#❝ you claw out a heart for me as a gift to me in return i love you unconditionally — ❞ ( douma/k’in)

[topaz-witch-tea]

A thought that popped into my head of Thomas passing away early and haunting the next 40 years of Vincent’s life.

Thomas is deeply in love with Vincent but Vincent, through years of trauma and with his new position cannot find it in himself to openly reciprocate. It isn’t that he doesn’t love Thomas but rather he finds it hard to separate the love he has for Thomas from the love he has for all of God’s children and even if he did, he could not bring himself to act on it. He cannot be unfair in loving one above the others.

Vincent, perhaps by misguided kindness or through unconscious selfishness, offers Thomas retirement in a monastery. Thomas goes because he is loyal and duty-bound and should Vincent wish to send him to war he would march on without complaint. Even if it breaks his heart and it does, it strains his mind and body too much for what good can become someone who has found love and prayer in the one who sent him away. In a year or so, Thomas dies.

The news arrives at Vincent’s desk with the cause of death as

takotsubo cardiomyopathy

Otherwise known as Broken Heart Syndrome.

Vincent fells like the ground will open up and swallow him. He is plunged into a despair, a feeling that God has left him, his prayer cannot reach him. Bellini glares at him when he returns with Thomas’s things. He does not say it but Vincent knows

You killed him. He loved you and you killed him.

Thomas has left him a rosary, one that he had made during his time as the monastery, a key that unlocked the back gate so Vincent could quietly sneak out, and his diary that he wrote until his last days.

Vincent takes them all with grace. He thanks Bellini but cannot bring himself to apologize. Not out of fear of Bellini’s anger but fear that if he starts he will never stop. The rosary Thomas made now takes its place in Vincent pocket, he can never part with it. He once was late to a meeting with the Italian president because he realized he has left it on his bedside table. The key he uses twice a month to sneak out and give alms and to explore Rome.

The diary he reads everyday. Page by page, he sees the progression of Thomas’s cancer, his difficulties with prayer, his grief about the Conclave, and finally pages upon pages of his love for Vincent. Not once did Thomas despise him for sending him away or doubt Vincent’s capabilities as Pope.

*****

Vincent curls up on the pew, shaking with grief and tears as he reads the last couple pages over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Thomas. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I did this. I’m responsible for all of this. Please. Please forgive me.”

*****

He wants to join Thomas. To throw himself against the grave and pray the ground would open up so that he could join Thomas in his coffin.

But he can’t because this is his punishment and grief swallows him whole. He must be punished. He eats healthy, exercises, sleeps the full 8 hours, everything to extend his life because everyday without Thomas is his atonement. He’s as active as he can be in the church, pushing it forward because that is the job he chose over the one he loves so now he must commit to the very end.

He feels like his prayers aren’t being answered. A fitting punishment for having renewed Thomas’s life only to shove him away.

Sometimes in moments of weakness, he’ll pray Thomas forgives him and sometimes, he is gifted with dreams as a respite. He dreams of his head in Thomas’s lap, fingers carding through his hair, and a gentle laugh before he is transported back to the cold bedroom he inhabits.

For someone who hadn’t seen Thomas is years, he finds him in the turtle pond, in the wind that seem to carry words of love, in the mirage of a faceless cardinal that seems to glide across the stones with grace and ease. They rip at Vincent’s heart, claws deep into his soul, and he lets it because he believes this is the pain Thomas felt before he died. It is only right that he suffers the same agony Thomas did. It is what he deserves.

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Caleb x afab!reader Tags: Possessive love,  graphic smut, very ‘touch her and die’ vibes, breeding kink, Caleb is jealous of Xavier, light impact play, overstimulation, creampie (be safe ya’ll). MINORS DNI. WC: 2.5k

Description: You were a little late returning home from the Hunter’s Association. A/N: For @laddelulu30 who put breeding on my mind xD Also dedicated to @unintentionalseductress because well, Caleb :3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You said you’d be out late. He already expected that. Yet something about the whole situation still made him uneasy. 

“There’s a pair of agents that just got back from their interrogation. We’re debriefing and then planning our schedules for the next few days. I promise, if it’s later than midnight, I’ll call you to pick me up.” You reassured him over video call. 

Caleb couldn’t protest, not when your eyes are staring back at him with sincerity he’s known for the better part of your lives — it was the same look you fixed him when you wanted an extra five minutes of his time to play whatever game you’d come up with that day. 

“Alright, alright, fine. Just promise to text me.” Caleb relented, the muscles in his jaw tightening despite the smile he tried to fix on his lips. 

“I will.” 

That was over two hours ago.  Thanks to the lifestyle app that you had suggested you download onto your phones, you were able to see each other’s general location on the map, and the speeds at which your phone was traveling at. Of course this only worked if you had your phone on you and the location was only accurate up to a 3-miles radius…and that wasn’t acceptable for him. No, he needed to know where you are at all times, down to the last step.

There’s a secret app on Caleb’s work cell, one he clicked open to reveal your precise location (the Hunter’s Association building, third floor, in one of the meeting rooms that’s in the south-eastern wing). This app was connected to the tracker embedded in the ruby gemstone of the dainty gold anklet he’d gifted you. You didn’t know about the tracker’s existence of course, and if you did… well that stirred a different feeling in Caleb that he was all too happy to entertain, if his focus wasn’t already fixated on your location. 

When the hour struck 10 and you still hadn’t called, he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon pip-squeak…pick up the phone.” He muttered as the video call attempted to connect. 

“Caleb? Why are you calling me silly?” Your laughter made the imaginary claws around his heart retract by a few centimeters. Despite trying to maintain some semblance of restraint, the reproachful tone in his voice reverberated through his sentence. 

“You said you’d call if you were staying later than midnight.” 

“And it isn’t midnight.” 

Caleb snorted. “Just like you to rely a little too much on technicalities.” 

Your laughter made his fingers pause mid-strum against the arm of your sofa. “It isn’t technicalities, it’s the truth. Clock has yet to strike midnight, Mr Caleb.” Your teasing tone doesn't go unnoticed. 

He chuckled, “It’ll be past midnight by the time you get here. Let me pick you up from work.” 

“Caleb, I’m not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I’ve made the walk home a dozen times before with no problem-”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? The pure coincidence that you haven’t been attacked by some stalker?”

Oh, it was certainly rich of him to say this. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know how he was practically on edge right now, the sound of your laughter, the gentle curve of your lips…. 

“Stop that.” He commanded before he could stop himself, startling not just you but himself. It wasn’t like him to lose his control like this. 

“What?” You questioned with furrowed brows. 

“Biting your lip. Stop biting your lip, I want to do that.” Caleb said, his voice dropping into that gruff tone that made your thighs clench. Torn between surprise and a sudden rush of arousal, you licked your upper lip, brain trying to grasp at the thoughts that rushed through your mind from his authoritarian tone. “I…I wasn’t aware I was doing it. Sorry.” 

Caleb shook his head, locks of his hair curtaining his purple gaze. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be careful coming home.” He told you in a gentler tone. The soft smile didn’t reach his eyes and you wondered what could’ve possibly changed… Caleb was no stranger to you working late, especially when it came to a case that had spanned months of tracking and intel gathering. 

“I will be.” You answered. You will be. Caleb thought to himself, watching the little red dot move along the map of his work phone, muscles on the back of his neck slowly relaxing when the very same dot started to move towards the building’s exit. He felt better knowing your exact location at all times.

Your fingerprint unlocked the door to your apartment and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent of good food wafting from your barely used kitchen – outside of baking, the kitchen was only functioning when Zayne happened to drop by. Though the doctor much preferred to spend time at his apartment or experiencing the service of an actual chef in a restaurant. Caleb however, had long since made himself at home in your kitchen. There was something oddly intimate about how he knew where you kept all your cups and plates, which drawer stored the utensils versus the designated junk drawer – drawerS, if we were being truthful. 

“Perfect timing, the rice just finished cooking..” He gestured towards the tasty food and dinner setting that waited for them at the table. You closed the door behind you, hanging your coat with an air of playful suspicion. “What did you do Caleb?” You asked. 

His easy chuckle softened your heart, while he led you to the table, the warm touch of his fingers easily breaking down said suspicions. This is Caleb. Your Caleb. “I’m not trying to butter you up pip-squeak. I promise. Juuuust making sure you’re eating, even if it isn’t really on time.” He pulled back a chair for her to sit down, before taking his own seat. You picked up on his pointed tone. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t like I intended to stay that late, I swear.” You said watching as he picked up your plate and started to arrange the home-cooked meal on it. His gaze met yours over the food, his scrutiny a little gentler than before. “Who else was there?” He asked.

You cocked your head, accepting the plate he offered. “The usual crowd, you’ve met Tara before. Then Simone was there to give a debriefing…”

“And what about that guy?” 

You suddenly had flashbacks of being a preteen and Caleb’s presence scaring away any and all potential crushes. Picking at your food, you raised an innocent eyebrow. “You mean Xavier?” His silence spoke more than his words ever could. 

“He hasn’t been around. Out on another mission by himself. And even if he wasn’t, do you honestly believe you have anything to be worried about?” You challenged him with a smile – one that immediately made his pants feel a little too tight. Caleb glowered back at you, “It’s not you I don’t trust, pip-squeak. Let’s make that clear. It’s other people I have little faith in.” He watched as you stood up from your seat, walking over to him. There was a glimmer in your eyes, something that hinted at mischief. Given your history, he was all too familiar with that look of yours. You had something up your sleeve. 

“You know, you’ve got to start working on your expressions if you’re ever going to go undercover, y/n.” He teased, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders. He kept his focus on you as you walked around his chair and with a gentle nudge of your hip, had him push it backwards to provide you with just enough room to sit on his lap. 

You weren’t as amused by his jab, pouting up at him in a way that made his heart rate pick up. “I got a high score in ‘stealth and disguise’ thank you very much.” You retorted, arms going around his neck. Your fingers begin to play with the sterling silver chain of his dog tag, savoring the warmth of it between your fingertips. “Are you going to be a meanie all night just because you made dinner?”

His chuckle is followed by his arms cradling you, “Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since you pointed it out-...” His grip on you tightened before he stood up and carried you from the dining table. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If he were being honest, he’d lost count of the number of orgasms he gave you. All he knew was that he’d never get tired of the way you look beneath him, the way the silver apple charm and dog tag clinked against his chest with each thrust he makes, and he’d especially never get tired of the way you moaned his name like you were begging for repentance from a god.  “Where do you think you’re going pip-squeak? Don’t tell me you’re done taking cock? You were so desperate for it earlier.” His voice took on a darker edge, his evol thickening in the air, the fine hairs on your body standing on end at the gravity change in your environment. Your hips that had unconsciously tried to pull away are forced back onto his, forcing him in an angle that made you feel so full. “Caleb…” You whined, walls tight as you accommodated his hard, almost manic thrusts – like he just wanted to see how much he could pull out of you, how big of a puddle he could make on the hardwood floor of your living room. 

“Love hearing you say my name like that.” He muttered, rolling his hips in figure 8’s just to further blur the lines between insanity and pleasure. “What do you think about recording it one day for me, hmm? Give me the pleasure of listening to you moaning over and over again when you send me texts.” Caleb’s smirk is replaced with a sudden darkening of his lavender eyes. “Then again, that would mean risking other people hearing your beautiful, needy voice. And I like knowing that this is all for me.” His hand slid into your hair, grasping a handful in a rough ponytail and tugging you back to focus on him. You wanted to say something but half your face is still pushed into the couch cushions, his hand keeping you in place. 

SMACK.

Fuck. Your mind was blanking out, the world narrowing down to the strain of your legs while Caleb continued rutting into you like a man possessed. The sharp sting of his palm against your ass cheek only sent more heat to your groin. More… “Aww you’re so cute like this pip-squeak. Look how wet you’re getting when I treat you like the good little slut I knew you always were. I wonder how many times your colleagues fantasize about you, wonder if they know just how depraved and dirty you really like it… All hidden behind this sweet face.” He released your hair, fingers sliding around to squeeze your round cheeks, forcing your lips to purse while his eyes drank in your features. 

Without so much as a warning, Caleb is suddenly pulling out of you – the disappointing emptiness only lasting for a fraction of a second before he flipped you over and with the help of his evol, pinned you down into a mean mating press – his favorite position with you. Caleb loved to watch the way your pupils dilate into lust-blown hearts when his cock stretches you, loved even more when your legs hook over his shoulders so he could leave gentle kisses along your calf, which honestly used to be his favorite part about fucking you like this. That quickly changed when he gifted that anklet to you – yes, the one with the tracker embedded in the matching apple charm – he’d also had the foresight to include another addition to the anklet: his initials. He’d only ever admit this to himself; something about the way he watched the letter ‘C’ bounce against your ankle in the same fast-paced rhythm he’d started, made his cock twitch. It was another way to mark you, filling him with prideful arrogance when he knew he’s the only privileged bastard to have their initials around your ankle. The same ankle he could hold onto when you have your legs on his shoulders. Well that was the situation until you said the very words that made the last thread of his restraint snap. 

“Breed me Caleb.” You pant, his pendant and chain pooling on your sternum. 

His hips stuttered, hand slamming down beside your head on the cushion while he steadied himself. “What did you say?” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t catch it the first time. The burning desire within Caleb had everything to do with needing to hear it again. 

The sting of your fingernails leaving angry red marks on his back made his irregular breathing heavier, especially when you’re staring straight into his eyes with that expression that practically begged him. “Breed me, please.”

“With fucking pleasure, pip-squeak.” Instincts took over when Caleb leaned down to nip on your luscious lower lip, making good on his promise from before.  Once upon a time, you’d have sworn the noises escaping your lips were fake – no way those videos across the Internet could be onto something – Caleb, however, knew everything about your body, knew precisely how to break you down just to take his sweet time putting you together again. “Caleb-...”

“Louder. I want the whole building to hear who you belong to.” His voice is husky, fingers tight enough to leave bruises against the back of your thighs. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock between your heated, velvety walls-

“Caleb!” 

He was thrusting into you with blind need, the scent of your lovemaking thick in the air punctuated by the sodden thwack thwack thwack of your bodies.

Your vision is filled with a white sunburst, your body giving into your pleasure while you keened for him. The noises you made, the expression on your face, that vulnerability of how your chest seemed to flutter while you caught your breath…his. He was going to make you his. To breed you is to claim you in the most basest sense possible, no one would mistake who could’ve possibly made you swollen…the cadence of your voice begging him to breed you rang in his mind again further weakening the battle of wills he’d been having with himself – the need to drag this on as long as possible, or to fill you up to the brim with ropes and ropes of his-

“Fuuuuck…” You purred, overwhelmed from the feel of his warm cum spilling and smearing against your inner thighs.

“Y/n…” The crack in his voice instinctually made you grind against him, forcing another needy moan from Caleb. You both remained that way for a few beats, catching your breath while the white ring around the base of his cock slowly dripped along his balls. He pressed his cheek against your ankle, lips brushing against the curve of the ‘C’ from your anklet. His. You. Are. His.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[boy-pussyyy]

ꜰᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ (ᴄᴀᴛ!ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ᴀᴜ) 🐈

characters: SYLUS (love and deepspace), silco (arcane), NANAMI, geto (jjk), chrollo (hxh), AIZAWA, overhaul (bnha), SUGA (haikyuu)

tw: ddde, noncon, fake stockholm syndrome, mild electrocution, spanking, gore, mindbreak, reader does not have a good time, not beta'd

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ.

"what did we learn?"

broken sobs are his only answer, your body trembling in his unyielding hold. you choke on a gasp, the sharp tang of dried blood lingering in your mouth.

calloused hands manoeuvre you up onto his chest. he wipes your tears, other hand moving to grab your tail. fire laces up your spine, and you whine into his collarbone.

"don't be a brat," he snaps. "if you can't give me an answer, we're starting over."

tears burn behind your eyelids, threatening to spill over at the mere thought of repeating the torture.

he lifts your chin to meet his steely gaze, and shame burns in your belly as you recall how you'd gotten into this situation in the first place.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

it had been weeks of playing along; being a perfect captive, a loving pet who wakes him up by lapping at his cock untill it's leaking, fat droplets of precum heavy on your tongue when he comes to. a soft body who eagerly greats him each night after a long day at work.

in return, he spoils you rotten, gifting you the best fish money can buy, crystal nail files, the softest beds and blankets.

you have everything you could possibly want. everything except freedom.

he'd caught you eyeing the windows once, the beginnings of a reprimand on his tongue until he saw what had caught your attention.

a yellow bird perched on the windowsill.

he huffed in amusement, smiling at the way your tail swished back and forth.

the world had narrowed into the bird before you. you crouched low, manicured nails extending into claws, as you leapt—

only for him to catch you before you could smack into the glass.

he chuckles at the glare you give him. "Oh kitten, where would you be without me?"

he gave you a collar that night. a shiny metal band embedded with diamonds.

"a pretty collar for my pretty pet."

it took every ounce of your self control not to scratch his eyes out when he clipped it onto your slender neck, claws digging into your palms when he pressed a kiss to your nose.

you decide right there and then that you'd spent enough time gaining his trust. you're a predator, not a stupid pet.

you start planning your escape in the days to come. you know his schedule by heart. he always leaves for work at the same time. every door and window is locked, except the awning leading to the backyard since that's where he hangs the laundry to dry.

it's twenty minutes after he pulls out of the driveway when you spring into action.

you lose track of the time it takes you to shimmy through the window but the sun is high in the sky when you finally squeeze out the other side.

you sprint across the yard, heart soaring as you feel the sun on your face and the grass beneath your feet for the first time since he'd captured you.

but your joy is short lived when a jolt of pain laces down your body, joints locking as you hit the ground hard.

you've barely gotten to your feet when the backyard door swings open, revealing your captor.

and he looks livid.

his chest heaves, eyes narrowed as he clutches a strange-looking device in his hand.

"get over here. now."

you hiss, bearing your teeth at him as you dig into the collar, willing the stupid piece of metal to give.

there's no warning when the same sensation runs through your spine and you seize. it's as if you've been set on fire, a seering pain seeping into every part of your body, into your very bones.

you're dragged into the house by the scruff of your neck, and you scream as you're thrown onto the bed.

he folds his sleeves up, revealing his muscular forearms as he stalks towards you. "I'm giving you one last chance to apologise and maybe I'll lessen your punishment if you're convincing enough."

you glare at him with your back to the headboard. "i hate you."

his patience snaps and he lunges. a scream is torn from your throat as he grabs you, trashing when you're put over his knee.

you hear the slap before you feel it. then the pain settles in. you shriek as he brings his hand down in quick succession, setting your backside aflame.

"I've treated you like a queen. spoiled you rotten, and this is the thanks i get?" he lands three consecutive slaps at the last few words, heedless of the way you cry and scream.

"s-stop— stop!"

he doesn't relant, hands firm on your trembling frame. a shudder goes through you when he grabs your tail, legs kicking uselessly as he wraps it around his palm like a bandage before yanking.

you howl, claws raking back in reflex. something catches on your nail, as you cut through something hot and fleshy.

"fuck!"

the world spins as you're shoved off him. you scramble to your feet, poised to run, but your breath catches at the sight before you.

blood drips from his right eye, pooling on the silken sheets. despite the angle and his hand blocking the wound, you know that your nails had done its damage. and your heart stops when he pins his burning gaze on you.

you half expect him to break your hand for your insubordination, when he slinks off to the nearby dresser. there's a metallic sound as he rumanages through it but you don't for a second take your eyes off him.

he removes his hand and this time you do gasp when you see the state his eye is in. ignoring the no-doubt burning pain, he stalks over to you, taking advantage of your shell-shocked state to cuff your hands to the bedframe.

his breath is hot on your face and you flinch when blood drips onto your lips.

he tugs at the handcuffs, testing the hold before he snatches your treacherous hand up. "do you know what happens to insolent strays who hurt their masters?

"they get declawed."

it isn't until he brings pliers to your nails that the reality of your situation sinks in.

you trash in his hold but by then it's too late. he pins your kicking legs down under his thighs with ease, ignoring every plea that slips from your bitten lips.

you gag violently, expelling the contents of your stomach with the first nail is ripped off.

you're delirious with pain once the fifth nail has been pried off; babbling apologies and promises to never run away again.

by the time he's done, black spots cloud your vision and you can do nothing more than tremble in his grip, dripping in blood and sweat. ⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

a sharp slap to your cheek brings you back to the moment. you blink the spots away, shrinking back when you meet his darkened gaze.

"so what did we learn?"

your voice is hoarse when you speak, throat sore due to all the screaming. "n-not to... to run away."

"is that it?" the disappointment in his tone makes you whimper and you hasten to correct yourself.

"that you have my-my best interests at h-heart and i- I'm stupid and i shouldn't leave you. a-and i... i love you," you add weakly, hoping it would appease him.

the furrow between his eyebrows smooths out and he pets the top of your head; gently, the way he used to do on this very bed when the two of you cuddled after a round or two.

"it's my fault," he sighs and you melt at the sound. anything is better than his anger. "i misjudged how brainwashed you were with your old colony. how you might still be holding on to any delusions that you belong out there. that you're a wildling and not a pretty little housepet."

his hand lowers to the back of your neck, pulling you into a soft kiss, the kind you used to indulge in when you were bored and he was convenient way to sate your lust.

but then he pulls back and you feel your heart shatter when he utters his next words.

"don't worry, sweetheart, I'll fuck the stupidity out of you. breed you until you're nice and round with my seed. then you'll truly be housebroken."

ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

[wint3rbarnes]

‘here with me.’

summary ۶ৎ in which, bob comforts you after a tough mission.

warnings ۶ৎ 18+ content/minors dni, thunderbolts* spoilers, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence, hydra, self-depreciation ( reader ), lots of fluff, kissing. lmk if i’ve missed anything!

bob reynolds x barnes!reader

𝓐/n ۶ৎ bob is so baby. please don't copy, translate or repost my work to any other platforms. and please be kind; if you don't like it, simply move on. thank you for taking the time to read this♡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

‘as long as i’m with you,

i’ve got a smile on my face.’

bob has always had a pure heart. despite his fathers abuse, despite his mothers emotional punches, despite the car accident that kickstarted his addiction, a light has always flickered inside of him. he’s never believed that, of course. he’s fallen into darkness on numerous occasions. when he’d try climbing out, he was tugged back down with sharp claws digging into his skin, refusing to let go as more drugs were consumed into his system.

then, a miracle arrived in the form of a girl with a smile that can rival the sun’s warmth. you gifted him the hope to let the light hidden inside of him break free. you were the first person to see who he truly is, the first person not to treat him like a burden. you’ve given him unconditional courage that he can be better. that he can help rid the darkness that cloaks the world.

and now that you’re upset, he wants to be there for you. he sensed it almost immediately. you’re not as skilled at hiding your emotions, unlike bucky, your father. you’re the definition of aspectabund, allowing emotions to express easily on your face. bob’s realised that after gazing at you with those love-sick eyes all the time. when you’re excited, your nose scrunches like a bunny. when you’re nervous, you look down, urging the floor to help you. when you’re disgusted, you’re brows pinch together and your head recoils.

in this instance, you had returned from a mission and embarked straight to your room. no mission report, no check-ups in the medical room, no unwinding with the others. you kept your head down, not permitting anyone to witness what emotion you were wearing, and chose isolation.

and bob knows from personal experiences being alone, drowning in a well of misery with no one to pull you out, isn’t healthy. he’s generously given you fifteen minutes to yourself, enough space for you while he was pacing back and forth, wondering what he can do to lift your spirits. until, the idea hit him when yelena was cursing at john in the kitchen for burning dinner.

with a bowl of icecream in his grasp, he poises in front of your door. yet, he doesn’t wish to make you more upset in case you don’t want company. he hesitates, glancing at the floor then the door, contemplating knocking, before choosing the floor. he sits down, back against the wall as he stays there, almost akin to an obedient dog. he hopes you heard his loud shuffling. he hopes you’ll come out. and he hopes you know he’s there for you until the ocean dries up.

and, just how his miracle came true, so does his wishful thinking. the door opens, instigating him to look up. and there you are. you’re no longer in your new avengers suit, but clad in a scoop-neck, white top that’s adorned with a pink bow in the centre of its lace trim, matching your pink, frilly skirt and snow, thigh-high socks. the way you dress has always matched your personality, and bob finds it utterly endearing.

he studies your face, noticing your eyes, usually so full of warmth which you spread to others, are puffy and somber. his shoulders slowly drop. if anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. you’re the glue that holds the team together. you’re the one who still has a heart of gold despite the horrors you’ve endured.

his chest aches, as though a blade has sliced through his own heart. it physically hurts him seeing a hint of grey penetrate your colourful spirit.

“hey…what’re you doing down there?” you ask softly. your voice is quieter, a contrast to its usual chirpiness.

“hi.” bob says, absentmindedly, lost in a trance of how you look like an angel, with your wings tucked away so you don’t bother anyone. he snaps out of it once he realises a moment too long in silence has passed. “i was…well, i was just sitting here. you know, in case you need a shoulder to cry on. i can be a punching bag too, if that helps.”

cringing at his own words, he sighs and holds up the bowl inhabiting three different scoops of delicious flavours in, accompanied with a spoon. “i brought icecream.”

your smile, albeit little, makes his own grow. it’s addicting. you’re addicting. and he craves more. he wants you to smile to the point your cheeks hurt, the skin around your eyes crinkling too. because nothing is more beautiful to him than seeing you happy.

lowering yourself beside him, you murmur a quiet ‘thanks’ and gently take the bowl, a fluttery feeling swirling inside your stomach at the flavours: vanilla, cookies and cream, and butter pecan. he remembers your favourites.

“i didn’t know which one you’d want. i can get you something else if you-”

“no! no…thank you, this is really sweet of you.”

his cheeks flush. he feels like a teenager with a crush. a comfortable silence settles among the two of you. it’s relaxing, all the weight lifting and being swept away by an imaginary breeze. although, he can sense there’s still something amiss with the way you’re shoulders are slouched while you eat.

“do you wanna talk about it?” bob’s voice, gentle, breaks the silence. “i mean- i’m not that great at giving advice, but i can be listening ears. see?" he tugs at his earlobe with a boyish smile.

hesitation crosses your features, your bottom lip tucking between your teeth. if he wasn’t a shy, flustered man, he’d have coaxed your plush lip back into place with his thumb.

something passes in your eyes. something he recognises: trust. besides hope, that’s the first emotion which connected him to you. he’s never trusted anyone as much as he trusts you. he can only wish you feel the same.

with a soft exhale, you set aside your half-finished ice cream, losing your appetite. you tuck your knees to your chest ( thank goodness you’re wearing shorts underneath your pretty skirt, otherwise bob would’ve had an aneurysm ), and trace circles on your kneecaps to distract yourself.

he lifts his hand, hesitant, not knowing how you’ll react to his touch. he’s only ever seen you have physical contact with your father. but, he takes the leap, and rests his hand upon your knee, calloused hands meeting smooth skin. pride swells within him as he feels you relax, leaning into him, shoulders brushing. the slightest contact sends sparks curling around his veins, ready to explode.

“i was born in hydra, y’know.” you murmur, pinpointing your gaze on the floor, not brave enough to face him.

he thinks you’re the most bravest person on earth.

“they wanted more super soldiers and thought the best way to get them was by artificially inseminating a volunteer with their ‘greatest weapon’s’ dna.” you swallow thickly. “i didn’t turn out as they expected. too frail and weak no matter how much they fed me.”

with each word you reveal, bob’s world closes in. he knows a smidge about your past due to accidentally delving into it when you helped him out of that elevator shaft at the o.x.e. vault, but hearing you converse about it now makes his spine shiver, as if it’s being tickled with spider legs.

“they never let me see my dad. only for an hour or so after a mission he was forced to do. so it meant i spent a lot of time with the others.” your chin dips down, hair flowing in front of your face like a waterfall. you’re being so strong right now, that because of you, he finds the confidence to slowly tuck your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering.

you exhale a shaky breath, sensing the waterworks arriving. his warm gesture compared to your haunting recalling of your past allows you to carry on, knowing he won’t ever abandon you. “some of them were nice: ignoring me and letting me wander through the halls. others thought i was a waste of an experiment and kicked me like i was vermin. b-but one of them, he…well, he was the meanest. he was hydra’s best weapons manufacturer, and he liked testing his new weapons on me.”

when you flinch, as if reliving a certain, chilling memory, bob speaks. “can…can i hug you?”

“y-yes please.”

the pleading break in your voice is all it takes for him to wrap an arm around you waist, stroking your side soothingly, while his free one cups the back of your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. if it was any other circumstance, he would’ve burst with excitement, but now, he just wants to comfort you.

“i s-saw him on my mission and i just froze. h-hydra was right. i am weak.” you lean into him like you’re trying to intertwine with his soul, making him hold you tighter, more protectively.

you’re self-depreciating words causes something inside of him to become alert. how dare hydra make you feel this way. how dare you believe those words when you’re anything but.

pulling back slightly, he tilts your chin up, the world, his world, sitting in the palm of his hand. “you- you don’t deserve to think like that. you’re not weak…you’re the sun. you warm peoples soul and brighten their days. do you know how much strength that takes after being raised in a dark and cold environment? it’s- well, it’s a lot!”

a watery smile paints your mouth, and he delicately wipes a teardrop that’s slid there. the tip of his thumb grazes your lips, soft as a bed of snow. his breath hitches. your body shifts closer.

“you think so?” you ask, quiet as a mouse.

“i don’t have to think ‘cause it’s already a fact.”

a giggle escapes you, your mood instantly changing from dark clouds to a sunny sky. his chest lightens at the dulcet sound, and he nudges his nose against yours, realising then how close your faces are. he’s never been this close to you before. he has an urge to be closer, for his waves to meet your shore, but before he can act on it, you already have.

your lips brush against his, slowly, testing the waters, and he tenses, the spark within him exploding. everything fades except you, suspended in time, and he finally surrenders everything he’s been holding back. he returns the kiss with a passion that burns as bright as the sun. the sweetness of your lips are his new drug, an elixir he knows won’t ever harm him.

the soft hum that escapes you is his undoing as he parts for breath, resting his forehead against yours.“that…that was…” he breathes out, chest rising and falling rapidly.

a pang of worry hits you instantly. the over-thinker in you reappearing. “oh, gosh! i’m sorry, i should’ve asked. i’m such a-”

bob silences you by cupping your face with both large hands and crashing his lips to yours. yours instantly parts, allowing him to delve into your mouth. he’s gentle yet messy. he conveys his adoration for you which stretches beyond the twinkling stars, while also expressing his undeniable need and primal yearning for you.

vowing then and there, he’ll shield your pulchritudinous mind from those degrading thoughts threatening to diminish your pureness. because you’re his girl. his sempiternal love. you can protect yourself, he’s well aware, but you deserve someone standing beside you, supporting you in any way possible.

the feeling of you grinning against him? he forgets everything. not even remembering his own name. the only thought that’s clear is he’s made you happy.

and bob reynolds is determined to maintain it that way until your old souls drift off into the wind, and he can relearn to love you again in another life.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

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Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[greengoblinswifey]

Your first Valentine’s with Dae-ho

You gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as Dae-ho hovered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours. His cock was buried inside you, his hands firm as they roamed your body.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. It still felt surreal, making it out of the games, surviving together, and now, your first Valentine’s Day.

But before this moment, before the feeling of his cock filling you, the day had been nothing short of magical.

Dae-ho had planned everything down to the last detail. The morning started with a bouquet so massive you could barely hold it. Along with it, a beautifully wrapped box filled with Korean candy, soft tteok coated in honey, chocolate filled pastries, and his own twists on classic sweets.

“You spoil me so much, baby,” you teased, looking up at him as he watched you with pure adoration.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he said simply.

Instead of the usual candlelit dinner, he took you on an adventure. A private boat ride along the Han River, the city lights reflecting in the water as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you. Then, an impromptu trip to a hidden rooftop garden, where he played music from a speaker and danced with you beneath the stars, twirling you in his arms as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

By the time you returned home, your heart felt full, your body warm from both the night’s events and the way Dae-ho’s gaze darkened as he pulled you closer.

Now, beneath him, you felt completely at his mercy. His cock dragging along your walls, slow and savoring, as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory. Your nails dug into his back, drawing a low groan from his throat as he kissed you.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured, his lips tracing down your neck then to your boobs. “Like the chocolate I made for you."

You shivered at the warmth of his breath, your fingers threading through his dark hair. “And what does that make you?” you whispered.

He smirked, his hands roaming lower to rub your aching clit. “Hungry for that pussy.”

His words sent a spark through you, and as his kisses trailed to your boobs, you knew one thing for certain—tonight, you were the dinner.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, arching your back into him.

He smirked, giving you exactly what you were aching for. His cock slipped from your wet pussy, leaving only the tip before he slammed back in making you cry out.

“Take it, sweetheart. This is what you wanted.” He rolled his hips to meet yours, each thrust hitting your sweet spot, nearing you to the edge.

His breath came in deep, uneven pulls, his face contorted in something raw and breathtaking. His dark eyes were dazed now, locked onto you, as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “So beautiful taking me, all mine.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, his skin burning hot, matching your pussy. The way he hovered over you, his body solid, cock throbbing sent a shiver through you.

“Dae-ho,” His name spilled from your lips, breathless and needy.

His hand traced your clit, thumb brushing over it, before he leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours. He was so deep, and you gripped him, taking him just the way he liked it.

“I love you, love this pussy too,” he whispered, voice strained. “I need you to know that.”

Your chest tightened, your nails sinking deeper into his skin as you whispered back, “I know, I love you too.”

“God, baby. I can feel you clenching so tight, cum for me. Give me my gift for today,” he breathed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, spreading your legs wider, taking him as he went faster, rubbing your clit at the same pace and tipping you right over the edge.

Your entire body shook, a soul crashing orgasm hitting you like a truck making you squirt all over his raw cock.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

His hips stuttered and he moaned your name like it was the only word he knew as his cum filled you to the brim.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breaths, Dae-ho’s cock still buried in your pussy until he collapsed beside you. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his skin damp, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

Then, with a breathless chuckle, he turned his head to you. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

You turned to face him, your heart still racing as you smiled, fingers brushing over his chest. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” you echoed, meaning every single word.

[farfromstrange]

Pink Eye | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: You start the new year with a bad case of conjunctivitis and a cold. As annoyed as you are about it, fortunately for you, you have a very doting boyfriend to take care of you.

Warnings: Cursing, sickness, fluff.

WC: 1.2k

A/n: This is totally self-indulgent, and my first fic after a month (or so)! Don't worry, you're still getting those other Fictober prompts, this is just something that came to my mind yesterday and I had to write it. I wish I had a Matt Murdock to take care of me, so I wrote this. I hope I'm not too rusty.

Read Me On AO3!

The cold compress seeps into the swollen skin of your eyelids, though it offers only a small reprieve from the ache and itchiness that make you want to claw your eyes out like a feral cat under attack.

Tissues lay strewn around the coffee table, each one soaked in tears and whatever else came out when you wiped them dry. The apartment reminds you more of the set of a bad chick-flick rather than a home. Most of the time it resembles a crime scene or a poorly supplied hospital when your risk-friendly boyfriend decides he just has to get himself into another fight for the greater good, but this New Year’s, the only casualty that came out of the holidays is you—defeated by your own immune system. 

You haven’t been properly sick in a year. For 366 days, you’ve been free of any viral or bacterial infections, and the one time you decide to have dinner with your family you end up with a nasty infection: conjunctivitis. Yes, you started the new year with fucking pink eye and a cold, and now you’re stuck at home for your last few days off work, feeling miserably sorry for yourself.

“Here,” Matt appears in your one functioning line of sight with a bowl of soup in hand, “You need to eat something.”

“Thank you,” you say through a congested nose, and he can’t help but smile at how adorable that sounds.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I want to put a finger into my eye and scratch it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “So, not good?”

You shake your head. “I’m annoyed. And in pain. And I can’t fucking breathe!” As if to underline your frustration, your lungs constrict and you cough up a not-so-delicious ball of phlegm. 

Matt’s hand instantly moves to your back, rubbing gentle circles until the oxygen returns to where it needs to be. Your breathing becomes rapid before it slows down again, and you swallow.

“Fuck me,” you mumble.

“When you’re feeling better,” he retorts almost cheekily, but the joke doesn’t get much of a response. He knows how miserable you are. He can hear it in the way you breathe, your elevated heartbeat, and the pulsing of the skin around the infected eye. You wear your discomfort on your very sleeves. He doesn’t want to imagine what it feels like for you.

Instead of joking any more, Matt gently removes the compress from your eye. “Let me get you a new one,” he offers. Your first instinct is to cover up. It baffles him; you haven’t hidden from him in a very long time.

Matt takes your hand and places it back down in your lap, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “Don’t do that.” 

“I look like I got into a fight,” you say.

At that, he reaches out, fingers gently brushing just above your brow, down your temple, and over the apple of your cheek. He can feel the heat radiating from your skin, the inflammation that’s causing your eye to swell, but the picture his fingertips paint is a stark contrast to your own description. 

“No, you don’t,” he says. And Matt knows better than anyone what one might look like after a fight.

His touch is so gentle, far away from where you’re hurting but close enough to feel his need to fix you. To heal you. To take your pain away and make it his own just so you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. Your heart flutters like a newborn butterfly. You look into his hazel eyes, how soft they are, and it makes you melt. If you could only see yourself the way he sees you... The way he loves you seems like a gift from God himself. 

His touch disappears, and you bite back a pathetic whimper. “Be right back,” he says.

You watch as he rises to his feet and heads back to the kitchen, grabbing another cool compress from the fridge before returning to your side.

“There you go.” He places it against your eye and holds it there. “So you can eat.”

You want to say, ‘You’re doing too much’, but then you realize that you’re with the kind of man who would shoulder the world for you even when he’s already drowning to make sure life is just a little easier for you. And while that feels like entirely too much, more than you deserve, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him to stop. Not that he would do so, anyway. 

Every bone in your body aches, but the pain blurs in comparison to what he makes you feel. 

You take the bowl of soup he prepared and dig in. It’s your favorite, yet scarcely seasoned to not irritate your throat any further. When your stomach is finally full and he’s satisfied, he reaches for the bottle of eyedrops standing tall amongst the graveyard of tissues. He knows to think about everything when you can’t. 

“Lean back,” he instructs softly. 

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you protest. 

“I won’t. I know you hate doing this yourself. Now lean back.”

He’s even more stubborn when you’re sick, but only because you’re stubborn, too. You don’t protest further, simply leaning your head back to give him better access. 

Matt gently searches for your lower lid with his fingers, pulling it back ever so gently before squeezing the first drop in. Then, he moves on to the second eye. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut at the sudden intrusion. It burns. Will it ever stop, you wonder? 

“I’m sorry,” he wipes away any excess tears threatening to escape, “it’ll get better in a second.” 

You huff a breath of disapproval, but not at his words. “I’m never visiting my family again unless they give me a detailed list of who’s sick,” you say. 

Matt stutters for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“I’m serious! Small children are little Petri dishes, carrying viruses and bacteria that continue to mutate into God knows what. Petri dishes, Matthew!” 

You sound so beside yourself, he can’t help himself. He adds the used tissue to the coffee table pile and pulls you into his arms, his laugh rumbling against the top of your head as he presses his lips against your heated scalp. “This is New York, sweetheart,” he says, “the entire city is a Petri dish.”

“And I will avoid it like the plague if I have to.”

He chuckles. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “You’re so much moodier when you’re sick.”

If you had the strength you would smack his pretty face for that statement alone, but you really, really don’t. You can barely sit up on your own. So, you nudge him with your elbow and grumble, “Shut up.”

With a bright smile on his face, he gives you another squeeze. “I love you too,” he says.

You squeeze his bicep three times to assure him that yes, you do love him, and you can’t help but think that perhaps being coddled in Matt Murdock’s arms while recovering from a little infection isn’t so bad, after all. It certainly could be worse. 

fluff tag list: @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler @mochie-is-a-librarian

[merriweather-boat]

I genuinely believe that one of the most intimate connections you can have with another human being is hatred, which is absolutely why I find Sephiroth and Cloud’s relationship so compelling, especially in its more derivative interpretations of hatred. Or, well — Sephiroth and Cloud’s relationship is what convinced me that hatred is one of the most intimate connections you can have. That’s a better way to put it.

With them especially, their hatred has blurred the line so that to hate one another is to love one another, because Cloud’s hatred for Sephiroth and vice versa is just — how do I put this into words? Imagine hating another person with such intensity that staying alive just to hate them a little more, a little longer, becomes your raison d’etre. Hating Sephiroth gave Cloud a sense of purpose. Cloud’s hatred for Sephiroth allowed the man to return from the claws of the Lifestream itself. Sephiroth’s hatred for Cloud and the vicious expression of it brought Cloud close to other people and pulled him out of isolation. Their hatred is destructive, it is anathema to growth, to a better future, and yet at the same time it’s what saved the planet, it’s what saved Cloud, it’s genuinely incredible.

When Sephiroth says, “Fill your hollow heart with rage,” in this context — especially taking into account that Cloud’s hatred is nothing but a gift to Sephiroth, quite literally bringing him back to life time and time again — he’s essentially asking Cloud to love him in his own special, freaky way.

I also want to point out that being someone’s mortal enemy is the same as swearing a wedding vow — the concept is the same. “Til death do us part.” That hatred drives people in ways that define their lives for decades, if not forever. My favorite part? Not even death can separate Sephiroth and Cloud, which means that they are LITERALLY better than married. And it’s because of how much they hate each other. Mortal enemies swear to sustain a flame of raw, painful emotion within them for a lifetime, only to one another, and every day is a choice to wake up and keep… well. Sephiroth said it best. To fill their hollow hearts with rage and find wholeness in that hatred.

Another aspect of that which I appreciate so much is that in a way, hatred can transcend romance. I love romance, but reading fics where the relationships transcend everything and rise to the level of mortal hatred is just on another level for me. Cloud and Sephiroth hating each other with such dedication is an almost romantic sentiment, but it’s not — it’s just devotion. Hatred is devotion. And I find that so compelling, especially because it leaves so much room for weird relationships. Even when the lines are blurred, even when that hatred takes on decidedly romantic forms, sexual forms, any form, at the end of the day hatred is only absolute devotion.

[wroteclassicaly]

For The Record

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️

Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.

You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.

His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.

And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”

You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.

You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”

“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”

He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”

“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.

“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”

“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”

“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.

“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.

It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.

“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”

And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.

“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?

You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.

The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.

You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.

That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”

And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”

And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”

You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“

“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”

“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.

“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”

“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”

He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”

Your lip releases with a plop.

“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”

“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.

Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”

// Eat me paragraph //

[thevampclaudia]

Backstage Pass

Rockstar Lestat de Lioncourt x Fem!Reader

Summary:

“Here,” you said, your voice so low it was almost a whisper, “Lie back and let me fix your makeup, baby.” Slowly, Lestat laid back on the couch, and you positioned yourself on top of him. Still straddling him, you leaned in close with makeup and brushes in hand. You looked down at him through eyes that were heavy-lidded with lust, and he returned your gaze with equally all-consuming need. Your lips were mere centimeters apart and you ached to close the distance, but not yet…no, the show must go on.” A short, smutty fic inspired by the revelation that Lestat was wearing a DRESS (!!!) in the IWTV season 3 promo.

Word count: 2,808

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ only, explicit sex, rough sex, teasing, biting/blood drinking, oral sex, marking, switch!Lestat, unprotected sex, crossdressing, using the Mind Gift during sex, some very mild degradation.

a/n: reader is afab but no description is provided; this is shamelessly inspired by this photo that has lived rent free in my fantasies for YEARS lmao

“Everything okay in there?” You asked, fidgeting nervously on the plush sofa in Lestat’s dressing room. He had gone into the bathroom to change - not like his usual exhibitionist self, you thought as you stifled a grin. At least 5 minutes had passed since he disappeared into the cramped bathroom, and you were beginning to worry just a bit. What worried you most, however, is that for five whole minutes, he had remained completely silent - even more out of character for your beloved silver-tongued exsanguinator.

“Lestat?” You called out as you rapped softly against the bathroom door. Just as you leaned closer to press your ear to the door, it swung open. You leapt back in surprise with a frightened shriek, playing it off with a shaky laugh. Inhaling deeply, you took a moment to collect yourself before turning to face him. “Shit, babe, you scared me-” When you turned, your breath caught in your throat, and your words escaped you - immediately washed away like the tide as you took in the glorious, libertine, fucking hot sight in front of you.

The statuesque blonde vampire stood haughtily in the doorway, looking you up and down. A knowing smile spread across the brat prince’s lips as he watched your cheeks flush just from the sight of him. He stepped closer to you, and you took your sweet time admiring him. You weren’t ashamed to stare, drinking in every intoxicating little detail.

He was all ready for the night’s show, but this time he was trying out a different look than usual. Lestat wore a long, black dress made of sheer fabric that hugged every curve of his perfect body. The dress was sleeveless with a low, plunging neckline that showed just enough of his bare chest to be deliciously obscene. As your gaze traveled down his form, you saw that the dress had two long slits running up each side. They exposed every inch of his sculpted thighs, and your eyes followed this tempting expanse of bare skin all the way back up over his hips, to where his well-defined Adonis belt peeked out from underneath his skirt.

Smoky black eyeliner rimmed his grey-blue eyes, giving them even more definition than usual. It was all too much for you to handle - this maenadic beast before you, commanding every ounce of your attention and holding all your desires right in the palm of his clawed hand. Lestat’s face darkened into a debauched, hungry smile, and he watched in predatory delight as you struggled to form a coherent thought. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and you almost hated him for it. Almost.

“How do I look?” He practically purred, slinking past you to lie on the couch with long, outstretched legs. You quickly sat beside him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Lestat reached out and instantly pulled you closer, placing one hand on your inner thigh with a low chuckle.

“You look fucking…amazing,” you breathed, and  reached up to run your fingers through his long, honey-blonde curls. He leaned into your touch, and you took this as an open invitation to trail your fingertips down his exposed chest. This earned you a heady sigh from him, and you took no small satisfaction in seeing him react to you so shamelessly. Usually he at least tried to feign disinterest for a little bit…after all, he loved a good cat-and-mouse chase. But this was different. His desire was palpable, and it charged the air between you with an irresistible electricity. And then you realized. 

Oh. 

It wasn’t just for you. He liked the outfit too.

“What do you think?” You asked, stroking his hair before groping his bare chest yet again, with more urgency this time. He groaned and let his eyelids flutter shut momentarily, exhaling shakily. “Look, baby,” you urged, tilting his chin up to admire himself in the dressing room mirror, “Look at how fucking pretty you look right now, Lestat.” He did as he was told, never one to turn down an opportunity to gaze at his own reflection. You smiled, enjoying the way he eye-fucked himself so openly. Something about it was always so strangely endearing. Suddenly, he gripped the back of your head roughly, tangling his fingers in your hair dragging you closer to him until your lips met in a frenzied kiss. You settled yourself into his lap, straddling his hips as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips. He pawed at you needily, palming your breasts and letting his hands roam over every inch of your curves. A small moan escaped your lips, and you broke the desperate kiss for just a moment to catch your breath. Lestat whined under his breath the moment you pulled away. When you looked back up at him, you saw both his lipstick and yours now mingled in ruddy smudges on his face and around his lips. You giggled fondly at the sight and smoothed his tousled hair - which he then proceeded to tousle even more - before tenderly wiping away the smudged lipstick from his face.

“Here,” you said, your voice so low it was almost a whisper, “Lie back and let me fix your makeup, baby.” Slowly, Lestat laid back on the couch, studying your every move in silent wonder. You positioned yourself on top of him, still straddling his hips, and you leaned in close with both makeup and brushes in hand. As you looked down at him through eyes that were heavy-lidded with lust, he returned your gaze with an expression of all-consuming need. Your lips were mere centimeters apart and you ached to close the distance, but not yet…no, the show must go on.

You grabbed a tube of rosy pink lipstick from his vanity table and leaned in close, softly dabbing it across his lips - all while never breaking eye contact with him. “Oh, this color is much better for your complexion, amoureux.” You murmured playfully, and he scoffed at you, rolling his eyes. You took his distraction as a chance to skate a free hand down the length of his chest, his torso, slipping under his skirt to cup his groin. He gasped, and you felt his swollen cock twitch.

You let out a delighted groan as you traced your finger along a thin elastic waistband, feeling the sheer fabric of a black lace thong. You caressed him greedily, and felt his bulge straining against the lace. The faintest whimper slipped past his open lips, and he bucked his hips against you. “Please, mon cher, I need you,” he panted, and you grinned as you felt him twitch again.

“But I just fixed your makeup.” You said matter-of-factly. The vampire rolled his eyes once more.

“Putain de merde,” he muttered impatiently, flipping you without warning and pinning you beneath him on the small sofa. You protested, but he quickly shut you up with another urgent kiss, his lips crashing against yours, claiming you. You caressed his hips and cupped his ass in your palms before digging your fingernails into the soft flesh. He whined as he began helplessly grinding against you, tugging at your lower lip between his teeth in frustration. Lestat bit down, drawing blood that he quickly lapped up with a primal, guttural moan. You kissed him again, tasting the traces of your blood on his tongue and shivering.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tugged at the waistband of his thong, yanking it down his thighs and letting his throbbing, hard cock spring free. You gripped his shaft, stroking up and down his length slowly and running your thumb over the glistening head, smiling to yourself as you felt precum already dripping there. He gasped at the sensation, before grabbing you by your wrists and pinning them above your head with preternatural speed. 

You were completely at his mercy now – he reveled in every second of it. Lestat let out a low growl, and roughly spread your legs apart with his knee. He could already tell how wet you were, and his fangs dropped as he felt the growing heat of your arousal through the crotch of your panties. You blushed as he teased your clit through the damp cotton fabric, coaxing you to moan out his name. Slowly, he pulled your panties down and repositioned himself so his face was between your thighs, hovering eagerly just inches above your dripping cunt. He sighed softly, and you felt the heat of his breath ghosting over your swollen clit. You let out a low moan and reached out to stroke his hair, gently trying to bring him closer. Laughing smugly at your impatience, he leaned in to nuzzle against the thicket of dark curls between your legs, and groaned to himself as he inhaled deeply. “You smell so good, mon coeur, but I bet you taste even better…”

Sighing softly, you spread your legs wider to give Lestat easier access to where you needed him most. You felt the warmth of his breath grazing the bare skin of your thighs and whimpered, eager for more of his touch. Slowly, he pressed a trail of tender kisses along each of your inner thighs — pausing for just a moment to bite down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. You felt a surge of pain coursing through you that quickly melted away into stinging pleasure that left you crying out for more. Lestat nuzzled against you again, unable to resist – he needed to taste you, needed to feel you come totally undone beneath the attentive ministrations of his skilled fingers and tongue. 

Finally, after a few moments of unbearable teasing, he got his mouth on you. Lestat’s tongue darted out to taste you, gently lapping at the wetness between your legs. You squirmed at the sensation, moaning loudly as he buried his face in you, desperate to taste every last drop of delicious, hot arousal. He teased you with his tongue before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit, sucking on it and letting out a low hum that sent a jolt of electricity straight through you. Lestat was relentless in his need to devour you. Every little sound of pleasure that slipped from your open, panting mouth, every buck of your hips and every desperate dig of your nails into his back only made him hunger for you more. 

Slowly, he dragged his tongue down, and you felt his nose nudge against your throbbing clit as he began lapping at your entrance. He groaned as he tasted you, burying his face deeper into you with reckless abandon. You felt Lestat’s tongue hungrily snaking between your soaked lips, spreading you open so he could push his tongue inside you and taste you straight from the source. You whined at the feeling of his tongue fucking into you, arching your back and chasing the sensation. He pressed into you deeper and deeper, gently stretching you open, and you gasped in pleasure as his nose rubbed against your clit with every curl of his tongue inside you. Since his mouth was preoccupied, Lestat used the mind gift to praise you, pressing silently into your thoughts. His words were warm and inviting, flooding your mind with pleasure that only intensified every sensation as he thrust his tongue deeper into your cunt. 

“You taste divine, mon amour. You’re so beautiful like this, letting me claim you and taste what’s mine…such a good girl for me, that’s it, just lie there and take it…so perfect…all mine…”

That praise was your undoing – a few more strokes of his tongue was all it took to leave you trembling and crying out in overwhelming ecstasy. You were practically vibrating beneath him, but he didn’t stop - instead, he went right back to lapping fervently at your sensitive clit. Reaching down, you gripped a fistful of Lestat’s hair as you rode out your orgasm, grinding against his tongue until you were too overstimulated to take anymore.

You sighed deeply, watching fondly as Lestat gazed up at you from between your legs. His lips and chin were glistening, soaked, and he kissed his way up your body to press his mouth against yours. You tasted yourself on him with a ragged groan as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeply. He stroked your hair, moving his hands down to cup your breasts and roam slowly over every inch of your curves. He took his time exploring and worshipping your body, reminding you of just how beautiful he found you with every kiss, bite, and reverent caress.

But Lestat was growing impatient. He slid one hand between your legs, rubbing your soaked pussy and using the wetness left on his fingers to slick up his aching cock. He gripped your hips hard enough to leave a mark, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped as he rubbed the head of his cock against your opening. Lestat held you close, finally entering you with one long, deep thrust. “Fuck!” You cried out, and you felt yourself stretching around him.

He nuzzled against the crook of your neck, teasing the sensitive skin there with little kisses and nips that he soothed with an eager tongue. He thrust into you slowly at first, savoring your warmth and wetness before gradually increasing his rhythm. As he pushed himself deeper into your aching cunt, you felt him moan against your neck. His fangs grazed your delicate skin, sending a sick thrill through your core. Suddenly, he bit down, nearly pushing you over the edge. He fucked you savagely, and the cramped room filled with a vulgar symphony of moans and obscenities. Lestat made an indecent slurping sound as he drank deeply of you, and it was almost too much to bear. When he had his fill, he lapped at the fresh bite mark with his tongue, long and torturously slow licks that threatened to push you over the edge. Your thighs began to tremble as you crept closer to the brink of another orgasm.

“That’s it, mon cher, give up that tough facade.” He goaded, with a sudden, deep thrust that made you throw your head back and scream. “I know what seeing me dressed like this does to you. I could see it all over your face,” Another achingly deep thrust, “I knew I could break you.” That was all it took. His words, his voice, his eyes on you…his hands holding you down so helplessly….that dress…and the way he rolled his hips into you, fucking you like he was determined to ruin you for anyone else. You came again, hard, crying out his name and quivering as wave after wave of bliss racked through your body until you were spent. He kept going, only slowing his pace slightly. In and out, in and out, again and again. He released his grip on your wrists, and you tangled one hand in his long hair, using the other to drag your fingernails down his back. You felt him shiver at the sensation, and he let out a long, low groan. You tightened your hold on his hair, and he buried his face in your neck. He breathed deeply, trying to muffle the needy whimpers that betrayed just how close to coming he was.

Lestat’s brow furrowed, and he swore under his breath as you clenched yourself around his cock. In and out, in and out, he tried to keep going, but it was too much - he was barely holding on. He clung on to your hips desperately, fucking harder and faster until finally, at the very last moment, he pulled his cock out of you with a profane, wet sound. Shamelessly, all while maintaining eye contact with you, he stroked himself to completion into the damp crotch of your panties.

“Keep these on for the entire show,” he growled in your ear, trailing kisses along the crook of your neck and across your jawline before gripping your chin in his hand, forcing you to look directly at him, “And don’t you dare change, mon coeur. I’ll know.”

“SHOWTIME, MR. DE LIONCOURT!” You heard his stage manager yell from outside the dressing room. His makeup and hair were utterly wrecked; anyone who saw him would immediately guess what had just occurred in this cramped little room. You both laughed, and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before flashing you a devastating smile as he bounded out the door, making his way to the stage. “This isn’t over!” He called over his shoulder, always determined to have the last word. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing your hair and quickly fixing your makeup before running to take your seat in the audience just as the stage lights came up.

Read on Ao3 here.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 2

Din x f!reader 18+ MDNI

Summary: The Mandalorian thinks you're an incredible artist and he just loves your doodles so much that he couldn't stop himself from doing what he does. He makes up for it though.

a/n: I know so very little about the Star Wars universe. I dunno shit about fuck when it comes to planets and ships and how things work. You'll see what I mean in later chapters, but I'm just warning you that I make a bunch of shit up, and am probably entirely incorrect about some of the things I may talk about in this chapter or upcoming chapters. I'M SORRY. I JUST LOVE THAT HELMETED MAN AND HIS GREEN CHILD, OK???

unbeta'd, poorly proofread because of my AHDH

Mando was gone when you woke up the next morning. Bed empty. Left you wondering if it was all a dream. He’s gone. 

With your notebook. 

It’s gone too. Nowhere to be found. At your own expense, you tore the ship apart looking for it but you can’t find it anywhere. The child loved this game. He helped massively. 

Maker.

What is he doing with it? Why does he still have it? 

You think you know the answers to all those questions but you’re still freaking out a little. Mostly because he has it.

Really it’s because now you’re stuck with nothing to do besides stare at the child. Which you’re currently doing. Just staring at him. And his big eyes and ears. Little robe. Where’d he get that little robe? You should make him a new one. Ask Mando to buy fabric and sew him a new one. 

He’s so cute. You pick him up and carry him outside so you can lay in the warm sun together. He does, for a while. Snuggles beside you and then moves to your head and plays with your hair. You make him a flower crown.

You don’t know where you are. You stopped asking Mando. Stopped caring, mostly when he made you stay with the ship. He brought you everything you needed. You had to stay with the child. Something about a fire and the ship being at risk if the kids left alone for too long. You don’t know. You didn’t care then but now you’re bored. And your mind is wandering.

The kid just stares back at you.

“I know. I’m bored too.” You say to the child, he responds in little baby coos and warbles. He looks at something on the ground by his feet and picks it up. He inspects it for a long time and then looks between you and the object in his clawed fingers. Then he holds it up to you to take from him. You do, and you inspect it as well.

It’s a dead bug. 

“Thank you...so much .” You gently set the dead bug down next to you. The child goes searching for more; he thinks you love your gift. You must want more. So he goes to find you as many as he can. You end up with a little pile of dead bugs and leaves and pebbles next to you. 

You think you love the child and that's weird to you. Because it's a baby and you don’t normally like babies. But he’s not like any baby you’ve ever met before and you think about what’ll happen when Mando doesn’t need you anymore. It actually knocks the air out of your lungs. 

Impossible. 

Unthinkable. 

You didn’t really plan for this. To get attached to the child. 

It just happened one day. Now it’s your child. You’d do just about anything for the lil’ green squirt. 

But he’s also not your child. He’s Mando’s. Don’t forget that. It’s his kid. 

Mando was gone for two days before you saw him again. When he did return the child was already asleep. But you were still outside looking up at the stars around the fire.

“I told you not to–” A voice rings out in the darkness and you nearly fall into the fire. You move so fast you almost stumble right into it trying to get away from the voice behind you but there’s a strong hand on your shoulder and stops you from moving. 

“What the-” You place a hand over your heart and pant softly. “Why!?” You shout, pushing his hand away. “Always! With the shaking me and scaring me in the dark!” You snap.

“I still didn’t shake you.” His helmet is tilted down to look at you. “Do you need me to define the word shake to you?” 

All you can do is blink at him. 

“Where is my notebook!?” You point a finger at him accusingly and attempt to leer at him. “I thought you’d put it back when you were done.” You say with contempt because you really did think he was going to put it away. 

But really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself, the last two nights have been you laying in his bed thinking about what he’s doing with your notebook. And you’re doing the same thing he you hope he’s doing. And you can smell him on his sheets. It’s his natural muskiness and it’s amazing. You fall asleep when you’re done cradling them to your face just to try and be close to him. And he wasn’t even the one who made you come that night together. You did it yourself! You cannot stop thinking about it though. Not at all. It’s the only thing you’ve thought about besides keeping the child alive. 

“I took it with me. I also told you not to be outside after dark when I’m not here.” He said it sternly, like he did when you made mistakes. 

You could hit him. Maker, you could. You think about how the beskar would feel on your dainty- has never seen any sort of forced punch– fist. Also, he’s got a lot of weapons in there. And the Amban on his back.  So you decide that in his best interest, you shouldn’t hit him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you're here, isn’t it?” You snip at him. He shakes his head. 

Mando stares at you for a long time. Saying nothing like always. Maker please, make him speak. 

“I got you something.” He says quietly from behind the modulator. 

What was that Maker? Huh? What’s a notebook? I’ve never seen a–

“You what?” You ask, stunned. Because he’s barely said a total of twenty non mean words to you this whole time before two nights ago and now he’s getting you gifts? As in something you didn’t tell him you needed and he got it with credits you gave him for it? You know, because he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“Here.” He says, pulling something out from underneath his cape, maybe stuffed into a pocket or a bag, you dunno, but he pulls out another notebook. Not your notebook.  But another one. A new one. There's a new charcoal for you as well. 

You take it from his outstretched hand and stare at it for a long time. You’re the silent one now. 

“Do you like it?” Mando asks after a few quiet moments. You nod, unable to really find the words for how you feel about it. He watches you, looking at your gift and stands by the fire with you. 

“Thank you.” You finally look up at him. He’s got his head tilted down at you still. 

“You’re welcome.” Said so simply like he didn’t just make the last two days so lonely and bori– Hold on one Maker loving minute.

“Where's my other notebook though!?” You ask suddenly. There is no alarm in your voice, just curiosity, because now you kind of like the idea of him carrying it on him while he travels without you.

Mando’s head turns away from you, like he’s observing your guys’ surroundings so intently. 

“Mando.” You drop your head to look at him through your lashes. 

He doesn’t say anything, he’s staring up now and then points his finger up to the sky. 

“Do you see that star-” He starts. 

You groan in frustration, closing your eyes and putting your forehead in your hand.

“Did you lose it?” You ask after a minute. “I won’t really be that upset if–”

“I didn’t lose it.” He’s offended. “I can keep things safe.” He responds quickly. You blink at him. “I keep the child safe. You.” He motions to you with an up and down gesture.

“First– give me some credit for keeping the child safe.” You’re still looking up at him. “Did you know that he jumped into that river over there–” You point behind you. “Did it two times. He cannot swim. I had to go in after he started floating downstream! I’m here with him all the time. Every waking and sleeping second. I’m not saying you don’t keep us safe.” You hold your hands up. “I don’t really know what you do when you leave us here in these fields or deserts. I really dunno, but I’m sure it is keeping us both very safe. Second– You still have the doodles then?” He nods at you. “Can I have them back please?” He shakes his head from side to side. 

Oh Maker ! Is this what I get for doodling? Is this my punishment?

“I’d like to keep it.” Garbled modulated voice from underneath the helmet says so casually. Like he didn’t steal it out of your bag. Like you let him give it a test run to see if he’d like it and now he does and wants to keep it. “That's why I got you the new one.” He’s trying to justify it, funny.  

You look at him with disdain.

“I’ve upset you?” He asks curiously. “You’re…” 

“I’m just really disappointed in you.” You shake your head at him. You’re not as disappointed in him as you’re saying, you’re just saying that because he’s just being really cute right now but you’re not gonna let him know that. “What do you want it for so bad anyway? Gonna rub the charcoal all off it the way you’ve probably been touching it.” You snap at him. 

“I looked at it while I was gone.” He says. “I thought of you.” 

Okay . He can keep the notebook. He can have it. Because he was thinking about you while he was gone and you wonder what else he was doing while he was thinking of you, looking at it. 

He finally sits down next to the fire with you, not close but he sits, and lets out a loud sigh as he leans against the log behind him. 

“Did you have a rough day?” You ask quietly. He shrugs and picks at something on his beskar. When he does that it reminds you of the child.

“The child got all these dead bugs and gave them to me the other day. Like all the dead bugs he could find. He didn’t try to eat them or anything. Just gave them to me like they were a gift.” You chuckle nervously. 

“I hope you like mine more than his.” He looks over at you. 

“It’s a close one.  I won’t lie.” You smirk at him and wonder if he’s smirking back at you.

“So, can you ever take it off?” You motion towards his helmet. He touches it gently with his fingers. “You kept it on in the complete darkness the other night.”

“I can. No one can see my face though.” He explains carefully. “I kept it on to see you. I like to look at you sometimes.”

“Wh-what?” It’s like the breath got knocked out of you. 

“My religion. It’s a part of the creed I was sworn into.” He explains the helmet.

“ Sometimes ?” You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve done it before?” 

He looks away from you. 

“I’m ashamed of it. But yes. I can’t help it.” He’s still looking away from you, into the woods on the far side of the field and you wonder what he can see over there that you can’t.

You think for a long time, a lot of different thoughts running through your head. 

“What happens if someone were to see you?” You ask, changing the subject because you decide you’re not mad about it. Mando looks back at you.

“I wouldn’t be able to put it back on.” He explains. “I’d be banned from my creed.” 

Oh. That’s serious. You don’t know as much about Mandalore as you thought you did. 

“And that would make you upset?” You’re curious and he’s chatty.

“I’d be…” He trails off again. “ Disappointed .” 

You know he’d be more than disappointed but that’s the word he chose, so, you roll with it.

“Then let's not have that happen. No one likes a disappointed Mando.” You tease, reaching out and he lets you touch your foot to his with a gentle tap. He doesn’t pull away, not even after he sees what you’re doing. 

“Especially you. What’s the ship look like?” He tilts his head down as if he was looking at you through his eyelashes. 

“Clean. Surprisingly.” You snap. “ Someone took my only form of distraction so I actually had to do something today to not die of boredom.” You explain sassily. 

“So I should keep the new one too then?” He teases you. 

“Please Maker no.” You grip the notebook to your chest. “I need it.” 

Then he snorts or laughs or something. But it is the sound of air being exhaled at force through his nose and it's loud enough to register in the modulator. Your head snaps over to him. “Did I just make you laugh?” You’re stunned.

It's been so long since you’ve spoken to someone who wasn’t green or Mando himself that you’ve completely forgotten how to talk to people apparently, because you can’t think of another time in your entire life that you’ve asked someone if you’ve made them laugh. 

Okay. It’s not common that the person you're trying to make laugh has a helmet and face visor on, but still. What a weird question to ask. 

“Maybe.”

Now we're back to the short simple responses and you have an idea. A scary one, but an idea.

“Would you like to know what I did while you were gone? Besides, swimming after the child and cleaning and being bored?” 

The reason you’re nervous is because you don’t know how he’s going to react. At all. He could hate what you’re about to tell him, he’s so particular and he can be a little abrasive sometimes, so yeah, kinda nervous. 

“I would.” He’s still looking at you.

Okay, he’s on the hook and now we just have to reel him in. You lean one elbow on the log behind you and turn to him.

“I slept in your bed.” You say it quickly to see how he reacts. 

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak.

“Do you– you sleep on the floor when I’m not here?” He asks, shocked. 

Now you’ve completely forgotten what else you were going to say because you could have been sleeping there the whole time? And you’ve been sleeping on the paper thin mat instead when the bed has been empty.

You blink at him. 

“Don’t do that anymore. Use my bed when I’m gone.” 

You keep blinking at him.

“You didn’t think to tell me that?” You’ve been distracted from your original point. 

“I thought it was obvious.” 

This makes your eye twitch softly. 

“Okay.” Because it wasn’t really obvious. He’s yelled at you every day he’s been here except for the night. So why would he want you in his bed?

“Is that all? Was that supposed to make me laugh?” He asks. You stare at him.

“No. It wasn’t. But now I’m mad and I don’t want to tell you anymore.” 

“Tell me.” He says it softly but the modulator messes it all up and you don’t get his real softness. You might never get it. Probably won't. 

“I touched myself thinking about you touching yourself looking at my notebook.” It comes out way less sensual and sexy than you had planned on saying it but it does the job. He gasps softly but loud enough to register.

“You did?” His voice changed immediately to being filled with awe and excitement rather than just sounding like he was putting up with you.

You nod at him, softening slightly because you like when he talks to you this way. Nicely and sweetly. 

“D-did it g-get..” He pauses. “Did it get wet?” 

You nod. 

“Maker.” He sighs. You can’t help but smirk. 

“How many times? Please tell me.” He’s leaned in, apprehensive of what you have to say. 

“Four.” You sigh at him. “Twice a night. I couldn’t sleep unt-” 

“Would you do it again for me tonight?” He interrupts you. “Twice. Please.” 

“Okay.” 

You barely have time to think about what’s going to happen before Mando is up on his feet, holding his hand out to you. You stare up at him for a moment, not recognizing  the gesture especially from him. You place your hand in his eventually and he pulls you to your feet. Then, he holds your hand as you begin to walk inside. 

“Are there rules about..” You trail off as you get to the ship's entrance. You stop walking. “Are you not allowed to, you know, touch me like that?” You ask as he turns to see why you’ve stopped. 

“No.” He says quietly now that you’re both within earshot of the child again. 

“So why don’t you help me tonight?” You ask hesitantly unsure of how he’ll react. He takes a step towards you so fast you take a step back in fear but he pulls you into him gently. 

“You’d let me? Really?” He asks, surprised, like you weren’t just splayed out at his request a couple nights ago. 

Yes?” You say confused. “Why do you think I said yes the other night?” Mando doesn’t speak. For so long. Again with the silence Maker.

“I don’t know.” 

“You’re impossible. Do you know that?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him. 

“I’ll help.” He says, taking a step backward onto the ramp of the ship. “I can do more than help, too. If you’d let me.” 

“Let you? Like I don’t want it either.” You chuckle to yourself. 

“You really thought about it? About me?” He asks in a hushed whisper as you walk into the ship and you place your new gift in a cupboard high enough that the child can't reach. Once you’re fully into the hull he shuts everything up. You’re starting to undress, Mando has disappeared somehow, he was just in front of you, and you turned to check on the child and now he’s gone. The ship goes completely dark, just like the other night and you’re plunged into the void once again.

“Mando.” You whisper into the abyss. “Mando I don’t like wh-” But you feel his hands.

You didn’t even hear him walk to you, only feeling his hands on your waist. Mando slips two fingers behind the button of your pants and then with his thumb, pops it open. You can’t even comprehend how he did that before his touch is gone again.

“Do you have to keep the beskar on all the time?” You whisper. He’s disappeared from touching you so you start to unbutton the front of your shirt. But then his un-gloved hands move yours away. 

“Do you think I sleep in it?” He teases from behind the modulator. 

“Yeah, kinda.” You respond honestly because why would you not think that? You’ve never even seen Mandos' wrist or ankle. To you, his beskar may as well be a part of him. Something he physically cannot remove. 

He does the laugh again. 

“Do you want me to take it off?” He asks after a moment of silence. He’s undoing your buttons so slowly. 

“If you take it off, am I– am I allowed to touch you?” He doesn’t respond but he’s finally got all your buttons undone and now he’s sliding his hands where your shirt opens in the middle and he’s sliding the flat of his palm across the skin just below your breasts. He groans softly. 

“You want to t-touch me?” He asks, like he cannot believe that you’d want to do that. 

“Yes!” It’s louder than you intended. You put your hands over your mouth because the child is close by. “Yes. You don’t want to just touch each other?” You whisper now.

“No.” He says quickly. “I me– I mean yes. But I want to watch you too. I like doing that. You’re very– v-very… You know how you like to be touched. I want you to show me.” The raspiness of his modulated voice is making your knees weak. 

“Okay.” Is all you can come up with; it’s your favorite word apparently. You wonder if Mando can sense that all the thoughts in your brain just leave when he says things like that to you.

You hear the soft metal clicks of something being set on the floor beside you and now, your heart is racing. He’s a real person under his armor and cape and helmet and you’re about to touch him. Standing in the dark waiting for Mando to disarm himself for you. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, you’re sure that Mando can hear it or he probably had a sensor for it in his helmet, since it’s so  useful to him all the damn time. 

“Touch.” He whispers. You hesitantly reach your hands into the darkness and your fingers brush up against the hottest skin you’ve ever touched. It’s like he’s being incubated inside the beskar. So warm. So… strong . His skin is soft on your fingertips but he’s got muscles under there. You can feel them. You press into him, making sure he’s real because this has got to be a dream.

“Wow.” You manage to whisper in awe into the dark. You’re impressed with how he feels behind your hands, yes, so impressed it’s making your legs tingle again. It’s also nice to feel another person against you again. He’s so inviting now that his armor is off. Now that he’s exposed it’s like a different person is standing in front of you.

You press the flat of your palm against his sides, feeling his ribcage against your hands. Fingers still pressed tightly against his flesh so you can feel him.  

He’s breathing heavily and you’re so close you can hear him under the modulator. 

“You want to keep that on?” You ask, looking up to where the breathing is coming from. He says nothing. “It’s okay if you do, I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable.” You snake your hands around his waist and run them up the length of his back and he’s got even more rock hard muscles back there, Maker, how? He’s like one big rock hard bag of muscles and it’s incredible to feel his strength under your hands this way.

“I’d prefer to see you.” 

You’re pressing your own naked body against his now, the hard peak of your breasts press against him and you feel him shiver against you. 

“I like looking at you.” He rasps quietly. His hands touch you. Really touch you. His flat palms are running down your sides. He started up under your arm and is slowly dragging his hands down your waist and sides. Mapping you out. Taking in every inch of you. 

“I like when you touch me.” You whisper. When you speak, he presses the tips of each finger into your flesh and gropes you gently. 

Maker, the strength behind his touch is almost debilitating. It’s incredible and you feel bad for anyone he’s ever put his hands on in any way that isn’t this because he’s holding back for you. You can feel it, in the tenseness of his arms as your hands now explore his forearms and biceps and triceps. Mando is so tense he’s almost shaking. Like he’s desperately holding back from just grabbing you, tossing you on the bed and not listening or watching you like before. 

You’re obsessed with it, the way he’s breathing while he’s touching and exploring your body. It’s staggered and sometimes, when his hands will roam across your ass or your breasts, he’ll gasp softly like he was surprised. You wish on everything that was good, Maker, that he’d just take the helmet off. You’d do anything to just feel the warmth of his mouth where his hands are right now.

Mando takes both of his hands and lifts you right below your bottom, and lifts so your feet are just barely touching the floor. You have to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling and your whole body presses into him for support. Mando sighs softly into your ear from behind the modulator before he starts to walk you backwards. You're on just the tips of your toes and you let him guide you to his bed. 

It's not much better than the mat. But it's off the floor and has a little more padding. And the blankets, oh Maker, the blankets are so soft. You’ve slept in them naked the past two nights because they’re the most beautiful feeling on your skin while you twist and turn in your sleep. 

Now, Mando is laying you down on top of them. As he lays you down, he kicks either one of your knees open with his so he can kneel between them, he’s still leaning you back, moving one hand to behind your neck so you don’t fall. 

“I like this better than the doodles .” He says as you finally lay back, his hand slides from behind your neck and over your collar bone slowly. He snakes it around your fleshy mound and between your breasts, still pressed flat against you. “S-so much better.” It’s a sigh through the modulator but you can tell he’s watching his hand trail down between your breasts and over your stomach.

“You can look whenever you want.” You tell him breathlessly as his hand moves across your stomach. His index finger traces over your bellybutton so lightly it almost tickles but this is too erotic to be laughing and squirming from tickles. You are squirming but it’s because he’s still tracing over your belly button but his other hand has found where your thigh meets your hip. Now he’s touching you so close to where you want to be touched but his fingers trace across your lower stomach and he sighs again.

“Do you mean it?” His raspy modulator makes you jump because he’s been quiet for so long. You forgot what you said, it's been so long. He’s been teasing you with his fingers like this for what feels like twenty minutes. 

“Mean what?” You sigh as the back of his hand grazes over your slit. You’re already soaked. If you could think about anything besides how fucking hot this was, you’d be a little embarassed getting to excited for someone who hasn’t even kissed you. 

“I can look whenever?” Mando rests the back of his hand against you and pushes his middle finger into your slit. “Because I would like to. I’d look all the time.” His finger is pushing against your clit gently and it’s sending blaster beams through you. 

“Yes. I m-meant it.” You gasp softly into the dark. The heat of his hand feels like it’s going to burn right through you. 

Mando flips his hand around and cups your sex and pushes. The pressure from your own fold and his hand make you moan softly. Now he massages you, slowly and you assume he watches as he makes you squirm again. You suppress another moan as he increases his pressure and almost pushes you back a little, his massaging getting a little fast. 

“I like watching you try and hold back.” His raspy voice behind the modulator scares you again in the dark after a bout of silence and slow crescendoed increases in his speed of his rubbing. Then he pulls his hands away. You snap your knees up to trap him so he can’t leave and you feel his naked body against your inner thighs and it makes you sigh softly because he is so warm and so inviting as his hands find your legs. He’s gripping you. 

“Don’t leave.” You whine, squeezing him tighter between your legs. You hear him chuckle, a real chuckle and his hands relax and he slides them up to your middle. 

“How could I? You’ve ensnared me.” And then his hands slide up your waist and you can feel him leaning over you. “I won’t leave. Not now.” He whispers to you, his hands now just under your breasts. “I have to touch you.” Mando’s hands slide across your fleshy mounds and he gropes them gently in his palms. Squeezing them. “P-perfect.’ 

“Don’t stop.” You reach up and place your hands on top of his and make him squeeze them harder. “F-feels so good, Mando.” One of your nipples slips between his fingers and he pinches it unknowingly as he gropes and massages. He’s following your lead, feeling the pressure you put on his hands and he mirrors it. “Sss- so- oh shit, Mando.” 

Mando has pressed his erection against your slit, but not inside. You feel the length of him pressed between your legs. 

“Fuck.” He groans through the modulator. “You’re s-so wet already.” The cold metal of the helmet is on your shoulder. “Fuck.” He moves now, slowly and his entire length moves between your folds, the ridges and veins of him moving against your clit. Your hands are still holding his to your chest. “You’re exquisite.” He rasps into your ear quietly. 

“O-oh M-maker.” You moan softly but he pulls away from you, his entire body jerks back. 

“No.” He exhales loudly. “I want to watch you, first.” Like he just remembered that’s what you came here for originally. 

You’re a mess below him and before he can even finish speaking your hands are in between your legs. You’re working yourself in every way you can for him, if he wants to watch you’re going to give him a show. 

Quickly and easily you have two fingers inside you curling and uncurling against your wetness and your other hand is spinning tight circles around your clit. It’s so sensitive it’s not going to take long to get you there. You hear him moan softly in the darkness and his hand holds on to one of your knees that are still resting by his side. 

“Yes, oh y-yes. Little one, d-does that feel good?” He coos down to you. You hear him speak and your fingers are working faster. They’re trying hard to make him want to touch you again. 

“Yes, so g-good.” You moan, the circles getting tighter as he continues to speak down to you.

“Keep going, little one. I’ve been thinking about the sounds you make when you do it.” He grips your knee a little tighter and with the other hand pushes your legs open a little further. “S-so lovely.” 

And then you give him what he’s been waiting for. It starts in your toes this time and you curl them, pressing your feet hard into the bed as your hips lift– either to let him see better or because the feeling is just so fucking good that it’s making you levitate– and he sighs loudly. 

The wetness between your legs and your little choked sobs of bliss are the only sounds in the ship as you come with him kneeling before you. Mando’s grip on your knees tightens as your fingers continue to move around your clit and curl inside of you. He’s listening and watching and you love it. It makes you come harder.

“Mando.” You whimper softly. You wish you could see him. “Fuck.” It’s a strained through another gasp of pleasure. 

“Can I touch it?” He asks so politely. You nod, panting and letting your head fall back again after looking up into the darkness for him. 

Mando’s fingers leave one of your knees and he’s at your entrance. He’s pushing two fingers into you gently and then he pulls away. He does it several more times before you realize what he’s doing. 

“You taste so good.” He whispers but the rasp of his modulator is gone and it’s just a man speaking to you now in the dark. Your heart almost explodes in your chest because it’s exactly what you imagined it would sound like. You try to keep your composure. Then you feel his hands on the back of your thighs and the warm breath – oh Maker it’s so warm– your lower stomach. 

Mando is kissing you. He’s trailing kisses along your stomach and stops at your belly button. He kisses it gently and trails his tongue around the outside of it like he had earlier with his fingers. You’re trembling, biting your lip and clenching your fists to your sides because this is the most incredible non orgasm feeling you’ve ever felt and Mando is the one doing it to you.

His tongue traces your belly button as his hands trail up the back of your thighs and find the bend in your knee. He pushes your legs up gently and the tip of his tongue dips into your belly button for just a moment before he’s planting kisses down your stomach. 

“Much b-better than just w-w-watching, huuh?” You stumble out as he bites and nips at the skin on your inner thighs. 

“If I can make you do what you did, yes.” Then his mouth is on you. Theres no hesitation, no teasing. Just his lips pressed against your slit and he’s parting you with his tongue. 

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting it. Everything’s had such a big build up that you were expecting this to go on until the sun came up but he’s licking and lapping at your still sensitive clit. 

“You,” He whispers against your slit. “-taste incredible.” 

“Can I touch your hair?” You pant. Your hands have been searching for something to hold onto and grasp and tug at in pleasure but you’ve been too nervous to touch him anywhere since he took his helmet off. 

Mando is quiet for a long time and he’s stopped licking you. He’s still holding your knees up to your chest. 

“It’s okay if I can’t, I just wanted-” You start rambling nervously into the dark because you’re scared he’s gonna back away and tell you to go sleep on your mat on the floor. 

“I think that’d be okay.” He says after so painstakingly long. You sigh and let your head fall back again in relief. 

Tentatively you reach for him, unsure of where he is in the dark. Your hand brushes his shoulder and you rest your fingers against him and trail them up his neck. His hair is thick and coarse and you just know it’s dark hair. You can feel it in your soul as your fingers curl in it. 

As your fingers find their grip, he goes back to licking you. He has no real meaning behind his movements with his tongue. You’re semi disappointed but you come to realize that he’s exploring. Mando wants to know every inch of you and he’s taking his time. 

His hair feels so good between your fingers. You pull and tug on it gently every time he presses the flat of his tongue against you and slides upwards. He’s licking you like you are his sweet treat, his dessert. 

“I like that.” He says suddenly. You’ve been laying on your back, you moved one of your feet to his shoulder and have his hands tangled in hair still. He’s been lapping at you leisurely for an unknown amount of time. You haven't complained at all, it’s heavenly, Maker, heavenly. 

“What?” You ask breathlessly. You care what he likes but you wish he would keep his mouth on you. You never want him to stop. It’s incredible how thorough he is with his tongue. 

“Your hands. In my hair.” He’s back to your middle now but there’s meaning behind his movements now, like your voice ignited something in him, maybe, you don’t care. You let your head fall back and your grip tightens in his hair again and you push him against you gently, letting him know you need him there. 

Mando loves it, he lets you know he loves it by increasing those perfect circles around your clit and then he moans. That moan sends vibrations through you that you didn’t know were possible. They’re head spinning. 

This is when he decides it’s a good time to add two fingers into the mix. He pushes his ring and middle fingers into you while his tongue swirls quickly. Instead of curling his fingers, he angles them upwards slightly and then pulls them back out and drags the pads of them along the spot inside you. 

You arch your back and tug at his hair harder because this is the best feeling, this right here. You’ve never been able to make yourself feel this way. You didn’t even think pleasure like this way possible. 

“Mando.” You whimper quietly. 

“Din.” He moans against you. You’re so confused because what’s a Din? Why is he saying that.

“What?” You ask in bliss filled confusion. “What did you say?” You lift your head to look up at him but it’s still dark and you can’t see.

“Say Din. It’s my name.” His tongue is back on you and your head falls back and you can’t even be excited that he’s just told you his name because his fingers, Maker, his fingers.

They’re thrusting into you; hard enough to make you shake every time he drives them forward and his tongue hasn’t stopped moving in just the perfect way. 

“Din.” You whimper and clench your eyes shut. Your fingers are gripped so tightly in his hair you’re sure you’ll still have some in between your knuckles when he’s done. “Din. P-please don’t stop.” You have to whisper but you’re holding back a moan that would wake the child and you’re just so desperate for release that you’d die from frustration if the child did wake up.

Din’s fingers move faster, he knows, he’s so ready to feel you come on him that he’s panting against your clit as he laps at you.

“Ohh Din.” It’s drawn out in a long moan whisper as you feel it wash over you. This time it’s radiating out of you from your middle and your hips start to rock against his mouth– they’ve been still this whole time– but this orgasm makes you pitch and reel against him because it’s just so fucking good. It’s mind numbing. One hand leaves his hair because you need to cover your mouth and nose to stop from moaning. 

Din doesn’t stop, he keeps going as your walls contract and restrict against his fingers. It’s making him work harder and his tongue is lashing against you because the feeling of you gushing against his hand is a new feeling to both of you.

“Fuck, Din.” You whimper as the sensation now becomes too much. You twitch with every touch of his tongue and your legs clamp around his head in disapproval of his touch.

Din doesn’t move for a couple seconds and then, from muffled between your legs you hear him. 

“You’ve ensnared me… again.” You laugh because you really have. You open your legs and he leans up and kisses along your stomach. “Can I do what we did the other night?” He asks impatiently.

“You don’t want my help?” You inquire knowingly. He says nothing back but you hear him, hear his fist on himself and then he’s stealing your wetness to do it.

“N-no.” He grunts out softly. “No, lay back. P-please. Lay back.” 

You do. But you feel weird about it. Like does he not want you to touch him? He seemed excited when you said you wanted to touch him earlier but he’s being different now. You lay there, legs still bent at the knee and spread around Din’s body. 

He slips his hands between your legs to take more of your wetness. 

“Th-th-this is what I-I thought about.” He groans out quietly but the modulation is back. “I want to w-watch and-and I–” But he cuts himself off and you hear him moan quietly. Then he’s leaning over you again, you feel his hand rest beside your head. You reach up and wrap your hand around his wrist gently while he comes on your belly. “So good. It’s so good, Little one.” And then he’s resting the cool metal of the helmet against your shoulder. He rests there for a while, letting you keep your hand on his wrist. 

You grab his hand when he pulls away and bring the tips of his fingers to your lips and kiss them softly. 

“Let me next time.” You whisper and slip one of his fingers into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it gently. “Can you see this?” You ask with the tip of his finger between his lips. He says nothing but you can hear his modulated breathing still. 

“Yes.” He says softly. “Let me clean you up.” He says, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Feed it to me.” You say, licking the tops of his fingers gently. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters at your question. 

“Let me taste you, feed it to me.” Your tongue and lips are still teasing his fingers and with his other hand you feel him swirl two fingers in the pool he shot into your belly button. He brings them to your mouth and you move your mouth to those fingers instead. He moves his saliva coated fingers down to your stomach and picks up more of himself on that hand and puts them into your mouth when you pull away from his other hand. He does that until there’s nothing left. Neither of you say anything the entire time. You just do it. When his searching fingers can find no more you feel him sit back. 

“You like that?” He asked quietly in the dark. 

“Only yours.” You whisper back, laying with your hands behind your head. “You can clean me up now.” You tease. He eases himself off the bed and you also start to ease yourself off the bed but you feel him stop.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly. 

“I’m going to go back to my bed,” You say because why wouldn’t you? The bed he has isn’t very big and it’s also not very comfortable besides the sheets. 

“Why?” He asks. “You don’t want to sleep here?” 

“With you?” You ask suspiciously. He says nothing in the darkness. It’s quiet for so long. Then a damp cool cloth on your belly is wiping you down, getting everything he spread out across you in his search for more to put into your mouth. Dips the rag into your belly button. You’re waiting for him to respond. “Mando?” He pulls away from you.

“I said call me Din.” He rasps from the darkness. 

You had almost forgotten but really, you were too scared. What if it was just only while you had your clothes formality.

“Din, you wanna share the bed?” You inquire nervously. More silence.

“I– I could sleep on the mat.” It sounds like a question but it isn’t. He sounds a little disappointed. 

“No, you sleep on the bed. I’m gonna sleep on the mat.” You nod your head into the dark and go to get your nightgown.

“Not share?” He grabs you by the upper arm as you try to pass him. 

“No. Not share. It’s too small.” You look up and wonder if he’s looking down at you. He releases your arm and you go back to your mat. It’s cool down here now and you feel refreshed. It’s hot underneath Mand- Din. It’s hot. He’s a hot man, 

You get yourself tucked into bed and wonder if he’ll be there in the morning when you wake up or if you’ll be in the stars once more. You’ve been in this same field for four whole days. It’s starting to look boring. You need a change of scenery. So does the child. He didn’t make a whole sound th-. You sit up suddenly

“Din!” You exclaim quietly. You hear something bang against metal and he groans. “Sorry.” 

“What?” He grumbles, no raspy modulation.

“The kid! I haven't heard him once since we turned the lights off, is he in the bassinet?” You’re sweating now and every good feeling you’ve had inside of you just two minutes ago is gone. You hear him bang again on something metal and then he’s at the bassinet. 

“Shit. I have to get my hel-” He shuffles back to where he came from, you hear him, no metal banging this time and then the light comes on and you’re blinded . 

What was once a void, a terrible darkness you didn’t think was possible is ripped from you and then you are plunged into the brightest lights you’ve ever seen. You raise your hand, trying to shield them from the light above you but you’re not concerned with that. You stumble to your feet and look into the empty orb. 

“No.” You mutter and look around. “Nonononononononoo.” You whine, the sweat starts to bead in the center of your back. “Where is he? The ship’s not that big, where could he be?” You look at Mando for the first time since the lights came on. He’s got his helmet and just black pants. You stare at him for a long time, forgetting what you were so worked up over because he doesn’t look like your doodles. He’s muscular, yes very but there is a softness your doodles are lacking. He’s got shape and curves and valleys to his body and it’s beautiful.

The child.

“Fuck!” You exclaim. “We would have heard the door? Right?” You start to search, every little crevice and door or cupboard you can think of. He’s nowhere.

“He’s still in here.” Din says, looking around much more carefully and less destructive as you are. 

“How do you know? He’s so small Din, what if something happ-” But he shoots his head over at you in a way that steals the words from your mouth. 

“Don’t. He’s still here. I just know.” Then he goes back to looking. 

You two look everywhere for what feels like way too long and finally Din calls to you. 

“I’ve got him.” 

You’re on your hands and knees almost inside the engine  of the ship, a place you have no reason being because you don’t know what goes on inside, just that there was a space big enough for the child to climb through. 

You relax. You can breathe. He’s got the child. Everything is right in the world. 

Making your way back to the room, you wipe off your hands and knees and fix your messy hair because you’ve just been on the floor, crawling around on your hands and knees like an animal. When the child sees you, he reaches for you and you take him gently from Din’s arms. 

“Where were you? Huh? Scared me half to death thinking I lost you.” You cradle him close to you. “Where was-” Din is looking your way with your brand new notebook in his hands. All the pages have been torn apart or chewed on. “How did you even get up there?” You look down at the child who is already sleepily blinking up at you. “How do you do stuff like that?” You rub his forehead with your index finger and he closes his eyes slowly.

“I’ll get you another one. Two.” Din tosses the notebook back into the cupboard. “Sorry.” 

“You didn’t put him in that cupboard… did you ?” You tease quietly now that the kid’s back to sleep. You go to put him in his bassinet but Din stops you.

“Sleep in the bed. With him. Don’t let him sneak around like that again tonight. I’ll sleep on the mat.” Before you can protest he's got his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. “Please. I feel bad you’ve been sleeping on the floor. I’ll get you a better mat.” 

So you crawl into bed and Din goes to turn the light out. The sheets are so soft. You place the child beside you and curl your body around his. You’ll feel if he decides he wants another paper snack or a midnight stroll around the ship. 

“How do you sleep down here?” Din says with almost no expression from your place on the floor. 

You chuckle and snuggle into the child.

Tag list (I'm putting anyone who showed me love and interest in this story, tell me to fuck off and I'll remove you if you'd like) @glitterymanboy @pedrospookie @thereaperisabitch @furiousmushroom

I'll also add whoever wants me to add them!

<- Part 1 Masterlist Part 3 ->

[drysdalesworld]

work song

pairing: luke castellan x fem!nike!reader

genre: angsty, some fluff, & comfort

word count: 1.3k+

warning(s): mentions of violence, mentions of nightmares, mention of reader death in dreams, luke being sleep deprived, & kronos talking to luke

note: happy new year! here’s my new year gift for y’all <3 idk what’s up with me & always writing nike!reader fr. not set in the “the sun & it’s shadow” universe! but there are alludes to nike!reader. please ignore the many inaccuracies in this 🙏 not proofread!

Luke Castellan didn’t like going to bed.

Going to bed meant falling asleep and falling asleep meant he’d dream and dreaming meant he’d be met with images of death, revenge, destruction, and hope. He often saw the destruction of Camp Half-Blood the minute his head hit the pillow. Of Mount Olympus and the Gods. But, mostly of you.

Luke would hold your limp and cold body in his arms as he cried for you, jerking awake with gasps and tears. An aching feeling settling in his chest as he clawed at his rapidly beating heart, trying to calm himself down, gripping the sheets beneath him as he caught his breath. Nights like these always ended up with him dragging himself to cabin seventeen, crawling into your bed as you soundly slept, arms instinctively wrapping around the body of your beloved as if you knew he needed the comfort.

Those kinds of nightmares shook the Castellan boy to his core. He didn’t know why he dreamt of those kinds of things. Causing any kind of pain to you was something he’d never dream of doing, but yet his dreams were often full of it. You dying by his hand, blood staining his hands crimson.

Sleep didn’t come easy when he was alone. Haunted by the future images of destruction and loss. It was a never ending cycle that Luke Castellan could not escape. His only freedom from it was in your arms, which is a place where he found himself tonight.

Luke currently found himself sprawled across your nearly made bed, all four corners tucked tightly into the bedframe and stuffed animals piled onto the end of your bed. His calloused fingers lightly drummed against the soft material of your bed spread. He was always impatient when it came to waiting for you to return from your nightly gossip sessions in the Aphrodite cabin.

The familiar sound of cabin seventeens buzz began to quiet down as the night got later and everyone got settled for bed. Luke was the only one awake by the time every Nike child fell into a deep slumber, tossing a small stuffed teddy between his hands as he continued to wait, desperately trying to silence his racing thoughts.

It was always the same every night—lay awake, stare into the dark corner of the Hermes cabin, strain his ears for any strange sounds until he heard his voice, and try not to go mad.

He succeeded most nights. But on the nights where Luke’s strength and sanity wore thin, he crawled into the very space he’s occupying at the moment.

Luke.

The teddy bear fell limp against the boys chest as he halted his movements in tossing it.

Luke, I know you can hear me.

Eyes squeezed shut and muttering the same comforting story his Mother used to whisper to him as a child before slumber took him into their embrace.

You can fight it all you want, Luke. But we both know you’re already mine. You can’t stop fate.

The Hermes boy continued to mutter the bedtime story to himself, losing count of how many times he had to repeat it. His throat began to hurt.

It’s fate. All of it is fate. You’ll join me. She’ll die. The Gods will submit to our orders and grant you whatever you desire, Luke.

Luke’s eyes were closed so tightly that the rushing of blood in his ears began to hurt his head, tears spilling out from the corners and ran down the sides of his face.

No matter how hard you try, you’re not strong enough to save her.

“Shut. Up.” Luke whispered, hands going up to his hair, tugging the strands in frustration.

I thought you wanted this, Luke? Wanted the Gods to pay for their negligence and cruelty? To see them bow at your feet, begging for mercy?

“No,” he muttered. It’s not worth it if she dies. None of it is. He thought to himself.

Luke Castellan knew that the visions Kronos showed him in his sleep were exaggerations of what could happen. So when he started to see your death by his hands, he began to reconsider reaching out to Kronos and exact revenge on the Gods. He couldn’t live without you, as dramatic as it sounded. It was true.

The dark haired boy knew that the old Titan was going to answer, but the creaking of the cabin floors and the sound of your familiar pitter-patter is what broke the connection.

Luke bolted up, the stuffed teddy falling to the floor.

“Oh my Gods, Luke! You scared me. Why aren’t you in bed?” You whispered, hand over your chest as your heart rapidly beat against it from the unexpected fright.

Your boyfriend didn’t answer you. He instead stood up from your ruffled bedspread and gathered you into his arms, face digging into your neck as he held you tightly to his frame.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” You gently asked, hands wrapping around his shoulders as your hands wandered to his dark curls.

Luke’s silence is all you needed as you hummed out an acknowledgment, fingers gently rubbing circles into his scalp. He had told you of his particular struggles after he had battled back and forth with himself for days about the wrongness of it all. You were shocked he would ever do such a thing, but you understood. You understood what he was trying to achieve, begging him to not go through with it. Being intertwined with a Titan like Kronos could not garner positive results. Luke agreed to not go further, but Kronos still lingered and until the two of you could find a way to break that connection, he would continue to whisper horrendous things into Luke’s ear.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” You asked, softly pulling him away from your neck so you could get a good look at him.

He had dark circles under his eyes. His dark locks were tangled and wild. His cheeks looked sunken in a bit, a sign that he wasn’t eating or sleeping properly.

A frown etched itself onto your face, thumbs traveling to his cheeks to gently caress them. He leaned into your touch, Luke’s eyes bore into your own as the two of you stood there in complete silence and darkness.

“It’ll all be alright, okay? We’ll figure it out. We always do, Luke” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your boyfriends chin, narrowly missing his bottom lip.

Luke only meekly nodded, allowing you to guide the both of you to your bed, swiftly tugging at the tightly tucked sheets. Once the soft sheets were untucked, you crawled in first, laying yourself back first as you opened your arms for Luke to nestle himself in. And that he did.

You wrapped your arms around Luke as he brought the covers up to both of your chins, face tucked into your neck once again. He melted into your frame, body relaxing as the only thing he could hear was your heartbeat against his ear.

No words were further exchanged between the two of you. The only sound of crickets and the howling wind echoing throughout the cabin. You knew that this would be a topic for tomorrow and that the only thing that mattered in the moment was Luke getting some deserved sleep. You couldn’t fathom the kind of struggle he went through everyday and you only hoped that your presence at least eased it in some way.

Luke knew that this had to come to an end. He was tired of feeling this way and not getting a reprieve from the Titan. He needed to protect you from the influence of Kronos. No matter what it took.

Sleep finally consumed the both of you after minutes passed. You dreamt of archery and training with your siblings while Luke dreamt only of darkness and guilt.

[cheri-cheri]

Headcanon: Going for a pop culture convention

Hearing that a popular convention is taking place over the weekend, you decide to go...

With a height towering at 188cm, there's no fear of losing sight of Caleb in the event that the both of you get separated in the crowd

But that's an unnecessary concern because he never leaves your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as the both of you wade through the flood of humans

Having a sharp vision thanks to your respective jobs comes especially in handy when spotting merchandise from your favourite fandoms:

Caleb: Hey, isn't that Gavin from Mr Love Queen's Choice, the character you used to swoon over back in college? What's so good about him again? You: He's handsome, looks delicious in a uniform and is amazing at flying! Caleb: Oh? Sounds like you have a type 😉 

You’re aware that Caleb would be more than happy to pay for your purchases (and Sylus’ black card is still nestled comfortably in your wallet), but you’ve decided to exercise some discipline today and stick to your budget

After all, you've got a few surprise gifts in mind for Caleb's upcoming birthday and they aren't going to pay for themselves

Fortunately, Caleb is talented at playing devil's advocate in preventing you from overspending:

Caleb: Sunny Apple's gonna turn green if you get that banana plushie 😔 Caleb: Should I call the Hunter's Association to save you from the claws of capitalism? 🤔 Caleb: There won’t be room for me on the bed if you get that body pillow 🥺

You come across a few booths run by overseas artists who flew in from across oceans to showcase their art, and you snap a few photos for Rafayel

Rafayel replies almost instantly with, "Miss Bodyguard, why didn't you ask me to your bodyguard today? :<"

Unsurprisingly, Caleb is drawn to booths that sell model airplanes and meme stickers.

Caleb: I'm getting this one for Gideon. And this one kinda suits Zayne but I'm not sure if he appreciates meme culture... Guess we'll find out.

After visiting all the booths, the both of you take a water break in a corner of the convention hall which is pleasantly empty

As you do a stretch, you notice that the mini plush doll of Lumiere that you usually hang on your bag had fallen off at some point

Caleb offers to look for it, getting war flashbacks of the times you were an inconsolable mess whenever you misplaced your toys as a child and would rub your tears and snot on his shirt...

But you shrug, not wanting to dive back into the crowd now that the fatigue from walking and exercising self-restraint for hours is finally catching up to you:

You: I’ve already experienced losing the most important person in my life. Losing this keychain is nothing to grieve about in comparison. Caleb: ... You: Anyway, I hung it on my bag as an inside joke with a colleague who gets riled up whenever he sees Lumiere merch, so it's not a big deal. Caleb: Hm? You've never mentioned such a colleague. Who is he? You: ...

Before leaving the venue, you cast a final glance around for any cosplayers from fandoms you recognise. Caleb's glare ensures that male cosplayers maintain a respectable distance from you

After such a fulfilling day out, the both of you return home with hearts feeling fuller and wallets feeling a little lighter

( ´ ꒳ ` ) Thanks for reading! It's been years since I last wrote a headcanon so I'm now packing my brain cells up and sending them off for a massage...

❀ Masterlist

[heartsiebyul]

Riddle Rosehearts x Male Reader (Angst, One-shot)

Even If It Hurts

He had finally said yes.

After all the late-night study sessions, the shy glances, the awkward silences where words trembled on your lips but never quite made it out—Riddle had finally accepted your confession.

You remembered how he looked that day.

Flushed cheeks, trembling hands, eyes like fragile glass as he whispered, “I’ve thought about it, and... I’d like to try. With you. (m/n)”

It wasn’t perfect, but it was everything.

The days that followed were soft and beautiful, filled with hesitant hand-holding, stolen kisses behind hedges, and the warmth of knowing Riddle was slowly letting you in. He laughed more. Smiled more. The rigidity in his spine loosened when you were near, like your presence helped him breathe.

You were happy.

Until she found out.

Lady Rosehearts stormed into Night Raven like a hurricane cloaked in velvet. She didn’t scream. No, she didn’t need to. Her words were like scalpels—sharp, cold, merciless.

“You’ve tainted my son. Corrupted him.”

“You think this is love? This is perversion.”

“You will stay away from my child. He will not be warped by your delusions.”

You stood frozen as Riddle tried to step in. He trembled, red in the face—not with his usual fury, but from something deeper. Helplessness. Fear. Shame?

“Mother, stop—! He’s not like that, I—!”

She didn’t listen. She pulled him away, fingers digging into his arm like shackles.

He looked back at you one last time.

And then he was gone.

Weeks passed.

Your world faded to grey.

You still looked at your phone, wondering if today would be the day his name popped up again. But it never did.

Your friends did what they could. Trey baked your favorite pastries. Cater distracted you with photos and jokes. Even Ace and Deuce tried to cheer you up in their awkward, clumsy way.

But nothing filled the void Riddle left behind.

And then—he returned.

You rushed to him the moment you saw him in the courtyard. His uniform perfectly pressed, posture just as poised—but there was something off. Like the Riddle in front of you wasn’t the one you fell in love with.

“Riddle,” you whispered, reaching for his hand.

He flinched back. Avoided your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“…(m/n) I think we should break up.”

The words hit you like a blade straight through your chest.

“W-What? Riddle, no—please, talk to me. What did she say? You don’t have to—”

“It’s not her,” he interrupted flatly. “It’s me. I can’t do this. I don’t want this anymore.”

He walked away.

And this time, he didn’t look back.

You tried to reach him. Letters and messages, just hoping to catch him alone.

But he avoided you like a ghost.

You stood in the crowd during graduation, holding the small gift you never got to give him. A congratulatory charm with tiny roses, handmade with trembling fingers and memories stitched into each knot.

That’s when you saw her.

A girl with her arm looped around Riddle’s. Laughing. Blushing.

And Riddle…

He was smiling.

Not the nervous, hesitant smile he gave you.

But one so bright, so effortless, it crushed you.

You left.

You didn’t say goodbye.

Years Later

The café was quiet that afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, warming the wooden counters and casting golden halos over the chairs. Your dream café. Successful, cozy, everything you’d worked for.

But your heart?

Still stuck in the past.

Then the doorbell chimed.

And there he was.

Riddle Rosehearts.

Hair a little longer, clothes more casual. Still refined, still heartbreakingly beautiful.

You stood there, mouth open slightly, heart trying to claw out of your chest.

“…Hi,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded, breath shaky. “Yeah… yeah, it has.”

You talked. Caught up. You laughed. Genuinely, even.

And then—

He pulled an envelope from his coat.

“I’m getting married next month,” he said, voice gentle. “I wanted to… personally invite you.”

The envelope slipped from his hand onto the counter.

And just like that, everything inside you shattered again.

But you smiled.

Because you always smiled around him.

“Congratulations,” you said. “I’m happy for you.”

The Wedding Day

You sat in the back row. Alone.

Riddle stood beneath the flower-draped altar, radiating joy.

You couldn’t stay.

You slipped out quietly, hoping no one noticed.

But Cater did.

He found you leaning against the courtyard wall, eyes glazed with tears.

“It’s been so long,” he whispered. “Yet you still love him, don’t you?”

You nodded, tears spilling.

“I can’t help it,” you said, voice broken. “I love him.”

A pause.

“I wasn’t able to move on. Maybe I just needed a push… and there it is. Riddle’s getting married.”

You laughed weakly, the sound bitter in your throat.

“I finally got my sign.”

You turned to Cater, offering one last smile.

“Please… send my regards to Riddle.”

“…Where will you go?”

You inhaled deeply.

“I want to expand the café. There’s a place by the coast. I always dreamed of setting up there, but I never had the will to leave this town.”

You looked out at the horizon.

“But now… I think I can finally go."

Cater pulled you into a hug, arms tight around your back.

“You deserve to be happy, you know?”

“I know,” you whispered. “But even if I’m not… at least I’m free.”

my first one-shot! (and yep, it’s angst lol). If you have any one-shot requests, I’d love to hear them!

[luverine]

Orc (Leif) Blacksmith x fem! Hunter! Reader /P.2

// Tw: Dead animal, fighting, and blood // MDNI // sfw // part 1

Leif spent many days trying to win your heart. He crafted hunting knives, forged metal arrowheads, and gifted you anything his hands could make. Yet, every offering met only with your firm glare. Each rejection tore at his heart, leaving it heavy and shredded, but he kept trying.

Every night, Leif shed silent tears for you, yearning for nothing more than your embrace. For months, he faced this struggle, his hope flickering yet alive. All it took was one moment for everything to change.

A piercing scream echoed from the edge of the forest near his home. His heart seized as he recognized your voice, raw with terror. Leif bolted from his doorway, dread pounding in his chest as he tore through the trees.

A massive bear loomed over you, its fang-like teeth locked onto your cloak hood, pulling you forward as you fought it off, desperately stabbing with the knife he’d gifted you. Fear evaporated as he rushed toward you. With all his strength, he shoved the bear by the snout, punching it hard across the muzzle. The beast reared back but struck out with its claws, raking his arm in return.

While the bear was distracted by the looming giant, you took your chance, drawing your bow and hitting an arrow straight into its ribs. The beast staggered, collapsing with a final, shuddering huff.

Panting, you turned to find Leif standing there, wide-eyed, his chest heaving. “You saved me.” The words left you almost in disbelief. He gave you a gentle smile, nodding.

“I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he murmured, voice trembling as his bronze eyes, filled with tears, locked onto yours.

“You're hurt-” Worry cast over his gaze as he saw the cuts on your arms and blood splattered across your face.

You shook your head, wiping the blood on your face. “Leif, you’re hurt too. Let’s get you fixed up, huh?” You winked, breathing easier now, and reached for his hand.

As he took it, a hint of a smile softened his face. You bowed low before him, with your bow held across your chest- a sacred gesture in your family, one of deep respect. His tusks glinted in the moonlight as you tugged gently on one, an orcish sign of affection.

“Come on, let’s get you home… friend.”

…

“I’ll be back for your hide, you wretched beasts,” you mutter, casting one last glance at the fallen creature sprawled at the floor of the forest.

A/N: Likes, comment, reblogs appreciated ~ Part 3 • Part 4

@slightly-knot-reblogs ‹𝟹

[angelicyoongie]

The Obsidian Pearl (II)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 8.1k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence, explicit sexual content! dub-con touching/oral sex (f. receiving) - the smut is marked with * if you want to skip it — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

It's almost night when the siren, Seokjin, visits you again.

Enough time has passed for the air to turn chilly, carrying small gusts of wind that pass right through your clothes. The sunshine that warmed you only hours ago feels like it might never return, not when your surroundings are so terribly dark. You can feel the chill deep in your bones, fear nipping at your skin, clinging to you like frost on a dark winter night. 

You're huddled as deep in the cave as you can go, hugging your knees to your chest. You're exhausted, eyes as dry as sand, but you know you can't rest. Call it instinct after being on the sea for so many years – of constantly being trapped on a vessel with people who might turn on you at any second – you tend to develop a hunch of when bad things are going to happen. 

You can feel it in your body now, the low buzz that keeps you alert, reminding you that you are not safe no matter how tired you may be. 

The reason for it comes only a few minutes later, a terrible scraping sound reverberating through the silence as something heavy is pushed up on the ledge of the stone dock. You free your stiff limbs, wincing as you whip around to face the source of it. It looks to be some sort of chest, the short distance and the faint moonlight not doing much for your vision. 

As the item is pushed forward with another forceful shove, your heart jumps to your throat. You've seen this chest before –  the iron insignia on the top is all too familiar to you. It belongs, no, belonged, to your captain. You don't dare to move closer though, not when there's only one creature who could've brought it to you. 

Seokjin emerges from the water just seconds later, heaving himself up on the rock. He looks like something out of your worst nightmare, long hair covering his face as he claws his way forward. The shadows make him look all the more terrifying, the dark night blending together with his tail and hair like the perfect camouflage. If it wasn't for his strikingly pale skin, you never would've been able to make him out at all. 

He settles back against the same rock as he did before, parting his hair to expose his face. Shivers run down your spine as Seokjin's black eyes find yours through the darkness. They strike just as much fear into you as they did last night, this morning, the emptiness just another reminder of how unearthly he really is. 

It was foolish perhaps, but you had found yourself hoping that Seokjin had forgotten about you. That he had come across another ship to terrorize and another human to keep for his little experiments. You wouldn't have minded rotting away in the cave alone if it meant you never had to look upon him again. 

The siren clicks his tongue. "I bring you a gift and you dare to look disappointed? This won't do. Come closer, little human." 

You don't move, self-preservation rooting you to the ground. 

"You humans freeze to death if you get too cold, do you not? Your skin is quite thin, fragile." Seokjin delivers his point by parting his mouth more than necessary, those horrible teeth coming to view behind his plush lips. "Your brain might be too small to remember but the water I dragged you out of was ice cold, pet. The air will only grow colder the longer you wait."  

Seokjin doesn't have to use his thrall to make you understand that you have no choice in the matter. If you don't come forward willingly, he'll will either drag you there himself or let the elements do you in. The part of your brain that fears the unknown more than the creature in front of you, urges you to move.

You don't even have it in you to feel humiliated as you crawl forward, terror and cold stiff limbs making it impossible to walk. Seokjin's stare hangs over you like a heavy cloud, slowing you down even further. 

He's close, way too close, as you kneel in front of the chest. You would be able to touch his stomach, feel where his skin transforms into scales if you just stretch your arm out.

Seokjin huffs as you linger, the sound making you jump as he impatiently says, "Go on." 

You reach for the iron key that's miraculously still in the lock, your busted shoulder aching with pain as you have to twist it with more force than usual. A small stream of water is forced out, running down the side of the chest as you slowly open the lid with shaking hands. You've never held much gratitude for your captain, but for once, you can't be more thankful for his arrogance. He always left the key in the lock and never worried about a greedy crew, because, as he would always say; who in their right mind would dare to steal from a Captain? 

You release a shuddering breath as you push it open, the iron hinges voicing their displeasure with a long squeak as the contents are revealed to you. The fur-lined coat your captain bought in the East lays on top of an array of shirts and pants, the fabric hardly even damp as you pick it up. You had assumed everything to be drenched, but it seems the carpenter your captain had been boasting about was the real deal after all. 

You pull the coat into your lap, warmth immediately swaddling your legs. 

A gift, Seokjin had called it, but you doubt the siren is simply that generous. 

"How did you get this?" You quietly ask, voice trembling.

You know the stories of how the ships make it out unscathed, of how it's only the crews that go missing. But unless Seokjin can sprout legs, there's no way he was able to grab it on his own. The siren has a tail and a heavy one at that. As unearthly as he is, you doubt he's strong enough to drag himself all the way up the ship and into your captain's quarters. Never mind that he would do all of that for a chest he didn't even know existed. 

"I sank the ship," Seokjin sounds like he's rolling his eyes, although you're not too sure he's even capable of doing so. "It took you too long to wake from your slumber and I was bored. I have not explored a wooden vessel in many moons and this chest looked interesting. I was foolishly hoping for treasure, not silly human clothes." 

The siren smacks his tail against the water, irritated. 

Even though the chances of getting out of here were slim, you were holding out hope that if you only got to the other side of the mountain, you might be able to use the ship to get away. It would be near impossible to do with only one person and not the whole crew it actually needs, but when something as ludicrous as a siren exists, manning one ship by yourself doesn't sound all that far-fetched in comparison. 

You release a shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that gather. With that escape route gone, the ship now resting on the bottom of the sea with the remains of your crewmates, you are truly helpless. 

Trapped. 

You hope the darkness hides the way your face crumples. Lip wobbling, you try to focus on the chest in front of you, not wanting to give into panic with Seokjin so close. You have to save the freakout and the despair for when you're alone. It wouldn't surprise you if the siren can smell your fear. 

Leaning forward, you notice what looks like a thick scarf, the material soft enough that it might serve as a decent pillow. You're not sure if Seokjin is planning on leaving the chest or taking it with him, so this might be your only chance at grabbing items you'll need to survive. 

Just as your fingers close around the scarf, picking it up, you feel something sharp poke into your cheek. 

Your whole body goes rigid at the touch, your muscles locking up as you realize that one of Seokjin's claws is currently digging into your skin. You hold your breath as he slowly trails it down your throat, the sharp nail leaving a sting in its wake. You don't have to touch it to know that it's a deep scratch, blood rushing to the surface to clot the damage. 

"Look at me." 

You don't. You can't. You don't want to know what will happen when you do. 

"Look at me," Seokjin repeats, more force in his voice. 

It makes something in the back of your mind tickle.

You clutch the coat in your lap tighter, focusing on the soft fur between your fingers as the siren's voice grows in annoyance.

You're not sure how many times he repeats his command but between one blink and the next, you suddenly find yourself staring right at him. Your mind feels hazy like it's been stuffed with cotton and shaken around, turning everything upside down.

The hard set of Seokjin's mouth disappears as you finally meet his gaze. The siren hums under his breath as he moves his hand to your face, cupping your jaw. It's like being a spectator in your own body, your eyes refusing to waver no matter how much you want them to. You can feel the ghost of his claws on your skin, not quite digging in but present enough that you know it's a threat. That he can mess you up beyond repair if he feels like it. 

Seokjin leans in, watching you curiously as your throat bobs, lips struggling to part. 

Your tongue feels like lead, awkward and too heavy, but you use all of your willpower to open your mouth, slurring as you ask, "What did you do?" 

Seokjin breaks into a grin, a forked tongue peeking out to lick his terrible teeth. You can feel his breath wash over your face as he speaks, the stench of decay and death making your stomach roll. "You're quite the strong one, pet, I'm glad I brought you here. I think you'll prove to be very entertaining."

The siren gives you one last look, his cold fingers leaving your face as he leans back. You feel some of the thrall leave you as Seokjin turns and slowly sinks back down into the dark water, the small distance making it a little easier to think. You still can't look away from him, eyes tracking his movements even as he submerges himself completely under the surface. He's only gone for a moment before he returns, one of his pale hands coming into view above the water just before something wet splatters at your feet.

"Eat." 

Seokjin doesn't wait for an answer. The thrall snaps the moment he's gone, his strong fin carrying him away in seconds. 

You gasp, hand shooting up to feel your throat. The scratch he left behind aches and your head is beginning to throb from whatever he did to it. You tear your eyes away from the lake, glancing down at the thing that Seokjin left you with. 

The moment you manage to make out what it is, you flinch back, jerking your body away from the mangled fish at your feet. The blood pooling beneath it has already soaked the hem of your trousers, staining it dark. 

The sight disgusts you but you can't ignore the hunger gnawing at your stomach. The water in the lake felt fresh enough to drink, but it's been almost two days without any food and you're starving.

There's not a bone in your body that trusts Seokjin but you can't turn away a free meal. You have no guarantee that he'll bring you something again and you'll have no chance of escaping if you're too weak to move. 

You poke at the fish, shuddering as its half-torn body twitches. 

If only you still had your knife. At least then one of you could be shown some mercy.

You wake with a gasp, chest heaving with panicked breaths as the fog lifts. It's like someone snaps their finger right next to your ear, violently jerking you out of a slumber you weren't even aware you had fallen into. Your awareness always comes back to your first, keeping your mind awake and trapped while the rest of your body slowly shakes off the thrall you've been under.

You're near the edge of the dock again, kneeling in front of Seokjin. The siren has his head tucked against your neck, his long tongue dragging over your skin, licking off the sweat that rolls down your throat. Every part of you feels sticky and damp, the top of your head burning from the blazing sun. You have no way of knowing how long you've been sitting here but judging by the way your brain is practically mush from the prolonged exposure, it must've been a while. 

You shudder at the next flick of his tongue, nausea swirling in your stomach. The days have been passing much in the same manner, every new turn of the moon leading you closer and closer to Seokjin. This isn't the first time you've felt his cold skin against yours, you've woken up to your hands and face being touched many times, but it's never been this intimate before. Never this dangerous, with his sharp teeth so close to your delicate skin. 

Seokjin pauses, his tongue pulling away from your skin as he muses, "That lasted shorter than expected, little human."  

There's no emotion in the siren's voice, nothing that gives you an indication of whether he's happy or angry. He's simply just... observing. Treating you like the experiment he's decided you are. The siren seems fascinated with your ability to somewhat resist his thrall and he has made it his mission to test out how well your resilience works. That seems to be the only reason he's keeping you here.

You can't quite tell how long he's been at it, though. Time feels wonky when you don't know how much of it has passed. The only thing you can be certain of is that it's already been well over a week, maybe even two since Seokjin trapped you here. 

"Please stop," You whimper, voice shaking as you feel his hot breath against your throat, teeth skimming lightly over your skin. 

To your surprise, Seokjin listens. The siren pulls back, the corner of his lip curled into a displeased snarl. He looks nothing short of irked that his fun was cut short, a series of clicking noises gurgling in his throat as he gives your shoulder a shove, breaking the last of his thrall. 

You scramble backward the second your limbs feel like they're once again attached to your body, dragging yourself into the safety and shade of the cave. Nothing is stopping Seokjin from following after you, he's strong enough to pull himself into your makeshift shelter, but he seems content to stay on the edge of the stone dock - always resting against the same flat rock. 

You sprawl out on the ground, panting from the heat. The cool stone seeps slowly through your clothes, bringing your temperature down to something that feels less like you're boiling alive in your own skin. But even as the heat begins to recede, you still feel terrible. The thrall always leaves you nauseous and the shock of snapping out of it in such close proximity to a dangerous predator doesn't exactly help. You're constantly on edge, heart locked in such a rapid beat that you're worried it's shaving years off your life. 

Biting back a groan, you sit up, using your captain's chest for support. It wasn't easy moving it into the cave, not with a shoulder that ached with every push. The fear that Seokjin might take it back if you left it was the only thing that kept you going, the clothes inside were far too precious for you to take that risk. 

The siren hasn't mentioned the chest since the night he left it but it's impossible to tell if your actions bothered him. He's too good at masking his emotions, his face a blank canvas. Some nights, you do admit that you wonder if he even has them – if he can feel the same things that you do.

You're not quite sure which answer scares you the most. 

One thing you do know though, is that you need to learn more about him. You're not one to be a sitting duck and this is driving you insane. Seokjin must have some weakness, something you can use against him or that might aid you in your escape. Perhaps he hibernates in the colder months or he needs to swim for a set amount of hours for his body to function. You refuse to believe he's invincible.

"So," You swallow thickly as Seokjin turns his lifeless eyes to you, "You mentioned that you have brothers?" 

Your voice is barely audible enough to carry over to Seokjin but it sounds much too loud within the walls of the cave. You ball your hands in your lap, hoping your expression doesn't show just how terrified you are of willingly calling upon his attention. 

"Indeed, pet." 

"How many do you have?"

The siren raises one hand to the sky, inspecting his sharp claws. "Enough." 

He obviously doesn't want to answer that topic – move on.

"Y-you said something about a sea witch. How did you find them?" 

"Now why would you want to find a sea witch, little human? Unless you want to get turned into a fish, they are of no use to you." 

"Right, o-of course," You exhale, biting back the urge to throw some colourful language his way.

You try a few more, but there are only so many meaningless questions you can ask before you give up, tired of the aloof answers you get in return. It's like he knows exactly what you're trying to do. Considering Seokjin isn't willing to disclose any type of information, even knowledge that is worthless to you, it's pretty clear that you can't bait him into revealing anything useful. 

He's too smart. 

Seokjin stretches his arms above his head, showing off his lean muscles as his back pops. The crunches sound terribly loud, like he's trying to crack open every vertebra in his spine. 

He lets out a satisfied sound, head tipped back to soak up the sun as he says, "Now that I have answered all of your questions, little human, you should give me something in return. Tell me something interesting about yourself, pet, something that you deem worthy of a meal. It is horribly tiresome to fetch your food at the time." 

You suppose it was absurd to think that the siren would continue to feed you without demanding something in return. Perhaps he's already starting to tire of his little experiments.

You pick at your nails, the splintered edges uncomfortable and raw. 

There's only one story a creature like him will find interesting – one you swore you would never tell anyone that wasn't there to witness it when it happened. But, as twisted as it is, the siren might be the only one who won't judge you. 

The faded scar on your throat burns as you swallow, the phantom pain of a knife digging into your skin flaring up as you say, "I killed someone." 

Glancing up, you find Seokjin staring straight at you, his dark eyes glittering under the sun. His tail does a small wiggle, fin smacking the water in what you can only assume to be intrigue. 

"Tell me more, pet." 

"He was sick," Your hand flies to cover your mouth as your lips move without your permission. You didn't even feel the thrall this time, no push or tug to indicate that Seokjin was in your head. There's only a small tickle at the back of your brain, like you need to scratch your scalp.

Seokjin has never used the thrall on you twice in one day before now. It must be that you're already tired from earlier that he can affect you so easily, that he can slither his way back in without you even noticing he's trying.

Seokjin grins, lips stretched into a terrible smile as he says, "Go on." 

"W-we had been out on the sea for many months, five full moons, and we still had a few to go before we would reach the nearest port," You say, taking a measured breath.

"One of our cooks starting acting strangely – he was suddenly anxious and angry, exploding at any minor inconvenience. He started picking fights with the crew, causing too much tension. It was cabin fever, we all had it, but for him, it was worse. It made him sick." 

You let your hands fall to your side, fingers uselessly grasping for the knife that isn't there anymore. 

"He attacked one of the cabin boys in the kitchen, sliced two of his fingers clean off as he delivered him a freshly caught fish. He followed the poor lad up on deck when he ran, waving his knife around and screaming at anyone that tried to calm him down. The sea... she can be brutal, too big. Staring at the same unchanging horizon every day had chipped away at his sanity, left him with nothing but fear and anger at being trapped by the same water day in and day out." 

Seokjin says nothing, his black eyes staring you down as he waits for you to continue. 

"He tackled me to the ground before I even knew what was going on. When I looked him in the eyes, I knew he wasn't there anymore. There was no recognition, no emotion. Just survival. He managed to give me this while I was trying to fight him off," You lightly touch the scar on your neck, tracing it from the bottom of your jaw down to your collarbone.

"The others couldn't pull him away either, he was like a beast. I am, was, vice-captain of the ship. It was my duty to protect my crew. I couldn't let him hurt anyone else," Your voice falters as you stare at the monster in front of you, at the creature you couldn't protect your crew from. The cook was a weak mouse in comparison. 

"So, I... I killed him. He wouldn't have made it even if we had locked him up, he was simply too far gone. It was more merciful to let him die." 

The siren is silent for a beat, his eyes roaming over your face before he tips his head forward and laughs. At least, that's what you think he does, the series of weird clicking noises that gurgle in his throat sounding oddly joyful despite how grating the sound is. 

"You truly are fascinating, pet. I made a good choice letting you live." 

The hand by your hip clenches, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wish you still had your knife, that you had something you could drive into Seokjin's throat to hear him choke on his last breaths. You weren't expecting sympathy, but you also didn't think he would find your story entertaining – funny, even. He truly is terrible.

You say nothing in return, your anger making it hard to think; to feel anything but the hatred stirring in your heart.

Seokjin, seemingly pleased with what he heard and not at all bothered by your silence, does what he always does and leaves the moment he gets what he wants.

You stare at the empty spot he left, the wet imprint of his long body the only thing left behind. 

You're not sure how long you sit there, caught up in old memories and emotions you've tried to ignore for so long, but the sun has started its descent by the time the siren makes his presence known again. 

This time, you watch as Seokjin leaves you not one, but five fish, all half mangled and twitching as the life drains out of them. He flings a few pieces of driftwood up on the dock, staring at your curled-up form for a minute before he swims away. 

It's only when your stomach starts to rumble that you force yourself to rise to your feet, walking slowly over to the haul the siren brought you. The wood is wet and soggy, but a few days out in the sun should hopefully dry it enough that it might be used to start a fire. 

You let out a humorless chuckle as you drag your hands across your face. You truly are little more than a mutt, waiting for your master to reward you when you do something he finds amusing. How embarrassing. How weak. 

No matter how rabid you feel, you know that biting the hand that feeds you will do you no good here. If you want to survive, to live, perhaps it's time to roll over and accept your fate. 

You're not sure if you're getting better at resisting the thrall or if Seokjin just isn't bothering to use it at full force anymore, but you no longer blackout when he comes to visit you. It feels like you're in a dream, vision spotty as you watch yourself move forward on unsteady feet, falling right into Seokjin's waiting arms. The siren holds you close to his chest, arms squeezing you so hard the pain registers even through the haze. 

Weeks have passed since the day you told Seokjin your story, since you slowly began to surrender to your situation. The siren still follows the same routine but he seems to have sensed your compliance – your defeat. Your mind is still blocked off, barred from taking control of your body, but now you're able to feel everything that was only a dull memory before. Perhaps the darkness, the blissful ignorance, was a small mercy compared to this. 

Seokjin lets out a guttural sound as he pushes his face into your neck, his sharp claws slicing through your shirt. His tongue drags over your skin with a desperation you haven't felt before, teeth nicking your skin.

As terrible as it is, you've grown used to Seokjin's touches, his presence. On lonely nights, you find that you almost wish to see him, just so that you don't have to face the darkness all alone.

You have come to know what to expect from Seokjin but this is new, dangerous, a far cry from the stoic and in-control creature you've been around for the past months.

The siren's hold on you is crushing, your bones aching under the strong pressure. He skims his nose along your skin, huffing as he breathes in your scent. There's a pause, a stretch of heavy silence, and then blinding pain as sharp teeth sink into your already injured shoulder.

Your vision whites out, ears ringing as the thrall suddenly snaps and everything comes rushing in at once. Your shoulder is spasming, muscles jerking with agony as Seokjin digs his teeth in deeper, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as he draws blood. 

It hurts. Gods, it hurts.

A wounded scream rips from your throat as you attempt to claw at his face, desperate to get his teeth out of your shoulder. Seokjin growls as you deliver a deep scratch on his cheek, pulling back just a smidge to create the sound. Seeing an opening, you tangle your hand in his long hair, jerking it back with all your might. You're lucky Seokjin doesn't tear a chunk of your shoulder out as his head snaps back, surprise making his tight grip around you lessen. It's just enough for you to fight your way out of his embrace, body shaking with fear and adrenaline as you roll onto the stone. 

Grabbing your shoulder, you try to scoot backward on the slick ground, your own blood making it hard to get enough friction.

Your legs falter as Seokjin turns in your direction, the siren looking like he crawled right out of hell. His expression is crazed, hungry, blood dripping from his unhinged jaw. You can see straight down his throat from how open his mouth is, his stained teeth and black eyes creating the perfect picture of a demon. 

Seokjin hisses as you attempt to move, a horrible sound that makes every strand of hair on your body stand straight. He digs his claws into the rock in front of him, using his strong arms to drag himself forward. 

"Come here, pet," Seokjin gurgles, his voice hardly even human.

"No no, please don't," You whimper, a newfound urgency propelling you back.

Something in the siren's expression flickers at your broken pleading, like he can't decide if his hunger or entertainment is more important. The confusion, the small sliver of hope it gives you, only lasts for a few seconds before he shakes himself out of it, Seokjin's clawed hand reaching out for your ankle. 

Just as he's about to wrap his hand around your foot, your feeble kicks doing little to deter him, you both hear the distant sound of people. 

It must be another crew daring to brave the mountains, their rambunctious singing and laughter so terribly out of place. They're either obvious to the stories haunting the pass or trying to compensate for the oppressive silence they no doubt felt the moment the ship entered it. Your heart flutters with longing at the sound of humans singing and laughing, your chest constricting with a yearning you thought died weeks ago. They sound happy and lively – everything the siren is not. 

You watch as the same realization hits Seokjin, as he registers the sound of food entering his territory. The siren's jaw pops back to normal as he licks his lips, his empty eyes flickering up to the darkening sun as he says, "The ocean appears to be smiling kindly on you tonight, little human." 

Frozen to the spot, you feel your heart drop to your stomach as the siren twists around and dives back into the water with an urgency you haven't seen from him before.

The moment he's out of sight you let out an ugly sob, hope draining out of you alongside the blood that runs down your arm. You tear at the sliced fabric that's barely holding on to your body, wrapping it around your wound with shaking fingers. It's a poor excuse for a bandage, the material soaked through in seconds, but you still tighten it as much as you can, hoping it'll be enough to stop the bleeding. Only left with your undershirt, you can feel the shivers begin to set in, your adrenaline crashing. 

You had given up hope on being rescued a long time ago but to have it this close, just on the other side of the mountain, is torture. You can't even alert the unsuspecting crew of what's coming, of the deadly creature that's lurking below their ship. 

Scream, scare them off.

Just as the futile thought strikes you, you hear it – him. The gentle hums that cause a hush to fall over the ship.

You cover your ears, not wanting to hear what comes next. You don't know if Seokjin's thrall can still affect you here but you'd rather not take the chance and risk waking up at the bottom of the lake. Closing your eyes, you try to pretend that none of this is real, that all of this is just a terrible, terrible dream.

You let out a weak sob as the first scream pierces the air. Their terrified yells echo between the mountains as they're forced to jump one by one, their final moments brutal and panicked. There's no gentleness in Seokjin's song this time, only urgency as he compels them to their deaths. 

He was starving.

For some unfathomable reason, the siren must have been starving himself to the point of breaking, trying to withhold from killing you. It all adds up to why he was acting so out of character over the past few days, his behavior more erratic than normal. He had been trying to fight off the urge to eat you. 

If the ship hadn't arrived when it did, if it had only been one second too late, you would've been dead by now. 

You curl up into a small ball, body cold and numb to the pain as your shield your ears, wrapping your arms securely around your head. "Thank you," You whisper to the faint moon, guilt twisting your stomach into knots. 

Tears drip down your face as the screams continue to reverberate into the night, choked apologies passing through your lips until you feel them going slack. You don't fight the darkness that pulls you under, your soul begging for rest, for a place the screams of Seokjin's massacre can't reach you. 

You jolt as a cold hand wraps around your shin. 

Eyes flying open, you manage to push yourself up on your elbows before your shoulder gives out, the movement sending a sharp pain all the way down to your fingers. You grit your teeth, breathing through your nose to steady yourself as you glance up at Seokjin.

The siren wraps his hand tighter around your leg, using it for leverage as he drags himself up on the rock. You were close to the mouth of the cave when you passed out but now you're almost at the edge of the dock, feet only a few steps away from the still water below. Seokjin's thrall must've been too strong, urging you to come closer even when you were unconscious. 

Perhaps you have truly lost your mind or maybe the night is playing tricks on you, but for once, there's actual emotion on Seokjin's face. The siren grins, his black eyes ablaze with something as he pushes forward. He tugs your legs apart, fitting his body between them. His hands rest on either side of your ribcage, his face so close that you can practically taste the stench of death that washes over your lips with every breath. The water cascading from his skin makes you shiver as it hits your own, the droplets soaking through your undershirt in seconds. 

"Pet," Seokjin purrs, inching his face closer.

You hold your breath, limbs frozen with fear, as the small distance between you disappears. 

You can only watch and you're horrified to find that the first thought that strikes you is how mesmerizing the siren looks. The moon shines brightly behind him, giving the scales climbing up his stomach and the small patches on his arms an iridescent shine. It's no wonder sirens have been described as beautiful creatures, not with how Seokjin's pale skin is illuminated, practically glowing, under the night sky.

You see his head tilt down, his dark eyes roaming over your bandaged shoulder. The wound only seems to ache more under the pressure of his gaze.

"Good work, little human," Seokjin comments, pleased, "You patched yourself up just to stay with me longer. I am not cruel, I will reward you for this." 

What a good dog you are, licking your wounds for your master just so that he can tear them open again.

Your legs twitch on each side of Seokjin's body, resisting the urge to kick at his tail. Angering him will do you no good and you're ashamed to admit that the spark of excitement in his features leaves you curious – makes you want to know just what a siren considers a reward. 

Seokjin ducks his head lower, pressing his nose right against your throat. The sharp bite you're expecting never comes – instead, there's only the soft press of his lips roaming over your skin, hurried kisses scattered across your neck. He lowers himself to get more access, nudging your head back as he settles more of his weight on your body. It leaves your hips completely immobile, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to keep yourself raised off the ground. 

You hold your breath, scared to move as much as a muscle. 

The siren's tongue flicks out to taste your skin with every kiss, leaving a trail of saliva covering your neck. The cold air only heightens the contrast between his warm lips and the slick skin he leaves behind. You're caught off guard when he suddenly attaches his lips to the underside of your jaw and sucks, pulling the sensitive skin there between his lips.

You let out a startled gasp at the sensation, small shudders traveling down your spine as your reaction only seems to spur Seokjin on, the siren quickly finding more spots to mark up. 

Your whimper, surprised, as he uses a claw to slice through the bottom of your undershirt, exposing your waist and stomach. His cold hand finds the exposed area immediately, rubbing and squeezing at your skin as he drags his hand up and down your waist. He somehow manages to keep his claws off your skin, only digging them in faintly whenever you grow too quiet. He seems to enjoy the involuntary sounds you make, his actions only growing more and more frenzied as he tries to pull more of them from you. 

"Touch me," Seokjin growls against your throat, his voice half strangled as he pushes you down to lie flat on the ground.

Mindful of your aching shoulder, you raise a tentative, shaking hand up towards his arm, grasping his toned bicep. You can feel the power thrumming under his skin, how strong he is from that simple touch alone.

Seokjin is quiet as you slowly glide your fingers up his arm and over his shoulder, feeling how the texture keeps switching between soft skin and hard scales whenever you encounter a small gathering of them. It's a curious feeling, one your brain struggles to fully comprehend.

You continue your touch down his back, careful to steer clear of the fin that protrudes along his spine. He lets out a harsh breath, low clicks gurgling in his throat as you let your hand fall away, not daring to go further than his waist.

You glance up as he pulls back, breath stuttering in your chest as you take in how wild he looks. Seokjin's expression is hungry, but it's nothing like the empty, ravenous stare you saw before he tried to take a chunk out of your shoulder. No, this one is pure desire – lust. 

Your stomach flips with disgust as you realize that the hunt, that killing that innocent crew, actually turned him on. 

Seokjin pushes himself back, emerging his lower body in the lake before he wraps his arms around your knees and pulls. You slide across the rock, thighs meeting Seokjin's torso as your legs fall over the edge of the dock, the water hitting just above your ankles. 

You cry out from the harsh yank, pain flaring up in your shoulder as the still-open wounds are dragged across the uneven surface. The bandage does little to lessen the burn of it, your vision growing spotty as you struggle to breathe. 

"You humans are so weak," Seokjin scoffs, his voice swimming in your ears. *

The siren tugs at your trousers, annoyed at how the fabric doesn't budge. He uses his claws, meeting no resistance as he slices right through them the moment it takes a little too long to get them off.

You jerk as Seokjin settles his hands on your exposed thighs, mapping out your skin.

Your vision begins to clear as you get your breathing under control, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you register just what the siren is looking at. Seokjin's torso is blocking you from closing your legs, exposing everything to him. 

His dark eyes never waver from your cunt, in fact, you're not so sure he even blinks as he watches you squirm. 

"Be still, pet," Seokjin says, the points of his claws pricking into your delicate flesh to get his warning across. He squeezes your thighs, his forked tongue swiping across his lips, "I was right. Your thighs do look delectable." 

Horrified, you feel your hole pulse with arousal at Seokjin's words, wetness slicking up your folds. 

The siren makes a curious sound at the sight, one hand drifting closer to your cunt as he lowers his head. You tense up, muscles locked tight, as Seokjin runs his finger over your clit. A choked moan makes it past your lips as he begins to rub at it, eyes bright as he lightly pinches your nub.

Receiving pleasure from the creature that has trapped and hurt you is the last thing that you want, but it's been so long since you've been intimate with someone like this. Your body gives in easier than your mind, eager to feel any touch as long as it'll make you feel good.

It's a reward, just take it. Who knows if you'll ever get to feel like this again.

"You're so wet, little human," Seokjin comments as he drags a finger up and down your folds, spreading your arousal around. 

"You can't– no, no claws," You hurriedly say as you feel his knuckle graze your hole, stopping Seokjin in his tracks. "We-we're fragile, remember?" 

The siren purses his lips, contemplating the information as he moves his hand back to your thigh. Arms curl under your knees before you can even breathe a sigh of relief, the air being punched right out of you as Seokjin dips his head down to lick a stripe between your folds. 

"Oh Gods," You gasp, fingers clawing at the stone below you as the siren's forked tongue flicks over your clit with every pass, making your clenching hole gush with slickness.

You let out a broken moan as Seokjin prods his tongue at your entrance, black eyes flickering up to meet yours just as he pushes it inside. 

Seokjin has lowered his body even more into the water, leaving him at the perfect height to feast on your cunt. His tongue worms his way into your hole, the wet muscle reaching deeper than what should be possible. Your veins feel like they're on fire, your body burning up with arousal as Seokjin licks and sucks at your folds, nose bumping against your clit. You can't stop yourself from grinding against his face, hips twitching with the little leeway he gives you. 

"Seok-seokjin," Your hand flies down to his head at a particularly harsh suck, his teeth skimming over your delicate heat. The mixture of fear and pleasure leaves you lightheaded, your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

The siren growls as your fingers curl into his long hair, the sound vibrating against your skin as you tug at his locks. You can't tell if you're trying to pull him away or press him closer, but either way, Seokjin doesn't listen. 

You keen as his movements only seem to grow more frenzied, the siren drunk on your taste as he continues to lap up your slick. His grip around your legs is bruising, locking you in place to let him use you as he pleases. You continue to whimper out his name, your little cries only spurring him on further.

The white-hot pleasure in your stomach only continues to build the longer Seokjin eats you out, the pleasure mounting so quickly you don't know what to do with yourself. 

You don't want this but you also do – and those conflicting emotions only intensify every suck and lick from Seokjin.

"Good pet," The siren groans, his warm breath fanning across your folds. 

You finally erupt as he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks, your orgasm ripping through you so violently you almost feel like you're going to pass out. Your back bows off the ground as you let out a loud moan, your knuckles white from the tight grip you have on Seokjin's hair. You ride out the waves of pleasure that seem to hit you over and over, the siren lapping up your essence like a starving man – like he's never tasted anything as good before.

Your legs are trembling with oversensitivity once you come back to yourself, your cunt clenching helplessly around Seokjin's tongue as he keeps trying to lick up more of your slick. You hastily remove your fingers from his hair, weakly pushing at his head to make him back away. 

"Stop, it's too much," You whimper.

Seokjin makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, tongue dragging through your folds one last time before he pulls back. There's something in the siren's gaze that looks even more predatory than it's ever done before, his plush lips slick with your wetness. *

"You did well, little human. It was about time you gave yourself to me," Seokjin says as he brings his hands to your hips, the corner of his mouth quirked. 

"What do you mean?" You say, voice faltering, "You told me to touch you, you made me touch you – made me enjoy this." 

The siren tsks, shaking his head as he pushes you down on the stone dock, fingers gliding over your stomach. "Did you feel me using my thrall, little human? You touched me because you wanted to, you gave in because you wanted to feel good. This was all you, pet." 

"No, that's not..." You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't feel the ticklish sensation that usually comes with Seokjin's thrall when he asked you to touch him. You don't feel sick now, not like you always do whenever you snap out of it.

You... You did all of this on your own volition. 

Seokjin sees as the realization dawns on your face, the blooming devastation making his fin hit the surface with excitement. 

"That's right," He murmurs silkily, "Accept the fate that the sea has bestowed on you, pet. You were made to be my little plaything." 

You feel Seokjin move away as you stare mindlessly up at the twinkling stars. You pull your aching legs together the moment he's gone, bringing them up to your chest. Without the siren's body shielding you from the frigid night air, you just feel cold. So awfully cold. 

Just accept your fate.

You hear the water move as the siren ducks under the surface. The lake ripples as he swims, only a few flaps of his tail bringing him up on the side of the dock, where your head has turned. His dark eyes burn holes into your face as he drops something on the stone in front of you, the metal clinking as it bounces off the surface. 

Heart stuttering in your chest, you reach out and snatch up your old knife, your shoulder burning as you put pressure on it. Your eyes grow wet as you turn it around in your hand, the familiar weight and polished grain of the wooden handle the closest thing you have to anything that feels like home.

You thought you had lost your knife forever when you jumped off the ship, that it was sacrificed to the sea together with your crew and vessel.

The siren's face is unreadable as you glance up at him, expression flat as always. One thing is for sure though – there's no part of Seokjin that views you as a threat, that's concerned you'll use your knife against him. 

It breaks your heart to know that he's right. Even if you kill him, you have no way to get out of here.

Seokjin's pale hand emerges from the water to place something delicately on the edge of the dock. You let out a small gasp as he removes his fingers, the round sphere beautiful as it reflects the stars shining above. It looks to be a massive pearl made out of obsidian, the surface glossy and smooth. 

You lay your knife down, meeting Seokjin's burning stare as you bring your trembling fingers forward to pick it up. The pearl is heavy in your palm, your hand barely even managing to close around the size of it.

The moment you pick it up, Seokjin lets out a pleased chitter, his mouth showing off that terrible smile again as he says, "You've proven to be a fascinating pet, I don't think I'll tire of you just yet."

"You're mine now, little human." 

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed the final chapter of TOP! writing mer!seokjin was a nice break from my usual stories and it was fun to revisit the tcs-universe. i would love to hear what you think about the chapter – comments and reblogs make my day!! 🥺💖

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