in the woods, he was acting really strange…and then…and then…” Trailing off you weren’t even sure what to say.

“Did he hurt you? Is that why you’re cut up all over, your ankle?”

“I guess you could say that – but it’s not what you’re thinking. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t in the right state of mind.” Leon gave you a knowing look in return. “No, no it’s not like that. Leon, I swear, he looked so ill. Black veins, red eyes and then suddenly he was chasing me and I remember tripping over a root. My ankle popped….and then he exploded….Leon I held his eye ball in my hand….oh god. I know I sound crazy but Leon, I swear to you I’m not. I remember, something blew him a part.”

The concern returned to Leon’s face and you could tell he wasn’t buying your story, despite that he still smiled and nodded. “That is definitely a wild evening.”

“You’re not taking me seriously. You don’t believe me.”

“I am taking you seriously. I think you just had a really rough night, maybe you were drinking, something bad happened in the woods.”

“I wasn’t drinking. I wasn’t on drugs, I was stone cold sober. Leon please .” You pleaded with him.

He sighed, pushing some of his loose fringe out of his face. “Ok, you were sober.” He conceded softly.

“You think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think that either. I think that something happened, something very bad and you are just maybe not remembering things exactly as they happened.”

“I didn’t make him up.” You said firmly.

He reached out again, putting his hand on your shoulder. “Look, I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but I’m here. Whatever it is, it’s going to be ok.”

If it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have trusted them in the slightest. If it had been anyone else, you’d have made an excuse to leave and hide in your apartment to figure things out on your own. But this wasn’t anyone else, this was Leon . “Thank you.”

He nodded in return, pulling his hand back. Leon had convinced you that before anything happened, what you really needed was food and fresh clothes. At least knowing he was on your side gave a boost to your mood, enough for you to temporarily calm down for the time being.

You picked at the plate of pancakes, fork twirling up some of the fluffy food before letting it fall off, repeating the action – lost in thought. Suddenly something warm was against your lips, eyes looking up to see Leon holding his fork to your mouth. “Come on, don’t make me do the Choo Choo Train bit too, eat it.”

Wrapping your mouth around the piece of food, you couldn’t hold back the small laugh that escaped at his words. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because you’re not eating, so I figured I’d help.” He raised a brow, forking another piece of the syrupy breakfast and held it up to your mouth, you accepted it the same as the first.

“If you’re feeding me, who’s feeding you then?” You mimicked his action, taking the piece of pancake onto your own fork and reaching out to him.

A bead of syrup began to pool off of the food, slowly dripping threatening to drop against the table. Leon darted his tongue out to catch it, the pink muscle lingering for just a moment before circling the fork. The action made your face heat up for a second, averting your eyes as he finally pulled the food into his mouth.

“Messy but delicious.” If he noticed the flush on your cheeks, he didn’t say anything.

The moment felt so normal. It brought you back to all the other moments you’d shared with him, the butterflies were working their way back into your stomach. The night at the movies, the way he’d licked the milkshake off his thumb. ‘ Wait– the movies… the argument with Derek. ’ Your head snapped up to look at the man across from you.

“Leon?”

“What’s up?”

“A couple of weeks ago, do you remember picking me up from the movies?”

He tilted his head back for a moment as he thought about the question. “Oh yeah, I remember. I was staying at a friend’s place in town and you needed a lift home.”

“Didn’t I tell you I was with my boyfriend and he left me?”

His brow raised in confusion. “Er, no? You said you got into a fight with your friend and she ditched you there.”

“My friend? No, it was a date with my boyfriend and we got into an argument over you.”

“Over me?” He looked genuinely shocked.

“Yes, you!” You slammed your hand onto the table, frustration bubbling within you again. “We had a fight because he thought we were getting too close, and then I wound up telling you a few days later that we needed to distance because of it! Don’t you remember?”

“I remember that you told me your best friend was starting to get jealous.” He said with a shrug. Tapping your fingers against the table, you brought your phone out again, flipping to your call log from that night. Sure enough, no calls to Derek, but there were the outgoing and incoming calls with Leon. Just above that where Derek’s name should have been, it was your friend’s contact. ‘ That’s not right…’ Back into your messages, you found her contact, and scrolled back to that night. There was no mention of the movies, in fact, there were no messages with her from that day at all.

Something was up, even if you couldn’t put a finger on it. Setting the phone down, you looked over at Leon, not sure what to say, and definitely not wanting to push him into thinking you’re crazy – which despite his kindness, he probably already does. ‘But last night.’ You had to resist the urge to cringe at the memory of the eyeball in your hand, the blood splatter. You swallowed down the growing nausea. It occurred to you, that regardless of your memory one thing was likely true – Derek was dead. It made you want to cry again, a black ball of agony settling in the pit of your stomach. You ignored it long enough to get yourself together.

“I want to search for him…or a sign of him at least.”

“Huh?”

“I want to search for Derek. I can’t have just imagined him. I just… I just want to stop by some familiar places.”

Leon nodded. “Why don’t we go together? You shouldn’t be walking around alone, especially with your leg out of commission.”

“Would you really be ok with that?”

“I told you, I’m here for you. If it makes you feel better, if you feel like it’s what you need to do, then we’ll do it.” His words were casual as he tucked back into the remaining food on his plate. Not a hint of mock or suspicion in his tone.

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

Leon had fetched the hospital crutches you needed to use while your ankle healed, and helped you back to your own apartment. You shooed him off for the time being, insisting you were fine enough to get cleaned up on your own.

Stepping back into your own apartment felt so odd. Everything was exactly as you’d left it upon first glance, like the previous night had never even happened. It was so normal, it felt like you didn’t belong in it – like it wasn’t yours anymore.

“Fuck, I look rough.” Your mirrored image was exactly what you expected. Hair a mess, eyes sunken and tired, body littered with bruises and cuts – grateful that your image was soon covered by the fog of the shower heating up.

The hot water against your skin was euphoric, working out some of the soreness. It just felt good to be clean, fresh.

Sitting on the corner of your bed, slipping into some clean clothing, you looked around you. Nothing in your bedroom had been amiss either, all your plushies exactly where they were, even the pumpkin one. A thought occurred to you. ‘ Digital stuff is easy to mess with, but what about… ’ You hobbled over to your closet, flipping the light on. It took some careful effort to balance on your one good leg as you rummaged as far back as you could go. “Got it!”

Successfully, you found the old worn down shoe box, making your way back to your bed. It made sense, anyone could’ve messed with your phone, your social media while you were unconscious. But physical items, those would’ve been a lot harder to tamper with, especially unnoticed.

The box contained your entire life, photos, memories, everything physical that you held dear. A few birthdays ago your friends had gotten you one of those modern-mini polaroid camera, while you weren’t great about remembering to bring it all the time, you knew for a fact there had been pictures of you and Derek taken on it.

Sifting through the contents, you tossed all non relevant images to their own little pile while you looked through them. Childhood photos, baby pictures, some images of you and your friends. It was all there – except any photos of you and Derek. For good measure, you sorted through all of them again three more times just to make sure none were stuck together or were missed. You would’ve gone through them a fourth time if your phone buzzing hadn’t brought you back to the moment.

A text from Leon:

‘ Hey u ready? ’

You were not sure what was happening, but you were desperate to find out what the hell was going on. Replying to Leon, you grabbed your jacket, and headed for the door where he was waiting for you.

“Hey, while I was out, did you notice anyone strange in the apartment building?” He helped support your weight in the rickety and uneven elevator.

“Hmm, not that I know of. But you know I stay inside most of the time if I’m not helping Mrs. Wilson. Why?”

“I think someone may have been in my apartment.” For a brief moment you swear his grip on you tightened.

“Why do you think that?” The tone of his voice sounded off as he asked the question, restrained almost in a way you couldn’t fully put into words.

“Just some things are missing…but honestly I don’t know who’d steal them. They were just photos.” You shrugged, stepping out of the elevator, using the crutches to support you as you made your way through the parking garage over to his Jeep. It was a little odd that Leon was trailing behind you instead of taking the lead but you weren’t in a state of mind to question it.

“Are you sure you didn’t misplace them?”

“I guess I probably could have.” You shrugged, not really wanting to go into further detail or make yourself sound crazier than you already knew you appeared.

“Where to first?”

“Do you know that little cafe in the center of town?”

“The one with the pink cups and the $8 coffee?”

“Yeah that, one. He worked there, I just want to see if anyone knows the last time he was in.”

“You got it.” Turning the key, the jeep roared to life and you were on your way.

The fresh air felt nice, hair drying in the wind. A small part of you wished that the drive had been longer, admittedly nervous about what you’d find. Every time you looked back over to Leon, you felt grounded again.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“No, I got it.”

“Alright, just holler if you need me.” He shrugged, leaning back into his seat.

The bell rang as you opened the glass door, with only about 30 minutes to closing there was no one left inside despite a few employees – one being Derek’s direct manager. The smell of coffee and sweets wafting into your nose.

“Hey Mike.” His face warped into a confused look as he gave you an awkward wave.

“Uh..hey? Do I know you?”

The question had thrown you off completely, almost halting you where you stood.

“Dude, she probably got the name from your tag, chill out.” The man next to him said with a laugh. “Shouldn’t have smoked on break man, you’re paranoid.”

“Shut up, don’t say that in front of the customers.” He whispered to the employee before smiling at you again.

“Anyway, how can I help you?”

“I was just wondering the last time Derek was in?”

“Derek? I mean we don’t keep tabs on the customer like Starbucks so I couldn’t tell you.”

“He’s not a customer. He worked here, usually the closing shift. Derek, Derek Shultz?”

Both employees looked at each other then back to you. “We’ve never had anyone who works here by that name. Are you sure it was here and not the Dunkin down the block or the Starbucks the other way?” Their words made your mood shift instantly. “I know he worked here .” You insisted, too many nights were spent waiting for his shift to end, sitting at the cornered table by the window. “His picture is on the wall in the employee room, for crying out loud!” You moved to storm back there – well as much as you could with two crutches and a broken ankle.

“Ma’am, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to show you.”

“Ma’am you can’t go back there.”

“Like hell I can’t.” Frustrated entirely you kept moving forward, back behind the counter towards the slightly ajar door in the back.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave.” The man said, trying to block your path.

“I’ll leave after I look!” Not taking no for an answer you angled the crutches so you could begin moving around him.

“Please don’t make us have to call the cops.” He pleaded with you, attempting to put a hand on your shoulder. The other employee had moved running into the breakroom, you caught a glimpse of the pictured wall before the door closed, but not enough to confirm what you were looking for.

“Just let me back there, damn it!” Under normal circumstances you would never act this way in public, but you were so desperate and overwhelmed you couldn’t help it. “I said let me in there!” You repeated, wacking the man in the leg with one of your crutches.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He demanded grabbing at his leg in pain. You maneuvered around him as quickly as you could, grasping at the door to the employee room and flinging it open. “Brady, call the fucking cops.”

Your eyes landed on the wall, and just like every other thing you’d checked for – there was nothing. His picture wasn’t there, replaced by some pimply teenager you didn’t recognize. Suddenly a pair of arms was tucked under your own, dragging you backwards. You kicked and flailed against his grasp. “Let me go, I just wanted to look!”

In the background you heard the second employee mentioning something to what sounded like a 911 dispatcher, the man holding you not easing up in his grip. The commotion must’ve been loud enough to have been heard outside, the chime of the bell signaling the door had been opened.

“What the hell is going on?” Leon’s familiar voice rang out. “Hey, just calm down and let her go.” He said attempting to take you from the man.

“No way dude, she’s crazy. She hit me with her crutches, I’m just holding her until the cops get here.”

“Leon!” You shouted his name, tears once again covering your face as you struggled in the man’s grasp.

You heard the blonde sigh before walking closer. “She’s with me, just let her go – she’s been having a rough day. That’s all.” He reached out, putting his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll even have her wait here until the cops show up.”

“Fine.” The manager said, releasing you forward into Leon’s grip. “But I’m keeping the crutches back here until the cops decide what to do with her.” Looking up at him, you could see the muscles in his face tense before he smiled. “Understood.”

He opted to lift you up, carrying you back to the jeep. “You wanna tell me what happened in there?”

“I just wanted to see the picture, and they wouldn’t let me back and – I don’t know what came over me. I don’t even know what to tell the police.”

He didn’t question your barely-coherent explanation further. Instead, he patted your back gently. “It’s ok, I’ll handle them. You just relax and catch your breath.”

You wanted to question what he’d meant, but the first cruiser had already pulled into the small parking lot, causing Leon to immediately walk over. Feeling ashamed, you shrunk down in your seat as much as you could, wiping the tears from your cheeks and waited for your turn to speak with the officers.

You watched as Leon spoke with the cops, it looked like he’d pulled something out and showed it to them. Both officers nodded and the whole exchange barely lasted 5 minutes, it was the weirdest thing, and instead of walking to you they got into the car and left.

Leon returned to you a few minutes later, stuffing both crutches in the back of the jeep.

“They don’t want to talk to me?”

“Nah, I explained things and they don’t think it's worth pursuing y’know? I told them I’d get you home and make sure you’re not beating anyone else with your crutches.” He let out a dry laugh, but when he didn’t see you calm down he patted your back again. “Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I know you’re under a lot of stress right now, I’m guessing you didn’t find what you were looking for?”

You shook your head, looking out the side of the jeep at nothing in particular, just not wanting to look at him or the coffee shop anymore.

“Sorry to hear that. Maybe you’ll find something at the next place?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You stayed silent the entire ride back to the apartment building, the sun beginning to set in the sky – Leon stayed quiet too and while odd, it was definitely appreciated. He helped you back to your apartment again before saying goodnight.

You were exhausted still, physically anyway, despite the rest you’d gotten after Leon had found you, but your mind wouldn’t shut off. Nothing was making sense, nothing at all. How everything could be so normal, how the world could keep turning while you lay in confusion and misery you’d never know.

Surely Derek must’ve been real. Who else would you have been in the woods with? The pumpkin plush he’d gifted you was still in your room.

But then, his job claims he was never there. Leon doesn’t remember him. The photos were all gone.

It made your head hurt, and every time you closed your eyes all you could picture was that thing in the woods. Heart racing as if you were being chased again, making it impossible for you to settle. The more you tried, the worse it got too – especially the thought that someone may have been in your apartment.

Every creak, noise, bump in the night was beginning to make you jump and put you further on edge.

Grabbing your crutches and sneaking out of your apartment, you made your way to the outside of Leon’s door. It was late, so you listened closely for any sign of consciousness on the other side. There was some shuffling and the sound of the TV, so you decided to knock on the door gently. The movement stopped and you heard the lock click on the other side of the door before it opened.

Leon stood leaning his arm against the frame looking down at you, only clad in a pair of pajama pants. It took the entire use of your last remaining brain cells to keep your eyes locked with his, not allowing them to travel down his well formed body.

“I can’t sleep.”

He nodded, “Come on in then.” He turned, letting you follow behind him. Your eyes making their way over the expanse of his back, even his shoulders were toned. Smooth pale skin, looked soft against the hardness underneath, and it was a delightful distraction for the time being – not having to avert your eyes or feel shameful since there was no one looking, not even Leon. He stopped to grab two beers from his fridge before plopping down onto the couch.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything”

“I wasn’t doing anything important.”

“I tried sleeping, but every time I close my eyes I just see the woods. And when I’m awake and alone with my thoughts, all I can think about is the coffee shop and those missing photos.”

“That’s rough, I’m sorry.” He patted the seat next to him on his couch. You took the invitation leaning back against the plush cushions. Somehow even it felt expensive and far out of your own paygrade.

“I just wish I could stop thinking about it entirely, just for a little while.” You settled into the spot taking a sip of the beer he offered before looking over at the TV, some documentary was on – he’d muted it though. “This might be something really weird to ask, so feel free to tell me no but… could I stay over here tonight? I don’t think I can be alone right now.”

“Of course. Me casa es su casa. You’re always welcome here.” He grabbed his own beer off the coffee table, taking a sip. “You can have the bed again, wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to make an injured girl sleep on the couch.”

“Mm, that’s true and if I know anything about Mr Leon Kennedy, it’s that he’s nothing but a gentleman.”

“I’m flattered.”

You both laughed, feeling less tense already between being in his presence and the alcohol warming your system up. While you did consider yourself a bit of a lightweight, the exhaustion of everything must’ve been affecting you because halfway through the bottle you were already feeling the tingling of a buzz coming on. It wasn’t unwelcome though.

“You know.” You began, alcohol giving you a small boost of confidence. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I’d feel like I was putting you out – and besides your bed is pretty big we could both uh…” Not as smooth as you’d hoped, but he at least seemed to get the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind sharing the bed, if that’s what you mean.”

“Are you sure? If I’m being honest, I actually think I’d prefer it to being alone right now.”

“Yeah, besides then I keep all those bad dreams away.”

You finished the rest of your drink, nearly chugging it relishing the warm burn in your stomach. He offered you another, which you nursed between some more light conversation and him flipping through the TV channels, a nice foggy feeling taking over your brain.

It was around 2am when you both finally agreed to go to bed, giggling like crazy as you stumbled towards his room, barely coordinated enough in your inebriated state to use the crutches properly.

“Easy now.” He said, as he sat on the edge of the bed holding his arms out to you, much like a parent goading a toddler to walk.

“I’m fine, I got this.” You said, focusing hard on moving towards him. One crutch caught on the carpet though, making you wobble a bit. Not willing to give up the adventure to the bed, you tried lifting it, only to stumble forward, letting go of both wooden tools. “Woah!” Leon had caught you before you fell completely on top of him.

“What was that about being fine?” He asked, a smirk on his face.

You wanted to reply, but the close proximity to him wasn’t helping the state you were in, eyes locking on his face. You could smell the beer mixed with mint on his breath, his lips looked so plush and soft up close, barely ghosting over your own from the distance. If this had been a movie, it would’ve been the part where you finally gave in to the tension – but it wasn’t and you knew better.

“S-sorry.” You pulled away slightly. “Guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

“European beer will do that to you.” He still held you at the waist for a moment, looking you over.

“We should get some sleep.”

He didn’t reply, instead helping adjust you so you could more easily crawl into your designated spot on the bed, tossing the blanket over you once you were there. He laid himself on the other side of the bed, facing away from you before switching the light on his nightstand off, encompassing the room in darkness.

Silence washed over you both for a few minutes, sleep still not quite coming over you as fast as you had hoped. “Hey Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you hold me?”

The bed shifted against his weight as he rolled towards you, pulling you back against him a little. You could feel his warmth against your back, his heavy arm settling over you, hand resting against the skin of your stomach that was exposed as your night shirt had ridden up a little. The feeling of him against your skin affected you more than expected, heat twinging between your legs slightly – you squirmed slightly before squeezing your thighs together, trying to ignore it.

“Everything ok?”

‘Fuck .’ You groaned inwardly, not having wanted him to notice. “Yeah, just getting comfortable.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, pressing himself closer to you, chin resting atop your head. A few more moments of being wrapped in his warmth and any horniness you felt slowly transformed into sleepiness, eyes heavy. It wasn’t long until you were out like a light, all thoughts of Derek gone for the time being.

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

“Bad news.” Leon said once you were conscious enough to understand words. He had clearly been up well before you – a part of you disappointed that you hadn’t woken to his warmth. “I got called into work.” He was rummaging around the room, a closed suitcase on the bed and a blue suit laid out next to it.

“Oh.”

“We’ll have to postpone our next visit. Just for a day or two though.”

“That’s ok. I appreciate you taking me at all.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than expected – probably thanks to you.”

“There’s that flattery again.” His phone buzzed. “Hold on, I have to take this.” He answered, putting it up to his ear. “Kennedy here…Hunnigan? Yeah….” He walked out of the room to take the call in private.

You eyed the suit on the bed. Strange, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Leon in something so formal, it was hard to even picture him in it. It made you further wonder what his job even was – though you supposed it made sense that someone who worked for the government would need to dress a certain way.

Reaching forward, you pulled the hanger towards you inspecting it a little, the tag inside read ‘Hugo Boss.’ “Damn.” A brand name suit? Their cheapest ones were easily more than half your rent, and this one looked tailored too. Most people you knew who worked for the government weren’t making that kind of money, but you supposed you shouldn’t have been surprised given his affinity for jackets, or the expensive cologne and watches he wore. Hell, he could even apparently afford to update his apartment.

It did pique your curiosity though – and you were glad it did, needing desperately to focus on something else for a little longer.

The door opened and he returned. “Like it?” He asked, noticing you checking the attire out.

“Not sure, I can’t picture you in it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it just doesn’t seem…Leon, you know?”

He laughed at the comment. “I have to agree with that. It’s not my favorite.”

“You said you worked for the government right?”

“Mhm, why?”

“I was just curious what you did?” It was subtle, but you watched him tense up again at the question. His hands gripped the suitcase lingering there for a moment, his face forcefully becoming neutral. “Only if you’re ok telling me.” You added, not wanting to make him feel pressured.

“No, it’s ok.” He returned to zipping up the suitcase, before, beginning to take the suit off the hanger to wear. “I can’t go into a lot of detail. I guess you could say I’m a federal agent in a way.”

“Like…DEA?”

“No, I don’t really deal with drugs.”

“Secret service?”

“Something like that, yeah. I do miscellaneous work, we’ll say.”

“Oh… dangerous work?”

“What’s with all the questions?” It was the first time you’d ever heard annoyance in his voice and it made you jump a little. He let out a sigh as he finished buttoning the white undershirt. “Look, I'm sorry. I get it, everyone has questions once they find out. Sometimes it can be dangerous. I really can’t say any more than that. So, no more questions, ok?”

“Sure, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.”

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

Not that you should have expected any differently, but things were harder without Leon there. While he said only a day or two, he wound up being gone longer and everything felt like it just took so much more out of you. Basic needs like food and water were ignored – returning to your job was something that was simply autopilot for you.

You barely slept the first two nights, the same thoughts and images running through your mind. If it wasn’t that awful horror reel replaying itself over and over, you were thinking about the upcoming trip when Leon got back. What would you even say to Derek’s family? What if the outcome was the same as all your other efforts? The very idea deflated you more than you cared to admit.

The remaining nights you spent in Leon’s apartment, curled up in his bed like a cocoon of safety. He’d left you with the key in case you couldn’t handle your own apartment again – clearly he knew you better than you knew yourself because he’d been spot on.

You missed him more than you expected too – he’d become sort of your lifeline since you’d woken up in his bed that morning. Always so kind, caring, there for you in a way even your closest friends couldn’t be. Of course, being surrounded by him definitely added to those feelings, and if you thought hard enough about it, you had missed him long before this while reconnecting with Derek.

Part of you felt guilty about it too – if Derek was real, you were already cozying back up with the very man he’d been so jealous of. But you couldn’t help it, and justified that Derek was likely not coming back even if you could prove his existence.

That thought brought little comfort as well, so instead you opted to push it to the back of your mind trying to grasp at any other thoughts.

Leon hadn’t really told you when he’d be back, and you probably should’ve checked in with him. You figured he would at least check in with you – but you were wrong – curled up under his blankets, your fingers ran themselves down between your legs, images of the blonde dancing behind your eyes.

This time you were picturing the night before he left, hand on your belly, back pressed to you. You took the image farther, picturing him running that hand down to rub at you gently through your pajamas, the feeling his hardness pressed to your back. Maybe he’d play coy while you squirmed and whimpered against him.

“L-Leon –” Your actions and voice were cut off by the sound of the front door opening. “Oh shit.” Yanking your hand back up, you tried to even your breathing out and flicked the light off. The sound of padded feet down the hallway grew louder before the door opened. Leon quietly made his way in, setting his suitcase down as you pretended to be asleep.

He didn’t say anything, only changing into his pajamas before lying down next to you. Thankful you hadn’t been caught, you closed your eyes, curling into his hold when he wrapped his arm around you – letting sleep overtake you for the night.

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

Derek’s parents lived a bit out of the way, but you knew the drive by heart having visited numerous times. They’d never liked you, always considering you not good enough for their son – he came from money. Good money too, which is why he was able to live in the nicer building in a more expensive part of town. His job was primarily for spending money.

This was your last hope for answers, for a sign that you weren’t crazy. You needed this trip to fair well.

Your confidence was rattled severely after the coffee shop incident, and knowing his family wasn’t your biggest fan made it worse. Regardless, you pressed on and opted to go with the ‘fake it until you make it’ approach – not speaking about your nerves and trying to not give any hints of it.

Instead, you treated it like any other car ride with Leon – watching the trees blow past as you went down the winding road in the middle of the woods. Singing along with him as music played, playing dumb car games like I spy.

If your destination hadn’t been such a mood ruiner, you would’ve genuinely had a good time.

As the road forked off into two paths, you told him to take the right one, knowing where it would lead. Only about 10 minutes away, your nerves began to pick up making you feel a little queasy again.

The large home came into view as his jeep wheeled into the massive multi-car driveway. It was just as you remembered it, huge, limestone painted brick covered the exterior of the walls. Hedges were trimmed and shaped, everything about it screamed ‘rich’.

“Do you want me to stay here again?”

“Yes please.”

“Are you sure, after what happened–”

“I’m fine! I will be fine. I won’t beat his mom with my crutch, if that’s what you mean.” You tried to make it sound like a joke, but the wavering of your own voice gave away that you couldn’t really be sure of that. “Look, you’re right here at the end of the driveway this time. I won’t even go inside.”

He gave that knowing look of his, but didn’t push it with you, turning off the ignition letting the vehicle come to a rest. Grabbing your crutches from the backseat, you took in one deep breath before heading to the double french doors.

The lion knocker was the same as you always remembered it, grabbing the bottom end and knocking it against the door several times. A few moments went by, but no one called out or answered. You looked around and you could see the cars were there through the garage window. Not wanting to have made Leon drive all this way for nothing, you rang the doorbell a few times.

“Alright! I’m coming, I’m coming!” The shrill voice of Mrs. Shultz came from somewhere within the house. There was a budding sense of relief beginning to come over you – there’s no way a mother could forget her very own child, surely there must’ve been something you could glean from this visit.

The doors opened, and there she was in her full glory. Hair curled into a teased perm as if it was still the 80’s, red lipstick shrewdly covered her pencil thin aged lips. She was always pursing her lips in judgment, the very stereotype of a rich stay-at-home wife – but you had never been so glad to see her as you were in this moment.

“Mrs. Shultz!” You exclaimed, arms opening in a hug. The woman did not return the gesture, in fact she took a step back as if in offense.

“Excuse me?” Her penciled-on brows came together in a disgusted look. “Who are you ?”

“I’m – you don’t recognize me?”

She eyed you up and down, clearly unimpressed with her findings. “I don’t tend to associate with the…less fortunate.”

“Mrs. Shultz, I’ve been dating Derek for the past few years. I know you never really liked me but –”

“Who?” She looked complete aghast at your words. “Young lady, I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I have half a mind to call the police and have you removed from my property.”

“What? No, I’m not playing any game. Derek, your son? We’ve been dating–”

“Then you have the wrong house because I don’t have a son!” She snapped, heel clacking against the ground as her annoyance raised.

“Yes you do! Derek, Derek Shultz, he’s your son!” You insisted, your own frustrations growing – though you did your best to keep your promise to Leon, not wanting a repeat of the last incident.

The older woman stared you down, before leaning forward nearly nose to nose in your face.”My husband and I have never been able to have children.” She spat at you. “And I don’t know what sick mind you have to play this kind of prank, but it’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to prank you! How the hell do you not know your own son, you gave birth to him!”

“You have five seconds to get off my property before I have someone escort you off of it.”

“How dare –”

“One.”

“Listen here you raggedy old bit–”

“Two.”

Anger fueled you this time, far more than desperation. Call it one of the five stages of grief, but she’d hit your button just right. Not wanting to assault her, you stood there, angry tears making your face puff up as your mouth conorted. You felt like a child, wanting nothing more than to scream back at the adult in front of you, but forced to stand in line while you were being berated.

“Three.”

Again you felt someone touch you from behind – this time Leon’s arm wrapped around you. “We’re just going to be leaving now.” He said, trying to move you from the spot.

“No. We. Are. Not!” You said firmly trying your best to yank out of his hold, while remaining upright.

The look he’d given you stopped any further protest you had. You’d seen Leon be annoyed before, with other people. You’ve heard him be irritated with you only once. But this, this was different and you could tell in his eyes this wasn’t a request.

He gave the woman one more nod, apologizing to her on your behalf, before walking you back to the vehicle.

“Do you know how much trouble you could’ve gotten in? Public spaces like a cafe is one thing, but one some rich lady’s private lawn?”

“I–”

“No, you promised me.”

“But I didn’t even try to –” You stopped, the feeling of him being upset with you was somehow worse than even your last failed attempt to prove that Derek existed. Like salt to the wound. “I just don’t understand how you can forget your own child.” You added.

Leon turned to look at you, his mouth opening as if he was going to say something, but instead he went back to looking in front of him as he drove. The rest of the ride home was silent, not even the sound of music was heard.

That meant you were left alone with your own thoughts – dangerous. ‘ Everything is wrong. What the fuck do I do now? ’ You pondered further, trying to piece everything together. Nothing was fitting into place though. ‘ The photos are gone. My phone has no mention of him. His own mother says he isn’t real. ’

You pushed it further, reimagining the night in the woods, forcing yourself to picture every gorey detail – even the sound of his face splitting open again. It made you sick to your stomach, a hot flash came over you. Still, you ignored it, trying to remember anything significant – but it didn’t work.

Looking down at your ankle, and the now yellowing bruises on your skin, you gave up. ‘Are these memories even real? Something clearly happened to me but…monsters don't exist. There’s no sign of him anywhere.’ A deep longing panged in your heart, settling on the idea that maybe Leon was right. Something terrible happened in the woods, something so awful your brain wasn’t working right – a psychotic break, amnesia, false memories – whatever you wanted to call it.

Could you ever even accept such a thing? The last few years of your life, just…gone – rewritten entirely.

So lost in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed Leon pull back into your apartment building until the sound of the jeep went silent. He got out without saying a word, only silently offering you a hand and getting the crutches for you. Nothing like your usual walks back to your respective homes, he hadn’t even invited you inside either – closing his door as soon as he entered. Of course you couldn’t relax either – if pacing with crutches had been possible, that’s what you would’ve been doing. Instead you bounced your good leg anxiously on the floor as you sat on your bed, this time clinging to the teddy bear that Leon had gifted you.

Not being able to take in anymore, you made your way over to his door, knocking on it not even caring if he was asleep this time or not. You couldn’t be alone right now, and you couldn’t let him be angry with you.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up at him the second the door opened. “I’m sorry.” You repeated for good measure. “You’ve done nothing but tote me around and take care of me no matter how absolutely insane I’ve sounded – you asked for one thing and you’re right, I didn’t keep my end of it. I’m really sorry.”

“Sweetheart, it’s alright.” His voice was soft, as looked at you. “I know that it’s been hard. I know you’re frustrated.” Despite it not being a common occurrence, the pet name comforted you more than it surprised you.

You nodded in return. “I think you were right.”

“Was I?”

“I think something bad happened to me that night – something I can’t remember, because ever since then, nothing has felt right. There’s no sign of Derek – I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just want to feel ok again Lee.” You wrapped your arms around him, and he returned the gesture, pulling you into his apartment with him and closing the door.

“It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”

“How do you even know that?”

He tilted your chin to look up at him again. “Because I’m here. Because I say so. It’s going to be alright.”

“I don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want to cry anymore.”

“Then don’t think about him.” He leaned his head down, so your foreheads were touching, so his lips just barely grazed over yours as he spoke.

“Make me forget him, please Leon.”

He replied by connecting his lips to yours, his lips plush and soft. His hands moved, one in your hair to hold you in place, the other supporting your lower back. It was soft, sweet, and he pulled away just long enough to look at you again. “I can do that.” The second time your lips connected, it was in a frenzy of heated kisses as he walked you both backwards to his couch, sitting and pulling you down on top of him. He was careful of your bad leg, gently pulling it into place where you were straddling him.

You could feel him filling out beneath you, your own arousal making itself known. This was what you’d been craving for so long. Craving since you and Der– you froze again, looking down at Leon. He mimicked you, halting any movement, looking into your eyes – you could see the concern there.

Guilt.

He wasn’t real.

But the guilt.

You shouldn’t feel guilty over someone who never existed.

And yet, guilt.

“I can’t do this.”

He looked at you confused.

“I’m sorry Leon, I can’t do this. You’re one of my best friends, I – we shouldn’t be doing this.” You backed yourself off of him slowly, using the coffee table and then the wall to support yourself back to the hallway to grab your crutches.

“Wait –” He called out, standing but not immediately following you.

“God, I am so sorry.” You repeated again, opening his door. The look on his face killed you, and you couldn’t even put into words what was wrong. Why you couldn’t handle this right now, or maybe ever. Instead of trying, you left as fast as your crutches would take you back to your own apartment – not even bothering to close his door behind you.

“Fuck!” You shouted once you were inside your living room, slumping to the floor. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Mega FUCK!” You let it out of your system as you banged your head backwards into the wall, not enough to damage anything, but enough to try and work out the unexplainably icky feeling you had.

Logically, there was no way the man you’d fallen in love with was real. Logically . But something inside of you just ate at you – like a small 6th sense telling you not to trust what was before you. And god if you weren’t fucked in the head for using Leon to try and work your emotions out – treat him like a tool, just a distraction after all he did for you.

And if Derek was real, then you’re double fucked for just running off with the man you weren’t even supposed to be friends with, much less anything more.

You screamed into your own hands, until your voice was raw. “I’m so fucking fucked!” Either you were insane, or some cosmic universal event had entirely fucked up your life – and you weren’t sure which was worse.

As always this is inspired by @explorevenus fic Something Permanent as well as @gigabyte-flare, @girldungeon, and @lipglossanon's work. @elfven-blog was so kind as to help find the banner pics. Love them all, go check out their work.

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