#between bread in stick form

[marvel-lous-guy]

Tony: *turns on the light*

Tony: What are you doing?

Peter: eating bread

Tony: at 2 in the morning with the light off?

Peter: why would I turn the light on at 2 in the morning?

[kabuki-writes]

And All Eyes Were Set On Brutus

chapter: 3 chapter 1 | 2 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: After their visit of the Colosseum, Marcus Acacius worries even more about his beloved daughter. Meanwhile a dangerous rumor finds its way into the Emperor's ears.

warning(s): NSFW | mention of violence | mention of alcohol | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Thank you all for your ongoing support and your comments on my previous chapters✨🙇‍♀️! I really enjoy to write this fic as a Geta and Cara stan myself and it honors me that you continue to share your love for these two and this fic. I really hope you like this chapter as well, because this time it gets a little more... spicy.🌶️

word count: 3.6k

Rome was becoming nothing more than a painful cage for General Acacius. From the very first day he had to wear the white armor of victory, he felt like a slave with no other choices than to watch how everything he had known changed for the worse. He despised himself for not being able to protect his own daughter from the eyes of the Emperors, that were now set on her. He should've never taken her with him, he should've sticked with his principles. But then again, what choice did he even have, when he faced an order by the most powerful men in the world.

There was no chance to defy them openly, speaking up now would bring danger to his whole family as they would have to face the consequences of Marcus Acacius' actions. He wasn't so delusional and naive to think that the anger of the Emperors would only befall him alone, no, they weren't like that. So when the day came and a senator stepped forward to the General, he hesitated. Geta and Caracalla were beloved by the people as they gave them victories, bread and games - as long as the plebs had that, no one gave a damn about who sat on top. For them it was all the same, but the senate was different.

After the death of Emperor Commodus, the senate reestablished the Roman Republic, but wasn't able to secure their power. Many cities and regions took their chance to rebel against Rome as most of the generals refused to serve the new order - that included Marcus Acacius as well, who quickly sided with his old friend and brother-in-arms Septimius Severus, the father of the now ruling Emperors Geta and Caracalla. They took their legions and marched on Rome, where Severus took the power from the senate again only one year after the rebirth of the Republic. Acacius did believe in Severus, he did believe in the vision his friend had for Rome as well as his strength and wisdom as Emperor. Nearly two decades he was not disappointed while he served his old friend as a close advisor and his first general.

The senate got reduced to nothing more than a theater stage, with no real power or influence. And Acacius was sure that they would forever hate him for the service he did to Severus. Yet men like Gracchus must've sensed that the general was getting more and more delusional given the current reign of the twins. So the politicians approached him carefully and together they formed an alliance in the shadows. Their plan: Overthrowing the two Emperors and install the Republic again. Acacius stood never on the side of the senate... but nothing was as terrible as Geta's and Caracalla's tyranny. And if that is a way to protect his daughter and his family from them, he happily claimed himself a Roman Republican now.

Coming from one of his nightly visits at senator Gracchus' home, Acacius noticed that there was someone still sitting in the inner garden of his Roman city residence. He took off his cloak and approached you slowly as you watched the turtles in the small pond between the plants and flowers, while the water of a small fountain rippled in the silence. "Your mother told me, that you were sitting here the whole day", he said with a low tone, careful not to scare you with his sudden appearence, before he took a seat right next to you on the stone bench. When he watched your face, he saw all the thoughts that were probably going through your head after the situation in the Collosseum yesterday. For a long moment, the two of you simply sat in silence, while one of the turtles walked along a mosaic before it fell into the water.

"I am not a child anymore, i don't want you or mother to protect me any longer", you suddenly whispered, before your head turned to your father. In your eyes he saw how you struggled to maintain your neutrality as you faced the danger that may come over you, if you'd accept this new attention further. "And yet i don't know how to deal with... them? I suppose i cannot refuse any of this?" Your question carried a sense of pain, because you already knew the answer and it was equally as hard for your father to shake his head in response.

"I thought so...", you mumbled and leaned forward give one of the turtles a leaf of salad you had snached from the dinner table earlier. Acacius had seen many battles and many terrible things, but nothing was harder than to see you like this. And nothing was harder than to feel helpless. All he could do was laying his hand softly and reassuring on your shoulder.

„You’re my daughter, y/n. And you’re right, even if I want it to, I can not protect you anymore… all I can promise you, that it is going to be alright."

He searched for a way to fix all of this, even though he couldn't tell you how. It was better this way as it would only drag you deeper into the dead end that your own father had already set up. The mere thought about it made his heart grow even more painful.

"Do you regret it sometimes?", you suddenly asked, looking at the vibrant clear water of the pond. "What do you mean?"

"That you marched with Emperor Severus back then?"

This question wasn't easy to answer, it was written on Acacius face, as he turned his face to the turtles and sighed.

"I did believe in Severus... i still do. Under him, Rome was able to secure itself and become strong again. What comes after that now - only time will tell. But what i know is that i have to leave in a few weeks with my troups again. An order of the Emperors."

It wasn't a particular surprising news, but nonetheless your fingers digged themselves into the fabric of your toga-like blue dress, while you still hept your head high. Despair was no useful emotion and not a good thought right now. You needed to stay calm, stick to yourself and find a way on how to deal with all of the things that were happening. As you'd said you were no child anymore - you will find a way out if this, even without your father.

You didn't say a word in response, however you closed your arms around him as the fear that with him being gone it could get even worse, lingered on your mind. Little did you know that the world you had known was already on the brink of falling apart.

_____________________________________________

The smell of incence, wine, sweet perfume and sweat filled the rooms of Emperor Caracalla's chambers, while naked bodies moved themselves to the rythm of a small group of musicians. The melodies of their instruments mixed themselves with the moans of the men and women in ecstacy, the worshippers of Bacchus - god of wine, euphoria and madness. Drinking and making love was the way they prayed nearly every night as Caracalla found in it a way to escape the reality that almost drove him crazy. Here in his chambers, the only Emperor that mattered was him, the only word that was heard was his own. At least one small realm for himself, while he had to share the rest of the world with his twin brother.

But it was different this time, when he stared at the scenery with a mind clouded in intoxication. His breaths went ragged, while he sat on a bed decorated with velvet cushions, a young man kneeled between his legs and sent him to elysium with his tongue, while he was surrounded by beautiful slaves, women with golden chains, that decorated their naked breasts and hips. And yet even in a scenery like this, where he usually found a way to calm his restless mind, he was still thinking about her. Not only her, sadly - that goddamn General was another thought. The hero of Rome was no pleasant figure for him anymore, he was nothing more than a Brutus, but Caracalla was not the one to end up like Julius Caesar.

The mere thought of killing this treacherous son of a whore hit Caracalla's brain and made him cum into the mouth of the slave that had his dick deep in his throat. This peak of his pleasure would've helped him to relax if not one of the praetorian guards stepped in and walked with his black and lilac amror through the voyeristic scenery like it was a halluzination in front of the Emperor's eyes. Without a second thought, Caracalla simply pushed the young slave, who was still sitting at his feet, to the side and stood up. His hand quickly grabbed the white toga that layed on the floor which he threw over his own naked, pale body. "Why do you disturb me!?", he hissed, as if he wasn't already expecting him.

The soldier ignored the music, the slaves that layed on the ground and fucked each other, just as he ignored the half-naked Emperor right in front of him, who still wore his golden laurel crown and his jewelries. "Emperor Geta waits for you."

For a moment, the young man with the gingerblonde hair stared at his guard, before he nodded quickly, as if it got him out of a daydream. "Yes, yes i will come to him, i am right there, tell him that. And get that slave Marcellus here," he answered, hand waving him away before his tone shifted and he screamed at his 'guests'. "Get out, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! NOW!" The music stopped immediately and all eyes were set on Caracalla, while the first slaves already got to their feet again. „NOW,“ he repeated in a louder and added in a hissing tone „…or I will claim your tongue with a dagger!“

Caracalla was impossible to read fully, just as he was impulsive. It would’ve not been the first time one participant of this nightly debaucheries had lost his tongue or another part of his body.

_____________________________________________

Emperor Geta waited in his embroidered night robe, which was half open, exposing his bare and pale chest. Sitting on a cushioned wooden chair, he stared with tired eyes out the window of the balcony, the darkness of Rome in front of him. Just as his brother he had someone in his chambers, but instead of a whole horde of slaves he had chosen one good whore with hairs that reminded him of you. It was just a dull replacement, he knew that, yet it was enough for a good fuck before he would’ve went to sleep.

If there was not his twin brother, who‘d call for him in the middle of the goddamn night. By the gods he hated to be disturbed like that, especially after countless of times his brother got him here only to share uninteresting - sometimes even paranoid - gossip with him, which Caracalla had heard from the mouth of one of his slaves.

When the curtains of the attached room opened and Geta saw his brother entering with his wild hair and only with a toga over his bare body, his nose twitched in anger. „Don‘t tell me you disturbed my sleep and called for my immediate coming while you were fucking whores at your damn orgy!? When you’re telling me that your problem is, that you can’t sleep now, I will cross you myself!“ Yes, it wasn’t the first time Caracalla had called him for such nonesense. And usually Geta had a lot of patience with him, given his psychological condition, but not tonight.

Caracalla stopped in an instant and looked at his brother with big eyes as if he tries to convince him that he wasn’t guilty of anything. „Yes, but- I had a reason for that!“ he insisted, which only fueled Geta's anger. „Lucinius, bring us the slave!“ Caracalla quickly said and the Praetorian guard who just had informed him about his brother came in with a skinny, yet tall young man. He was a slave but given the clothes he wore, it was clear that he had a higher rank within the household he was serving in.

„Who is that, one of your toy boys?“ Geta asked, eying the stranger he‘d never seen before. But Caracalla shook his head and stepped forth to place his hand on the shoulder of that slave.

„No! He is a slave from the household of senator Gracchus,“ he explained and couldn’t hide an almost devilish smile as this said slave was here for one reason alone - to tell them everything. „Marcellus, tell him,“ he ordered and whispered into his ear. „I promised you your freedom and a good amount of gold, to return to your family. You want to see your daughter again, right? So don’t disappoint me now.“ With those words he stepped back for a moment, giving the slave a moment to breath as he seemingly tried to find the right words. He was nervous, the way his fingers twitched and his eyes were glued to the marble ground under his feet.

"I... i am a servant in the household of senator Gracchus for nearly a decade now", Marcellus began and forced himself to look up into the testing eyes of Geta, who was growing more impatient with each second passing. "The General... General Acacius as well as a couple of other senators visit my master regularly in the middle of the night and they always retreat into a secret room in the cellar of his villa."

With an amused whistle Geta interrupted him. "Why should we care for the sexual escapades of a group of old men?", he hissed, but Caracalla threw in with a darkened shimmer in his eyes. "Wait for it, you will be furious, trust me! Continue."

Marcellus needed a second to calm himself down and stop to shake as he formed his next words. "When i brought them wine once, they stopped with their conversation as long as i stayed in the room, but when i was in the corridor, they spoke again. They didn't know that i was still there, so i just listened and- it was clear that they questioned you, my Emperors. They questioned your leadership and the general - i wouldn't dare to speak out loud such a blasphemy against your rule, if it was not what i've heard with my own ears."

Geta's face darkened with every new information Marcellus was telling him and slowly he realized why his brother was so eager to get him here. The laugh of his twin filled the room, which turned hysterical. "Tell him, Marcellus!"

"General Acacius and the senators Gracchus, Livinidus, Galba and Erebus plan to overthrow you with the legions that are under Acacius' command," he said and had to force every word out of his mouth, afraid of the anger that cooked like a vulcano in Geta. His hands formed fists and he bit his tongue. All this time, Acacius - the hero - was a traitor, a Brutus. And now he connected the dots, thinking about every time this General wined about going off to war. This maggot.

"And this is true!?", he asked in a loud, demanding tone. "If that is a lie, we will punish you in the most terrible ways you could imagine and feed you to the lions in the Colosseum!" Marcellus eyes were filled with tears of fear, yet he shook his head heavily.

"No, please! I speak the truth, i swear it! I swear it in front of Jupiter himself, please, you must believe me! I came to Emperor Caracalla, who promised me my freedom if i tell it here again. It is no lie!"

"Kill him", Geta ordered in a cold tone and before Marcellus could even scream, it was the blade of the Praetorial Guard that cut his head off from behind, making it fall to the ground like a ball of bones and meat, followed by his body. Under the resounding laugh of Caracalla, Geta ordered the Guard to leave them so that he could speak to his brother in private.

"You just read my mind, dear brother! I wouldn't have let him go either", Caracalla sang. "We should kill them all, that bastard Acacius and his old senate sluts! Let's cut off their heads and spike them on the Palatin for all to see!"

But Geta was already two steps ahead when he closed the distance between him and his twin. Yes, he was furious, it took him all restraints to not give in the urge of ordering their murder. "No," he said, which drew a questioning look on his brothers face.

"What no?! Those are traitors, TRAITORS! You've heard the same things i did!?"

"I did, but the senators are no danger. These old men talk about the republic which is nothing more than dust and ashes! A faded dream and without any backing, they just continue to shit themselves in the senate. When our father took Rome, the people cheered to him, because they didn't want a Republic but a strong Emperor to guide them, remember? The head of the snake is Acacius! He must die, and he will die, but not yet!", Geta started and turned to the balcony, leaving his brother for a moment as he stood in the darkness with his his white toga. "We need his legion, and we will make him our fucking dog, who has no chance to ever decline any order of us, if we have his beloved daughter. If he doesn't do as we say, then she will die."

But he will, Geta knew that. Nothing seemed to be more precious in Acacius' life than his family and especially his dear daughter. And this whole situation had a bonus for Geta, because when he turned to face Caracalla again, he announced. "I will force him with an order to marry his daughter to me!"

Caracalla froze in place, his eyes staring at his brother as if he just had a bad dream. "What?", he simply asked again, while his brother's anger turned into anticipation. "With a marriage we bind her to our reign and therefore we will bind the General. Acacius delivers us his own daughter and his own head on a silver tablet with his treacherous nonsense!"

Geta wanted to place his hands on his twin's shoulders, but Caracalla slapped them out of his way. "I don't accept this! NO! I DON'T ACCEPT THIS!", he screamed at him, which really irritated his twin. "Why can't I be the One to marry her!?"

There it was. For the first time, the twins revealed in front of each other that they longed for the same girl. And that made it complicated. Nonetheless Geta was still confused, why his brother reacted like that, so he reminded him of what Caracalla said all those years.

"You never wanted to marry? How many times did you told our father before he died? Every time he said to us, that we would need to find ourselves someone to take as a wife, you refused. You were too busy indulging in your late night activities and Bacchus rituals."

He stepped forward with an intense glaze in his eyes. This way of being instructive, while Caracalla was still his twin and technically even older than him, made his brother's mouth twitch in response to his next words. "May i remind you about the fact that i am the one of us dealing with most of the political responsibilities, because you always wanted to stick to your fun."

Those words were indeed true, as Caracalla hated those senate discussions, which lead to nothing and were only for show - an illusion for both the plebs and the upper-classes. Geta continued, but not without making clear that he saw himself worthier of you being his wife, bound in front of the gods. "All of that is fine, brother. I've always protected you from the boring senators and hypocrites of the Roman elite, while you collected the most beautiful slaves and enjoyed yourself. You have no duties, as long as i take them off your shoulders and finally shut up all the people, finally demanding a royal marriage after all those years. And given all of that, i do think i deserve to marry before you to present Rome an Empress."

Caracalla stared at him, straight into the eyes of his twin Geta and his fingers twitched. If he would just have a dagger now? But he had none right here and given the fact that his brother was always taller and stronger with his statue, it wouldn't make sense to start a fight. In fact he couldn't even argue against him, as it was true, he was never an Emperor that bothered himself with any political nonesense. Yet he couldn't shake off the urge to kill Geta for this. Again, he took a thing from him he wanted to own for himself - only for himself. Even though his twin showed his goodwill, as he always did. His hands layed itself on Caracalla's cheeks and he gave him a brotherly kiss on the forehead. "Don't worry, dear brother. I am not above sharing her divine presence with you. But she will always be my wife," he whispered, followed by a smile on his lips.

With those words he simply turned and left the room, leaving Caracalla, who was still wearing his white toga over his naked body, as well as the body of Marcellus alone in the dark. His mind got corrupted with so many thoughts in this very moment, but the most prominentely thought was anger. So he screamed hysterically and grabbed the table that stood at the side to throw it down, taking the vase on top and hurled it straight through the room, followed by the head of that damn slave. He hated Geta. He hated him so much and still they had shared the whomb of their mother, which made them share the same blood.

How long would he be able to hold the urge to murder his own brother - especially now as Geta claimed you?

_____________________________________________

Tags:

quuinyoung koshkahhh mmkkzz analves pandora-journey ange-olras tellynojelly targwh0re h3k3t onelemonoat whitenoise808 spooky-cupid dev1lbella onelemonoat hawraa-alzubaidi omg-hellgirl the-holy-pigeon

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.�� You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

23 | pretty girl pt. 1

ft. fem!reader & rin, kaiser, sae, bachira, isagi, shidou

cw. alcohol (legal)

you passed the snacks around, grabbing enough of what everyone wanted. you asked the chat beforehand, ignoring rin’s request for french fries. the only person you didn’t have anything for was kaiser. you felt a little bad now about not getting him anything, despite how proud you’d been in the store. kaiser didn’t feel fazed as your snack bag was passed around the car, returning to you with only your pretzels left.

“everyone buckled?” sae asked from the driver’s seat. everyone said yes, but he locked eyes with bachira through the rear-view mirror until the younger grumbled, “it’s fun when you hit the bumps,” before securing himself properly.

you were off after that, quietly listening to rin and isagi argue around bachira until bachira thumped them both in the head. shidou was flirting shamelessly with sae, complimenting his driving skills, as sae ignored him as if he weren’t even there.

you smiled at them from your spot in the back before popping your pretzel bag open and glancing up when you noticed kaiser looking at you. “what?” you spat as you shoved a pretzel stick into your mouth.

he smirked. you hated his stupid smirk and how it made your insides twist. “nothing. i just didn’t see you as a pretzel fan.”

“what’s wrong with pretzels?”

kaiser ran a hand through his blond hair. “they’re boring.”

“and i’m not?” you cocked a brow in his direction. “aw, are you trying to compliment me?” the scowl he shot you made you snicker.

he turned his head away, but after a few minutes, you awkwardly held the bag closer to him while looking out the window. it shuffled, suggesting he took a pretzel, and you pulled the bag back to your side of the car.

"bread crust rusks are better," he grumbled under his breath.

you rolled your eyes and let your attention float back over to kaiser. "fine. more pretzels for me."

he locked his blue eyes on you, and you noticed a faint pink dust across his upper cheekbones before he reached over and grabbed another pretzel from the bag, huffing. a victorious smirk crossed your mouth at his indignation.

☆ 🎸

there were about forty-five minutes left in the drive when complete silence fell inside the car. from the quick scan you did, everyone was either playing on their phones, listening to music, or sleeping.

a yawn sounded to your right, forcing you to glance over. kaiser's head was jerking slightly as if he refused to let himself relax, despite his body's protests. when your cheeks began to ache, you realized, in disgust, that you'd been smiling.

you must have made a noise, because kaiser suddenly flicked his bright blue eyes at you and frowned when you asked, "up late last night?"

"shut up."

you grinned. "that's my line."

he flashed a tight smile, as if he was trying to mimic the ":)" emoticon. "too bad."

frustrated, you returned to your window and continued watching the scenery fly by. you don't know how long you stared, but a sudden thump against your shoulder made you flinch. you looked over and swallowed your gasp.

kaiser's blond head was on your shoulder. and he was asleep.

ew, boy cooties! you almost tapped isagi to ask him to help shove kaiser off, but he wasn't moving much and looked almost... peaceful. like he needed this. you suddenly felt guilty for wanting to push him away and tried to sit as still as possible, absorbing the bumps to keep his head steady.

"jerk," you whispered at his sleeping form. "your activities keep me up, too, you know."

kaiser mumbled something incoherent in reply, and you sighed quietly before turning back out the window for the remainder of the trip and ignoring the way your pulse hammered in your veins.

☆ 🎸

you must have dozed off between kaiser and arriving at the destination, because when you woke up, he was no longer on your right.

"morning, sleeping beauty!" bachira greeted from the open trunk, and you scoffed playfully at him before climbing out. shidou offered you a hand so you wouldn't have to jump from the trunk, not that you minded, but you thanked him for the gesture. you didn't ask where your seatmate had run off to, and they didn't volunteer any information.

it was already getting dark, and you muffled a yawn behind your hand as you texted the complainers chat to let them know you arrived in one piece. you were met with a series of "good luck!" and "text us if you need us," and a "don't forget to take pics!" from reo.

you followed the members inside through the back to avoid exciting the fans who arrived early to see them. "is it really okay for me to be back here?" you asked isagi, who was closest as he adjusted the strap on his guitar.

he offered you a warm smile under the dark lighting. "yeah, it's okay. if anyone says anything, send them our way." you nodded and hung out with the bastardz until it was time for them to get serious.

you'd just finished helping shidou with his eyeliner when the music started getting louder. he gripped your wrist before you could leave to get your attention. "there are some sleezy guys at venues like this. don't hesitate to come backstage if anything feels off, 'k?"

taking a second to process, you nodded. "okay. thank you."

you found the crowded bar after that, where the usuals were complaining about bastard city fans. some guy with a speaker announced that they'd be performing in thirty minutes as they waited for the crowd of guests to get checked in.

the lights dimmed not long after that, and you found a social group of fanboys and girls to call your friends for the night, so you weren't cheering alone. the alcohol in your system made it easy to throw your arms around the girls as the lot of you jumped and screamed along to the bastard city songs.

you stayed with them the entire night and even exchanged contact info (they freaked out when they realized you were lovelyyn) before going separate ways after the show ended.

sighing and missing your real friends, you walked to the stage to meet up with the guys when you suddenly felt an arm around your waist. you were tugged against someone's side, but before you could panic, their cologne hit you. strong and a little woody; not at all sweet, but familiar. expensive.

you looked up to find kaiser grinning down at you.

"hey, pretty girl."

masterlist // previous (ch 22) // next (ch 24)

notes -> working on pretty girl pt 2 rn! it might be published tonight if i finish in time <3

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyoo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie @ranzess @cookiesandcreammy @nevvynev @stwberri @mikeymyfav @dontmindtheevie @kaikaidenkai @mizukiblogs @ravenbc @yvanllie @cyberasterrr @lily-isalittlegirl @yourlocaleffy @hanamatopoeia

© neeeooon, 2025

[23xfgg]

How would Jujutsu Kaisen characters use their curse techniques in bed

Characters [SEPARATE] -> True form!Sukuna x reader, Gojo x reader, Geto x reader

An: This is my first post so BE NICE! I also I’m typing this with little brain power so I only did characters I can actually figure out on how they would use their curse techniques curse techniques during sex :))))

CW// blood, cuts, overstimulation, the reader is a female, anal, slight breading, passing out from pleasure, squirting, use of curse orbs as anal beads, anal, butt plug and groping by a curse

True form!Sukuna

Having sex with Sukuna can only be described in a few words - bloody, pleasurable and sore. As he is ramming his two giant, thick dicks inside of you (one in your cunt and another in your ass) and as he is thrusting into you he uses his technique to place little cuts across your body and drinking from it. For some reason the metallic taste of your blood causes him to have a rush of adrenaline making Sukuna go harder, rougher and faster. It was like your blood was like an aphrodisiac to him causing him to get hornier and more feral. And for him to taste that rush again he uses his technique on you again, again and again. It is a cycle that will continue until you are both burnt out. You will probably pass out a couple times due to the immense pleasure and over stimulation but that’s fine you will surely wake up with another orgasm ripping through your body and a few more cuts as he finally fill you up as he drinks from the small cut by your nipple. Don’t worry, as the end of all this he will use reverse curse technique to heal you obviously.

Satoru Gojo

When Gojo wants to tease you as he is fucking you he would defiantly use his techniques to prevent you from trying to escape from all the pleasure. He is fucking you to beyond overstimulation (you have passed out a couple of times and he is still going because he is Satoru Gojo) and when you try to crawl away he will use blue to pull you right back on his cock because he is not done with his Princess just yet. On the occasion he is too tired but is still horny he will stick his dick in you and alternate between red and blue to thrust/bounce you on his dick like an automatic flesh light going as fast or a slow as he wants. It doesn’t matter if you have work tomorrow, call off sick or better yet quit your job entirely he has enough money to pay for seventeen generations. Yeah… just quit working and be a stay at home wife. You don’t need to work you just need to worry about when are you getting your next orgasm. As these thoughts run through his mind, his automatic thrusting suddenly gets more aggressive shocking you as everything around you started to vibrate at just the speed you two were going at alone. Seconds later, you suddenly squirted all over the bed and Gojo causing him to snap out of his mid fuck dream and bring himself back to reality looking at the mess he caused. Additionally, he would use his infinity as a condom and hold a bunch on his cum until he is ready to shoot it all in your womb and breed you.

Sugaru Geto

Sugaru sat on his platform, his robes readjusted to let his cock peak out of his robes. Precum leaking cunning down the veins of his cock and being absorbed by his clothing, while you are tied up with your arms behind your back and your legs tied up separated and gagged. He inserted a handful of the cursed orbs he had collected earlier up your ass as anal beads and your entrance sealed with a rather large butt plug accompanied by a purple gem. Now Geto maybe evenly but his not cruel- he will not leave your pretty pussy just dripping onto the floor with no stimulation other that the fullness from your ass…so that why he got his curse to play with your pussy instead while he just watches. He will not begin touching himself or you until he believes that you had enough, so until then he has his curses fondling and relieving themselves on you as you can do nothing but feel full and feel the pleasure. And once you are nice and overstimulated by his curse he will hook his finger into one of the ropes around your chest area and pull you forwards towards himself (while also making his curse vanish), positioning you right above his cock (pussy dripping everywhere) and he slammed into you. The fullness was too much as his dick was practically pressing against the orbs that were left in your ass. Your eyes rolling back, moans slipping out of your mouth as those orbs threaten to push out your plug and leave your ass. As you are tipping over your nth orgasm of the night he suddenly shot his load into your warm cunt, pulled himself out (ignoring the cum now dripping everywhere) flipping you over and pulling out your plug and letting all the curse orbs leave your anus leaving behind a gaping hole as a reminder of their presence. Your whines at the sudden emptiness where cut short as he continued thrusting in your ass instead making you fell full again as he builds you up to your missed orgasm again. Moments later your ass hole clenches around his cock as your orgasm finally reaches you. Eyes rolling back, body twitching, the whole nine yards . And as you were riding through the high of your big O, Geto followed shortly behind pulling himself out of you and cumming all over your back.

————————————————————————————

An: wow….um geto’s was not meant to be that long :0….

Umm see you maybe👋

Edit: why are yall still liking this ahh😭😭😭😭

[theealbatross]

Sebastian x Reader: i love you, it's ruining my life (One Shot)

Plot | Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him. Tags | none, fluff, slytherin!reader, bad english accent attempt by me, repressed feelings, unhealthy attachment, codependency, teenagers trying to process trauma together, mentions of nightmares, they are both 17 years old [A/N : FUCK JK ROWLING!!!!!!! Also I just needed to write something and somehow a depressed Slytherin boy was just the one to cure my insane writer's block. Enjoy!]

I am not dating Sebastian Sallow, is what you kept saying yet no one seems to ever believe you. Even Natty, bless her kind soul, gave you a look so incredulous as the words went out of your mouth that you couldn’t help but be confused yourself -- were you dating Sebastian?

“I’m not trying to be nosy, my friend. I’m just concerned.”

“About what?” This has been the third person this month with that same irritating expression on their face. Pity.

“I thought … you were always together that I just assumed there was … something.”

You blinked, trying not to let your face slip, afraid that your ever observant friend would read too much into each emotion.

“Well, there’s nothing. So you and the others can –”

“There are others?!”

You widened her eyes, telling Natty to drop it and she wisely did. “The rest of you can stop reporting his rendezvous to me. Understood?”

“There you are!”

Merlin, will the cruel gods of fate ever give you a break?

The deep voice from the door cut through half of the conversations in your table as Sebastian jogged towards you. “Morning, pet.”

He casually grabbed your head gently, pressing a kiss on top of it, before settling down by straddling the chair so he was facing you. “Hey Natty, got lost?”

It wasn’t unheard of for students to not stick to the assigned tables on their houses but it was still odd, especially for someone like Natty who much preferred the company of like-minded people. Always said that the quiet and whispers in the Slytherin table made her uneasy.

Natty looked from you, to him, to the arms that was hidden under the table but was no doubt placed on your waist, subtly but insistently pulling you closer. You silently pleaded for her to ignore it which she thankfully did with a sigh.

“Not at all, Sebastian. Just trying to keep our friend company before you undoubtedly steal her away for the day.”

He didn’t even pretend to be offended by the accusation, only chuckling good-heartedly. “You can be welcome to tag along just for today.”

“Wouldn’t want to intrude. And with the trouble the two of you get into I’d be grounded by my mother for the rest of my life.”

The three of them laughed at that. The conversation thankfully flowing easier and away from the initial topic. Once Ominis arrived and Poppy was called over it was like fifth-year again. The initial circle you had formed has always been a source of comfort, no longer having to have your guard up all the time especially as easy conversation flowed between each other.

“I got some new books for you, just got delivered an hour ago. We should read it tonight.”

You fed him a piece of bread in your hands, knowing that his growing appetite has not been satiated by the plate he made for himself but he would be too lazy to make a new one and would just rather take bits and pieces from your own. “Just for me, huh?”

He grabbed a tuft of grapes before feeding you one as well before he demolished the entire thing. You couldn’t help but giggle when he spat out a small branch that managed to sneak into his mouth.

“It’s that new muggle series you love, paid off one of Ominis’ servant to line for it so you wouldn’t have to sneak out of Hogwarts like I know you had planned to tonight.”

You could feel your face heating up at the fact that he knew you too damn well. “You know I don’t like you spending money on me, Sebastian.”

“Well, you’re gonna be reading it to me so technically I’m spending money for me.”

You gave him a look but he quickly evaded it by feeding you another pair of grapes.

Sebastian had been haunted by nightmares after last year’s events. Ones so bad that the nurse feared he would be a bit too dependent on sleeping potions at such a young age. Thankfully, the two of you had found a solution together, after a late night studying in the Undercroft reading your notes aloud hoping it would stick into your head a bit better – you had turned to find your companion snoring away beside you.

At first, the two of you thought it was the history lesson that put him right to slumber so you borrowed tons of history books in the library for him to read before he slept but an enchanted note later and you were dragging your sleepy self and a blanket out of your chambers as you read about the History of Magic in his bed.

It was that night that you had been eternally grateful that he had no other roommate but Ominis. Especially when you found out that Sebastian was apparently a horrible koala when asleep.

“That’s just –”

“What are you two whispering about?”

You actually jumped, pushing Sebastian away as if the soft voice behind them reminded you of how they had actually drifted closer than what was appropriate.

“Arieta,” Sebastian greeted her with a raised brow, seemingly confused why the Ravenclaw was this far off the room not even all that affected that his new girlfriend just caught him being a bit too comfortable with another girl.

“Sebby!” she shrieked prettily, quickly recovering and pulling on his arm. “We have History of Magic together, remember? You know I can’t survive that class without your shoulder to sleep on.”

She can hear Ominis choke on a laugh yet Arieta shot you a look like it was your fault.

“I, uh,” Sebastian turned to your table, now fully aware that everyone was staring at him with various expression on their faces. “Right, let’s go.”

Ever the gentleman, Sebastian was quick to grab the books in Arieta’s arm as she held on to his hand and dragged him towards the doors.

“Arieta, huh, wouldn’t have pegged her as territorial one,” Natty chuckled, you chucked a grape at her. “What? I am only speaking my mind. Might have to watch out for that one or she might just drag poor Sebastian away from –”

Just before she finished her sentence Sebastian came bounding down the path once again stopping just beside you, catching his breath. “Hey, you’re mine tonight, okay? No adventures.”

His wording left so much to be misinterpreted that even Poppy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, damn near resembling those mooncalfs she loves so much.

"I stand corrected," Natty muttered.

“Sebby!” Arieta screamed at the end of the hallway.

Merlin’s beard.

“I’m coming!” He threw her an impatient look before holding on to your chin so you were looking at him and forcing you to nod. “No adventures.”

This time the embarrassment of the absolute mess that was unfolding before your unfinished breakfast have overwhelmed your brain that you could only nod with him.

“No adventures.”

Sebastian smiled, one of those real, bright ones that makes your body malfunction and your heart to stop beating. Pressing one last kiss on the top of your head and managing to wave to your shared friends he was off and gone through the double doors.

The entire table was left in silence and you had hoped they would let this go but Natty couldn’t give you that mercy as she cleared her throat.

“Well, now I got even more questions.”

You’re not dating Sebastian Sallow you just think about him a lot.

You weren’t as daft as the rest of them have probably assumed. You did think there was a lot more than friendship between Sebastian and you. But with all the things that the two of you had been through it was difficult to pinpoint what it exactly was aside from their unusually intense loyalty to each other.

Was it a trauma bond? Was it just their kindred spirits refusing to let the one soul who understood them go? Did everything that they went through, the secrets they keep, the curses they threw to protect each other become the bloody ribbon that held the unhealthy attachment they had to each other? It could be love. But it could be a whole lot more complicated than that.

That’s what they were. They were complicated.

After the nightmare that was your fifth year the two of you had kept to yourselves with Ominis in tow, trying to keep as low as profile as possible and give your poor professors a break. With your newfound infamy as the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ (blergh) and the dark secret you three were desperately keeping for Sebastian, the best you could hope for was to blend in with the rest of the nameless students in Hogwarts.

That agreement got shot into hell when your dear friend Sebastian Sallow proved to be one of the best beaters in Hogwarts’ long, long history. It was a dare that exploded in your own face to try out and irritate Imelda but when he had accidentally proven to be a bit too good at it their mutual friend clutched at him with her demanding claws and put him through the ringer until he got spat out decent enough to be one of the soldiers to secure the honor of their noble house and win the Quidditch cup this year.

Piled on top of that development was his connection to the Gaunt family, the Hero of Hogwarts, and the rumor of his hefty trust fund waiting for him the moment he turns 18 – Sebastian Sallow, just as the gods intended, became the most eligible bachelor of his age.

And thus your hell begun.

The silent charm he always had with him grew with his stature. He clearly enjoyed the attention after having hid his pretty bloody face behind dangerous books all year last year that it was almost like he was compensating for the hearts he could’ve broken. Every moon it was a different girl looped around his arms and every month it was a different friend reporting to you that your presumed ‘boyfriend’ was found snogging a goddamn Gryffindor in the Three Broomsticks.

It was annoying, confusing, and you were getting sick of it.

“Over here.”

Before you could find the source of the voice you knew all too well, a door had already opened and you were quickly pulled into an empty room – well, room was being generous as it was more of a storage space than anything.

“Sebastian!”

“Shh,” you gawked when his opened palm muffled your voice as he firmly presses it on your mouth. The unmistakable sounds of footsteps and a softer call of his name echoed the hallway outside the door. When the footsteps faded and disappeared, he had the nerve to give you a lopsided grin that turned your face red in irritation. Definitely in irritation.

Nothing quite like being forced to face the boy who had been running around your head all day.

“Sorry bout that, pet,” he chuckled, leaning on the wall an arms-length way from you. “I’m not too good with break-ups, especially when they say no.”

“Must be horrifying,” you sniped shortly, also pressing your back on the nearest wall to give you as much space as possible – it would just be absolutely mortifying to faint because your heart was beating too fast it was like it was trying to escape. “Are you gonna explain why you’ve kidnapped me in this dingy room?”

“Come on now, don’t be short with me. I just wanted to hang out with you ‘s all.”

“You want to hang out with me …. Inside a closet?”

He shrugged, “I never see you anymore these days.”

Ah, the nightmares must be back. She tries to swallow down the bitter taste in her mouth.

“That’s not my fault, Sebastian.”

At least he looked guilty. And absolutely miserable.

In the few weeks you had taken your eyes off him it would seem he had another growth spurt. Do boys just not stop growing ever? Looking up at him was starting to get painful. Plus, all those drills they run to prepare for every game had done nothing but well for his physique. You couldn’t help but run your eyes to his broad chest and shoulders before you caught yourself and nearly screamed in horror.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Rough hands grabbed one of yours. He bent his knees so he could look in your eyes as you now outright refuse to meet his, in anger for the absolute shit friend he had been the past months or in embarrassment that you so casually checked him out you’re not quite sure. “I … I got distracted but I missed you. You know I prefer your company over any other.”

Those damned brown eyes, not even the poor light in the windowless room could dull its effect on you. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Your harsh words did not match with the growing smile on your face you failed to suppress. He mirrored your grin, “Do you still have classes?”

You shook your head.

He damn near vibrated in glee. Merlin, you did miss him.

“Let me steal you away.”

In a flash, Sebastian grabbed a hold of your hand to survey the hall one last time before dragging you out of the room and into the nearest Floo. You barely caught the surprise and anger in his ex-girlfriend’s eyes as she gawked by the stairs before you got swallowed up by a green flash of powder.

“Boathouse.”

You’re not dating Sebastian Sallow because this is definitely not a date.

You wouldn’t think the Boathouse would be a romantic place but with the lack of students, the dimming sun and a gorgeous boy leading you in the inside of it for privacy – you couldn’t help but think that anyone who would pass by would be well within their right to think you had become another notch in Sebastian Sallow’s belt.

You’re not sure how you feel about that. A greater witch would’ve been offended but maybe you’re no better than the knots in his belt.

“Sit here.”

Sebastian spread out a worn-out black robe on the ground, patting on it expectantly. Before you could do it yourself, he was already kneeling beside you and removing your shoes and socks. The intimate act forced you to hold your breath, making sure you controlled your face so your jaw doesn’t fall to the floor as he slowly pulled on your socks, gently plopping them on the edge and letting the Black Lake’s water tickle your feet as they dangled.

When you were settled, he nonchalantly laid his head down on your lap. Gods, help you.

“Comfortable, aren’t you?”

He made a dramatic noise of satisfaction, even wiggling in your lap to show his assent. A giggle slipped out of your mouth at the absolute gall of him, your hands naturally falling in his soft, thick, brown hair to play with it.

“What had you been up to, pet?” he mumbles, eyes never leaving your face although you find yourself unable to do the same as you opted to look around the architecture of the Boathouse you rarely visit.

“Nothing much,” you shrugged. “Although I did find that swimming in the Forbidden Forest’s Lake was surprisingly relaxing.”

He hummed, not even surprised at your little antics when you leave his line of sight. The boy had definitely pulled you out of worse situations than roaming around the Forbidden Forest. “You should take me some time. Merlin knows relaxing is what I need.”

A scoff escaped your mouth as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, right after I duel your newest girlfriend for the honor of getting to take you out.”

He poked your side at that, “As entertaining that would be you know all you have to do is send me an owl and I’d trek up to Maurenweem for you.”

Your face clearly showed you didn't believe him and he frowned. Carefully, you ran a finger in-between his brows where a frown formed to relax it.

At this angle you could see the toll the sleepless nights he must’ve been having had on him. If the bags on his eyes was any indication it must’ve been a few nights now. You ran your hands on his hair earning you a satisfied hum as he dangled his hand on the edge of the ledge to play with the water below.

“When was the last time you slept?”

He popped one eye open but your gentle touch proved too much as he closed it again with an even longer hum. “A few hours last night.”

“You should’ve woken me up.”

He gently shook his head, grabbing your free hand so he can hold it by his stomach.

“I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Oh please, Sebastian.”

He chuckled at that, gripping on your hand tightly as he let out a heavy breath. “The nightmares … I thought it’s been better. Barely had any a few months ago. But now it’s just gotten worse.”

The confession broke your heart. Sebastian was not a vulnerable person; despite his usually easy and cheerful demeanor he was quick to wall himself in at the first sign of trouble. You would bet galleons of gold he still feels horrible of all the things he put you through and it was truly in desperation when he had called you over to help him through his insomnia. Which was also why you had welcomed the responsibility with open arms.

“Care to tell? Is it still about Anne?”

His estranged twin has been forefront of most of his darkest nightmares but he shook his head again and for that you were thankful he was spared that at least. “Solomon? Ominis?”

He opened his eyes; it was full of overflowing guilt and fear. And when it seemed he could no longer keep it to himself he sighed, “It’s about you. That’s the reason why I couldn’t …”

The revelation had your blood freezing. “What?”

He sat up, now facing you and taking both of your hands. “I’m only telling you this because you are my best friend and to remind you that none of this is ever your fault. You haven’t done a thing wrong, in fact, I can’t think how I would’ve gotten past any of this if it wasn’t for you.”

You held on to his hands tighter. “Sebastian, you’re scaring me.”

He shook his head, pulling you closer as if to comfort. Why was he comforting you when it was him who had been terrorized by this dream version of you. It was irrational to be mad but how could you not be when apparently you had become one of his problems while you were simultaneously desperately trying to fix it.

A palm on your cheeks pulled you out of your self-loathing.

“All of my dreams … it was of the people I love leaving me. Anne never forgiving me for the rest of my life, Ominis turning me in …”

“Oh, Sebastian,” you buried a sob on the crook of his neck, your hand roping around his back so you can rub on his back comfortingly while he lets everything out.

“And … and every time it happens my brain drives itself insane thinking of plans of what I would do if those nightmares came true. That’s the reason why I couldn’t sleep.” You looked up at him through your lashes but never leaving your spot even as he brings your legs out of the water and over his until you were in his lap.

“But then … they turned to you.” His voice dropped so low you almost shivered. “And for the life of me I just couldn’t … see an out of that. If I lost you – If you gave up on me I … I think I’d turn myself in Azkaban myself.”

“Sebastian I would never –”

“I know that,” he whispered. “But I still can’t – I can’t let it go. I can’t let go of these doubts and fear.”

This time he rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “That’s why I keep hanging out with all those girls.”

You raised your head in confusion, taking a better look at him.

“I thought if I loved you less, my nightmares would be kinder.”

The breath got caught in your throat. What is he – does he mean –

“But I couldn’t do that either,” He sighed, rubbing a hand on his face, clearly frustrated. “So I’ve decided. I’d rather go insane, let the nightmares do their worst because I am done pretending I don’t love you. I’m done avoiding you, I’m done pretending you aren’t the only light in my life. I’m done. And I love you.”

A fully grown crying Mandrake could drop from the sky and you don’t think you would’ve heard it over your own heart. You could barely comprehend anything but that his grip on your waist was so tight it was almost painful and that his pleading, terrified eyes was in the perfect angle that the late dying sun made it look like it was in a golden fire.

And that Sebastian Sallow … is in love with you. Just as madly as you were with him.

“I’m not forcing you into anything. I needed to let it out. If you want, I fully intend to formally court you until –”

“I love you.” You could no longer bear to put him in such misery. As long as you were alive, he would not question the adoration you’ve felt for him that just kept growing since the first day he had taken you to Hogsmeade. “I love you, Sebastian.”

Just for a moment there was quiet then he burst out laughing. “Thank you, darling." His body visibly shuddered as he sighed in relief, burying his face in your chest. "I’ve already planned to throw myself off the highest cliff in Hogwarts if this had gone south.”

You wrapped your hands around his neck, accepting the gentlest kisses on your neck. “Don’t say that. I plan to be your girlfriend for a very long time.”

His body shook from laughing, this time a kiss under your jaw, “Not that long I hope?”

You frowned, pulling away from him, though his unrelenting hold prevented much space to be in between the two of you. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” his thumbs rubbed circles on your thigh, now seemingly shy. “If all goes well, I had hoped to be engaged by the time we graduate. You won’t be just my girlfriend then.”

"You bastard," You gawked, laughing at his proclamation. The happiness was overflowing in your chest that you couldn’t help but just squeeze him into you hoping maybe that your souls would fuse with each other.  “You haven’t even kissed me yet and you’re already pre-proposing?”

He licked his lips, his sleepless eyes now full of vigor. “Ah, we gotta fix that, don’t we, pet?”

“We’re dating.”

Natty sighed in relief.

Poppy clapped.

Garreth passed Imelda a silver coin.

"Excuse me," Ominis muttered, standing up. “I'm gonna request a room change to the Headmaster.”

[hurtspideyparker]

Thinking about restless spirit Tony Stark who just can't move on to the after life.

The first thing he does once he realizes he's an apparition is check on Pepper and Morgan. True to their word, they're okay. He watches them for a bit but feels this deep unrest pulling him away from the quaint home he yearns for.

There's a deep wrongness within him, some unfinished business that draws him back to New York.

He fears for a moment that it's Peter- but no, it can't be him. He'll be in Massachusetts right now, attending MIT as a freshman. There isn't a doubt in Tony's mind that his little genius is already making his mark.

Still, he follows the pull of his spirit to some dingy Queens' apartment he's never been to before.

It's deep in the night yet the apartment is empty. He looks around a bit, his body phasing through anything he attempts to touch.

It's small and dirty. There's old coffee cups on the desk, alongside a couple GED manuals. Great, the universe thinks he has unfinished business with some broke high school dropout.

He's pondering how he must have screwed up this kid's life; was it the Avengers, Stark Industries? Maybe his old playboy lifestyle is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

His contemplation is cut short by the sound of the window cracking open.

It strikes Tony for a moment that maybe he's stuck on Earth to be a guardian angel, Iron Man living on as some invisible protector against whatever creep is sneaking into people's windows. It doesn't make much sense considering the whole non-corporeal thing, but he still stiffens like he's ready for a fight.

He sees a man- no, a thing? A creature maybe, or an alien. Even in death Tony can't escape being one of Earth's mightiest heroes.

The creature is shrouded in darkness, something slick and bald crawling inside the room with terrifying grace and silence. It shuts the window with a soft kssssh as the seal is formed.

And then it pulls off its mask.

There, with the click of a table lamp, glows the face of Peter Parker.

He's definitely older now; sturdier shoulders, a rugged set of his jaw, hair tamed to something semi-professional. Still present, though, are those gentle brown eyes.

Nothing makes sense right now. Why is his kid here, in this apartment? Surely May wouldn't allow this. How many tenant laws does this place break? Where are his little sidekick friends? And on what planet would Peter Parker ever need a GED?

Tony's getting angry now, watching Peter move around the tiny space. He changes out of his costume and into pajamas. That spider suit isn't Tony's suit, it looks like cheap craft store fabric.

The kid opens a small freezer and pulls out the singular bag of peas that reside in there, pressing it against his ribs while he goes to pop some bread into a toaster.

Tony takes note of every glimpse he gains into Peter's life. Empty cabinets when he reaches for a jar of peanut butter. A fridge housing nothing but condiments and energy drinks when he goes to grab jam. A drawer with two spoons, no forks, and a paring knife which he pulls out and sticks into the strawberry jam jar just as the toast pops.

This is all so wrong.

Tony's outrage is coming to a rolling boil. Peter deserves the world- he was gonna give him the world. He couldn't wait to send Peter to MIT and show him off as his protégé. Tony was gonna fund his projects, tease him about pretty girls, maybe even see him step back from Spider-Man and act like a normal college kid. He wanted to see him flourish and grow up. It was all he could think about when Peter turned to dust between his fingers; he should be goofing off with his friends at a mathletes meeting, or building Legos, not fighting an intergalactic war.

Tony couldn't even conceive how much went wrong to end up here.

Alone. Broke. No school. He didn't even have his Stark suit to protect him. Everything that made him him has been stripped, leaving him in this shallow box with scuffed paint and hollow cabinets.

Tony can feel the violent rage burn deep in his spirit as he thinks about it.

This is why he's here. He can't let his boy live like this, wasting his potential to be some villain's punching bag. Where is everyone? Does no one care enough to stop this? The fury that builds in Tony is dangerous, wondering why a dead man is the only one who cares about the teen's life right now.

Without thinking Tony's hand reaches for the GED textbook, a mocking piece of work that laughs in his face, and throws it at the stupid little kitchenette that's mere feet from the bed.

It sails across the room with surprising speed before it's met with a thunk against Peter's palm, hand reaching out to catch it from the air before it collided with the toaster.

Oh.

Peter sets the book down and immediately picks up his web shooters, eyes darting furiously to every corner of the tiny apartment.

"Who's there?"

Tony steps a little closer but Peter's eyes just look right past him.

"C'mon Pete, c'mon. I'm here, I'm right here."

Tony looks for something else to grab. He swats at a hopefully empty coffee cup on the wooden desk, but his hand just passes right through it.

"Shit," the hope Tony felt waivers slightly and he tries again.

Nothing.

Peter is searching his apartment now, making sure the window is secure and feeling around every crevice, bookshelves, under the bed, in the top corners of the room. Searching for something nefarious, tech maybe.

Tony hits the cup, again and again, frustration building up and up and up till-

The cup flies across the room, Tony and Peter's eyes track its movements as it bounces against the ground and rolls to a stop.

"Shit," Peter breathes out.

Tony walks up to Peter now, standing before him.

"Figure it out. Think kid, you've met aliens, gods, magicians, surely ghosts aren't too far fetched."

Peter closes his eyes. His posture straightens, Tony watches him take a deep breath in as the hairs on his bare arms stand on end.

Peter's eyes blink open, and they're looking directly at Tony.

Tony smirks, "that's it."

Peter turns around and picks the cup off the ground, running to his desk with it and ripping a piece of lined paper out of a notebook and scribbling furiously on it.

Tony walks over as Peter places the cup in the center of the paper.

On the left is the word YES in bold print, NO on the right.

"Okay, okay okay. So, move the cup if, if you wanna talk. Um, is there someone in the room right now?"

Tony reaches for the cup, an intense glare as his fingertips graze it gently. It shifts minutely towards the YES.

"Shit! Shit. Sorry, whew. Okay. Are you friendly?"

Tony moves it to YES again.

"Are you a, um. Person? Like not an alien?"

YES.

"Are you wearing tech, invisibility suit or your molecules are uncalibrated or maybe it's a portal thing like, multiverse shit is happening again, a mirror universe! Oh, maybe a..."

Tony let's a frustrated sign. The kid is too practical, logical. He needs to think like a non-genius.

"... could be. Or, or maybe you're just a ghost-"

Tony perks up and immediately swats the cup, causing it to fly off the desk towards the YES.

"Oh. Oh that's... kinda normal. Or maybe really weird? I mean... I certainly have some ghosts in my past."

Peter picks the cup up and puts it back on the desk.

"Do I know you?"

YES.

"You said you were friendly, and I'm not getting any danger tingles from you. I'm gonna start with people I know are dead, cuz I just really hope you're not a... new ghost. Um. M-May?"

The boy's voice cracks on the word and Tony freezes. May is dead? Tony starts to fear that things are a lot more wrong than he previously thought.

Peter's breath catches and Tony realizes he's waiting, dying for an answer, and quickly pokes the cup towards NO.

Peter's shoulders sag.

"Uncle Ben?"

NO.

"T- Mr. Stark?"

Tony grins, "now we're getting somewhere!"

YES.

Tony is going to have his work cut out for him, but being here with Peter just feels right.

Peter breaks out into a matching smile.

"Wow, okay. I think I'm gonna need more paper," he says as the boy gets to work making a more complex system than YES and NO.

Tony watches on proudly, reminiscing about all the great Peter was and all the great he still is, despite his situation. Whatever this is, they'll figure it out.

Together.

[idkwhylou]

𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

Summary : Since your marriage, the distance between you and Marcus has only grown wider. Doubt settles in, hand in hand with your growing loneliness. But during a conversation with Lucilla, you come to realize something far heavier—you are even more alone than you thought.

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings : arranged marriage, mentions of suicidal thoughts (blink and you'll miss it, it's like just one sentence), cold behavior, age gap ? (not mentioned), infidelity (towards reader), secret relationship, toxic behaviour, manipulation, angst, no y/n

Words : 5,9K

A/N : this one was so hard to write, idk why. Sorry if it’s not perfect

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

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The domus was quieter than you imagined a place of such size could be. Its silence was not peaceful; it was the sound of old stone and restraint, guards who never laughed, courtyards where voices echoed too sharply. Rome, they said, was the center of the world. But for you, it felt more like a stage where everyone played a part, and you were still reading the wrong script. Your new home was beautiful, you could admit that. Even if it never quite felt like yours. The marble glowed ivory in the mornings, and the frescoes caught the changing light like painted memories, but there was something unyielding in the walls, something that did not bend to your presence. The mosaic of Gods watched you wherever you walked, their inlaid eyes judging, as though they knew you did not belong in this place. 

And yet, you did what was expected of you. Gods, even more. You learned the names of every servant in the villa, learned where they came from, and tried to address them in their own dialects—poorly at first, but with effort, and with warmth. You oversaw the household ledgers, made notes in elegant Latin, organize the pantry to accommodate both Roman and your homeland’s cuisine—dried figs wrapped in parchment, pickled lemons floating in clay jars and cinnamon sticks tied with string, sent directly from your mother’s kitchen gardens across the sea. 

You had meals prepared with quiet hope, always with some small detail meant for him. Lamb seasoned the way his men said he liked, olives pressed into the bread he often reached for first, honey-wine chilled precisely to the hour he returned. You even arranged a private dinner once, beneath the olive trees in the inner courtyard, where hanging lanterns cast golden halos through the leaves and the scent of citrus bloomed in the dusk.

He had thanked you with a nod. 

Just a nod.

A simple and quiet nod. How stupid of you.

He never ignored you, and sometimes you wish he would. That would have been easier. Cruelty had shaped, form and texture. But civility ? Civility was airless. He was always courteous, always present in body but never in soul. His answers remained clipped, delivered with military efficiency. You dared to ask once, when you saw the pale edge of a scar disappearing beneath his tunic, if it sometimes still hurt. 

 “No.” He said. And that was the end of it. 

You tried again, weeks later. He had just returned from the Senate, and you met him as he sat, pouring his wine before he even asked. “How was the council ?”

He shrugged, already reaching for a piece of bread. “As expected.”

“Do you often speak on behalf of the Emperor ?”

“When required.” He replied, cutting into the meat without ever looking at you. 

“Do you-”

“I had a long day,” he interrupted firmly, glancing sideway to your form. “Please.”

As always, you nodded and lower your gaze, retreating just before his indifference could harden into something sharper. You had learned quickly the quiet line between civility and dismissal. This time, you did not even get the chance to tell him about the meal. How you had spent half the afternoon with the chefs, your sleeves rolled up and helping to cook the roast with spices your mother had insisted you bring from home. “He should taste where you come from.” she had said, tucking the jars into your palms before you could say anything. 

But Marcus never asked, never seemed to notice, never paused, never looked at you the way husbands were supposed to look at their wives. His expressions always remained unchanged as he took his place at the table, not even looking at you. You would trace the lines of his profile over and over, trying to find the man everyone else seemed to see. He was never cruel though, never raised his voice or said anything unkind. Just detached. And somehow, that was worse. 

His silence and distance stretched on for weeks. You had already gone over it all in your mind, countless times. Was it your fault ? You barely knew each other, why did he not at least try to act like a kind husband ? Maybe he did not see the efforts you made, did not feel the quiet weight of your loneliness. Perhaps it was simply normal here, in Rome—for a man to neglect his wife so thoroughly. After all, it was so easy to hide behind duty, to wear the excuse of responsibility like armor. 

And yet, he had not even bothered to do that. He had not even tried to offer you those hollow words. Since your wedding night, he had not deigned to speak to you for more than a few clipped seconds at a time. Surely, he could not imagine what it felt like to live in this constant state of silent dismissal. And so, you tried. You held yourself together with frayed strings and stubborn hope, and each day, you persevered. Secretly, foolishly, you hoped that maybe he might change. But deep down you knew. You were not meant to except anything in return. Not from him or anyone. 

A few days later, you could not take it anymore. It had been two days since you last saw him. Two long, empty days. You wandered through the corridors of his villa like a ghost—alone, disoriented, slowly unraveling. You could not flee, that would be reckless, foolish, and so humiliating for you or your father. But the mere idea of stepping outside made your stomach twist. You could not bear the stares anymore, the judgment etched into every look. Perhaps you were discreet, yes, but not naïve. Or at least, that is what you once believed. 

The rare times Marcus allowed you to company him beyond the villa’s walls, you could feel it—the whispers, the mocking smiles, the stinging judgment. Walking beside Rome’s most revered General made you disappear in your own skin. You were not seen as a person anymore, only as a wife. Not even his. 

That morning, something inside you broke. You had risen far too late, long past the moment you always cherished: sunrise. The one constant in your days, the only faithful presence left to greet you. And even that, now, had passed you by. That day, your mother arrived at the domus unannounced, as if she felt that broken feeling from where she was. It was late in the afternoon when a servant came to your room, wide-eyed and breathless. “Domina… Your mother… She is here.”

You did not believe it until you saw her. She stood in your chamber like a mirage; her cloak dusty from travel, her hair twisted in the same thick braid she wore the day you left, the faint scent of jasmine clinging to her skin like a memory.

“I was not supposed to come.” She said as soon as you closed the doors behind her. You fell into her arms without a word, breathing her in like air after drowning. “I had to see you with my own eyes,” she whispered, cupping your face, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Letters do not hold truth. Not the kind I needed.”

Yes, the letters. It was clear you could not speak the truth in them, not fully. You could not lay bare the reality of your new life: its silence, its coldness, its invisible grief. You reminded yourself that in some strange way, you were still lucky. While you suffered in loneliness, others died in agony. That thought haunted you, shamed you even. And yet… there were moments when the weight of it became too much. Moments when you would have gladly traded places with those lives lost. When you would have offered yourself in exchange, just to be freed from this beautiful prison gilded in gold. But you could not write that—not to your mother. 

You both sat near the brazier, heads close together like the nights of your girlhood, when you had listened to the ocean wind rattling through the shutters and believed the world would always be kind to you. You felt her eyes study your face. She could see it, surely, the fatigue carved into your skin, the fine line that had deepened between your brows, born from confusion and sleepless worry. You could not let her grow more concerned than she already was, and so you spoke.

“I just did not sleep well, mother. I am fine.” But even as the words left your lips, you could not convince yourself.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then softly, with the heaviness of someone who already knew the answer, she asked, “He sleeps elsewhere ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

“I thought it might be… a slow beginning,” you said, though even the words felt thin now. “I thought if I gave him peace, he would give me trust.”

She looked at you with a gaze you had never seen in her before, something almost sacred. There was no use in lying anymore. Not when her eyes saw through every wall you had built. Not when they refused to let you hide anymore. “I tried, mother. Every day, I try. I make this house a home. I speak his tongue, follow his customs. But I think… I think I am only another one of his duties.”

Your mother exhaled through her nose, not sharply, but in sorrow. She reached for your hand, her fingers soft and warm against yours. “There are men,” she said gently, “who wear armor inside their skin. Even when there is no more war to fight.”

You looked at her completely lost, your voice a whisper. “But am I not enough reason to take it off ?”

She did not answer immediately. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the rooftops of Rome caught the last rays of sun, burnished gold and cruelly beautiful. 

“He may learn,” she said at last. “Or he may not. But you, my daughter, are not here to be small.”

You pressed your forehead to her shoulder and stayed there, unmoving, wrapped in her quiet warmth. For a moment, you let yourself forget the silence of the halls, the weight of your own unanswered questions. She said nothing because she did not need to. Her presence alone was enough, like a balm laid gently over skin that had long since learned to ache in silence. You breathed her in, that faint familiar scent of crushed herbs and something maternal you could never name, and clung—not to her exactly, but to the feeling she brought. The reminder that there was still softness in this world. That someone, somewhere, still saw you.

She left before nightfall, as if she feared to overstay in a home that was never truly yours to begin with. Or maybe she was too furious to risk running into Marcus. You walked her to the threshold, fingers reluctant to let go, your mouth forming the barest thank-you that did not even touch what you wanted to say. Her departure felt like waking from a dream you were already mourning, like the kind you chase back into your pillow, only to find it slipping further each time.

That evening, you sat at the long marble table once more. Alone. Again. The light from the candles trembled faintly along the gold detailing of the walls, too bright for the mood that clung to the air like fog. His chair remained untouched, the embroidery on its cushion undented, preserved in its quiet defiance. The food cooled slowly on the plates, but you could not bring yourself to lift the fork. You stared down at your wine—red, still, and full—as though it might hold some answer at the bottom of the cup. But it did not. It never did actually.

There was no anger in you. Not that night. Just a familiar hollowness, settling in again like an old companion. You sat there, in the vastness of a home that had never felt like yours, and wondered how long it would take for the sound of your own thoughts to drown you.

You would try again tomorrow, you promised yourself.

And the next day.

And the next.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

But there were patterns you could no longer ignore. The day Marcus finally decided to make his grand return, he gave no explanation for his strange and prolonged absence. Nothing. Not a word. And in the days that followed, nothing changed. The same distance. The same evasive glances. He slipped right back into his silence, as though he had never been gone.

As thought you had never waited

He left earlier in the mornings. Returned later. Sometimes did not come home at all until the moon hung low and pale, and even then, he would pass your chambers without a word, smelling faintly of perfume that was not yours. The scent so faint it might have been imagined. But it was not. And yet, it clung to him like smoke after flame, unsettlingly familiar. You tried to place it once, standing alone by the doorway long after he had gone—that note of crushed rose and some darker resin beneath—but your memory gave you nothing. Just unease. 

You could not let the weight of it settle without resistance. You owed yourself the truth, or at the very least, the effort to seek it. So, you began to watch, to listen, to gather the pieces one by one as the days unfolded. And yet, something refused to align. As if a part of the puzzle had been carved to deceive, beautiful on the surface but wrong in its shape.

You began to see things with new eyes. The way certain hours of the day were always unaccounted for. The way Lucilla began to arrive unannounced. The way she never glanced at you directly, but smiled as if she knew a secret you did not. The way the servants went silent in her presence, and even more silent in yours after she left.

That evening, a dinner had been arranged. Not grand enough to warrant togas stiff with ceremony, nor quiet enough to be dismissed as informal. A gathering, modest in size but laced with the kind of expectation that only Rome could dress in such refined stillness. You had prepared for it without thought, your fingers guiding the clasp of your dress, smoothing the folds, pinning your hair—motions you had long since stopped attaching meaning to. 

The seat at Marcus’s left awaited you, as it always did, and you sat there before the others arrived, your hands folded gently in your lap, your spine held by an invisible thread of composure. He was beside you already, not late for once, but silent, cloaked in the same guarded stillness he wore as naturally as his mantle of command.

He had not said much. Well, he rarely did. But for a moment, his eyes had lingered on you simply… observing. As if trying to remember something that refused to take shape. You could feel the weight of his presence more than you could feel the shape of it. And when you dared glance toward him, there was nothing in his expression that betrayed thought or feeling. Just distance.

Then she arrived.

Lucilla swept into the atrium with the poise of someone who had once belonged to the place and never truly left. Her dress was a muted gold that caught the light just enough to seem effortless, the shade almost the same as the skin at her throat. Her hair was gathered with a kind of calculated ease, too graceful to be accidental, too loose to be innocent. Her voice followed her, soft and warm, full of the kind of charm that made people lean in just slightly, as if wanting to catch a secret they knew she would not give.

You felt Marcus shifting beside you, so subtly it might have been nothing. But you knew his silences well by now. You knew the way his body tensed, not from danger, but recognition. His gaze moved—past the servants, past the senators already halfway rising in greeting—and settled on her. Not with shock. Not with longing. But with that heavy pause, the kind that stretched a single moment wide enough to fit years inside.

He looked at her as one looks at a place they have once been and both long for and regret.

It was not dramatic. No drawn breath, no visible stiffening. But it was enough. Enough for your own gaze to falter, your stomach to dip, your throat to tighten. And when at last he turned to you, his greeting quiet and courteous, it did not matter what he said. The pain lay not in the words, but in the ease with which he spoke them, as though you were no more than any other guest at his side.

Dinner passed like mist. The roasted duck, crisped with honey and thyme, the jeweled lentils, the pine nuts glistening with oil. You registered none of it. Their voices moved around you, threading together with the practiced smoothness of people who had spoken many times before in places you had not been invited. Lucilla never raised her voice, never pressed, well she did not need to. Her control was in the softness of it, in the practiced pauses, in the way her laughter folded at the edges of his words as if they had rehearsed the timing in another life. And Marcus… Marcus responded with a familiarity that asked for no explanation. One that told you enough.

You smiled when you had to. You answered when spoken to. But each movement felt like wading through something thick, something that clung to your skin. The wine was too warm. The candlelight too bright. The scent of pomegranate and spiced oils made your chest tighten. And when Lucilla laughed—that delicate, curved laugh—it was not jealousy that came. It was the confirmation of a quiet truth; one you had tried to ignore. That you were sitting beside him, but he was somewhere else entirely.

You excused yourself before the final course, fingers trembling slightly as you set your napkin down. No one stopped you. Marcus did not even turn, his shoulder already leaning, just slightly, toward hers. His hand rested near his cup, fingers curled in a way that invited the space between them to narrow. You stood slowly, brushing your fingers once more along the cool edge of the table before turning away to the gardens. 

The night clung to your skin like silk, warm despite the breeze, the air heavy with something darker and unspoken. You did not look back as you crossed the peristyle, just moved, half-guided by the rhythm of your breath and the dull ache that now lived beneath your ribs, quieter than before but no less present.

Inside, the murmur of conversation spilled gently from the triclinium. You did not return to it. Instead, you lingered in the antechamber, half-shadowed beneath a tall candle, where the flickering light painted gold across the stone floor. Here, the house felt quieter. Removed. As though you had stepped just slightly outside the world everyone else still inhabited.

Then you saw her.

She rose from her seat with the same fluid elegance she wore like a second skin—unhurried, unannounced. There was no drama to it, no glance cast around the room. Only the subtle gathering of her shawl, the way her hand trailed for the briefest moment across the back of Marcus’s chair, and then—

She moved.

Out into the corridor, past the columns, toward the garden. You hesitated. There was no reason to follow her. No purpose, no justification. But your feet had already begun to move before your thoughts could intervene. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was the simple, awful need to understand—her, him, or yourself. You did not knew anymore.

You told yourself that you only stepped into the garden because the air inside felt too thick, because your thoughts screamed too loudly within the echoing silence of your own restraint. So, then, you wandered past the stone columns, past the still water of the fountain, trying to find a breath that did not burn. At least, that is what you tried to convince yourself.

You caught her beneath the laurel arch—the same one you used to stand under at dawn, waiting for the first light—and it hit you all at once. The scent. Not the sweetness of garden herbs or fresh linen, but something richer. A fragrance you had noticed once on Marcus’s cloak, faint and persistent, clinging where your hands had never touched. At the time, you had told yourself it was a stranger’s, a passing trace from a crowded room.

But now, in the dark, under the stars, it wrapped around you again—and this time it had a name.

Suddenly, everything snapped back into place. 

It was her perfume you scent on Marcus’ shadow. 

The one she had worn the night you first met her, when she leaned in too close with a smile that was too sweet. You remembered it—the way it clung to her skin, expensive and deliberate, a scent that marked territory without needing words. She belonged in this house more than you did. 

The garden exhaled cool air around her as she stepped into the night. Silver light softened the sharpness of her shoulders, catching in her hair like it had been placed there on purpose. You felt invisible, walking behind her. Like a ghost in someone else’s story. She reached the edge of the walkway and turned. Slowly. Not startled. Not surprised. As though she had already known you were there. Her eyes met yours, and she offered you a smile.

That smile—soft and polished, serene as temple marble. It held no suspicion, no tension. You had seen her offer that same expression to Marcus, across the atrium, when she thought no one was looking. Now, that same look was yours. Somehow that made it worse.

“You walk like someone carrying a secret,” she said gently, almost amused, but without cruelty. “Do you need something from me ?” Her voice was so gentle, and she looked at you with such tenderness. There was something kind, something genuinely good that seemed to radiate from her presence.

And yet, you did not know how to answer. Your mouth was dry. Your thoughts rushed forward too fast and tripped over themselves. Lucilla waited. She always waited—not with impatience, but with the calm of someone who had already played this scene before. 

“I did not mean to follow you.” You murmured eventually.

“But you did.” There was no bite in it. Just a simple truth spoken without judgment.

You dropped your eyes to the stone floor and nodded, heat crawling up your throat. She turned slightly, looking toward the laurel trees that danced softly in the breeze. “It is quiet here at night,” she said, voice distant. “I like to walk when the house sleeps.”

“I do too.” You replied. “But tonight, I could not.”

Lucilla glanced sideway at you. “Why not ?”

You did not answer. You could not, at least not without unraveling. Instead, you asked the question you had not dared until now. “How long have you known him ?”

A pause. Just long enough to feel measured. “A long time,” she said eventually. “Before the wars. Before he learned how to wield silence like a weapon.” Lucilla kept her gaze fixed straight ahead when you finally reached her side. Her back was straight, her hands clasped neatly behind her, as if she was reciting something she had long since committed to memory.

The answer struck something in you. A note of truth so resonant it almost hurt. “He acts different with you,” you confessed. “Not soft, but… closer.”

Lucilla tilted her head without looking at you, as if she had not anticipated this. Suddenly, there was nothing soft left in her voice. Her brows drew together in a sharp frown, and even before she spoke, you could feel the irritation radiating from her, pulsing off her body like heat from sunbaked stone. “He knows I am not asking for more than he is ready to give.”

The honesty of it stung more than you excepted. “So you think he is cold with me because I expect something real ?” The words came out sharper than you intended. Not because you wanted to wound her, but because you no longer knew how to ask gently for something that kept slipping through your fingers. 

She did not flinch, of course she did not. She titled, once again, her head slightly, like someone measuring a fragile object for cracks. Her voice, when it came, was smooth but laced with that certain knowing that made your spine straighten in defense. 

“I think Marcus fears depth,” she said carefully, each word placed like a stone. “Not because he lacks it. But because he gave it once, and what he gave was lost. That kind of wound does not bleed anymore. It calcifies. It teaches you to guard what you love by never letting it be loved again.”

You stood very still.

She had been kind to you when you arrived—warm, even. The only one who had offered you a true smile, a soft touch of welcome when everything else had felt like ceremony and silence. You remembered how gently she spoke that first night, how it had made you feel seen for the first time since your arrival. But, that memory now flared like a sting against your skin, the contrast unbearable.

“So he lets you in,” you said, and it came out colder than you meant. “That is how you know.”

Her eyes narrowed, just a little. Not enough to seem angry, but just enough to make it clear she had heard what you were really saying. “I have known Marcus longer than anyone in this house,” she said, and though her tone was soft, it carried an unmistakable edge. “I have seen what he is like when no one is watching. What he hides from even himself. That sort of knowledge does not come from title or proximity. It comes from surviving with someone.”

You felt your stomach twist. “But you, are not his wife.” You replied, and your voice wavered between defiance and desperation.

Something flickered in her gaze then. Something proud, something ancient. But her smile did not falter. If anything, it grew fainter. Sadder. “No,” she said. “I am not. Which is why I can afford to be honest with him.”

You scoffed, unable to stop yourself, “Honesty… You two seem to treat it with a luxury, not a principle.” 

The words settled like ice between you.

“Are you implying something ?” She asked quietly.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. When Lucilla finally took a step back, it was not with the grace of a victor. It was slower, smaller, measured perfectly to make you feel as though you had struck first.

“I did not realize that you thought so little of me.” Her voice trembled just slightly, just enough. 

You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or defend yourself, you did not even know yourself—but she was already turning away, her posture tense with something between pride and sorrow. Her eyes did not narrow, and neither she raised her voice. 

“I have only ever been kind to you,” she said, and her voice was maddeningly calm. “Even when I did not have to be. Even when others would not.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came fast enough. She went on, her gaze never breaking from yours. “From the moment you arrived, I treated you with warmth. I welcomed you into a world that is colder than you realize. And still-” she shook her head lightly, not in anger, but something quieter. “Still, you speak to me like I am your rival. Worse—your enemy.”

There was no venom in her tone. That made it worse. Your pulse had risen seconds ago, chest tight with something sharp and defensive. But now that heat began to dull, giving way to something heavier. Shame crept in, slow and low, curling around the anger like a vine around stone.

“I did not mean to…” You started, your voice thin.

She stepped back half a pace—not retreating, just drawing a boundary.

“I have lived long enough to recognize fear when it wears the mask of cruelty,” she said, softer now. “You are not the first woman to feel lost in his silence. But you might be the first to take it out on someone who is only ever offered you understanding.”

It landed with the weight of truth. No accusations. Just… quiet disappointment. Your throat tightened. You had not expected kindness to be a weapon, and now it was turned inward, piercing something you did not know was vulnerable. All the words you had flung like stones—suspicion, jealousy, hurt—suddenly felt childish, small.

“I did not mean to-” You said, barely audible. 

But Lucilla did not wait for you to finish. She turned, not in fury but in sorrow, and walked away with the silence of someone who no longer needed to defend herself. And as her figure slipped between the marble pillars and into the night, your anger left with her. Replaced by a quiet ache, dull and sinking. You stood there, hands clenched at your sides, and felt it bloom behind your ribs: you had wounded the only person who had offered you kindness in this house.

And somehow, that hurt more than any of the silence Marcus had ever given you.

And you hated yourself a little for it.

You breathed out slowly, the tension in your shoulders beginning to unravel, even as your chest remained tight. You had let suspicion get the better of you. Gods, you had followed her like a shadow, had spoken too sharply, had thrown barbed questions like someone preparing for betrayal. And she had not met you with cruelty. Now, in the silence of the empty courtyard, it was not anger you felt anymore. It was shame.

What had you done ?

Lucilla had smiled at you. That soft, slow smile she always wore like a veil, neither warm nor cold, simply practiced. And still you had doubted her. She was his friend. His oldest companion, maybe the only person who had known him before the walls went up. Of course they were close. And yet you had questioned it. Accused her, even if you had not meant to. Your voice had been edged with fear, your words too pointed, too raw.

She must think you are fragile, insecure, a jealous child playing dress-up in a home too grand for you. You sat down slowly on the fountain’s edge, fingertips brushing the cold marble. The night felt softer now. The air cooler, clearer. You told yourself it was relief. Still, something gnawed at you. Not doubt in Lucilla’s words… but in yourself. You had let that perfume, that glance, that silence turn into something else in your mind. You had let yourself spin shadows into stories. And now you were left with the sour taste of regret. 

You stayed in the garden, head tilted to the stars you could not name, trying to gather yourself. You had wanted truth, but now that it was offered, it felt heavier than you expected.

You did not hear the steps at first.

The garden held too many sounds; the wind threading through the laurels, the soft ripple of the fountain in the dark, your own breath, shallow and uneven in your chest. But when the footsteps stopped behind you, not heavy, not urgent, just there. You felt it before you turned. A shift in the night air. A stillness pressing in.

Marcus.

Standing just beyond reach.

“Why are you still out here ?” His voice was quiet. Careful like a blade turned flat so as not to cut.

You did not turn to face him yet. Your fingers brushed the edge of the marble, grounding yourself. “I needed air,” you said softly. “To clear my head.”

A pause followed. Not long, but long enough to carry weight. You could almost hear him choosing his next words. “Lucilla seemed… upset.”

You winced. You hated how easily your body betrayed your guilt, how quickly the shame surfaced. “That is my fault.” You said before you could stop yourself.

He waited.

But you did not elaborate.

You could not. The words burned in your throat, too tangled to set free.

“I thought…” You shook your head, staring out at the dark curve of the garden. “It does not matter anymore.”

“I see.”

You turned to him then. Slowly. You did not know what you were looking for in his face, a crack in the calm, perhaps. A glimpse of something real. Or maybe just permission to say what needed to be said.

“She told me there is nothing between the two of you,” you said, your voice barely more than breath. “That she only knows the shape of your silences.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not surprise. Not guilt. Just the faintest withdrawal, like a man pulling his hand from a fire he had not realized was lit. “She is been a part of my life a long time.” He replied, and his voice held nothing but truth. Clean, uncomplicated. The kind that did not defend, but did not deny.

“I know.” You whispered.

And now you did. You should have the moment you saw them together; the familiarity that ran deeper than words. The ease of shared pain. There was nothing seductive in it, only something private. That was what stung.

“I think I was unkind,” you admitted. The words tasted strange in your mouth, raw and half-formed. “I let fear turn me into something cruel. I made her feel unwelcome. And she is been… kind to me. From the beginning.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Not like someone observing, or assessing, or simply fulfilling the role of husband. But like a man seeing the ache that had no name. The hollow behind the eyes. The tired slope of your shoulders. You did not look away.

“You were not cruel,” he said, after a pause long enough for the wind to shift. “Just hurt.”

The word landed softly. Hurt. No embellishment. No dismissal. And somehow, it was worse than blame. Because it was true. Something inside you gave. Not entirely, not visibly, but enough to feel it: a slow loosening of the knot you had been carrying behind your ribs for weeks. Your throat tightened. For a moment, you thought you might cry. Not from sorrow, but from the unbearable relief of being seen.

But you did not.

Instead, you stood up. Your voice was steadier now when you said, “I am going to bed.”

He nodded once. You moved past him, your steps slow, your breath measured. But this time—this time—you felt it as you passed:

He turned.

Not to stop you. Not yet. But to watch. To follow not with his body, but with something else. With thought. With attention. And though nothing was spoken, you carried the echo of it with you into the darkness. Only when they stopped behind you did you sense him. Marcus, standing just beyond reach.

⋆.⋆༺𖤓༻⋆.⋆

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Tag-list : @negrita2345 @aretha170 @immyowndefender @suzysface @isabella-rose-trastamara @simpingforjoel @unmagically

[idk-karla]

The Neighbor, pt. 4

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader (Post Thunderbolts)

Summary: A day at the farmer's market ends better than you can expect.

Author's note: I just slacked off at work for two hours for this lmfaooooo. That being said, I haven't edited sorry. Inspo came from the scene in Falcon and Winter Soldier, my babies. Thanks again for all the support girlies, enjoy.

Part 3, Part 3.5

Masterlist

I was halfway through tying Ellie’s tiny sneakers when she suddenly gasped like she’d forgotten something critical, bolting for the front door

“Eleanor,” I called after her, "where are you going?!”

“We forgot to invite Bucky!”

She threw open the door with all the drama of a Broadway actress and cupped her hands around her mouth. “BUCKYYYY!”

I came up behind her, hands on her small shoulders, wincing. “Ellie, maybe not scream—”

“BUUUUUCKY! We’re going to the farmers market! Hurry! You have to come with us!”

I peeked my head outside, just in time to see the curtain in his front window shift. A second later, the door creaked open and there he was—Bucky Barnes in all his tousled, just-out-of-bed glory. Joggers slung low on his hips. Thin white tank clinging to him in places I absolutely should not have been looking.

He blinked, eyes still heavy with sleep. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, voice low and rough enough to light a fire under my skin.

Ellie beamed up at him. “We’re going to the farmers market to get fruit! There’s peaches and oranges and kiwis and honey sticks! And goats sometimes! Come with us pleeeeease?”

He looked down at her, still blinking slowly, then looked at me. His eyes dragged over me slow, taking me in. It was definitely a coincidence I had worn a form fitting dress in his favorite color, Olive Green. I could tell by the flare in his nostrils that it served its purpose. 

“No pressure,” I added, lifting one shoulder, trying to ignore the way heat had pooled in my cheeks. “But she did just summon you like her own personal Disney sidekick, so…”

He huffed a quiet laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Give me five minutes.”

***

The market was bustling by the time we got there. White tents lining the streets,  the scent of fresh bread in the air, live music playing somewhere nearby. Ellie immediately latched onto Bucky’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes met mine for a moment, shocked, like he didn’t feel worthy of such an honor. 

I held out my hand tentatively, biting the inside of my cheek to contain my nerves despite the simple gesture. Bucky didn’t hesitate. His fingers looped around mine instantly giving me a comforting squeeze as he used it to pull me closer.

We walked beside each other, fireworks dancing between our biceps like them rubbing up against each other as we walked wasn’t the most natural thing in the world.

We walked through the first few tents unamused. It wasn’t until we reached a crystal shop that caught our attention. Ellie picked up every shiny rock like she was in a museum of sacred relics. Bucky stayed behind her, calm and patient, crouching down when she asked questions, lifting her up when she couldn’t reach. He didn’t rush her. Didn’t glance at me for help. Just... let her be. Like her curiosity was something to nurture, not manage.

Watching them made my heart ache in a warm, sticky way, the kind that feels a little like falling and a little like home.

Next came a Disney tent, full of every single character Disney has ever released in plushie form. Ellie walked through the space, grinning like she had entered through the gates of heaven. Bucky stayed close, eyes soft as she explained the entire plot of Frozen 2 in exhausting detail. He nodded through all of it like she was giving a tactical briefing.

“And that one’s Rapunzel! She has magic hair!”

“She sure does,” he said solemnly, like he had any idea what she was talking about.

“And this is Merida! She’s not afraid of anything!”

“Sounds like someone I know,” he said, sending me a quick glance and a teasing wink. My heart fluttered in my chest.

Ellie walked out of there with an army of stuffed princesses and a proud grin. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“You're enabling her,” I said, sidling up beside him as he paid.

“She has good taste,” he said, shrugging like I was the problem. 

I arched my brow. “You always this easy to manipulate?”

He leaned in slightly, brushing his arm against mine on purpose. “Only around m-” He stopped, mid-word, like he caught himself saying something he wasn’t ready to. His eyes flicked away. “Pretty girls”

Oh.

My heart did something stupid in my chest. I tried not to think about it, I did. But as we walked through the rest of the tents I couldn’t help it. I had an inkling he was going to say something that would’ve completely wrecked me. He was going to say my. I could feel it.

My girl.

Which was ridiculous because I wasn’t his girl. 

Sure we were having dinner together multiple times a week, sometimes a movie neither of us really cared about just to spend more time together. Sure he’d replaced that light that had been out on my porch for months without saying a thing. I just got home late one night and the light was working. Sure he stopped at the store to get me apple pie on the way home sometimes just because he knew I liked it. Sure he taped Ellie’s drawings to his front door like they were priceless art pieces. 

Sure I started making extra portions for dinner so that he could have a homecooked meal at least once a day. Sure I started to fill up his porch with plants one week at a time to give it some life. He never said a word, but I saw the way he ran his fingers gently over the leaves like they meant something. Then he figured out my watering schedule and joined me on the porch outside every week to 

I definitely didn’t want to be his girl. Definitely. Totally.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t even realize we’d stopped until I felt Bucky’s hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me toward the fruit stand.

“I want that one,” Ellie said, pointing at a jar of bright orange apricot jam.

“Sure,” Bucky said, already reaching for it

“And that honey stick! No—the pink one!”

He got her three.

“And the flower!” she said, pointing at a bouquet that was almost as big as she was.

“You’re gonna need help carrying all of this,” he said seriously, crouching to tuck it under her arm.

I stepped in before he could buy her the whole cart. “Okay, whoa, Soldier Sugar Daddy, let’s rein it in.”

He looked up at me, caught, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “What?”

“You can’t just buy her everything she points at,” I said, folding my arms.

“She asked,” he said,like that was airtight logic..

“She also asked for cake for breakfast this morning. Guess what the answer was?”

He leaned in a little, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “...Was it no?”

“It was no,” I said, giving him a look.

“That’s boring.” 

“I agree,” Ellie chimed in from behind him, already halfway into her honey stick.

I gave her a mock glare and she immediately scampered behind Bucky’s legs for protection, like he was her personal body guard.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Bucky.”

He held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. No more spoiling. Probably.”

Ellie immediately took his hand again, completely unconcerned. Like he was hers. Like this was normal.

We were halfway to the car when Ellie spotted a few classmates near the playground. She looked up at me with big pleading eyes, and I nodded before she even said a word.

Bucky and I sank onto a nearby bench, arms full of jam, flowers, and honey sticks.

He sat with a respectful amount of space between us. so, naturally, I leaned in. Shoulder to shoulder. Temple to temple. I felt him hesitate, then give in and drape his vibranium arm around my shoulders.

“You’re wrapped around her sticky little finger,” I said, voice low.

“Yeah,” he murmured, not even glancing down at me. “Kinda like I am with you.”

My heart stopped for a beat.

He said it so easily. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it didn’t just flip my world upside down.

I blinked at him, stunned.

And then, thank God, Ellie came barreling back across the grass, dragging two of her friends along. She pointed at Bucky’s arm and whispered something to them with all the drama of a spy kid.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, amused. “I see you stirring trouble, General.”

Ellie beamed. “They don’t believe me when I say you’re as strong as the Hulk!”

“Well-” I started.

Bucky’s head whipped toward me, eyes narrowed. A silent dare: Say it. I dare you.

“I mean-” I didn’t get the chance to finish because he stood, striding over to the kids with a quiet smirk.

I couldn’t hear what he said, but I watched in absolute awe as the children started attaching themselves to him like baby koalas. Ellie was first, launching herself up and swinging from his arm like it was a jungle gym. The others followed. Bucky didn’t even flinch. He let them dangle, gently swinging them back and forth like it was nothing, then set them down as carefully as glass.

One of the children’s mom approached, with a tight smile and narrowed eyes. A polite kind of suspicion that had a protective instinct unfurling in my chest. Bucky was a good man, and the look she was giving him made me mad. 

I slipped both arms around his bicep and leaned into his side like a silent stake. He glanced down at me, startled, then caught the woman’s look and instantly understood.

His hand settled on my waist like it had always belonged there.

She left without a word, but I didn’t move.

***

By the time we got back, Ellie was done.

Not just sleepy. Done. She’d powered through the market like a pint-sized storm, and now she was curled up in her car seat, unconscious, a cinnamon roll hanging loosely in one hand and her slightly bruised bouquet in the other.

Bucky carried her up the stairs without question. She didn’t even stir, just let her head lull against his shoulder with total trust.I was sure my chest was going to collapse if my heart kept thudding at it like this. 

I unlocked the door, pushed it open with my hip, and we moved together inside like we’d done this a hundred times before.

“Should I…?”” he whispered, motioning toward her room.

“Yeah, just drop her on the bed. She’s out cold.”

He reappeared a minute later, shrugging off his jacket while I pulled out the groceries. fruit, some fresh bread, the honey sticks.

“She’s gonna talk about today for the next week,” I said, smiling softly. “You were kind of her hero today.”

“She was mine,” he said, then shrugged like he hadn’t just said something that made my knees weak.

“I fight trained assassin’s for a living and I think she wears me down more.”

“She's scarier too,” I said, smiling.

“Kind of like someone else I know.”

I swallowed, pulse ticking up. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or a warning?”

“Little of both,” he said, and God help me, I liked the way he said it.

I glanced up at him, noticing suddenly how close we were standing next to each other.

“Hi,” I said quietly, the word barely more than breath as I leaned into him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured, just as soft. His voice was low, warm, and closer than I was ready for.

I could feel the heat radiating off him. Could almost count the inches between us by how my skin tingled in their absence. His breath ghosted against my cheek. His hand lifted for a second, like he was about to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear… but he pulled back, uncertain.

God, those eyes. They were too much. Too soft, too steady, too damn careful. Like he was holding himself back for me.

I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands slid up to his shoulders before I even made the decision, my arms wrapping around his neck like something I’d done a thousand times before in another life. His arms were around my waist pulling me into him on instinct. Our bodies aligned like a magnet snapping into place.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low, eyes wide with a flicker of panic. Not the kind that meant no, the kind that meant please say what I think you're about to say.

“You gonna kiss me or are we just gonna keep pretending we’re not both thinking about it?” I whispered, heart pounding against my ribs

His jaw clenched, like he was holding back something sharp, something dangerous. His eyes dropped to my mouth then back to my eyes. Torn. Tortured.

“I’ve been trying to be respectful,” he said, the words rough like they scraped on the way out.

“Try less.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed down on mine, and everything inside me ignited. It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t desperate. It was intentional. Every movement, every brush of lips, every tilt of his head was slow and sure like he’d thought about this moment a thousand times but refused to let himself rush it.

He kissed me like I was something sacred. Like he’d been waiting for permission. Like he'd memorized the shape of this moment and still couldn’t believe it was real.

His lips were warm and soft and tasted faintly like strawberries from the sample I’d made him try earlier. His hand slid up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing my skin with a kind of gentleness that undid me completely. I melted under the weight of it, every part of me pressing in like I could mold myself to him. 

By the time we finally pulled apart, my lungs were burning. My heart was thundering so loud I could hear it in my ears. 

He didn’t let go. Just leaned his forehead against mine, breathing like he’d run a marathon.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice raw and amazed.

“Yeah,” I exhaled, still catching my breath. “Me too.”

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part Two

Summary: Working with Logan means you have to accept constantly getting the short end of the stick; it means discovering things about yourself you didn't ever expect. Still, despite dealing with all of this, you two make a pretty good team.

PART ONE PART THREE

Warnings: bickering, graphic descriptions, canon-level violence, revelations WC: 8.2k - MASTERLIST

----

"Alright, you’ve slept long enough."

You're jolted awake by a rough tug on the covers, the sudden chill of the morning air hitting you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

Logan, with his perpetually grumpy expression, stands there with an annoyed look, as if your very act of sleeping is a personal offense.

You groan and sit up, the duvet still tangled around your legs, as you blearily glance at the small bedside clock on the rickety nightstand. The red numbers blink back at you: 7:00 AM. “Seriously?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with one hand, your other still clutching the edge of the bed. “It’s way too early for this. Can’t I get a few more minutes?”

His eyes narrow, not even a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. He rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and crosses his arms over his chest. "You look fine to me," he says flatly, his voice dripping with impatience.

Throwing the covers back with more force than necessary, you let out an exaggerated sigh. The cold floor sends a shiver up your spine as your bare feet make contact with it. "What’s the rush?" you ask, your tone sharp with irritation as you glare up at him. "You’re acting like we’ve got a deadline."

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a telltale glint in his eye that betrays him. It’s subtle, but you catch it—a fleeting spark of amusement that makes you think he’s secretly enjoying riling you up. Suddenly he turns and heads toward the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the warehouse and pulls a piece of bread out of an ancient toaster, the appliance looking like it’s barely functioning.

Without warning, Logan flicks his wrist, and the piece of bread comes flying at you. The movement is so fast and precise that you barely have time to react. It’s only thanks to your heighten reflexes that your hand shoots out to catch the bread mid-air. You stare at it, bewildered, the heat from the toast seeping into your palm.

"What’s this for?" you ask, still confused and a little off-kilter from the morning's whirlwind of events.

He raises an eyebrow. "Fuck does it look like? Eat up."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take a bite of the slightly burnt toast. “You know," you mumble between bites, "you could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person."

"Where’s the fun in that?" he shoots back, a rare, almost genuine grin tugging at his lips as he watches you chew. There’s a moment of silence as you both settle into the morning routine, the tension easing just a bit.

As you finish the toast, you can’t help but glance up at Logan, who’s now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"You wanna know why I really woke you up so early?" he asks, his voice low and direct.

"Why? Because you’re secretly a morning person who loves watching the sunrise?"

Logan snorts, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. "No, because your fighting form is shit"

You gape, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t let up, leaning in a bit closer. "Yeah, you heard me. When we were fightin’, you were all over the place. If you’re gonna be any use out there today, you’ll need some pointers. So for a bit this morning, we’re gonna train."

"You woke me up early... to tell me I suck at combat?" You stare at him, processing his words. The audacity makes you want to laugh.

"You don’t suck,” he begins. “You just need to get better. And since I’m the one stuck with you on this mission, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

You let out a sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Great. Just what I needed first thing in the morning”

“Think of it as a warm up.”

He doesn’t wait for your agreement. Instead, he just jerks his head toward the exit and turns on his heel, clearly expecting you to follow. With a resigned sigh, you grab your boots and tug them on as you hurry to catch up with him. He leads you to a cracked patch of concrete behind the building, a makeshift training ground that looks as rough as you feel. 

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

“Fine,” you say, squaring up.

In a flash, he lunges at you. Luckily, you dodge the first blow by sheer instinct, a sharp jab aimed at your ribs. The intensity sends a shockwave through your body, even though you managed to twist away just in time. It’s 7:00AM!!

Logan doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath. He’s on you again, faster this time, his movements a blur as he swings a fist toward your head. You duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as his punch grazes past your temple. Jumping to the side, you try to put some distance between you and his relentless assault

"Faster!" he snaps, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. "You're movin’ like a damn slug. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over by now."

His words are irritating, but they only fuel your determination. Summoning the latent power within you, you leap back, opening a gap. You can feel it there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He pounces again, and this time, you’re prepared. Channeling you super speed, you begin to dart around him, moving so fast he can’t keep up. In one swift motion, you lift your leg and land a swift kick to his side.

Logan grunts, but still he barely flinches, spinning around to face you. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Not bad," he grunts, "but not good enough."

His claws extend with a shink before you can even respond, and he swings at you, slicing right up in your face. You try to dodge, but the tips catch your cheek and create a deep gash. 

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shout, frustration bubbling to the surface as you counter with a punch of your own, your strength amplifying the blow.

Logan blocks it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through both of you. You’re pretty sure you heard a few bones crack. He snarls, his eyes flashing with challenge and something else—maybe pride. If you want to be optimistic. 

"I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed," he retorts, pushing you back with a forceful shove.

Your anger blazes at his words, and without thinking, your powers flare up again. This time, your hands crackle with energy, a faint orange glow sparking to life at your fingertips. You lash out at him with a rapid series of punches, each one laced with your mutant energy. He dodges most of them, but a few land, sending sparks flying where they connect with his body.

"That’s more like it" he says. He advances, switching to the offensive, forcing you to backpedal. "But you’re still letting your emotions get the better of you."

"Maybe because you’re pissing me off, asshole!" you snap, your frustration boiling over as you land another punch, this time aiming for his chest. The impact sends him stumbling back a good five metres, but he recovers quickly, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Good," he says, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the pain. "Just don’t let it control you.""

His words barely register as your anger continues to rise, fueled by his constant ‘pointers’. You keep pushing, your attacks becoming more aggressive, more reckless. Logan meets each one with an attack of his own, his claws flashing as they slice through the air, blocking your every move. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with the energy of your growing powers and the heat of your rising emotions. You go at him again, harder this time, and that’s when it happens.

Something straight out of a nightmare. You feel a sudden surge of energy—hot and thick, like molten lava—coursing through your veins. It’s overwhelming, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, your hands begin to glow brighter, the orange light intensifying until it’s almost blinding.

“Whoa—what the—?” you murmur, staring at your fists in shock as they burn with an intense, fiery orange, like heated iron.

Logan should be scared. You clearly have no idea what this is or what you could do with it. Yet, he doesn’t back down; instead, he presses onward. “Stay focused!”

But the energy in your hands is overwhelming, a burning heat that demands release. You feel it building, pushing you to the edge of what you can handle, and by impulse, you swing at him, aiming for his midsection with all your might.

The moment your fist connects with his stomach, the world seems to slow down. The sensation is surreal—you can feel your hand sink into his flesh, the resistance giving way as if his body were made of butter. Heat radiates from your fist, searing through his skin and muscle with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. To your absolute horror, your glowing hand doesn’t stop; it punches right through him, emerging out the other side.

For a second, everything is silent. The world holds its breath as the shock of what you’ve just done paralyzes you. Your breath catches in your throat, a suffocating lump of panic rising as you stare in disbelief at the sight before you. The feeling of your hand inside him, of flesh parting and melting, is too much, too wrong.

Then, the silence shatters as you scream, the sound raw and filled with terror. You jerk your hand back, nearly stumbling as you pull away, eyes wide. Logan stumbles too, his usually steady form momentarily thrown off balance. His shirt smokes from the burn, a charred hole marking where your hand had been. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hits you, making your stomach twist in nauseous fear.

“Oh my God, Logan!” you cry out, “I—I didn’t mean to—”

But to your surprise, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he looks down at the gaping hole in his stomach, then back at you, his expression more impressed than anything.

“Knifey,” he grunts, sounding almost amused despite the situation, “that was one hell of a punch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as the glow fades from your hands. “Are you—are you okay? I just burned a hole through you!”

He chuckles, though the sound is definitely a bit strained. “A little hot under the collar, maybe, but I’ve had worse.” He winces slightly as his skin begins to knit back together, healing rapidly thanks to his mutant ability. “Don’t worry, this’ll close up in no time. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I… I could have killed you.”

“Nah,” Logan says, waving off your concern. “You’re not the first person to try and fail. Besides, I’m more impressed that you’ve got that in you.” He glances at his now-healed stomach, then back at you with a smirk. “Just maybe aim a little better next time, yeah?”

----

You’re fucking exhausted. He really put you through the ringer—pushing you further than you’ve ever been pushed before. Your muscles ache, your skin is slick with sweat, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. Logan, on the other hand, seems barely winded, though even he has a sheen of sweat on his brow, and a gaping hole in his shirt. 

Your hands are on your knees as you bend over and try to slow your breathing. “You… really don’t… know when to quit, do you?” you manage to gasp out between breaths.

“Well, you’re not gonna drop dead on me, are you?” He shoots back, not caring at all about your current state.

Shaking your head, too tired to come up with a snarky retort, you barely respond. “Not yet,” you mutter, trying to rub some life back into your aching limbs.

“Good. Now come on,” Logan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a job to do.” 

He steps away, heading back toward the warehouse, and you force yourself to follow, your legs heavy and protesting with every step. He moves with purpose, heading straight to a small table tucked in one corner, where a map lies spread out, weighed down by a few random items—a knife here, an old mug there. Not wasting any time, he leans over the map and traces a finger across several locations marked in red.

“Look,” he says, not bothering to wait for you to catch up. You step closer, peering over his shoulder at the map.

“We’re here,” he begins, pointing to a spot on the map that corresponds with your current location. “Your last few mutant encounters were in these areas.” He taps on the cluster of red dots. “We’re gonna hit these spots, see if we can find any leads on where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay…” You follow. 

He stares at the pages for a brief moment longer, before looking up at you with a small smirk, like he know’s hes next words are going to piss you off. 

"Change of plans by the way. I’ll go on the roof, and you’ll stay on the ground. That way, the mutants will be able to find you."

You blink at him, your expression shifting from frustration to disbelief. "Pause. You’re using me as bait?"

"Yeah. Works better if they’re lured in by something they’re actually interested in." His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the kind that shows he’s fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds but doesn’t care.

"Oh, great. So I’m just a distraction for you now? What happened to teamwork?"

Logan just shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if this is the most logical plan in the world, . "We’re still teamin’ up," he replies, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just taking a different approach. Besides, you’ve shown that you can handle them," he adds, mocking your voice in a poorly done imitation, “26 kills, remember?’"

You narrow your eyes at him, now fully facing him and glaring daggers in his direction. "Handle them?" you echo, "What if I don’t want to be used as bait for some dangerous plan? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here."

"It’s not like I’m asking you to walk into a death trap, bub. It’s just a way to flush them out. I’ll be right above, ready to help if things get too hairy."

"Yeah, that’s real reassuring," you snap back, "what’s next? Are you going to throw me into a pit of mutants and hope I manage to climb out?"

"I wish," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, you just keep your mouth shut. The idea of being dangled out like a worm on a hook doesn't sit well with you, but arguing with Logan has proven to be as effective as punching a brick wall. Your muscles are screaming for rest, and your mind is a whirlpool of fatigue and annoyance.

"God damnit. Fine," you concede reluctantly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering soreness. "But if this goes south, it’s on you, jackass."

“Fair enough,” he says, grabbing a worn leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. The jacket strains slightly across his muscular frame, the creases and scuffs telling tales of countless past encounters.

He then shuffles toward a cluttered metal locker against the wall, pulling it open with a screech of old hinges. Inside hangs an assortment of gear: knives of various sizes, a couple of handguns, and a coiled rope. Is this even legal? You think. He grabs a sleek, compact earpiece from a small shelf and tosses it in your direction.

"Keep that on," he instructs. "We'll need to stay in contact. If you spot anything—or if anything spots you—you let me know immediately."

You examine the earpiece for a moment before fitting it snugly into your ear. A short burst of static confirms it's operational. "Got it," you reply, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.

Logan equips his own earpiece before reaching back into the locker and arming himself with a couple of vicious-looking weapons, tucking them into concealed sheaths along his belt and boots. The familiar routine seems to settle him, his movements efficient and practiced.

He catches you watching him as he methodically puts on his gear, and instead of asking if you’re armed, he pauses and reaches into the locker. With a swift swoosh he pulls out a sharp, gleaming blade.

The blade is perfectly balanced, and when he passes it to you, it fits comfortably in your hand. As you inspect it, you notice the craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and razor-sharp. Definitely an upgrade from your usual gear.

Guaging your reaction, his eyebrows raise in amusement. "Better than your last weapon, ya think Knifey?" he says.

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a small smile as you give the blade an experimental twirl. Giving a brief nod, you tuck the blade securely into a sheath at your side, feeling a bit more confident. He nods back in acknowledgement, and then he checks his watch. The morning is slipping away, and the streets outside will soon be bustling with people going about their day—a perfect cover for the dangers you're hunting. Folding up the map, he stuffs it into his back pocket before striding toward the exit. 

----

Once you’ve entered a busier part of the city, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding buildings with a practiced eye. He turns to you, his expression all business. "We'll start over on Fifth Avenue," he says, nodding toward a maze of streets that stretch out ahead. "That's where the last sighting was reported."

You shield your eyes against the glare, following his line of sight. The streets look deceptively calm, but you know better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Stay alert," he commands. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but don't be too subtle either. We want to draw them out, but not scare them off."

You scoff lightly, adjusting your jacket and running a quick hand over your gear to ensure everything's in place. "So act like a clueless pedestrian but also like a tempting target. Got it."

He gives you a pointed look. "Just be yourself," he quips, before he turns away and starts toward the side of the building. Rude, you think.

You watch as he approaches the fire escape, his movements fluid and sure. After a quick glance around to ensure no one's watching, he leaps up, grabbing the bottom rung and hauling himself up with ease. Within moments, he's scaled the side of the building, disappearing onto the rooftop above.

His voice crackles to life in your ear. "You ready down there?"

Taking a deep breath, you step out onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians beginning their day. "As I'll ever be," you reply, starting to walk at a casual pace down the street.

The city unfolds around you, a tapestry of sights and sounds that are at once familiar and disconcerting under the circumstances. You weave through clusters of people, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings discreetly, looking for any sign of unusual activity. Above, you catch fleeting glimpses of Logan moving along the rooftops, his silhouette a shadow among shadows as he keeps pace with you. Minutes tick by as you make your way toward the target street, each step measured, each glance calculated. The morning bustle grows thicker, and the air fills with the scents of street food vendors setting up shop and the distant rumble of construction work.

"Anything?" His voice buzzes softly in your ear.

You shake your head slightly, replying under your breath to avoid drawing attention. "Nothing yet. Just the usual morning rush."

"Keep moving. They could be anywhere."

You continue on, turning onto Fifth Avenue, and as you pass by a narrow alleyway, a prickle of unease runs down your spine. You pause briefly, casting a casual glance down the shadowed corridor. It's empty, littered with discarded boxes and a stray shopping cart, but something about it feels off.

"Logan, you see anything unusual around here?" you murmur, pretending to adjust your earpiece like they’re earbuds. 

There's a fleeting silence before he responds. "Hold on." You look up subtly, catching sight of him perched on the edge of a building, his eyes scanning the area with predator-like focus.

After a moment, his voice comes through again, lower and edged with caution. "There's a van parked two blocks down that doesn't seem to fit. Tinted windows, no plates."

You resume walking, heading in that direction while trying keeping your demeanor relaxed. "Could just be someone avoiding parking tickets," you suggest, though your instincts tell you otherwise.

"Shut up," Logan replies with zero hesitation, calling your bluff. "Stay sharp."

Approaching the intersection, you spot the van he's referring to. It's an unmarked, nondescript vehicle that seems deliberately inconspicuous—a little too inconspicuous for this part of town. Slowing down your pace slightly, you pretend to window-shop as you try to take in more details. The engine is off, but you can make out faint movement behind the tinted glass. "Definitely something going on there," you whisper, angling your body to keep the van in your peripheral vision. "Think it’s our guys?"

"Could be," Logan responds tersely. "Keep walking. Let's see if they follow."

Doing as instructed, you walk past the van and cross the street, risking another glance back. The van's engine has started, its headlights flicking on as it pulls out into traffic, maintaining a slow but steady distance behind you.

"Yup, they're following me," you report.

"Good. Lead them toward the park ahead. Fewer civilians there."

You spot the small urban park a few blocks down—a patch of green amid the concrete jungle, dotted with benches and sparse morning joggers. "On it," you confirm, quickening your pace just enough to be noticeable without raising suspicion.

The crowds thin out as you near the park entrance. Behind you, the van slows to a stop along the curb, and you can feel eyes boring into your back. "Logan, they're stopping," you inform him, subtly scanning your surroundings for any immediate threats.

"I see them," he says. "Three guys getting out. Can't get a clear look from here. Keep moving forward. I'll get into position."

You carry on down the path, resisting the urge to look back. Your senses are on high alert now, adrenaline surging through your veins and washing away the remnants of your earlier exhaustion. Footsteps echo behind you—heavy, purposeful strides that are too close and too focused to belong to casual park-goers, and you catch a glimpse of their reflections in a nearby puddle: three men dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by caps and sunglasses.

"Closer than I'd like," you mutter under your breath.

"Just a little further," Logan assures you. "There's a clearing up ahead. Better visibility."

A grassy open space surrounded by trees, currently deserted, comes into view just as he footsteps behind you quicken, closing the distance rapidly. You stop in the center, turning slowly to face them, and although you’re positively shitting bricks, you try to stay composed. 

The three men fan out in a semi-circle around you, their postures aggressive and eyes cold. "Well, well, what do we have here?" the one you think is the leader sneers, his voice oily and mocking. "Out for a morning stroll all alone?"

You force a casual shrug. "Just enjoying the fresh air. Is that a crime now?"

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer. "Depends on who's asking. You look a little lost. Maybe we can help you find your way."

Your hand inches toward your concealed blade, fingers itching for reassurance. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," you reply evenly, eyes darting between the three men as you gauge their intentions.

"Don't think you understand," another one pipes up, his voice harsher, more eager. "We insist."

Before you can respond, the leader's eyes flash with a sudden, green glow, and you feel a sharp, invisible force slam into your chest, knocking you back a few steps. You grit your teeth against the pain, steadying yourself quickly.

"I think now would be a great time to do something," you murmur urgently into the earpiece, your fingers closing around the grip of your weapon.

"On my way," Logan’s voice comes through, and you can hear his breathing as he jumps through buildings.

The men advance, confidence oozing from their stances as they prepare to strike again. You draw your weapon in defence, not waiting for them to make another move. "Back off," you warn.

He laughs, a grating sound that echoes through the clearing. "Or what? You gonna stab me? Go ahead, try."

Challenge accepted. You aim the blade, and hurl it towards him. The target is on point, but inches before impact, it stops mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground as the leader smirks, his powers deflecting the attack effortlessly.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he taunts, his hands glowing with a sinister energy as he prepares to strike again.

Then, a feral roar cuts through the air, and Logan drops from the trees above like a force of nature, landing directly on top of one of the men and driving him into the ground with bone-crushing force. Claws out and eyes blazing, he wastes no time, slashing at the second man who barely manages to leap back in time, a gash opening up across his chest.

The leader's smug expression falters as he takes in the sudden turn of events. "Who the hell is this?" he snarls, recoiling slightly as Logan stands between you and the attackers, his presence an unyielding wall of defense.

"You don’t want to find out" he growls, his voice menacing. 

The other two mutants, momentarily stunned by the Wolverine’s sudden appearance, quickly regain their composure. The first one charges, his hands crackling with energy. But Logan is faster—much faster. He sidesteps the attack with grace, then drives his claws into the mutant's side, a deep, brutal strike that leaves the man gasping and crumpling to the ground.

The second mutant, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before launching himself at you, clearly deciding that you're the easier target. Except you’re not. As he closes in, you speedily side step around him, a blur of motion as you reach for the blade on the ground. 

Once it’s in your grasp, you pivot around, and slash upward, slicing through his clothing, biting into his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shirt.

"Think again," you snap, your voice cold and sharp, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You press the attack, your blade a barely visible with the speed at which you wield it as you force him back, not giving him a chance to recover. The leader, seeing his subordinates falling one by one, finally shakes off his shock and focuses his eyes at you. With a snarl, he raises his hands, the air around them shimmering. He thrusts his hands forward, sending a pulse of raw power hurtling toward you.

Feeling your power surge through your veins, heating your blood, your hands begin to glow with that familiar fiery light, the same power that burnt a hole right through Logan earlier that day. You meet the leader’s attack head-on, your fist colliding with the ball of energy. The force of the impact sends shockwaves through the air, and makes you grimace, but you hold your ground, refusing to be pushed back.

The mutant’s eyes widen in disbelief as he watches you deflect his attack. His confidence wavers, replaced by a creeping fear. "This wasn’t part of the plan," he mutters, staggering back as he desperately tries to summon more power.

"Don’t care," you retort, slowly stalking closer and closer. He tries to make a run for it, but you catch up to him easily, grabbing his arm, causing him to scream in agony as the heat sears through his flesh. 

Logan, upon discarding his now lifeless victim, approaches the leader in an instant. He grabs the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly with one hand. The mutant struggles weakly, his energy spent, his body trembling from the burns and the wounds inflicted by your hands.

"You picked the wrong target," Wolverine growls, his voice a lethal whisper. He tightens his grip, his claws hovering dangerously close to the leader’s throat. "Who sent you?"

The leader gasps for air, his eyes wild with panic as he looks between you and Logan. "We were… sent to attack… ," he stammers. "Mind control… we were forced to…"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. It’s confirmed: mind control. These mutants weren’t acting on their own—they were being manipulated, turned into weapons against you. "Who’s controlling you?" you demand, stepping closer, your hand still glowing with residual energy.

His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but then his entire body seizes up. His eyes widen in terror, and you think he might be having a seizure. He tries to speak–to move his mouth, but no sound comes out, his expression contorting as he struggles against some invisible force.

"Oh God, something’s wrong," you say, glancing at him with concern. 

Logan lowers him to the ground, and crouches beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, but the mutant can only gasp, his eyes rolling back as if in agony.

You can see the panic in the man’s eyes as he fights against whatever is controlling him. It’s clear that he wants to tell you something, but he’s physically unable to do so. The mind control is stopping him, choking off his words before he can get them out.

Desperation drives you to act. You drop to your knees beside the mutant, gripping his other shoulder. "You need to tell us where they are," you insist, your voice urgent. "Give us a clue—anything."

His body shakes, his teeth grinding together as he forces out a single, strained word. "T… tunnel…" he gasps, his face turning a ghastly shade of white. "Underground…"

But before he can finish, his body convulses violently, as if an electric shock is coursing through him. His mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror. Blood begins to trickle from his nose, his body seizing uncontrollably. You and Logan can only watch in horror as the man's life is snuffed out right before your eyes. His head snaps back, and just like that, his body goes limp, collapsing to the ground with a final, sickening thud.

Logan bends down to check his pulse, but you already know the answer by the grim expression that settles over his face. "He's dead," he says flatly, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands back up.

You stare down at the lifeless body, your heart pounding in your chest. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. Whoever was controlling him clearly didn’t want him to reveal anything more. "They got to him."

Logan clenches his fists, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Looks like they’ve got failsafes in place. This wasn’t just a fluke."

"So now not only are we dealing with a puppet master, we’re dealing with a psycho fries people’s brains if they talk. Fantastic."

He shoots you a look. "You done complaining? Because we’ve still got shit to do."

"Complaining? I’m just pointing out that our situation sucks, Logan." You glare back at him.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Yeah, well, whining about it won’t get us anywhere. We need to find another way to track down whoever’s behind this."

You’re about to snap back when your eyes catch on the van still idling at the edge of the park. "The van," you say, your tone shifting from irritation to sudden realization. "Think we can track it back to whoever sent them?"

Following your gaze, his expression softens slightly as he considers the idea. "Maybe. If we’re lucky, they didn’t wipe the GPS data. Could give us a clue where these bastards came from."

You let out a huff, trying to ignore the slight sense of relief that Logan actually liked your idea. "Well, let’s hope they’re not as smart as they think they are."

You reach the van and climb inside, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The dashboard is cluttered with tech—nothing too advanced, but enough to suggest this van has been modified for more than just transport. A laptop is mounted to the dash, screens dim but flickering to life as you settle into the passenger seat.

He slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. "Let’s get this thing back to the warehouse," he says, "We’ll see what we can pull from the system. Might give us something solid to go on."

Not waiting for anything else, he just shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers through the narrow streets.

----

Back at his place, Logan grabs the laptop and other tech from the van, motioning for you to follow him as he heads to a makeshift workstation near the back of the warehouse. The setup is basic but functional—tools, weapons, and old electronics. 

Following him, you can still feel the adrenaline from earlier buzzing through your system. He sets the laptop down, and powers it up. The screen flickers to life, and he starts navigating through the van’s GPS system. "You think they’ll be expecting us to track them?" you ask, leaning against the edge of the workbench.

All you get in response is a grunt, his eyes never leaving the screen. "They’re not idiots. They’ve probably figured out we’d try to follow the trail. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this."

The screen fills with maps, coordinates, and location markers. Logan hones in on one spot just outside the city—a cluster of old industrial buildings with access to underground tunnels. He taps the screen, highlighting the location. "This is where the van’s been going. It’s our best lead."

You study the location, a sense of unease creeping in. "So, what’s the plan? We just storm in?"

He shakes his head, leaning back slightly as he thinks it through. "No. If we go in too soon, they’ll be ready for us. We need to play this smart—wait a couple of days, let them think we’re not doin’ shit.”

Recognizing the wisdom in his approach, you nod. "Alright, but what do we do in the meantime? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"We keep an eye on the place, see if there’s any movement. We prep, we rest, and when the time comes, we hit them with everything we’ve got. We’ll be bunking here for a few days.”

You look around the warehouse. In a day, this place has gone from some ugly dump to your new safe haven. Great. 

Logan moves to secure the van, checking the locks and making sure everything’s in place. As he does, he glances over at you, almost as if he can hear your thoughts. "You’re lucky you’ve got a bed—my bed," he emphasizes.

You shoot him a teasing look. "Hey, you offered. I would’ve taken the couch… but don’t offer that now because I’ve decided I like the bed."

With the van in place, the clawed mutant moves toward the small kitchen area tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. You watch him curiously, wondering what he’s up to. He pulls out a few ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter with practiced ease.

"Figured you might be hungry," he grunts, opening a few cabinets and pulling out some pots and pans.

"You cook?"

He tips his head back just enough to catch your eye. "Yeah, I cook. What, you think I survive on just beer and grumpy stares?"

"Wouldn’t be too far off," you snicker, leaning against the counter as he starts chopping vegetables..

"Sit down. This’ll be done in a bit," he says, focusing on his task.

You do as he says, settling onto a nearby stool and watching as Logan moves around the kitchen with surprising skill. He’s making pasta—something simple but hearty. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan soon fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh tomatoes and herbs. It’s strange to see him like this, in such a domestic setting, but you can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing.

"Didn’t peg you as the culinary type," you comment, unable to resist.

"You pick up a few things when you’ve been around as long as I have” he says, tossing the vegetables into the pan with a flick of his wrist.

When the meal is ready, Logan plates up the pasta and hands you a bowl. The aroma is mouthwatering, and you dig in eagerly, surprised by just how good it is. The two of you eat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as you enjoy the food. You watch him for a moment, the normalcy of it all striking you once more. It’s a side of him you hadn’t expected to see, but one that makes you appreciate the depth of the man behind the gruff exterior.

As the night falls, Logan heads to his makeshift bed in the corner of the warehouse, while you make your way to the bed he begrudgingly gave up. 

"You sure you’re okay with the couch?" you ask, more out of habit than anything else.

Logan shoots you a look, already half-lying down. "You’re the one who wanted the bed, remember? Just get some sleep.”

You smirk at his gruffness, knowing now that it’s just his way. 

----

The next few days in the warehouse pass in a strange, almost surreal calm. The constant adrenaline of your life as of late takes a backseat as you and Logan settle into a routine that feels more like a bizarre kind of roommate situation than anything else. 

Each morning, you wake to the sound of Logan already up and moving, the metallic clang of his claws as he practices in the open space of the warehouse. You join him for training, and though the sessions are intense, they lack that certain edge of urgency. It’s like you’re both conserving your energy for the fight to come, knowing that the real battle is just on the horizon.

"You’re still dropping your left shoulder," he points out one morning as you spar, his claws swinging.

You huff, blocking his strike with your blade. "And you’re still grumbling like an old man."

He rolls his eyes, dodging your next attack with a quick sidestep. "That’s because I am an old man, Knifey. What’s your excuse?"

"Just trying to keep up with you, gramps." You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you press the attack.

In the afternoons, after you’ve both worn yourselves out with training, you’d find yourselves sitting on the edge of the raised platform that serves as Logan’s makeshift living area. The warehouse is quiet, the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of metal settling in the walls. It’s in these moments of stillness that you start to learn more about Logan—not the Wolverine, the fierce, unrelenting fighter—but Logan, the man behind the claws.

He doesn’t talk much about his past; it’s clear that there are parts of it he prefers to keep buried. But every now and then, something slips out—a story, a memory, a glimpse into the man he used to be before everything went to hell.

One specific day stands out. The two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the platform, the remains of a quick meal scattered around you. Logan is unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his retracted claws as his hands rest on his knees. His usual tough exterior seems to soften, just for a moment, and you can sense that something’s weighing on him.

"You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if things had gone differently?" you ask, breaking the silence. The question is vague, open-ended, but you know he’ll understand.

His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his hands. "Yeah," he says after a long pause, his voice rougher than usual. "Sometimes. But thinking about it too much… it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it easier."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Weapon X… they really did a number on you, didn’t they?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and what you see in his eyes is old pain and hard-earned resilience. "Yeah," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years of suffering. "They did. Turned me into a weapon. Made me forget who I was… who I wanted to be."

He pauses, the memories clearly painful to revisit. "They didn’t just mess with my body," he continues bitterly. "They messed with my mind. Took away my memories, twisted what was left until I didn’t even know my own name. I was nothing but a tool to them, somethin’ they could use and discard when they were done."

The brutal honesty in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but feel anger on his behalf. "But you fought back," you say softly, more a statement than a question.

Logan nods. "They tried to break me, and for a while, they did. I was just… lost. But they didn’t count on me fighting back. Didn’t count on me surviving."

"They underestimated you," you say, listening intently, feeling a deep respect for the strength it must have taken for him to claw his way back from that darkness.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth, and for a moment, you see a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, a little lighter now. "A lot of people have."

There’s a fleeting pause, his words settling between you. It’s heavy, but you’re seeing a side of Logan that few people ever get to see, and you can tell that it’s not easy for him to open up like this.

Then, almost as if sensing the need to shift the mood, Logan changes the subject, leaning back on his hands as he starts to tell you about some of the more absurd things he’s witnessed over the years. "You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I’ve been through," he says, his voice taking on a dry, almost amused tone. 

He launches into a story that’s so ridiculous, so utterly bizarre, that you can’t help but laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like ages. The way he tells it, with that deadpan delivery and his signature gruffness, only makes it funnier.

"You’ve really seen it all, haven’t you?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief after one particularly outrageous tale involving a mutant with the ability to turn into a giant bird. "Seriously, how do you even get into these situations?"

Logan shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s just another day in the life, Knifey. Weird shit happens when you’ve lived as long as I have."

His words linger in the air, and suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You’ve been so focused on the immediate dangers, the fights, and the missions that you haven’t fully processed what it means to be a mutant, to have regenerative abilities like Logan’s. If you can heal from almost any wound, if your body can recover from injuries that would kill anyone else… does that mean you’re going to live as long as he has? Decades, maybe centuries? The thought hits you like a freight train.

"Oh shit, Logan," you blurt out. "Am I going to be around as long as you? I regenerate too!"

Immediately noticing the change in your demeanor, his sharp eyes lock onto yours. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to steady you. "Breathe."

But it’s like a dam has burst inside your mind, the implications of what you’ve just realized flooding in all at once. "Logan, if I have these abilities… I’ll outlive everyone I know, everyone I care about…"

Your thoughts begin to spiral, the fear and uncertainty taking root, and suddenly the idea of immortality—something you’d never seriously considered before—feels more like a curse than a gift. You’re faced with the prospect of endless years, of watching everyone you love age and die while you remain unchanged.

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that brooks no argument. "Look at me," he says, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity there makes you freeze. "I know what you’re thinkin’, and yeah, it’s scary as hell. But you gotta keep it together. You’re not alone in this."

"But how do you deal with it?" you ask. 

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression hard as he wrestles with the weight of your question. When he speaks, his voice is deep, almost a growl. 

"It ain’t easy," he admits, his tone roughened by years of pain. "There are days when it feels like too damn much. But you take it one day at a time. You focus on the people who matter, on what you can do right now. ‘Cause that’s all any of us really got, no matter how long we’re around."

His words are meant to comfort, but the enormity of what he’s saying still feels overwhelming. "And when everyone’s gone?" you whisper, the thought of outliving everyone you love already eating you from the inside out. "What happens then?"

Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, Logan’s eyes hardening with a resolve that you can almost feel. "You keep goin’," he says gravelly. 

"You keep fightin’ ‘cause that’s what you do. You find new people to care about, new reasons to get up in the morning. The world keeps turning, and there’s always somethin’ worth fighting for. The people you lose, they wouldn’t want you givin’ up."

The conviction in his voice, the sheer will to survive, even after everything he’s been through, gives you something to hold onto. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the fear still lingers. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

He meets your gaze. "You are," he says. "You’re tougher than you think. And you’re not doin’ this alone. I ain’t dying anytime soon.”

You nod slowly. "Yeah… we’ve got each other."

His hand moves from your shoulder to your back, giving you a firm pat, like he’s trying to physically drive the point home. "Damn right we do. And don’t go worryin’ ‘bout the future. One day at a time, got it?"

You manage a smile, the first real one you’ve felt in what seems like forever. "Got it," you whisper, feeling a sense of calm starting to settle in.

Logan seems satisfied with that. He’s about to say something else when he stops, gaping. He just stares at you, his usual tough-guy demeanor slipping for a second as he takes in the sight of you smiling—really smiling, something he probably hasn’t seen much of.

The words die on his lips, and for a moment, he looks almost… caught off guard. His eyes are fixed on you, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you ask.

Logan blinks, shaking his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. He clears his throat, quickly looking away, his gruffness returning like a shield. "Nothin’," he mutters. "Just… you’ve got a nice smile, that’s all."

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he said it, so simple yet so sincere, makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

"Well, don’t get used to it," you quip. "I’m sure you’ll piss me off again soon enough."

Logan huffs out a laugh, shooting you a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less."

----

A/N: The plot is really going to pick up from here on out!

----

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[klausysworld]

would you write an imagine about thr reader x klaus and how shes insecure about herself her looks her weight maybe thinking she wont ever been good enough for him but he decides to show her

(Trigger warning for body dysmorphia and hinted anorexia / eating disorders.)

Complicated

Klaus had met Y/N in his living room. She and Hayley were sat on the couch with an old chest board of Elijah's between them, both looking up at him with wide eyes like two children caught stealing sweets.

His eyes had narrowed briefly, he hadn't wanted any body to know about his unborn trial and he certainly didn't need a helpless human in his home complicating things and being in the way but Hayley made it clear that Y/N wasn't leaving.

"I need someone here, Y/N's not just a friend to me. We're family. I don't know about you but we stick together." She snapped at him when he had began complaining. For once, his trap shut and he let out a huff.

"Don't expect me to protect her." He grumbled before going back upstairs.

He had meant it at the time, he wasn't going to consider her wellbeing, her safety.

However, she wasn't as annoying as he had assumed her to be. She didn't get queasy at the sight of blood, whine when she saw a dead body or anything. It was almost like she wasn't there, always quiet and leaving a room when he entered to be out his way.

It made him curious.

Klaus would purposefully start putting the bread and eggs on the top cupboard so she could not quite reach in the mornings when she was making breakfast for herself and Hayley so that he may come in and reach over her, giving it into her hands and helping her make the eggs differently each day. He would tighten the lids on jars to have her shyly come ask if he could help. She didn't ever want to ask Hayley, whilst she was pregnant, to do anything and Klaus quickly learnt that.

It was nice, having her need him for little things. He liked hearing her soft voice calling for him from the doorway whilst he painted, a jar of sauce in her hands making him get up and not only open the lid but come down and help her cook.

He cooked with her every day, at least one meal. Even if it were helping spread the butter on some bread for a sandwich.

When Hayley had gone to see the witch doctor, Y/n had gone alongside her. They had both been running through the woods away form them.

Hayley had stubbled out to Klaus and Rebekah but Y/N didn't return through the same trees.

Klaus had caught Hayley's limp body, laying her across the back seats of his car before searching the forest and finding Y/N curled up and injured within a bush.

He had to pull her back out, grimacing as the sharp wood scratched her already bleeding skin. She trembled, tears on her cheeks but no sounds leaving her as he held her close and encouraged his blood down her throat.

The two girls were safely tucked back into their beds and Klaus made sure to check on them, Y/N more than Hayley which surprised Rebekah seeing as Hayley was carrying his child.

When Elijah returned, Hayley's attention shifted and Y/N kept to the side, starting to find more and more enjoyment in those times she got to see Klaus.

When Hayley was taken by Tyler, Y/N was left unconscious on the hallway floor. Klaus had healed her and left her home before he and Elijah went to retrieve Hayley. When he was accused of using his baby to create more hybrids, he came home alone and angry.

Y/N sat with him, both her hands holding his until he had cooled off and sighed. He had to leave again shortly, something about Marcel but she felt something off.

She was right. He had returned a few hours later covered in blood with ripped clothes. "We're moving, pack your things." He had muttered, shoving past her up the stairs, as if she were nothing. It was the coldest he'd been to her since their first meeting.

He was distant to all of them for the first few months of him being 'king'.

Something new seemed to happen every day. Hayley had gotten to know the wolves, when hey'd turned human form and she found out she was actually betrothed to Jackson Kenner leaving her feelings with Elijah complicated despite Y/N's advice.

It was the same night that Genevieve had taken Klaus and Rebekah and revealed a buried secret of the past.

Y/N was chosen to nurse Klaus back to health and convince him not to murder his sister for her betrayal.

She sat beside him, his body weakly pressed against hers for support as he sucked her vervain laced blood from her wrist, both his hands holding onto her arm to keep her still so he wouldn't tear the skin. His eyes would glance up, taking in her slightly fearful, partly amazed expression at the interesting sensation. Her other hand rest gently on the back of his head, he could feel her fingers brush his scalp making his eyes heavy as he drank. Her taste filled him enough to give him the energy he needed. His mouth left her arm and he lifted his hands to cup her face, both palms against her cheeks. Her eyes were big, pupils expanding making his lips twitch as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you, my love." He muttered to her, his lip lowering to her neck. "But I'm sorry, for I must punish my dearest sister and I cannot have you follow me." He apologised before sinking his teeth into the flesh of her throat. The shock made her cry out but her sounds faded along with his vision as he drained her to the point of unconsciousness.

When she woke, Hayley was sat beside her, holding a syringe with a sniffling nose as their eyes met. "I'm so sorry, Elijah promised he wouldn't hurt you." She whispered, pulling Y/N close and hugging her tight. "You're healed now okay? It's gonna be fine."

Y/N wasn't so sure how to behave around Klaus. She wasn't scared of him or anything, just a little hurt. She had always done as he said in the past but he didn't even give her the option, he just made her do what he wanted.

After a little while she figured there was no point having a grudge, so she went to his room to forgive him properly and maybe talk. Nobody in that house ever seemed to knock before entering so the thought didn't even start to enter her mind.

Instead she opened the door, "Klaus?" she had called, taking a step inside before halting at the scarring sight of Genevieve on all fours with Klaus thrusting into her from behind. She left immediately, closing the door and rushing down the hall to her own room, locking the door and staring at the wood in front of her blankly.

It shouldn't have upset her so much, but it did. Y/N couldn't stop the stinging of her eyes and the tears that threatened to spill. Her sniffling nose. Her hands pulled at her shirt, her skin getting hot as her emotions quickly overwhelmed her.

Y/n stayed in her room for the rest of the evening. A few hours later a knock tapped at her door. "Y/N, love, come open the door." Klaus beckoned, it was the third time he'd tried. "Sweetheart, I can hear you. I know you're still awake, let me talk to you." klaus waited a moment in silence, a small sigh leaving his nose as he rest his forehead against the door. His fingers drummed lightly against the wooden frame and he slowly pulled away, ready to leave again but the soft thud made him stop.

The door opened and Y/N looked back at him. Her eyes were still a little pink, he could tell she'd been crying and it made him feel guilty. Klaus knew that Y/N felt something for him and he knew he reciprocated it. He knew he should have locked his bedroom door and he knew he should have chased after her the second she had seen what she saw.

He gently pushed the door open and stepped inside, his other hand finding the small of her back and leading her back over to her bed. Klaus sat down, waiting for her to sit beside him.

"I'm sorry" He told her and had Elijah heard those words leave his brothers mouth he may have passed out there and then. Y/N just glanced down.

"You don't have to be." She mumbled, holding back the need to sniff. "I should've knocked, I don't know why I didn't."

"I shouldn't have been in there in the first place, love. Not with her." His head shook almost solemnly, ashamed of himself for diminishing that spark she usually held in those beautiful eyes of hers whenever she looked at him. Her pupils didn't dilate the same and it made him ache inside.

His arms circled her, hugging her almost hesitantly before she leaned into him for some comfort even if he was the last person she could get it from under the circumstances.

At the faction party everything seemed to go wrong for Y/N.

It had started with her dress, she'd ordered it online in the same size she always wore but not even Hayley could help her get the zip up. It just didn't fit.

"Honestly, all companies use different size guides I swear!" Hayley scoffed, but one glance at Y/N's face made her swallow a lump. "It's the dress." She whispered, her hands taking it off Y/N. "It's not you." She reassured. "You can wear one of mine, any one you want." Hayley smiled but her heart was thumping. She couldn't let Y/N spiral again, not when she was finally healthy.

So they went through Hayley's wardrobe and chose a dress from there, Hayley doing it up and smiling. "See? Perfect, you're perfect." She told her, hands smoothing down her hair before Y/N stepped forward, face in Hayley's neck whilst Hayley's arms wrapped around her.

They headed downstairs and mingled a little before Hayley got swept away. Y/N spotted Klaus and started to head over, things had been better since he'd come to see her. She hadn't seen Genevieve again, until then.

Her hair shone beautifully beneath the dim light as her pale hand pressed against his clothed chest, her fingers toying with his tie playfully making him smirk back at her,

Y/N stopped in her stacks. She couldn't help but admire Genevieve for a moment, pick out every little thing about her that was better than Y/N. Y/N doubted Genevieve ever struggled to get into a dress.

When her eyes finally tore from the witch, she accidentally met Klaus's. His adams apple bobbed and he pushed the red-heads hand away.

Y/N turned quickly and hurried off, not giving him a chance to see which way she'd gone as he weaved his way through people to find her.

Hayley walked into Y/N both of them looked upset. Y/N softened first.

"What’s happened?" She asked, grabbing Hayley's hand and pulling her away from the crowd.

"Elijah, and Jackson. They're both so-"

"In love with you?" Y/N interjected and Hayley sighed.

"I don't even know. It's like they're trying to prove something." She mumbled and Y/N nodded in faint understanding. Her eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of Klaus approaching.

"We should go upstairs or something." Y/N muttered quietly and Hayley's brows furrowed, eyes glancing to find Klaus with a worried expression staring at Y/N whilst he got closer, moving around people.

"Guess we're both in sticky situations?" Hayley mused and Y/N shifted on her feet.

"Except two people want you and...I'm not sure anybody does me." Y/N uttered though Hayley's werewolf hearing let her hear as did Klaus's hybrid abilities. His stomach sank slightly and he finally got to her, his hands coming to her hips and pulling her back to his chest.

"I've been looking for you." He murmured against her hair, throwing a look to Hayley making her give Y/N's hand a soft squeeze before she left to face her own boy troubles. "You look absolutely gorgeous, you know that?" He smiled, leaning down to kiss her cheek as he turned her to face him.

"It's Hayley's dress." She told him quietly and his head tilted a little.

"I didn't say anything about the dress-"

"You don't like it?" She questioned, it felt like a trap and Klaus blinked at her. His lips parted, unsure how to please her.

"I- I like you?" He stuttered, his face reddening in slight embarrassment.

"Is that a question?" She pressed, becoming more and more defensive. Klaus let out a breathless laugh.

"No." He answered, his confidence coming back as he took a breath and straightened his posture.

"You sure?" She jabbed and his eyes narrowed.

"You're being difficult." He murmured, lips pulling into his familiar smirk as he took her hand in his. "Almost had me, sweetheart but don't you worry, I've got you." Klaus assured both her and himself as he pulled her along with him, shoving past people and knocked Genevieve so that her drink spilled down her dress. Y/N's eyes widened at the action and she frowned.

"Klaus-"

"I don't care about her." He cut Y/N off, pulling her round and pushing her against the wall of the hallway.

She let out a breath of surprise when he pushed his lips against hers. Klaus wasn't expecting her to push him off, and she was gone again.

"Love-!" He yelled, speeding up to her room to catch her there. His arms taking her into a bear hug and pulling her inside.

"Shh- woa, easy sweetheart! It's okay, I'm letting go okay?" He slowly let her go, listening her her fast paced breathing with a small frown.

"You...you can't just do things like that." She borderline whimpered and Klaus softened, his hand petting her head gently.

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd enjoy it. I wanted to show you that I wanted you." He muttered, kissing the top of her head. "I'll give you more time next time, so you can pull away."

"You're too rough." Y/N whispered and he swallowed thickly. His hands stroked down her back and he lifted her, setting her down onto her bed and resting on top of her, kissing her cheek softly.

"Not always." He murmured, a shimmer of hurt in his gaze which he hid from her as he kept kissing down her skin, gently sucking the skin of her neck until her breathing was heavy. His hand glided over her stomach, it should've felt nice but it just made her aware.

Klaus couldn't see her without any thing on, he'd laugh at her. She wouldn't be anywhere near as perfect as someone like Genevieve.

He could feel her shift, her scent of arousal mixing with slight discomfort so he stopped, pulling her to his chest and leaning back against the headboard. They fell asleep there, interrupted the next morning when Hayley came in to see how Y/N was.

Nobody commented on the softness of Klaus's behaviour around Y/N, or the kisses he pressed to her cheeks whenever he saw her.

Hayley wasn't sure whether it was good or bad for Y/N. Sometimes she looked much happier, having Klaus's arms around her when they sat in the lounge. Other times, she could see how she'd stare at Klaus's arm around her midsection. Or when she'd start staring at other women, wondering if Klaus would prefer them.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Klaus but more that she wouldn't have blamed him if he wanted someone else.

Klaus could sort of sense the level if insecurity around them, it confused him sometimes how quickly she got uncomfortable and how she never quite seemed to get jealous but just sad.

He noticed she didn't want sex, despite her body showing signs of desire. However, as soon as he started to pull even her jacket off? She didn't want anything to do with him.

Once everything happened with Hope being born and taken away, Klaus got naturally distant from everyone. Y/N would come lay with him sometimes, just be there but Klaus was used to dealing with his problems through violence. He couldn't be soft and gentle and loving for her.

She left him alone, like he wanted.

Once things got a little better Klaus tried to make up for his absence. More parties were thrown.

Y/N thought it was a chance to be with him, dance and see Hope. But then there was the dress situation again.

She hated how tight bodices were, how her arms would stick out.

But she put it on and went down those stairs to find Klaus. He was dancing with Camille, the bartender. He looked happy.

Y/N glanced over to Hayley dancing with Jackson and sighed.

Without much more thought she went back upstairs to her room and got that stupid dress off. Having a full length mirror was a stupid idea, once glance in it with no clothes on and a meltdown was inevitable.

Klaus had felt immediately guilty when he saw her face, watching him with Cami. He knew it hurt, he'd just been going through so much lately that he wanted to dance. A ballroom dance was something he had learnt hundreds of years ago in a hundred different styles and it was able to transport him back to better times. Y/N hadn't come down yet and he needed to get his mind off of everything.

But she brought him back to reality.

He came up the stairs a while later, twisting the handle of her door to find it unlocked. Klaus stepped in, flicking the light switch on the wall and instantly frowning.

She wasn't in bed. His eyes shifted to the floor, looking at the scatter if glass from where the mirror had been destroyed. Her dress crumpled on the floor and all her other outfits in a pile outside her wardrobe.

Quietly, he left and went to his own room. She was beneath his covered, curled up asleep.

Klaus made his way over and gently pulled the blanket back to see her face but he could see her bare shoulder and his brows drew nearer. He pulled it back further and swallowed loudly, taking in her nude body for the first time. His eyes appreciated the view once before looking closer, paying attention to the visibility of her ribs beneath her breasts.

Gently the sheets covered her again and he laid on top, wrapping an arm over her body and nuzzling the back of her neck with a small kiss.

In the morning he woke to her small cries.

"Shhh...what's wrong?" He asked, voice rough with sleep as he pulled her closer. He cast his gaze down, seeing her now facing him, her chest against his. Klaus's hand felt her back through the sheet, giving no obvious reaction to the feel of her bones beneath the thin skin. His head dipped to kiss her lips, her eyes fluttering at the contact. He held her tight, his tongue gently pushing past her lips to taste her again.

A sound of surprise left him when her naked body left the covers, situating on top of him instead. One of his arms circled her waist encouraging her whilst his hand held her face.

Once their lips parted to pant for air, he could see the look in her eyes.

Gently he rolled them over, pushing her back onto the bed. He could see the shame colouring her features every time his eyes dared to drift down at her soft skin.

"You're beautiful." He whispered. "Forgive me for not reminding you as often as I should."

Her head nodded and he smiled faintly. His head lowered to litter kisses from her forehead to her chest. His tongue warming her nipples, encouraging them to harden in his mouth before he continued his decent.

Klaus paid attention to how she sucked her stomach in when he kissed her belly button. His hands held her waist.

"Stay here, sweetheart. Let me." He murmured, kissing every inch of skin he could. He praised her body until her heart could not stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks.

Klaus then kissed the tears away, his hands still caressing her skin, now at her thighs and soothing her cries.

"I can't have you feeling anything less than perfect." He whispered against her cheek. "You're mine, and I can't have you doubting it."

"It's just hard sometimes." She mumbled quietly, hiding her face in his neck.

"I know...but I do..love you and I don't want you to be so sad because of me."

"It's not you...it's me. I just can't feel comfortable in my own skin andI make it everyone else's problem-" She uttered and Klaus frowned.

"No, love." He pulled her fully onto his lap and tugged the blankets up to keep her warm enough. "You're not doing anything wrong, you're just feeling. I want to understand what you feel so I can be apart of this...journey with you."

"You sound like Hayley." She laughed and he smiled.

"We're both here for you, my love. Always-"

"And forever." She finished quietly and he nodded, kissing her head. Klaus recognised her as his family now and for all his faults he did love his family, they were everything to him. She was everything to him.

[sunflowergirl522]

Music

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fairy!Reader

Summary: Eddie makes you food and gives you a gift.

Word Count: 2502

Fairy!Reader Masterlist

Eddie could smell you before he could see you, the smell of strawberries invading his senses the way it always does when you’re around. The scent clings to you like a second skin and your specific brand of strawberry has Eddie ready to lift off the ground like a cartoon character and follow the scent trail. The scent often lingers after you leave as well but this time it’s just too strong for you to be gone already.

“Tink?” He calls out, confused to find you already in his room while dropping the bag he was carrying on his bed and looking around to see if he can spot you. You perk up from your spot on his desk next to his mound of rings where you had been admiring each one. You say his name and Eddie follows the bell sound over to his desk. “There you are.” He sits in his chair and leans on his arms on the desk as he watches you try to shove the pile of rings towards him. When you notice that you haven’t gotten far you huff and kick the one closest to you. Eddie chuckles at the sight bringing your attention back to him. He’s never been happier to only be able to afford costume jewelry rather than real iron stuff.

“What?” You cross your arms and turn away from him upset at being laughed at. “Aw c’mon don’t be like that Tink. I wasn’t laughing at you, promise. You’re just so darn cute sometimes. Now why are you shoving my rings at me as if I need to see them?” 

You immediately dive into the pile to find the specific ones. Once you find them you stick your arms through them to bring them in front of Eddie. You drop them into his outstretched palm and he sees you’ve picked out his roosting dragon ring, his amethyst poison ring, and his ring that was made to look like a twig wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah? You like these?” You nod your head rigorously climbing onto his hand to sit next to them. You pick them up again and start sliding them onto his fingers. Eddie makes sure there’s room between each finger and his hand and the desk for you to slide them down easily. When you finish you fly off and pull on his thumb to get him to turn his hand over so you can see your handiwork. 

“I’ve got something for you but first I gotta eat. You hungry?” You shrug and follow him as he heads out into the kitchen. You turn into your bigger form while Eddie gets food. You use his distraction as a chance to explore the rest of his home. You take in the hats lining the walls before your attention is brought to the cup collection. It reminds you of the collection of acorn caps you have in your own makeshift home. You’re about to touch one with a white dog and yellow bird on it when Eddie says something again.

“I got some blueberries in case you’d be hungry this visit.” He knew you’d be back today, you’ve been back everyday since he told you his name. So when he went out to get your gift he made sure to stop by and get some other food you’d probably like. He puts the container of blueberries on the counter next to where he starts to make himself a sandwich. You hurry over at the sight and stay right next to him in his bubble as you pop one in your mouth. “Good?”

“Good.” You nod and smile, picking another one up. Eddie beams at the fact that he’s feeding you. He never knew making sure someone else eats could feel so rewarding. “What are you making?” 

“Ham and cheese sandwich. Wanna try it when I’m done?” He asks, chasing that high he’s feeling watching you eat the food he provided while you watch him spread the miracle whip on each piece of bread. You seem unsure but curious about trying it as he finishes putting it together. “Just one bite? If you like it I can make another one. And if you don’t then you still have the blueberries.” He cuts it diagonally and offers out half of it to you. Instead of taking it out of his hand you just lean over and take a bite. Eddie stops breathing and his heart speeds up at how close you are and in anticipation of your reaction.

“You like it?” He asks as he watches your eyes get big and you nod. “You can have this one then and I’ll make a new one. Here, go sit, make yourself comfortable.” He hands you the plate after making room for the blueberry container and expects you to have a seat at their little two person table but you surprise him in the way you always seem to do by sitting on the counter. You knock a few things back as you do that Eddie knows he’ll have to fix it before Wayne gets back but he doesn’t care. He only cares about the fact that you picked a spot closest to him and how your legs swing as you take another bite. He busies himself with making his sandwich so he doesn’t just stare at your bare legs. The white petal dress you’re donning today is more revealing than others you’ve worn.

“I don’t eat a lot of meat anymore. But this is nice.” You haven’t had meat since you lived at the fairy commune. But even then you mainly stuck to the sweet fruit that grew in the area or was brought back from others travels. You miss that sometimes, especially when you eat the strawberries that grow around your lonely, quiet, new home. You lose yourself in the memory you have of the laughter and singing and dancing that was always happening. For the first time since your first meeting with your human you feel homesick. The heartsickness inside you feels too big even in your human form and when you poof back into your regular size suddenly it feels out of your control. Thankfully you had finished the half a sandwich in your hand otherwise it would’ve fallen to the ground.

“Tink? What’s wrong?” He senses the shift in the air before he looks over to find you knelt by the plate back to being small. You shake your head not physically able to get yourself to say anything but also not wanting to break down and cry knowing you will if you start talking about it. Eddie only catches the movement because he watches you carefully as he twists the lid back on the miracle whip. 

“Alright, we don’t have to talk about what’s got you so upset suddenly. How about we go finish eating in my room and you can see your gift?” You perk up at that and nod before flying up and shooting towards his room leaving Eddie to grab your plate as well as his own. Eddie chuckles at your quick mood change, glad that he could get rid of the sad aura you had gotten.

You poof back into your human size once Eddie comes into the room leaving glitter dust at your feet. Eddie’s come to love it even though it gets everywhere because it comes from you. He sets the plates down on his desk before moving to get the bag he dropped earlier on his bed. While he does that you head over to finish the sandwich you had abandoned.

He pulls out the different cassettes laying them out on the bed before pulling out the yellow walkman he bought specifically so you’d have one that represents just how bright you are rather than his old beat up one. The bright color catches your attention and you excitedly sit practically on top of him before taking it out of his hands to inspect it. A curious look sits on your face and your eyes sparkle as you press down on the buttons gasping when you lift a hinge and it opens up. Before you can bend it around and possibly break it Eddie gently takes it from your hands.

“What is it?” You ask as you watch him close it. 

“A Walkman, you use it to listen to music.” Eddie enjoys how you brighten up at the idea and he watches as you hold yourself back from taking it out of his hands again. “Before you can though, I need to know what headphones are the most comfortable for your ears.” He reaches back into the bag and pulls out a pair of black ones that go into your ear, a pair of orange foam ones, and, the most expensive of the bunch, a pair of orange Kenwood headphones that he thought might fit around your pointed ears better.

He explains how to put the buds in your ears and is quick to take them from you after you cringe at the intrusion when you put one in. The foam ones get a better reaction with you pressing them against your ears once they’re on to feel the squish. They’re comfortable but Eddie still gives you the last pair to see if they’re better and you seem amazed that your ears are just hidden behind them completely. And when he asks which pair you like best they’re the ones you pick making Eddie feel proud in his choice to splurge on them for you.

He then looks through the tapes he bought for you landing on Rumours before walking you through how to put the tape in the walkman and where to plug in the headphones. And once you smile at him proud to have gotten them in he hits play. As soon as Second Hand News starts playing you gasp at how it sounds coming out of the headphones and your hands fly up to hold them. You look at Eddie wide eyed and mouth agape and he can’t stop the goofy smile that forms on his face. Especially when your head starts to bob to the music and your mouth closes to form your own beaming smile.

You gasp when Eddie can only guess Dreams started playing. Somehow he knew you would love Stevie Nicks’ voice, it’s why he also got you Bella Donna. Probably halfway through the song you take the headphones off and try to push them down onto Eddie’s ears.

“What’re you doing Sweetness?” You physically glow at the nickname but ignore it like it’s not even happening while Eddie can’t help but continue to be awestruck by you.

“Want you to listen too.”

“But then you can’t listen.” He removes the headphones and hits pause on the Walkman. You pout at his words upset that you can’t share the moment with him. “I can put the tape in my stereo and we can both listen.” He brings up quickly when he realizes you look like you might cry and the suggestion immediately causes you to brighten up.

Eddie sits on the floor in front of his stereo and you sit in his lap without seeming to think twice about it and he doesn’t worry about trying to hide his blushing smiling face with your attention drawn to the machine in front of you trying to figure it out. He just reaches around you and goes through the steps of turning it on and putting the cassette in slow enough to make sure you soak the information in so you can repeat the process whenever you want if he isn’t here the next time you want to listen to anything out loud. As the music starts again you move out of his lap and onto your knees in front of the stereo slightly bobbing to the music. And while Eddie misses the feel of you against him he’s just as content leaning back on his hands and watching you enjoy the music.

Meanwhile you were too busy falling in love with music all over again to notice anything that would’ve given Eddie’s crush on you away. There had been music at the commune pretty much all the time. The fairies who could play instruments basically played sun up to sun down accompanied most of the time with dancing by the others. You'd never been any good at playing yourself so you found your life lacking music since you left that is until you came across your human who strummed such nice music for you. And who has now gifted you such a thoughtful and beautiful thing in this new music because not only do you get to refall in love with it, you get to experience singing which wasn’t common in your commune. You knew it was different in others but the songs that were played in your own were mainly just instruments.

If you were able to put into words how much this gift means to you you would tell him over and over again how truly thankful you are. But instead you’re stuck listening in awe as the box in front of you produces it for you not once forgetting about the man who gave you such a wonderful thing sitting behind you. You gasp as a familiar tune starts playing through the speakers and turn to Eddie.

“You played this one!”

“Yeah, it’s one of the few Fleetwood songs I know how to play. Thought you would’ve enjoyed them then and I’m glad I was right.” You nod enthusiastically, the beaming smile not once leaving your face. “I’ve got a Stevie Nicks tape we can listen to after, she’s the one singing on Dreams, somehow I knew you’d love her voice. And then there’s also an Eagles tape, they’re a bit different than Fleetwood Mac but I think they’ll be right up your alley too.”

You can’t help but start to tear up at the thought that your human had picked out music just for you. That he’s not just gifting you music but carefully picked music just like how he had carefully picked the ear coverings so you’d be comfortable in them.

“Whoa hey, what’s wrong Tink? Was it something I said?” Eddie’s heart almost breaks when you nod your head but then you throw yourself into his chest, arms going around his waist while you mutter thank yous over and over again into his shoulder. He realizes the tears aren’t bad tears and wraps his own arms around you careful, always careful, of your wings. “You can come listen to them whenever you want alright? Just try not to use the stereo if Wayne’s here and I’m not okay? That’s all I ask.” You nod in response and Eddie gently pushes you away just enough that he can cradle your face in his hands and swipe the tears away with his thumbs. “Now no more tears, let’s eat some blueberries and listen.”

Eddie Taglist(29/30): @sadbitchfangirl​ @notbeforelong​​​​ @navs-bhat​ @emotionaldreamer​ ​​​​​  ​@mazerunnerrose​ @midnightsgetawaycar   @mushroomelephant @saramelaniemoon @nojamsonmytoast @vintagehellfire @esoltis280 @spikedhe4rt @siriuslysmoking @toobsessedsstuff @alana4610 @sparkletash @aactuaaltraash @spookyemorockbabe  @Bl4ckt00thgr1n @eli-flower @canyonmooncreations @witchwolflea @emxxblog @chaoticgood-munson @Loves0phelia @nightfiress @MoonNooon @Abra-Ty-D4bra @auggiebloop32

Everything Taglist: @matchabbarnes​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts @rory-cakes

[missisjoker]

Into the Storm

Pairing • Cregan Stark x Wildling!Reader

Tags • mentions of violence, threats of violence, smut.

Rating: Explicit - 18+

The reader infiltrates the Night's Watch castle with a purpose, but it doesn't go according to plan.

Wind-swept mound of the Eastwatch-by-the-sea creeped up on the horizon, dwarfed by the solemn colossal of the Wall stretching as far as the eye could see as you steadied the swaying boat and stepped on the shore.  The grey and green waters of the Bay of Seals were snarling at your feet, treacherous whirlpools dancing and sea foam licking the salty rocks, and the horizon darkened in anticipation of a storm.

You dragged the dingy boat between the boulders ashore, fastened the knot to a nearby tree, and huddled your leather coat tighter around your chest. The soft sheepskin protected well from the summer chill, but the cold winter gusts bit right through it and gnawed at your bones. You downed a sip of water and started climbing up; there was no time to waste idly, unless you wanted to freeze to death and have your eyes picked by seagulls.

Track to the crows’ nest took less than half a day – the dirt road was still dry, pine needles making your walk springy and fast, and you met no stray fishermen or men of the Night’s Watch patrolling the coastline.

Your heart ached- the plan was borderline suicidal, to sneak into the Crows castle and steal the maps of the Wall – but you had no choice; the merciless King-beyond-the-wall deserved to die, and your resolve to see it through settled in your bones like cold settles in the dead of winter.

You waited until dusk, hidden away from the prying eyes and piercing winds behind rotten logs and piles of stone at the castle’s foothill, watching centuries on the walls change and working out the pattern.

When the moon came up, full and pale like goat’s milk, you climbed up the wooden walls past the sleepy guards and hid yourself in the overhead crawlspace above the pathways. The space was narrow, musty and muddy, but you were called the Wild Cat for a reason.

Stealing food from the kitchens was fun no matter how meager and disappointing the bread and stew was; but even more entertaining was taking a hot bath in the cellar while you could’ve been discovered at any minute- and then gleefully watching two young crows fight about the missing hot water.

The outlay of Eastwatch was simple to remember- four watch towers marking each side, training yard and stables in the middle, the great keep with an armory adjacent to the dining hall, a kitchen, a medicinal room, and sleeping quarters squared around them in the form of a horseshoe, all connected by the timber walkways. And, most importantly, the study. A vaulted room in the southern tower, full of dust, books, scrolls, and maps of all kinds.  

It took you three more days of lurking in the shadows like a ghost to learn the shifts and movements, the change of guards, and to single out the “Maester” – a fat, bald man with a flock of greasy white hairs sticking out of his double chin that spent most of his time looking through books and drawing maps in the study. He, too, was easy to learn- after days of work and bossing younger crows around, when the sun set beyond the sea, he’d take a cup of spiced summer wine and a bowl of stew and leave the study empty until the morrow, giving you enough time to roam through the piles of scrolls in search of your target.

You perched in your hiding space, tasted the salty air on your lips, and shivered; the unmoving stillness that stayed in the air for the past few days dissipated; the harbinger of the storm left, and in its place, the winds were picking up again, relentless. The thin, dark line on the horizon was rolling closer, growing and covering half of the sky; even the daylight seemed to dim a little as a winter storm slowly crawled in from the sea.  

A sound of horses neighing and men talking in the yard tickled your ear and your curiosity peaked, but you couldn’t see around the dark logs of your hiding space, and decided not to crawl closer to look – the walls of the castle were wet, century-old pine logs weeping under the prickly wind, and with each dewy tear the movements became more and more unforgiving. Likely, it was nothing to worry about- perhaps they all were feeling the approaching storm and, just like you, were uneased by it.

Finally, the twilight followed the grey, muted dusk, and when the first torches lit up the courtyard, you went in for your target.

The heavy wooden door of the study didn’t have a lock, just a hook from the inside- and the bald master brazenly kept a stick right below the step to pry it open. You creeped into the room and squinted, trying to see in the dark.  By this time, you already knew the room well enough to move around without a light, you could still make out silhouettes and shapes in the dark once your eyes adjusted; an extinguished fireplace at the furthest wall, a heavy table and chairs in the middle, shelves covering the perimeter, and a sleeping bench near the window. Something felt different though, wrong, and made the hair on your neck stand up. It wasn’t just the sweet and mushroomy smell of the old parchments, spiced berry whiff of master’s summer wine, and smoke from the dead fire; no - you felt a faint hint of fir, rosemary, cedar, leather and something unfamiliar that made your heart beat faster. You reached out for a flint when a pile of furs on the bench shifted slightly, and a voice rough from sleep grumbled,

“What are you doing here?”

You froze for a brief second, blood rushing to your face and throat, then took a deep breath and conjured the most soothing and lulling voice you could master, a sweet lullaby tone you heard from women putting their babies to sleep;

“I’m but a dream, my dear, a shadow in the moonlight. Pay me no mind, precious child, lay your weary head to rest and sleep.”

Your feet tip-toed backward toward the door, heart hammering at your ribs, and for a moment, you heard no movement; you breathed out, thinking that your little trick worked, until your back hit something solid and the same voice, clear and fully awake now, growled right above your ear, sending goosebumps across your skin,

“Do you think me a dimwit?”

You yelped and tried to bolt- but your arm was caught in a vicious grip.

You pulled and twisted, tried to wriggle yourself free, but it did nothing; the grip only hardened, surely to leave bruises by the morrow- if you were to live that long - and the man started to pull you closer. So, you twirled on your heels and swung your free arm to slap him - he caught it effortlessly, cuffing your wrist with his hand, but released your other arm in the process- and you gleefully clocked him with it. The impact him stagger backward a step.

All that rowing did make my arms stronger,

You chuckled to yourself, but the humor was short-lived, as the man launched forward and grabbed you again, harder this time;

“Do not hit me again, boy, or I will break your arm.”

You did what you were told and bit him instead.

He cursed and released you again, more out of surprise than pain- but that gave you the needed moment of freedom to dash for the door.

You almost made it when strong arms snatched you by the by the scruff of your neck and hauled you back as if you were a ragdoll; the bastard was too fast and too strong and seemed to see perfectly in the dark, like an animal.

 In desperation, you reached for a knife and put the blade to the man’s throat.

“Unhand me at once.”

“Nay,”

The man grabbed the blade and twisted the knife out of your hand with ease, as if he was prying a toy out of a babe’s grasp, kicked your feet from under you, and threw you on the floor.

Your back hit the hardwood; you winced at the impact and a cracking sound your head made, and then choked out a whine as you were pinned down, the heavy weight crushing your thighs while an iron grip forced both of your arms above your head.

One hand.

That heathen was holding you down with one hand.

You felt anger and fear swirl together into acid, setting fires to your veins.

“What is this, a toothpick?”

His voice was laced with irritation as he examined your knife and ran a thumb along its dull rigged edge,

“An arse scratcher, perhaps?”

Fury rushed through you like boiling oil, as you thrashed and tried biting him again,

“Release me, and you’ll find out.”

You heard him chuckle as he shifted his legs and pinned you down harder,

“Settle down, you little waif.”

You allowed contempt to seep into your voice,

“I’m do not fear you.”

You could hear a grin on the man’s face as he spoke in a low, husky, taunting whisper laced with a touch of amusement,

“Now that is foolish”.

The knife thudded on the floor as the man threw it away like a broken toy and put his free hand on your throat, not enough to strip you of air, but enough to keep you fully under control.

“How many of you are there?”

“Just me.”

The fingers on your throat squeezed harder, pushing you deeper into the floor,  

“How many more?”

“It’s just me! Why do you need more? You can’t even handle one.”

A thumb pressed into your jugular vein, blocking the flow of blood and sending the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears,

“I’m handling you well enough”.

Your fingers twitched with want to free your hand and scratch that arrogance off his face.

“How did you get in here?”

“I walked…”

The man’s hand suddenly left your throat and started roaming your body. You let out a hiss through gritted teeth,

“That desperate, are you, for a free folk to warm your bed? Your crow brothers don’t pleasure you enough?”

The man tsked disapprovingly and continued patting you down.

“I’m looking for weapons.”

His hand was big and warm, and you hated how it burned a trail of heat through the thin leathery coat and pants, barely suppressing a shiver when it slid down your chest right across your tit.  

It suddenly stopped on your waist.

“A woman?”

Realization barely a whisper from him, but it made the blood in your veins run cold, and you coiled, bracing for an assault that never came.

The weight suddenly shifted off your legs, still restraining, but not enough to hurt, and the man flickered something in his pocket and threw it into the fireplace.

You turned your head on instinct at the crackling sound of emerging fire and watched as the first licks of flame ate away the darkness until a strong hand forced your face straight.

You stared at your captor and, oh, the bastard was handsome.  Strong, sharp features framed by a mop of silky brown hair tumbling down broad shoulders that looked like they could shrug off a mountain, corded muscles, soft lips, and piercing eyes that changed color from blue to the stormy grey.

In another life, you would’ve fought other spear wives for a piece of him.

He grabbed your chin and tilted your head to the side, then to the other, observing;  his eyes traced over your body, you felt a traitorous blush creep up your cheeks, as if you were laid out naked under him, at his mercy and under his touch, and you hated yourself for the reaction. Your body was a wild thing, just like you- and it wanted to live, even if your mind has made peace with soon being dead.

“By the sea, then.”

“What?”

“You have salt marks on your boots. Did they run out of the men to send up here, so they risk a woman?”

“Busy with important things,”

His brows furrowed,

“Like what? Getting piss-drunk and fucking wild goats?”

Your eyes narrowed in frustration as you stared into his steel blue ones,

“As if you’re any better, fraternizing with the enemy in the middle of the night.”

“Aren’t fraternizing yet, lass, just getting acquainted.”

Your stomach did a weird jump at the way words rolled off his tongue, and you noticed a faint blush dusting his cheeks.  

“How did you get across the wall?”

“By flapping my arms.”

He braced himself on the free arm and bent closer to you,

“Why are you here? And do not jest; you’re at the end of my patience, a woman that you might be.”

“I need weapons.”

“How much can you fit into your coat?”

“It’s more spacious than it looks.”

He considered you for a moment while you tried not to move, and definitely not to think how the heat of his body was warming you up from head to toe. You must’ve hit your head too hard, because all you could think of was how good he felt on top of your thighs, and how much better he would’ve felt between them.

“Why not trade with the townsfolk?”

 “They don’t have enough castle-forged steel. And yours are better, sharper. They sing when they hit other steel. They sing when they hit the ice. What’s the secret? What do you put in them, crow?”

“Virgin blood. And I’m not a crow.”

“Must be hard to come by.”

He nodded in agreement,

“Aye, very toilsome. And what do you want them for?”

 “Winters are unforgiving. Bet you know nothing of how hard the winters can get up north.”

His mouth tightened, voice sounded controlled, which made it frightening for the lack of emotion in it.

“I know enough, and your hardships are of your own making.”

The fury bubbled in your chest again as you hissed back at him, craning your neck so your noses were almost touching,

“Yes, we were banished beyond the Wall by the Starks simply because we didn’t want to live on our knees.”

He threw you a dirty look,

 “Instead, now you live on your back.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks, and in a newly found bout of strength, you bucked your hips violently enough to throw him off on the floor. 

He landed with a surprised thud as you scrambled to your feet and rushed to the door, but he was faster, again, and stronger - always has been. He grabbed you by the waist and pushed you into the wall, brought you face to face, his arms and his body caging you in. 

You felt goosebumps of fear crawl over your skin as he snarled at you,

“You think you can just prance in here, take what you desire and leave with impunity? Perhaps I should give you to the guards; they will whip the right answers out of you.”

You braced on the wall as your knees almost gave up under you;

“Please don’t” – barely a whisper.  

His sneer was taunting,

“Afraid of a little pain?”

You suppressed a shiver and looked him straight into those cold eyes, battling back treacherous tears,

“Half of your crows are rapists and murderers, whatever they do to me, it won’t be whipping.”

He froze for a second, then his features darkened as he straightened up, a full head taller than you, muscles rolling under the shirt, dwarfing you by his presence. His voice dropped lower,

“I would never allow that”, and for a brief second, you believed him.

Which gave you a crazy idea.

A violent roar of thunder rattled the glass window, and that was enough for you to slip from his hands and dash away, but not to the door.

You sprinted to the table in the center of the room, grabbed a piece of stale bread from the plate the maester left behind, and started vigorously munching.

The man stopped in his tracks and stared at you with undiluted confusion, 

“What are you doing?”

You chewed faster, and then grabbed a cup and gulped it down in one go.

 This is not summer wine.

Your throat burned, your voice coming out as a rough hiss,

“What’s in there?”

“That’s my chamber pot.”

You choked while the bastard had the audacity to laugh.

“I invoke the guest right.”

Now it was his turn to choke.

“You what?”

The incredulity looked funny on him, almost endearing, the crease between his brows smoothed, leaving behind a pleasant, handsome face of a young man as he tilted his head and looked at you like you’ve just grown a pair of horns.

“You’re uninvited.”

“I invited myself. “

“This is not my house.”

“And yet you move around like you own it. So, will you honor it or not?”

He mused on it for a moment,

“Alright. But it goes both ways. You will answer every question I ask of you truthfully, yes?”

“Agreed.”

“And, don’t try to run again,” – his voice dropped lower yet again, sending a shiver through your spine,

“Because I will catch you.”

There was a hint of a threat in the tone, but also something else – amusement, perhaps, or even enjoyment, as the corners of his mouth trended upwards in a barely concealed smile.

An unexpected knock on the door.

You jerked at the sound and looked back at the man, fear flooding your chest again, as he looked at you for what felt a very long second, then made a decision and motioned you to come forth;

“Here, now!”

You moved closer and allowed him to grab you by the shoulders and gracefully move you around the room as if in a dance,

“Not a word.”

He maneuvered you behind the doorframe while holding your wrist, shielded you out of sight with his body as he talked to the man on the other side.

“M’lord, the preparations are done. Stables locked; food lockers secured. Orders?”

“Double the centuries, wake up the captain, and send a patrol through the castle, we might have uninvited visitors.”

“Yes, m’lord”.

As the heavy door screeched shut, you stared at each other.

“M’lord? I’ve never been with a Southern Lord before.”

“Southern?”

“We are south of the Wall, yes.”

A lord, here, at the wall? The Eastwatch… Must be… Lord Umber? What a strike of luck.  

His hand was still on your wrist, thumb rubbing a careful circle on your pulse. You felt your cheeks color again under his gaze, and heard yourself speak before you could stop your own mouth, fighting to keep yourself from purring;

“I heard all southern lords are wanton, have some… strange pleasures, quirks even. Are you one of those? Or the opposite, boring and unbending?”

He leaned in, hot breath tickling your ear,

“I’ll gladly bend my knees for the right woman.”

You steadied yourself with a hand on his waist and gods be damned if that small contact didn’t make heat coil between your legs.

“What is your name?”

“Cregan.”

He didn’t resist when you pushed him into the wall… and thrust a dagger you kept well hidden from his curious hands into the wood right next to his neck.

“Impressive”, he gritted out a little less composed as he pretended to be.

“You should’ve checked better, my lord. “

 Steel bled into your voice as your knife traced a scar on his cheek, then went lower, blade scraping his jaw and following the line of the vein on his neck, pricking the skin just enough to make a dent but not enough to draw blood.

He watched you with an unreadable expression, eyes dark and gleaming. He could easily snap you like a twig, he’s fast and strong enough to do that with ease. Yet he stood there unmoving, like a living statue, steady deep breaths making his chest rise and fall, something akin to hunger burning deep inside the stormy eyes of his, following your every move like a wolf watching his prey.

Excitement thrummed through your veins as you saw his carefully crafted façade crack, little by little.

“You’re threatening me again, guest.”

You traced your fingers over his cheek and jaw and his lips parted in a quiet sigh.

“I have much more to offer.”

He caught your free hand and pulled you even closer,

“You’re going to play a wench now, while you hold a blade to my throat?”

“And what if I’m not playing? Why are men allowed to want and have but gods forbid a woman does the same?”

“Because men can fuck and forget about it the next morning while you might die on a birthing bed.”

There was pain and sorrow in his voice even though his stoic face betrayed almost no emotion, and you wanted to reach out and cup his cheek again to give him comfort.

“Fear of death shouldn’t stop you from living.”

You pulled the knife away from his neck,

“Now, please allow me to explain, I have a lot to tell you.  Think you can do that with a free folk, Lord Umber?”

You flipped the blade in your hand and offer him the hilt as he arched an eyebrow at you. It was a huge gamble, it could easily end up carved into your heart, but…

He took the hilt and nodded.

 “I can do that, yes. What is your name?”

“Y/N, but everyone calls me Cat.”

“A little feral Cat? How very fitting.”

“I’m not little.”

He tilted his head to the side and moved into your space, making you angle your head to look up into his eyes as he almost dwarfed you.

“But you are.”

You flinched, and he moved back, motioning you to move,

“Sit down, say your piece.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and moved to take a chair at the heavy oak table at the center of the room. Your heart was racing, trying to hammer its way out of your chest, and you had to take a breath to steady your voice. This Lord was a blessing sent by the gods, a strike of luck you never dreamed of getting, and you had to make it work no matter the cost.                

 You told him about your people and the new King-beyond-the-Wall Merzymir, the reason of your visit, and the target of your plan.  Merzymir was unhinged and violent man, cruel beyond measure who took pleasure in unrestrained and public brutality. You told Cregan About his sacrifices “to the Others” - gruesome and unforgivable, little suckling babies left in the carved-up mouths of the weirwood trees in the night, with nothing left of them by the morrow but some bones and a red paste. Whole families fed to rabid bears or left outside to freeze to death, doused in water. Men tied up to trees and ripped limb from limb for speaking up against him. About your own family and what he did to them, and how he made you watch. About his plan to find a tunnel under the Wall and cross South, spreading chaos and death wherever he went.  

Cregan remained silent, face betraying little emotion but his fierce eyes were now soft, with a certain gentleness to them, with a trace of sorrow hidden in the deep of the blue and grey. He was hard to read, this lord, so you pressed on with another argument to get him on your side.

“The King-beyond-the-wall has a farther reach than you think. He’s been negotiating with your own kin, and while you sit idly in your pretty castle and think you are safe, the war is coming to you.”

His brows furrowed as he leaned closer,

“I need names.”

“I don’t know the names, but when they met with him, spoke about flaying the Starks and making new coats out of them.”

You watched his lips twitch into a barely concealed snarl and his hands curl into fists; his lithe body twitching with barely restrained fury. 

Suddenly, your heart filled with dread,

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“No, I’m the one they want to flay”.

You blinked.

Then you blinked again, and twice more, while the cogs in your brain turned faster and then screeched to a halt.

A Stark.

He is a Stark.

A fucking Stark.

He noticed your stare and chuckled,

“I never said I was an Umber.”

You finally closed your mouth,

“Right.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I need a map”.

“Of what?”

“The wall. The tunnels beneath it.”  

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

“I want to get him into a tunnel and kill him there. I want to watch him choke on his own blood, I want to watch his life go out in his eyes, and then I want to piss on his grave. Does that tell you enough? You should want the same, Stark, for he will get across one day, and on that day, your people will be in for rape and slaughter.”

“And you want me to believe you didn’t know I was coming here? That it was all a coincidence and not some wretched plan of yours?”

You let out a tired sigh,

“Some would call it fate. And no, you were not in any plans of mine, but I’m glad you were here.”

He looked at you with those eyes that changed color in the dim light of the fireplace, his fingers tapping on the blackened wood of the table, and you felt like you haven’t convinced him.

“You’re safe now; why risk going back?”

“I made a promise.”

“You promised the dead, they will forgive you for staying alive.”

 “He has my little sister.”

The silence thickened and draped around you like cold summer fog. He looked away for a long moment as the room fell quiet, silence broken only by cracking of the fireplace and your own heartbeat.

Finally,

“So, you were going to steal the map, and get him to cross the Wall, and then what? How would you escape?”

“I didn’t plan that far.”

He stilled.

“Your plan is shite. You’ll get yourself killed before you even reach him, and your sister won’t be any better off for it.”

“I’m not you, m’lord, I can only risk my own life to do justice. Don’t have an army to do my bidding for me.”

“You do now.”

“What?”

“I won’t allow a savage to cross the Wall, nor would I fight on two fronts. You will have your map.”

He got up and dug a map from a pile of scrolls, rolling it out in front of you, and motioned you to come closer. 

“Here’s a tunnel we can lure Merzemir in. There is another tunnel ten miles to the west, but it is well-protected by the Umbers, stay away from there. I will not give you the others. But this one, this will be perfect. It is far enough from the manned castles to be watched properly, and it is not collapsed in, yet.” 

He guided your hand to a small dot on the parchment, and you burned under his touch. His hands were big, rough and calloused but warm and surprisingly gentle, and you wondered how they would feel like caressing your breasts, and thighs and what’s between them.

By the gods, I want to survive, I want to live.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and watched instead how his hair fell off his shoulders and blocked half of his handsome face. You barely restrained yourself from moving the hair out of the way,

 “You should braid that.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Pay attention.”

“So, this is where I kill him?”

“This is where you lead him.”

You threw him a confused glance as he started explaining.

 Cregan’s plan was so simple and yet so clever, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry- you shouldn’t have expected anything less; Starks didn’t hold the North for over 8 thousand years because it was given to them, but because they could keep it. You thought when you first saw his face that he was green as the summer grass and never seen the war- but now you knew there wasn’t a mere boy in front of you, but a ruthless and seasoned warrior, and it filled you with dangerous hope.

He sat beside you, the wooden bench creaking under his weight, explaining the plan further. You couldn’t help but steal glances, saving his face, his voice to your memory. The room was cold yet you feel burning, as if he were a furnace, enveloping the space around you into a warm embrace. It was almost suffocating, but you couldn’t get enough, you wanted to roll yourself in it, rub it into your skin until it seeped through your pores and became a part of you.

Was it because he was so easy on the eyes and his rough hands handled you with ease, making you feel alive? Or was it because he just threw you a lifeline and gave you hope that you could actually win?

Perhaps, both.

He broke you out of your daze by reaching behind him and putting a hunting knife next to your hand.

“What is this?”

“Your weapons are shite, but this is castle-forged steel. Take this with you to the Wall to protect yourself. Or, give it to your sister. You said she’s too soft for the wild space, too kind? Then send her to Winterfell with it so my men know who she is, and she will be safe there.”

The emotional turmoil in you picked up, promising to swallow you whole, and you barely bit back the tears.

“You would have her?”

“I would have both of you.”

He reached out and grabbed your chin between his thumb and index finger, and stared through your eyes down into your very soul.

“You’re a little feral Cat, are you not? Then use one of your nine lives and bring it back to me.”

The true meaning, the weight of it all, made you close your eyes to stop your head from spinning, and you can feel his thumb gently caress your jaw and trace along your lower lip.

You shifted back, and take a full breath of air, without looking at him,

“I will do my best, I promise.”

The moment was broken, Cregan lowered his hand and moved back, giving you space, as your body cried at the sudden lack of warmth. Hope was addicting. He was addicting, this Lord Stark.

“I will get going now,”

“The storm ‘s not over.”

A roll of thunder shuddered against the castle walls as if to give the truth to Cregan’s words, but you persisted;

“I’ve already overstayed my welcome,”

“Is everything going to be a battle with you, lass? You’d know by now I will not hurt you, so what are you afraid of?”

That if I stay much longer, I might not leave at all.

He considered you for a moment, then sighed in surrender,

 “Fine, here.”

A black wool coat wrapped around your shoulders as you threw Cregan a confused glance.

“It’s one of the watchmen’s, cover yourself and walk fast. I’ll lead you out.”

***

The mother of all bad ideas slammed into your face with the first gust of wind; the storm outside was raging, painting the whole world around you dark grey. The torches were all blown out and the rain slashed at the walls relentless. You hid behind Cregan’s back as he shielded you with his body, and followed him through the passage way.

You didn’t get far when the beams above you cracked and moaned and buckled under the weight of the storm, and crashed down onto you.

You threw yourself forward, pushing Cregan out of the way and down the stairs; you both tumbled and landed hard on the lower platform.

“Y/N!”

“I’m alright,”

And you were, except for your right foot that was now screaming in pain. You tried to move, but every time you put even a little of weight on it, a scorching bolt of pain shot through, making you hiss. Wind didn’t help either; you were swaying on your feet like a young silver birch, failing to find your balance.

“We’re going back.”

“I’m fine, just go, I’ll find my own…”

He hauled you up into his arms as if you weighted nothing, holding you so tight you couldn’t wiggle your way out of his grasp even if you wanted to,

“I wasn’t asking.”

His commanding tone left no room for arguing, so you kept silent and wrapped your arms around his neck instead.

He placed you carefully onto the bench and discarded both of your coats. You wheezed  in pain as he took off the boot and examined your ankle, kneeling in front of you and placing your bare foot on top of his thigh. You leaned backwards, allowing him to work his hands over the sensitive skin, kneading the muscles and soothing away the soreness.

“It’s just a strain, but you shouldn’t walk at least until tomorrow.”

Then he noticed a bruise from the rope sneaking and coiling around your calve, old and faded, already turning green and yellow, and traced it with his fingers up to your knee.

“He did this to you?”

“It’s almost healed.”

“He will pay for it.”

The silence thickened while his hands were firm on your thighs, your skin burning through the clothes under his touch. He hesitated,

“Do you…”

Your hand cupped his cheek and caressed his face, making him look up at you, and smiled,

“Do you want to take me up on my other offer?”

“And if I do?”

Your eyes flickered to his mouth and you felt like a desperate, starving woman, the need to touch and to taste crawling under your skin and curling in your chest; his hands rested on your waist now, caging you in, and you wanted to be caged, to be taken and devoured, you wanted him to place you underneath him and do whatever he desired, without mercy. And when your eyes met his, you saw your desperation mirrored in them; you were both starving animals that wanted to feast, so you finally snapped.

The first kiss was angry, but almost chaste; just pressing your lips into his, melting into the warmth. You let out a sigh and ran your fingers along the side of Cregan’s face.  That was enough to get him to move, to grab the side of you neck and maneuver you to deepen the kiss. His mouth ravaged yours, tasted your lips, your tongue, placed a careful nib on your lower lip, traced your jaw and the side of your neck. You felt ablaze, alive, by the gods, you were trying to survive so hard and so long you forgot how to live. You wrapped your arms around him, curling your fingers into his hair to keep you steady, and tilted your head, letting him kiss the other side of your neck down to your shoulder.

You gasped in protest when he suddenly pulled away and drew a steadying breath, avoiding your gaze.

His body vibrated with barely controlled restrain as he finally looked up at you,

“If you want me to stop, say it now.”

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and leaned back onto the bench, wrapping your legs around his waist and tugging him on top of you, looking into his eyes with pupils blown with lust you were so eager to satiate,

“Don’t you dare.”

That’s all it took to break the last of his resolve. Cregan pressed his mouth into yours, much rougher than before, licking and biting moans out of you, your mouths molding into the shape of each other.  You sighed and arched into his touch, pride swelling in your chest for you just did the unthinkable- you set the stoic, composed Lord of Winterfell free from his lordly chains.

You didn’t have to be quiet, thank the Old gods, the storm outside drowning your moans from unwanted ears, so you let it pour out. Cregan’s hold on your waist tightened as he kissed you harder and nipped on your bottom lip, then pushed your legs open wider with his knee, rocking between your thigs with his arousal, creating perfect friction and stealing another moan out of you.

His nimble fingers made a quick work of your coat and shirt, and then your pants, and you were splayed bare, blushing as he ran his hands over your sides and looked over your body with something akin to reverence, taking it all in.

You grabbed onto his shirt and tugged,

“Take it off”.

He complied immediately, pulling the shirt off in one swoop and lowering himself back into another deep kiss, his chest rumbling with an approving groan as you whined into his mouth at the contact.

He’s burning hot, and your body curled into the heat and melted under it, nipples perking up at the friction of skin on skin as you ran your nails down his back.

He wrapped his hand around your throat and tilted your head, giving himself full access to your neck, kissing all of it, hot breath tickling your ear and lips sucking at your pulse. He pecked on the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck, making you whine and buck your hips, and went lower, cupping your breast as he slowly kissed his way down to the other one.

You wriggled underneath him, wetness pooling between your things and your cunt clenching at the emptiness so desperately it was borderline painful.

“Just fuck me already, what…”

Cregan ran his tongue over your nipple cut your protest short; sucked on the little bud, and wrapped his lips around it, making you whimper louder underneath him.

“Patience, my little cat, we have time.”

 His kissed a trail lower, to your belly, to the dips of your hips, to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  You shuddered as his fingers finally reached your folds, inquisitive, sliding through the damp heat as he cursed,

“Fuck, you’re dripping wet,”

“Damn, Stark, I’m not one of your blushing virgin maidens, I don’t need you to… “

His tongue lapped at your folds and you let out an obscene moan, hips involuntarily jerking up but he pushed them down and kept them in place as he licked and prodded and nibbled, circling your pearl in a teasing repetition, sending shock through your spine, making your back arch and hands desperately grab the furs.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep you from moaning louder as the pleasure crested and your body tingled in anticipation. Suddenly, he reared back, watching you whine and struggle at the loss of friction from between your thighs.

“Why’d you stop?”

You protested in an outraged whine, but he just smirked, lifted himself up and entered you in one move, the burn of the stretch and the sudden fullness making your mouth fall open and you letting out a string of curses. You buckled your hips against him like you couldn’t stop yourself, grinding and pushing yourself split open on his cock as he stilled your waist with a heavy hand and simply watched your desperate thrashes. The friction was enough to send you over the top, and you clenched violently around him, your thighs struggling to close around his waist while your heels kicked on the furs, riding your orgasm. As you came down, he rubbed your belly and kneaded your meaty thighs and buttocks.

’t was to your liking then?”

“you bastard!”

He was smiling, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in a long time.

He ran his hands over your body, thumbs playing with your nipples, caressing your waist, rubbing your thighs as you slowly adjusted to his girth inside you;  he was big, almost too big, but your cunt sang being filled up to the point of bursting.

He whispered, “spread ‘ll more for me, love” and you immediately spread your legs wider, allowing him to sink deeper in you. He moaned quietly, sheathing himself fully in your body, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

His hands grabbed your waist and lift your butt up to rest your thighs on his. He picked up an achingly slow pace, savoring every moment, making you feel every inch of his cock sliding in and out of you, sweet torture with each claiming roll of his hips. You tried to mirror his movements, arching your back and pressing into him, as he let out a soft appreciative laugh,

 “Such an eager thing,”

 He picked up his speed, sinking himself into you with fast, powerful thrusts, reducing you to a moaning, whimpering, withering wench fully under his control.  You dragged your nails over his bare chest, his arms, his back, as the sound of wet skin slapping skin filled the room. The sensation was maddening, but you couldn’t get enough of it, of him, of being filled up and being alive.  

Cregan dipped his body onto yours and caged you between his arms, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your neck as he continued  to thrust inside of you, until the pleasure coiled and burst and your vision whited out. You felt his hips stutter, losing the rhythm, shortly after, as he chased his own pleasure, cursing and moaning your name into your ear.

He dragged his nose along the line of your neck, inhaling deeply, voice rough and raw,

“You’re here to steal my sanity, aren’t you?”

You ran your hand on the side of his face, looking into his eyes,

“Would it be such a bad thing?”

He looked at you almost in awe, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, and then pressed his forehead to yours,

“No, it would not.”

You curled closer to him, soaking his warmth and feeling his heartbeat echo under your skin, as he caressed your face and your jaw,

“You have to stay alive, y/n.”

The softness of his voice clawed at your heart and made it bleed,

“Cregan, I…”

Your eyes met his, full of understanding and resolve, as he whispered against your lips,

“I know.”

He said nothing else for a while, just tracing his fingers along the lines of your body, rubbing his thumb over a spot where he sucked on your skin just before.

“Admiring your work?”

Your tone was teasing, but he replied in absolute seriousness,

“And what if I am?”

That prickled you and your brow arched at his shamelessness, as you pushed him down and crawled on top of him,

“You know, two can play this game.”

His hands instinctively grabbed your waist while you wasted no time and started kissing his mouth, his jaw, down to his neck, and then sucked a hickey onto it.

A deep sigh he let out encouraged you to continue,

“You shouldn’t”.

“What? You don’t like it?”

You felt him writhe under you and knead your ass as you peppered his body with kisses and small nibbles in revenge,

”Kitten, stop.”

You persisted, kissing and sucking as his hands roamed your body, and then found the tender skin in the crook of his neck, and bit down, not enough to draw blood but hard enough to leave a mark by the morrow,

“Fuck!”

Cregan suddenly surged up, lifting your hips and lowering you on his hard cock, drawing a maddening moan from both of you,

“Oh, so you do like it”.

 “I do.”

His voice was rough as he started fucking you face-to-face, at a frantic pace, almost desperately, hands gripping your waist as he moved you back and forth on his cock.  You mirrored his movements, griding down on his hips, grabbing a fistful of his hair, cupping his face to kiss.  He fucked you like he owned you, or like you were out of time- and he was right at both.  You threw your hands around his neck and brought the two of you even closer, bracing on his arm and pulling his head down to your shoulder, letting his soft moans fill your ears as his hardness mercilessly filled your cunt.

“You are as feral as I am,” you whispered, realization hitting you hard and his hot breath tickled your ear,

“You’re right in that”.

The admission was open and vulnerable, and you forced yourself to look into Cregan’s eyes, at his face, beautiful and disheveled, and thought for a second that maybe he was as much gone for you as you were for him, even if only for just one night.

Cregan lifted you up once more and lowered you on your back, pushing your legs to your chest, allowing him deepest access. Your toes curled as he fucked you senseless, each stroke getting harder and faster, and you came with his name as a prayer on your lips.

When his movements became erratic once more, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pushed him deeper into you, grabbing him by his hair,

“Spill in me, Cregan, I want ALL of you. Make me yours.”

He groaned at the sound of it and closed his hand around your neck as he slowed down his hips and savored every thrust, filling you with his hot seed and sending you over the edge, again.  

You’ve never been on such a high before, body floating, mind whiting out in euphoria like an open field shining in the sun under the first cover of snow. Cregan draped over you, keeping you caged in and warm, and you curled into him, soaking it all in, taking his warmth, his smell, his voice to memory for future cold-biting nights, catching them in your mind like you’d catch fireflies to keep you company in the dark.

You knew by then, that whatever the future held for you, he ruined you for any other man. It would never be enough; nobody would ever be enough - and you made your peace with that.

As you both drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, your fingers found their way into his hair.

“’t are you doin’”

“Braiding your hair.”

“Hmm… I’ll allow that.”

You barely stopped a laugh as he nuzzled into your neck and let your fingers do their job.

***

You left at dawn, while he was still asleep, taking a moment to look over his peaceful sleeping frame and take his handsome face to your memory, placing a soft kiss on his brow.

The storm had lifted up, but the gusts of wind swept through the air, making you stumble.

You hid in the forest for a while, waiting for the last whirls of the storm to dissipate and yearning for… what?

Him.

You finally saw him ride out the castle with a small group of men, with your braid still in his hair. It made your throat itch and eyes sting, but then you took a deep breath and straightened up.

You were the Cat of the North. You were going to do what you planned, you would survive it, and then you would make your way to Winterfell.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Woodpecker? More like I wood slob on that pecker

Part one

Barbie dolls: rosekiller x gn! Reader

Word : 3.8k

Summary: you guys bang in the woods after making your relationship official

Warnings: you like bones, semi public sex, sex outside, Evan draws Barty's blood with syringe bc of this post you don't watch tho bc you don't like needles, you give Barty head, Evan is kinda mean to Barty but alas tis the crumbling of the sugary bread circle, Barty is blindfolded, food play with honey, yk I had to eat a spoon of honey for this fucking fic, also I started writing this in the summer but I missed fall so I wrote it with like the senses of fall and now it's just in time for kinktober so yay!, Evan likes sticking his fingers in ppl's mouths, also only Barty finishes again stg I don't mean to do this, Evan slaps Barty's hip once, you bite Barty once, you're more soft dom while Evan is more mean Dom and Barty is a pussy sub I said sub,you don't like Evan putting his hand on the back of your head, Barty bites Evan and Evan is like 🤭, Barty get degraded and slightly restrained, there is like two+ thousand more of this that I decided not to include bc I couldn't finish it depression and all that jazz, lil bit of dumbification yk the word I'm trying to make, you swallow, yeah

After your night in Evan’s bed, you three were trapped in some form of limbo. You were stuck between dating and just being friends that also happened to have hooked up. Granted your night was a little more adventurous than your average hookup, but the heart scar you left on Barty’s hip still peaked out when he stretched. You obviously still talked to them but it felt like there was an awkward unclear air between you three. If you were ever left alone by your friends you just looked around the room as you sat in silence. 

So after weeks of breathing in the awkward pollution in the air, Evan and Barty told you to meet them near the Black Lake. You thought it was a little odd but you assumed they’d use this as an oppurtunnity to clear up the relationnship confusion. 

The sun was slowly slipping down, you still had daylight to kill but it wouldn’t be much longer until sunset.  Curfew had recently been pushed back by an hour or two for older students, meaning people could still wander the grounds at this time and that you and your not-boyfriends-boyfriends weren’t breaking any rules. As you approached the tree they set you saw the aforementioned not-boyfriends-boyfriends leaning against the bark. Barty was staring up at the branches above them, the top of his head pressed to the tree. Evan had his arms crossed and stared at the ground, his chin inching towards his chest. 

You stomped your feet a little harder on the dead leaves to announce your arrival.  They both looked up or in Barty’s case down, smiling at you. You returned the look, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Evan motioned for you to come closer. 

“We have something to show you,” Evan whispered. 

“Is it…a million dollars?” Barty groaned at your poor attempt to make a joke. 

“No,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. Barty moved behind you, covering your eyes with his hands. You lightly rested your fingers over his. You dragged your feet a little more. Evan pulled you forward by the fabric of your shirt, Barty’s feet shuffling akwardly behind you. Eventually, you felt Evan drop his hold and Barty’s fingers move from your eyes. You glanced around trying to catch up with what you were looking at. 

You were surrounded mostly by trees, the Black Lake on one side and trees on the other three. The ground was covered in fallen leaves. In front of you were what appeared to be bones in the air. You slowly stepped through them, wanting a closer look. There was more than there should be, to be perfectly honest. You recognized ribs and a few that could possibly be phalenges. You tapped one with your finger, watching as it swung back aand forth on its clear string. You followed the sting, staring up at the tree above you. You looked back down at the large collection of bones slightly swaying in the air. When the one you tapped, knocked into its neighbor it reminded you of a hollow wood whindchime. You turned back looking at Evan and Barty awakwardly standing next to each other. 

“They’re animal.” Evan clarified. 

“Yeah, we couldn’t get human unfortunetly,” Barty muttered. You found that hard to believe, but you didn’t mind. You looked back at the bones, finding them pretty. The slipping sun gave them a lighting that made you want to paint them to keep the image forever. You smiled at the bones, glancing back at Evan and Barty. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a strung up skull. You rushed over, gently holding it in your palm. You stared into the empty eye sockets before turning and twisting it this way and that. You smiled at it. You looked over at Evan and Barty, snuggling the strung up animal skull to your chest. 

“It’s beautiful. I love it.” You said, watching their shoulders relax. You looked back to the small skull, really hoping you could keep some of the bones. 

“We wanted to ask you if you would be more than our friend,” Evan said. 

“Not friends with benefits, I did that once. I want to like hold hands with you and do all the sappy shit.” Barty added, shoving his hands in his pockets. You hummed. 

“Can I keep some of the bones?” You asked, feeling quite attached to the little skull in your hands. Evan and Barty shared a look before shrugging. 

“Could we maybe make matching jewlery with some of them as our first couple arts and crafts night?” Barty raised an eyebrow, hoping you said yes. Evan nodded next to him. 

“There are a few I feel a tad attached to,” Evan muttered. 

”We absolutely can make matching jewelry. Also Evan you can have any of them except for the skull that I’m holding right now.” Barty pumped his fist in the air. Evan smiled at you, tilting his head to the side. 

“How kind.” Evan moved towards you, kissing your cheek and resting his hand on your elbow. “There’s one more thing.” You hummed, turning your attention to him. Barty disappeared behind a tree before returning with a picnic basket. You looked back at Evan. 

“It’s past dinner, Evan.” He nodded. 

“Not that kind of picnic.” Evan helped Barty lay out the blanket he pulled out from the basket. After the blanket was laid out under the floating bones and over the crunching leaves, Evan returned to your side and Barty started to dig through the basket. Evan stood next to you, pressing his nose to your temple. 

“I’m going to have Barty strip. I think you’d enjoy the presents in our basket but if you want out, now's the time.” Evan whispered, his breath warming the side of your face. You watched Barty digging through the basket, wondering what on earth he was looking for. You didn’t know what was hiding in the little woven basket but knowing of their shoebox you couldn’t ignore the shiver of excitement that tiptoed down your spine. You felt a grin grow on your face. You turned your head, millimeters from Evan’s. He gave you a light smile, nodding. 

“Yeah?” Evan asked. You nodded, leaning closer to him. 

“Yeah.” Evan closed the gap between you two, pulling you closer by your shirt. You heard Barty make a dissaproving sound. 

“Uh, guys. What the hell? You know I’m the one who came up with the bones idea, I should be getting kissed first.” Evan let out a huff through his nose, puffing air on your cheek. He pulled back just enough to talk, keeping his eyes closed. 

“Don’t be a brat, Barty. Go ahead and strip for us, love.” You heard Barty groan, anoyed at Evan’s words. You heard shuffiling as Barty seemed to follow Evan’s orders. Evan met your lips again. Your hands gripped onto his forearms as his tongue slipped past your lips. 

“Totally unjust,” Barty muttered. You heard leaves crunching under his movements. Evan’s lips twitched against yours. Evan fully pulled back, letting you catch your breath. You glanced over at Barty to find him stark naked and lying on his back on top of the blanket. You hummed. Evan glanced back at you, leading you towards the blanket by your hand. You sank to your knees next to Barty’s side. You caressed his cheek. 

“Hello, pretty boy. How are things?” He hummed. 

“Cold.” You gave him a pitying whine. You glanced up at Evan to find him holding up a syringe and a rubber strip. 

“Oh fuck that, I don’t do needles.” You said, sitting back on your heels. Evan pouted at you. 

“Don’t look, I’ll tell you when I’m done,” Evan said. Barty was grinnign up at you, his legs bouncing with excitement. You turned around, looking at the oranges and pinks painting the sky with the setting sun. You heard Barty squeeling, wondering what Evan was doing to him back there. Eventually, within a few minutes, Evan called to you. You turned bacck around. Barty had a bandaid slapped over his inner elbow and his eyes looked droopier. 

“What’d you do?” You asked, pushing Barty’s hair back from his forehead. Evan dropped the syringe into the basket. 

“Drew his blood,” Evan said with a slight smile on his lips. He paused when he noticed your confusion. “It makes him a little delirious. It’s okay, we’ve perfected this, he’ll be fine.” You nodded, looking down at Barty’s dopey smile. You glanced back at the horizon, noticing someone on the other side of the Black Lake, throwing rocks in. You could barely make anything out about them but you worried they’d be able to notice the naked Barty-sized blob. 

“Evan,” He hummed, digging through the basket again. “Someone could see us.” Evan nodded at you. 

“That’s entirely the point,” Evan said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Right, no I knew that.” You looked down at Barty, knocking his cheek with your knuckle. He hummed, tilting his head towards you. Evan pulled out a strip of black fabric. Evan reached over and tapped Barty on the back of his head. Barty lifted his head, craning his neck up in a position that didn’t look comfortable. Evan wrapped the fabric, which you now realised was infact a blindfold, around Barty’s head. He tied it on the back of Barty’s head, avoiding his hair. Barty dropped his head back when Evan’s hands went back to the basket. You noticed Barty tilting his head from side to side, adapting to the loss of his sight. You leaned down to softly kiss him. Barty hummed, pushing his head further up towards you. You pulled back, ignoring Barty’s whine. 

You looked up at Evan to see him holding a bottle of honey and staring at you very seriously. He opened the bottle and held it over Barty’s exposed chest, without breaking eye contact. You raised an eyebrow when he squeezed the bottle, letting the honey drip down onto Barty. His eyes unwavered from yours. Evan looked away from you, dipping his pointer and middle finger in the heap of honey above Barty’s belly button. Evan pushed his fingers past Barty’s lips. Barty’s cheeks hollowed. You glanced at Evan, watching his eyes flutter for a second. Evan pulled his fingers out of Barty’s mouth, dragging them down Barty’s chin. Barty’s tonuge shot out, brushing against his chin. Evan dipped his fingers back into the honey before holding them out in your direction. 

You leaned forward, resting your hands on Barty’s stomach for your balance, You opened your mouth letting Evan press his fingers against your tongue. You wrapped your lips around them, swiping your tongue around the pads of his fingers. Evan stared at you, reaching out with his other hand to grip your chin. You finished cleaning his fingers, opening your mouth. He pulled his fingers away, leaning forward to lightly peck your lips. 

“Bee,” Barty hummed in response, jerking his head in Evan’s direction. “We’re going to lick the honey off you and I want you to guess who is where. If you use your beautiful brain and get it right four times in a row, we might reward you. Okay?” Evan asked. He used his mocking tone that made you glad you weren’t Barty at the moment. Barty's head bobbed. 

“I can do it, Rosie, I can. Promise.” Barty said, nodding his head aggressively. Evan leaned down to Barty’s stomach, lapping at the honey there. Barty whispered Evan’s name. Evan hummed approvingly as he pulled back, leaving Barty’s skin clean. Evan handed you the bottle of honey. You leaned over to Evan’s side without touching Barty. You squeezed out a line of honey that traveled under his pec before reaching up toward his sternum. You quietly handed the bottle back to Evan. You leaned down, mimicking Evan’s tongue movments on Barty’s sternum. Barty waited for a second, thinking before whispering your name. You pulled back, surprised he got it. 

Evan moved to the side of Barty’s chest as you pulled Barty’s nipple on his other side into your mouth. You noticed Barty’s bare hips bucking up into the cold night air. You pinched his side when he didn’t guess fast enough. Barty guessed wrong, making Evan pull back and smack his lips dissaprovingly. Barty whined in response. 

Barty kept guessing and guessing and guessing. He’d get so close to finally having someone touch his leaking cock but then he’d guess wrong on the fourth one and have to start over. You were honestly getting tired of the flowery taste of honey in your mouth by the time he finally got it, not without plenty of whining. Evan closed the honey setting it behind the basket. Barty jerked his head in your direction. 

“Did I get it? No?” Barty mumbled, pointing his head towards Evan. Evan ignored his question, instead swiping his tongue up Barty's length. Barty moaned, jerking at the touch. 

“I think you got it right, Barty.” You said, reaching out to lightly pinch Barty's cheek. Evan started to take more of Barty's cock into his mouth. You watched in fascination, not horniness as Evan started moving his hand and mouth in tandem up and down, along Barty. You glanced at Barty's face, finding him digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

You reached out and pushed his chin down, letting his mouth fall open and his moans slip out. You decided to help Evan reward Barty for being such a smart boy. You slipped your hand between Barty's legs, staying out of Evan's way. You played with Barty's balls while Evan kept his warm mouth around him. You kept one hand between Barty's legs as you swirled your tongue around one of his nipples. Barty jerked his hips up. You heard Evan choke and a resounding slap followed. You glanced back at Evan to find a red mark on Barty's hip, right above the little heart. 

You trailed gentle kisses down to the red mark, lightly kissing up the red lines from Evan's fingers. Barty whimpered above you both. You pulled back to find Evan staring at you while his saliva made Barty's erection glimmer in the poor lighting. 

You ignored him, silently hoping you hadn't pissed him off. You moved up to Barty's face, bringing him into a kiss. You swallowed his moans. His touch whispered over your forearm. You weren't exactly used to him using his hands at a time like this, last time his hands were bound above his head. You found his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers. You pulled back, finding Evan's eyes again. He closed them, putting all his attention on Barty's cock again. 

You moved to Barty's neck, pulling some of the skin there between your lips. You felt Barty's moans vibrate against your lips. You kissed down to his hip, keeping your hand busy between his legs. You pulled his scarred skin into your mouth, running your tongue over Evan's initials. You stopped when you knew that area would be purple for the upcoming days. You watched Evan hollow his cheeks, making Barty push his head back. You hoped that the person throwing rocks had gone inside by now, really only wanting you and Evan to hear your boyfriend's moans. 

Evan pulled back to swirl his tongue around Barty's tip, before quickening his pace. Barty arched his back, his hips running away from Evan. You removed your hand from Barty's balls, instead opting to hold his hips down. Barty seemed to enjoy that, a small smile twitching on his lips. You bit his side in a reprimanding manner. Evan looked like he tried to smile at you but it's harder with his mouth full. You tapped Evan's cheek. 

Evan pulled back from Barty, wiping at the saliva on his chin. Barty whined, throwing his arms out to his sides in frustration. You and Evan swapped places. Evan hummed disapprovingly, making Barty pout. You gently kissed along Barty's, now wet, dick. Barty sighed, happy to have anybody’s mouth near his cock. 

Barty was starting to take notice of the differences between the way you and Evan treated him during sex. Evan was always a little rough around the edges, pushing and prodding to get what he wanted, mocking Barty's moans and calling him mean names. 

You felt softer, kissing at the red marks from Evan, cooing at him in sympathy, telling him he was good, taking your time to get Barty off. He was enjoying the balance and whiplash he got from it.

You were gently gliding your tongue over his tip. Barty dropped his elbow over his eyes, not that it would do anything he was still blindfolded. Evan started nibbling at Barty's side. You parted your lips over Barty's cock head, tracing over his slit with your pointed tongue. 

Barty hummed. You slowly pushed him further past your lips in response. You followed the bottom of his dick with your tongue, moving back up. You let one of your hands slip back to his balls while the other followed your mouth. Evan rested his hand on the back of your head. You furrowed your eyebrows glaring up at him. Evan raised an eyebrow at you in a way that reminded you of when Barty would try to steal off Evan’s plate. Evan pressed his lips together, dissaprovingly. Your hand left Barty’s balls, coming up to swat Evan’s hand away. Evan sucked his teeth, his lips forming into a snarl. You glared at him before closing your eyes and keeping your focus on Barty. 

You swirled your tongue around Barty’s sensitive head, before fully enveloping him with your mouth. You kept the pace of your head in tandem with Barty’s breathing. You peeked open an eye to find Evan tweaking both of Barty’s nipples and whispering in his ear. You doubted he was saying anything nice. Barty enjoyed it though, knocking his head into Evan’s shoulder. When you quickened your pace, Barty’s lips parted. Barty sank his teeth into the fabric of Evan’s shirt, biting down on his shoulder. You opened both your eyes when you heard Evan moan. 

Within your experience, you’ve heard Evan moan much less than Barty. Barty seemed to moan with just a few insults. You wanted Barty to bite Evan more so he’d squirm in response. You moved your tongue in more complicated patterns on Barty’s soft skin. Barty’s chest jerked towards Evan. Evan seemed disappointed, quickly traveling his hands around the picnic blanket to find Barty’s wrists. Evan held Barty’s hands together, pressing them towards his heart. Barty didn’t seem upset with being restrained as long as he got to touch Evan. 

Barty removed his mouth from Evan's shoulder. Barty rested his cheek on it instead, his black blindfold pointed up at his face. Evan hummed, pressing his nose against Barty’s cheekbone. 

“Are they treating you well? Hm, needy boy?” Evan whispered, with a mocking tone. Barty whined, squirming and twisting his wrists in Evan’s hold. Evan furrowed his eyebrows, tapping his finger against Barty's hand. 

“Answer me, slut. Come on, Barty. I know you can,  you and that pretty brain of yours, hm?” Barty whimpered, pressing his face into Evan’s chest. 

“ ‘s good. Feels nice, good. It’s good, Rosie.” Barty rubbed his face against Evan’s shirt. Evan sighed dissaprovingly. 

“176 IQ and all you can come up with is ‘it’s good. Feels nice’? Wow, you really are just a dumb whore aren’t you?” Evan smacked his lips, an unsettiling grin spreading across his face. Barty seemed to really like that comment, his hips jutting up. He made you cough around his cock. You let your teeth scrape his length for just a second, enough to reprimand him. Barty whined, trying to seek comfort in Evan only to find him tightening his hold on Barty’s wrists. 

“You liked that, didn’t you? Oh you’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you? You wanna be called stupid, hm?” EVan whispered into Barty’s ear. Though it wasn’t quiet, you heard all of it. You imgined Barty would’ve rolled his eyes. Evan moved both of Barty’s wrists into one hand. Evan slipped two fingers of his other hand past Barty’s lips. 

“You’re too loud. Just never shut your fucking mouth do you?” Barty whined around Evan’s fingers. You moved your mouth faster. Barty’s eybrows furrowed over the blindfold, his mouth parting over Evan’s fingers. Evan was pressing down on Barty’s tongue. As you hollowed your cheeks, Barty moaned. Though it was messy, Evan’s fingers were in the way. 

With a particularly mean comment from Evan, a particularly good massage of Barty’s balls from your hand, and a particularly good swipe of your tongue, Barty was squealing and cumming down your throat. You swallowed, though a little slipped out the corner of your mouth. 

You slowly and gently pulled away, not wanting to overstimulate Barty yet. Evan released Barty’s wrist, moving to hold Barty against his chest. Evan gently swept some of Barty’s sweaty hair away from his temples, letting Barty catch his breath. You sat next to Evan, pulling Barty’s legs into your lap. Evan looked over at you. 

Evan pulled his hand away from Barty’s hair, coming up to wipe the corner of your mouth. You looked at him questioning. Evan nudged your nose with his, giving you a gentle smile. 

“You did so well.” He muttered, not really wanting poor Barty to overhear. You felt your face warm a little, feeling a tad like you were put on the spot. 

“Yeah?” Evan nodded, his forehead almost hitting yours. 

“Mm hm.” You smiled brightly, lurching forward to kiss Evan. He returned the fever, moving his lips with yours. You tugged him closer by the back of his neck, letting the taste of Barty flood his mouth too. Evan let out a breath through his nose in response, his chest settiling down. You felt Barty stir from his post orgasm haziness. You pulled back to look at your poor boyfriend, shivering a little from the cold. Evan gently knocked Barty’s jaw with his finger. 

“Do you want the blindfold off, Baby?” You whisperd to Barty, running a soothing hand up and down his leg. Barty’s head bobbed up and down. Evan gently slid the blindfold off, throwing it in the general direction of the basket. Barty’s eyes squinted from the abrupt addition of light. Evan ran a soothing hand along Barty’s arm. Barty’s eyes adjusted, and a small smile grew on his face as he looked up at Evan. He moved his focus over to you. Barty sat up out of Evan’s hands. Barty grinned at you, moving forward to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re so amzing.” His words pressed their backs against each other, flowing together. You shrugged. 

“It’s not that crazy.” You said while cupping his cheeks. Evan joined you two on your side, pulling his fingers through Barty’s hair. You both whispered praises into Barty’s cheeks, pecking his skin all over the place. After your crafting date, you had lovely matching necklaces and a lovely wind chime. 

Was the title good or no I feel like it wasn't my best

[three-realms-archive]

Unhinged™

(inspired by this post by @leniisreallycool. the pure madness of obey me is the reason why I typically write chaotically-comedic slice-of-life scenarios; because i can honestly write these guys doing the stupidest things and argue that it might as well be canon, these dorks. anime canon, tho. the anime is just another beast of its own to the game ahahaha.)

(so while this may not be anime canon-level obey me content, i hope it comes close. if they’ve actually done any of these and i just haven’t experienced it in-game yet, let me know! it only proves my point.)

There was a time when Solomon brought an extremely-long baguette everywhere with him, insisting it was his magic wand. Even as the days turned to weeks, and the bread crust turned to mould, Solomon would still carry it around everywhere; unbothered by the rancid smell and waving it like a idol group light-stick whenever he spoke an incantation. Then, one day, he showed up at RAD with sandwiches to share. Sandwiches… with suspiciously green and white bread. Turns out, this whole thing was Solomon’s interpretation of dry-aging.

Belphegor and Asmodeus have an ongoing vlog series on Deviltube called ‘Beauty Sleep’. They go somewhere trendy, find some inappropriate place for Belphie to sleep, and Asmo takes some #aesthetic shots whilst timing how long Belphie can nap before being kicked out. It’s incredibly popular and sometimes features cameos from the exchange students and the other Avatars of Sin. Once, a subscriber milestone came with a special surprise: a live-streamed episode of Beauty Sleep in the Demon Lord’s Castle! They never got caught, because Diavolo was busy watching the livestream in his room - too invested to realise it was his own house.

The dining table in the main room of the House of Lamentation has its own fandom on the DevilNet. There are multiple fansites speculating the exact materials used to make it; the exact number of fasteners it uses; and, most especially, its exact length. There are posts, blogs and entire DevilTube deep-dive videos centred around the mystery of how long the table is. This is because, in every piece of media involving the table, it appears a different length despite the decorations and location remaining the same. What the Devildom doesn't know is that the table was made retractable shortly after MC arrived in the Devildom. It was a custom job, done solely so that the table could be used as a runway for a makeshift fashion show (Asmo and Mammon's idea) the brothers held with human world clothes one time MC was feeling homesick.

Once, for a whole month, Mammon dedicated himself to creating a new currency. For the first week, he was an absolute menace, stealing metal objects (like small screws or unused kitchen utensils) around the house to melt down and form into coins of his own design. Beel cried for five days over the lack of cutlery and Asmo kept shrieking whenever he realised he’d had another piece of jewellery had been stolen from him. The rest of the month was spent attempting to rope people into investing; then failing; then celebrating because he had so much of his money to himself; and finally crying because none of it would be accepted at stores.

When he had first gotten into reading books, Satan started a website called ‘Ampbook’ where demons could upload personal writing projects, as well as comment on and share them, too. It’s now incredibly popular, especially amongst younger demons, and is well-known for romance. Well. Much to Satan’s chagrin, it was actually better-known for romance… and fanfiction. He’s constantly torn between allowing his beloved site users their freedom of expression, or immediately taking down any fanfics shipping MC with any of his other brothers. He’s also faked MC x Satan as the most trending tag, permanently.

The height of Beel’s appreciation for Leviathan was shortly after MC’s arrival into the Devildom. They had introduced Levi to an anime centred around four students in a high school swimming team; including a protagonist who Beel thought had a dubiously-intimate love of water. Regardless, Levi tried out for the RAD swimming team - got in and won a bunch of gold medals - and then proceeded to quit the team after a new, different anime he had been waiting for came out. All in the span of a week. To Levi's disdain, Beel brings this up at least once a month: by parading a handmade display of Levi's medals and a framed photo of his older brother in a swimsuit around RAD, showing it off to everyone who asked. And everybody asked. Maybe not so much for the medals.

[dadyscumslutprincess20]

hi! could i request smut with sieun from whc1? (weak hero class 1)

so in the backstory reader (f-reader) and sieun break up, months go by and then they have like... break up sex (or make up) n reader has a size kink & sieun has like an hairpulling kink..

Make up sex

Pairing: Yeon Sieun x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut , Makeup sex

Requested

Warning ⚠️: Size kink , reader is smaller then Sieun , sub!reader , dom!sieun , vaginal sex

It’s been two months since Sieun had broken up with you without any reason at that , he just said you were in the way of his “studies” you knew it was bull shit since he was the one that always wanted you around even if he was studying , you would try to go home or even tell him to text you when he wasn’t studying so you knew it was full of shit

So here you were bored and lonely at home , your mom was a teacher over seas and your father was a traveling doctor leaving you alone since you and Sieun aren’t dating anymore you don’t have anyone to call over .. yeah you had friends but they were always busy with family with you understand completely

Letting out a sigh as you stand from your bed deciding to take a quick shower as you grab a oversized t-shirt you had and a pair of underwear deciding not to wear a bra since you were the only person home as you head for the bathroom to take a quick shower

Once you were cleaned you stated to lotion your body before putting on your panties along with your oversized shirt as you put on perfume letting your hair air dry as you head out your bathroom , heading for the bedroom door as you head for the kitchen grabbing two slices of bread as you put your sandwich meat on it along with a slice of cheese before you started to eat

Before you could take another bite you hear you door bell ring soon following by knocks on the door causing you to jumps as the sound echoed throughout the empty house , placing your sandwich on your plate as you quietly but quickly head for the front entrance stoping at the front door as you lol through the peep hole.. eyes widen as you quickly move from the peep hole

Debating if you should open the door as you hear another loud knock causing you to let out a sigh before un liking the door as you slowly push it open .. it was Sieun .. looking at him confused as he stares at you for a few seconds before liking you up and down before slowly turing his head

“C-Could I come in” Sieun says as he looks you in the eyes as you let out a sigh moving to the side slapping him to walk inside as you close the door behind him making sure to lock it once you were inside

Walking further in the house as you turn to watch Sieun remove his shoes as you cross your arms over your chest waiting to see why he was here as he steps inside the house stoping a few feet away from you as he looks you in the eyes

“Why are you here Sieun” you say since you noctied he wasn’t going to say anything as he takes a few minutes to respond before letting out a shaky breath

“I.. I j-just miss you, I’m sorry” Sieun says as he takes slow steps towards you causing you to take steps back you didn’t want him to get any closer then he already was yet he didn’t stop coming towards you not until your back was against the wall as he blocks you in between his arms so you couldn’t move eyes slowly scanning over your small form since he was a bit taller then you were and it alway seemed to make your knees weaken

Watching as his eyes stop at your large breast that was slightly sticking to your still wet body as your harden nipples showed through the thin fabric as he lets out a low groan quickly picking up your small body as he walks quickly for the couch making sure not to drop you as he throws you on the couch quickly stripping from his school uniform as your eyes slowly look over his body stiffening a bit as you notice the bruises on his face

Your gaze soon turns from worry to fear as he finally releases his harden cock as it slaps against his lower abdomen causing you to move back slightly.. he was huge and you were sure that wasn’t going inside you , you were small compared to him there was no way it would fit not

Grabbing both of your ankles as he pulls you small form closer towards him quickly grabbing the side of your panties as he slides them off your body as you bite you lip eyes watching every move Sieun made

Watching as Sieun big rough hands slowly rub up your legs , stopping at your thighs as he slowly pulls your legs open while one of his hands continue to make it way between your legs letting out a loud gasp as you feel his cold hands touch your soaked cunt as he looks up at you with his innocent eyes filling with lust and amusement as he uses one of his fingers to tear your soaked hole

“S-Sieun.. please” reader moans out softly as Sieun continues to tease your entrance for a few more seconds before slowly pushing his finger in your soaked cunt groaning as he feels you tighten around his fingers eyes locked on your soaked cunt as he bites at his bottom lip

“S-so wet..” Sieun groans out as he adds another finger inside your cunt as he start to pick up he pace

Pushing your legs open wider as your back arch’s off the couch as you feel his fingers go deeper inside your cunt

“Can’t wait” you heard Sieun say as you fell his fingers leave your cunt as you now feel empty

Letting out a loud gasp as you scratch at Sieun’s arm as he replaced his finger with his now hardened cock as you arch your back off them couch , he was only half way in and it felt like he would rip you in half at any minute

Without giving you time to adjust to his size as you feel him push the rest of his cock inside your soaked cunt as you feel hot tears run down your cheeks letting out a loud moan as Sieun thrust in side you at a faster pace as your pull him closer to your small body arms wrapped tightly around his neck

“.S-Slow d-down S-SIEUN” reader moans loudly sure that the next door neighbors heard her but you didn’t care all your mind could think about at the moment was how brutal Sieun was fucking in to you both forgetting about the brake up as you were to touched starved from being away from each other

“I-I can’t ..s-so good princess” Sieun groan loudly as you tighten around his cock body becoming slightly sweaty as he thrust deeper inside your soaked cunt as the room fills with the sound of loud moans and skin slapping as his free hand moves to your neck causing you to loose grip of his neck as he grip stour neck with a tight hold as he picks up his pace as you feel his cock head now kissing your cervix

Back arching off the couch as you feel a knot form in the pit of your stomach as you let out soft cries missies with loud moans as you feel your cunt start to throb from the brutal thrust from Sieun

Feeling his thrust become sloppy as you wrap you free leg around his waist pulling him closer as you feel the knot in your stomach soon snap as your backs arch’s feeling your juices cover both you and Sieun

Letting out a deep groan as Sieun soon comes deep inside your womb giving you a few more thrust before pulling out of your dripping cunt heading to your room as he comes back seconds later wailing you clean before whipping his self clean as he Carrie’s your weak figure toward Steph room before throwing away the towels and laying beside you