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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 5 months ago

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"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

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st4rpiece · 6 months ago

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needing space after an argument

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: an argument with the boys puts your relationship on hold CW: angst no comfort, breaking up (sanji), reader gets hurt, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

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Monkey D. Luffy

The Sunny swayed gently on the open sea, the rhythm of the waves doing little to soothe the tension that crackled in the air. The ship’s usual harmony, filled with laughter and chatter, had been shattered by the argument unfolding on deck.

“You’re seriously impossible, Lu!” you snapped, your voice rising in frustration. Your chest heaved as you stared him down, fury blazing in your eyes.

“You keep charging into battle without thinking, and we’re always left picking up the pieces!”

Luffy stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his straw hat tilted forward. His usual grin—bright and carefree—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was set in a rare, serious frown.

“So what?” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “It worked, didn’t it? We’re fine!”

“Fine?!” you repeated, incredulous, your voice rising an octave.

“Sanji’s limping, Zoro’s covered in bandages, the ship’s a mess, again, and you—” you jabbed a finger toward his chest—“you nearly got yourself killed over some stupid treasure we didn’t even need!”

Luffy threw his arms in the air, his voice growing defensive. “It was shiny! I wanted it!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as you turned away for a moment, trying to reign in your growing frustration.

“Lu, it’s not about the treasure!” you finally yelled, spinning back toward him.

“It’s about how you never listen to anyone! One day, your recklessness is going to get someone killed!”

The deck fell silent, the rest of the crew lingering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop as they exchanged wary glances.

Luffy’s jaw tightened at your words, his posture stiffening. His carefree demeanor, the one you had come to rely on, was replaced by something cold and uncharacteristically sharp.

“You’re the only one who seems to always have a problem with the way I do things,” he said, his voice low but cutting.

You froze, staring at him as his words began to sink in.

He took a step closer, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“If the way I run my ship bothers you so much…” He hesitated, as if daring himself to say what came next, but when he spoke again, his tone was firm, biting. “…then maybe you should leave.”

It felt like a slap across the face. The air around you stilled, and for a moment, you couldn’t even process what he had said.

“Luffy,” you said, your voice softer now, as though testing to see if you’d heard him right.

But he didn’t take it back. He just stood there, his face stony, his gaze unreadable.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unbearable. The rest of the crew watched from their spots, wide-eyed and frozen. Even Zoro, who typically stayed out of these things, had shifted slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana as though bracing for the worst.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to swallow past the lump rising in your throat. The sharp sting of his words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper with every passing second. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, masking the turmoil inside you.

“Fine,” you said, the word dropping heavily between you.

Luffy’s eyes widened just enough to show a crack in his hardened expression, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t take it back.

Your voice quivered ever so slightly as you drew in a shaky breath, but you straightened your shoulders, determined not to let him see how deeply his words had cut. “I’ll be gone by tonight,” you said, firm and unwavering despite the ache in your chest.

His breath hitched, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver. “No wait—” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step forward, his hand lifting like he was reaching for you.

But you didn’t stop. You turned on your heel and strode toward the stairs, your head held high even as your vision blurred. By the time he worked up the courage to say more, you were already gone, leaving behind a silence even heavier than before.

Roronoa Zoro

The dim glow of the setting sun reflected off the water as you stood on the dock, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The once serene atmosphere was marred by the frustration bubbling inside you as you paced back and forth, stealing glances at the path Zoro should’ve come from an hour ago. The excitement you’d felt earlier now replaced with frustration and disappointment.

Finally, you heard the familiar shuffle of his footsteps, followed by his exasperated grumbling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zoro muttered as he approached, scratching the back of his neck. His face was impassive, as if showing up an hour after your agreed time wasn’t a big deal.

You exhaled sharply, your patience already frayed. “Late? Zoro, you’re not just late—you’re ridiculously late. Again.”

“I got lost,” he said bluntly, like that was supposed to excuse everything.

“You always get lost,” you shot back, exasperated. “I’m not mad about that—I get it, directions aren’t your thing. But you didn’t think to ask someone for help this time? Or maybe even leave a little earlier?”

Zoro let out a short sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I meant to get lost. I tried.”

“Then maybe next time we can just go together,” you suggested, your voice softening slightly despite your frustration. “That way, we can avoid all this and actually enjoy our dates.”

Your words were meant to be a compromise, a way to avoid another night like this, but Zoro’s face darkened at the suggestion. He scoffed, the sharp sound cutting through the cool evening air.

“Go together?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “What, you think I need you to hold my hand everywhere? I’m not a kid.”

“Zoro,” you blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility in his tone. “That’s not what I—”

“No seriously,” he cut you off, his voice growing louder. “That need of yours to control everything—it’s annoying.”

You froze. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving, his words hitting you harder than you thought possible.

“Controlling?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “Annoying?”

Zoro faltered for a moment, his expression shifting as if he hadn’t meant for the word to come out. But instead of apologizing, he doubled down, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its bite.

Your lips parted as you stared at him, completely thrown. You had only wanted to help, to make things easier—for both of you. But now, he was looking at you like you were the problem.

“I… I didn’t think trying to help you was so annoying,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I just didn’t want us to keep missing time together because you—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as the lump in your throat grew.“Forget it.”

“Wait,” Zoro said, stepping forward, but you instinctively took a step back.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, your voice tight as you forced a bitter smile. “If me trying to help makes me so controlling and annoying, then I won’t bother anymore.”

“Babe, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I get it, Zoro. You don’t need me, and you sure as hell don’t want my help. Message received.”

You turned away before he could say anything else, your heart twisting painfully as you walked back toward the ship.

Zoro remained motionless, his chest heavy as he watched you walk away. His hand started to lift, a silent urge to call out to you, to stop you—but it faltered, falling limply to his side. The realization settled in like a weight: in his frustration, he hadn’t just lashed out—he’d driven away the one person who always tried to understand him. And now, he could only watch as you disappeared.

God Usopp

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through as you sat on the Sunny’s deck, fidgeting with your hands. Usopp had been distant for the past two days, barely sparing you a glance and keeping his responses short whenever you tried to talk to him. It wasn’t like him—not with you.

You stole a glance across the ship where he was working on one of his gadgets, his movements tense and hurried, the usual care he put into his work noticeably absent. You’d been patient, waiting for him to come to you, but whatever was bothering him wasn’t going away.

“Usopp,” you finally called, your voice gentle but firm as you stood and walked over to him.

He didn’t look up. “What?”

The coldness in his tone made you flinch, but you pressed on. “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, fiddling unnecessarily with the gadget in his hands.

“Yes, you are,” you said, standing your ground. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

At that, he froze, his fingers tightening around the tool in his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said flatly, but his voice lacked conviction.

You crouched down beside him, your brows furrowed. “Then what is it? Why won’t you talk to me?”

He finally looked at you, his jaw tight and his eyes flickering with frustration. “Why’d you call Luffy?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Two days ago, when you were in trouble,” he said, his voice louder now. “You didn’t call for me. You called for Luffy.”

Realization dawned on you, but before you could respond, he continued.

“Was I just not good enough?” he asked, his tone bitter. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I’d just screw it up and get hurt?”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing up abruptly and taking a step back. “Just don’t. I get it. I know I’m not as strong as Luffy or Zoro or Sanji. I know I’m not the first one people think of when they’re in danger. But I thought… I thought maybe you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. “Forget it.”

You stood as well, your chest tightening at the hurt in his voice. “Baby, listen to me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You are strong and very capable. I called for Luffy simply because he was closer. That’s it.”

But he didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the deck. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I just… I need some space, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Usopp, the one who always sought you out, who always seemed happiest when you were by his side, was asking you to leave him alone.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting. “If that’s what you need,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not giving up on this, Usopp. Or you.”

He didn’t respond, only nodding slightly before turning his back to you. You lingered for a moment, hoping he’d say something, anything, to stop you from walking away. But the silence stretched, and eventually, you had no choice but to leave him be.

As you walked away, your heart ached for him, for the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. You could only hope that when he was ready, he’d let you help him see the truth—that in your eyes, Usopp was more than enough.

Vinsmoke Sanji

The evening sun bathed the deck of the Sunny in golden light, but the sight before you felt anything but warm. Sanji stood at the railing, surrounded by a small group of women from the port town you’d just docked in, his eyes sparkling as he lavished them with compliments and dramatic promises of eternal devotion.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed over your chest, watching the scene unfold before you. It wasn’t the first time Sanji had acted like this, and you had always let it slide, convincing yourself that he would stop eventually. But now, the painful truth settled in, and it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

When the women finally left, giggling and waving, you stepped forward, your footsteps deliberate. “Sanji,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

He turned, his usual cheerful expression faltering when he saw the look on your face. “Oh, my love! Did you see those ladies? They were absolute angels—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” you interrupted, crossing your arms tighter.

“Doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head.

“This,” you said, gesturing toward where the women had just walked off. “Flirting with every woman who so much as glances your way.”

Sanji blinked, his confusion deepening as he processed your words.“My love, what a wrong? You never complained about this before?”

Your jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s because I thought it would stop once we got together. I didn’t think that as your girlfriend I would still have to compete with every pretty women you see.”

His eyes widened, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But, sweetheart, it’s not like that. You’re not competing with anyone I—”

"It is like that Sanji, and honestly, I can't keep doing this," you interrupted, your voice trembling. "It's clear we're not on the same page when it comes to what’s acceptable in a relationship."

The air between you shifted, thick with the weight of your words, each one hanging in the space between you like an unspoken truth.

Sanji’s mouth opened slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were about to protest, but no words came out. He stood there, frozen, as if the reality of the situation hadn’t fully hit him yet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to say, his voice a little rough, “Why does this feel like a breakup?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. Every word felt like it was trapped, lodged somewhere deep inside, fighting its way to the surface. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your eyes never left Sanji’s face, watching the shock and confusion slowly morph into something you couldn’t bear to see.

“That’s because it is,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible, the weight of the words pressing down on you.

The finality of it echoed in your ears, louder than you ever expected. You wanted to say more, to explain, to somehow make him understand that this wasn’t easy for you, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the truth was, you had already said everything you needed to. This was the point of no return.

“Wait,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this baby, please. I didn’t know it bothered you. If I had, I— I would’ve stopped. I’ll stop now. I swear.”

You looked away, willing yourself to stay firm despite the raw emotion in his voice. “It’s not just about stopping, Sanji. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even realize that your actions would hurt me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a problem with flirting with others.”

“Please, my love,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“I can’t, Sanji,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, each step pulling you further from him.

Sanji stood there, his hand outstretched for a moment longer as if he could reach out and somehow make you stay. But the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had lost you—not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t shown you he did in the way you needed.

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one piece masterlist

question! how do you guys feel about a queer version of the smau’s with fem or gn reader (idrc) for nami, robin, vivi, perona, boa, and yamato?

it’s in my drafts and i’ll still post it when done just wanted to see if the gays see my vision 🤭

i have two more (one request) for angst but i'll have those up soon now that i’m free from the shackles of school.

anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed :).

not proofread and caps may look weird typed this on my phone and computer 😭

(had to re-upload this didn't realize it posted before I was done)

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linoxpudding · 3 months ago

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Fading Love (Pt 1)- Lee Know

summary: as your marriage begins to crumble, you hold onto hope that a newfound joy might bring you both closer again

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, married couple

word count: 645 words

warnings: mentions of broken marriage, pregnancy, nausea

a/n: got sudden inspiration of this idea, so jotted it down quickly 🫣

SERIES: PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

Masterlist

~°~

You felt the shift almost two months ago.

At first, it was subtle, Minho stopped initiating kisses. When you leaned in, he only gave you a peck, never deepening it, never pulling you closer like he used to. The teasing remarks that once made you laugh were completely gone. Now, your conversations were short, filled with empty pleasantries instead of warmth.

And then he started ignoring you.

Coming home late without explanation, scrolling through his phone when you spoke, walking past you without sparing a second glance. The man who once couldn’t keep his hands off you now felt like a stranger in your own home.

You tried to brush it off, telling yourself that marriage had its ups and downs.

Then your nausea started. The fatigue. The overwhelming exhaustion that settled deep in your bones. You thought it was stress. You thought maybe the weight of your crumbling marriage was making you sick.

But today, as you sat in the clinic, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, the doctor’s words shattered every assumption.

"You're pregnant! Three months along. Congratulations."

Three months.

Your mind raced, piecing together the timeline. Three months ago.... the realization struck like lightning— that weekend. The one moment where things felt right. You and Minho had gone on a mini vacation, escaping the chaos of daily life. You remembered the way he held you that night, his lips brushing against your skin as if you were his whole world. That night, your child was conceived.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, here you were, clutching a sonogram with trembling fingers, trying to process how quickly things had changed.

Still, hope bloomed in your chest. Maybe this baby was the miracle you both needed. Maybe this would bring you close again, remind him of the love that once burned so fiercely between you.

So you poured your heart into tonight.

A candlelit dinner, his favorite dishes, soft music playing in the background. You set the sonogram neatly in a small envelope on the table, waiting for the perfect moment to share the news.

You wanted to believe that tonight would mark the beginning of something new.

Then he walked in.

He didn’t even glance at the table. His face was unreadable, his hands clenched into fists as he stood at the doorway. Something about his stance sent an icy dread crawling up your spine.

“Minho?” you called softly, forcing a smile. “You’re home.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “We need to talk.”

The words alone made your blood run cold.

“I want a divorce.”

For a second, you thought you misheard him.

Your lips parted, your breath catching in your throat. “W-What?”

Minho shut his eyes for a moment, as if saying it aloud hurt him just as much as it hurt you. When he opened them, there was a flicker of something broken in his gaze.

“I… I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “We keep trying, but it’s not working. We’re hurting each other just by staying.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers trembling at your sides.

No. No, this wasn’t happening.

You wanted to speak, to beg him to stay, to tell him about the baby, but your voice wouldn’t come out.

Minho swallowed hard, stepping back. “I-I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. We can… talk later.”

And just like that—before you could say a single word—he turned and walked away.

The door closed behind him. The room fell into silence.

The weight of everything came crashing down all at once. Tears welled up your eyes as you looked at the dining table where the envelope sat. Your knees gave out, and you collapsed onto the floor, arms wrapping protectively around your stomach.

Soft, shattered sobs escaped your lips as you cradled the life growing inside you— the life Minho didn’t even know existed.

----------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos

#skz x reader #skz au #stray kids #lee know imagines #lee know angst #lee know x reader #dad!lee know #dad!lee minho #lee minho angst #lee minho x reader #skz angst #stray kids scenarios #stray kids angst

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luvendiary · 3 months ago

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stealthy / h. haddock

hiccup haddock iii x reader

request: EEEJDHJS your writing ALWAYS has me giggling and kicking my feet LIKE ACKSJSS MWAH /p I wanted to try and request a HTTYD oneshot on where us and the gang are on a mission and fighting off dragon hunters as usual BUT hiccup finally witness us being a total badass since we never like to team up with anyone and be alone and stuff and he’s like ‘wow, that’s a hot badass woman right there on the spot-‘ and we get hurt in the process but still carry on and hiccup takes care of us after.🤭 You can choose the dragon species if you want! AKDNDJ YOU CAN TAKE YOUR TIME WITH THIS💕

a/n: thank you for your request. i had a lot of fun with this one. let me know if you like it!

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple raid. Go in, release the dragons, and get out. But as always, your friends had a knack for a dramatic entrance.

Hiccup had gone first, the rest waiting for his signal to prance out of the shadows. You, hidden in plain sight, watched along with your dragon as a guard seemed to take notice of Hiccup's presence. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out what exactly it was he was seeing amidst the fog. He drew his lantern closer, but there was no need to, as not a moment later Hiccup’s blade ignited, giving his faint outline now more visibility.

“What are you?” the guard asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Hiccup, ever so dramatically, placed his finger near his mouth and shushed the guard. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Apparently, that had been Toothless’s signal to make himself known. A deep growl came from behind the guard, and his bioluminescent scales showed the small man exactly what he was up against.

Before things could get any worse for him, he decided to enact his attack on Hiccup. Forcefully thrusting his spear to him. Your boyfriend managed to evade his maneuver easily and unarmed the man without much effort.

In a panic, the guard threw his lantern at him, making it shatter completely against his suit. Fire consuming the wood beneath his feet and catching on to his suit.

“You dumbass,” you muttered to yourself as you secured your helmet, ready to come in at any given moment.

“He does love a dramatic entrance,” Valka whispered, perched next to you as you both watched him walk theatrically amongst the flames with Toothless by his side. “A demon!” the guard screamed.

Hiccup’s confident demeanor promptly fell as he started hushing the guard. “No, no! I’m not a demon” he whispered frantically. “I’m not a demon”

As he said so, he removed his helmet and the ash-cloth that had been previously covering his mouth and nose. “See! Just a guy!”

The guard did not seem appeased by this and frantically tried to scurry away as Hiccup persecuted him. “Just a guy!” he repeated. “Here to rescue these dragons,” he gestured towards the iron cages all around the ship.

“You walked through fire!” he screamed at him, now sweaty from a mixture of the heat and his nerves.

“Dragon scales!” Hiccup explained reassuringly. “Dragons shed a lot.”

“Oh I know a demon when I see one!” the stubborn man continued to scream as he stumbled backwards.

From your vantage point you saw a large shadow appear from behind him. It took no time to realize that it was Snotlout with a dramatic entrance of his own. Hookfang was completely on fire, as the guard kept on mumbling about how those were not human legs.

“You might want to get in there soon,” Valka chuckled next to you as you adjusted the saddle on your dragon. You hummed in agreement as you heard Snotlout chant about how he made a better entrance before setting himself on fire.

“I knew it!” the guard yelled. “More demons!” as Snotlout ran around in pain, trying to put out the fire eating his suit from behind.

“That’s really just a nitwit,” Hiccup sighed. “Forgot to fireproof his butt-”

“Behold!” another voice came from the darkness. Ruff and Tuff.

“Your worst nightmare!” Tuffnut called out as their two-headed dragon lowered its head, setting them down on the floor of the ship.

“Behold-” Ruffnut echoed.

“Along with his sister who insisted on coming!” he interrupted her.

“That’s my introduction?!” she whined.

Not a moment too soon, Astrid swept in, her dragon’s mouth filled with water as she spit it out all over Snotlout, effectively extinguishing the fire he had been spreading.

“Gross!” the boy cried out as he stared down at himself.

“Too soon guys! You always come in too soon-” Hiccup called out to the twins, interrupted by Fishlegs clumsily tumbling down towards the dack and crash-landing.

“Again with the baby?” Astrid asked as she expertly dismounted Stormfly and joined them.

“Sorry, she’s still getting the hang of her wings,” the chubby boy replied as a baby Gronkle perused around the ship clumsily.

“This is a raid,” Hiccup complained. “Find a sitter.”

Amongst all the chaos, the guard had been promptly forgotten. He hid away in the shadows, trying to go unnoticed. However you wouldn’t allow that. You swept in, your dragon grabbing his head with their claws and slamming it against one of the metal cages.

You heard your name being called, relief evident in Hiccup's voice. “I had him right where I wanted him,” he chuckled as he approached you, whilst contracting his fire blade.

You stretched your back and rolled your neck. “And now he’s right where I wanted him!” you replied cheerily. “Let’s get to work,” you said as you patted his shoulder.

He couldn’t help but to look at you with admiration for a second.

“Okay, we screw that up. But at least no one else knows we’re here,” he said, signaling instructions to the riders on which direction to take.

Just as the words left his mouth, alarms blared through the ship, and from the shadows, more men emerged, weapons drawn.

“Spoke too soon,” you muttered, already reaching for your weapon.

Toothless, right on cue, appeared at Hiccup's side just as he unsheathed his sword.

“Get the dragons out of here!” he ordered and you immediately jumped to action.

You wasted no time and with a running start you planted your staff into a broken railing, using it as a lever to launch yourself into the air. The momentum sent you soaring high above the fight, twisting midair as you aimed for the largest group of hunters.

You came down like thunder. Your staff crashed into the nearest hunter’s head, knocking him out cold before you spun, striking another square in the gut. As they stumbled, you twisted, taking the opportunity to open the cages.

With no time to lose you slid the iron bar containing the dragons, swiftly jumping on to the next cage.

The freed dragons wasted no time. A Monstrous Nightmare burst from its cage in a ball of fire, sending hunters scrambling. A Gronckle barreled forward, knocking the guards aside like ragdolls.

It was a dance-like trance the way you skillfully made your way through the chaos. No change in your expression and every movement perfectly calculated. To Hiccup it would always be wonderful looking at you in that state. It was beautiful and dangerous.

“You can gawk later,” you chimed in, breaking him out of his trance as you forced the blunt end of your staff upon the head of a man who fully intended to beat Hiccup to a pulp.

“You promise?,” he replied with a grin as he stepped over the man’s unconscious body and swung an arm around you while you walked away.

“Duck,” you said. He immediately obeyed as you swung on your staff and kicked a guard who had been sneaking up on you.

“You bitch!” he groaned in pain.

“Hey, apologize to the lady!” Hiccup said as he discarded the used oil cartridge in his sword and put in another one. “Geez, people nowadays,” you mumbled as you opened yet another cage, setting the dragon free.

Just in time, Toothless came down the ship, persecuting a group of hunters. Hiccup cut their path, his sword ablaze.

The terrified men looked for any way out of their current predicament and took a sharp left, walkin in the cage you had just opened. With a swift swing of his tail, Toothless closed it shut.

“Thank you,” Hiccup said as he rubbed the dragon’s snout. “Now go get the rest bud.” Obediently, he jumped up onto the cages and like a cat, disappeared into the shadows.

“I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission,” you said as you geared up once again, standing next to Hiccup.

“Yeah, they always start that way.”

Just as Hiccup was about to signal the retreat, a hunter lunged from the shadows, aiming straight for you. Reacting quickly, you spun on your heel, staff meeting his weapon with a sharp clang. You knocked him back, but before you could finish him off, Hiccup’s sword swung in from the side, cutting through the air and forcing the hunter to retreat.

“We’ve got all the dragons!” Astrid called over the chaos. “We need to move out!”

“Everyone, back to the sky!” Hiccup commanded, swinging onto Toothless. The gang obeyed, dragons lifting off one by one. You turned to follow, but just as you took a step, something heavy wrapped around your ankle.

A chain.

Before you could react, the hunter yanked hard. Pain shot through your leg as you were ripped from your feet and slammed into the deck. A sickening crack echoed through the air.

Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself up, adrenaline pushing past the pain. The hunter sneered, stepping closer. “Not so tough now, are you?”

You gritted your teeth, shifting your weight despite the searing pain in your foot. Your staff spun in your hands, and with a desperate swing, you aimed for his legs. He stumbled, giving you just enough time to struggle against the chain.

You tried to stand but immediately came tumbling down, as your foot would not allow your whole weight to rest on it. You screamed out in pain, trying to claw your way to the ledge of the ship. Your dragon made its way to you, trying to help you up, but with the thick chain still wrapped around your foot, their wallows and struggles were in vain.

You barely registered your name being called out, followed by a dropping figure from the sky -Hiccup.

“Get out of here!” you screamed as you tried to stand once again. Your breaths came heavy, hands shaking from the pain, but you refused to stay down.

With one final strike, Hiccup sent the hunter sprawling. He rushed to you, eyes wide with panic. “Are you okay?”

You were about to give him a response, but instead, a pained groan came out of your throat.

Without hesitation, Hiccup scooped you up into his arms and leapt onto Toothless. “I’ll take care of her,” he said to your dragon who had refused to leave your side. “Go!”

With hesitant eyes, and after a brief moment, they leaped into the air, joining the rest of the ridders.

As Toothless carried you both home, the wind rushed past, cooling your skin. You groaned, shifting slightly in Hiccup’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

You winced. “Broke my foot. But I’ll live.”

“That hunter was an absolute bastard. I swear, if I see him again—”

Hiccup chuckled. “You mean if you hobble over to him?”

You scowled. “I had it handled.”

“You were on the ground.”

“Temporarily.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You are something else.”

By the time you reached Berk, the pain had settled in, and Hiccup wasted no time getting you back to his hut. He set you down carefully, grabbing a cloth and some water as he examined your foot.

“You’re terrible at taking it easy,” he muttered, wrapping the injury with careful hands.

You smirked through the discomfort. “You’re terrible at stealth missions.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but there was something fond in his expression. “Just… let me take care of you for once, alright?”

For once, you didn’t argue.

#how to train your dragon #httyd #hiccup #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #hiccup haddock x reader #x reader #how to train a dragon 2 #how to train your dragon 3

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pathologicalreid · 19 days ago

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there's a monster under the bed | s.r.

in which Spencer brings you back to your apartment for the first time after it was broken into, and it seems the burden might be too much to bear

hotchner!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: home invasion, gun violence, hospital, physical/sexual assault, blood, panic attacks. word count: 2.65k a/n: hotchner!reader my dearly beloved <3

You wrapped your arms around yourself as best you could while Spencer dug the keys out of his bag. Fortifying a barrier of your own flesh and blood as if it could protect you from the sights inside of your apartment. The seal that had been placed by MPD had previously been broken, unfamiliar guests walking in and out of your home without your knowledge, further marring an already tainted portrait of what had previously been your sanctuary.

He looked back at you for one final approval before turning the key, tattered remnants of police tape flowing pathetically in the rush of the door. Shattered pieces of the door that were once splayed on the floor were now carefully organized in a box with your case number written on it. Left on a shelf in Quantico to collect dust while your world slowly began to turn again. You wished the broken door was where the reminders ended, but as you carefully stepped into your home, you became hyper aware of everything that had happened.

You felt like you were scavenging your own home after a natural disaster, trying to see what had survived the storm after a week of letting things settle. You’d gotten the call that morning, laying on the couch in your dad’s office and trying to catch up on sleep that you’d missed the night before. Everything had been fully processed, and the crime scene cleaners were done taking care of the remnants. With your connections, you could’ve gotten in sooner, but there were some things that you only ever needed to see once.

Various members of the BAU had been there to take care of things for you. Emily had taken over watering your plants, your dad came by to pack a bag of clothes when you were released from the hospital, and JJ stopped by to get everything that your dad had missed—despite the detailed list that Penelope had scribed for you. Every corner of the living room felt vaguely familiar to you, but each piece that was out of place only proved to be an acrid reminder of what happened. You don’t even remember hearing the doorframe break.

Glancing up, you found concerned brown eyes boring into you. Spencer’s eyebrows are raised curiously, watching you the way people always did with catastrophe, waiting for the powder keg to explode with the wrong movement. “Huh?” You hummed quietly, pressing your lips in a thin line before meeting his eyes. At least, you picked a point near his eyes to stare at, wary of making direct eye contact.

“Did you want to wait here while I grab your things?” He offered gently, willing to take the brunt of the crime scene so you didn’t have to. Studying your body language, he gauged how you were feeling based on the way you stood, each mannerism cluing him in to how you were doing, since you wouldn’t tell him the truth anyway.

Absentmindedly, you shook your head, dragging your fingertips across the drywall while he led the way further into the apartment. When the entryway parted and the kitchen was visible, you saw what was different—what had been taken. Your knife block was still toppled over on the countertop, but all of the knives had been taken out and processed for evidence.

Spencer hoisted the bedazzled overnight bag over his shoulder, on loan to you from Garcia. “I’ll start in the bathroom,” he told you where he was headed before he went there. “Why don’t you find a good blanket to bring back to my place?”

He didn’t wait for you to respond. There was no gentle touch on your waist before he walked away, no chaste kiss on your temple, and in that moment, that was precisely how you wanted it. He’d deduced that from the first time he tried to comfort you once the paramedics brought you outside of your apartment complex, into the light spring rain that greeted you within the twilight.

Leaving the door open behind him, you watched as he expertly went through the drawers and took things you needed. Things you could go a week without, but not much longer. You stepped forward hesitantly, ears pricking up at the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath you. Trying to wrap your arms tighter around yourself, you faltered slightly when you remembered you couldn’t bend your wrist. Your mobility was restrained by the splint around the joint, and you winced when you realized it was just about there that it had been sprained.

Your instinct had been to find a weapon, knowing you weren’t strong enough to fend off an attacker, the best thing for you would be to be armed. You had been the one to knock over the knife block, leaving all of the blades exposed while holding a chef’s knife in terrified hands. You still remembered the feeling of the blood draining from your face when he pried the knife from your fingers, hurling it at the wall. When you looked to your left, you saw the hole that it had left, and you supposed people expected you to be grateful that the knife hadn’t left that hole in you.

You saw it in everyone, the sheer relief that they felt when they found out you were fine. You’d heard it when your Aunt Jessica had painstakingly read the messages of well-wishers on her Facebook wall aloud in your hospital room.

It hurt that you couldn’t admit to any of them that you wished he had just killed you—turned the knife on you instead of leaving you as a hollow shell of yourself, partially shattered and left to pick up the pieces. It hurt that you happened to be surrounded by a group of people who were certified mind-readers, knowing that they all knew what had happened to you from the moment you pulled away from Spencer. They all knew what happened when you asked for Emily to conduct the interview instead of your dad, when you wanted JJ’s help getting around the hospital room instead of Spencer’s. They all knew, but none of them would be the one to bring it up.

He’d chased you around the limited space of your apartment, knocking over lamps, leaving shattered glass across the floor. You followed the path, walking to the basket of blankets you kept by the couch, only to find they were all covered in wax. In a moment of desperation, you pulled a burning candle from your side table, hurling the molten contents at him so you could get away. If you tipped your head to the side, you could make out the silhouette of your attacker, the wax drips falling like an abstract art piece of your worst nightmare.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly in your pocket, your dad’s contact name flashing across the screen. Instead of answering, you powered down the phone, leaving the screen dark and silent in a way you felt suited you. In response to your actions, you heard Spencer’s phone ring, startling at the sharp and sudden noise, but you relaxed slightly when you heard him speak. “Hey, Hotch,” Spencer greeted, his tone soft and wary, like it’d been all week.

Filtering through the blankets, you sighed at the realization that they were all ruined, all covered in what used to be your favorite candle. Now, you found, you couldn’t tolerate the scent, even the cold throw of it made you queasy, and the conversation in the other room wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, I’m with her,” he reassured your dad, his volume so low you had to strain to hear him. “She might’ve shut her phone off,” he admitted. “She’s pretty overwhelmed, and the noise probably wasn’t helping… I know, but I wanted to take her before the sun went down… Yeah, I’ll let you know when we get back to my place… Thanks, Hotch. You too.”

You heard him set down the phone on your bathroom counter, and you imagined he was leaning over the sink, taking deep breaths to calm himself down so he could be there for you. You wished you could apologize to him, apologize to him about what he was going through, but last time you tried, it made him angry.

He wasn’t angry at you, no. It would be a cold day in hell when Spencer took his frustrations out on you.

Setting your shoulders, you stood up from your place in the living room and made your way into your bedroom. Consoling yourself by believing it couldn’t be that bad. The crime scene cleaners had spent days going through your apartment, you already knew they threw out all of your bedding, which was probably why you were so surprised to find what you did when the door creaked open.

The mattress was still in there, from the bottom of it, blood had seeped into it, sprawling through the fibers like a crude Rorschach test. In flashes, memories had been coming back to you throughout the week, but now, even looking at the physical remnants of your attack, you couldn’t remember what happened to you in here. Plastic was wrapped around your window, but you couldn’t recall how it had broken.

There had been a scramble, throwing the wax in your assailant's face had startled him just enough for you to get to your room—to the safe that your father had bought for you, the one that held the snubnosed revolver he had given you when you first moved out.

You’d been tossed on the bed, losing your grip on the firearm in the tussle, and everything felt dark then. You could only remember the pit you felt in your chest, like your heart was tearing itself apart while he pinned you to the bed. At some point, you started crying, maybe you had been crying the whole time, but the gunshot had stopped your sobs. You shot him through the gut, the only shot you could get off, and just like that, the attack was over.

After hours of begging, you’d been able to read the internal reports on what the police had written about the attack, a sickening narrative about a girl asking—begging—the cops to get him off of her.

Get him off me. Get him off me.

Even though you couldn’t remember it now, your subconscious knew what happened to you. It’d woken you up every night since, the feeling of being weighed down until you screamed yourself awake. You’d had to stop sleeping with the covers on, and they nearly restrained you in the hospital. If not for the persistent protests of the BAU, they probably would’ve tied you to the hospital bed.

“Hey,” a soft voice says from behind you, not anything more than a whisper into the surrounding air, and despite the fact that you knew it was Spencer, you still spooked.

You shrieked, turning around and facing him, stumbling back into the room while your brain recognized his face. Before you could hit the bed, Spencer caught you, grabbing you at your waist so you didn’t touch the soiled mattress. Panting, your skin burned where Spencer’s hands touched. You looked up at him, forcing yourself to see him as he was instead of as a threat. His lips were moving, but every word he said fell on deaf ears—he might as well not be saying anything at all.

Slowly, he lowered you down to the ground, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around you through sheer will if nothing else. Together, you waited. Sitting on the rug in your bedroom that smelled like antiseptic, Spencer gathered you up in his arms, faintly rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort you. His lips kept moving, trying to force his words through the barrier that your brain had put up around you.

Still, you couldn’t hear him, your mental recording of that night playing on a persistent loop while you tried to claw yourself back to him. The thumping of your feet on the floor, the shattering of glass on the wall, and so much screaming. Your voice had been raspy for days while you were in the hospital, screams you hadn’t remembered until they came back to you in nightmares now permanently seared in your mind.

As your heart rate ebbed, you began to hear your own breathing, the slight whistle of air through your nostrils gave way to the words coming from Spencer’s lips.

In a gentle voice. He was whispering to you, at first you thought they were sweet nothings, seemingly meaningless words with no purpose other than to coax you out of an anxiety attack, but as he continued, you noticed he was recounting memories for you. Information about you, your birthday, your favorite food, his birthday, his favorite book, and memories that the two of you shared. When you realized the story that he was telling, you smiled softly despite the terror that thrummed through your veins. Quietly, he told you the story of your first date, how you agreed to go with him—against your father’s wishes, and how he showed up late, but brought your favorite flowers with him to soften the blow.

You didn’t tell him until weeks later that Penelope had texted you behind his back, telling you he would be late because your father had given him additional paperwork. Carefully, he reminded you of the day your father had finally accepted your relationship.

While you couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had happened, your tears dried in their tracks, and your breathing had evened itself out. Spencer’s arms remained securely around your body, keeping you close to his chest while you found your center of gravity, your spirit returning to your corporeal form while you blinked through sticky eyelids. “Spence,” you whispered, the only thing you’d been able to choke out since entering your bedroom.

“It’s okay,” he reassured you, “I’m here.” His palms gently skimmed up and down your back, soothing away the last of your shuddering breaths. “You’re safe with me, baby. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The gunshot hadn’t killed him, but once he was in prison, your attacker would stay there to pay for his crimes—both for what he had done to you and what he’d previously done to others like you. Burying your face in the crook of Spencer’s neck, you sighed, “I want to go home.”

Home. Home was no longer this apartment, five-hundred square feet that were now inhabited by memories that haunted you more than they comforted you. Home couldn’t be with your father, while he might be more comfortable keeping you somewhere he could watch you, you couldn’t keep waking Jack up with your nightmares. So, home was the person sitting on the floor with you, keeping you secure in his arms until he was sure all was well. Home was with Spencer now, your drawer of things at his place expanding into half of the closet space.

He slid you off of his lap, standing before lending a hand to help you up. With your hand in his, he began to lead you outside of the room, but you turned your head, daring to take one more look at the bed in the center.

In shock, your lips parted at the sight before you. The bloodstain that you could’ve sworn had been there before had been entirely erased, the mattress on the bedframe was pristinely white. You stumbled over your own feet, just to be met with a familiar hand on your waist, “What is it?” Spencer asked, studying the room, looking for something that was causing your alarm.

You swallowed back your fear and shook your head, “It’s nothing.” Though now, there wasn’t much you were sure of, “Let’s go home.”

“I have survived everything but I fear that I cannot survive myself.” — Cynthia Chapman

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #hotchner!reader

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bella-goths-wife · 2 months ago

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Reunion for the damned

Yandere twilight x reader

Warnings: body horror, torture, suicidal thoughts, animal death mentioned, psychological abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, description of injury, smoking

Fic summary: your reunion with the volturi after your ‘kidnapping’ goes in an unexpected direction

“My sweet dear” Aro greeted as he perched on his marble throne alongside the rest of the volturi, genuine glee filling the eccentric man's face as he and the two other men look down at your figure that had been covered by your family's presence “how we’ve missed you”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to burst into a laughter of madness that no other fit could ever outshine. You just wanted to die and rot back into the ground, a fate you would welcome with a bared neck and open chest cavity at this point.

Everyone in the room stares at you in a way that shows they want something from you. The volturi wanted the truth from you, the cullens wanted you to remain quiet and hoped no one would notice the freshly healed over cracks on your skin that hasn't had just the right amount of time to fade completely, and the spectators to your situation just wanted something to satiate their greedy needs of entertainment. And you?, you just wanted to fade into the ground and sink slowly into the depths of your own exhaustion and paranoia.

The process of putting you back together again was pure agony, similar to gluing a porcelain cup back together piece by piece. Carlisle had not stopped at breaking just your hand off, he shattered away every limb below your neck off one by one, leaving you a tortured torso that screamed and begged for an inch of mercy but you weren't granted that.

Carlise was nice enough to do the damage quickly instead of drawing the process out and risking accidentally sabotaging the delicate healing process. It seems the cullens sadism was outshined by their combined saviour complexes as they tried to make the healing process as comfortable for you as possible and took their turns ‘caring’ for you.

They laid you in the softest of beds and used washcloths to dab away the excess of tears that poured from your eyes, bringing you cups of blood with a cute straw to help you drink without the accessibility of your limbs. But laying in the silk sheets and drinking the finest blood did nothing to limit the horror of your situation.

To heal the broken off limbs, the cullens strapped your torso down to the bed before laying the limbs in the original positions and allowing the vampire healing factors to work their unexplainable magic. Your limbs pulled themselves back together in a hellish process, similar to having your skin slowly stitched back together and bones forcibly fused. You screamed the entire time as you watched your porcelain textured skin reattach and you became whole again, the clattering and clicking of the process never able to be drowned out as you felt yourself slowly growing madder than the hatter.

It took three days for the bones to reform, an additional week for you to be able to use them fully again but not long enough for the cracks to fade and certainly never long enough for you to not get a phantom pain when you heard the clanking of porcelain or you see the cracks adorning your limbs.

Carlisle had wanted to let you rest at home longer, but the Volturi were not known for being patient and sent word for you as soon as they had heard their gentle heart had returned to her nest. And they were granted their wish as you stood before them, but this version of you wasn't the one they remembered.

“She’s missed you too, Aro” Carlisle offers after your silence goes on too long, the man can withstand committing violent acts of torture but couldnt handle a slight impoliteness or ongoing awkward silence “She’s just more quiet, after her little situation”

Aro eyed your figure in a suspicious manner, gaze meeting the hints to the cracks on your skin that had been hidden beneath conservative clothing you’d been dressed in, your chest had gone back to being forcibly bound once again. Physically you looked almost identical to the girl he remembered, but the added horror in your eyes was a new touch.

“Lucky for us all, I can see everything i need to know from a simple touch of my sweet girls hand” Aro states in a sweet tone as he comes closer but he only invites you to move further back behind the figures of your family “dear, don’t you want me to know of your journey, so i can make it better?”

You want to believe that the volturi will free you, that aro will free you and bring you to a safe environment away from the cullens where you could fix the irreparable damage they had caused your soul, but that was all just a fantasy. They knew what pain the cullens had done in the past and could do nothing to help you then, why be foolish enough to believe in childish notions of saviours now you had experienced the scorching hot pain of helplessness and disappointment. Instead you choose to cower behind your captors because the hundreds of years with them had made you accustomed to what they are, and you now believed it was safer to stick with the devil you know rather than choose a new path that only prolongs the pain and brings you to the same conclusion.

“She isn’t fond of being touched these days, by anyone other than her family that is” Carlisle answers for you once again, a subtle jab to the Volturi that has you hearing cracking sounds from Caius’s marble throne, a sound that makes you flinch slightly due to the familiarity of the sound “and we’ve discussed that she doesn't wish to relive what happened, it's just too much for the girl to bare”

“Then have her tell us” Caius demands as he stands from his throne and is only stopped by Aro’s raised hand and your further retreat behind the Cullens “what did those rogues do?”

“You are safe now, dear” Marcus reassures from his throne with a concerned expression on his face, you want to scoff at the word safe as you doubt you’ve felt safe since the day you were turned into the monster you are now “you can confide in us”

Your eyes look at them but your figure continues to shrink into itself as the hairs on the back of your neck prickle up at the sense that the Cullens were watching you, dissecting your every move and waiting to pounce once you said the wrong thing or you gave the wrong look.

“Speak, child” Caius demanded out of frustration as he rose from his throne and strided forward to you, his intention wasn't to distress you but to know what had been done to you in your absence “or did the rogues take out your damned tongue?”

You back away at his sudden presence and feel yourself gulping air that your body didn’t need. Caius is taken aback by this reaction, you had not feared him in decades as you were one of the very few he allowed to see him soft, this was not the girl he remembered so fondly, this was a husk of the gentle soul he had once known.

“Enough, Caius” Aro yells as his hand lands on Caius’s shoulder to stop his demanding approach, the Cullens surrounding you hiss at him aggressively “the poor girl is shaking, leave her be”

Guilt is an emotion that Caius wasn’t used to feeling, sometimes he doubts he’s even able to do so. You prove he can when his eyes land on your trembling figure and widened eyes

“Perhaps it's best if the child waits outside in the gardens while we discuss what happened” Marcus offers as he senses the pure unease and the shift in yours and Caius’s dynamic “if the subject is too much for her to recount”

There is a shift in Carlisle’s demeanour, unable to be caught by people other than your family. There is a glint of victory in his eyes as he senses an opening, a way to shift the narrative into what his delusions have convinced him is the truth. He can tell the story without the pesky intrusions such as your opinion or the truth.

“Excellent idea” Carlisle flashes his charming smile once again “Alice, Jasper, go take her to the gardens-”

“No” Aro interrupts, shocking the Cullens as he waves them away “Jane and Alec will escort her, give them a chance to catch up”

“Aro” Carlisle says warningly, his hand holding onto your shoulder tightly “she's fragile, she should be with family-”

“It wasn't a request” Aro says with a tight grin “loosen the leash Carlisle”

Carlisle sighs and lets go of his tight grip on your shoulder, giving you a final warning look that’s only met with your dead eyes and a nod. Jane and Alec are at your side instantly as they guide you out the room, the door closing behind the three of you

“Now, Cullens” Aro speaks as all three of the Volturi kings look at the family with menacing expressions “tell us what happened to our gentle girl”

The Cullen family couldn’t help but feel nervous at the new sense of suspicion that entered in your absence, trapping them in place.

———————————————————————

Jane and Alec try to talk to you once you reach the gardens, Alec mostly carrying the attempts as Jane observes you with her usual cold, stoic expression yet to the trained eye, traces of concern were etched into her gaze.

You didn’t speak much in return, offering mumbled out yes or nos and small hums in response to their words. It was a strange sight for the two, usually your lovely voice would fill the voids of silence the two siblings had between each other but now you were like a songbird who had lost her voice and now sat sadly at the bottom of her golden cage.

“The night is quite lovely out here tonight” Alec commented as he stood beside you on the balcony overlooking the gardens, the moonlight shining down softly but his words were only met with a small nod from you.

“I’m sure there are some birds around here you could control” Jane offers in her usual stoic tone as her eyes search the treelines for any wildlife “an owl perhaps”

“I don’t really do that much anymore” you mumble out quietly, this news taking the two aback slightly due to them knowing how much you loved your gift and how effortlessly you were usually able to connect with the nature around you “Can’t really find a connection”

You choose to leave ot the fact that any animal you choose to find a connection with chooses to die rather than share your bond, birds flying into windows to avoid singing for you and smaller animals starving themselves rather than to sit at your side.

Your response is only met with silence from the siblings as they’re thoughts race at the revelation, eyes darting to take in every little detail of your demeanour, your dead eyes and tense shoulders as if you were expecting pain to be inflicted at any moment.

“Will you tell us what happened to you, dearest friend?” Jane asks as she stands before you, blood red eyes meeting yours in hidden yearning, desperation “confide in us what has been done to you?”

You still at the question, it's hard to answer questions about the supposed nightmare of your absence without admitting its the most freedom you’ve ever experienced in your life and how much you wish you could magic yourself back into that shared motel room with James and Victoria.

“It's not what you think” is all you offer through a hushed whisper as you avoid their intruding gazes

“Well what can we do to fix it” Alec demands as he intrudes on your personal space in order to bring him a glimpse of the girl you were “to fix you”

Alec had certainly picked up on more of Caius’s habits than either of them would admit, both being hot headed when it concerned you and both blunt when looking to find the cure for you.

“Alec” Jane attempts to calm her brother but he’s already passed his emotional threshold, years of being in the high guard had made them both accustomed to getting their own way so your lack of usual sweetness and cooperation seemed to grate on Alec

“We can get you whatever you need to feel better” Alec offers in a slightly desperate manner “blood, animals, revenge, whatever it takes to heal your mind and to soothe you”

“Freedom” is what your mind screams but your mouth does not allow to speak “freedom is the only thing to fix me, and the one thing you cannot give”

“Just speak it and we can make it happen, dearest” Jane tries to encourage as she notices your mouth open and struggle to find the words

“I…I wish to be alone” you struggle to ask but you look at the siblings with those big eyes of yours, and manage to give them a glimpse of who you once were “please?”

The siblings look at each other before Alec sighs and Jane nods her head, both of them leaving you alone without a word, sensing that pushing you further would only cause more hurt and distress.

You're left alone to stare off the balcony, looking down at the bottom and wondering what kind of fall that would be. You closed your eyes as you envisioned yourself climbing over the balcony and dropping to the bottom, would your body crack like a porcelain doll like how carlisle broke your hand off or would it splinter off like wood like when Emmett pushed your hips too hard into the ground. The thought brings James to mind and the pure guilt causes you to let out a sigh.

“The fall wouldn’t kill you” Your eyes flash open at the sound of a man's voice, turning to find a handsome blonde vampire stood beside you with a cigarette between his fingers and a stoic expression “not unless you knocked down one of the lanterns with you, still a risky move that'll probably only end with you missing a limb though”

You wince slightly at his words, your eyes looking down to your cracked skin and sighing.

“Sorry” he apologises in a way that doesn’t sound very genuine, exhaling the smoke from his lit cigarette “too soon?”

You frown at him as your gaze narrows at his mocking words, eyes landing on his hand that cradles his lit cigarette.

“Does that even do anything for you?” you mutter out curiously, a light scoff emitted from your throat

“Not much” he admits with a careless shrug “but i enjoy the smell”

Your nose crinkles slightly in disgust but you offer him a silent nod as he exhales his smoke.

“So, is making suicidal plans the way you spend your time nowadays?” The vampire asks with a raise brow as he leans against the balcony carelessly

“Do we know each other?” you ask with a frown, confused on how he can speak to you so brazenly

“You and I have been scandalously acquainted for some time now” the vampire states cryptically “just never face to face”

You're about to enquire on whatever that means, a blur of red in the corner of your eye captures your attention instead as you turn your head quickly in the hopes of catching a hint of Victoria and instead finding just a red haired volturi member passing by instead, your shoulders slumping at the revelation.

Your mind had constantly run through scenarios of what had happened to Victoria and where she could be now. Though you doubt that wherever she was that she’d want to see you again, the guilt of James death weighing heavy on your heart-

“She doesn't blame you, y’know” the handsome vampire speaks beside you, interrupting your thoughts once again “stupid to think she would be, wasn’t your fault”

“How would you know?” you ask with a light scoff

“Because I watched everything that happened and I see everything that will happen” the vampire speaks cryptically once again but his blunt tone takes you aback “she still looks for you y’know, not that she’ll find you again with those freaks looking after you-”

“Why are you speaking to me like this?” you interrupt with a frown, partly out of frustration and partly out of confusion as someone speaks of the Cullens disrespectfully.

“Because I know a thing or two about living under the thumb of those who have robbed you of what was yours and expect a thank you for it” he scoffs out before taking a drag of his cigarette “I know the dark place your mind is in, been there once or twice myself”

A heavy silence sits between the two of you, the only sound being the owls in the trees

“...how did you escape them?” you ask quietly as you copy his stance of leaning against the balcony “your captors”

“I played the long game, let the treat me like an animal and spit in my face and thanked them for it until I had the chance to commit my revenge” he explains stoically “I waited for the perfect moment”

“Didn’t work out well for me” you remark bitterly but you're only rewarded with a scoff from the vampire “what?”

“You didn’t do it right, you waited for others to join you before you committed to the idea of revenge or freedom outside of dying” the vampire scoffs out “granted you played the long game but you played it so long that you grew too content with the idea that death was the only way out”

“I tried-” you attempt to interrupt but the man turns to you suddenly and looks you in the eyes

“You were weak, you waited on others to save you” the man states bluntly “nobody is coming to save you, either do it yourself or accept the Cullens as your forever home”

Your eyes widen at his words and blunt demeanour and the truth he held, the truth that others had shielded you from and that you’d buried within yourself to avoid facing. He didn't coddle you or sugarcoat his words for you, he spoke to you like you could handle it and treated you almost like an equal.

“I’m not saying it to be mean” he states calmly “but no one ever speaks to you plainly, your not a kid and you can handle the truth”

“What's your name?” you ask suddenly, an act that has the vampires eyes widening in shock

“Alexander Johnson Ward” he answers with a narrowed gaze, he was expecting tears, not personal questions “people call me Johnny”

“Thank you, Johnny” you say genuinely as you look up at him in light curiosity “for the advice”

“No problem” Johnny responds with a slight huff of amusement as he puts his cigarette out “I better get out of here”

“I’ll see you around?” you call after his retreating figure with a curious tone

“Like a shadow” he calls back before leaving you alone on the balcony, your eyes following his absence.

You hear the gentle sounds of an owl in the trees nearby, closing your eyes and summoning it closer. The owl perches on the edge of the balcony in front of you, being able to connect with an animal without it dying for the first time in a while. You stroke the owl gently and listen to its gentle song as your mind tries to form your next plan.

Nobody is going to save you, you need to save yourself this time.

How do y’all like the update you’ve been wanting for nearly two years? 😅

469 notes · View notes

melanchoire · 2 months ago

Text

MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION ──── yu jimin.

── ( 📸 ) as two of prada’s most coveted faces, you and karina, former lovers torn apart by a whirlwind of rumors and a devastating lack of trust, are unexpectedly thrust back into each other’s orbit for a high–stakes photoshoot, and as the camera flashes capture not only the clothes but also the raw emotions simmering beneath the surface, karina seizes the opportunity to finally explain the truth behind the infamous dispatch scandal, leaving you to decide if forgiveness and a second chance are worth risking your heart all over again.

pairing. dom!toxic ex girlfriend!karina x sub!ex girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). angst (kinda), cheating, cunnilingus, degradation, fingering, making out, pet names, squirting.

word count. 10,8k

requested? yes.

the flashing lights of the stage are blinding, but you navigate them with a practiced ease. your movements are sharp, your gaze intense, and the roar of the crowd fuels you. another performance done, another wave of deafening cheers washing over you.

being an idol was everything you’d ever dreamed of, the culmination of years of grueling training and unwavering dedication. being an idol is a whirlwind of constant performances, relentless practice, and the ever–present scrutiny of millions.

but it came with a price. a price you were currently paying with a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

the unspoken rule looms over you: romantic relationships are a liability. fans, in their adoration, often see their idols as belonging to them, their fantasies woven into the perfect image projected on stage. to shatter that image with the reality of a partner is to risk their ire, their disappointment, and ultimately, their support. and beyond that, dating someone within the industry is akin to walking a tightrope, a constant balancing act between public perception, competitive pressures, and genuine affection.

being an idol meant living under a microscope. wvery move you made, every word you spoke, was scrutinized and dissected by millions. maintaining a squeaky–clean image was paramount. and that meant keeping secrets. especially secrets like the one you shared with karina.

karina. the leader of aespa. your rival group. and, impossibly, the woman who held your heart.

you remembered the early days, the awkward interactions backstage at music shows. you were both rookies then, navigating the treacherous waters of the industry, trying to make a name for yourselves. aespa and your group often found yourselves promoting at the same time, leading to a whirlwind of shared stages and fleeting conversations. you always found yourself drawn to karina’s quiet confidence, her sharp wit hidden beneath a cool exterior.

you’d make silly faces at each other across the stage during encore performances, earning a playful glare from your manager later. during music show wins, you’d subtly angle your phone during a group shot to get karina in the frame, much to the amusement (and knowing smirks) of your members. you meticulously learned the choreography of “girls” just so you could tease her with it backstage. these interactions were small, seemingly insignificant to the outside world. but to you, they were everything. they were a lifeline in a world that often felt isolating and manufactured.

until finally you two had a decent interaction, meaning you had the balls to approach her without getting cold feet in the process; when your group and hers had overlapping promotion cycles, you’d make sure to seek her out. a quick hug backstage, a shared compliment about each other’s stage outfits, a genuine smile for the cameras. you remember one instance vividly: uour group had just finished performing your latest title track on a music show. exhausted but exhilarated, you spotted karina across the backstage chaos. she was radiant in a shimmering silver dress, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed with her members. you approached her, offering a playful bow.

“karina–ssi, your performance was amazing today! that high note gave me chills.” you said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

she returned the bow, her cheeks flushing slightly. “ah, (y/n)–ssi, you were incredible too! that break dance was killer.”

fans, of course, noticed. they speculated. they shipped. they created elaborate fanfiction scenarios, fueling the flames of their own fantasies. “le sserafim x aespa crumbs!” they’d squeal in the comments sections. little did they know, the “crumbs” they were seeing were just the tip of a very carefully concealed iceberg.

little did they know, those fleeting moments were lifelines, secret signals in a world that demanded you keep your true feelings hidden.

but the stolen glances, the brief touches, the whispered phone calls late at night, were never enough. griendship evolved into something deeper, something undeniable. you fell in love, slowly and irrevocably, her strength and kindness drawing you in like a moth to a flame. the joy you found in her presence was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the manufactured smiles and rehearsed interactions that often characterized your public life.

keeping your relationship a secret wasn’t easy. you navigated crowded events with coded glances, orchestrated meet–ups under the cover of darkness, and perfected the art of communicating volumes with a single squeeze of the hand. but the fear of exposure was a constant companion, a nagging voice whispering in the back of your mind.

the industry thrived on these manufactured interactions. inter–group friendships were good for publicity, harmless fodder for variety shows and social media engagement. what wasn’t good for publicity was a genuine romantic relationship, especially not one between two female idols from competing companies.

you and karina knew the risks. you knew the potential backlash. but you couldn’t deny the connection that had blossomed between you. late–night phone calls stretched into hours, filled with whispered confessions and shared dreams. secret meetings in secluded cafes, faces hidden behind masks and oversized hoodies. the thrill of the forbidden, the electricity of stolen moments, only intensified your feelings.

but secrecy was a heavy burden. the constant fear of discovery hung over you like a sword. you had to be careful, always meticulously planning your rendezvous, scrubbing your digital footprint, and carefully curating your public persona. it was exhausting.

then came the fateful night. you and karina, desperate for a few hours of normalcy, had planned a late–night dinner at a small, tucked–away restaurant. you meticulously planned every detail; you’d chosen a restaurant tucked away on a quiet side street, far from the bustling city center. you both donned your best incognito outfits — baseball caps pulled low, dark sunglasses, and layers of clothing designed to obscure your identities. karina, ever cautious, had even suggested wearing masks, but you’d argued against it, fearing it would draw more attention.

the evening was perfect. you laughed, you talked, you forgot, for a few precious hours, the weight of the world and the expectations of millions. you held her hand across the table, her touch sending a familiar shiver down your spine. for a moment, you let yourself believe that you could have it all — your career, your love, your happiness.

that illusion shattered with the flash of a camera.

as you left the restaurant, a flash of light erupted from the darkness. a paparazzi, lurking in the shadows, had captured the moment. the grainy photo, capturing you and karina holding hands, faces partially obscured, was splashed across the internet the next morning.

your world imploded.

the next morning, your phone exploded. notifications flooded your screen, a torrent of comments, messages, and articles screaming the same thing: you and karina. a grainy photo circulated online — you, holding hands with a woman who was undeniably karina, bathed in the harsh glare of a flashbulb.

the world went into meltdown.

your phone became a weapon of mass destruction, buzzing incessantly with notifications. fans, stans, haters, news outlets — everyone had an opinion. the comments ranged from outright vitriol to tentative support, but the overwhelming sentiment was shock and disbelief.

“OMG! is this real?”

“unbelievable! they’re dating?!”

“my ship has sailed! i knew it!”

“(y/n) is cancelled! how dare she keep this from us?”

“leave them alone! it’s their life!”

the outrage, the speculation, the sheer volume of noise was deafening. you felt sick to your stomach, a cold dread creeping into your bones.

your company scrambled to contain the damage, issuing a statement that confirmed the rumors. karina’s agency followed suit. but the language was vague, both statements were carefully worded, emphasizing the “close friendship” that had “unexpectedly blossomed” into something more. the language was sterile, devoid of the warmth and passion that characterized your relationship. it felt like a betrayal, a public dissection of something so private and precious.

then came the dreaded request: the handwritten letter. you were instructed to write a letter to your fans, a heartfelt apology for “keeping this secret” and a plea for understanding. the words felt hollow, disingenuous. you wanted to scream, to defend your right to privacy, to express the pure, unadulterated joy that karina brought into your life. but you knew you couldn’t. you were an idol, a product, and your image was carefully controlled.

you stared at the blank page, the weight of expectation crushing you. how could you possibly explain the complexities of your heart to millions of strangers? how could you apologize for loving someone, for finding happiness in a world that so often seemed determined to deny it to you?

but you knew you had no choice. you were an idol, and your fans were the lifeblood of your career. you owed them an explanation, even if it felt like a violation.

you sat at your desk, the blank document on your laptop mocking you. you typed, deleted, and retyped, trying to find the right words, the words that would appease your fans without sacrificing your integrity. it felt like an impossible task.

finally, you settled on something carefully crafted, something that acknowledged the situation without revealing too much.

you wrote, pouring out your heart in carefully chosen words. you apologized for keeping the relationship a secret, explaining that you had only wanted to protect your fans and preserve the image they held dear. you apologized for not being more open, you thanked your fans for their unwavering support, and you promised to continue working hard to earn their love and respect. you carefully avoided mentioning the word “love” in relation to karina, you only spoke of your respect for karina, your admiration for her talent, and your gratitude for her unwavering support.

posting the letter felt like a betrayal. a betrayal of yourself, a betrayal of karina, a betrayal of the truth. but you knew it was necessary. it was the price you had to pay.

the response was… mixed. some fans were supportive, offering words of encouragement and understanding. they celebrated your courage and wished you both happiness. others were devastated, feeling betrayed and heartbroken. they accused you of lying, of manipulating them, of shattering their dreams. the hate was vicious, personal, and relentless.

the initial backlash was fierce. hordes of fans felt betrayed, accusing you of lying and manipulating them. they flooded your social media with hateful comments, demanding your resignation. other fans rallied to your defense, praising your courage and supporting your right to love. the fandom was fractured, divided.

the weeks that followed were a blur of damage control. you and karina faced a barrage of criticism, scrutiny, and speculation. every move you made was analyzed, every word you spoke dissected. the media feasted on the drama, churning out endless articles and videos dissecting your relationship.

the online world became a battleground, a toxic landscape of love and hate. fan wars erupted, fueled by jealousy, insecurity, and the insatiable hunger for gossip. you watched in horror as people you’d never met tore each other apart over something so deeply personal.

and then there were the whispers, the insidious rumors that threatened to undermine everything you’d worked for. accusations flew — that you were using karina for fame, that she was manipulating you to boost her own career, that your relationship was nothing more than a publicity stunt.

the hate was relentless, particularly aimed at karina. she was branded as a homewrecker, a fame–seeker, a talentless hack. the comments were cruel, vicious, and deeply personal. you wanted to shield her from the storm, to protect her from the ugliness of it all. but you couldn’t, you weren’t the emotionally strong one in the relationship; if just reading the negative comments about karina made you shed tears, how are you supposed to console her without breaking down? karina was the leader of her group and therefore always had to appear serious and mature to the public, and you knew that she cried easily, so you didn’t see yourself capable of comforting her if she felt affected by the criticism because seeing her sad would hurt you and that would end with you crying and karina consoling you.

the weeks that followed were a blur of anxiety and uncertainty. you canceled public appearances, retreated into the safety of your dorm, and tried to avoid the relentless media attention. you felt isolated, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.

you had stopped uploading photos to your social networks since the comments started to be only about the public asking about karina and leading to debates in the comments section, it hurt you to see people having opinions about things without knowing about them and having a rather questionable point of view but reading your fans defending you even without knowing if the rumors were real was like a cute bandage on a deep wound.

but no matter how much you stopped being active on social media and stopped talking on weverse, the comments didn’t stop; logging off your public social media was a relief for you, but by using your private accounts that only your members followed, even then there was content talking about you and the controversy appeared in content recommended for you — at this point, smashing your phone against the wall seemed to be the only option left.

despite the chaos, you and karina clung to each other. you found solace in her embrace, her unwavering belief in you a beacon in the storm. you reminded each other of the love you shared, the strength you drew from each other, and the dreams you still held dear.

the pressure was immense, but you refused to break. you knew that your relationship was worth fighting for, and you were determined to weather the storm, no matter how fierce. you looked at karina and saw not a rival, but a partner. you saw not a risk, but a reason to be brave. and you knew, with a certainty that defied all the noise and negativity, that you would face whatever came next, together.

karina, strong and resilient as always, became your rock. she reminded you of your worth, of your talent, and of the unwavering love that you shared. she encouraged you to focus on the positive, to ignore the noise, and to trust in the power of your bond.

the initial storm was a blur of frantic calls, hushed meetings, and the constant, gnawing anxiety of what was to come. you remember the hollow feeling in your chest as you typed out the apology, each word a carefully constructed lie of omission. you hadn’t intentionally kept it a secret to deceive anyone, but to protect something precious in a world that often felt determined to tear it apart.

the backlash was ferocious, predictable, yet still somehow shocking. the usual suspects emerged: the shippers furious that their carefully constructed narratives were shattered, the possessive fans feeling betrayed that you belonged to someone other than them, and the vultures who thrived on drama, dissecting every interaction, every lyric, searching for hidden meanings and ammunition.

you watched the news reports, read the comments, felt the weight of the world crushing you. your groupmates offered their support, but their words felt distant, muffled by the roar in your ears. the company’s damage control team worked overtime, trying to stem the tide of negativity. you threw yourself into work, rehearsals becoming a refuge, the music a momentary escape from the chaos outside.

karina, ever the stoic, seemed to weather the storm with a grace you envied. she addressed the situation with a calm, measured statement, emphasizing the importance of respect and understanding. you admired her strength, but also worried about the toll it was taking on her. you found solace in her presence, a shared understanding that transcended the noise.

slowly, painstakingly, the tide began to turn. some fans, initially hurt and confused, started to see the sincerity in your relationship. they realized that your happiness was ultimately what mattered. supportive comments started to outweigh the hateful ones. fan projects emerged, celebrating your love and advocating for acceptance. you and karina began to incorporate small, subtle gestures into your performances, a knowing glance, a matching bracelet, a shared smile, acknowledging your bond without being overtly performative.

you started doing small, public acts of support. like attending karina’s group performances and screaming your lungs out from the crowd. or karina appearing backstage at your concert, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. these little things, these small victories, slowly chipped away at the wall of negativity. you started noticing a shift in the atmosphere at fan meets, the questions becoming less accusatory and more curious. more fans were asking about your favorite memories with karina or her favorite qualities. you and karina were both careful, never revealing too much, carefully curating your image.

over time, the initial frenzy subsided, replaced by a cautious, grudging acceptance. you and karina had proven that you could navigate the treacherous waters of the industry while staying true to yourselves and each other. you had shown that love could, in fact, conquer all, or at least, most. you felt a sense of accomplishment, a quiet pride in having weathered the storm and emerged stronger, together. you had even started to feel comfortable with some of the public displays of affection, hand–holding during award shows or subtle winks at each other during interviews.

then came the bomb.

it started subtly, a whisper in the dark corners of the internet. a blind item on a gossip site, hinting at a member of a popular girl group being seen with another female artist. you dismissed it as just another baseless rumor, another attempt to stir the pot. but then came the picture.

a grainy, blurry image, supposedly taken late at night. it showed a figure resembling karina holding hands with another woman. the woman’s face was obscured, but her build and the style of her clothing were vaguely familiar to a karina’s acquaintance. the post that came with the picture claimed the unnamed woman was a popular idol from fourth–generation girl group.

your blood ran cold. you stared at the picture, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. doubts, long suppressed, resurfaced with a vengeance. you tried to rationalize it away. it could be a body double. it could be photoshopped. it could be anything but what it seemed to be.

you called karina, your voice trembling. she answered on the third ring, her voice sounding strained. “hey.” she said, her tone wary.

“have you seen the picture?” you asked, skipping any pleasantries.

there was a long pause. “yes.” she said quietly.

“what is it?” you demanded, your voice rising. “tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

another pause. “it’s... complicated.” she finally said.

that was all you needed to hear. the fragile peace you had built shattered into a million pieces. all the pain, all the sacrifices, all the struggles, suddenly felt meaningless. you felt betrayed, humiliated, and utterly heartbroken.

“who is she?” you choked out, the words catching in your throat.

“it doesn’t matter.” karina said, her voice pleading. “it’s not what you think.”

“then what is it?” you screamed into the phone. “tell me what it is, karina!”

she hesitated, then began to explain, her voice a jumble of excuses and half–sruths. she claimed it was a misunderstanding, a harmless encounter blown out of proportion. she said she was just being friendly, that the other woman was going through a hard time and needed support. but her words rang hollow, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe her.

the fight that followed was a blur of accusations, tears, and recriminations. you confronted her with your fears and insecurities, the doubts that had been gnawing at you for months. she denied everything, but her eyes betrayed her. you saw the guilt, the regret, the unspoken truth that lay between you.

in the end, there was nothing left to say. the trust was broken, the foundation of your relationship crumbled. you hung up the phone, your hands shaking, your heart aching with a pain you had never known before.

the breakup was messy and public. both companies released carefully worded statements, citing “irreconcilable differences” and asking for privacy. but the media frenzy was relentless. every detail of your relationship was dissected and analyzed. you felt like you were living your worst nightmare on repeat.

you retreated into yourself, isolating yourself from friends and family. you stopped promoting with your group, unable to face the constant scrutiny and speculation. you spent days in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events in your head, searching for answers, for some way to make sense of it all.

one day, your groupmates came to your apartment, unannounced. they sat with you in silence, offering their support without judgment. they reminded you of your strength, your talent, your resilience. they encouraged you to focus on yourself, to heal, to move on.

slowly, you started to listen. you started writing music again, pouring your pain and heartache into your lyrics; fans loved it when you participated in composing your group’s songs since you and yunjin always managed to write the best songs on the albums, whether it was something powerful like self–love and a response to criticism or something more basic and common like a lyric about love.

it wasn’t easy. there were days when you felt like you were drowning in sorrow, when the memories of Karina were too much to bear. but you kept pushing forward, one step at a time. you realized that you were stronger than you thought, that you could survive this, that you could even emerge from it a better, more resilient person.

you eventually returned to work, your voice stronger, your spirit renewed. your fans welcomed you back with open arms, their love and support unwavering. you continued to make music, to perform, to inspire. you never forgot karina, but you learned to live without her. you learned that love could be both beautiful and painful, that it could lift you up and tear you down. and you learned that even after the most devastating heartbreak, you could still find your way back to yourself.

until that day arrived.

the flashing lights assault your vision as you step onto the pristine white set. the air crackles with a controlled energy, the kind that always precedes high–profile shoots. you force a smile, the practiced one you’ve perfected over years in the industry, and greet the waiting team. they return your greeting with enthusiastic nods and bows, their faces a mixture of respect and anticipation. you’re used to this. you’re an idol, a performer, a brand. your emotions, raw and real, are secondary to the image you project.

“ready to work your magic, ms. (y/n)?” the photographer, a renowned name in the industry, asks with a charming smirk.

“always.” you reply, the word feeling hollow even to your own ears.

you move towards the rack of clothes, a carefully curated selection of prada’s latest collection. the vibrant colors and intricate designs usually excite you, fill you with inspiration for future performances and personal style choices. today, they feel like meaningless fabric, just another layer of armor you have to don.

the flash of the camera is almost blinding, but you’ve learned to navigate it. pose, smile, angle. repeat. the prada backdrop stares back at you, its stark minimalism a stark contrast to the whirlwind in your head. you force yourself to embody the spirit of the brand: sophisticated, aloof, powerful. it’s a mask you’ve perfected over the years, one that hides the raw, pulsating ache beneath your skin.

the news broke like a damn, a tidal wave of speculation and judgment. the breakup. it’s been a couple of months, but the wound feels fresh, a raw scrape constantly being rubbed with salt. the news spread like wildfire, fueled by speculation and fueled by the insatiable hunger of the public. every detail of your relationship with karina, every whispered secret and stolen glance, was dissected and analyzed. you retreated, focusing on your work, burying yourself in rehearsals and promotions. you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of validating their opinions with your pain.

your manager had warned you about this photoshoot, mentioned karina’s involvement almost casually, as if it were just another detail in a long list of engagements. you had dismissed it then, telling yourself you could handle it. you are, after all, a professional. but now, standing in the sterile environment of the studio, the reality of facing her again hits you with full force, a wave of nausea washing over you.

you quickly change into the first outfit, a sleek, minimalist dress that clings to your curves. the stylist fusses with your hair and makeup, smoothing stray strands and applying a layer of flawless foundation. you stare back at your reflection, barely recognizing the composed, confident woman staring back. where is the girl who laughed with karina until her stomach hurt? where is the girl who could spend hours just talking about nothing?

the stylist steps back, satisfied. “perfect. you look stunning, ms. (y/n).”

“thank you.” you murmur, the words feeling like a lie.

you walk onto the set, striking a pose you've struck countless times before. the photographer calls out instructions, guiding you with meticulous precision. you move and pose, a puppet on a string, your mind a million miles away.

“excellent, (y/n)! now, let’s try something with a little more… emotion.”

emotion. that’s the last thing you want to tap into right now. you force yourself to focus on the music playing softly in the background, letting the rhythm guide your movements. you imagine yourself on stage, lost in the performance, the energy of the crowd fueling your passion.

“just a little more intensity in the eyes.” the photographer instructs, his voice echoing in the vast studio. you nod, focusing on a point just beyond the lens. Intensity. you know intensity. you feel it simmering in your chest, a potent cocktail of anger, sadness, and a terrifying vulnerability.

the shoot progresses in a blur. you change outfits, adjust your expression, and follow directions with robotic precision. each pose feels like a performance, a carefully constructed illusion designed to shield you from the prying eyes of the world.

during a brief break, your stylist offers you a bottle of water. you take a grateful sip, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of your heart. you scan the studio, a cavernous space buzzing with activity. assistants scurry, lighting technicians adjust equipment, and makeup artists touch up faces. but your eyes are drawn to one figure in particular, standing near a rack of clothes, her back to you.

karina.

even from this distance, you can recognize her. the elegant curve of her spine, the way her dark hair cascades down her back, the effortless grace that permeates her every movement. a wave of conflicting emotions washes over you: longing, resentment, and a desperate, childish urge to run.

she walks onto the set with an effortless grace that always captivated you. karina. she’s wearing a sharp, tailored suit, the fabric shimmering under the studio lights. her hair is styled in a sleek, modern cut, framing her face perfectly. she looks breathtaking, undeniably beautiful.

your heart clenches, a painful reminder of what you’ve lost.

you force yourself to breathe, to regain control. this is work. you are a professional. you can handle this.

but your carefully constructed facade begins to crumble as she turns around. her eyes meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks, the studio fades away, and it’s just you and her, standing in the wreckage of what used to be.

her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to stop. there’s a flicker of something in her gaze, a mixture of sadness and… something else you can’t quite decipher. jer eyes are different, you notice. there’s a weariness there, a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before. Is she wearing the same mask as you? is she hurting too?

even though months passed, you could never stop worrying about her. first hate for dating you and then hate for her apparently cheating on you; the opinions of fans and internet users on it were varied, and with good reason. no one knew the true story, not even you knew it, you only knew the little that karina wanted you to know. however, every day you thought about how she was, if she was receiving love from her fans when her group had a new hit and extended its popularity or there were still people who hated her and attacked her for things they saw on social media — but you didn’t dare search for her name on social media, you couldn't even look at a photo of karina without wanting to turn off your phone instantly.

then, she schools her expression, a professional mask sliding into place.

“hello, (y/n).” she says, her voice cool and composed.

your throat constricts. “karina.” you manage to croak out, the sound rough and unfamiliar.

an awkward silence descends, thick and heavy with unspoken words. you want to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words catch in your throat, trapped by a labyrinth of pain and regret.

“you look good.” she finally says, her gaze flickering over your outfit. it’s a standard compliment, the kind exchanged between acquaintances, but in this context, it feels hollow, almost cruel.

“you too.” you reply automatically, hating yourself for the banality of the exchange.

another silence stretches between you, punctuated only by the distant click of a camera shutter. you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if she can see through your carefully constructed defenses and into the mess that you’ve become.

“so,” she says, breaking the silence again, “this is... awkward, isn’t it?”

you let out a humorless chuckle. “that’s one word for it.”

“i... i wanted to say," she hesitates, her eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry. sorry for...”

the apology hangs in the air, heavy with implications. sorry for what? for the argument that ignited the firestorm? for the public scrutiny that ripped you apart? for the broken promises and shattered dreams?

“sorry for what, karina?” you ask, the words sharper than you intended.

she flinches, her eyes clouding with pain. “for everything.” she whispers.

“everything?” you repeat, a bitter taste rising in your throat. “that’s a pretty broad apology, don’t you think?”

“i know.” she says, her voice barely audible. “but i don’t know what else to say.”

“maybe you should have thought about that before you–” you stop yourself, biting back the words that threaten to spill out. before you what? before you agreed to the photoshoot? before you let the media tear us apart? before you broke my heart?

you take a deep breath, trying to regain control. this isn’t the time. this isn’t the place. you can’t afford to fall apart here, in front of everyone.

“it doesn’t matter.” you say, forcing a casual tone. “it’'s over. we both need to move on.”

she looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. “is that what you really want, (y/n)?”

the question hangs in the air, a challenge, a plea. do you really want to move on? do you really want to let go of everything you shared?

the truth is, you don’t know. you’re torn between the desire to protect yourself, to build walls around your heart, and the desperate longing to reach out to her, to try to salvage something from the wreckage.

but the fear is too strong. the fear of being hurt again, of being exposed, of being vulnerable. you can't afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

“yes.” you say, the lie tasting like ash in your mouth. “that’s what i want.”

she nods slowly, her expression unreadable. “okay.” she says softly. “if that’s what you want.”

the moment stretches, taut and unbearable. you want to say something more, to confess your doubts, to beg her to stay. but the words remain trapped inside you, unspoken, lost in the noise of the studio.

the tension in the room is palpable. the crew shifts uneasily, their eyes darting between you and karina. the photographer clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“alright, ladies, let’s get started. we’re thinking a few shots together, a little bit of playful competition, a sense of… camaraderie.”

camaraderie? you almost laugh, a bitter sound that catches in your throat.

you and karina are positioned side–by–side, the photographer directing your poses. he wants you to look like friends, like rivals, like two powerful women supporting each other. it’s a cruel irony, a twisted caricature of what you once were.

you can feel karina’s presence beside you, a magnetic pull that you desperately try to resist. you can smell her signature perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and vanilla, a scent that used to fill you with comfort and desire. now, it just reminds you of everything you’ve lost.

the photographer snaps away, capturing every calculated smile, every carefully choreographed movement. you’re both experts at this, masters of deception. you can project any image, any emotion, no matter how false.

but as you stand there, shoulder–to–shoulder with karina, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. you remember the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours, the way she would trace patterns on your skin when you were falling asleep, the way her eyes would light up when you surprised her with her favorite flower.

those memories are like shards of glass, sharp and painful. you try to push them away, to focus on the task at hand. but it’s impossible. the weight of your shared history hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

“okay, ladies, let’s try something a little more intimate.” the photographer says, his voice booming through the studio. “i want you two to look… close. like you’re sharing a secret.”

your stomach drops. this is it. this is the moment you break.

you glance at karina, your eyes pleading. but her expression is unreadable, her mask firmly in place.

the photographer positions you so that you’re facing each other, your bodies almost touching. he wants you to lean in, to whisper something in each other’s ear.

you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. you can feel karina’s breath on your face, warm and familiar.

“just relax, ladies. pretend you’re the only two people in the world.” the photographer coaxes.

the only two people in the world. that’s what it used to feel like, when you were together. the rest of the world faded away, and all that mattered was karina.

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. you try to remember that feeling, that sense of intimacy and connection.

and then, you open your eyes.

you look at karina, really look at her. you see the sadness hidden behind her professional facade, the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to conceal.

and in that moment, you realize something. you’re not the only one who’s hurting. you’re not the only one who’s lost something.

you catch glimpses of karina throughout the day, standing in the shadows, her eyes following you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. you try to avoid her gaze, to focus on the task at hand, but it's impossible. she’s a constant presence, a reminder of everything you’ve lost.

as the day draws to a close, you find yourself standing near the exit, waiting for your manager. you see karina approaching, her expression serious.

“(y/n),” she says, stopping in front of you. “can we talk? just for a few minutes?”

you hesitate. “i don’t know, karina. is there really anything left to say?"

“please.” she says, her voice pleading. “just give me a chance.”

you look at her, really look at her, and you see the vulnerability in her eyes, the pain that she’s been trying to hide. you see a reflection of your own broken heart.

against your better judgment, you nod. “okay.” you say. “a few minutes.”

she leads you to a quiet corner of the studio, away from the prying eyes of the crew. the air is thick with anticipation, with the weight of unspoken words.

“what do you want to talk about, karina?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

she takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “i want to talk about us.” she says. “i want to talk about what happened.”

and in that moment, you know that you can’t run away anymore. you can’t hide behind the mask of indifference, the facade of strength. you have to face the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

you brace yourself, ready to confront the past, ready to confront karina, ready to confront yourself. the chaos may not be over, but maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for something new to emerge from the wreckage. the path ahead is uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.

“but not here. come with me.”

before you could form a coherent question, a protest against her abrupt departure, or even just a simple “where are we going?” karina tugged you forward. her grip was surprisingly firm, her usually playful eyes holding a glint of urgency you hadn’t seen in a long time. she navigated the throng of exquisitely dressed guests with practiced ease, a sleek black panther moving through a jungle of sequins and stilettos.

the click of the door closing behind you echoed in the small space, a definitive sound that amplified the tension crackling in the air. you found yourself trapped, not physically threatened, but emotionally cornered. karina stood between you and the cold, unforgiving wall, her gaze locked on yours. the familiar scent of her perfume, a subtle blend of jasmine and sandalwood, both comforted and disoriented you.

the air hung thick with unspoken words, with the weight of weeks of distance and carefully constructed silences. you could see the conflict raging in her eyes, the vulnerability she usually kept so carefully hidden.

“karina.” you began, your voice barely a whisper. the name felt foreign on your tongue after so long, a word you used to utter with such ease and affection. “what’s going on?”

she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she took a shallow breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the silk of her designer dress. finally, she spoke, her voice low and laced with a tremor you could feel resonate within you.

“we need to talk.” she said, the words hanging in the air like a fragile ornament.

you knew what she meant, of course. “talk” wasn’t just a conversation; it was a confrontation with the elephant that had taken up residence in the room, the elephant that had been stomping all over your relationship for weeks.

it had started subtly, almost imperceptibly. a shift in her usual radiant smile, a slight hesitation before reaching for your hand, a growing distance in her usually all–consuming gaze. then came the late nights at the studio, the canceled dates, the vague explanations. you’d tried to ignore it, to chalk it up to the pressures of her demanding career, to tell yourself that you were being paranoid.

but the whispers had started, those insidious little rumors that spread like wildfire through the interconnected world of k–pop and its surrounding entertainment industry. whispers that had finally culminated in the gut–wrenching article splashed across dispatch, the infamous gossip site known for its relentless pursuit of celebrity scandals.

the headline screamed accusations: “karina caught in romantic entanglement?” the accompanying pictures were grainy and taken from a distance, but they were undeniable. karina, laughing and holding hands with another woman, a rising starlet named yuna, after a late–night dinner.

you knew yuna. you’d met her a few times at industry events. she was talented, beautiful, and charming. and, according to dispatch, she was also the reason your relationship with karina was crumbling.

the article was a carefully constructed narrative, a tapestry woven with half–truths and suggestive speculation. it didnt explicitly accuse karina of cheating, but it didn’t have to. the implication was clear: karina was having an affair with yuna while still dating you.

the fallout had been immediate and devastating. your phone exploded with messages from concerned friends, frantic family members, and opportunistic journalists. your social media was flooded with hateful comments, accusations of being naive, and gleeful pronouncements of your impending doom.

you’d tried to talk to karina then, but she’d been elusive, distant. she’d denied the accusations outright, but her voice had lacked its usual conviction. “it’s just a misunderstanding,” she’d said, her eyes avoiding yours. “the company is handling it. don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

but everything wasn’t fine. the seed of doubt had been planted, and it had taken root, poisoning the foundation of your relationship. the dispatch article had not only exposed your personal life to the harsh glare of public scrutiny, but it had also driven a wedge between you and the woman you loved.

now, standing in this sterile dressing room, with karina so close yet feeling so far away, you finally understood. the “misunderstanding” wasn’t going to magically resolve itself. your relationship wasn’t going to survive on platitudes and empty reassurances. you needed the truth, no matter how painful.

“karina.” you said again, your voice stronger this time. “tell me what happened. tell me about yuna. tell me everything. i don’t want secrets this time, i don’t want you to hide from me the things you’re afraid to tell me because you don't know how i’ll react. i need you to tell me things as they are, no matter how harsh the truth is..”

she closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her strength. when she opened them, they were filled with a raw honesty that pierced through your defenses.

“it’s… complicated,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “yuna and i… we were working on a collaboration, you know, sometimes artists have group performances with members of other groups. we spent a lot of time together, late nights in the studio, brainstorming sessions… it was intense, creatively fulfilling. and… and she made me laugh. she understood the pressures i was under, the isolation of being in the public eye. she was… supportive.”

she paused, searching for the right words. “it started as friendship, a genuine connection. but… there was an undeniable attraction. something… electric between us.”

your heart clenched. you knew it was coming, but hearing the words spoken aloud was like a physical blow.

“did… did anything happen?” you asked, the question scraping against your throat.

karina looked away, her gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond your shoulder. “we kissed.” she admitted, the word barely audible. “once. maybe twice. it didn’t go further than that. i swear. it was just a moment in the moment, when we were left alone without the choreographer and backup dancers… we only kissed because we finished the night practice exhausted and at one point we just stopped talking and– there was some tension. i can’t help it, she looked very beautiful and i just had the urge to kiss her.”

the world tilted slightly. you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. just a kiss. twice. but that was enough, wasn’t it? enough to shatter the trust you had placed in her, enough to make you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship.

“and what about me?” you asked, the question laced with a bitterness you couldn't suppress. “what about us? were you just going to pretend nothing happened? Were you just going to let the company handle it, let dispatch write the narrative, and hope i would just… disappear? would you have even informed me of this if dispatch hadn't found out about all this before i did?”

tears welled in her eyes, blurring the perfectly applied eyeliner. “no!” she said, her voice cracking. “that’s not what i wanted. i was terrified. i didn’t know what to do. i was afraid of hurting you, of losing you. i still am.”

she stepped closer, reaching out to cup your face in her hands. her touch was gentle, tentative, as if she were afraid you would recoil. “i love you.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “i do. and i’m so, so sorry. i messed up. i made a mistake. olease… tell me what i can do to fix this. tell me what i can do to earn back your trust.”

the desperation in her eyes was palpable. you saw the years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and unwavering support reflected in her tearful gaze. u saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind a carefully constructed facade.

you also saw the doubt, the fear, the uncertainty that had been eating away at your own heart for weeks. the dispatch article had been a catalyst, but the underlying issues, the unspoken anxieties, had been there all along.

you wanted to believe her. you wanted to forgive her. you wanted to erase the image of her kissing another woman from your mind. but could you? could you ever truly trust her again? you wanted to do it, but you weren’t entirely sure.

the answer, you realized, wasn’t going to come easily. it wasn’t going to be found in a sterile dressing room in the middle of a chaotic after–party. it was going to require honesty, vulnerability, and a willingness to confront the uncomfortable truths that had been lurking beneath the surface of your relationship for far too long.

“we have a lot to talk about.” you said, finally meeting her gaze. “but not here. not now. we need to go somewhere quiet, somewhere private. somewhere we can be completely honest with each other, without the pressure and the expectations of the world watching us.”

you reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers. her grip was firm, reassuring.

“and karina.” you added, your voice firm but laced with a hint of hope. “if we’re going to fix this, we need to be honest about everything. no more secrets, no more half–truths. just us, facing the truth, together.”

the words hung in the air, laden with unspoken expectations and a fragile hope. the honesty in your voice seemed to give her strength. she took a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours.

“okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a newfound determination. “okay, let’s do that. let’s be honest. let’s fix this.’

the tension in the room was still thick, but now it was mixed with a flicker of hope. you squeezed her hand, offering silent encouragement. she looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, a small, sad smile gracing her lips. then, she lifted her gaze back to yours, her eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache.

and then, she did something unexpected.

she leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours, and gently pressed her lips against yours. it wasn’t a passionate, fiery kiss like you might expect after such a confession. it was soft, tentative, a plea for forgiveness, a silent promise of honesty.

your initial reaction was one of shock. you had braced yourself for tears, for arguments, for a long and difficult conversation. but this… this was something else entirely.

but as her lips lingered on yours, a slow warmth began to spread through you. it was a familiar warmth, the warmth of her touch, the warmth of her love. it was a reminder of all the good times you had shared, of all the reasons you had fallen in love with her in the first place.

you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the kiss, to savor the delicate brush of her lips against yours. the kiss deepened slightly, her hand moving from yours to cradle the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. you responded in kind, your own hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer.

the kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a reawakening. it was a reminder of the intense connection you shared, the unspoken language you spoke with your bodies. it was a promise of more, of deeper intimacy, of rediscovering the passion that had perhaps been overshadowed by the pressures of her career and the anxieties of public life.

as the kiss intensified, the world around you seemed to fade away. the sterile dressing room, the chaotic after–party, the prying eyes of the media – none of it mattered anymore. all that mattered was karina, her lips on yours, her body pressed against yours, her heart beating in sync with your own.

you parted slightly, gasping for breath, your foreheads touching. her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss.

“i…” she started, her voice husky. “i want you. i need you to know that. yuna... it was a mistake. a stupid, awful mistake. but you, you are everything to me."

her words were like a balm to your wounded heart. you knew that there was still a long road ahead, that rebuilding trust would take time and effort. but in that moment, with her arms wrapped around you and her lips whispering promises against your skin, you knew that it was possible.

you leaned in and kissed her again, this time with more passion, more urgency. it was a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of hope, of a future where you could both be honest and vulnerable with each other, free from the secrets and the lies.

her hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips, the line of your spine. you moaned softly, the sound lost in her mouth. you felt her smile against your lips, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes.

“i missed you so much, i missed being with you so much, having your body against mine… i really missed you a lot, your absence was noticeable and every day that passed i felt it more than the last. and you have no idea how much i fantasized about you every time i missed you and needed to settle just thinking about you.”

her fingers found the hem of your skirt, gently pulling iupwards. you didn’t resist. the need to feel her, to be close to her, was overwhelming. the touch of her skin against yours sent shivers down your spine.

once you give her a nod of confirmation, karina pushes you gently but firmly against the brick wall, her hands roaming over your curves possessively. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

her hands slid down to grope your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she ground her hips against yours. you could feel the heat of her core even through her clothes, the evidence of her intense arousal.

karina broke the kiss to trail her lips down the column of your throat, her teeth grazing your pulse point. she sucked on your skin, nibbling the flesh between her teeth, leaving a reddish bite mark that would soon turn purple and darken a couple of shades, letting you know that it would be noticeable for a couple of days and would probably take around a week or so to fade completely — but you didn’t care about that, in fact, that was what you longed for. being back with karina felt like heaven, and you wouldn’t complain at all if she felt the need to mark you,

after all this was what you wanted: although you had missed her so much in the loving and emotional sense, you also missed her so much in the... physical and intimate sense. you were so used to her touch on your body and how good she made you feel that at the time of the breakup it was a pain having to satisfy your needs yourself, but the past is over! and now, karina is here, ready to fuck you.

she murmured huskily against your skin. “fuck, i want to devour every inch of you, (y/n). i want to taste your essence, feel you quiver and shake with pleasure as i take you to heights you’ve never experienced before… i need to make up for my absence and all my mistakes. show you how sorry i am.”

her hands slid under your skirt to caress the smooth skin of your thighs, inching higher and higher until her fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties. she rubbed you through the material, feeling the growing wetness that slowly wet your underwear.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful growl as she panted softly against your neck. “spread your legs for me, baby. let me feel that sweet little cunt that’s just begging to be filled. i’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

“what if someone hears us?” fear and anxiety were evident in your tone. well, of course, you were locked with your ex in a room and about to fuck at your workplace, while your stylist was probably looking for you all over the building. being found out was something you were terrified of because it put you in danger of losing your job and leaving a bad image in front of the public, and they would have the right to be so in that case! but in this case, maybe you could have fun properly and have a good time just by knowing how to be stealthy…

karina smirked wickedly at your nervously spoken words, a devilish glint in her eye. “mmmh, what if someone does hear us? wouldn’t that be so hot, having an audience listen to you scream in ecstasy as i fuck you senseless? when i say i miss you, i mean it, and i want everyone to know that. everyone knew how much i loved you and i was never afraid to make it clear, so what’s the difference now? is my love language.”

she punctuated her words by slipping a hand into your panties, her fingers finding your slick folds and stroking them teasingly. her thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck involuntarily.

“but don’t worry, baby, no one’s going to interrupt us. everyone here is busy: the other models are on the sets in the middle of photo shoots and the staff is with them to make sure everything goes perfectly. no one will walk near here, this little hideaway is our secret spot.”

she murmured under her breath, giving you a suggestive look from under her eyelashes, along with a glint of mischief that seemed similar to that of a animal watching its prey in detail. karina brings her face closer to yours, nibbling on your earlobe, making you sigh and unconsciously move towards her touch. “besides, i want to hear you moan, to cry out my name until the whole city knows who’s making you feel this good.”

karina slid two fingers deep into your tight channel, pumping them in and out at a steady pace. her palm pressed against your clit with each thrust, stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves until your walls fluttered around her invading digits.

“that’s it, baby, let me hear those sweet sounds. fuck, your cunt feels incredible, it’s gripping my fingers so tightly.” she praised, her voice ragged with lust. “i can’t wait to feel it squeezing my tongue, my lips, while my fingers fucking you hard and deep until you’re sobbing with pleasure.”

karina scissored her fingers inside you, stretching you open as her thumb continued its relentless assault on your throbbing clit. she could feel your juices dripping down her hand, coating her fingers with your arousal.

“come for me, love.” she urged, her voice a low, seductive purr. “let me feel you come on my fingers like the dirty girl i know you are. drench my hand in your cum, baby, show me how much you need it.”

karina could feel your body tensing, your walls clenching around her plunging fingers as your orgasm rapidly approached. she curled her digits just right, rubbing that special spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that’s it, baby, give in to it. let it happen.” she coaxed, her voice a low, encouraging rumble. “i want to feel you shake and tremble, want to hear those beautiful sounds falling from your lips as i make you cum so fucking hard.”

she captured your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of ecstasy. her thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

with a final, hard thrust and press of her thumb, she sent you hurtling over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and wrist.

karina groaned into the kiss, feeling your essence coat her fingers and drip down to her palm. she worked you through your climax, her fingers pumping and stroking until the last aftershock faded away.

finally, she pulled back to look at you, her eyes dark and hungry as she brought her soaked fingers to her mouth. she licked them clean, savoring your taste with a low, appreciative moan.

“i need your mouth on me.”

you don’t know where that came from. you don’t know where you got the courage to talk to karina like that without blushing in the process. not even when you were dating karina were you so daring, because you were always embarrassed when you got intimate with her, blushing at the simple fact of having to take off your clothes in front of her even though you had already done it multiple times before, leading karina to be the one who takes the situation into her own hands — but it’s not like it was something that bothered karina, on the contrary, she loved being the one who took control. maybe it was the position of leader that made her love being the one to take the lead, but karina just loves to take charge and let you lie in bed while she takes care of the situation.

karina’s eyes flashed with intense lust at your desperate plea, a wicked grin spreading across her face. she wasted no time in giving you what you needed, what you craved.

“mmmh, as you wish, my naughty little minx.” she purred, dropping to her knees before you. she hitched your skirt up around your waist, exposing your dripping panties to the cool air.

with a wicked smirk, karina leaned in and pressed her mouth against the soaked fabric, her tongue delving between your folds to lap at your essence. she groaned at the taste, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your legs.

“fuck, you’re absolutely drenched.” she murmured appreciatively, tossing your panties aside carelessly. she pushed your thighs further apart, making room for herself as she settled between your legs.

karina’s hands gripped your ass, pulling you flush against her eager mouth. she dove in, her tongue parting your glistening folds to seek out your aching clit. she circled the sensitive nub teasingly, flicking and stroking it until your hips bucked against her face.

“oh fuck yes, ride my face, baby.” karina encouraged, her voice muffled against your cunt. “grind that sweet pussy against my mouth, use me for your pleasure.”

she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, her tongue flicking rapidly over the throbbing bud. at the same time, she thrust two fingers deep into your dripping channel, pumping them in and out at a steady, relentless pace.

the combination of sensations was almost too much to bear, and you could feel another orgasm building rapidly deep in your core. your walls clenched and fluttered around karina’s plunging fingers, drawing them in deeper.

karina could feel your body tensing, your thighs trembling on either side of her head as she brought you closer and closer to the edge. she doubled her efforts, sucking and licking and fucking you with wild abandon, determined to make you come undone.

karina could feel your body shaking, your thighs quivering with the force of your impending climax. she could sense that you were right on the cusp, teetering on the brink of a mind–blowing orgasm.

she pulled back just slightly, her heated gaze locking with yours. her lips and chin glistened with your juices, a few stray drops dripping down her chin. she licked her lips slowly, savoring your taste.

“come for me, babe.” she commanded, her voice low and thick with lust. “i want to feel you come all over my face, drench me in your sweet nectar. give me what i need, baby girl. give me one more.”

with that, she dove back in, her mouth latching onto your clit as she sucked hard. her fingers pumped furiously in and out of your clenching cunt, curling to rub that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

the combination of sensations, combined with her filthy words, pushed you over the edge. your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking as you cried out your ecstasy.

“oh fuck karina–!” you screamed, not caring who might hear your cries of pleasure. your cunt clenched and spasmed around her fingers, gushing your release all over her hand and face.

karina moaned against your core as she felt your essence flooding her mouth and dripping down her chin. she greedily lapped it up, swallowing every last drop of your offering.

she worked you through your climax, her fingers and tongue never stopping their relentless assault until the last aftershock faded away. finally, she pulled back, her face a mess of your juices.

shit, you had cum on her face. you had ruined her makeup. in another context it wouldn’t have bothered you too much, but first of all, you guys were in the middle of work things, to be more specific, a photoshoot with a prestigious brand that doesn’t allow things like this during work hours and you were more than sure that your contract would be terminated and your career ruined if some worker discovered that you were fucking your ex girlfriend in one of the locker rooms — and secondly, you had just cum on your ex girlfriend’s face.

karina laughed, a deep, sultry sound that sent shivers down your spine. she swiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing your essence across her cheek. her lipstick was smudged, her eyeliner slightly smeared, but she looked utterly debauched and gorgeous.

“don’t apologize, baby. it’s just a little makeup, it’ll wash off.” she assured you with a playful wink. “don’t worry about my makeup, baby. It's not like it's the first time I've gotten messy for a pretty girl like you, and i think the just–fucked look suits me, don't you? besides, seeing you come undone like that, so fucking sexy and uninhibited... it was totally worth it.”

she leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. you could taste yourself on her lips and tongue, the musky essence of your arousal mingling with the lingering flavor of her lip gloss.

karina pulled back after a moment, a satisfied smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips. she gestured to your skirt, still bunched up around your waist. “but don’t think we’re done yet, gorgeous. that was just the appetizer.”

“i’ve got so much more in store for you tonight. so many dirty, nasty, utterly fucking amazing things i’m going to do to this sexy body of yours…” she purred, her hand sliding possessively over the curve of your ass, squeezing the firm globes as she grinded her hips against yours. even through your skirt and her jeans, you could feel the hard, insistent press of her arousal — karina needed to let you know how much she needed you and the effect you had on her body, the type of reactions that your body generated every time it reacted to her touch and the actions that she had on your body, regardless of whether it was something minimal and mild or something more obscene and daring.

karina’s voice was a low, lustful rumble in your ear. “i’m going to take you back to my place, to my bedroom. and there, i’m going to worship this sexy body of yours all... night... long. Ii need to make up for all the lost time.”

she punctuated each word with a sharp nip to your earlobe, sending jolts of pleasure–pain racing down your spine. her hands slid under your sweater, caressing the smooth skin of your back before dipping lower to unhook your bra with deft fingers.

karina’s eyes glinted wickedly as she gazed down at you, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. “what do you say, baby? ready for the main course? we can still have one more before your stylist starts looking for you.”

#yu jimin #yu jimin x fem reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin smut #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x fem reader #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin smut #karina #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #karina smut #aespa #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa smut

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lacethighs · 3 months ago

Text

infuriatingly infuriating

neteyam sully x metkayina! reader

synopsis the olo’eyktan’s oldest daughter finds herself falling for toruk makto’s infuriatingly charming eldest son.

warnings no use of y/n.

word count 4.4k

it has been a few months since the sully family arrived in awa’atlu, seeking uturu. they learned the ways of your people quickly, perhaps faster than you expected.

when your father tasked you and your siblings with helping them adjust, you knew it would be no small effort.

your younger brother had been less than thrilled at first, grumbling about having to teach the forest people how to survive in the water. but in time, he grew accustomed to it.

tsireya, of course, had no complaints. if anything, she was too eager to help, though it was obvious why. she had taken quite the liking to the younger sully brother.

as for you? you didn’t mind them much. you treated them with respect and did your duty, teaching them as best you could.

but neteyam, the eldest sully, was the biggest pain in your tail.

at first, he had been quiet, reserved. almost too respectful. he treated you as if you were someone of great authority, so much so that you had to remind him once that you were not his superior.

oh, great mother, how you regret that now.

it was as if those words alone had shattered whatever restraint he had. now, neteyam refused to leave you alone. he took every opportunity to tease you, to pester you about anything and everything.

he was worse than your brothers. far worse.

for someone who carried himself as a mighty warrior, he certainly didn’t act like one. if he wasn’t showing off, casually proving that he could master every skill thrown his way. he was using that demon language of his, throwing strange words at you just to see your reaction.

and eywa, did he love your reactions.

those large, crystal-blue eyes of yours would widen in pure, utter confusion every time he spoke in that strange demon language. and that was exactly what he wanted.

he would grin, sharp and full of mischief, watching the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips parted slightly as if trying to make sense of the foreign words. then, just when you thought he might take pity on you and explain himself, he would simply shake his head.

“what?” you’d snap, frustrated beyond belief. “what does that mean?”

but neteyam would only tilt his head, feigning innocence. “nga kea nari si, yawntu?”

your tail flicked sharply behind you. “neteyam.”

nothing. just that insufferable smirk.

you hated it. hated how he refused to explain himself, as if he hadn’t just spoken an entirely different language to you. as if he hadn’t just left you standing there, trying to piece together something you had no hope of understanding.

infuriating.

and yet, every time, you found yourself waiting for the next time he’d do it again.

it was infuriating.

whenever the two of you were together, whether by chance or because your father had paired you up for some task, he would do the work, yes. but not without making your life miserable in the process.

today was no different.

your mother had asked you to fetch more shells for her, a simple enough task. yet, of course, neteyam had seen you leaving and, for reasons only eywa knew, decided to follow.

“you do not need help collecting shells,” he had said, trailing behind you like an overgrown ilu.

“and yet here you are,” you muttered, sifting through the sand near the shore, determined to ignore him.

neteyam crouched beside you, hands resting on his knees as he watched you work. he was silent for a moment—too silent. that was never a good sign.

“you know,” he finally mused, “where i’m from, we don’t waste time collecting pretty things from the sand.”

you exhaled sharply through your nose, refusing to rise to the bait. “we do not waste time,” you corrected. “the shells are used for many things.”

“oh, of course,” he said easily. “necklaces. bracelets. decorations.” your ears flicked in annoyance. “and medicine, neteyam. and tools. and trade.”

he hummed as if considering your words, then leaned forward, plucking a shell from the pile you had already gathered. “this one,” he said, holding it up, “definitely just for decoration.”

you snatched it from his grasp, shooting him a glare. “why are you here?”

he grinned. “what, and miss a chance to spend time with my favorite metkayina?”

you scoffed, turning back to your task. “go bother someone else.”

“i would,” he admitted, stretching out lazily beside you, “but no one else makes such great faces when i talk.”

your hands froze for a moment before tightening into fists. infuriating. absolutely infuriating.

rolling your eyes, you ignored him, focusing instead on plucking shells from the sand. and then he did it again.

that strange, foreign tongue slipping past his lips; smooth, effortless, knowing damn well you wouldn’t understand.

“these shells are just as beautiful as you,” he said, voice teasing yet undeniably soft.

you froze, fingers curling around the shell in your hand as you turned to him, eyes narrowing.

“what did you just say?”

neteyam only smiled. that smug, infuriating smile. “nothing.”

your tail flicked sharply behind you. “no,” you pressed, shifting to face him fully. “you said something. say it again.”

he tilted his head, as if considering it. then, with a maddening slowness, he shrugged. “i don’t think so.”

you hated this game. hated that he knew how much it drove you mad.

still, you tried to piece it together, running the words over in your mind, searching for meaning. but you had no hope of understanding. it was a language that didn’t belong to you; a secret only he held.

your lips pressed into a thin line. “you could be insulting me for all i know.”

neteyam chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his golden eyes warm with amusement. “you think so little of me, sevin?”

you huffed, turning back to your task, determined not to let him win. “one of these days, i will find out what you are saying,” you muttered.

he grinned. “i look forward to it.”

and you were determined.

later, when your mother and father weren’t demanding anything from you, you set out to find the younger sully brother.

lo’ak was more open than neteyam, more willing. he didn’t hold himself with the same strict discipline as his older brother, and you knew he was always eager to prove himself. perfect.

you found him near the village edge, sharpening his knife, tail lazily flicking behind him. he looked up as you approached, ears twitching with curiosity.

“what do you want?” he asked, though there was no real bite to his words.

you crouched beside him, tilting your head. “i want to learn your demon language.”

lo’ak blinked. “you mean english?”

you scowled. “demon language,” you repeated. “the one you and your brother use.”

lo’ak snorted. “right. and why would i teach you?”

you smirked. “because you like my sister.”

lo’ak stiffened. “i—what? no, i—”

you raised a non-existent brow, waiting.

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s so unfair.”

you only shrugged. “i do not make the rules.”

lo’ak huffed but gave in easily enough. “fine,” he muttered. “what do you want to know?”

you leaned forward, eager. “start with this, what does neteyam keep saying to me?”

lo’ak knew exactly what was going on.

he had seen the way neteyam looked at you, watched how his usually disciplined, ever-perfect brother turned into a teasing, insufferable menace whenever you were around. neteyam was completely, hopelessly infatuated with you.

and now, here you were, looking at him for answers.

lo’ak smirked to himself. oh, this is too good.

he had two choices: he could lie, protect his brother’s pride, and let this little game of theirs continue.

he could tell you the truth and sit back to watch the chaos unfold.

really, there was only one correct option.

feigning nonchalance, he leaned back on his hands, pretending to think. “well,” he started slowly, drawing it out just to watch you grow impatient. “neteyam’s been saying some… interesting things.”

your eyes narrowed. “like what?”

lo’ak bit back a grin. oh, this was going to be fun. so fun for him.

because as he went on, explaining the things he had heard neteyam say to you in english, you listened intently, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind you.

what you didn’t see was neteyam moving through the village, searching for you. he had grown used to your presence, enjoyed bothering you whenever he could, so when he hadn’t seen you for a while, he decided to track you down.

and then he spotted you, with lo’ak.

the way his brother was smirking, looking like a complete menace, was a dead giveaway. neteyam didn’t even need to hear the conversation to know exactly what was happening.

his stomach dropped.

lo’ak was telling you.

his body tensed, tail flicking in irritation. oh, that little skxawng.

you still didn’t notice him. too focused on lo’ak, your arms crossed, head tilting as you listened. and lo’ak? oh, he was relishing this.

neteyam clenched his jaw. he had two options: stop this right now before you learned too much, or let it happen and deal with the consequences.

yeah, like hell he was choosing the second one.

so, before lo’ak could dig his grave any deeper, neteyam stormed over.

by the time neteyam stormed over, the damage had already been done. lo’ak had fully dug his grave, and he was lying in it with a big, shit-eating grin.

you turned at the sound of heavy footsteps, just in time to see neteyam approaching, his expression unreadable. his jaw was tight, ears pinned back, golden eyes locked onto his younger brother with something between fury and panic.

lo’ak just sat there, far too pleased with himself. “oh, hey, brother,” he said, voice dripping with fake innocence. “we were just talking about you.”

your gaze flickered between them, realization dawning. neteyam knew. he knew exactly what had just happened.

and judging by the way his tail lashed behind him, he was not happy about it.

you turned back to lo’ak. “so,” you said, tilting your head, “you’re telling me neteyam has been calling me beautiful this whole time?”

neteyam inhaled sharply. “lo’ak—”

“oh, yeah,” lo’ak cut in, completely ignoring him. “that and, you know, pretty much everything else a man says when he’s in love with someone.”

silence.

your lips parted slightly, but no words came. neteyam looked like he was about to die on the spot.

and lo’ak? well, lo’ak just grinned and clapped a hand on neteyam’s shoulder.

“good luck, bro,” he said before slipping away, leaving you both standing there, one of you in utter shock, the other in complete, soul-crushing regret.

neteyam stared at you, tense, waiting, trying to gauge your reaction.

you didn’t look at him at first, eyes fixed on the sand, lips caught between your fangs as if deep in thought. his heart pounded in his chest, breath held as he braced himself for whatever was coming.

then, slowly, the corners of your lips curled.

the biggest, most teasing smile stretched across your face as you finally lifted your gaze to meet his.

“oh,” you said, drawing the word out, tail flicking behind you. “so that’s what you’ve been saying this whole time?”

neteyam groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “lo’ak is dead.”

you laughed, the sound light and full of way too much enjoyment. “no wonder you never translated. what was it you said earlier?” you tapped your chin, pretending to think. “oh, yes, these shells are just as beautiful as you.’”

his ears flattened. “you don’t have to—”

“but i am beautiful, aren’t i?” you interrupted, tilting your head. “since you’ve been saying it so often.”

neteyam clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose. he could not believe this was happening.

you leaned in slightly, eyes shining with mischief. “tell me, mighty warrior, what else have you been calling me?”

he groaned again, feeling his entire body heat up. this was not how he wanted you to find out.

but when he looked at you, truly looked at you, all teasing and bright-eyed, wearing that smile that made his stomach flip, he knew, deep down, that lo’ak had only sped up the inevitable.

so, with a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and met your gaze.

“do you really want to know?” he asked, voice lower now, steadier.

your teasing smirk faltered just slightly. “…yes.”

neteyam took a step closer, eyes locked onto yours.

“yawntu,” he murmured, watching as your brows furrowed. “seysonì.”

you blinked, lips parting, the teasing edge in your expression flickering with something softer.

then he leaned in, voice just above a whisper.

“my love.”

your breath hitched.

for the first time since this little game between you had started, you found yourself at a loss for words.

your eyes flickered down to his lips for just a second—quick, barely noticeable, but he noticed. of course he did. neteyam was always watching, always reading you like an open scroll.

his ears twitched, tail giving the smallest flick as he took another step closer. close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough that the teasing atmosphere between you had shifted into something else. something heavier.

“you’re quiet,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “that’s new.”

you swallowed, trying to regain some sense of control. “shut up,” you muttered, but the usual bite in your words was missing.

neteyam smirked. he knew he had you now.

slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand, fingers brushing against the shell still clutched in your grasp. his touch was light—barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“you never did tell me,” he mused, golden eyes locked onto yours. “do you think i’m beautiful too?”

your heart pounded against your ribs. that smug skxawng. he was throwing your own words back at you.

but two could play this game.

tilting your chin up, you gave him a slow, knowing smile. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

then, before he could get the last word in, you turned on your heel, leaving him standing there; stunned, frustrated, and entirely hooked.

you left him standing there, smug and victorious, but your heart was still pounding.

by the time you returned home, you needed to find your sister.

because these forsaken sully brothers had somehow woven their way into both of your hearts.

you found tsireya near the woven mats of your family’s marui, carefully threading beads onto a new piece of jewelry. she looked up as you entered, a soft smile on her lips—one that quickly turned into curiosity when she saw the look on your face.

“you look…” she tilted her head, studying you. “different.”

you scoffed, flopping down beside her. “frustrated.”

tsireya’s brows lifted. “ah. neteyam?”

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “always.”

her soft laugh rang through the marui, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. but then you narrowed your eyes, gaze flickering to the necklace she was working on.

“let me guess,” you said, nodding toward it. “for lo’ak?”

tsireya hesitated, just for a moment, before a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

you gaped at her. “oh, eywa.”

“it is not—”

“you’re making him jewelry?”

“he—he appreciates our traditions!” she defended, though the flustered look on her face betrayed her.

you stared at her for a long moment before shaking your head. “we’re doomed,” you muttered, flopping onto your back. “the sully brothers have ruined us.”

tsireya only giggled, threading another bead onto the string. “maybe.” then, she cast you a knowing look. “but you don’t seem to mind.”

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. because, deep down, you didn’t. not one bit.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and violet, your village buzzed with excitement. the salty breeze carried the scent of roasting fish and sweet fruits, mingling with the rhythmic sounds of drums echoing across the shoreline.

tonight was a night of festivities; a celebration of unity, of eywa’s blessings, of all that made your people strong. and, as the daughter of the olo’eyktan, it was one of those things you had to attend.

you stood near your family’s marui, adjusting the beaded adornments woven into your hair as your mother fussed over your attire. ronal was ever the perfectionist, making sure you looked every bit the part of a leader’s daughter.

“you must be present,” she reminded you, hands steady as she adjusted the woven top covering your chest. “engage with the people. show them your strength.”

you held back a sigh. “yes, sa’nok.”

beside you, tsireya giggled under her breath. she, of course, loved these gatherings. but you? you found them tiring, always forced to play the part of the dutiful daughter: composed, graceful, responsible.

still, you knew your role. you straightened your shoulders, casting one last glance at the glowing horizon before following your family toward the center of the village.

the festival was already in full swing when you arrived, torches casting golden light over the gathering crowd. children wove between the adults, laughter ringing through the air as dancers moved to the steady beat of the drums.

your attire was more ethereal than usual; custom-made loincloths adorned with the prettiest shells and beads, catching the firelight with every movement, making you shine. the woven top your mother had chosen was delicate yet intricate, the beading cascading down your torso like water, reflecting the hues of the ocean. you looked every bit the daughter of the olo’eyktan, and though you wouldn’t admit it aloud, the way eyes followed you as you walked made you feel powerful.

you had done your duties; exchanged pleasantries, greeted those who needed to be greeted, smiled when necessary, when you suddenly felt a presence.

a familiar presence.

you didn’t have to look to know who it was. you felt his eyes on you before you even spotted him across the crowd.

neteyam.

he was standing with his family, expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze, something intentional.

your heart gave an annoyingly noticeable thump.

and you just knew, this night was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

your father had given his speech, his voice commanding as he spoke of unity, of eywa’s blessings, of the strength of the metkayina. you were just settling into your place beside tsireya when you felt it. the people cheered, the drums picked up, and just like that, the festivities truly began.

which meant you were finally free.

you exhaled, the weight of expectation lifting as you slipped through the crowd, seeking a moment to just be. the village was alive with celebration, dancers twirling near the fire, warriors boasting about their latest hunts, children giggling as they weaved through the legs of their elders. it was beautiful, vibrant, home.

you found yourself near the shoreline, where the glow of the lanterns met the shimmering tide, your toes sinking into the cool sand. the festivities carried on behind you, but for a moment, you allowed yourself to take it all in—the crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the hum of music in the background.

and then, of course, he appeared.

“you clean up nice.”

the deep voice sent a shiver down your spine, one you quickly masked by rolling your eyes before turning to face him.

neteyam stood a few paces away, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. his own attire was different tonight—his usual warrior gear swapped for something more ceremonial, beads woven into his braids, the soft glow of bioluminescent paint marking his skin.

he looked… good.

not that you’d tell him that.

“you again?” you sighed dramatically, placing a hand on your hip. “is there nowhere i can go without you appearing like a shadow?”

neteyam chuckled, stepping closer. “if you wanted to be alone, you wouldn’t have come here.”

you scoffed, though you didn’t move away as he reached your side, standing beside you as the waves lapped at your feet.

a beat of silence passed before he tilted his head slightly, golden eyes scanning your face.

“you really do look beautiful tonight.”

it wasn’t teasing this time. no smug grin, no playful lilt to his voice. just a quiet truth, spoken into the space between you.

and for the first time tonight, you had no clever response.

back at the heart of the festivities, away from the shoreline where you and neteyam stood, two warriors, two leaders, watched.

tonowari and jake stood side by side, their conversation casual, yet their eyes keenly observant. they had been discussing the ongoing training of the young hunters, the state of the tides, and other matters of importance. but, at some point, their attention had drifted.

to you and neteyam.

because, despite whatever you and neteyam thought, you were not subtle.

jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he watched his eldest son step closer to you, the way his body naturally leaned toward yours, the way you, despite your best efforts, didn’t pull away.

“they think they’re being discreet,” jake muttered.

tonowari hummed in agreement, arms crossed over his broad chest. “they are not.”

jake sighed. “he’s got it bad.”

tonowari’s lips twitched slightly, amusement flickering in his sharp eyes. “as does she.”

jake glanced at him, smirking. “that a problem?”

tonowari was quiet for a moment, watching as you shoved neteyam’s shoulder, only for the boy to grin and lean right back into your space.

“…no,” the olo’eyktan finally said. “not yet.”

jake chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “good luck with that, brother.”

tonowari just sighed, already bracing himself for the storm that was sure to come.

back with you and neteyam, the air was thick.

the kind of thick that made your skin feel too warm, your chest too tight. the kind of thick that had your heart pounding a little faster than it should, your breath catching at the way his golden eyes burned into yours.

the tension could have been cut with a knife.

but the question was, who was going to make the first move?

neteyam was watching you closely now, that cocky smirk long gone. his lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though you could tell, that he was feeling it too. that same charged, unspoken pull that neither of you were willing to put words to.

for once, he wasn’t teasing.

for once, you were the one trying to look anywhere but at him.

“you’re quiet again,” he murmured, voice lower now, softer.

your fingers curled into your palms. “you talk enough for both of us.”

neteyam chuckled, but it was breathier than usual, as if even he wasn’t fully present in the words. his gaze flickered down for a split second, to your lips just for a moment, but it was enough.

your stomach flipped.

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. the way the firelight flickered over his skin. the way his braids shifted as he tilted his head. the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was debating something.

your tail twitched. was he going to do it? was he going to be the one to break first?

neteyam shifted slightly, leaning in just a fraction—so small, so subtle, but you caught it.

and eywa help you, you didn’t move away.

maybe you should’ve. maybe you should have smirked, teased him, run before he could turn this whole thing into something real.

but you didn’t.

instead, you just stared at him, pulse racing, waiting to see if this would be the moment one of you finally gave in.

just as your lips were about to touch, just as you felt the faintest graze of them, the smallest, feather-light brush—

a loud, booming clearing of a throat shattered the moment.

you jerked away so fast you nearly lost your footing, and neteyam; mighty warrior, future olo’eyktan, practically jumped back as if you had burned him.

that was how deep the two of you had been in your own little world.

heart hammering against your ribs, you turned, already knowing what you’d find. and, sure enough—

there stood tonowari.

and beside him, looking far too amused for his own good, was jake sully.

oh, eywa.

your father’s arms were crossed, expression unreadable, but the sheer weight of his stare was enough to make you wish the ocean would just swallow you whole.

jake, on the other hand, had the audacity to smirk, glancing between you and neteyam like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night.

neteyam straightened immediately, shoulders squared, but you knew him too well. knew that beneath that carefully composed expression, he was panicking.

“neteyam.” jake’s voice was easygoing, but the warning beneath it was clear.

“sir.” neteyam’s response was stiff, formal, and oh eywa, you had to fight the urge to laugh at how utterly caught he looked.

tonowari said nothing at first, just looked at you, then at neteyam, then back at you. and somehow, somehow, that was worse than if he’d yelled.

“i see you are both enjoying the festivities,” he finally said, voice far too calm.

you swallowed. “yes, sa’nok’itan,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice even, though you swore you saw the corner of jake’s mouth twitch.

neteyam, to his credit, didn’t flinch. but the tips of his ears were burning red. “we were just—”

“i am sure you were,” tonowari cut in smoothly.

and that? that was when you knew you were done for.

you dared a glance at neteyam, but he refused to meet your gaze, jaw clenched so tight you thought his teeth might crack.

jake clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, barely containing his grin. “why don’t we let them enjoy the rest of the festivities?” he said, clearly enjoying this way too much.

tonowari exhaled through his nose, giving you one last long look before nodding. “come,” he said, turning to leave. “we will speak later.”

you felt your stomach drop.

and then, just like that, they were gone, leaving you and neteyam standing there—mortified, frustrated, and one second away from kissing.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then…

“…so,” neteyam muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “that was—”

“do not.” you cut him off, voice tight, because if you thought about it for one more second, you were going to combust.

neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face before finally, finally, meeting your gaze.

and despite everything, despite the sheer embarrassment of it all, he smirked.

“next time,” he murmured, stepping just close enough to send a shiver down your spine, “we pick a better spot.”

your jaw dropped. “neteyam!”

but he was already walking away, laughing, leaving you standing there, flustered and fuming, knowing damn well he’d just won.

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n

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httpswritings · 3 months ago

Text

When I Was Your Woman

alexia putellas x reader — angst with happy ending, nsfw content and mentions of cheating and physical and mental health and conditions.

When you walked away from Alexia, you made a vow to yourself—one you swore you’d never break: you would never forgive her.

“It was just a kiss,” she’d said, her voice trembling.

But to you, it was never just a kiss. It was the first crack in the foundation of trust, the prelude to betrayal.

She begged. Fell to her knees, hands clutching at your sleeves, desperate. Her pleas hung thick in the air, dissolving into the silence between you.

It had happened that night, during the celebration of yet another team victory. The atmosphere was electric, the kind of night where possibilities felt infinite—until they shattered.

In a single, fleeting moment, she was locked in a sloppy, too-deep kiss with a blonde stranger. It ended almost as soon as it began, but the damage carved itself into your bones.

Alexia pulled away, face flushed, the room spinning as if the world itself were recoiling from her.

The blonde woman stepped closer, reaching for her again, but Alexia shoved her back.

Without a word, she tossed cash onto the bar and stormed into the night.

When she got into her car, she punched the steering wheel in frustration.

The memory of you both lying on the couch on a Sunday morning, talking about various topics, came rushing back. You had told her you'd never forgive infidelity, and she had promised she would never do that to you. The weight of that memory suffocated her.

She wanted to crash her car, to feel physical pain—anything to distract from the emotional agony of what she had done to you.

It took her a while to get home.

Alexia couldn't forget what you told her:

"I hope you enjoyed the kiss, because that was the moment you lost me."

And you were right. The price of kissing that blonde stranger was losing the love of her life.

You were determined to leave Barcelona, and thankfully, for your sanity, Alba, Alexia's sister, let you stay for the night.

The next morning, you woke up early and went to buy some presents for Alexia’s family, especially for her sister, mother, and grandmother.

You knew it was inevitable that you would lose contact with her family, and that hurt you as much as Alexia’s betrayal.

Still, you made a promise to yourself to call Alexia’s grandmother every week, and you were a woman of trust.

Eli didn’t say much, and neither did you.

“I’m sorry, Eli. I know Alexia is your daughter, and so is your sister, Alba. I don’t want to speak badly about her in front of you, so I'd rather not give you any explanations.”

They understood.

You saw Alexia’s family a couple of times after that, with the exception of her grandmother, whom you visited often.

The poor lady understood that you didn’t want to see Alexia, so she always let you know when it was safe to visit.

Two years later, you found yourself standing in front of Alexia’s apartment door.

You didn’t know what to expect, so you kept your hopes in check.

When you saw on your phone that Alexia had torn her ACL, you felt a deep empathy for her.

You didn’t know much about that type of injury, but after reading about it and understanding how difficult the recovery process would be, you decided to visit her.

When you rang the bell, Alexia was on the couch. Alone. She had asked Eli and Alba to leave for an hour or so because she needed some time alone, as silence filled the house.

She had been deeply upset by your departure, and the injury only deepened her depression.

Even after two years, her heart still waited for you.

It was a challenge for her to get up from the sofa because she was still awaiting surgery. Her leg was immobilized, making movement nearly impossible.

Just as you were about to leave, thinking she might not live there anymore, she opened the door.

The initial shock of seeing you made her drop her crutches.

She called your name carefully, her tone questioning, as if she thought you might disappear. You nodded.

Suddenly, her face turned red, and she covered it with her hands, letting out a deep, heart-wrenching cry.

You ran to her and embraced her fully, soothing her.

The way she held onto you sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t leave, please… Don’t. Don’t.”

Her grip was almost painful, but you knew she didn’t mean to hurt you.

“I’m not leaving, but let’s go inside so you can sit down.”

You helped Alexia by handing her the crutches and guiding her to the sofa.

She kept looking at you intensely, afraid to glance away.

“I came because I saw the news, and I was worried,” you explained.

Alexia was visibly moved and could barely speak, so you continued.

“Especially because of what I told you when it happened.”

«I hope football betrays you as badly as you betrayed me.»

“I’m not happy about what happened to you. Even if I said that, even if I meant it at the time, I truly hope you recover as soon as possible.”

Inside Alexia, something healed, but she still felt like a monster for what she did to you. When she tore her ACL, the first image that came to her mind was you shouting that sentence to her face.

«I hope football betrays you as badly as you betrayed me» and football did, but not as badly as she betrayed your loyalty, your dignity, your love.

When Alexia cheated on you, you were peacefully sleeping on your bed, in one of her shirts. “It helps me sleep when you're out, and not by my side,” you told her. “I’ll be back sooner than you expect, just in time to cuddle you,” she told you. When Alexia came home after that kiss, she didn't cuddle you, she couldn't. Alexia felt absolutely disgusted with herself, and touching you, your kind and lovely self, felt like a profanity. That's why, when she saw you asleep, she spent almost the whole night looking at you, knowing that would be the last night seeing you.

“Ale, say something please.”

“I'm sorry.”

And those two words were also healing for you. When Alexia confessed her unloyalty, you didn't believe she was sorry.

«I’d never forgive you, Alexia. Never. I hope this haunts you for the rest of your life, so when you kiss any other woman, it reminds you of what you broke.»

That curse never happened because Alexia never kissed another woman after you left.

You were a mixture of contradictions. You still felt some hurt, even if you had already forgiven her, but seeing her so depressed, so visibly sorry… It was easier when you hated her, but now that your love for her made an appearance after being buried for two years, it was agonizing to not hold her and protect her.

Putting any thought aside, you carefully and minding her injury, hugged her as she was sat down, and she hid her face on your neck.

You heard her cries amplifying as the time passed by but you didn't stop her.

Crying for Alexia was a huge deal, so you knew this was necessary. She needed this release.

You tried to separate from her body to tell her «It's okay, let it out», but she held you tightly.

“No. Don't leave. Please.”

“I won't.”

You caressed her hair, her arms, her shoulders, anywhere to make her feel better.

“I won't leave, Ale, but we need to talk.”

Alexia didn't know if she was going to be able to bear this conversation, but she knew it was the minimum she had to do for you, especially after the way you were treating her.

She didn't say anything, so you decided to go on.

“I hated you for what you did, but right now, I've forgiven you. I still need time, because it’ll be very difficult for me to regain trust in you, but, if you let me, I’d love to be by your side, especially during this tough time. I've missed you every day and while coming here wasn't an easy thing to do, I felt the need to see those beautiful eyes again in front of me.”

Alexia, in between her cries, laughed clumsily. She knew that whenever you wanted to soften her, especially when she was sad, you’d talk about her eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes.

“So, despite everything, I'm here, and I'd love to have a conversation about what happened, if you're ready. I know it's not your best time, so whenever you feel ready, I’ll be ready.”

Despite Alexia's bad communication abilities, she knew she had to make the effort to match your maturity.

She thought she had lost you forever, but here you were, holding her.

Alexia suddenly felt remorse, and tried to back off.

You stiffened, not knowing why she reacted that way.

“No. You deserve better. No. No. No. You deserve better than me. I betrayed you.”

And she did, but you already knew that, and you already forgave her.

“Alexia, I already forgave you. It took me a while, but I did. I told you I need time because I need to regain trust, and if you want me to be part of your life, you’ll have to work for it, but that's another topic. There won't be a third chance, but I trust you enough to give you a second chance.”

“No. I don't want you to go through this again.”

That stirred something inside you. How could she be doubting herself already right after you were here giving her a second chance?

It took you off a little bit, enough for your fears to creep you, but deep inside, something told you that there was more behind Alexia's fear.

It wasn't that she didn't trust herself, she was deeply scared of hurting you so bad, you would not recover from it, because «there won't be a third chance».

“Ale, baby, listen…”

Baby.

That's how you used to call her, and you noticed the tears coming back to her eyes.

“Baby… you called me baby.”

It honestly worried you how upset she was with the situation.

You had never seen Alexia so out of control with herself, she was just not there.

“Yeah, I called you baby, because you know how much I loved to call you that. And I still want to call you my baby, my love, my girl. But you need to forgive yourself, Ale. It won't be until then that you’ll start to trust in yourself and then, you’ll make me trust you.”

“I can't. I won't. I don't want to. I fucked up everything. It's not only about us. Alba didn't talk to me in months. In months. And I don't blame her. I have never seen her so disappointed, and it was because of me. I can't fuck up everything again.”

“Tell me how it happened. Tell me about the night you cheated on me.”

Alexia looked at you perplexed. She didn't know why you wanted to hear that.

“I need it. I need to know why you did it and why you told me about it the following morning.”

It took Alexia a while to talk, and it wasn't until you started crying that she stopped.

“See? I want you to have a girlfriend worthy of your love. As much as I’ll always love you, as much as I’ll always wait for you, as much as these lips have the kiss of that woman as their last kiss as a reminder to haunt me every day of losing the woman of my life, I want you to do better, and that isn't with me.”

A part of you knew she could be right, but you wanted her, and for once, you didn't care about betrayal. You would worry about that tomorrow, or the day after, but right now, the only thing you wanted was to press your lips on hers, to eliminate the kiss of that woman from the club from her lips, and so you kissed her.

It was soft at first, but it had been two years without each other, and suddenly, a fierce passion wanted to make its appearance.

It's true that you didn't want to make things like this. You wanted to have a conversation, take things slow and behave like a mature adult but, for a moment, you forgot about what was right and what was wrong, only caring about the way Alexia was kissing you.

You ended up on top of her, letting her wander around your body.

Her hands touched everywhere around your belly, your waist and your back, caressing them, gripping them, delicately scratching them, and sooner you were desperate for more.

It wasn't until a small scratch on your waist made you moan, that Alexia tried to move her injured leg.

You noticed it and stopped.

“Ale, your leg… Be careful, baby.”

You noticed the resignation in Alexia’s eyes, and decided to do something about it.

“Let me handle it. Relax and don't make sudden movements. I've got you.”

You removed a little bit of her pants, enough to have fully access to her core.

“I've missed this pretty view.”

“There's no way I won't be able to move properly for months. I'm gonna go insane.” Alexia complained.

“Don't worry, my love. I can take care of you in every way,” you kissed her belly, leaving small bites, making her squirm.

“Ale, what did I say? No movements.”

“It's difficult, bebita.”

You had deeply missed that nickname and if it wasn't because you heard two familiar voices approaching outside the apartment, you would've made a mess of Alexia.

“Mierda, I told them to be back in an hour!” Alexia said as she rapidly tried to put her pants up.

She couldn't properly move past her upper thighs because she couldn't do any type of effort with her injured leg.

“Shit, Alexia, why didn't you warn me?!”

“Oh, sorry, I was too busy seeing your face below my belly—”

“Shhhh!”

You threw her a blanket to cover her exposed area.

When the door opened, Alba almost fell.

When she knew she wasn't hallucinating, she practically jumped on your arms, almost making you both fall down.

Eli got nervous too, but in a good way, especially after seeing her daughter's eyes: brilliant with that sparkle she had lost when you left.

“Alba, you're suffocating her!”

Alba kept kissing your face and holding you, like she always did with her friends when they hadn't seen each other in a while.

When you hugged Eli, you noticed how much she had missed you.

Her grip on you was tight, and when you saw her face, her eyes were watery.

You didn't know how you managed to get Eli and Alba to Alexia's bedroom, telling them that something had been bothering Alexia as she slept, but was too considerate to tell them, afraid she was considered a burden.

As you helped Alexia pull her pants up, you looked up, you saw her trying not to laugh.

You were too busy to laugh but it warmed your heart watching her shy smile.

Alba, bless her heart, was too naive but Eli knew something had been up, that's why when they came back to the living room, she shook her head laughing and rolling her eyes, looking at Alexia.

Alexia laughed and her cheeks got a reddish tone in just seconds, and had to improvise when Alba kept asking what was bothering Alexia, and giving her a lecture about how she was not a burden and that her, as the younger sister, would always be there for Alexia.

Alba and Eli spent the rest of the day and they both left at night.

As you were cleaning everything up, Alexia looked at you intensely.

You noticed her eyes on you, and you got closer to her.

“Let's get you to bed.”

“I can go by myself with the crutches, but you can join me— I mean, you can stay, well— if you want. You can stay wherever you want…”

You smiled at her nervousness, and with delicacy, you placed a kiss on her front.

“Relax, Ale. I’d love to stay with you. In bed. Is that okay?”

“Yes!”

Alexia asked you to get comfortable with the piece of clothing you liked the best.

To your surprise, she hadn't changed much of her clothes, so you chose a long silk shirt and some pants.

Changing in front of her made her visibly turned on, and you were enjoying it.

At first, she tried to not to look, but after assuring her it was okay to, she devoured your body.

Alexia remembered it in detail.

You got her pyjamas and helped her get changed.

As her upper body was bare, her nipples quickly responded.

With the fresh memory of how sensitive Alexia was around that area, you put her shirt on, because as bad as you wanted to make love to her, it had been a day full of emotions, and both of you were visibly exhausted.

Alexia had to sleep on her back because of her injury.

She told you that she had been struggling because, as you already knew, she always slept on her left side.

You got closer to her, after she assured you it was fine, and you began to place soft kisses on her face, making her giggle.

“Will you be here tomorrow by the time I wake up?”

Witnessing such a vulnerable Alexia was challenging because you didn't know how to act nor how to say, but you were actually eager to see more of it.

“Of course. But maybe you'll wake up before me.”

“That's okay, I always enjoyed waking up before you, especially to make you breakfast.”

Before laying your head on her chest, you placed a slow but delicate kiss on her lips, making her smile.

Alexia found comfort in playing with your hair as you had already fallen asleep, even though you wanted to stay awake until Alexia fell asleep.

And just how you expected, Alexia woke up before you.

Like last night, she began playing with your hair and her mind wandered to the last morning she spent with you and how different it was from this one.

This morning, she was not anxious because her mind was at peace and if you really wanted to try this again, she was determined to make you the happiest woman in the world.

Alexia knew you had a pending conversation, and that it wouldn't be easy, but when she was not going to let you down again, and just like that, your love story had its new beginning.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

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goldfades · 3 months ago

Note

if you’re still open to requests!

can we get another joe being protective over pregnant wife???

yessss, it's my current fav trope. hope you enjoy!

It happened once. One time. And now, Joe was acting like you were made of glass.

You’d felt a little off that morning—not sick, not dizzy, just off. The kind of feeling you could shake off with a little fresh air and some movement. So, naturally, you did what any normal person would do: you got up, made breakfast, and started tackling the mountain of laundry that had been piling up.

Joe had already left for practice, so he wasn’t there to side-eye you every time you stood up too fast or to mutter a “Babe, just sit down,” like you were being reckless by existing. And honestly? You kind of liked the quiet. The ability to do something for yourself without feeling like you were being shadowed.

And then, the world tilted.

One second, you were standing at the sink, rinsing out a glass. The next, everything in your vision blurred, and your legs went weak, and before you could even process what was happening, the floor was rushing up to meet you.

You didn’t fully pass out—not really. It was more of a slow collapse, like your body was shutting down in increments. You were dimly aware of your knees hitting the tile first, the glass slipping from your fingers and shattering somewhere near the stove. The coolness of the floor against your cheek.

And then, nothing.

You weren’t sure how long you were out—maybe seconds, maybe minutes. But by the time you came to, your phone was vibrating somewhere nearby, and your stomach churned with the kind of nausea that made everything feel unsteady.

Joe.

You barely had time to register his name on the screen before your fingers fumbled to answer.

“Hey, babe,” you started, trying to sound normal, trying to swallow down the shakiness in your voice.

But Joe knew you too well.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Maybe if you downplayed it, he wouldn’t freak out. Maybe if you just kept your voice light—

“I, uh—” You swallowed. “I think I just got a little dizzy.”

Silence. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Where are you?”

You tried to push yourself up, but the second you lifted your head, your stomach lurched violently.

“Still in the kitchen.”

More silence. Then, his voice, low and clipped.

“I’m coming home.”

You barely had time to protest before the line went dead.

Joe made it home in record time. You’d managed to pull yourself up onto one of the chairs by the counter, sipping on a glass of water and doing your best to convince yourself that you were fine.

You weren’t fine, though.

Because by the time Joe burst through the door—eyes wild, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths—you realized just how bad you must have looked.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just strode across the room and knelt in front of you, his hands already reaching out, already checking. One palm on your forehead, then sliding down to cup your jaw. His fingers brushed against your wrist, pressing gently, feeling your pulse.

“Jesus,” he muttered, barely audible.

“I’m okay,” you tried, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Joe’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, like he was trying to convince himself of that. Then, without another word, he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you.

“Joe—”

“Not arguing,” he bit out, carrying you straight to the couch. “Not now.”

He didn’t let you move for the rest of the day. He got you water, a snack, a blanket—every time you so much as shifted, his eyes flicked toward you like he was afraid you were about to collapse all over again.

And that was before the doctor confirmed it was just a simple drop in blood sugar. One fainting spell. One time.

But for Joe? It was enough.

That had been weeks ago. And if you thought he was protective before, it was nothing compared to now.

Joe no longer just watched you—he monitored you. If you so much as leaned over to pick something up, he was already there, lifting it for you. If you tried to cook, he’d suddenly appear behind you, taking the spatula out of your hands and steering you toward the couch with an exasperated look.

“Just sit down, babe.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed.”

Joe hadn’t laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances.”

And true to his word, he didn’t.

No more carrying groceries inside. No more standing too long. No more doing… anything, really. You’d been officially benched by Joe Burrow, and there was no getting around it.

“Joe, seriously, I can fold laundry.”

“Nope.”

“I can put my shoes on without help.”

“Not risking it.”

“I’m literally fine.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

It was sweet. Infuriating, but sweet. Because underneath all the stubbornness, the hovering, the sheer over-protectiveness of it all—he was scared.

Joe had never been one to panic. He was calm under pressure, steady even when things were crumbling around him. But this? You? That was different.

So you let him fuss. You let him help. You let him hover, even when it drove you crazy, because you knew—this was how he showed love.

And when he tucked you against his side at night, hand splayed protectively over your belly, you didn’t complain at all.

Because honestly? There was nowhere safer in the world than right there.

Joe thought he had it all figured out.

The plan was simple: keep you off your feet, make sure you were eating regularly, and under no circumstances let you lift a damn thing. He was taking this whole "pregnant and fainting once means you're never allowed to do anything again" thing very seriously.

At first, you’d gone along with it, mostly because you knew it gave him peace of mind. Joe was a worrier, but he wasn’t the type to voice it—he just did. If something needed fixing, he fixed it. If something needed protecting, he protected it. And right now, the thing that needed both of those things was you.

But after a few days of being treated like a delicate flower in a glass case, you were bored out of your mind.

Joe had taken over everything—cooking, cleaning, running errands, even making sure you had a constant supply of pillows and blankets when you were curled up on the couch. At first, it was sweet. Then, it was suffocating.

Because you? You liked being useful. You liked moving, doing, handling things yourself. And now, thanks to one fainting spell, Joe had basically put you on a permanent time-out.

"Joe, I'm fine."

He didn’t even look up from whatever he was stirring in the pan. "Uh-huh."

You sighed. "You don’t have to do everything, you know."

"I know." He turned, gave you a look. "But I am."

And that was that.

For the next few days, you found yourself in the most mind-numbing routine—wake up, eat whatever Joe set in front of you, sit down, be still, don’t do anything. It felt like some kind of medieval bed rest punishment. You were so close to losing it when Joe finally noticed.

You must have sighed too dramatically or groaned a little too loudly while scrolling aimlessly on your phone because Joe—bless his football-playing, overprotective heart—finally sighed, sat down beside you, and handed you his card.

His card.

The Black Amex. The no-limit Amex. The "please take my money and spend it however you want" Amex.

You stared at it. Then at him.

"What's this?"

Joe just shrugged. "You're miserable."

"And?"

"And I don't like you miserable."

You blinked.

"So you're… bribing me?"

He grinned, leaning back against the couch. "No, I'm giving you an activity." He tapped the card against your palm. "Baby stuff. Buy all the baby stuff. Go crazy. Get whatever you want."

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be handing you my card if I wasn't."

You held it up between two fingers, inspecting it like it was gold. And to be fair, it might as well have been. You’d been dying to start shopping for the baby, but between Joe’s schedule and your current house arrest, it hadn’t really happened yet.

Until now.

"You said anything?" you asked, already smirking.

Joe nodded. "Anything."

"No budget?"

He let out a soft laugh. "No budget."

Oh. Oh, he fucked up.

It started small. A cute onesie here, a stroller there. You were reasonable at first—practical. A crib, a bassinet, a car seat. The things you’d obviously need.

But then? Then, it spiraled.

Because the deeper you got into the world of baby shopping, the more you realized just how much there was to buy.

Did your baby need a wipe warmer that looked like it was made for royalty? No. Did you buy it anyway? Absolutely.

Did your baby need a $500 luxury baby lounger imported from Europe? No. Was it already in your cart? Yes.

Every time you thought, "Okay, this is enough," you’d stumble across something even cuter, even better, even more unnecessary but absolutely essential.

Joe had no idea what he’d just unleashed.

The first time he really noticed was when the emails started.

He was sitting at the kitchen counter, going through his phone, when he let out a low whistle.

"Babe."

You hummed, still scrolling.

"Babe, did you—did you order a stroller that costs as much as a small car?"

You didn’t even look up. "It has all-terrain wheels."

Joe blinked. "Are we… are we taking the baby off-roading?"

You shrugged.

Joe just shook his head, scrolling through email after email of order confirmations.

"Okay, what about the designer baby clothes? And—Jesus—why are there three different cribs?"

Now you looked up. "Options, Joe."

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. But the thing was? He didn’t care about the money. It wasn’t about that. It was about you—because for the first time in days, you were back to normal.

He knew you. He knew the way your mind worked, how you thrived on having something to do, something to handle. He’d seen how restless you’d been, how bored out of your mind you’d gotten after just a few days of being forced to sit still. And now? Now you were lit up.

Your fingers flew across your phone screen, your eyes bright as you clicked through page after page, adding things to your cart with zero hesitation.

Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you this happy.

And that? That made it all worth it.

"Alright, babe," he finally said, setting his phone down. "Go ahead. Drain my card."

You grinned. "Oh, I already have."

And for the first time since your fainting spell, Joe finally, finally felt at ease.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joey b #joe shiesty #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc

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cherrysweets-world · 5 months ago

Text

Eyes of the Gods VI

series masterlist - part five

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: Your relationship with the Emperors develops further and you are forced to trust them.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, dub-con, mentions of past domestic violence, toxic/unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, possessive behavior, unedited

Word Count: 3.1k

It was not until the doors closed behind you that you fully understood the gravity of the situation. Caracalla stood in the centre of the main room, chest heaving, fists clenched. Streaks of blood still decorated his hands and lower arms.

It was like that first night in some ways. Only Caracalla had been mostly afraid that night; now, he was angry.

"Emperor," you tried, "shall I go fetch Dondus-"

"No!" he cried, throwing his arms out. They collided with a vase and it shattered onto the marble floor. You stifled a whimper and straightened your spine. Another glass followed in quick succession and you could only watch as he became a whirlwind of flying ornaments and red hair.

"Even Dondus cannot help me," he bemoaned, finally sinking to the floor amongst the porcelain. "No against the liars and traitors that have infiltrated this hellish place. They would see me killed."

He was speaking so rapidly that spittle was flying from his red lips. He raked a hand through his curls and dragged it down his face, smearing a mixture of blood and tears.

You did not feel fully confident in your own words. Not when he was so worked up. Thinking quickly, you opened the door again and requested a warm bowl of water, some ointment and a cloth.

You flinched at the ferocity in Caracalla's eyes when you turned back around, bowl in hand. The room was dark, lit only by flickering candlelight in the section you were currently in. He looked tortured, furious, but you swallowed down your apprehension and cautiously approached him.

"Were you going to leave just then?" he said, unblinking.

You set the bowl on a table. "Of course not. I wanted to get some things so I could attend to you, Caracalla."

It had been a gamble using his name, despite the fact that he was the one who had told you to. Fortunately it had the desired effect and his shoulders slumped a little, his eyes flickering.

"You're standing on porcelain," you held out your hands, "come, I do not wish to see your injured."

He grasped your hands with a surprisingly strong grip and allowed himself to be pulled from the mess. You went to turn around and ask the guards to send someone to clean it but he held you tight and shook his head, lip curling.

"Alright," you agreed, "but we must be careful. Where are the matches?"

Caracalla held still as you ventured deeper into his chambers. Like Geta's, they were larger than anything you could have even imagined. It took several moments to get the place fully lit.

Caracalla's rooms were a sad reflection of his own mind. Books spilled across the floor, bedding that had clearly been made and then torn up. His desk was cluttered with papers and ink spills. There were many, many candles. Most of them had been entirely burned down. You wondered how many nights he had spent here, alone, working himself into a frenzy.

Once you were ready, you went back to him and collected your supplies. He followed you without you having to say anything. You lead him to the bed and gestured for him to sit down, pulling over a small chair and balancing the steaming bowl on top of it.

"Do you mind if I check your feet?" you asked.

Caracalla shook his head. You unlaced his sandals and peered at the bottom of his feet. Apart from a few scratches on the side, he was uninjured.

You dipped your cloth into the water and pressed it onto the scratches to make sure they weren't more serious than they appeared. Afterwards you dabbed them with ointment to speed up the healing process.

What kind of treatment would the concubine Caracalla had set upon receive? If you did not continuously remind yourself of the people who were hurt as a result of the emperors you feared you would feel too much sympathy for them. Already you felt more than expected.

"Can I see your hands?"

Obediently he held them out. Dabbing the cloth into the water, you began the slow process of cleaning up his hands. The blood was mostly not his own but there was a rather deep cut on his pointer finger.

The water became murky as you cleaned him, knees pressed into the floor at his feet. The blood turned dark in the water and you could smell iron. You did not pause in your work.

When you were done, Caracalla leaned forward, breath dusting across your cheeks. When he was so close you could see the scars on his cheeks, white makeup hastily applied over them. There were streaks in the makeup from his tears. It was difficult not to see him for the human he was when he was up close.

"And you? Are you hurt?" he questioned.

"I am fine," you tried to smile, sensing a change in the air.

When you got to your feet, Caracalla's hands shot out to grasp your waist. They were hot through the fabric of your stola and you stilled.

"I think," he breathed heavily, "that I should check."

His eyes turned dark with desire and you swayed under the intensity of it. The mood had changed so fast that your head was spinning atop your shoulders.

Your skin prickled with gooseflesh as Caracalla's thumbs swiped across the fabric at your waist. He was unashamed; eyes roaming your face and jumping lower and lower with every second. Your own hands were resting on his forearms as though you might dare to stop him.

"Is that a command?" you asked.

Caracalla smiled, gold tooth winking in the light. "I do not think I have to command you."

Shame coursed through you. You should have felt disgust or reluctance. Instead you were overwhelmed by the ball of want that was tightening your stomach.

You were a woman with needs, desires. The attractiveness of the emperors had never been up for debate. Any interest had been previously squashed by horror but that was not the primary emotion you felt when you looked at Caracalla.

You had been around them so often that you guard had lowered without your permission. Perhaps you were a traitor - not to Caracalla, but to yourself.

"I thought I dreamed you," Caracalla continued, hands rising, "and I thought I was dreaming still when I saw the way you looked at me."

"With kindness? With care?" you tried.

"Those things too," he admitted, "but more. What was it you said before? I think I do not have to take. I think you want to give."

It was not true. You tried to take a step back but Caracalla followed you, backing you against the wall. His eyes were greedily drinking in every expression you made, fixated on your face.

"It's okay," he soothed, nosing at your jawline. "I'll take care of you, too."

His hand secured itself at the back of your neck and you sucked in a breath. Caracalla looked at you one last time before closing the distance and kissing you.

His lips were rough from where he'd bitten them. The pressure varied from intense to lighter, searching for your reciprocation. You could not help it. Your instinct and had always been to calm him and you felt yourself lean in, opening your mouth so he could explore.

His hands were working steadily at your stola, yanking the shoulders down until they tore and exposed your breasts. At that he leant back, taking in the sight of you.

"I have thought of this a thousand times," he muttered, shaky hands coming up to cup your chest and urge a gasp from your lips.

Caracalla leaned down and you watched as his mouth closed around the tip of your breast. You tried to turn your head and bring your palm up to cover your mouth but he yanked your hand away and directed it to his head.

His curls were soft beneath your fingers and you could not help but squeeze. The sensation drove a moan from Caracalla and his teeth grazed your nipple, creating the pain you had always expected to experience with him. His hands travelled from your back to your ass, urging you to hike your leg higher around his hips.

In that position his desire was unavoidable. You could feel the hard line of him pressing against you through your clothes and your knees almost buckled. Caracalla used his body to pin you against the wall. You felt like a pinned butterfly, almost entirely on display.

Whatever spell you were under broke when you registered the sound of the door opening and closing. You writhed away from Caracalla, snatching your stola from where it had pooled at your waist and pulling it up to your neck.

Caracalla was torn between hurt and sexual frustration. He palmed at his erection through his clothes and frowned, holding out his hand as though you were going to run right back to him.

Geta appeared and you wanted to melt from shame. Your hands twisted in your clothes at the speechless expression on his face. You could only imagine what he thought he was going to walk in to after he had seen all the broken glass and factored in Caracalla's rage at the gathering. It would not have been the first time a slave or servant had died at the hands of the emperors.

"You always ruin things," Caracalla sneered, shoving half heartedly at his brother.

Geta still said nothing, his eyes darting from his brother to you. Last night he had been so sure that you had tried to escape, only to find you in the arms of his brother. It was likely you appeared as confused as you felt.

Caracalla called your name and tried again, "Come back to me."

"I-I-," you attempted to speak but your throat was crushed under the weight of your embarrassment.

Without thinking, you slipped past them both and ran for the doors. You must have caught them by surprise because you managed to escape, the soles of your feet stinging from the glass you'd ran through. The sandals had not protected you the way they had Caracalla but you did not stop.

If the Praetorians were surprised at your state of undress and obvious distress, they did not say. You heard raised voices behind you but continued to run. Hot tears of humiliation lapped at your cheeks and you could not wipe them away. Your hands were the only thing holding up your clothing.

There was little point to running. You had nowhere to go. The only place that even felt remotely safe was your little room. You slowed down as you approached, finally lifting your torn stola to swipe at the tears as you began to calm down. You just needed a moment to yourself, a moment to think. The only person you could rely upon was yourself but you were becoming unpredictable.

Your steps faltered. The door to your room was hanging open, swaying lightly in some phantom wind. A big section of the wood had been broken away as though someone had been trying to get inside.

Had successfully gotten inside, you corrected yourself. You stood in the doorway to your room, jaw hanging open. Considering you had almost nothing to your name, whoever had broken in had done a great job of turning the place upside down.

A blanket of silence had enveloped the place. You felt as though the gods were holding their breath, anticipating your reaction.

The bedside table was smashed. Sections of the wooden bed frame had also been torn at and your clothing had been ripped to shreds so thin that it took you a second to recognize them. Straw had been pulled from the mattress and decorated almost every inch of the floor.

There was an unfamiliar scent in the air; the scent of the intruder. Your nose wrinkled and your stomach roiled. You felt violated.

It took you a moment to spot your carving amongst the straw. You gasped, bending down to pick it up.

"No, no, no," you cries became increasingly louder. "No!"

The piece you had picked up was only a part of the carving. The wolf's head was cracked in your hand and as you scanned the floor you realized you were probably lucky to have even found this piece.

What was happening? You could not comprehend what would provoke someone to do this. A memory arose of a similar scene; you, your mother. Your father yelling as he destroyed your small home in a similar fashion. The wolf had survived then. Not this time.

It took you a moment to register the voices behind you.

"What is this?" Geta's eyes scanned the room. "Did you do this?"

"No," you said, numb. You twisted the broken head in your fingers, splinters embedding themselves in your skin.

Geta strode over to you and peered over your shoulder. When he saw what you were holding he swore. You heard him fumbling about behind you and jolted when he reappeared holding a scrap of your clothing.

"Give that to me," he ordered. He used the clothing to safely wrap the remainder of your childhood and then pressed it back into your hand. "Praetorians!"

Caracalla had followed closely behind his brother and seemed equally as stunned at the state of your room. He stepped carefully around chunks of wood until he was able to slide his hands into your armpits and hoist you to your feet.

"Stay close," he warned, eerily lucid.

"What?" you stammered. "I - I do not understand. Why would someone - "

"The why is irrelevant!" Geta yelled. He was talking to a group of Praetorians just outside your room. "The how is crucial. How did someone manage to come this close to the quarters of the emperors, destroy a room, and slip out unnoticed?"

You thought of your own brief exploration of the gardens the night before. It had been hardly ten minutes before Geta had appeared. You had thought it was perhaps easier to sneak out than in - now you thought differently.

"Brother, take her to your rooms." Geta commanded. "Follow them closely!"

You were too shaken to argue and Caracalla's grip on you was iron tight. Your hands trembled at your neck where they were still holding up your stola, broken wolf pressed between your palms. Six Praetorians accompanied you the short distance back to Caracalla's rooms and you could hear Geta screaming the entire time.

"I do not care if you have to interrogate every single person in this palace, I want the culprit found by morning!"

You shivered. You would not want to be on the receiving end of that. You waited for the pity to rise at the thought of someone being tortured for what they had done to your room. Then you felt the broken shards of wood pressing into your palm and they helped you swallow any empathy you might have felt.

The walk to Caracalla's room felt like a mere blink. Lights flickered on all around the palace as everyone was awoken by Geta's yelling. You wondered what your friends down in the kitchen would think of it all.

Caracalla helped you into his bed and you went without protest. He had stripped you down to nothing and for a moment you thought he might try to start up what you were doing earlier. Instead he wrapped you in white linen, tucking it tightly around you. He did not try to take your wolf.

Once he was dressed in a similar fashion, he slid right in beside you. The bed was jarringly comfortable. You used the pillows to prop yourself up and did not move away when Caracalla pressed himself tightly to your side.

The pair of you sat in silence for several minutes as you attempted to process what had happened in the last few hours.

"I don’t understand," you finally said. "Why would someone do that?"

"To hurt you," he answered, tracing patterns on your bare arms. "Perhaps they would have done worse if they had come across you."

You did not miss the pointed tone in his voice. It had been foolish to flee his rooms the way you had. And what if he had not dragged you from the entertainment hall earlier? What if you had been in your room when the culprit had gone there?

For once you felt as though you understood Caracalla's paranoia. How could you get over someone wanting to cause you harm? And, even worse, you would have to walk around without knowing who it was. They could attack you at any moment.

As if reading your thoughts, Caracalla said, "Do not worry. We shall catch the vermin and have them hung."

The words had no effect on you. Partially because you did not see how they would be able to catch the person who did this. Partially because the idea of having them hung appealed to you in ways that should have made you sick but did not.

Kill or be killed, you thought.

Geta entered Caracalla's rooms almost an hour later. Both of you were still awake.

"What happened?" you asked, desperate for information.

Geta paused at the foot of Caracalla's bed, eyeing the pair of you with a funny look on his face. He smoothed it out before replying, "The Praetorians are combing over the place as we speak. I have ten stationed outside the door right now."

You slumped. Whoever had done it had yet to be uncovered.

"They will be found," Geta spat. "That was not the first incident we have had to deal with here and it shall serve as a lesson to others."

Something about the way he spoke made you look at him closely. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were watery. The fact that you had been in danger tonight meant that they also had been in danger. Geta was furious but you could see the underlying stress.

"Are you staying here as well?" the question slipped out before you could think about it.

Geta's lips trembled. "It would be safest. For you."

Wordless, you peeled back the covers on your left side. The most dangerous people in your world were somehow the ones currently making you feel safest. It evoked emotions that you did not care to think about; you were too exhausted and angry to see beyond the present moment.

Caracalla wrapped himself around you as though he thought you might try to escape. Geta joined the pair of you in bed after he had put out all the candles, leaving only the moon to illuminate the bed and surrounding furniture.

You pushed the remains of your wolf under the pillow, let your eyes close and tried not to think too hard about the possessive hand Geta placed on your stomach.

Author’s Note - Reader's world is growing smaller. Please, please let me know what you think! Asks, comments, likes and reblogs are hugely motivating and rewarding for me🥹

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#eyes of the gods #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #fred hechinger #emperor caracalla #joseph quinn #emperor geta #caracalla x reader x geta #dividers by enchanthing

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