#~ s.s. threads ~

[deletreatualma]

@writingshae ₊˚⊹♡'ed for a starter:

Severus smirked up at them, dark eyes made both darker and brighter by his hunger for them. Thumbs pressed into soft thighs, certain there'd be proof of their passion on multiple areas of the other's body. Tongue swiped along his lower lip as he gathered stray drops of their essence, gaze still ravenous and on them as he said, "I'll need you to say that louder for me." The statement punctuated by a bite to their inner thigh, tongue slowly lapping over the reddened flesh.

[jsbashirmd]

[[ plotted starter for @lietwice

It had been a long away mission. And an emotionally-taxing one. Confronted by a vision of himself as a well-remembered and beloved grandfather, Julian was equal parts disturbed and enchanted. Honestly, he hadn’t really believed he'd commit seriously to anyone since his failed engagement so many years ago, and the idea of it being some random Ensign that he'd settle down and have a mess of children with... He wanted it to make him happy, and he'd done his level best to greet it with enthusiasm, but truthfully? His most genuine reaction had been horror. What about Garak? His Garak, left alone with no one important to him to survive on the station as though nothing had changed? And he'd never be able to see him again?

The trip back on the Defiant after older Odo's sabotage had been contemplative, and Julian found himself filled with a truly sobering disarray of emotions, but the one thing he was certain of was that he was grateful. He was grateful to him for making that choice and he was grateful to be back here and he wasn’t going to waste this. He couldn't waste this.

He cleaned up first, and he changed into something that wasn’t a uniform, and he found the box of chocolates he'd been saving to surprise Garak with when the moment struck, and then he walked, surprisingly calm though his mouth was dry with nerves, to Garak's quarters, where he activated the chime. He didn’t smile, exactly, when the door was opened to him, but he did experience a surge of relief like cool water soothing a dry throat, but it was the image of the man he was apparently irreparably in love with soothing the ache that had been clenching around his heart.

"Two hundred people died," he said quietly, inpkace of a greeting. "Two hundred people, but I'm glad. I'm glad because it means I'm not separated from you."

[damnedrainbows]

tomorrow I will be diving more into my drafts and inbox. I got hundreds to go through and I don’t want people to feel abandoned

[theealbatross]

fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall.  “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush. 

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone? 

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face. 

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |16|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Yesterday's Sins

warnings: implied intimacy, grief and trauma, guilt and shame, graphic/disturbing imagery, intense emotional distress, and implied substance use.

note(s): nobody expects the spanish inquisition!!!

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The cold wakes you first—a bone-deep chill that seeps through your clothes despite the body pressed against yours. You blink, disoriented, as consciousness returns in fragments. Rough wooden walls. The sharp tang of iron in the air. Lottie's arm draped possessively across your waist.

The meat shed.

Memories flood back with nauseating clarity: snow against your back, Lottie's challenging smile, the hunger that had consumed you both. You extract yourself carefully, desperate not to wake her as shame crawls up your throat like bile.

Lottie stirs anyway, her eyes opening with none of the confusion that marked your own awakening. She looks at you with perfect lucidity, as if waking up in the meat shed after what happened between you is the most natural thing in the world.

"Morning," she murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

You manage a nod but can't force words past the knot in your throat. Your clothes feel wrong against your skin, too tight and simultaneously not enough protection against her gaze.

Lottie sits up, stretching languidly. "You're thinking too loudly."

"We should get back," you finally say, the first words you've spoken to her since... since everything. "Before they notice we're gone."

"They already know," Lottie says with maddening certainty. "Shauna was looking for you last night."

Something cold clenches in your stomach. "What?"

"She came to my sleeping corner. I wasn't there." Lottie's smile is faint but unmistakable. "Neither were you."

You busy yourself gathering your scattered things, desperate to avoid eye contact. "How did we even end up here?"

"You don't remember?" There's genuine curiosity in her voice. "You suggested it. Said you were worried someone would hear us."

The memory returns hazily—stumbling through the snow, drunk on adrenaline and need, finding the padlock unlatched and thinking how perfect, how private. You hadn't considered how it would look in the morning light.

"I need to go," you mutter, tugging on your boots.

Lottie watches you, unperturbed by your obvious discomfort. "You're afraid of what she'll think."

It's not a question, and you don't dignify it with a response. Instead, you reach for the door, pausing when Lottie speaks again.

"I meant what I said yesterday. Your threads are entangled. This doesn't change that."

You want to ask what exactly "this" is, what happened between you, what it means. But the words stick in your throat, and you leave without looking back, the cold morning air a welcome shock against your flushed skin.

------

The cabin is quiet when you enter, but not empty. Van looks up from the fire she's tending, her eyes widening slightly at your disheveled appearance.

"You're alive, then," she says, returning her attention to the flames. "That's nice."

You glance around, noting Tai's absence with relief. "Where is everyone?"

"Hunting. Foraging." Van shrugs. "The usual struggle for survival."

You nod, moving toward your sleeping area, desperate to change into clean clothes before facing the others.

"She was worried, you know," Van adds, just as you reach the corner that serves as your makeshift room. "Shauna. When you didn't come back."

Something in her tone makes you pause. "Did she say that?"

Van snorts softly. "Course not. But she checked outside like five times before bed. Kept saying she heard something." She gives you a pointed look. "Didn't sleep much either, from the sound of it."

Guilt compounds the shame already churning in your stomach. "I didn't mean to—"

"Save it," Van interrupts, not unkindly. "Not me you need to explain yourself to."

You finish changing in silence, aware of Van's occasional glances. When you emerge in clean clothes, hair somewhat tamed, she's pouring hot water into cups.

"Tea," she explains, extending a steaming mug. "Well, pine needle tea. Better than nothing."

"Thanks," you murmur, accepting the cup gratefully. The warmth seeps into your fingers, chasing away the last of the meat shed's chill.

The door opens before either of you can speak again, admitting a blast of cold air and Shauna, arms laden with kindling. Her eyes find you immediately, something flashing across her face too quickly to read.

"You're back," she says flatly.

"Yeah," you reply, hating the inadequacy of the response.

Van looks between you, then stands abruptly. "I'm gonna check on that thing. Outside. The important thing. That needs checking." She grabs her coat and slips out, subtlety abandoned in her haste to escape the tension.

Shauna drops the kindling by the woodpile, brushing pine needles from her sleeves with deliberate care. "Cold night to be out," she remarks, her tone deceptively casual.

"I, uh, lost track of time," you offer lamely.

"Must have." She meets your eyes then, her gaze hard. "Funny how that happens. One minute you're helping Lottie gather herbs, the next you're nowhere to be found until morning."

You wince at the precision of her aim. "Shauna—"

"No, it's fine." She holds up a hand, cutting you off. "You don't owe me explanations. We're not—" She breaks off, shaking her head. "Whatever. Just maybe don't disappear without telling anyone next time? Some of us are still a little jumpy about that."

The pointed reference to your previous vanishing act lands like a slap. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Shauna moves to the counter, busying herself with the morning preparations. "Silly me, I thought leaving without a word was your trademark move."

"I didn't leave," you protest, setting down your barely-touched tea. "I was just—"

"With Lottie. Yes, I gathered that." She slams a pot onto the makeshift stove with unnecessary force. "Like I said, you don't owe me explanations."

"Then why are you acting like this?" The question bursts out before you can temper it.

Shauna turns, her composure slipping for just a moment. "Acting like what? Like someone who's tired of being worried about you? Like someone who's done watching you self-destruct?" She takes a steadying breath. "Like someone who cares too much about someone who clearly doesn't care at all?"

The last words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You open your mouth to respond, to deny or confirm or somehow address the rawness in her voice, but the door swings open again and Natalie strides in, followed closely by Travis.

"—can't be sure until we check the eastern traps," Natalie is saying, stopping short when she notices the tableau before her. "Uh, sorry. Did we interrupt something?"

"Nope," Shauna says quickly, turning back to the stove. "Just morning chit-chat."

Travis's eyes flick between you and Shauna, his expression knowing. "Uh-huh."

"Successful hunt?" you ask, desperate to change the subject.

"Not really," Natalie replies, dropping into a chair. "But we found tracks. Fresh ones. Might be deer."

The conversation shifts to hunting strategies and territory, allowing you to retreat to your corner under the guise of organizing supplies. The day unfolds with agonizing slowness, each hour marked by careful avoidance of both Lottie and Shauna. You volunteer for every task that takes you away from the cabin but not too far into the wilderness, haunted by Shauna's accusation that disappearing is your "trademark move."

By late afternoon, the tension has built to an unbearable pressure behind your ribs. When Tai assigns the evening tasks and pairs you with Shauna for water collection, you mutter an excuse about checking snares and bolt from the cabin before anyone can object.

The cold air hits your lungs like a rebuke as you stride through the snow, no destination in mind beyond "away." Your breath clouds in front of you, each exhale carrying fragments of thoughts you can't quite form into coherent patterns.

What happened with Lottie—it wasn't planned, wasn't even wanted in any conscious way. It was surrender to something primal, a momentary escape from the grief and guilt that have been your constant companions since Jackie's death. Since before that, if you're honest with yourself.

You're so lost in thought that you don't notice the footsteps behind you until a voice calls your name, startling you out of your spiral.

"Hey! Wait up!"

You turn to find Javi jogging toward you, his slight frame bundled against the cold. He's grown in the months since the crash, childhood receding faster than it should in the face of your collective trauma.

"You okay?" he asks, coming to a stop beside you. "You looked... intense."

A laugh escapes you, sharp and humorless. "That's one word for it."

Javi falls into step as you resume walking, tactfully giving you space to speak or not as you choose. The silence stretches comfortably between you, a rare gift in the close quarters you've all been forced to share.

"Do you ever just want to run?" you ask finally, the question emerging unbidden. "Just... keep walking and not look back?"

Javi considers this seriously, as he does most things. "Sometimes." He glances at you sideways. "Is that what you're thinking about now? Leaving again?"

The direct question catches you off guard. "No. Maybe. I don't know." You stop walking, forcing yourself to articulate the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind. "I feel trapped, but not by this place. By... everything else."

"Like what happened with Jackie?" Javi suggests gently.

You nod, grateful for his perception. "That. And other things."

"Like whatever's going on with you and Shauna?" When you look at him in surprise, he shrugs. "Small cabin. People notice things."

"It's complicated," you sigh, the understatement almost making you laugh again.

"I bet," Javi agrees. "And now there's whatever happened with Lottie too."

You stop walking entirely, turning to face him. "How did you—"

"Like I said. Small cabin." His expression is sympathetic rather than judgmental. "Plus you both disappeared all night and came back looking... well, like you did."

Heat floods your cheeks, and you look away, suddenly fascinated by a distant tree. "It wasn't... I mean, it just happened."

"Sure," Javi says easily. "Things happen out here. It's like we're in a different world with different rules."

The assessment is so accurate, so aligned with your own unformed thoughts that you stare at him in wonder. "When did you get so wise?"

He grins, the expression transforming his face back to the boy he should still be. "I have my moments. Mostly, I just listen a lot."

You resume walking, letting his words settle into the spaces between your tangled thoughts. "I'm not planning to leave again," you say finally. "I just needed some air to think."

"Good," Javi says with surprising firmness. "Because it really sucked when you were gone. For everyone."

The simple statement hits harder than Natalie's anger or Shauna's accusations. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Javi kicks at a clump of snow. "Just don't do it again, okay? This whole 'stranded in the wilderness' thing is a lot less fun without you around."

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Cool." He points toward a cluster of trees ahead. "Want to check those snares you were supposedly going to look at? Might as well make your excuse legitimate."

"Lead on," you agree, grateful for his practical suggestion. "Though I warn you, my tracking skills are about as well-developed as my impulse control."

Javi laughs. "So completely non-existent, then?"

"I resent that," you protest, falling into the easy banter that reminds you why you've always enjoyed his company. "I have excellent impulse control. I haven't killed Natalie despite numerous provocations."

"A true testament to your restraint," he agrees solemnly. "Very Monty Python of you. 'She hasn't killed me yet, so I must be the Messiah!'"

You snort with surprised laughter. "I think you're mixing your references there."

"Probably," Javi admits cheerfully. "It's been a while since movie night."

The reference to your life before the crash—to normal teenage activities like watching films and quoting them endlessly—brings a bittersweet pang. "God, I miss movies."

"Me too." Javi's smile dims slightly. "And pizza. And my PlayStation."

"And showers," you add with feeling. "Real, hot showers with actual soap."

"And toilet paper!" Javi's enthusiasm for this particular luxury makes you both dissolve into laughter, the sound echoing strangely in the silent forest.

The moment of levity eases something in your chest, loosening the knot of tension that's been building since you woke in the meat shed. By the time you return to the cabin, having checked the empty snares and gathered a few edible plants Javi identified, you feel steadier, more centered than you have in days.

The respite is short-lived.

------

Dinner is a subdued affair, conversations flowing around you without requiring participation. You focus on your food—another watery stew, this one bulked with winter roots—aware of Lottie's occasional glances from across the fire, of Shauna's deliberate avoidance of your gaze.

"—don't you think?" Tai's question pulls you from your thoughts, and you realize she's addressing you directly.

"Sorry, what?" you ask, hoping your inattention wasn't too obvious.

"I said we should check the area where you and Lottie found those herbs yesterday," Tai repeats, her tone suggesting it's not the first time she's had to repeat herself to you. "Might be other edible plants nearby."

"Oh. Yeah, probably," you agree, carefully not looking at Lottie or thinking about what followed the herb gathering.

"Great. You can show us tomorrow," Tai decides, turning back to her conversation with Van.

You nod, though no one is watching for your response, and return to pushing food around your bowl. The stew has cooled, congealing slightly at the edges. Something about the texture triggers a memory—a flash of something you can't quite place, a feeling of wrongness that crawls up your spine.

"—not like it was much to begin with," Natalie's voice catches your attention, the words floating across the fire with peculiar clarity.

"Nat," Travis warns, glancing in your direction.

"What? It's true," Natalie argues, her words slightly slurred. She's been hitting the dwindling alcohol supply hard lately, dulling her edges with whatever she can find. "They were never actually dating. It was just... convenience."

You realize she's talking about you and Shauna, the assumption so wildly off the mark that it would be funny if it wasn't so painfully close to the truth. You were never dating—never put a name to whatever existed between you in the darkness, the comfort and connection that transcended simple friendship without ever being acknowledged in daylight.

"Fuck off, Nat," Shauna says quietly, her eyes fixed on her bowl.

"Am I wrong?" Natalie challenges, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you two were playing house until she"—she gestures at you with her cup—"decided to bail, and now you're both acting like someone died. Again."

"That's enough," Tai interjects, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We don't need to rehash this."

"Fine," Natalie mutters, slumping back. "Just saying. Everyone tiptoeing around like there's some great tragedy when really it's just—"

"I said enough," Tai repeats, sharper now.

The conversation shifts awkwardly, the tension lingering like smoke. You stare into your bowl, suddenly unable to contemplate another bite. Something about the stew, the texture, the smell—it sits wrong in your stomach, bringing back that elusive sense-memory from moments ago.

You set your bowl aside, drawing a concerned look from Mari across the fire. She leans forward, voice low. "You okay? You've barely eaten."

"Fine," you murmur, forcing a smile. "Just not hungry."

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue. You're always hungry these days—all of you are, subsisting on whatever the forest provides, which is never quite enough. But something about tonight, about the stew...

"You should eat while you can," Mari insists, nodding at your abandoned bowl. "Winter's not getting any easier."

"I know." You reach reluctantly for the bowl, knowing she's right. Food is too precious to waste, regardless of your unsettled stomach.

As you raise a spoonful to your lips, another flash of memory breaks through—hands tearing at flesh, the heavy copper scent of blood, someone crying in the background. The spoon clatters against the bowl as your hand jerks involuntarily.

"Seriously, are you okay?" Mari presses, her concern more evident now. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," you repeat automatically, but the images keep coming, fragments of memory you've somehow buried until now. Snow-covered hands. A blade glinting in firelight. Meat hanging in the shed where you and Lottie...

Oh god.

You stand abruptly, bowl forgotten as nausea rises in your throat. "I need air," you manage, already moving toward the door.

"It's freezing out," Shauna objects, speaking directly to you for the first time since your morning confrontation.

"Don't care," you mumble, yanking the door open and escaping into the frigid night.

The cold hits you like a physical blow, but it's nothing compared to the horror building inside you as memories continue to surface—images and sensations you've somehow suppressed for weeks. Jackie's body, stiff with frost. The decision made in desperate hunger. The things you did. The things you ate.

You make it only a few yards from the cabin before your knees give out, sending you sprawling into the snow. Your breath comes in short, painful gasps as realization crushes down on you.

"We ate her," you whisper to the empty air, the words hanging visible in the frozen night. "We ate Jackie."

The memory crashes through your carefully constructed barriers: Jackie's blue-tinged skin as you all brought her body back to the cabin. The discussion about burying her, about waiting for the ground to thaw. Then the hunger, the desperation, Lottie's voice suggesting what no one else would speak aloud.

And you—you had helped. Had held the knife. Had tasted human flesh and told yourself it was venison, had buried the knowledge so deep your conscious mind couldn't access it until now.

Your stomach heaves, and you retch into the snow, the meager contents of your dinner burning your throat on the way up. You can't breathe, can't think beyond the horror of what you've done, what you've all done.

"Hey!" Mari's voice seems to come from a great distance, though her footsteps crunch nearby in the snow. "Oh shit. Guys! Something's wrong! I need help out here!"

The world tilts sideways as your vision narrows to a pinpoint of light surrounded by encroaching darkness. The last thing you register before consciousness slips away is the sound of multiple footsteps rushing toward you, and Shauna's voice, suddenly close, suddenly frantic:

"What happened? What's wrong with her?"

Then nothing but merciful blackness, swallowing you and your terrible knowledge whole.

[sibyllinebooks]

would you fall in love with me again? // s.s.

summary: in the aftermath of allison’s death and the nogitsune’s possession, stiles had pulled away until your relationship snapped. until one night when he has nowhere else to go but your doorstep.

a/n: this is not proofread we die like the suitors in the odyssey ( which is coincidentally the musical of which this fic was inspired by )

a/n: i have been trying to write this for days and i still am not fully happy with it but it is what it is ( also i recommend listening to “would you fall in love with me again” from the epic concept musical by jorge rivera-herrans while reading )

word count: 1k+

you knew things wouldn’t be the same. after everything your friends had been through, change was inevitable. allison was gone. and while you knew that the nogitsune had been the cause, you also knew that stiles couldn’t not blame himself. you knew that stiles had gone through something horrible, a terror that you couldn’t imagine. but you had assumed that he would lean on you, turn to you in his hour of need, let you comfort him and tell him that it would all be okay.

he didn’t.

instead, you felt the thread of your relationship grow so thin you weren’t sure it existed anymore. he didn’t seek you out, didn’t tell his usual jokes, didn’t offer you rides home, didn’t do anything that the stiles from before would do. you wondered sometimes if you were a painful reminder of things that had been lost— if he looked at you and saw something that he no longer was allowed to have for the things the monster inside of him had done.

he never officially broke up with you. there was no messy breakup, no screaming match or sobs. he was there one day and then he just. . . wasn’t.

you didn’t hate him for it. you wanted to. god, how you wanted to hate him for ignoring you, for turning you away when he so obviously needed you. but you couldn’t. because you knew that he was still your stiles. he hadn’t changed. he had hidden. you knew that he would come back eventually.

eventually came.

it was late, the last droplets of rain pelting the roof of your house with a slowly dissipating strength. you had dozed off while the storm outside had run its course, but something had roused you. a knock. two. several.

glancing at the clock on the wall, you had no idea who would be visiting at this hour. a gnawing feeling grew in your gut as you stood and walked towards the door. had one of your friends been hurt? was there an emergency to attend to? you threw open the door with a frantic look, panic in your eyes. but it wasn’t bad news.

it was stiles.

his hair was wet from the rain, his eyes rimmed in red and his breathing heavy. he looked awful. his frame was sunken in, almost as if he were trying to diminish his presence. like he somehow bothered you for showing up. like he was afraid you would turn him away.

you weren’t sure what to say. it had been so long since you had been alone with him, so long since he had intentionally sought you out. you wondered just what had happened to make him appear on your doorstep, shaking and afraid and looking as if he was going to collapse.

“stiles. oh my god, stiles, what happened to you?”

your voice was quiet, unsure if you would spook him by speaking too loud. he seemed torn. in more ways than one. you realized he hadn’t moved and you stepped aside from the doorway, your face soft as you beckoned him in. it only took seconds for him to collapse against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck as you felt the sensation of tears against your skin.

you held him. you didn’t know how long the two of you stood there, but you held him all the same. he was trembling, holding on to you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered. you couldn’t stand it.

gently, you pried him away from your body and he looked so broken it made your heart ache.

“what happened?”

he froze at the question, looking back at the door and for a moment you were convinced he was going to bolt. but instead, he sat down on the couch, his head in his hands as he answered.

“i killed him. i killed donovan.”

you sat down gently beside him, removing his hands from his face and cradling them in your own. and while part of you wanted to be shocked, to say he would never do something like that, the other part of you said he would. but only, only, if he’d had no other choice.

“okay.”

he looked at you, his expression puzzled, as if he hadn’t quite understood what you said. and then his expression morphed to bewilderment.

“what do you mean ‘okay’?! i tell you i killed someone and you just accept it?!”

“because i know you had a reason.”

you paused, searching for the right words.

“the stiles i know, the stiles i love, would never kill someone without having a reason. it’s not who you are.”

“what if you don’t know who i am? what if i’m not the same person? what if i don’t know who i am? what if. . . what if scott was right?”

you paled, wondering what exactly scott had said to him. had he gone to scott first, tried to explain, only to be met with judgement and disappointment? had scott spurned him? the thought made you seethe. while scott was your friend, he had known stiles for years. how could he possibly question what stiles had done? how could he not believe that stiles was still at his core who he had always been?

“he was wrong.”

“no, he was right. i’m not the same person. how could you love me? after what i did?”

you were furious. you stood, whirling on him, your voice raised as you countered.

“you’re not?! then go take your jeep apart. scrap it! put that useless heap of junk where it belongs!”

he looked up at you, hurt in his eyes that quickly turned sour.

“how could you say that?! you know what that jeep means to me! you know it was my mother’s, that it’s the last thing i have of hers! how could you tell me to get rid of something like that?!”

“if you had changed, you wouldn’t care about that. the stiles i love always cared for it. so don’t tell me that you’re not the same person. you are. you always have been. i’ve been waiting for you to realize that.”

you had him. you knew you did the moment his gaze softened. his shoulders sagged with relief, letting out a shaking breath as you sat back down next to him.

you would deal with the aftermath later. for now, you had stiles. and that was more than enough.

[liv2post]

Professors and Plants

Severus Snape x Herbology!Reader Wordcount: ~2.4k Summary: You're the new replacement for Professor Sprout and one day you require someone to plant-sit for you.

Read here or on ao3

Severus was struck the first time he saw you enter the Great Hall for breakfast at the start of the new term. You were Professor Sprout’s replacement as well as her cousin, but most people wouldn’t have thought the latter due to your appearance. Your dark robes resembled his and you donned a pair of boots with yellow thread sewn into the tops of the soles. What really stood out was your hair. It was snow white, transitioning into black at the bottom third of your hair length like a gradient. Your eyes met his and held his gaze for no more than a second as you took the last available seat that happened to be at the opposite end of the head table.

Despite your dark appearance, you were perfectly amicable and polite with the other teachers, even Lockhart, but you weren’t one to ever start conversations with any of them, preferring to keep more to yourself unless someone wished to converse with you. 

The first time he talked to you was that same day before classes would start tomorrow to get a proper read on you. 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” you greeted mildly, turning away from a Sopophorous Bean plant to face him as he barely clicked the door to the greenhouse behind him.

“How do you know my name?” His eyebrows furrowed and his soft baritone voice floated through the air.

“I know your first name, too. We went to school together, but you were older. I graduated just before you took over for Professor Slughorn.”

“I see…”

“Is there something you need from me?”

“Dittany leaves. Surely, Pomona left a plant or two in your care.”

“She most definitely did. Will a standard 16 oz jar’s worth do?”

“Yes.”

You smiled softly, retrieving a mason jar and a pair of snippers, and began trimming the fuzzy green leaves of one of the tall dittany plants that sat in the corner. “Did you and Pomona have any arrangements?” you called back to him.

“Arrangements?” Snape repeated, his eyes flicking over a decorative succulent whose pot was shaped like a mushroom before looking back at you. 

“Given our positions, I imagine you and I will be supplying each other with inventory and remedies or what have you. I was just wondering if you and Pomona had any arrangements that made each other's lives easier or more efficient work-wise. Do you like your ingredients bottled a certain way? Are there certain things you find yourself running out of more often than others?”

“We didn’t have any specific protocols established. Pomona was annoyingly protective of her plants,” he stated coolly. “But…now that you mention it, my store of wormwood tends to fluctuate. The younger years can be…unapologetically wasteful.”

“Noted. I will try to remain well-stocked on wormwood. And by the way,” you screwed on the jar lid, the glass filled to the brim with leaves—not so compactly that they were squashed inside, but certainly not leaving much wiggle room either, “I’m not as crazy a plant lady as my cousin is. Minerva tells me you're quite competent at your job and it sounds like I can trust you so…if you ever need to grab something feel free to come and go through the greenhouses as you please. I just ask that if I happen to not be present to leave a note citing what you took and the quantity. Y’know, for proper record keeping ‘n all. If I know what I have then I know what I can still provide you with.”

Snape nodded lightly. “Yes��� That sounds practical enough.”

“Good,” you hummed, handing him the mason jar, your fingertips just barely brushing as he took it from you. “Glad we understand each other."

______________________________________________________________

Duties aside, you and Professor Snape got along rather well. He respected your need for notes and wrote what he took crystal clear, signing them off with “S.S”. You delivered ingredients he’d sent for in a timely manner, ensuring they weren’t overly compacted or bottled improperly. He returned the courtesy when it came to any potion meant to help your plants’ growth, sometimes brewing them fresh rather than giving you a bottle that had sat on the shelf for months at a time. Sometimes he’d add a sarcastic little comment on the notes about a student or a certain DADA teacher who you’d both found to be pretentious. 

From the notes blossomed more sociable interactions. Despite being separated by multiple floors, your classes were within the same vicinity of the castle’s layout, which meant, more often than not, you’d run into him when descending down to meals as he ascended up. You’d walk with each other, and talk a little bit, whether it be about incidents in the classroom or happenings informed to the both of you from the Prophet. The conversations would continue at meals where you’d start sitting next to one another. You didn’t get to know each other beyond a collegial level until around early November when the temperature started to get colder every day and the leaves were a vibrant wash of yellow, orange, and red. Your open-door policy on your greenhouses remained the same, but you had clarified that if he ever wanted to have tea or escape the chill of the dungeons, that open-door policy extended to your warm and cozy office. One day he knocked and when you opened the door he simply stated, “It’s cold,” before you promptly held the door back further, allowing him entry. 

You’d drink tea often, sometimes while the both of you graded, passively enjoying one another’s company as you did so, sometimes sitting on the couch or chairs and having direct conversations with one another. You compared each other's schooling experience with one another, gaping at the fact that he knew so many curses and had even invented a few spells. He confessed that it was actually Lockhart’s position he wanted, not to teach potions. 

“I didn’t take you for a Hufflepuff when I first saw you,” he admitted one afternoon.

“Was there anything else to take me as, Severus? My being here was not only to satisfy the Herbology teacher role, but also to fill the Head of Hufflepuff spot.”

“Of course, just outwardly…you didn’t seem the type. And the students have joked that your creatively witty chiding ought to have landed you in Slytherin.”

You exhaled quietly. “My whole family is mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindors sprinkled in, but even so I understand my general dark attire and reticence made me a bit of a black sheep amongst my peers. I can’t really disagree with you much on that second point. All I can say in my defense is that my loyalty is sharper than my tongue. If you ever need a reminder that I am indeed a Hufflepuff, know that I am always wearing this.” You rolled up the left sleeve of your dark robe to reveal a beaded bracelet around your wrist, each bead yellow with black text stamped in on the sides, spelling out “HUFFLEPUFF.”

An unexpected, incredulous smirk tugged on Severus’s lips. “You really wear that all the time?”

“Only when I’m not bathing or sleeping. My sister made it for me after we got sorted. We, unfortunately, were not placed in the same house… Don’t look at me like that!” you chuckled at the mostly feigned repulsed expression regarding your sibling's sickly sweet behavior. “I happen to like this bracelet, thank you very much!”

“Who knew under your robes was something so garishly bright,” he sneered playfully.

“You’re not as slick as you think either, Severus. Don’t think I didn’t see that Slytherin scarf beneath your cloak at the last Quidditch match,” you eyed him knowingly. He parted his lips to refute but found he had no argument and grumbled while blushing against his tea cup.

______________________________________________________________

“Pardon me, Professor Lockhart, but could I speak to you for a moment?” 

The DADA teacher replied with an ��Of course, dear” as he followed you to a spot off to the side from the entrance of the Great Hall after you had finished lunch one Friday afternoon. Severus eyed the both of you as he himself was slowly exiting the Great Hall as well. He slowed his pace down significantly as he floated through the corridor so he could pick up on what you two were saying. You had never willingly started a conversation with Lockhart before.

“...going to be gone this weekend. Leaving tonight, actually…

…take care of a few plants…? I left instructions in Greenhouse 4…”

“...ourse I can! Watering a few plants should be easier than defeating a vampire or two…”

You wanted Lockhart to plant-sit for you this weekend? That actually stung him a bit. Why wouldn’t you ask him to plant-sit for you? He was perfectly capable of doing so and he knew your greenhouses like the back of his hand. Did you not actually trust him like you claimed to?

He kept silent on the matter, his expression remaining impassive as he saw you off to the midnight train in Hogsmeade that same night. 

“See you Monday, Severus,” you bid softly, lightly patting his upper arm before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the night on the train until it was no more than a dot in the distance.

Severus didn’t trust Lockhart to do what was asked of him. Not one bit. Unless it was DADA-related or stroked his ego directly, the man couldn’t be bothered to accomplish what was asked of him. He imagined the fool would pass off the task to a student. Severus unlocked Greenhouse 4 the next morning and found the instructions you had left behind for Lockhart. They were simple and bullet-pointed, detailing exactly what to do and where he could find what. All that was asked of him was to spray a batch of Alihotsy plants with a germinating solution that sat on the third shelf in the supply cabinet, rotate them out of the sun at three o’clock each day, place them back at dawn, trim the matured leaves and store them in a jar. “Eventually to be delivered to our amazing potion master,” it noted, making him smile.

Severus kept a watchful eye on Lockhart that first day. Lockhart remained in his office until lunch, and after that made a trip down to Hogsmeade, no doubt to drink and find some entertaining company. At 2:45, Snape went up to Greenhouse 4 and confirmed that nothing had been moved from when he entered there this morning, the germinating solution still sitting in the exact same spot. He sprayed them all heartily and shifted the plants to a shelf away from the sun’s sight. A few leaves had matured so he gingerly snipped them from the stem and placed them in a standard mason jar. He also noticed several snails trying to sneak their way into some Potted Mandrake and disposed of them as well as repaired some worn netting protecting the Shrivelfig that was meant to keep out aphids.

He came by Sunday morning and treated the Alihotsy the same, making sure to place them in the sun at dawn so they had absorbed plenty of light by mid-afternoon. Once again, Lockhart hadn’t even bothered. 

______________________________________________________________

You returned Monday morning while everyone was at breakfast. Upon stepping into Greenhouse 4, you sighed in relief when it looked as though your plants had indeed been taken care of in your absence. You smiled pleasantly when you noticed some protective netting had been repaired, a task you planned on getting to when you had returned, but your smile broadened even more when you noticed a muddy boot print on the ground, one that did not at all belong to Professor Lockhart.

“Thank you for taking care of the Alihotsy this weekend,” you said to Lockhart who happened to be passing by the door that led down to the kitchen as you had come back from retrieving a snack that would substitute breakfast.

“Huh? Oh!” The man quickly recovered. The look of confusion lasted not even a second before plastering on a smile. “Yes, it was nothing! You can always count on me, Y/N!” he winked. You nodded once, drifting away from the man in favor of walking alongside the potion master who was breezing by in the same corridor.

“Hi,” you greeted. 

“Welcome back,” he replied, hiding his delight at your return. 

“Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Not particularly, though I was tempted to push Lockhart down a flight of stairs multiple times.” 

“Aren’t we all,” you laughed.

He walked with you all the way back to your office, select words hanging on the tip of his tongue until finally, he couldn’t hold them back anymore as you pushed on the handle of the door.

“Lockhart didn’t take care of your plants,” Severus blurted. 

“Oh?” Your hand slipped from the handle to face him with feigned curiosity.

“I didn’t trust him and…was proven correct when he ignored the task and instead spent his time in Hogsmeade, so I took care of them,” he explained carefully.

You smiled sweetly at him, lacing your fingers together in front of you. “I know, Severus.”

His breath caught in his throat. “You do?”

“Mhm. Truthfully it wouldn't have been the end of the world had those plants gone a couple of days without treatment, but I wanted to see what Lockhart would do and how he’d react to receiving false praise. I can’t say I’m surprised by the results, really. He’s as phony as ever.”

The potion master smirked. “Quite.”

You took a small step forward, stood on your tippy toes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making him flush pink when you pulled back and looked at him with twinkling eyes. “Thank you for taking care of my plants, Severus,” you murmured, affectionately squeezing his shoulders, before slipping inside of your office. Severus stood frozen in shock, his heart drumming in his chest before he managed to stop his brain from short-circuiting further. Without warning, he entered your office as well—you did have an open door policy after all—where he received another kiss. And another. And another…

He should plant-sit for you more often.

[desolationvalley]

Threads for saving S.S go here:

[jsbashirmd]

private message from LtCmdr J. S. Bashir:

You're certain? Not even if I did it with you? What a shame.

What if it was up higher?

attached image:

incoming private message from LtCmdr J. S. Bashir: Hey, it's you!

attached image:

private message reply from Garak:

How dare you, Doctor. I would never bask in public naked like this individual.

[deletreatualma]

@perilousxlives said:

[ EMBRACE ] sender hugs the receiver from behind (Sirius and Sev!)

Severus tensed up at the initial contact; it was a reflex at this point. He inhaled quickly and leaned into the embrace, letting out a slow breath in the process in an attempt to consciously relax his muscles. A soft, barely visible smile formed on his lips and he turned just enough to kiss the edge of the other's jaw, "good morning to you as well." He let a hand fall to Sirius' side and squeezed.

[jsbashirmd]

@lietwice sent:

[ recline ] sender joins receiver on their chair and snuggles against them - garak @lietwice, at a time when there is absolutely no reason that they need to be in the same chair. he just wants to a) be constantly touching him and b) see if he can gradually steal the chair

Julian huffs, the air unexpectedly forced out of his lungs by the weight that falls against him. Then he rolls his eyes as he works one arm out from under Garak to wrap around him instead. "You couldn't have asked me to move to a more suitable place for the two of us?" There's a couch less than a meter away, and they must look absolutely ridiculous stuffed into this little armchair together.

[artemis-unearthed]

〘  samantha nishimura 〙  ⸻ @ancestor-buried

➥  ‘  i  don’t  want  you  like  a  best  friend.  ’  

As soon as the words escaped, Lara cursed herself mentally. She should've known that she shouldn't tried to meet with Sam tonight — both Yamatai and Siberia was still so fresh in both of their minds, and it was daft of her to think they could reconcile properly so quickly. If this was Sam's way of telling her to move off back to Croft Manor, Lara would take the hint, despite the faint flutter of worry in the midst of her chest. Their closeness wasn't going to last forever, and this was the final nail in the coffin.

"Sam, I —" Lips parted as if she was to say something in protest, just in case Sam was to turn away from her now and start on her own journey. "I'm . . I'm sorry. I haven't been the greatest friend all this time, I suppose, and — I want to fix it."

"Someone told me a while ago that I don't know what I have, until it isn't there anymore, and they aren't . . . wrong."

[jsbashirmd]

"I'll tell you about it later," he says quietly, his chin propped on Morse's shoulder. He closes his eyes and tips his face forward to breathe in the scent of his partner as he squeezes him just a little tighter. "Just let me hug you for a minute?"

It feels like it's been days since they last had a moment to themselves like this. He stays, quiet, his chest pressed up against Morse's back and his arms around his waist, for a long two minutes before he kisses behind his ear and shifts his weight onto one foot so he can reach for the glass and steal a sip. "It was long, but mostly boring. Nothing terribly unexpected. Are you alright?"

[ behind ] sender comes up to receiver from behind and wraps their arms around their waist ~@jsbashirmd

HE'S A LITTLE DISTRACTED THIS EVENING. It's been a difficult day at work, as his days often are, and he's come home with his mind still whirring away with it all. He's home before Julian today. He's got his music playing, there's a drink on the side, and he's standing in the living room, staring out of the window with a hand tangled in his own hair. Nothing is quite working to satisfy the odd feeling he seems stuck with tonight, and it's absolutely infuriating. There's nothing more he can do on the case now, otherwise he'd be doing it, so he's going to have to direct his attention elsewhere, somehow. It's as though his whole body aches, except that it doesn't exactly hurt, and he doesn't know what it's aching for. He tugs at his own hair, fidgets with a button on his shirt, and then---

THEN THERE ARE ARMS AROUND HIM. Morse makes a startled sound, but surprise dissolves quickly into a smile. Julian. "I didn't hear you come in," he says, dropping the hand from his hair to cover Julian's arms with his own. Maybe he did hear, and just didn't process the sound. He's not sure. With this sort of distraction, either is plausible. He's not even sure how long he's been standing here. Already, though, he's feeling a bit more grounded. Julian always hugs him so firmly, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. Morse is leaning into him before he even realises he's doing it, seeking more contact. "How... how was your day?" he asks, trying to pull his mind back into the realm of polite conversation instead of focusing on the perfect hug he's being given and how much he never wants Julian to let go.

[askstormscall]

"How did you reach this conclusion? This perplexes me. There have been documented sightings of Lugia traveling together in large groups, pods. This was a result of Kanto large propaganda to hunt down any Lugia threading through the region's waters since the mystery incident. The media falsely blamed it on the local Lugia pod in the area."

Their tone became angered. "This will be the only instance of me supporting Stormbringer's actions but they were the only ones who seemed to recognize the dangers in this and dealt out their justice in doing so."

They laced their hands together, leaned forward into the webcam. "Kanto finally learned their lesson when Stormbringer threatened the lives traveling upon S.S Anne not once but twice."

Then they leaned back in their chair. "Since then, the reports of solitary Lugia have been quite rare. They learned traveling in numbers meant safety. If a Lugia was traveling alone, it was likely due to being pregnant or the sorts. Often they seek solitude away from the pod on an island. Why not in the safety of the pod? Unknown."

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |21|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Beneath Thin Ice

warning(s): death, drowning, grief, cannibalism, violence, hunting humans, trauma, and starvation.

notes: ya'll gonna hate me.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots @mikuley @sleepyjackets @wnbawag

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The wailing reached you first.

High and keening, it cut through the frozen air like a blade, drawing you from the hollow sanctuary you'd found after Javi left. Hours had passed—too many hours—with no sign of him or Travis. The waiting had worn your nerves raw, leaving you pacing the small confines of the dilapidated hunter's cabin until Nat had finally snapped at you to sit down.

"Did you hear that?" you asked, freezing mid-step.

Nat raised her head, the wariness never having left her eyes since your escape. "The lake," she said after a moment of listening. "It's coming from the lake."

Fear crystallized in your chest, sharp and cold as the winter air. Without discussion, you both moved toward the door, the instinct to investigate overriding caution. Outside, the wailing grew louder, more distinct—human voices raised in something between hunting cries and mourning songs.

"I don't like this," Nat murmured, her breath clouding in the frigid air.

You didn't either, but something pulled you forward, an invisible thread drawing you toward the sounds. The lake lay about half a mile from your hiding place, its surface frozen solid for weeks now. As you approached through the trees, the scene before you made your blood run cold.

Figures moved across the ice—your teammates, your friends, transformed into something primal and terrifying. They ran in strange patterns, some with arms outstretched, others crouched low like predators. At first, the chaos made no sense, until your eyes found the center of their attention.

Two smaller figures fled across the frozen expanse—one unmistakably Javi, the other Nat.

But how could Nat be—

You turned to your side, finding only empty air where Nat had been standing seconds before. Somehow, she'd slipped away while your attention was fixed on the lake, moving to intercept Javi in what appeared to be a rescue attempt gone horribly wrong.

"NAT!" you screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of hunting cries.

Your body moved before your mind could process fear, legs pumping as you broke from the tree line and onto the ice. The surface was treacherous, forcing you to slow your pace even as panic urged you faster. Ahead, the terrible tableau continued to unfold—Javi and Nat racing across the lake, the pack in pursuit, closing the distance with each passing second.

You heard it before you saw it—the deep, resonant crack that seemed to vibrate through the very air. Time slowed to a cruel crawl as Javi's small form suddenly dropped, his forward momentum halted by nothing visible until you realized with horror what had happened.

The ice had given way beneath him.

"JAVI!" Your scream tore from your throat as you pushed forward, ignoring the dangerous sounds beneath your own feet.

You were still too far away, still helpless to do anything but watch as Javi surfaced once, his small arms flailing above the jagged hole in the ice. Nat had turned back, was trying to reach him, but Misty appeared from nowhere, grabbing her around the waist and physically restraining her.

"They'll just come after you if you save him!" Misty's shrill voice carried across the ice, her glasses flashing in the winter light as she struggled with Nat.

By the time you reached them, it was too late. Multiple pairs of hands grabbed you, holding you back as you fought and screamed. Through tears, you saw Javi's head disappear beneath the surface again, his last desperate attempts at survival growing weaker.

"Let me GO!" you howled, twisting against the grip of whoever held you. "He's DROWNING!"

"The ice won't hold!" someone—Van?—shouted in your ear. "You'll fall in too!"

"I don't CARE!" you sobbed, still fighting, still watching as Javi's hands broke the surface one last time before slipping under.

Through the chaos of bodies and screams, your eyes found Shauna. She stood apart from the others, not participating in restraining either you or Nat, her face a mask of shock as she stared at the place where Javi had disappeared. Something in her expression—horror, disbelief, a terrible dawning comprehension of what they'd done—cut through your panic, leaving a different kind of pain in its wake.

The struggle on the ice seemed to last forever and no time at all. When it was over—when Javi's occasional resurfacing stopped completely—a strange silence fell over the group. The hunting frenzy evaporated, leaving behind fourteen girls and one boy standing on a frozen lake, staring at a ragged hole where another boy had been.

Nat's broken voice finally cut through the silence. "We have to get him out."

No one moved at first. Then, as if emerging from a collective trance, several figures shuffled forward cautiously. Mari lay flat on her stomach, distributing her weight as she inched toward the hole. Tai followed her lead from another angle. With trembling hands and carefully coordinated movements, they reached into the frigid water.

It took both of them, plus Akilah and Gen, to pull Javi's waterlogged body from the lake. He seemed smaller somehow, his limbs akimbo, his lips already turning blue. Someone—maybe you—let out a keening cry as they dragged him onto solid ice, laying him out like a broken doll.

"CPR," Nat said suddenly, releasing from Misty's hold and rushing forward. "We have to—we have to try—"

But even as she positioned herself over Javi's chest, beginning compressions with mechanical precision, you knew it was too late. The cold had taken him too quickly; the water had filled his lungs too completely. Still, you watched with desperate hope as Nat worked, counting aloud, pausing to breathe into Javi's mouth before resuming compressions.

Minutes stretched, becoming an eternity of watching and waiting and praying to whatever might be listening. Eventually, Tai placed a gentle hand on Misty's shoulder.

"Nat," she said softly. "He's gone."

"No, no—we just need to keep trying," Nat insisted, her movements becoming frantic. "Sometimes it takes—"

"Natalie." Tai's voice was firmer now. "He's gone."

The realization settled over the group like a physical weight, bending shoulders and bowing heads. The madness that had driven you all onto the ice dissipated entirely, leaving nothing but the hollow shell of grief in its wake.

Someone started crying—not the theatrical wails of before, but quiet, broken sobs that spoke of genuine remorse. Others joined, the sound spreading through the group like contagion until nearly everyone wept openly.

You remained dry-eyed, shock numbing you to everything but the sight of Javi's still form on the ice. Nat's face was a stone mask that betrayed nothing of what must be raging inside her.

"We need to take him back," she said finally, her voice devoid of emotion. "Travis needs to know."

Travis. The thought of him waiting at the cabin, hoping for his brother's safe return, sent a fresh wave of pain through your chest. How would you tell him? How could you possibly explain what had happened here?

Moving like sleepwalkers, you all prepared to transport Javi's body back to the cabin. Van and Tai fashioned a crude stretcher from jackets and branches, lifting Javi's small form onto it with tender care that seemed obscene after what had just transpired. No one spoke as the grim procession made its way through the woods, the stretcher bearing Javi's body leading the way.

Travis was waiting outside the cabin when you emerged from the tree line. The hope that flared in his eyes when he spotted Nat—alive, safe, returned to him—was almost more than you could bear. He rushed forward, pulling her into an embrace that she endured without returning, her body stiff and unyielding in his arms.

"Thank God," he murmured into her hair, oblivious for one precious moment longer to the tragedy you carried. "I thought—"

Nat pushed away from him abruptly, shaking her head and moving past without a word, unable or unwilling to be the one to deliver the blow that was coming. Travis's confusion lasted only seconds before his gaze found you.

"I'm sorry," you began, the words catching in your throat. "Travis, I'm so sorry—"

Something in your face must have conveyed what words couldn't. His eyes darted past you to the stretcher that Tai and Van now lowered gently to the ground, the burden they carried unmistakable despite being covered with a jacket.

"No," Travis said, the single syllable a desperate denial. "No, no, no—"

He pushed past you, falling to his knees beside the makeshift stretcher. With trembling hands, he pulled back the jacket covering his brother's face, a sound escaping him that wasn't quite human—grief and rage and disbelief twisted into something primal.

You wanted to approach, to offer comfort, but how could you? Your presence was salt in an open wound. You had promised to protect Javi, had sent him back alone into danger. Every choked sob that tore from Travis's throat was an indictment.

Shauna stood apart from the group, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if physically holding her body together. Tears tracked silently down her face, though she made no move to wipe them away. When her eyes met yours across the clearing, you saw something there that mirrored your own hollowness—a particular kind of grief that went beyond the loss of Javi, extending to everything that had led to this moment. To the people you had all become.

Travis's initial shock gave way to questions, his voice breaking as he demanded explanations. "What happened? How did—who did this?"

The silence that followed was damning. No one wanted to be the one to explain how a hunting party had driven a child to his death. How madness had consumed you all to the point where Javi—sweet, innocent Javi—had become prey.

"The lake," you finally said, when it became clear no one else would speak. "We were... he was running across the ice. It broke."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie. You couldn't bring yourself to tell Travis that his brother had died fleeing from people who should have protected him. That knowledge would break whatever fragile threads still held him together.

Travis gathered Javi's body into his arms, cradling him as he might have when they were younger—Javi small against his chest, head tucked beneath Travis's chin. He rocked slightly, murmuring words too quiet for anyone else to hear, private benedictions for his brother's journey beyond this place.

The group dispersed slowly, shame driving them back toward the cabin one by one until only you, Travis, and Shauna remained in the clearing. You stood awkwardly, caught between the desire to comfort and the knowledge that your presence might be unwelcome, might be a reminder of failure.

Eventually, Shauna approached, her steps hesitant. She placed a gentle hand on Travis's shoulder, saying nothing but offering silent solidarity in his grief. To your surprise, he didn't shrug her off, instead leaning slightly into the touch as if drawing strength from it.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was hollow. "We need to bury him."

But even as he said it, a terrible understanding passed between the three of you—burial was impossible. The ground was frozen solid, had been for weeks. And you were all starving, had been driven to madness by hunger just hours before.

"I'll..." Shauna began, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I'll take care of him."

The implication hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. Travis's face contorted with fresh grief, but he didn't argue. Couldn't argue. The survival of the group had already been purchased with his brother's life; to waste what Javi could provide now would make his death even more senseless.

"Let me," Travis said finally, gently laying Javi back on the stretcher. "I'll carry him inside."

You wanted to help, to shoulder some part of this burden, but when you moved forward, Travis's eyes flashed with something that stopped you cold. Not hate, exactly, but something adjacent to it—blame, perhaps, or the need to blame someone for what had happened.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, the words wholly inadequate.

Travis didn't respond, turning away to lift Javi's body as Shauna followed close behind. You watched as he carried Javi toward the cabin, his movements slow and deliberate, as if hoping to extend these final moments before the terrible necessity that awaited.

Left alone in the clearing, you felt hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside. The events on the lake played in endless loop behind your eyes—Javi falling, arms flailing, the ice closing over him while you could do nothing but watch. The memory lodged in your throat like a stone, making it difficult to breathe.

Without conscious decision, your feet carried you away from the others. You found yourself drawn to the attic, to Lottie, though you couldn't have explained why. Perhaps because she existed outside the immediate horror, had not been part of the hunt. Perhaps because some part of you hoped she might make sense of the senseless.

The climb up the ladder felt endless, each rung requiring more effort than you thought possible to muster. When you finally emerged into the dim space, Lottie was sitting upright on her mattress, her eyes clear and focused in a way that suggested she'd been waiting for you.

"Why was Travis screaming?" she asked without preamble, her voice steady.

You sank to the floor beside her mattress, legs no longer capable of supporting your weight. "Javi's dead."

Even saying the words aloud didn't make them feel real. Lottie's expression remained unchanged, as if she'd already known what you would say.

"The hunt," you continued, the words spilling out now that you'd started. "They were hunting Nat. Javi tried to help her. They chased them onto the lake and the ice... the ice broke."

Lottie was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the blanket covering her legs. "This wasn't supposed to happen," she said finally, her voice soft but certain.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, frustration flaring through the numbness. "None of this was supposed to happen. We weren't supposed to be stranded here. Jackie and Javi weren't supposed to—"

Your voice broke, unable to complete the thought. Lottie reached out, her hand coming to rest on top of your head with unexpected gentleness.

"Come here," she said, patting the space beside her on the mattress.

You hesitated, then complied, too exhausted to resist. Lottie guided your head into her lap, her fingers beginning to stroke through your hair with hypnotic rhythm. Despite yourself, you felt some of the tension leave your body at the contact.

"The wilderness takes what it needs," Lottie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes we misunderstand what that is, but the outcome is the same."

"Stop," you said weakly, not wanting to hear her mystical interpretations of tragedy. "Just stop."

To your surprise, she did, continuing to stroke your hair in silence. The simple human contact was both comforting and unbearable—a reminder of connection when you felt most disconnected from everything, including yourself.

You're not sure how long you stayed there, head in Lottie's lap, grief and exhaustion washing over you in waves. At some point, the light in the attic shifted, shadows lengthening as afternoon moved toward evening. From below came the sounds of movement, of preparations being made that you couldn't bear to think about.

When you finally sat up, your face was wet with tears you didn't remember crying. Lottie watched you with that unnerving stillness that seemed to see through you rather than at you.

"They'll be needing me downstairs," you said, your voice rough from crying or silence or both.

Lottie nodded once. "We all have our parts to play."

You didn't want to know what she meant by that, didn't want to think about what "parts" awaited any of you in the cabin below. As you moved toward the ladder, Lottie's voice stopped you.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "Or Nat's. Or even theirs."

You didn't answer, continuing your descent into a place where reality waited, cold and inescapable.

The smell reached you as you made your way down—copper and iron and something else, something that turned your stomach with recognition. You watched Shauna from the window as she worked. Outside, she stood at the table that had become her butcher's station, movements precise and practiced in a way that would have been admirable in any other context. 

Travis sat in the corner, face ashen, eyes fixed on some middle distance that existed only for him. Nat stood nearby, not touching him but present, a silent sentinel to his grief. The others were scattered throughout the cabin, some huddled together in small groups, others isolated in their own guilt and horror.

No one spoke as you entered. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken accusations, shattered trust, impossible choices. You couldn't look at Shauna, couldn't watch what she was doing, so you found an empty spot along the wall and sank to the floor, knees drawn to your chest like a child hiding from monsters.

Time stretched and contracted, measured now only in the rhythmic sound of Shauna's knife against the wooden table. When she finally stepped away, wiping her hands on a cloth with mechanical efficiency, her face was a mask that revealed nothing of what must be churning beneath.

She'd pulled her make-shift beanie low over her eyes, but not before you caught the gleam of tears tracking down her cheeks. The sight twisted something inside you—her grief somehow both infuriating and heartbreaking. She had no right to cry, you thought savagely. None of them did. And yet, wasn't their pain as real as yours? As Travis's?

The meal that followed was a grotesque parody of communion. Travis, in a moment of either supreme courage or complete detachment, took the first portion—his brother's heart, prepared by Shauna with the same careful attention she'd given to all the meals that had kept you alive through the winter.

"For Javi," he said, the only words spoken as he raised the meat to his lips.

The cabin remained silent as everyone followed his lead, accepting their portions with downcast eyes and heavy hearts. You couldn't bring yourself to eat, your stomach revolting at the very thought. When Shauna approached with a plate for you, you turned your face away, unable to look at her.

She didn't press, simply placing the plate beside you before retreating. The gesture—its gentleness, its acceptance of your rejection—made something fracture inside your chest. You wanted to hate her, wanted to hate all of them for what had happened. Hate would be cleaner, simpler than the complicated tangle of emotions that actually filled you.

As the meal concluded, people filtered out of the cabin in ones and twos, the atmosphere too oppressive to bear for long. Soon, only you, Shauna, Travis, and Nat remained—the four of you bound now by a shared trauma that no one else could fully understand.

Travis stood abruptly, the sudden movement startling in the stillness. "I need air," he said, his voice flat and distant.

Nat followed him outside without a word, leaving you alone with Shauna for the first time since everything had fallen apart. She moved around the cabin with careful precision, cleaning up with the same methodical attention she'd given to the more terrible task earlier.

When she finally approached you, kneeling at your side with hesitant movements, you couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

"Y/N," she said softly, your name a plea on her lips.

You shook your head, still unable to form words around the stone lodged in your throat. Her hand hovered near yours, not quite touching, asking permission you couldn't grant.

"I didn't want this," she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word. "Any of it. I never wanted—"

"But it happened anyway," you said, the first words you'd spoken in hours emerging harsh and unfamiliar. "We let it happen."

Shauna flinched as if struck, her hand dropping back to her lap. "Yes," she agreed, the simple admission carrying the weight of everything between you. "We did."

Silence stretched between you, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. How could you possibly articulate the horror of what you'd witnessed? The guilt of survival? The terrible knowledge that hunger and fear had reduced you all to something unrecognizable?

"I keep seeing him," you admitted finally, your voice barely audible. "Every time I close my eyes. His arms above the ice, trying to—"

Your voice broke, unable to continue. Shauna's hand found yours then, gripping with desperate strength as if she could anchor you both against the tide of grief threatening to sweep you away.

"Me too," she whispered, and in those two small words was a universe of shared trauma, of understanding no one else could offer.

You didn't pull your hand away. You didn't forgive her, couldn't forgive any of them or yourself. But in that moment, her touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, to humanity. You held on, both of you adrift in the aftermath of unimaginable loss, clinging to each other because there was nothing else left.

Outside, somewhere in the darkness beyond the cabin walls, Travis screamed—a primal sound of grief that echoed through the wilderness. Neither you nor Shauna moved to comfort him, knowing there was no comfort to be found, not for this. Not yet.

The sound faded, leaving behind a silence more complete than any you'd known since the crash. In that silence, Shauna's fingers remained twined with yours, neither of you speaking, neither of you needing to. Some pains went beyond words, beyond understanding. All that remained was presence—flawed, human, complicit presence.

It would have to be enough. For now, it would have to be enough.

[paroslineage]

Masterlist ♡

I'm Home... : Satoru Gojo x F!Reader.

You were robbed away from him on the night of your wedding, and now.

He could finally rest in your arms...

♡

Unnerving Silence. : Tengen Uzui x

F!Reader.

After a long hard battle defeating the Uppermoons and Muzan the Hashiras won, but at what cost?

♡

Mistake. : Shinichiro Sano x F!Reader.

Kazutora, in haste was aiming for Shinichiro but the bolt cutters hit you instead...

♡

Mistake II. : Shinichiro Sano x

F!Reader.

The Aftermath of the tragedy happened at S.S MOTORS.

♡

Killing Me Softly With His Song : Multiple Characters x F!Reader.

When a bar singer captures the attention of a handsome man and he is dead set on claiming you.

♡

Things I Think Mafia!Tokyo Revenger Boys will Do For You. : Multiple Characters x F!Reader.

When you were slaughtered brutally by a enemy Mafia Gang your lover spared no mercy in getting the revenge for you.

♡

Something To Come Home For. : Chris Redfield X F!Reader.

Even if the world is rotten or falling apart Chris always has Something to come home for.

♡

Seat Shenanigans. : Haikyuu Teams x F!Reader.

It was a pleasant morning to get up to but not so pleasant inside the train as it was packed with the hourly rush but luckily some cute volleyball boys notice your distress.

♡

Gone With The Wind. : Keiji Akaashi x F!Reader.

You were a sweet dainty bar singer having caught the mafia syndicate the ever stoic Keiji Akaashi's smoldering eyes you get caught up in a sweet rendezvous but that doesn't last more.

♡

Memoir. : Hwang In-ho x F!Reader.

A plot explaining how he became so ruthless and cunning after the devastating lose of you, his beloved wife.

♡

Someone Lovable.: Cho Hyun-ju x

F!Reader.

After the bizarre results of the voting you were scared and wanted to go home but someone had a protective urge to comfort you in this hellhole.

♡

A Late Night Return.: Hwang Jun-ho x F! Reader.

In Which Jun-ho, your boyfriend almost gives you a heart attack.

♡

Insanity. The Salesman x F!Reader.

Chapter 1 : The Snapped Thread.

After seeing you distressed the Salesman's resolve snaps.

Chapter 2 : Torture Avails.

After putting you to sleep, he stealthily made his way to the bastard of a boss to pay him a sweet visit.

♡

Say You Love Me Too : Yoon Eun-seong x F!Reader.

He was crazy about you, but he didn't knew that your were equally infatuated with him.

When Jae-joon receives an unknown mail, he doesnt know what horrifying things lie in the tiny pendrive he received.

♡

Best Served Cold : Jeon Jae-joon x Daughter!Reader.