#I wanna know what he said to Shadow before he died

[miniscrew-anon]

Dead on Revival

I just put out 2 funny vampire ficlets so here’s an angsty one in the Count Darkula Verse to balance it all out. Takes place about a day or two after the alley incident from St0rmys last snippet

—-

At a distance, Dark can almost think he’s sleeping.

Four is dressed in his favorite oversized hoodie and tucked beneath a heavy comforter. He’s laying on his side with a pillow tucked under his arm like he always does after a feeding. His face is serene and he looks comfortable in Shadows bed.

He looks asleep. But he’s not.

He’s dead.

If Dark got close he bet he could see the pallidness of his skin. The absence of warmth. The stillness of his chest. The gaping hole in his sternum where chunks of vital organs and spine were blown out the back of his chest.

Or maybe Dark wouldn't find that. It has been over two days now. It might be closed already.

Dark isn't willing to get close enough to check. Just stepping into the room was already risky enough.

The wall behind the bed has sprung to life when Dark walked in, pulsating and writhing. A dark, shapeless mass stretches floor to ceiling. There are no visible eyes but Dark can feel it watching him, ready to wash over him in a wave of fury if he dares get any closer. The edges of it whip and lash, a clear warning.

Dark crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe casually. "Hey, Shads. How's it going?"

The mass doesn’t dissipate. But it does creep down the wall to curl around the bed instead. It wraps its tentacle-like tendrils around the bedposts and loosely curls into the blankets. Hovering over Four’s body and hiding him from view.

"Leave."

The voice is distorted, stringy and full of echoes. A deliberate choice or merely a consequence of having no vocal chords in this form, Dark doesn’t know. It has a certain intimidation factor to it that would probably scare off most mortals, so Dark figures Shadow is doing it on purpose.

"Sorry, but I can't go. I just got here." Dark keeps his tone light but his body firmly planted where he stands. "And we have to talk."

"No."

"Yes. It's important. It concerns Four."

The black mass surges at Dark. It wraps around him and consumes what little light there is, swallowing the pale yellow that comes in from the hallway. Dark is swallowed into the belly of this beast, surrounded by an abyss of pure blackness. It’s only the feeling of solid floor beneath his feet that remind him that he’s still in the physical world and not the emptiness of the void.

Shadow's voice is a mere hiss that comes from everywhere and drips venom, reverberating through Dark like the bass at a rock concert.

"What about him?"

Dark blinks calmly, deliberately not letting his hackles rise. "Man, you're tense. Relax, I come in peace. Pinky promise. I just want to know what the plan is for when he wakes up."

The darkness swirls around him, agitated.

"You know, the plan. Your plan. For his first feeding.” Dark kept himself casual, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’d like to talk about it with you but I’d also like to be able to see. Because as cool as the visuals are, they're a bit distracting. You mind backing off a bit? Like I said, I’m not here to start shit.”

There is a moment of stillness. Dark stays relaxed as he’s assessed.

Then the room begins to reform through the darkness. Like a thick fog is lifting. Floor, walls, furniture all reappear.

“Thanks.” Dark shifts back to lean against the wall and face the dark cloud that still hovered heavily over the bed. "Anyway, I wanna know what you’re going to feed him when he wakes up. Because he's going to be hungry, Shads. Newborns always are. I’m sure you remember your first time."

The shadows shift around in thought. They coagulate closer to the floor, gaining something like weight to it. It’s still inhuman, but it appears almost solid enough to touch.

"It'll be worse for him thanks to that hole in his gut." Dark continues, daring to take a step into the room. When Shadow doesn’t lash out, he takes another. "I don't know if you've ever healed from something like that. But it takes a lot of energy to mend a wound like that. Especially since he got it as a mortal."

“I can pull someone off the street,” Shadow finally speaks up. His voice sounds more normal now, just a twinge more raspy and hoarse. “Or you can. Not like it's something you’ve never done before. I don’t know why you’re even bringing this up.”

Dark stops a mere foot away, just outside Shadows form. He narrows his eyes in ire. "I bring it up because I don't know how in control he's going to be when he feeds for the first time. He might kill someone, if we're not careful."

Shadow scoffs quietly, putting on his usual snark like a mask. “So?”

Dark exhales sharply through his nose. “I’m serious, asshole. If he’s hungry enough, he’ll be like an animal. He’ll tear his meal apart.”

"So I get someone no one will miss." Shadow waves him off. “I’ll clean up the mess and dump the leftovers. I’ve done disposal before. It’s not a big deal.”

Dark almost snaps at the dismissive tone. He forces himself to breath a lungful of air he doesn’t need and unclench his fists. Relax his posture and ease his tightened jaw. Tempers the urge that’s been building since the alley to grab Shadow by the throat and beat some sense into him.

Shadow has tunnel vision right now. Dark reminds himself. He’s scared. He’s young and he’s stupid and he’s scared. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. You know it, you saw it. In the alley. He just doesn’t understand.

Dark is going to make him understand.

So he takes another breath and keeps himself from yelling. "Clean up isn’t the issue. I’m talking about what happens after.”

Shadow stills. His form shrinks even more. Now Dark can see a shadow of his real body among the darkness, glowing eyes cast down to stare at the body buried between the sheets. One of his newly formed limbs, blurry like physical static, lightly wraps around Fours limp wrist.

“After?”

Dark nods. “Yeah, after. Because he’s going to snap back to his senses sooner or later. And once he does, he’s going to realize what he’s done. And I don’t know him as well as you do, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d be okay with killing an innocent bystander."

Very few people would be okay with something like that. Plenty of the undead Dark has met over the centuries regard their first kills as their first step into full blown depravity, willing or not. Freshly awakened vampires can act like animals - tearing open veins and ripping flesh from bones. The hungrier they are the more brutal the kill. It’s usually fatal and it’s always messy.

It’s a hard thing to live with, and even harder to come back from. Even experienced killers flinch away from brutal murders like that.

Dark swallows thickly, phantom copper tang in his mouth.

“You don’t want that for him, Shads. Trust me,” He murmurs. “You cursed him with immortal life. Don’t curse him with eternal regret, too.”

The darkness shutters, a barely contained gasp of pain.

It swarms and coalesces, revealing Shadow in his true form, sitting at Four’s bedside. He holds Four’s hand, brushing stray hairs behind Four’s ear with a touch so tender it makes Dark want to avert his gaze. But he doesn’t. He watches the two of them, regret aching like a physical stake in his chest.

“This is a responsibility, right?” Dark prods quietly.

Shadow quietly readjusts the blankets he moved when he sat down. He tucks Four back under the covers, covering him just like Four always liked. He swallows thickly.

“Right. Yeah.'' Shadow says. “My responsibility.”

He stands, shakily shoving his hands into the front of his blood stained hoodie. He turns his red-rimmed gaze up at Dark, eyes lost and distant.

“So,” He asks shakily, “What did you have in mind?”

——-

I took some liberty on vampire transformation. A bit of borrowed lore from Buffy on it taking a while for the change to set in. And a little from Demon Slayer about going feral for food upon awakening. Plus the whole Shadow having shadow power was too much fun to not include.

I kinda of love vampire Dark. like a whole lot. I feel like he’s a lot more mature than HSH or lmtcoy Dark because he’s so much older. He’s got more control to him. He might not really get mortals but something like this he understands completely.

And I don’t think I’ve really covered Shadow past being a snarky shit. I don’t get the chance much because there’s so few things that’ll actually break down those walls. But this specific situation is ripe for shadow actually being and feeling vulnerable for a change. For a whole variety of reasons like guilt for letting Four get killed, guilt for changing Four despite Fours initial wishes, fear at almost losing his partner, worry for what comes next, worry over how Four will take the change.

And I’m so hecking hungry for vampire angst

[logaenhowlett]

MY BEATIN’ HEART BELONGS TO YOU - L.H.

Summary: Logan believed he was sentenced to a life of solitude until he found you - an unexpected dawn promising the sunrise of a love he always deemed impossible. But then again, destiny never was merciful to fools like him.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, All aboard the Fluff Train with scheduled stops at Angst Station, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, How I Met Your Mother reference (iykyk), Reader can manipulate electricity

A/N: 5.9k - strap in, gang. Would you believe me if I said all this was inspired by a debate I had with a friend about the implications of 'I want you' vs 'I need you'. The mind works in silly, little ways sometimes. Title creds to Green Day. Enjoy, you lovely people!

MASTERLIST

Gone were the days when nightmares would rouse him from the sanctuary of sleep. Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken in a cold sweat, sheets shredded from fighting invisible monsters, alarm clock glaring an angry red amongst the darkness. No, all that disappeared once you'd made a home within his arms.

It had been about three months, verging on four if anyone was keeping count - and he, most definitely, was - since you'd swept him away in a tide of fondness and pure affection. The shadow of a man who once roamed the mansion now nurtured a newfound lightness in his heart. Logan wasn't perfect, far from it, chosen paths that only led to a labyrinth of despair, but he was right about one thing: you.

And that verdict especially rings true every morning. The tangle of limbs, the soft ebb and flow of sleepy murmurs, the stray kisses grazing warm skin, he wonders how he'd survived so long deprived of such tender pleasures. He's never going back, that much he knows.

His lips trace a lazy line along your neck, lingering a second longer beneath your jaw. There's a chuckle aching to break through at the thought of your sleep-induced irritation - it’s too early, you'd whine each time. And each time, his half-hearted apologies would be long-forgotten as you meet his gaze, a tempest of desire swirling within hazel.

It's amidst the following moments of peace when he's most thankful for the thick walls surrounding the room. The aftermath of your intimate exchanges always leaves him mesmerised, heart racing at the reminder of your touch. His mutation didn't allow for the full effects of alcohol to poison his inhibitions, yet as your smile gleams at him, Logan's sure he's never been more drunk.

"Where're you goin'?"

He's shaken from his musings as you roll away from his embrace, huffing in disbelief when you don't seem to stop. But, the string of complaints dies on his tongue as he watches you slip on the shirt he'd discarded the night before, turning around amused, "What? You wanna stay here all day?"

"Got nowhere to be."

"Correction - you have nowhere to be. I, on the other hand, need to grade those assignments or Jean'll actually explode my brain this time."

Logan hmphs. He'd been looking forward to lounging around this weekend, positively thrilled at the idea of letting the hours simply trickle away in the quiet comfort of your company. However, he's also one too familiar with Jean's intolerance for slacking off and lessons were definitely learned.

"Let her try," he counters meekly.

As you circle the bed to part ways with a chaste kiss, Logan seizes the opportunity to pull you down, pinning you beneath him in one effortless move. His lips capture yours with a deliberate, sensual slowness - the urgency from earlier now completely absent. The feeble protests vanish from your mind as he breaks away, a twinkle of mischief playing on his smile.

His fingers trace the curve of your wrist, hovering over the faint crescent moon inked in black. It was the mark of your soulmate. Of him, he hopes. You'd shown him quite early into the relationship, spending many a night whispering theories and speculations about its meaning. At first, he expressed only timid fascination, a question here and there spurred by gentle curiosity while you rambled on and on. But as his heart began to tether itself to yours, the mark took on a new significance. Every time his gaze fell upon it, his thoughts would spiral from longing and self-doubt, wondering if he was the one destined to share a lifetime with you.

Over the decades he'd been alive, Logan had searched every crevice of his body for his own. In his youth, it was a fleeting thought, brushed aside by the assumption that his healing factor wouldn't allow for these scars. Yet as time passed, he was terrified of waking up to a branded promise - a cruel trick that condemned his soulmate to a life with him. After he met you, those fears were soon eclipsed by a yearning, a desperate hope for a sign of his worthiness. Every day, he lingered by the mirror, gaze sweeping across his reflection, praying for an identical crescent moon to mark his skin.

"Logan." Your laugh draws his attention, "I'm never leaving the bed at this rate."

"Darlin', that's the general idea."

He relents anyway, falling onto his back with a soft grunt as you stand up. The dopey grin you're biting has him narrowing his eyes in suspicion, wondering what goddamn joke popped into your mind. Before he can question it, you straighten your posture and salute, "General Idea."

A look of confusion contorts his features, though he doesn't get anything besides a mumbled response as you leave the room, "Never mind, it's from a show."

A mountain of papers sits perched on your desk illuminated by the warm glow of the lamp, the scratching of your pen punctuating the silence of the classroom as you continue grading your students' assignments. It had been a couple of hours since you left Logan amongst the nest of blankets. And that image only seemed more enticing with each word you read.

"Missed ya."

Speak of the devil.

Except this devil was an angel - you could almost see a halo shimmering around his figure, backlit by the sunlight flooding the hallway. Every time you think you've captured the essence of his allure, he defies your expectations, often with just a simple gesture. And despite the countless compliments and declarations of adoration, Logan still seemed surprised by flattery, his lips always seeking yours to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"I just saw you like - "

"In the shower," he interrupts, smirk widening as he approaches. He leans against the chair, nose brushing against your exposed shoulder.

Something in your brain short-circuits at his words and the casual display of affection. You stammer a little, "You… didn't tell me."

"Oh, that would've worked hm?" Logan spins the chair around, chuckling as he catches your flustered expression, "'M sorry, sweetheart... guess I gotta make it up to ya."

You never thought Logan was a romantic. Yet, time and time again you discover the depths of his boundless capacity for love and companionship. It wasn't just the whispered promises and passionate revelations, but the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender touches that speak volumes. Neither of you had uttered those three words yet, though they hang heavy in the air, unspoken but deeply felt.

His hand winds up beneath your shirt, bunching the fabric near your waist as he pulls you closer. Heat, courtesy of the shower, wafts off his skin, a tantalizing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His tongue toys with your lower lip, teasing just enough that you find yourself chasing after him, desperate for more. The laugh he produces, though smug, is also contagious, a sound that never fails to swallow your heart.

Again and again, he'd professed his desire to unravel you by his sheer touch, how your craving for him sets his insides ablaze. And judging by the way your eyes darken, mouth parting almost reflexively, he's got you dancing to his tune like a puppet on a string - and you wouldn't have it any other way.

But he backs off all of a sudden.

A crescendo of footsteps echoes down the hallway and the moment is shattered. Three of your students barge in, out of breath and frazzled as they clutch their assignments. A frown creases Logan's brow, annoyance he's certainly putting no effort to hide has them second-guessing their intrusion until you beckon them in with a warm smile. With a hasty apology, they fumble with their papers, eyes darting between the two of you before rushing out, the door swinging shut.

"We gotta find a place," he grumbles, dipping forward into your neck.

"We already live together."

A sharp click of his tongue, a playful nip to your shoulder, seals his disapproval, "Not enough. Lil' brats interrupt every damn time."

He wasn't wrong in the slightest. The kids did seem to have an uncanny ability to sense the most inopportune times to interfere. Sometimes you joked that it was one of their mutant powers and Logan, with an amused roll of his eyes, would just scoff and agree. You can't help but chuckle, "'Least it wasn't Scott... I think we traumatised him last week."

It was indeed last week when the two of you retreated to the Danger Room. Of course, with the sole and noble intention of honing your defensive tactics. However, the moment you strategically knocked him off his feet, the situation had taken a decidedly different turn. Pinned beneath you, Logan held a look of astonishment that soon morphed into something much more eager. He'd uttered all of two words before your lips slammed against his and whatever hopes you had for training immediately became the least of your worries. That was until somebody walked in.

He huffs a laugh, the memory filling him with satisfaction, "Should've used his fuckin' brain with those sounds you were makin'."

"Oh god, poor Scott," you mumble, embarrassed by the thought.

"Quit sayin' his name." The growl that curls his words leaves goosebumps in its wake. Logan grips your chin, tilting your head back slightly, a slow grin unfurling as his gaze bores into yours.

"I said it twice!" you protest, but it's all in vain. His thumb drags across your lip, silencing your words.

"That's two more than I care for."

It's dark outside by the time he's done with you.

Sugar melts on his tongue, the velvety texture of chocolate dancing across his palate. Logan takes a rather indulgent sip, the steaming liquid warming his throat. Nestled on opposite sides of the window seat, the two of you share a quiet moment accompanied by nothing but pale moonlight. A comforting weight settles on your feet, his hand kneading the stress away with care. Outside, a delicate snowfall paints the mansion's grounds, grass slowly fading away, droplets racing down the windowpane.

Dinner had wound down hours ago. The kids gathered around the living room after, wide-eyed with wonder as the first snow of the season began. Charles eventually ushered them off to bed, Logan had planned to follow suit until your gentle tug derailed his desire to sleep altogether. And as always, there's no world where he'd deny you anything.

He sees you stifle a giggle every now and then, your eyes twinkling with amusement each time he lifts his mug. It was nothing fancy - mostly white, adorned with a line of stockings and, cheekily, the words "Well hung".

It was a present from you a few Christmases ago. He remembers you watching him warily unwrap the box, laughing out of giddiness as he blushed when the implication dawned on him. It's just a silly gift, you'd reassured, not pressuring him to even keep it. Yet, since then, it remained a permanent fixture on his bedside table. During restless nights, he'd reach for the familiar mug, seeking solace in the kitchen to drink away the looming shadows of insomnia.

It wasn't until your first night together that you saw it again after all those years, carefully placed and by far, the cleanest thing on his table. Logan ducked his head sheepishly before confessing just how much he treasured the sentiment. In a lifetime of solitude, someone had spared a second to think about him, even for a simple gag gift. And that thought warmed his heart a little on especially hard days.

"You're a child," he chides as you smile, rolling his eyes.

You scoff under your breath, "Oh, just cause you're a hundred years old."

"Hundred and sixty," he corrects, grabbing your foot mid-air before you can nudge his thigh. There's a brief pause as he places the mug aside, a wicked grin splitting his lips. Laughter fills the air as you squirm and wriggle away, quickly understanding the look behind his eyes. But Logan moves faster. His hands trail their way to your sides, drawing squeals of protest as he tickles you.

Seconds later, he backs off, satisfied by your reaction. Shifting his weight, he settles on top of you with a gentle press. As he lays against your chest, humming softly in contentment, the soothing caress of your fingers through his hair lulls him into a state of relaxation. The world simply fades away, replaced by the warmth of your embrace and the quiet flush of domestic bliss. A profound swell of gratitude spreads within his heart. It's during intimate moments like these that he feels especially lucky. A far cry from the man brought into this mansion years ago, times you also reflect on amidst late-night conversations.

The memories remain as vivid as yesterday.

It was late in the afternoon, the setting sun casting long silhouettes across the classroom. You stood by the blackboard, explaining the laws of electromagnetism while scribbling equations in chalk. For months, you'd taken over Charles' role as the physics professor, and what began as a favour soon grew into a passion. However, some days were particularly slow. A palpable sense of boredom washed over your students as their eyes drifted towards the clock in anticipation. Just as you were about to begrudgingly dismiss them, the door flew open - a dishevelled figure clad in gray burst in, wildly panting in fear and confusion.

This must be Logan, you concluded, recalling the latest mission debrief from Scott and Storm. They'd rescued two mutants in Canada, one of whom was particularly banged up and recovering in the med bay. Well, until now. Since their arrival, Charles had emphasised the erratic nature of Logan's mind, even unconscious, a part of him stayed unyielding against the telepath's powers. But as you locked eyes with him, you saw none of that. Instead, he seemed lost and terrified, glancing around the room from one corner to the next as if someone was speaking. Before you could offer a word of reassurance, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like a fleeting shadow.

Over the following months, he slowly began to emerge from his shell. At first, it was just plain nods of acknowledgement as you passed each other in the mansion. Then, a word here and there, clipped phrases of advice and caution during particularly dangerous missions. Gradually, his presence became more pronounced. Sometimes, after intense training sessions, he'd slip into the back of your classroom, intently listening to your lectures on concepts you presumed were entirely foreign to him.

Except they weren't. It was only later that you discovered his secret: the countless hours spent poring over textbooks he'd discreetly stolen from Charles' bookshelf. The realisation filled your heart with a warm sense of affection. His unspoken interest, the hidden depths, it was all so endearing. Thereafter, Logan consumed your thoughts. And it was during one of those sleepless nights that you found the courage to join him in the kitchen, wordlessly focusing on your own books at either end of the table. Since then, a shared understanding passed between you, a bond forged from mutual appreciation and a hint of something more.

The first time he cracked a smile left you breathless. Jean was furious at Scott, her anger clear as day as she stormed away. And Scott, ever so helpless, turned to anyone for guidance, retracing every misstep, every misplaced word. Logan, watching the scene unfold, sneered to himself, enjoying the man cluelessly suffering. You exchanged a knowing look, a silent agreement on the absurdity of the situation. As you excused yourself, a fit of giggles threatening to overtake you, Logan followed close behind, unable to suppress his own laughter.

From that moment on, things changed. You found yourselves seeking each other, conversations flowed effortlessly, at times even seasoned with playful banter. And as Logan became a steady figure in your life, a strange ache settled in your heart. You were falling for him. Yet, his emotions remained a mystery, a puzzle you were desperate to solve.

One year became another, and another and another. And as your feelings for him increased, hesitation crept in rather unwillingly. You pushed everything away, burying them six feet under, afraid of rejection or something worse. But Logan, with his uncanny perceptiveness, sensed the shift in your behaviour. And one day, in a moment of raw honesty, he confronted you. A heated argument ensued, emotions spilling over, words cutting deep. Then, just as suddenly, the tension dissipated. His lips were on yours, conveying every bit of the love he carried in ways words could never bring justice to.

That was a couple of months ago. Everything was perfect and you'd never felt more complete until you noticed the brief flashes of insecurity whenever he saw the mark on your wrist. You knew he didn't have one. In the beginning, it became a sensitive topic, you started wearing a watch or longer sleeves to stop reminding him. But eventually, his unease was too much to ignore.

And so, you bit the bullet.

The conversation was fraught with discomfort, but as you spoke, his expression softened, a slight weight lifting off his shoulders. He shamefully expressed his worries, the fear of not being enough - not being the one for you. It was a small step, but one that brought you closer than ever before.

Logan couldn't have been more grateful.

"Perhaps the two of you should, what do the kids call it, get a room?"

Charles' voice suddenly cuts across the silence. All eyes, including Logan's and yours, snap up from the blueprints scattered on the table. Scott blinks in confusion, meanwhile Jean, holding back a knowing smirk, can barely contain herself.

"I've had my fair share of lewd daydreams in my youth, but that was quite disturbing," he continues, tone laced with disapproval.

Colour drains from your face. Had your thoughts really been that obvious? Sure, you couldn't stop admiring how the tight leather suit molded to Logan's physique - incredibly distracting, to say the least. But you didn't realise you were projecting your attraction so loudly, especially in a room with two telepaths.

"Sorry, Professor." It seems useless to apologise at this point, but he responds with a curt nod directed at Logan. Turning your attention to the blueprints, you feel a familiar weight against your back. Logan, the sly bastard, leans over your shoulder with feigned nonchalance. And it takes every ounce of your willpower to focus on the serious discussion instead.

A recon mission.

Some old abandoned Hydra facility used for mutant experimentation in the 90s, the remnants of failed trials left to rot and forgotten. Charles had caught wind of it through Cerebro, suspecting that there may be valuable information hidden within its walls, secrets that should very well stay away from the wrong hands.

"What's in there?" Scott asks, tensing a little.

Charles pauses, a scowl twisting his expression, "That is a private matter."

"Private Matter," you mumble without thinking, instinctively reaching for a salute before Logan catches your wrist, halting the motion. He shoots a look, a silent reprimand that very clearly implies "Not now". Fortunately, no one else witnesses your mistimed quip, too engaged in drafting a safe plan for extraction.

The mission seems fairly straightforward, a simple infiltration like many you've done before. Nevertheless, Charles concludes with a stern warning to heed caution, "Now, good luck to all of you." As you filter out the room, he casts a pointed glare, "And Logan, please refrain from defiling my desk at any point in the future."

Shock etches across your face, mouth slightly agape. Once you're out of earshot, you shove Logan’s arm in embarrassment, "It wasn't me then." You breathe in relief only to be reminded of the thoughts he seemed to be entertaining earlier. What surprises you is the fact that you're more intrigued than deterred by the idea.

"My bad, sweetheart. Couldn't help myself," he laughs, dipping in close to whisper, "Suit's makin' it real hard to think straight." And with that, he's off, jogging ahead to Scott and Jean already waiting in the hangar.

Once you're airborne, the atmosphere shifts. Jean pilots the jet, her hands steady on the controls, eyes scanning the horizon. The Hydra facility looms in the distance, a dark and ominous presence in the middle of nowhere. As you approach your destination, a sense of apprehension lingers among the four of you. Scott recounts the plan, outlining the most efficient entry and exit points, his voice low and deliberate, "Logan and I will start from top-down and you two from the opposite."

As you leave the jet, a hand slips into your own, stilling you in place. Logan tugs you into his arms, there's a faint smile playing on his lips, his eyes, however, convey something along the lines of "Be careful, please". You squeeze his hand reassuringly, pressing a quick kiss before breaking away. With a reluctant sigh, he catches up with Scott, splitting off from you and Jean.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of decay and neglect. Everything is left exactly as it was, except there are signs of a violent struggle - machines overturned, wires strewn across the floor, glass shards crunching under your boots. It's a scene of chaos and destruction. In the center lies an operating table, its restraints snapped in half, broken syringes and discarded medical equipment scattered around.

Electricity crackles beneath your fingertips. Though your powers aren't advanced, Charles has been a patient mentor, overseeing your progress since the day he found you. However, as you keep surveying the area, you notice an odd sensation, a subtle resistance to your abilities. A similar unease grips Jean too, her gaze meeting yours, a shared look of concern exchanged as you continue your search.

A distorted voice breaks through the comms, "Upper level's clear. No sign of anything." It's Scott, barely recognisable over the static.

"Copy. Still sweeping the lower level," you respond, but it's garbled by the interference.

"Stay on alert," Jean warns, straining her telekinetic energy against the strange force permeating the facility. "Defence systems could still be active."

You venture deeper into the hallway, greeted by an eerie silence broken only by the echo of your own footsteps. A series of cells line the corridor, thick metal barricades, scarred and rusted, stand as a testament to the suffering endured by those held captive years before. Peering through the tiny barred windows, you see sterile, empty rooms, not a single bed or mattress to be found - the cold, hard concrete floor offering no comfort.

"Fuckin' hell," you murmur, chills running down your spine. Jean hums quietly in agreement, looking around in horror. The electricity you can usually detect in the background dwindles to a weak buzz. You descend a narrow staircase, the air growing heavier by the second. At the end of the hallway is another metal hatch, this time with a faded Hydra symbol etched onto its surface. With a concentrated effort, Jean manipulates the lock, the door groaning open with a distinct beep.

It's beyond dimly lit - a dark, cavernous space. You focus your powers, fighting against the invisible pressure dampening your strength, current coursing through your veins. With a snap of your wrist, the room erupts in light, fluorescent bulbs flickering awake. A row of computers surrounded by a bundle of wires and archaic machinery stretch towards the ceiling.

"Must be the control room," Jean reaches out to flip a switch, but as her fingers brush the old metal, energy jolts through your body - a warning that something is amiss.

"No - wait!" you shout, but it's too late. The metal door slams shut with a deafening clang. An agonising vibration rattles through the room, a shockwave that reverberates through your body. The two of you sink to the floor, clutching your ears as a rush of debilitating pain burns every nerve ending in your body. And you're left paralysed for what feels like an eternity.

Logan clicks his tongue as static continues pouring through the comms, he catches the tail-end of your broken reply - something something lower level - a pit of dread forming in his stomach, "Place feels off."

"You're right, I can't get a read on anything," Scott mutters, the red hue of his glasses flashing in the darkness.

Logan's eyes dart around the space, landing on a series of grotesque instruments undoubtedly used for torture. A wave of nausea washes over him, flashbacks of his own past spring forward at the sight, reminders of the days when he too was a mere subject in someone else's twisted experiments. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. An imperceptible vibration ripples beneath his feet, "The fuck was that?"

Scott immediately tries the comms again, "Jean? Wha - ", but it goes completely dead.

Logan's already barrelling through the corridors, his instincts taking over without a conscious thought. He calls for you again and again, reckless abandon fueling his every move. Screw the mission, all he wants is for you to be safe. His heart leaps into his throat as static hisses through the comms, Jean's voice muffled through the noise, "We've got... a major problem."

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

"C'mon, darlin'." The silence drags on, panic begins to seize his mind, sweat beading on his forehead. He needs to find you, now. The faint vibrations gradually become intense as he races down the staircase, "Major problem? C'mon, say your stupid joke, sweetheart. Please. Anything." His pleas, wracked with desperation, fall on deaf ears. Fear gnaws at him. He’s itching to hear your voice, even for that little running gag he doesn’t fully understand. Just any goddamn sign that you're still alive.

His senses direct him towards the metal hatch. Lunging forward, his fist connects with the barrier, claws extending at any attempt to tear through the door. Yet it holds firm, its surface barely dented or scratched by his force. Frantic, Logan rams his claws into the small security panel on the side, trying to short-circuit the lock. But the moment it's breached, a chain reaction is triggered, explosives hidden within the walls detonate with a tremendous roar. A torrent of debris and radiation thrusts him backwards, knocking him hard against the concrete.

The world around him seemingly implodes into a bedlam of sound and light, white flashes obscuring his vision. Pain, a searing, all-consuming pain diffuses through every inch of his body. His consciousness wanes, slipping away from his grasp. In the fading moments of awareness, he hears a distant crackle of electricity.

Then, nothing.

The memory of the chaos, the blinding light, the aftermath of the explosion, replay over and over. And then, there was Logan, his body limp and unresponsive, a sight that haunts your every waking moment. You remember the desperate scramble to escape the facility, the weight of his unconscious form in all your arms, the tense journey back to the mansion, Charles and Jean ushering you out of the med bay - their focus solely on stabilising him.

The night stretches on, a relentless march of time that seems to punctuate your helplessness as you pace back and forth. The lack of response from anyone doesn't quell the whirlwind of anxieties in the slightest. Every minute sound, every faint whisper, sends your heart racing. But when they finally emerge hours later, faces etched with exhaustion and relief, you can finally breathe.

For days, you sit by Logan's bedside, hands intertwined with his. The monotonous rhythm signalling his vitals is the only thing grounding you to reality. Though he remains unconscious, Jean had offered words of comfort, pointing to subtle improvements in his healing with her scans. Eventually, warmth returns to his body. His breathing, once laboured, is now full and steady. Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead and hope ignites within you again, just enough to draw a small, weary smile.

But then, you see it.

Glaring at you, painfully so, is a little mark on the back of his shoulder. Except, it isn't the same crescent moon that adorns your wrist. No.

Your heart sinks, breath catching in your throat, paralysis sets in once again. A single, shattering revelation echoes in your mind: Logan is not your soulmate.

He stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open. Everything slowly returns to his senses as the haze of confusion begins to clear. The first thing he notices is the familiar scent of you lingering on his skin, in the air, on the chair pulled by his side. As his vision unblurs, the blue walls of the med bay coming into view, a flood of concern smacks him in the face. Where are you? What happened? He tries to sit up, his body protesting with every movement.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The mechanical hum of a wheelchair grows louder as it approaches. Charles, brimming with sympathy, rolls closer.

Logan groans, his muscles throbbing like never before, "What the hell happened? Is she - "

"She's alright, as are Scott and Jean," he interjects, though a shadow of pity clouds his expression. The unspoken weight behind his words triggers alarms in Logan's head, but before he can question him, a sharp burn shoots up his back. He winces, reaching for the source of the stinging. Beneath his fingertips, a strange, rough texture grates against his skin. He angles back to inspect it, blood running cold.

"It surfaced a week ago," Charles says grimly, "We suspect the radiation from the explosion temporarily impacted your healing, hence, the mark."

Logan can't think straight, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs every single fiber of his being - disbelief, agony and rage. How could this be real? He'd spent night after night, praying for some sort of sign, a reason for his existence. And when he found that in you, it felt like everything finally aligned. But now, destiny had struck him down with a ruthless blow, a cosmic twist of fate far worse than death.

Seven days.

That's how long it's been since you last saw him. The weight of the world bore down on you, every breath a struggle. Hours bled into one another as you stayed locked in your room, sobbing uncontrollably, your heart fracturing with each passing moment. Jean's persistent knocking eventually broke through your despair, her calm voice soothing your frayed mental state.

It took all of her gentle persuasion for you to finally eat something, to force you out of the anguish that consumed you. The news that Logan was awake and begging to see you almost crumbled the impenetrable walls you'd built up. But the thought of facing him, of confronting the fragile pieces of your harsh reality, filled you with dread.

And so, you avoided him. Retreating into yourself, a ghost of your own life, you clung to the illusion of distance. Maybe it'll somehow ease the pain, the heartbreak. You couldn't even bear to look at your own wrist, the mark - a cruel reminder of a love that was and a future that can never be. Every second of every day, mocking whispers floated around your mind, "You don't deserve him. You never did."

The moment Logan fully recovers, he immediately rushes through the mansion. Anticipation swells in his chest, there's nothing he wants more than your touch, your laughter - just you. He reaches your room, sensing the warmth from within. Hand hovering in the air, he takes a deep breath before knocking.

"Sweetheart?"

There's no response. He drops his head against the door, breathing ragged. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over, the oxygen in his lungs thinning as he tries to speak, "Please. I know you're in there. Talk to me." The silence, the emptiness, it all becomes too much. He's losing you, and he can't do anything to stop it. "I know you're upset. But, please, just let me in."

Your voice comes muffled, charged with grief and sorrow, "That mark means there's someone out there for you - your real soulmate. Someone who isn't me." The words are piercing, he longs to pull you into his arms, to comfort you, to reassure you. "I am not meant for you, Logan," you choke out.

"Fuck that," he spits back. He can't accept this, that you're conceding to some inexplicable truth, "'M not givin' you up cause of some shit on my body. I choose you. And I will choose you. Every single time." It's all strangled, raw with emotion, cheeks stained with a wetness. He's wound up, a caged animal clawing at the bars. He'll fight for you, even if all the cards are against him, "Darlin', I don't care if there's someone else - they're not you. You're perfect to me. For me. The universe can go fuck itself cause I love you."

Logan goes still. He's never expressed that to you, not in this way, not with such soul-baring honesty. But, nothing has ever been more true, "I love you."

Heavy hangs the air. Then, a soft padding of footsteps, the door clicks open. Before he can react, your hands cup his face, drawing him down to your level, lips meeting in a passionate caress. Logan cradles the back of your head, deepening the kiss. The space between you, both physically and emotionally, fades away. This is all that matters, for now and forever.

His arms tighten as you pull back and tuck into the crook of his neck. The weight of your exhaustion is obvious with the shuddering sigh you let out, his heart aching for you. As you whisper apologies, he trails kisses down your face. "No, no, don't be sorry, darlin'," he says, all soft and gentle. Neither of you move, surrendering to each other, the moment suspended in time. Slowly, your trembling subsides and he smiles, the lines of misery now dimming. With delicate fingers, he brushes your tears away.

"I have a major headache," you murmur, eyes falling shut.

He huffs a laugh, saluting you with a playful grin, "Major Headache." The look of astonishment across your face brings him so much joy. "I asked Kitty, told me to watch the damn show." And Logan did watch the show - all for you - to understand the little references you kept making here and there.

"You know how to use the Internet?" you ask, incredulously.

"Don't push it, sweetheart." There's no malice behind his tone whatsoever. With a smirk, he leans forward, scooping you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. It's a familiar motion, a routine he's done hundreds of times before. But now, it's different, one that’s even more precious.

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"I love you too."

He knows. He knows because it's written all over you. Every word, every breath, every touch - a testament to your love for him. A love so quiet and profound, a love that has weathered storms, a love that will last until the end of time. And he's eternally grateful for it. For you.

[lady-ashfade]

A Son For A Son

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Deamons Bastard!Reader x Yan!Team black. Pt.2

╰･ﾟ✧☽ first fic here.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: the queen has given a order, and craving revenge you expect.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 1k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: blood & gore, murder and death, reader killing, reader being her father, uncanon events, poison, I just needed to make this.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ DONT READ IF YOU WANNA BE SPOILED: reader does in fact kill aemond in this and idk if you are happy about it, I want his head to take to my queen.

“I want Aemond Targaryen.” she stood before the council covered in dirt and who knows what.

It had been two weeks since the letter about the death of Lucaerys had arrived and you all had been the worst for it. and ever since she searched and searched for a sign of truth, desperate to be wrong. that her sweet boy was alive. you knew he was dead and you wanted everyone to pay for taking luke. you wanted aemond targaryen to pay. you took anger out on the ones you could, or roamed the sky’s to get your mind off of things. you would not act without her orders.

The resemblance you shared to daemon was close and terrifying for your foes. just as you had the idea to fulfill her wishes, your father did too.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” the sound of your voice made his shoulders fall and a smirk appear on his face, one you couldn’t see. a dark cloak draped over his shoulders and matched the same one across your frame. “but I have a better one.”

“No.” you glare at the back of his head. again denied something worth your talents.

“You can’t tell me what do to this time father.” standing your ground as his eyes turn around, a look he uses when he’s serious. and for him it was like looking into a mirror, you carved blood just like he did and loved getting to spill it. even for no reason at all.

“I have waited around for a task, and she has said she wants Aemond. I mourn the loss of my brother too, and you can not keep me from whatever it is that you think you’re protecting me from.”

Hundreds of men died at the end of your blade at night as you slip throughout the shadows. you were a slayer, a assassin who followed your own roles but loved coin and the game. a story to tell children to make them weep and fear the dark. so how could he still think you are not ready.

“I have let you do what you needed, patrol the blockade against my wishes. or fly alone when our enemies wait to make us weaker” he lectures, “and I will not let them take you.” for a moment you saw a regular father begging for his daughter to stay safe. you aren’t just a daughter now but a soldier in war.

“I would never let them take me,” you step closer and give him a smug look, “I am your daughter after all.”

Instead of going himself, daemon sends you, for the head of the copycat prince.

the castle gates are easy to slip passed with the help of a guard who shares your hatred for the hightowers. and many times, you slip into the keep without getting caught.

“Something told me you’d be here,” his eye glanced at you amused from the cough as his fingertips spin a coin. “It’s as if the gods made me stay here.” aemond unfolded his legs and leaned forward on his knees. many years you hated the way he spoke to you like a interest of his to be claimed like his bitch dragon.

“Then the gods agree you’ll die tonight.”

aemond waited for this moment to finally fight you. he wanted to win and keep you forever as a trophy, a wife who was like him and everyone feared without a doubt. he wasn’t a fool, you are a skilled killer and he needed to bring his all. and some skills stayed in the dark.

a slice in his chest, in his leg and cheek aren’t as bad as he thought when he had you pinned down onto the table. the cold feeling of metal as his hands wrapped around your throat was refreshing. you didn’t try and fight back as he took your breath because the fight was won as soon as it started.

And he should have known you couldn’t be this sloppy.

curling lips up into a devil’s smirk, looking into his eye he feels himself weakened and his grip loosen. the power of letting a man win and wiping all power from beneath their feet was riveting and a hobby. Aemond leaned back and placed his weight onto the couch while trying to keep composure. “You honestly think i wouldn’t have a plan? Make my own rules?” you raise a brow and rub the sore skin of your neck, inching closer while standing up yourself.

“Silent reaper is the name they whisper about me, come in quickly without notice. I always kill my enemies without them awake, but you,” you point and lean down as his eyes become bloodshot, “I want to feel the most pain. And I will enjoy it.” within a few minutes his body starts to leak its own blood. he was quickly taken to death of course, you couldn’t hear his pleads but you’ll satisfy with his death.

guards fall silent when they watch you walk through the halls they don’t even announce your name. white locks lace your fingers and the weight of his head was little and you look like your father with the proud eyes of what you did. the sounds of your footsteps cause the council to glance over but stay with shock. non of them expected to see that and much less out of no where. though, your father seemed pleased and chuckled at the sight.

“The head of Prince Aemond Targaryen, your Grace.” Walking past Jace you set the bloody head on the table as people gawk and flinch. “the poison was my idea, hope you don’t mind.” a second later you yawn of exhaustion and boredom. you look at rhaenrya as her eyes glossed with the revenge you took for her.

“If you’ll excuse me, the ride back was tiring and I wish to get back to my book.” bowing down you flash a “polite” smile and walk away to your chambers with pride and a hand rested on your blade. with everyone wondering what else you would do for the queen,

Your mother.

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐑… 𝐍𝐎. 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 ¹

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you were once a feared name on the sea--once, but not anymore. your downhill life takes a turn when you decide to rob a pirate ship, and it happens to belong to one of your big brothers.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy's sister!reader x strawhats

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: smoking, mysterious backstory ooooo ahhhh, fluff and minimal angst, not enireeeely satisfied with this but its left off kinda open-ended so ill likely return to this scenario later

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Now, the Strawhat Pirates were used to not knowing much about their captain’s past. He has a brother with flame powers? Sure thing. A Marine Vice Admiral for a grandfather? Okay, that’s fine. Monkey D. Dragon is his father? Whatever, they’ve heard crazier. 

But really, at this point, they might want to just sit him down and get all of it out in the open. 

Usopp wandered through a busy marketplace, Luffy’s shirtsleeve in his tight vice. Sanji tailed them as an extra precaution, one eye on his supply list and the other on the ready-to-bolt captain. 

Luffy huffed indignantly, tugging at Usopp’s grip. “I wanna explore.”

“And we want to get out of here in a timely manner,” Usopp quipped back.

And they just might have done just that, if not for the hooded figure running right through Luffy and Usopp, parting their hands. A street vendor shouted curses after them, shaking a fist. “S-Stop! Hey!”

It was no use; the thief was too far away, and the man was too old to have the energy to chase them. He slumped his shoulders and pinched his brow, raising his gaze to find the stares of Luffy, Sanji, and Usopp zeroed in on him. “What? You plan on robbin’ the old man too?”

Sanji removed his cigarette from between his teeth with a shake of his head. “Sorry. What’d they steal? Maybe we can get it back for you?”

The old man shook a dismissive hand, frown deeply set on his face. “Agh. Don’t bother. You kids don’t get yerself wrapped up with her.” That was all it took for their prying curiosity to close in on him, and suddenly the man was surrounded on all sides. “Hey, now…”

“Who?” Luffy demanded first, head cocked to the side. 

Lips agape, he shook his head and jabbed a thumb at the wanted poster pinned up to the wall beside his fruit stand. “That’s her, if you’re so curious. Been robbin’ us blind all month! The marines tried to catch ‘er, but no one can touch the bitch.”

Usopp rushed over and swiped the poster down, skimming it over with a hum. “Doesn’t look too tough. I bet we can take ‘er.”

The man rolled his eyes. “That’s what we all said.”

Sanji peeked over the sharpshooter’s shoulder as he let out a puff of smoke. He blinked, cheeks growing warm the longer he gazed at the woman pictured. “She’s… beautiful.”

Usopp squinted at the slightly faded writing scrawled under the picture. “Wanted dead or…” He snorted. “Nope, that’s it. Just dead for 40,000,000 berri.”

“Lemme see!” Luffy sidled up to Usopp and stared right at the poster’s center, recognition settling in instantly. You looked older, but that wasn’t the biggest change—joy had returned to your smile, your beaming expression showcasing a side of you he hadn’t seen since before Sabo died. 

An unbridled laugh left him as he took the poster roughly, shoving Usopp aside. “Hey! That’s my little sister!”

“Oh,” Usopp hummed, taking a moment to process before his brows vaulted and he shot Sanji a look. “WHAT?!”

જ ⁀ ➴

You slinked through the streets toward the docks, hood hung low over your face, cheshire grin shrouded by shadow. You rolled a slice of mango around your tongue, sighing now that your hunger was satisfied. 

You wanted to pay the guy—honest! But being an enemy of the state didn’t exactly pay well, and a mercenary’s gotta eat. 

Waiting for a donkey cart to roll past, you bolted over to the wooden boardwalk just in front of the port. Nobody paid you any mind, assuming you to be one of the street urchins that made up the local gangs. You only meant to play a small joke on the young sailor you’d grown acquainted with, make his life just a bit more difficult, when your path was halted by the sight of a new ship docked at port.

It was a pretty caravel, a little rough around the edges from weather and climate, with a masthead of a goat peering out at the city. A pirate ship, for certain. A grin itched its way up your face. A pirate ship meant treasure, and there wasn’t much in this life you liked more than treasure. 

Well, there was one thing, but unfortunately, your brothers were scattered across the sea—two alive, one not so much. The thought had you stumbling over your own feet, righting yourself swiftly before you headed for the caravel. You mumbled pathetically to yourself, like you had been since you left your home village some years ago. The life of a mercenary is a lonely one. 

“Wonder what they’ve got, huh, Sabo.” Gazing up at the clouds, you grinned. The wind whistled through your hair, and your coping mechanism fell through. It’d been doing that a lot lately. Sighing out your troubles, you shook out your shoulders and crept up the gangway. 

A girl stood watch, facing the sea on the other side of the ship. At the helm, a swordsman lay sleeping. Other than that, it was empty. Just a skinny-limbed girl and a lazy warrior. Perfect.

You slipped on board without a sound, living up to your title as The Silent Death. Well, nobody had called you that in a few years, not since you were twelve and stormed Marine Headquarters looking for your grandfather. You hadn’t found the Vice Admiral, but you had given them a reason for renovation. You possessed the Terra-Terra Fruit, and the earth rumbled at your command. At least you still held the name Earthshaker.

Your first wanted poster had been a shot of you sailing away, laughing in the face of the destruction. A force of nature, they called you. Hired by pirates, warlords, and royalty to do their less than noble deeds. But that was a long time ago. Now, you were nothing more than a petty thief, loneliness and grief taking its toll after so long repressing it.

But never the matter! After this last loot, you’d have the money to buy back your ship, get off that godforsaken island, and finally restore yourself to your former glory. Then Ace would never call you on your little snail transponder and laugh at your series of failures.

“Hey.” You glanced up from where you were crouching behind a barrel, locking eyes with the girl as she blinked surprisedly. Her hand itched toward a weapon at her side. 

“Shit.” You cursed yourself and your inner-monologuing tendencies. “Bye!”

You darted up and made for the edge of the ship when a sword whizzed past your faze, narrowly missing your chin. The swordsman rose, alert as ever, two more swords ready at his side. You scoffed, huffing, “Why do you need three?”

Three… Two… One.

Eyes widened, you realized you knew that lazy swordsman (whose swords probably overcompensated for something) just as he started to recognize you as well. He jumped down to the deck, approaching warily as the girl came to stand beside him. 

Roronoa Zoro muttered your name like a curse. “What’re you doing here, huh?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you murmured back, genuinely curious. “What’re you doin’ on a pirate ship, pirate hunter?”

“Change in career path,” he snapped. “We don’t appreciate stowaways. Especially not a backwater odd-job dog clinging to her glory days.”

You tsked. “Now, now. I was just having a look around. No harm done.” You swept a bow, flicking your wrist as you searched out the sea floor far down below. “I’ll be going now.”

With your head bowed, they didn’t catch your growing smirk until it was too late; the oceanic crust spread across the floor, magma exposed to the salty sea at an unnatural speed. The water rocked the ship and all those around, the nearby sailors murmuring worriedly.

“Hey, I may be a loser,” you admitted, picking at a cuticle as their glares shifted to concern. “But I’m still the Earthshaker, Roronoa. Now, how about some financial compensation for my bruised pride, before I capsize this sorry excuse for a boat.”

The girl scoffed in reply, brows vaulted. “Yeah, no thanks. We’re very attached to our beri.”

“You are,” Roronoa yelped. “Give her something before we lose the ship!”

Lips pursed, the girl looked ready to either attack you or give up, so you worsened the sea’s uproar just to give her a scare. A relent was on the tip of her tongue when her gaze darted over your shoulder, relief flooding her features. “Luffy!”

The sea floor closed up in an instant, the color leaving your face. “Luffy?”

A body flung into your back, tackling you to the deck. You bit back curses, wriggling free, when that laugh hit the back of your neck. A million repressed memories surfaced like the magma you controlled, and you were suddenly twelve years old, leaving your last brother in the dead of night to set off on an adventure you thought would fix everything. 

Falling still, you slowly shifted to roll on your back, staring up at the beaming face of Monkey D. Luffy. You pushed up on your elbows, blind to the careful stares of those around, and gulped down some air. “Luffy?”

He chuckled gently, murmuring your name in turn, and you lurched forward to wring your arms around his neck. A tiny piece of your heart was put back in place (only a third of it, and you figured it would only be whole when you died and rejoined the brother lost). 

Leaving home so young was a shitty miscalculation on your part. You’d fled Dawn Island some time after Ace, and some time before Luffy. Your not-so-big-more-like-twin brother always said you’d set out together, that one day he would be Pirate King and you would all be happy. But you left without ever saying goodbye, joined up with a crew of mercenaries, ate a devil fruit, and searched out Grandpa Garp for some answers about where you came from. And years passed and you could never admit your mistake—not until you spotted Luffy’s smiling face in the wanted poster he always thought you would share. 

You leaned back and caught his eye, scurrying to sit on your knees. You wiped at your eyes as embarrassing tears started to well up. “I… I dunno…”

He knocked his head against yours, eliciting a sharp ow! from you. Luffy grinned cheekily as you nursed your temples. “You owe me an apology. So you can start there.”

And the fire sprang up in your throat all over again. Pathetic, you choked it all down with a nod. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. With S-Sabo gone and Ace gone… I thought for sure you’d be gone too soon enough… so I left you before you could leave me.”

You looked away sheepishly, rubbing at your arms. Luffy just flicked the side of your head and offer you the same bright expression he always did; it was the expression that gave you hope your life wasn’t totally screwed over, not yet anyways. “It’s okay—S’ long as you know it was stupid.”

You rolled your eyes and stood as he did the same. His hand never strayed far from your shoulder, holding you there like you might bolt away. Luffy gave a laugh and turned to face his friends, and only then did you remember you weren’t alone. You pivoted to face them all, locking eyes with a less-than-pleased Zoro.

“What’d going on, Luffy?” Zoro grunted, and if possible Luffy’s smile grew.

He took both your shoulders and shook you a little. “This is my little sister!”

You scoffed. “Little my ass! We’re the same age!”

Luffy held up his palm to his own height, then dipped it down to around your collarbone. “But you were always little-er, and Ace got to call you little!”

“Because he’s older than me!”

“Wait,” Zoro butted in just as you prepped to launch yourself at Luffy. “Sister? You never mentioned a sister.”

Luffy nocked his head to the side, lips pursed. “I didn’t?”

“No.”

“Huh.” He laughed it off. “But this is great! We saw Ace a while back in Alabasta, y’know.”

Nodding, you twined your hands behind your back and rocked on your heels. “Yeah, I caught ‘im a few months ago.”

The reunion met a halt when Luffy asked, “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

Nami jutted out a hip and settled you with a look. “She threatened to take down the Merry if we didn’t hand over our beri.”

Luffy’s brows vaulted, lips a thin line as he turned to you. You chuckled awkwardly. “That is something I did, yes.”

But that wasn’t what occupied him. “How did you nearly sink the ship?”

“Oh.” You swirled your palms, gathering the granules of rock and dirt scattered around the deck and collecting it all in a tiny twister. “I got the Terra-Terra Fruit a few years ago.”

His eyes brighetend like stars. “That’s so cool!”

Usopp faced Sanji with a slack jaw. “What is it with their family and devil fruits?”

“Hello?” Nami waved a hand between you and Luffy. “She tried to rob us, Luffy.”

You inched away from her with a small smile. “Sorry about that. Desperate times, yeah?”

Despite the frowns set on everyone’s faces, you had a good feeling you would win them all over. You were just too charming, after all. Casting a look around, a familiar ache gnawed at your stomach. “Uhm, have you got any food?”

જ ⁀ ➴

The crew quickly decided that Ace was their favorite of the family. 

While Ace was polite, generous, and charming, you and Luffy were cut from the very same cloth. Messy and loud, the only difference was that you were slightly more aware of your surroundings than your brother.

“Yeah, she and Luffy were always tied at the hip,” said Ace, his voice crackling to life from the transponder snail Sanji pulled out one late night. “Just… don’t be too harsh on her. She’s had a rough few months.”

Sanji had no clue what that meant, but he almost wanted to find out, not just because you’re pretty. A shadowy look always eclipsed your face, no matter how big your smile got. Over the few weeks you’d spent on the Going Merry, Sanji tried to get to know your story, but you never answered more than a few sentences before disappearing the whole afternoon.

“You knew her from before,” he said to Zoro one morning, stopping the swordsman as they traded spots for the night watch. “Do you know anything?”

Zoro adjusted his swords at his hip, chewing at his cheek. “All I know is a couple years ago, she was one of the most wanted mercenaries on the East Blue. Now, she’s a shadow of that person on the Grand Line. Isn’t that just what this place does?”

“Maybe…” But Sanji knew better. Maybe he was so concerned because he knew that sometimes, on days darker and gloomier than the rest, he had that same look in his eye. So he caught you one night watch when you had no choice but to lean against the ship rail and deal with his company.

He took a long drag from a cigarette, preparing what he’d say, when you nudged him and reached out to take the smoke from him. Sanji scoffed a laugh as he handed it off, watching you inhale deep and expel it in a puff, your eyes heavy. “Wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” You took another drag.

“Whatever it is you thought of.”

From the way your face darkened, Sanji thought you might stub the cig on the deck and leave him there to take your watch, but you only stood there, head hung between your shoulders. You gave him back his smoke hesitantly. 

“For the longest time,” you sighed, “I wanted so badly to know where I come from.” Sanji tilted his head in unspoken question. “Me and Luffy aren’t reallys siblings. We’re adopted, I guess.”

“Ah.” That made all your similarities a little more uncanny, but it made sense. You didn’t really look like Luffy anyway. “And… you found out?”

You nodded shortly, picking at a splinter in the rail. “Not to long ago. I always imagined that my parents loved me, and that we got separated by some tragedy that left me on Dawn Island.” Your voice broke off hollowly. “But that’s not it at all.”

He didn’t say anything when you started crying, and he didn’t ask what exactly plagued your past. Sanji just… stood there, offered you a cloth from his pocket, and waited till you compeod yourself to give you his cigarette. 

“Thank you,” you whispered as the sun peeked up over the sea. 

“No need. I’m here if you want to talk. All of us are, really.”

You doubted that, but you sent him a smile and descended to the girl’s cabin for some sleep. Nami and Robin remained sleeping softly as you slipped into bed, staring up at the ceiling wide awake. Your slammed the heels of your palms to your eyes, silently screaming into the air. 

“Why,” you hissed. “Why did I cry?”

Sheets rustled across the room, and suddenly Robin’s eyes glinted at you. “You were crying?”

“Who’s crying?” Nami yawned as she pushed up on her elbows.

You just about buried yourself in your blanket and suffocated yourself, face warming over. “No one! Go to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Nami snapped back. “You practicality stomped in here. I’m thoroughly awake.”

“Same here.” Robin and Nami shifted to face you from their beds, sleepy eyes hooded as they gazed upon you. “What’s the matter?”

You sat quiet as a mouse, eyes wide and caught, until you flopped over on your side and pulled your blanket up to your chin. “Sorry I woke you.”

The two Strawhats locked eyes, brows equally raised. They’d been conspiring to figure you out ever since you joined their adventures, and this certainly added fuel to their investigative fire. Because as much as you laughed and played and made messes everywhere you went, a great shadow lurked behind you—and everyone could see it.

Like a lingering ghost of a past you’d rather forget, something haunted followed your every move. From the way you cast glances over your shoulder at every port to how you fell into frightening silence at certain points in conversation, the entire Strawhat Crew felt the way darkness pulled at you.

And they would find out why—Whether you liked it or not, they would find a way to help you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s

[baby-yongbok]

Backseat

Boyfriend!Seungmin x Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Smut ♡ Word Count - 4.1k ♡ Summary - Your open relationship with your boyfriend has one rule. What happens when you break it? ✧ Masterlist ✧

♡ A/N: Seungmin's look at the Chanel pop-up event killed me. That's it. That's the tweet. I hope that you enjoy! 💕+ reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ MDNI ♡ Warnings: Themes of open relationships, very light degradation - blink and you'll miss it, spit play?? - like, not really? but just to be safe, Dom Seungmin vibes & Seungmin is hot [I think that's all]

“Where did you even meet that guy?” The beeping of the microwave punctuated Sarina’s sentence and the other two girls all hummed in curiosity. It’s a typical girls night for the four of you. Sarina brings the drinks, Isa brings the snacks, Winter provides her Netflix password and more snacks and you allow them all into your apartment to listen to stories about your latest intimate escapades. 

“That restaurant downtown, Gammeeok. I dropped my keys and he chased me down to return them.” You drop the steaming bag of popcorn into the bowl, handing it off to Winter to take care of. “How charming.” Isa teases with a laugh and you all follow.

“So, like, Seungmin won’t be mad that you slept with some stranger? He really doesn’t care?” You nod as you stuff your mouth with a fist full of popcorn, humming and shrugging to save yourself time. “He doesn’t care. The only rule is that I can’t sleep with his friends and he can’t sleep with mine.”

“And you don’t tell him about the guys you sleep with?” 

“Mm, nope. He tells me about his hook-ups sometimes but he doesn’t really care to hear about mine. He just likes to know when they happen. He’s watched me fuck someone before but it was a one time thing.” A collective ‘oh’ echoes around the group of you as the girls exchange looks. “That’s hot.” Winter mumbles as she flips through the Netflix options and Isa shakes her head.

“My boyfriend would actually explode if that were our dynamic.” Sarina scoffs and the other girls agree before falling off into a new conversation of ‘what if’s’.

 Your phone buzzes under you as you all break out into a fit of hysterics. Your laugh dies in your throat once you read the message on your screen. The black letters typed by your boyfriend read, ‘I’m outside’, and you can feel your heart start to hammer. You weren’t supposed to see him until tomorrow morning.

 You text him back quickly, letting him know that it’s girls night and your friends weren’t leaving until the morning. Your phone buzzes with a reply seconds later, surely he said that he’d just see you tomorrow right? You can feel a shadow of anxiety as you read the new text. ‘You can leave them for a sec. Don’t you wanna see me?’

That text seems innocent right? Then why is your leg bouncing like he just sent you a ‘we need to talk’ text. I mean he did just get back from a family vacation today, maybe he just really missed you. Yeah, he got excited to see you, that’s it. 

“Helloooo, earth to y/n.” With the snap of Winter’s fingers your head snaps up to the girls across from you. “Everything cool? We were talking about rewatching Thirty-Nine or are you feeling something different?”

You open and close your mouth once or twice before you manage to look down at your phone and type a quick ‘coming’ to Seungmin. You pull yourself up from your armchair and grab a hoodie that you think is yours but you’re really not sure right now and you honestly don’t care much either.

“That’s fine but I - I have to - I’ll be right back.” 

“What’s up?” Isa asks and you sigh before doing your best to reassure them that everything is A-ok. They tease you as you unlock your front door, telling you that if you’re gone for more than five minutes that they just know that Seungmin is ruining you. You brush it off with an eye roll and make your way to the lobby of your building. There’s a comfortable breeze that you're thankful for since you’re only in your loungewear.

You look around for any sign of Seungmin’s car for a second before your phone buzzes again. ‘4 cars down to the left.’ 

You follow his direction, walking a couple of steps before his car comes into sight. You notice that Seungmin is absent from the driver's seat and as you get closer you can faintly make out his figure in the back seat. You open the door and slide in next to him once you reach the car, closing the door softer than usual in case you’re wrong about the reason for his impromptu visit. 

“Hey, baby, welcome back.” You lean into him, planting a chaste kiss on his lips that he returns with no problem. “This is a surprise.”

He’s not making any faces, his eyebrows aren’t furrowed like they usually are when he’s upset and he’s smirking at you though you can’t say that it seems entirely friendly. “I had to see you. Missed you.”

Your heart plays hopscotch inside your chest for a moment though you can’t tell if it’s because he’s being sweet or because of your looming anxiety. “You were gonna see me tomorrow, did you get too excited to tell me about your trip?” You try to relax into your seat. Maybe there’s nothing wrong, maybe it’s all in your head.

“Mm, not really, no.” Fuck it, something is up he’s too laid back. “Actually there was something that I was dying to tell you about.”

Bingo. You look over at him, wide anxious eyes boring into his dark ones. “Answer this for me, sweetie.” He pulls his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket. You hadn’t even noticed that he was wearing the gift you gave him this past year for his birthday. He looks damn good in it as always.

 Okay, wait, stop gawking. Focus. 

“Do you recognize this guy?” A bright smile parts his lips as your jaw goes slack. You stare at the picture on his phone screen, eyes darting between Seungmin and the guy next to him. The guy you fucked a day ago. “Gotta use your words.”

“I- well, yeah.” You blink up at him, worry plastered on every muscle of your face. Seungmin takes a moment to rest his hand on your bouncing leg, soothing circles into the clothed flesh. Okay, so he’s not really that mad. “I did something bad didn’t I?”

He tsks, huffing a short laugh as he locks his phone and slips it back into his pocket. “Mm, I mean you fucked my roommate from college so, you tell me.” You whine, covering your eyes with your hands.

“I had no idea, baby, really.” 

“I know, I don’t think that you did this on purpose.” The pads of his fingers dig into your thigh and he pulls you closer to him. “Just imagine my surprise when Hyunjin picks me up from the airport and starts raving about a girl who sucked his soul from him.” You groan again, wiggling a bit as he pulls you into his side, throwing his arm around you. 

“I was even more surprised when he showed me the video.” You gasp so loud and fast that you nearly choke. You forgot about the video.

“Oh fuck, oh no, I fucked up.” There’s a burning at the back of your eyes that matches the feeling in your chest. You should’ve been more careful but you aren’t exactly the type to vet your hook-up’s like a gun shop doing a background check. “I’m so sorry, Seungmin. I swear that if I would’ve known I wouldn’t have gone home with him.”

“I already told you that I believe you, baby.” He draws circles into the bare skin of your shoulder, it sends a chill up your spine. “But, I must admit that a punishment is something that I find appropriate for this situation.” 

You peer up at him through your thick lashes, trying your best to blink away the tears threatening to fall. A punishment? You can do that. 

“Anything, Min. I truly am sorry.”

“Show me, don’t tell me.” You move to unbuckle his belt, swallowing hard as you fiddle with the metal. “Nuh uh.” 

You hum, confused. There are a couple of punishments that are commonly used by Seungmin and fucking your tiny throat to the point of tears is usually his favorite. “I have something else in mind.” 

He gently places his hands on your hips, pulling you into his lap so that you're straddling him. You rest your hands on the back of the seat, more than familiar with this position since he’s taken you in the back seat more times than you can count. 

“I already heard everything from Hyunjin. He recalled the scenario in grave detail.” Seungmin keeps his eyes on you as his nimble fingers twirl the string to your pajama pants. “Now what I want you to do..”

He pulls at the string, undoing the bow. “Is tell me your side of the story.” Your breath catches in your throat.

“What do you.. mean?” He pulls at the waistband of your pants gently. 

“I wanna hear it from your point of view.” He smiles at you, that teasing gleam in his eye that you know means trouble. “ I want you to tell me how he felt, how he sounded, how he tasted.” 

You involuntarily grind into him as you start to recall the events of that night. “But… you never wanna hear about that stuff. Are you sure?”

“What did I just ask for?” His large hand squeezes your thigh and you jump at the pressure. “Does my puppy think that I don’t know what I want?” 

“No no, I’m sorry. I’m just - just nervous I think.” He grins up at you, there’s a softness to it that relaxes you. 

“Don’t be nervous, I just want you to tell me all about it, okay? I won’t think of you any differently. I won’t love you any less.” His lips brush against yours, slow and soft as he teases a kiss. “I just want you to tell me how he fucked you.” He plants the kiss, soft and rough, hungry and gentle. A contradiction. 

“Can you do that for me?” He whispers against your lips and you shake your head. You’re already getting hazy and he’s barely touched you. “Say it.”

“I can do that. I’ll tell you how he fucked me.” He slips his hand down the front of your pants, the tips of his finger grazing over your pubic mound in a tickling touch that makes you buck into him. 

“Go on, pup. Speak.”

“Okay- uh where do you want me to start?” He hums, looking up in false contemplation.

“Start from the moment that you got to his place. I’ve already heard the beginning. He told me all about you sucking him off in his car.” He grins, clearly enjoying the effect that that sentence had on you. You nod your head, trying your best to block out his tantalizing touch lingering inches from your clit. 

“Well, he offered me something to drink… we shared a bottle of soju.” Seungmin’s gaze is burning into you as you speak. Attentive with a hint of something unrecognizable. He tongues his cheek a bit, something that he does when he’s thinking or listening. “ I was complaining about finishing my share of it too quickly so he offered me some of his… he said that.. He, uh..”

Seungmin’s finger crawls down your mound brushing against your clit and drawing your attention back you him. Your nervous gaze meets his steady one. “Focus on me.” He applies a bit more pressure and you squirm in his lap. “Speak, baby.”

“He said that he’d give it to me if he could feed it to me.” 

“He poured it into your mouth?” You shake your head and Seungmin starts to ghost his finger back and forth over your bud, you sigh at the feather light contact. 

“He put it in his mouth and tipped my head back then he spit it into my mouth.” A heavy breath escapes your boyfriend, flaring his nostrils as he processes the information. “Then he kissed me.”

“With tongue?” You nod and he presses firmly against your clit. Your hips grind into the touch before you can fully process it but Seungmin’s free hand grounds you to his lap. “What did he taste like?”

You moan, the mixture of smooth circles being rubbed into your aching bud and recalling the nasty memories of the night before is sending a surge through your system. “Soju, mint, a bit of- a bit of - cake.” He lets up, returning to his featherlight touch.

“Cake?” You nod, sucking in a long breath. “We shared some before we got to his place.”

“How romantic.” He teases, rolling his eyes. “Did he fuck you on the couch?”

“Nuh uh, his bed.” Seungmin, removes his hand and dips his pointer and middle finger into his mouth. You watch as his tongue laves over the digits carefully before his hand snakes back into your pants. “We made out on the couch, he undressed me and sucked my nipples. He fingered me a bit and I jerked him off.” 

That delicious pressure is reapplied when you give him more details. He rubs tight circles over you with his spit slick fingers. So that’s how you win this game? The more details you give the more pleasure you get. A moan erupts from your chest, echoing through the car and dying in the stuffy space. 

“Did you come when he sucked your nipples?” You shake your head and he tsks, a faint grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive.”

“He said the same thing. He told me he’s never met a girl who could cum from that. He kept sucking them and they were so s-sensitive.” You’re gushing at this point, ruining your flimsy panties and dampening the crotch of your pajamas. “I jerked him off while he did it. He was moaning and he - he sounded..” 

Seungmin slows down his ministrations when you seem to get lost in the pleasure. You look down at him, desperate eyes pleading for more but his stern gaze tells you exactly what you already know. You have to earn it. “How’d he sound, baby?”

“He sounded so.. So pretty, Min. I told him he sounds as pretty as he looks.”

“Prettier than me?” Is he teasing? Or is he jealous? Is it both? No matter, you shake your head, sating any sprout of jealousy that may be budding in his chest. 

“Never. No one is.” Seungmin smiles, you’re so pretty like this. Glazed eyes staring into his in a desperate attempt at proving that you’re the good girl that he knows you are. Your drooling cunt pulsing against his fingers, silently asking to be filled. Desperately begging to be fucked.

“Go on.” 

“He picked me up and carried me to his bed. He bent me over it and fucked me like that.” He taps your clit, prompting you to give him more but that’s not what does it. It’s the tight feeling of his cock straining against his jeans underneath you that gets you to start rambling. 

“He didn’t fill me up like you do though. You’re thicker than him, you make me feel so much fuller.” You get the pressure you were craving, wide sloppy circles leave you chasing the stimulation. 

“Tryna suck up to me, pup?” You deny it, shaking your head frantically. “ I don’t need you to tell me that I fuck you better. I know I do.”

“Okay, s-sorry.” Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing is starting to pick up and Seungmin decides to allow your hips to chase his movement. That decision was more in his favor than yours since the grinding of your hips gives him the stimulation that he’s dying for. He’s never found himself interested in the details of your sexual escapades. Just the knowledge that you’ve been with someone else was enough to get him off but this is different. It’s delicious and finds himself hanging on to every single word that leaves your lips.

“He fucked me from behind and he - he was spanking me. He spanked me and I moaned - oh my god - I moaned for him just like t-that. He told me - told me that I was dripping and making a fucking mess. He called me his messy baby and he wrapped his hand around my hair and - and pulled my head back - Fuck, Min, fuck fuck fuck.”

This is exactly what he wanted. Your tongue peeking from between your lips and your eyes hazy with need. He wanted you fucked out and pliable. He wanted you to relax. He can know anything that he wants now and selfishly he wants to know more. He wants to know everything.

“Mmm is that right?” His fingers dip between your folds, collecting your slick and spreading it over your clit “If my messy baby tells me more she can feel my fingers fill her up.”

“God, yes, please. Need it, need it.”

“Gotta speak, pup.”

“Okay - uh uh after he fucked me like that I got on top and I rode his cock and - and he felt deeper like that and he looked so so pretty under me and I- Oh fuck, Seungmin.” Your head fell back in a moan as his digits sunk into you. He sighed as your tight walls squeezed him as a literal warm welcome to his favorite place on this earth. 

“Tell me how you rode him while you ride my fingers.” His free hand trails up your stomach, his larghetto touches a clear contrast to the pornographic moans and squelches filling the small space. His fingers wrap around your neck once he reaches your clavicle, his nails digging in ever so slightly.

“Eyes on me, lemme see you.” Your lids flutter open revealing your hazy orbs to your lover. His cock twitches at the sight. “Tell me.”

You gulp, there’s too much spit in your mouth but at the same time your throat feels dry. You want to cry, it feels so good. So dirty. “I pinned his hands above his head - fuck.” 

Seungmin could’ve lost it there. That could’ve made him bust but he kept his composure. The mental image of you grinding on his friend's dick while you pinned him to the bed made him feel things that he never imagined. 

He scissored his fingers against your clenching walls, encouraging you to give him more. You blinked, once, twice before trying to regain your composure. “And I was grinding in a circle, he was looking up at me like I hung the fucking stars in the sky and I felt s-so fucking good. So fucking powerful. When I started fucking him he was praising me.”

Seungmin’s cock is leaking, dripping and making a sticky mess in his briefs but he couldn't care less than he does right now. Not when he has you bouncing over his fingers with the most filthy memories being recited from your plump drooling lips. “What did he call you?”

“Pretty. He said ‘m so pretty and - and he said - he said that I’m the best fuck he’s had in so long. Said I use his cock so well. He - He said -” He fucks his fingers deeper into you and you can’t help but pause, gasping for air as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

“What’s the matter? Hyunjin got your tongue?” You cry out, panting as he fucks you deep against your g-spot. “Did you like when he praised you?” You shake your head so fast that it nearly looks like you’re throwing your neck in a circle. Seungmin chuckles, how cute.

“Does my girl want me to praise her more?” A drooling whimper escapes you and Seungmin leans forward to lick the dribble from the corner of your mouth. Planting a kiss on the spot. 

“Does she want me to tell her how good she feels when she opens up for me?” A rush of arousal floods out of you and for a second you can swear that you’ve never been this wet in your entire life. Seungmin is the only partner who has ever left you feeling completely satisfied yet right now you feel like this is so much more. He’s unlocked a new level. 

“Such a good dumb pup.” He rasps, darkness clouding his tone. “You’re such a pleasure to use.” He kisses you, it’s sloppy and rough. “Is that how you want it done?”

Words don’t make sense anymore. Not with Seungmin’s fingers fucking into you so deep that you could see stars. The fuzzy streaks of the streetlights hypnotizes you as he fucks you closer and closer to the release building up in the pit of your stomach. “How else did he fuck you?”

You snap back to reality, tongue hanging from your open mouth. You attempt to refocus your gaze but to no prevail. “Against the… the wall.” You’re breathless, spent, you’re close.

“Baby.” Seungmin growls, calling your attention as he thrusts into you especially rough. “Did Hyunjin cum inside of this cunt?”

Your anxiety would be creeping up your spine again if there wasn’t already a thick sheet of pleasure encasing it. Fuck, you forgot about that rule. “Answer. Me.” His words are punctuated with a punishing thrust, effectively drawing an answer out of you. 

“Yes, yes h-he did. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m s- Fuck, Min, Seung - Seungmin, fuck.” This is the part where it feels like a punishment. The way that Seungmin’s fingers hammer into you  while his thumb rubs at your clit is dizzying. The stars littering your vision get brighter with every thrust. 

“I’m sorry.” You cry out as a tear escapes the corner of your eye. He kisses it away. A gentle action that is a stark contrast to the way that he’s pounding you.

“You thought you could get away with that, huh?” He rasps, leaning you forward so that your back is resting on the seat in back of you. His free hand supports your lower back while the other abuses your cunt. “You know better.” 

Your moans and screams do little to deter him from ruining you. Your palm lays flat against the foggy window giving a clear indication of what the two of you are doing on this warm Tuesday night, if your screams weren’t enough of a sign. “You know that only I get to fill this pussy. You know that.” He pulls away from you abruptly, leaving you panting, empty and spasming around nothing. You whine as you try to catch your breath. 

He gives himself a second to take you in but really it’s a second for him to avoid busting in his jeans. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” You’re breathless but he knows you mean it. His eyes don’t show it but he’s already forgiven you. He slips his hand back into your pants and feels around your soaked cunt. 

Seungmin closes his eyes for a second, taking in every beautiful inch of you. He can see it if he closes his eyes, he’s spent so many hours between your thighs that he’s got it memorized. 

“You’re so fucking wet.” He groans, losing himself for a moment. “Are you wet for me or him?” 

“You.” He leans you up so that your forehead rests against his. He starts rubbing at your clit again, gradually building up speed. 

“Say it again. Tell me my puppy is only this wet for me.” His free hand guides your hips against him and he moans at the friction. His cock jumps - or tries to jump - against the tight fabric. 

“Your puppy is only wet for you, baby. Only you.” His fingers move faster, the knot in your stomach pulls tighter, you’re close. So close.

“Again, baby, you only get this dumb for me right? Only get this wet for me.”

“Only you, Min. Only you.” Your rhythm falters as your orgasm starts to spill over. 

“Tell me you love me, pup. Tell me.” He breathes and you inhale deeply, exhaling with a shaky declaration of love as your orgasm rips through you. 

“I love you, I love you, I love -” He cuts you off with a kiss, groaning against you as he busts in his jeans. You grind against him as he bucks up into you and the two of you ride out your orgasms together. His tongue explores your mouth in a feverish kiss, moans tumble from the both of you and you only pull away when the burning in your lungs starts to become unbearable. 

“I love you too.” 

Thank you reading! Please like and share, it makes my day!

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

[bluerosefox]

Gothamites Never Really Rest

Small warning in this: very light swearing, light mentions of deaths, and tw light touching on the subject of abuse, like very light. But still an fyi.

Danny was used to his main Rogues (Boxy, Ember, Skulker, etc etc, you know those guys) showing up randomly and at odd hours, causing some chaos around town due to their own boredom or just wanting some fun (the more deadly ones were rare to show up and his main Rogues do at least respect him enough to give him the rest of the day off when they sense a ‘big bad’ fight), he fights them, wins, before he send them back to the portal. Then they rinse and repeat this for the next day.

So as he really wasn’t expecting, especially since he had just sent his ghostly quota for the day back to the portal a few hours ago (Boxy of course, and Youngblood (dressed as a Firefighter this time, though the ending for their fight actually ended on a good note. YB had been asking Danny about space, Danny kinda hoped YB will be an Astronaut next time cause that would be fun)), Johnny 13 (and Shadow) to phase into his room as he was heading to bed.

Honestly (he groaned when he realized who it was, dealing with Johnny, Kitty (and Shadow) during a ‘break up’ or ‘lovers spat’ always was a pain) he was expecting Johnny to just start attacking but before Danny could demanded to know what he was doing in his room Johnny hesitatingly asked if they could talk.

Now Danny, talking to his main Rogues, like legit talking was a very rare thing. But it has happened a few times.

With Johnny asking if they could talk, his face nervous but not in a 'I pissed off Kitty and idk where she ran off to again', Danny nodded and agreed.

"Hey, so like I know we all kinda agreed not to go roaming too far from Amity because of the whole government suits guys and bringing unwanted attention to us ghosts in the names of the Super Dorks but is it alright if Kitty and I head across the state for a few days? I promise we'll be back and stay under the radar..."

"What?! Why would you guys need to something like that?!"

"....."

"Johnny, look dude I know Amity can get boring sometimes but-"

"Someone killed Kitty's abusive waste of space father three weeks ago, you know that fucker that killed us in cold blood when he found out Kitty and I were enloping. Yeah him. We felt it, we felt him die and... kid I can tell you how our cores SANG about it when he croaked. Whoever ended him, they did so for us. It was a revenge kill... It felt amazing. Its why you havent seen us too, we... we needed time to process that." Johnny quickly explained and that shut any protest Danny had up, he knew a bit of the story how Johnny and Kitty died, and it was respectful to allow one's fellow ghost to talk about their deaths should they talk of it.

With a melancholy smile and a hand petting a chirping Shadow who sprung up to comfort his other half, Johnny then said "Kitty's been avoiding returning to Gotham for ages since we woke up in the Realms and whenever we found a natural portal back to it. She's always been terrified of running into him and even being a ghost she's still can't. But he's gone now, we felt his life end and he isn't a ghost either! Like legit, if he became a ghost we'd still be able to sense our murderer you know!... Anyways she wants to visits her old haunts and maybe see if we can find some old friends, see how they're doing you know. We won't mess with them or anything, just a small pop in..."

"We... We also kinda wanna find the guy who did it too... We could feel his emotions when he ended Kitty's old man and firstly let me tell you, rage. Like a lot of it. But also we felt his need for justice and... he felt familiar... like someone we knew and he knew us. That's how we know it's a revenge kill. Someone did that for us and well.... Kitty and I wanna thank him you know."

-x-x-

Meanwhile in Gotham about three week prior.

A budding Crime Lord had crossed out the face of a older man from a photograph pinned onto a corkboard, below and connected by red strings was two other papers as well. One held the newspaper clipping of two bodies being found in a ditch with the remains of a busted up motorcycle, a young male and female were reportedly found halfway buried in it. The male was reported to be a trouble maker from Crime Alley, knowen for stealing tires while the female was the daughter of a suspected mob boss.

The other string however, lead to a small, yellowed from age and tiny bit damaged photo of three people. The photo held two older, nearly out of their teens, male and female both looking like rough city street kids. A motorcycle could be seen behind them an it was missing a wheel. The young man with blonde hair was kneeling on the ground, his hands holding onto a tire iron and he looked rather proud, the young female was wearing red and had some dye in her hair and was smiling as she held the camera taking the picture in a selfie as best as she could.

In between the two was a young kid, blue eyes and black hair, a beaming smile on his face as his own hands were on top of a tire wheel. A wheel he had finally learned how to take off in record speed thanks to Johnny teaching him.

Green eyes that shifted for a second to teal stared at the photo for a moment before saying

"Hope you both are resting easily now. Kitty, Johnny."

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

[bluebellhairpin]

Katsuki Bakugou X Secretary!Reader

Summary: Working as the secretary to the famous designer Katsuki Bakugou hasn't been easy - however you find out you have it easier than most. Soon after that, you find out why.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Power Dynamic (VERY inappropriate boss/employee relationship). Swearing. Smidge of making-out. Bakugou probably gives off manipulative yandere vibes. Reader; wears a skirt, is called 'baby', otherwise is g/n (unless I've missed something T-T).

Listening to: 'Donatella' by Lady Gaga - "I wanna dress you up in silk taffeta, tailor these clothes to fit your guilt, what's your size?"

Masterlist || Ko-Fi || Art inspired by the fic

The Bakugou brand was known all over the world. From Gucci to Balenciaga, Bakugou was a name everyone in the fashion industry respected - and when it came to the man behind it all, it was also a name to be feared. 

Katsuki Bakugou, with his grown wealth, fame, and the power that went with them, was practically a god on earth. 

You were the one lucky (or pitied) person chosen to work closely with him. A secretarial assistant job to none other than the man himself was a job so many people would die for. It was also a job many before you had almost died while enduring. No one had lasted longer than a year. It barely took a week for you to figure out why. 

Katsuki wasn’t just a diva, or a bitch (although he certainly was those things too) - he was the devil in Christopher Goodyear Welt’s. 

By three months working under the blond tyrant, you had decided your life could be worse. You weren’t sure why all his previous assistants weren’t able to handle it - not until you walked into work this morning. 

Katsuki was already in his office - a situation you hadn’t come across yet since he had a strict nine-to-five schedule he adored - and was practically roaring at someone down the receiver of his landline. He had a temper on him, sure - he was as famous for it as he was for his designs - but you’d yet to see him quite this angry before. 

“You wouldn’t know corduroy if you spent your nine months in the womb with it!” you heard as you set your bag aside and hooked your coat up. “Get me Eijirou you shitty prick!” 

You settled at your desk, eying his shadow through the frosted glass as he paced back and forth as you powered on your computer. Your eyes flickered down to the phone on your desk - if you picked it up you’d be able to hear the person on the other end - however if Katsuki caught you eavesdropping more than you already where (not that you had much of a choice right now) you would be in a whole new world of trouble. 

“Put me on hold, I dare you.” Was the final thing Katsuki said before slamming the phone back down. It became eerily quiet. You barely dared to breathe. 

Hearing his footfalls softly stalk across the carpet of his office, you tucked your head down and opened a random email to look busy. 

“Where the fuck have you been all morning?” Your eyes rose to meet his vermilion ones. He had on that black button down that made his shoulders seem extra wide. For a moment words failed you - but you kicked your brain into gear quickly. 

“Sir, it’s only eight thirty?” 

“I’ve needed you here since six.” he said, leaning forward with a hand sprawled across your desk, looming over you in a way you had become quite accustomed to, and sending a dizzying waft of his cologne in your direction. 

“I was very unaware of that,” you said, almost apologizing, but then thinking otherwise. You had been learning quickly the things Katsuki liked people saying, and the things he liked less so. “What can I do now?” 

“Absolutely fucking nothing. You’re useless now.” he leant back, waving you off and sighing. “I need a coffee.” he said, turning on his heel back into the office. 

“Useless my ass - who else gets you coffee?” you mumbled, quickly clicking through the email so you didn’t forget to later. Katsuki could be an absolute bitch, but at least he hadn’t yelled at you specifically - yet. 

The little kitchenette across from your desk made coffee runs very easy - the only issue was that it still took a while. No instant or pod coffee’s for the great Katsuki. 

Ten minutes later and you were pushing the door to Katsuki’s office open with one hand full of cayenne pepper infused coffee, and the other holding the latest Vogue magazine that had just been dropped at your desk. 

You wordlessly placed the coffee on a coaster, and the magazine went from the table into his hands before you could even put it on the table. He likewise silently started flicking through the pages - but you had things to talk about. 

“What was the issue this morning?” You asked, straight to the point. He didn’t look up at you when he answered, instead stayed focused on the pages as he fingered through them. 

“Some extra who can’t get his head out of the twentieth century.” He said, taking a large mouthful of his drink. If he liked it he’d say nothing - often the only time he gave his opinion on things was when he didn’t like something. “He won’t call back.” 

“They always do.” You said, standing firm until you had the answers you sought - coming back to ask the same thing twice was such a hassle for the both of you. “I’d appreciate knowing what to say when he does.” 

“I don’t care,” he said, flicking the magazine down in exasperation to look up at you with a heatless scowl. “If it’s Eijirou you can patch him through, everyone else is a complete waste of time.” 

Your eyebrows raised in something akin to surrender as your hands smoothed down the fabric of your skirt. 

“Don’t forget your meeting with the seamstresses after lunch.” You said, then left to return to answering your emails and phone calls.

You always took your lunches with Hanta - a seamster two floors below Katsuki’s office. You found him extremely chill after having to deal with your whirlwind of a boss. He was like your lifeline - better yet, he could keep secrets like it was nobody’s business. 

“I walked in this morning and I swear the glass for the whole floor was rattling.” you said, looking down into your cup of canteen-supplied orange juice. “If I wasn’t so sure he wasn’t going to hurt me I’d probably quit.” 

“You know I’m like ninety percent sure you’re his favorite.” Hanta said. Your eyes shot up to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

“I doubt that would be hard,” you said slowly, “His past secretaries sounded super incompetent for a job this fast-paced.” 

“No, not just a secretary, but a person. I think your his favorite person in the whole world.” he said, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “He can scream at me, hell he’s thrown punches at Kirishima, and he’s Kirishima - you though? He acts like you’re porcelain.” 

You felt your face scrunch up into a frown, and a huge smile cracked over Hanta’s face. “I can see why he likes you - you look just as scary as him when you make that face.” 

“Hanta Sero, you take that back!” You said, voice almost too shrill besides the hum of the lunchtime cafeteria rush. 

“I will do no such thing,” he said, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms and legs in a slow, cat-like manner. “I think it’s hilarious. Needed something new to tease you over anyway.” 

“I am simply going to ignore you then.” you said. You felt your face scrunch even more, before you took a deep breath to relax. “You don’t deserve my attention right now anyway.” 

Hanta huffed a laugh, leaning forward on his elbows. “I think we both know who really wants your attention, and I’m not going to be the person to fight him for it.”

Katsuki’s afternoon meeting had gone smoothly - you thought that it must mean some catastrophic hurricane was due later that afternoon. Or maybe you’d get hit by a car on the way home. Either way, the pleasant meeting meant Katsuki was either in a really good mood - or a really bad one. 

On his way back into his office, he threw an order to call Eijirou at you over his shoulder, before throwing the doors open and entering his office. 

“It’s important.” he said, and that was where the conversation ended. When you dialed the number only to be met with the receptionist - not even patched through to Eijirou’s assistant Denki - you practically rolled your eyes. 

“I’ve got Marcel!” Silence was the stern reply. You’d spoken to him a few times - not the nicest guy in the world, so in your opinion Katsuki’s hatred of the man was valid/ You didn’t want to speak with him either, so you hung up. 

Then there was a call of your name. 

“Come here!” You sighed, but obeyed and walked around your desk and into Katsuki’s office. You were met with a sight that wasn’t foreign to you - but it made your heart stutter all the same. He was leant back in his chair, a large drawing pad against his folded knee, and a pencil pressed into his cheek. He was watching you closely as you walked in, red eyes partially covered by a set of half-rimmed reading glasses. 

Your boss was mean, but his looks could make the devil cry. 

“I am… Promoting you.” he said. You felt your mouth fall open in shock. 

“I - Sir, I don’t -”

“Katsuki.” he said, voice now as hard as his stare. “No more ‘Sir’. You call me by my name. Understand?” 

“Okay…” you said, voice breathless as joy swirled in your chest (finally, your hard work and patience had paid off!), “Katsuki.” 

At the sound of you saying his name, he declined further back in his seat, and smiled - wide and showing off both canines. 

“That’s much better,” he said, as if he’d been waiting for the change of title formalities, “Now sit down, we have a lot to talk about.” 

You went to sit at the chair in front of his desk but he shook his head, almost jumping to his feet like he’d had hot coffee spilled on his lap. His suddenness had you freezing. 

“No no, not there,” he said, waving the chair away with disgust, “Over there.” He pointed over to the chaise as if it was the most obvious place in the room to sit, then sat back in his own chair again. 

Turning, you took a tentative seat on the sofa, and looked across at him expectantly with your tongue between your teeth. His pencil had found a new home on the open page of his sketchbook, and you quickly realized he was going to be multitasking this impromptu meeting. However he was making little to no effort at starting this ‘talk’ he seemed so urgent to begin only moments ago. 

“So is there anything else to this promotion besides being able to call you ‘Katsuki’, or is that it?” you asked. His eyes flicked up at you, pencil stopped, and the side of his mouth quirked up, before his expressions changed completely to one of disapproval again. 

“There’s more.” he said. You could see how tempted he was to not say more, if only to push your patience and see just how far it went. “You probably should know about it, considering just how personal things are going to get around here.” 

You felt your heart beat pick up as he stood to stalk around the desk. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to need to find a new you, let's start with that.” he said, and pushed your shoulder back with the eraser end of the pencil. You fell back against the couch, and the pencil moved to guide one arm across the back of the chair - then crossed one leg over the other - then moved your other hand on top of your knee. Before you knew it you had been moved to pose like a sketching doll. 

Katsuki gave you a once over, looking very pleased with himself (or how easy you were to manipulate), then walked back over to his desk. The pencil started again. 

“You want a new secretary?” You finally heard yourself ask, voice coming out far too weak for your liking. 

“More like you need an assistant.” he said, attention clearly divided between whatever he was designing, and your conversation, “Your schedule is going to be a lot busier as of now.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked again. His head shook.

“If you ask that question again I’m going to have this conversation with you some other time.” 

“You do know how badly you’re explaining this ‘promotion’, right?” you asked, voice coming out a little harsher than you knew was appropriate. But being proper can be damned, you wanted answers. 

He just looked at you for a long moment with a knowing, albeit smug, smile. The sketchpad was dumped on his desk, pencil and glasses dropped on top. 

“I’ve been hit with a new wave of ideas.” he said, “They’re amazing. New. Iconic. These designs fly off magazine racks and clothing store hangers like nothing else before. I couldn’t tell where the inspiration came from, not until I thought of when it all started, and the only thing notable about that was you starting to work for me.” 

As he explained he stood slowly, came to stand before you again, now with the side of his leg pressed to your knees. Katsuki’s hand rose, and the backs of his fingers trailed across your cheek in a manner that was almost too soft, and too shy, to be an action coming from the harsh man before you. 

“I need you with me, everywhere, from now on.” he said, voice low, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “I need you with me, and I don’t know how else to make sure of it besides making it your job.” 

“Everywhere?” 

“Of course, what use is an artist without their muse?” You had to admit, that forked tongue of his was making your knees weaker by the second. Was he truly saying you inspired  him? 

“You couldn’t have just asked?” 

“I don’t need to ask,” his hand came down to grip your chin, thumb momentarily pressing on your bottom lip, “I get what I want.” Where his voice was getting stronger by the second, yours was sounding even weaker.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” 

“You don’t want to?” Katsuki asked, hand slightly releasing pressure on your chin - as if shocked at the thought of someone willing, and unafraid in telling him no. “Everyone wants to. Don’t you?” 

“No,” you said quietly, completely letting your heart take over, no matter what could happen after. “I do want to.” His face broke out into that same wolfish grin as before - his hand snuck around to the hair at the base of your neck and found a firm home there. 

“Then why not get paid for it while you do.” he said, an air of finality about the matter, and then leant down to capture your mouth in a searing, hard kiss. Hard enough that you could almost feel his teeth and jawbone trying to meld into yours - searing enough that you could feel heat swelling in your stomach and knees at how fierce and needy it all was. It took your breath away completely. 

After a few long moments - long enough to have your eyes fluttering closed and your lungs burning - he pulled away. 

Katsuki didn’t even look at you as he walked away, acting as if what he just did was a casual kiss on the cheek - while you were left feeling flushed on the sofa. Only once he sat down again with his sketchpad and glasses on did he look up at you. He licked his lips, as if making sure to taste whatever of you was left. His smile this time was very smug indeed. 

“See baby, now you look perfect.” he said, then went back to drawing. 

“What?” you asked, still breathless with your nails digging into the fabric of your seat. 

“The lighting in here is foul, absolutely horrendous.” He said, “You needed a glow about you. Now you’re all flustered. it's perfect. With you finally in front of me, these designs are going to be breathtaking - just imagining them on you -” he looked up at you, quite suddenly stopping his train of thought, before wordlessly returning to his sketch. 

From the way your heart felt like it was going to beat right up and out your throat you guessed he accidentally said too much. Had been too sentimental. Maybe Hanta was right - perhaps you were his favorite person. 

You took a deep breath and stood to leave - only to be stopped. 

“Where are you going?” Katsuki asked, voice almost a bark. “I need you here - you can’t leave now that I have you right where I need you!” 

“I need water.” you replied, awkwardly pointing towards the kitchenette with wide eyes as if you were a child caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. He shuffled in his seat, huffing. 

“Be quick,” he said. You could swear you saw the skin of his cheeks flush a tinge of pink as you turned away. He liked efficiency, and it was something you were pretty good at, but you hadn’t moved quite that fast before.

When you had agreed to your ‘not-so-little’ promotion, you were sent home with a whole new list of Terms and Conditions and - the more alarming of the two - an NDA. 

With your lips still tingling from your apparent kiss from Katsuki, and your knees still weak, you weren’t able to do much more than graze your eyes over bits and pieces before deciding it was all okay. You should’ve taken the time to read it all. 

You should always read the fine print when making deals with the devil. 

The next day, almost as soon as you stepped into the building, you were met with Katsuki’s not-quite-other assistant, Mina, and whisked away to the seamstress floor. There you met Hanta, who himself had been up for the most part of the night - slaving over the newest design Katsuki procured as of just yesterday. 

When you were told to get into a change room and strip - the carcass of a new dress in your hands - you were just shy of shocked. 

“What - why?” 

“Like I know how the mind of Bakugou works.” Hanta said, waving his hand around tiredly, trying to push you to close the curtain. “You know normally I have models in for this sort of thing - I mean you definitely fit the bill. The measurements, the dress is practically made for you. But it’s weird to me too that he got his secretary to do this job instead.” 

“I’ve never done this before.” You whispered, clutching the covered mock-up to your chest.  

“You’ll be fine,” Hanta replied, just as quiet, with his hand ready to close the curtain on you, “I’ve seen it on a mannequin - it’ll look fantastic on you. Just be confident.”

You tried your best to be confident - as pretty as the dress was, even unfinished with an unfinished hem and seams half-done - but it was leaving you feeling more exposed than you were used to. 

The small changing cubicle had a mirror on one side - what for you weren’t sure. You’d seen plenty of models walk out of them only to have most of it adjusted with pins and cut off with scissors - often by Katsuki himself. You supposed it didn’t matter how bad it looked - you’d get manhandled until it looked the way it was supposed to. 

With your hands smoothing the fabric on your hips - a nervous habit you showed too often - you took a turn in front of the mirror. It did look nice, even if it was only ivory muslin. 

“ - Taking so fucking long!” Quite suddenly Katsuki’s voice could be heard - and even more suddenly you felt a great need to curl up somewhere and hide. He’s going to see you like this. He’s going to hate it. You are not prepared for this. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat right out your chest and leave a little blood trail all across the floor. 

A hand curled around one side of the curtain divider and pulled it back. You let out a small startled yelp, bringing up your hands to cover your chest as if someone had dropped glass over a marble floor.

It was him. 

“Oh shut up, no one else can see you.” Katsuki said, rolling his eyes before they laid on you in a hard stare up and down. He was right, besides the half-open curtain, you couldn’t see anyone through his broad chest and shoulders - not to mention the cheshire grin that was taking up half his face. “But I wouldn’t blame them for wanting a peek, give me a turn.” 

You stood gobsmacked - where you seriously still processing what was going on? - and watched as his hip cocked to one side and his hands landed on his hips below the huge coat over his shoulders. 

“You are starting a habit of forcing me to do things for you myself.” He said, taking hold of your hips and turning you slowly. His hands were warm as  they moved you around in a small circle, leaving almost a burning trail behind over your hips, lower back and stomach. “I’ll let you know that’s not why I decided to fuckin’ like you.” he said. 

His voice was soft, almost completely without its usual rough baritone. It shocked you, and as you looked over at him he wasn’t meeting your eyes - instead focusing on how a seam at your hip wasn’t seeming to sit how he wanted it to. 

“What?” you asked quietly, aware there were probably others outside - Hanta even - and you supposed both yourself and Katsuki didn’t really want to let other people know exactly what you were talking about. Especially since it definitely sounded more personal than Katsuki ever had been. 

“You did things for yourself. I liked that.” he said. Then, as if you didn’t just share what was most likely the most intimate moment of Katsuki’s adult life, he pushed the curtain back fully and grabbed you by the hand - exposing you fully to the handful of seamstresses waiting. 

With a few barked orders, a flurry of people were at your sides, making adjustments. The neckline loosened, waist was made tighter, the blade of a scissor made another slit up your legs on the opposite side to the one existing. Your hands almost rose to clutch at the fabric at your chest in case it all fell away. Katsuki's hands rose to knock yours away. 

“Don’t get in the way,” he mumbled, standing back. The others backed off too, apparently all taking a moment to look at what remained of the dress. “What do you think?” he asked, looking you right in the eyes. Your mouth parted, as if to answer, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t even talking to you. 

“One of your best.” Hanta said, barely needed to look up from where he was taking final notes to read his long-time associate. “Probably will be once it’s done. Beautiful.” 

“You mean fucking divine.” 

“You’re joking.” you said, carelessly holding the new dress in one hand as you stood angrily looking down at Katsuki. 

“Does it look like I’m joking?” he asked, looking at you over the rims of his glasses. 

He’d brought you back up to his office after the fitting downstairs, only to demand you change into another dress. The reason this time was completely unknown, and he was refusing to elaborate yet - worse, there was nowhere to change up here. 

You’d have to strip and change here (with him in the room), or out behind your desk (right in front of the elevator anyone could use). 

“I can’t believe…” you said, scoffing, now slightly gobsmacked along with your anger. “I’m not doing that.” 

“If you think it bothers me, you’re mistaken.” He said, standing slowly and leaning over his desk. “Get changed. If you’re so protective of your modesty you can run along into the kitchen, see if I care. Just whatever you do, do it quickly. You’re making me wait long enough as it is.” Then he reached across and squished your cheeks between his fingers, pulling you closer so you leant over the desk too. 

“If you really thought I was the kind of man to mix pleasure and professionalism then I’ve got news for you.” he said, wobbling your chin back and forth in his hold. “The only time you have to worry about that is if I invite you home, okay baby?” 

While half of you was wanting to continue to defy Katsuki, you knew you were treading a fine line. 

Letting out a huff, you pulled away, turned on your heel and held the dress out in front of you. It honestly wasn’t much more than a silk slip, but you’d had enough of an interest in fashion over your time to know this was very tame compared to many other dresses. Even compared to the one you wore not even an hour earlier. 

Grinding you jaw in thought for a moment, you thought ‘fuck it’. Katsuki said so already but you knew someone getting almost naked in his office wouldn’t bother him - why should you let it bother you too? 

The dress was thrown onto the chaise, and you pulled off your shirt as you slipped out of your heels. Your skirt shimmed off, and the dress came on. Despite refusing to look behind you to see what Katsuki was doing, you couldn’t help how your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. 

At least your underwear was matching, thank god. 

You were about to do up the zipper when he made it clear he had indeed been watching you. 

“No, take that thing off.” Your head whipped over your shoulder. 

“Excuse me?” If looks could strike someone dead, a lightning bolt would’ve shot right through that window into Katsuki’s back. “I am not getting changed again.” 

“No you bitch, I mean the bra. Take it off, it’s making the dress look daggy.” The way he said it made your face heat up. Duh. 

“You could’ve said that before I put this much on, you’d think you’d have known that before now.” You grumbled, shoving the sleeves down again to unclasp your bra and toss it aside. Turning around again as you did up the zipper, you looked at Katsuki again, and the red of his eyes seemed darker than ever. You wondered if you’d said something wrong. Then his lip quirked up a bit. 

“There’s my favorite secretary.” he said, and imminently tilted his head down to start sketching.

[sukunas-wife]

Can you do a story where the reader died? And sukuna’s reaction

As Jesus once said “Someone has touched me”

In this case, I was working on “Sealed” when I got hit with this. I refuse to be moved until I finish this ask There's another question similar to it and I wanna do it also but I was inspired after reading an article on a man whose wife died. I was moved, inspired! My heart ached and for that we all need to ache 😔🤍

Inside the temple Sukuna had built himself for your family, it took him years to perfect every room, every arch, every window until he was pleased to bring you here. It was a flat mountain top he had carved using his own technique, it was beautiful, secluded. Far away from the dangers of humans and sorcerers, you had finally convinced him, your soft voice, laying on his chest in the middle of a summer night. Fingers pulling at his robes in a nervous fidget, his arm tucked behind his head the other wrapped around you. One foot hanging off the hammock pushing you both back and forth when you spoke up “Ryomen… what would you say if I said I want to move away from here, from the village, to someone where no one can bother us.” You sat up looking down at him with a smile, his face was straight but his eyes were amused following you, “we could start a family far far away so no one could ever hurt them! We could have a son or a daughter! Or two boys or two girls, or one of each, or if you want three or four I wouldn’t mind but…” you looked around before you looked at him feeling his hand on your side, thumb rubbing slowly against your side, you smiled at him “ I just want a family with you, I life with you.” He closed his eyes letting his head fall back against the cushions you’d brought earlier, “I’ll see what I can do.”

————-

It wasn’t long after Sukuna was levelling a city for pure enjoyment, that he saw a ridge of mountains. He thought of you, coming home to you to tell you that he found the perfect place for you to have your silly little family… he stopped his attack on the city waltzing over to the ridge, he spent weeks away from you, away from his home to perfect the biggest mountain behind the ridge. Levelling it, carving out land to give you a little stream he knew you’d love. Pulling together everything, making the survivors of the village work for their lives bringing him the material to build a home for you. Every time he came home to you he never let a world slip of his endeavours instead he’d hold you close listening to the things you’d done in his absence. Finally months had passed and he woke you up early one morning taking you with him on what he called a very special day. You assumed he would be conquering another city and that he just wanted you by his side. Yawing you leaned against him wanting to just sleep where you stood. Sukuna rolled his eyes supporting your weight before he picked you up entirely, “‘m tired kuna.” He held you tighter against his chest, “I know, we’ll get there soon.”

It was early afternoon when Sukuna made it to your new home. Uraume was behind both of you, Sukuna tried to wake you up only for you to bury your face into his chest. He hummed amused, bouncing you in his arms, “y/n, get up or I’ll drop you.” You groaned trying to get out his grip, he let your legs drop supporting your back as you steadied yourself. Looking up you were blinded by the sunlight, holding up your hand you tried to block out the sun. Sukuna moved you into the shadows and you saw it, the big wooden doors and the white marble walls and pillars. You moved closer up the stairs touching the door pushing it open. You turned around, the big smile on your face and your teary eyes led you to run at Sukuna and jump into his arms. He held you against him letting you cry against his chest and neck, “Ryomen” he was confused why you were crying so loudly. But he held you rubbing his hand on your back. “Ryo…” your whispered cries against his skin made him hold you tighter. He tilted his head pressing his nose to the top of your head, “What’s wrong princess?”

“I need to tell you something,” you let your hands slide down his chest when you slipped from his hold. He held your face in his hands looking down at you, his eyes were searching yours for anything before he leaned in closer his lips ghosting yours, “Tell me.” You did your best to smile “I’m pregnant.” Your smile dropped when you saw the way he looked at you, eyes wide and his mouth was open just slightly, his forehead met yours and he closed his eyes. His hands slid down to your sides, he squeezed you slightly, you brought your hands up to his face wiping the stray tears away with your thumbs, you laughed lightly “Ryo…”

————-

“Y/n, cmon.” Sukuna tried to pull you out of bed, your body was weak as you tried your best to get up. Sukuna ended up dragging you with him to get you into a chair. He was scared shitless, ever since the bump in your stomach started to show you looked pale, weak. You couldn’t walk on your own and you slept more.

He’d take you out to the sun to sit in the grass by the stream. Your trembling fingers picking flowers talking to Sukuna about how you couldn’t wait for your child to see these beautiful flowers. Your tears had found a permanent place in your eyes, never falling but always present. Leaning against him, you never saw how he’d dig his hand into the dirt trying to get a grip of life, his reverse cursed technique no matter how often he tried to help it never really helped. You didn't need Jujutsu healing, you needed human help.

He felt hopeless but he decided even if he had to hand carry you over those mountains he would do it. That night he bundled you up in a blanket laying you on the bed. He told Uraume to pack anything they would need, that night when you were asleep he picked you up bridal style the way he carried you into your house he carried you out. He held you close, never letting you shake, making sure you never felt cold. He did his best taking a worn path that went around the mountain ridges. It would be days before you made it to the city, but he held on tight, looking at your face, how your eyes would just barely open to see him, that faint smile on your lips, the tears in your eyes finally falling. When you told him you were sorry, he was enraged it wasn’t your fault, his throat was tight and he fought back the tears in his eyes. Chest shaking when you fell asleep that night in his arms, he refused to rest pushing forward for the third day. It was sunrise when he found an opening by a river, he settled down helping you sit on a large flat stone. Your hand came up to touch his face, he closed his eyes feeling your cold fingers rub the dark circles under his eyes. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek before brushing stray hairs back out of your face. He dropped to his knees pressing his head against your stomach, he could still hear the heartbeat. You guided his face up, kissing him and telling him, “You’ll be okay Sukuna, let’s just go for a short walk please.”

He helped you up, both of you moving slowly up the beaten path to the top of a hill. There was a willow tree and stone around Sukuna’s height at a pool of water that trickled down the hill side. You moved closer to it, “look you can see our home from here.” You leaned against him and he held you tight in his side, “Our home.” His chest had that same ache and sickness when your breathing evened out and eventually stopped. He slowly felt your bodily slipping in his hold, the tears forming in his eyes as he slumped to the ground holding your body. You were just coming near 4 months, there was no doubt in his mind it wouldn’t make it even if he had the heart to pull him out. He slowly folded over, hugging your body while he trembled. His eyes were forced closed, jaw clenched and tears started to fall, he started to scream, a raw horrifying scream that scratched his throat and vocal cords. His nails pressed into your skin when he took in air and let out another scream Uraume was standing a ways off head bowed, his open eyes staring at the ground, Sukuna was emitting emotions of distress so strongly he could feel them resonating inside himself. His Lord's screams were desperate, full of angst and rage. He watched how his Lord’s face changed, how the cursed presence around him became far more intense. He watched Sukuna lay your body down carefully tucking your hair away. His hand running over your stomach, that was the last time he ever saw Lord Sukuna look at any woman without malice, without annoyance, without intent to kill.

He watched as lord Sukuna was quick to take his anger out on the mountain ridges that separated you from the city, IT SEPARATED YOU FROM THE CITY, IT WAS THAT DAMN HOUSE HE BUILT ON THAT MOUNTAIN IT WAS THE FAMILY YOU WANTED IT WAS HIS CHILD THAT KILLED YOU IT WAS HIS HANDS THAT BROUGHT YOU YO YOUR END IN THE END

He was screaming and tearing the world to its core, he levelled the city that night he levelled the entire mountain ridge. The beauty of this forsaken land wouldn’t be allowed to exist if it took your life. The land was left in shambles and the city was in fear they would be next when they saw his hulking figure standing on the hill where he left your body staring down at them. It was an elderly woman who tried to approach before Uraume stepped in threatening to end her for getting too close. She saw how Sukuna held your body against him, your stomach bump was evident in your robes. He sat back against the stone, the old lady didn’t leave. She watched how Sukuna cradled you, a hand never leaving your stomach, he looked dead, he was tired, his hands were bleeding.

“It happens all the time, people die travelling to get around those mountains looking for some form of help. There is no consolation for death, you’ll only ever mourn when you think of her young man. But if you do love her, remember her in every instance even if it brings you pain. You don’t know this but in one day you’ll have managed to save more generations to come by levelling those forsaken mountains. What’s beauty at the price of death?”

Sukuna never looked at her, he sighed. He sat there for days. Sending Uraume in his way to the temple, the old lady never returned. He buried you under that willow tree. And he carved your figure into that stone opening the water way so the trickled became a waterfall, in your stone arms he made sure there was a bundle hugged to your chest. He stood under that tree the droplets of water running down his face from the vines mixing in with the tears that fell from his face, void of emotion he truly had nothing left. He went without eating, every time Uraume would urge him to head he’d say he wouldn’t eat without you he’d rather starve. Inside your broken him he sat in the same chair slouched staring at the fireplace in your shared room. His fingertips tingling at the memory of tracing your skin when you’d sit on his lap hugging him whispering your plans to the future. When he walked the cold halls he saw everything you’d used to decorate. The wilted Sakura branches you put in a vase long ago now dry twigs in vases. The flowers outside being overtaken by weeds, it made him sick seeing the nursery you had persistently decorated even in your frail state.

He never starved to death because that day he had become a full fledged curse he ripped out his heart burying it in your chest when he buried you. You were the holder of his heart, the only, and you would only ever be the only one.

————-

Centuries had passed when Sukuna found himself reincarnated in the iconic teenage boy Yuji Itadori. He materialised on his cheek to insult the boy for stating a young woman for too long. “Hey brat do you really think staring a woman like that…” until he saw her, his voice went quiet. Eyes wide mouth agape, if we’re in control he’d have run over to see if it was you. It was almost an exact copy of you, that same damn smile that made him slip into madness all those years ago, those eyes that held a light even in death. But her scent, there was a hint of your sweet scent but it was almost non existent, she had to be a descendant of your family. Aside from that hint she smelled putrid like every other human. Every memory of the years you spent with him, he thought to himself ‘she reminds me of better times when you were alive…’ he quickly disappeared from Itadori's cheek, leaving the boy puzzled. There he sat on his throne, slumped, head resting against his fist, one leg kicked out the other resting normally. His face was void of emotion, except for the single tear his free hand caught with his pointed nail, “After all this time it’s you who haunts me hm?” He let out a dry laugh, the stray tear clinging to the tip of his nail, watching before it dropped over his chest where he had so brutally ripped out his own heart.

Permanent! Tags: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @dolliira @ilovemybabies378

[ronwestbreeze]

you’re gonna go far | 1

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human!reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 7.k

read on AO3

15 October 2146

Dear Joan Reeds,

Hi Mom.

I know we’ve been sending video diaries to each other since you went to Pandora a year ago and this might be a little strange, but I thought writing this to you would be a lot less impersonal than sending a video. I don’t know, watching myself emote on camera has always made me uncomfortable—so when I respond to your video diaries, know that I’m actually excited to see them and not incredibly bored as I appear.

If that’s why you’ve stopped sending videos, because you think I’m bored of them, I promise you I’m not. And I miss your videos…

Year 2150

“—Unfortunately, your mother, along with the rest of the twelve other scientists had died before we were able to get them into quarantine.” One out of the three in military uniforms said.

You don’t quite remember how you got here.

Last you checked, your mother, Joan, was leaving for a huge project located on a discovered moon in the Alpha Centauri System. Pandora. An inhabited planet that the human population hoped to relocate. To find a newer home. Instead of the dying planet they created.

Joan had been accepted into the Avatar Program, a branch of the big project that had less to do with taking and more so giving. She, an esteemed scientist herself, would get to work with others like her. To explore a planet you only saw in dreams.

Dreams that would remain that way for a while.

You were only an apprentice at the time, ten years before 2150. Therefore, unqualified to accompany your mother on this new adventure. All you could do was be happy for her, even if she would be gone for a long, long time. But it was hard to be angry at that fact, remembering vividly how your mother looked before she left.

Identical eyes staring lovingly and worriedly back at you. Manic worry if anything.

“I want you to watch over the forest while I’m gone.” Joan laughed at your stunned expression. “You’ve been studying under me for years now, don’t be so shocked! You’ve followed me like a loyal shadow. My little shadow. You are the Head of the Amazon Division now. I trust you’ll continue my work.”

“Mom—I—are you sure?” A younger version of you asked. Ten years earlier you. “What if—how do you know? That I’m even ready? Surely there are more qualified scientists—”

Joan grinned, another identical trait you shared with her. “You have as much love for the Earth as I do. You have this determination, unlike any, to save it. To save what is left of this dying world, our home. Some might find it naïve. Others might discover a whole new planet to live on.” You smiled as she chuckled at that. “Yes, you will work with my second-in-command, he will show you the ropes—not like you already don’t know it—but he will be by your side until you are old enough to officially take over. But I have no doubt you can do it. And I need you to believe it too.”

There was a certain glow in your eye that matched your alight and determined face. This childlike wonder. This unyielding ball of hope that was you.

You nodded surely, holding her hand tightly, “I’ll do it. I’ll keep it safe for you.”

“Promise?”

You pressed your lips into a line, “Do you wanna pinky swear on it?”

Joan gasped, her face lighting up instantly. “I thought you’d never ask!”

Rolling your eyes at her excitement, you locked your pinky with hers. Tight and sure.

“I haven’t done this with you since I was five.”

“You’re never too old to make a promise!”

Joan then pulled you into a tight hug. Small drops of wetness fell onto your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

She finally pulled away and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll come back for you. My little shadow.” That was her promise.

Then she walked out of the door. And all you could do was smile for her. You couldn’t even be sad.

The woman in uniform spoke up next. “Dr. Reeds? I know this is difficult information to process—"

You still didn’t remember how you got here.

Last you checked, Joan had been on Pandora for nearly five years now.

During those years, you managed to keep your promise in the beginning.

There were more trees planted, the water was becoming cleaner as the days rolled by, and you managed to gain some military protection for the forest—along with more researchers joining the cause.

During the first year of her in Pandora, your mother would send you video diaries of her time on Pandora, which prompted you to send videos back in reply. Showing your progress so far and everything you have accomplished.

One time she sent a video of her crying dramatically while holding up a picture of you as a toddler.

“Look what I found in my suitcase—sniffles—you were so small and cute back then—sniffles—guys look how cute my baby is!”

You remembered cringing and smacking your head against the table. Some of your colleagues also enjoyed a chuckle or two.

Tell me about the creatures and the plants. Take me on one of your treks through the forest in your avatar body. I enjoyed those videos the most. I always looked forward to them, even if you think I thought it was boring or too much of a lecture. I promise you it wasn’t.

I wasn’t mad about the baby picture by the way. Yes, maybe embarrassed—I was fourteen, Mom—but it’s nice that you took something with you to remember me by.

Also don’t worry about the forest, everything’s fine here. I saw all your emails asking about it. And I don’t want you to worry too much, not so much that it would ruin your experience up there. I have everything under control, Mom…

Sometimes the videos had nothing to do with talking. Joan one time sent a video of her sleepily talking to you about anything until she eventually fell asleep. The rest of the video would be of her sleeping.

You told her she didn’t have to send videos when she should be resting.

“I just want to see you, honey.” She would respond back. “Plus, talking to you is always a perfect end to my day.”

So you didn’t complain. Talking to her, seeing a new video arrive in your inbox always made your worst days just a bit brighter.

After the first year, Joan stopped sending videos. You didn’t think anything of it at first. All you assumed was that she was buried in her work. Which meant that whatever she was doing, must’ve been important. Life-changing even. And you weren’t going to interrupt that.

One year turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Four.

Four years of radio silence.

Scarily, you allowed yourself to wonder if she forgot about you.

And before you knew it, that thought abruptly left your mind in place of another.

The forest was on fire.

You remember rushing around the lab, grabbing every research hard drive, journal—anything important and belonging to your mother’s long hardworking years of work before it could be destroyed by the fire.

But. But none of it mattered.

The forest burned to the ground. Everything your mother worked for. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

“Dr. Reeds?”

Your hands were covered in ash and blisters.

She was dead. Her forest burned down a day ago.

Now the three in uniform stood with you in what was left of the forest. The grey daylight haunting in the smoke.

The mask you wore protected your facial expressions. “When did she…?”

One of the men cleared his throat. Two men and one woman. “Four years ago. A few months after she first arrived on the planet. Their lab was compromised with a deadly toxin—”

“You said that already.” You pointed out impassively.

The male nodded, “Right—We were sent straight after, unfortunately, the journey from Pandora to Earth takes…”

You turned away from them. You wanted to throw up. You want to scream and call them liars.

But you were older now. Emotions controlled. Face restrained.

There was a certain dullness in your eyes that matched your worn and solemn face. This beaten and bruised resolve. This unyielding wave of resentment that was you.

Your mother had been dead for four years.

Without you knowing about it until now.

Everything you had thought. Had assumed. It meant nothing.

You thought she had abandoned you. You thought you were alone.

Turns out she was already gone.

And you were still alone.

Blinking away ash—tears maybe, you couldn’t tell—and looked back at the three in uniform. “Alright. You told me. Thank you for coming.”

With that, you begin to walk away and continue cleaning the spot you’d been working on before the uniforms had approached. Dumping the burnt bark and ash of what used to be trees into a plastic bag.

“There’s one other thing, Dr. Reeds.” The woman spoke next. You tried not to scowl in irritation and reluctantly turned back to them. “Before your mother passed, she asked that you take her place.”

Your heart lurched and your body grew stiff.

“The late Dr. Reeds had made a lot of progress on some research that could’ve been beneficial for our organization and project.” The woman tucked her hands behind her back, back straight as she continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “We need someone like you who can continue the work without fail and who knows Dr. Reeds…particular work ethic.” You frowned at the wording. The woman—she seemed to be leading this small crusade. “We have an avatar waiting for you. All you need to do is come with us to Pandora.”

And there it was. Anyone would’ve seen this as a second chance. Another opportunity to fix your mother’s legacy. To keep your promise.

But all you saw was something else you could screw up. Something else for you to destroy by fire. Another way to fail her. The forest was gone. You had killed the forest. Now they wanted you to take your mother’s place—possibly to work on something shady that they have full control over. When was it enough?

When would people stop expecting you to be Joan Reeds? When would they see that you were nothing like her? That you weren’t their savior, that you weren’t someone to turn to whenever the original goal didn’t work? You were nothing. Everything you touched ended up destroyed. So why?

Why would your mother want you to take over her perfectly structured sculpture? When all you were was the hammer that shattered it down to pieces.

You tightened your jaw, “I’m good here. Again, thank you for coming.”

Once more, you tried walking away.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Reeds, it is not a request.” Now you were scowling at the woman, not bothering to hide the expression this time. “We’re in dire need of your mother’s expertise. She can identify resources that the RDA has collected—better than anyone. And we could use these sources to put those…our enemies in place. Heal poisons we have little information about. Your mother—”

“My mother, it seems, had no idea what she was getting into when she accepted that job for the Avatar Program.” You sized all three of them up with a quick resolve. “You’re RDA, correct? Hmm, my mother may not have seen it but I do. I see right through you all.” With that, you raised your chin and steeled your back. “So, for the last time. Thank you for coming. Now if you’ll excuse me, I just learned my own mother’s fucking dead. I’d like to take the time to grieve if you don’t mind.”

As you turned to leave again, your mind wandered. Your eyes stared bleakly at what used to be a beautiful forest. It used to be so life-like. So, so beautiful.

Your mother was gone. And so was her forest.

Maybe you should’ve seen it as a sign.

Mother dead. Forest gone.

And where were your tears?

You stopped walking suddenly when something sharp hit the back of your neck.

Instantly, without warning, your body crumbled to the ground with a thud.

Breathing was difficult. Your body couldn’t move. Black shoes filled your vision.

“Apologies, Doc. But I did say it wasn’t a request.”

Slipping from your control, everything went dark.

If you must know, your forest is making amazing progress. We planted exactly thirty more trees in the past two months and they’ve grown healthily! I’ll send you pictures of them once I’ve sent this letter.

But as I said before, there’s nothing for you to worry about here. If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked and you know this. You should be focusing on making life-changing discoveries on Pandora. Also, have you met Dr. Grace Augustine yet? I’ve just finished her book and I have many questions! Can you, possibly, maybe relay my questions to Dr. Augustine? If you’re not busy of course…

Year 2155

It had been a good day for Jake Sully.

A long and grueling hunt had ended with many other warriors succeeding in their finds, just enough to feed their families, enough to feed the entire clan.

His pride only swelled more when his mate and the current Olo’eyktan grinned proudly at him as they started their way back home.

“You’ve gotten better, ma’tiyawn.” Tsu’tey had said with a smirk.

Jake’s heart warmed, “Well, I had an amazing teacher.” Tsu’tey looked even more smug then until Jake added. “Tell Neytiri I said thanks.”

A huff left his mate's mouth and Jake laughed at his reaction. “Tell her yourself, skxawng!”

When they both returned to their new home—a new location after the Hometree was destroyed last year—it wasn’t long before their third mate, Neytiri made her way back from a hunt as well. And Jake was right. She had to be one of the best hunters of the clan as she came carrying back a rather large sturmbeest at her tail. Large enough for tonight’s celebration. She yipped loudly, raising her bow up in a cheer as she returned to the clan.

Jake and Tsu’tey couldn’t take their eyes off their mate.

Once she managed to get to them, Tsu’tey was the first to meet her in a warm and tight hug—careful to watch for the baby carrier strapped to her chest.

“And how was our boy’s first hunt?” Tsu’tey smiled down at the one-month-old child, their firstborn, Neteyam, who smiled at the sight of his papa. His smaller hands grabbed onto one of Tsu’tey’s fingers.

“He will make a great hunter.” Neytiri smiled down at him, grabbing Tsu’tey’s other hand. “And you? Did you find anything?”

Jake chuckled, looking back at the sturmbeest a few warriors carried by. “Not as good as you, babe. Let’s just say if we had made it a bet, you would’ve won easily.”

“What’s a bet?” Tsu’tey questioned, with a furrow in his brow.

“I’ll tell you later.”

When they made it back to their hut—Jake did a quick look around to find that it was empty. Sending a silent prayer to Eywa, which he found himself doing a lot more recently, he was relieved to find that Tsu’tey’s mother was nowhere in sight.

Artsut, who had been a frequent visitor to their home ever since Neteyam was born. Before then she had steered clear of their hut—not wanting to go anywhere near Jake. He was a demon, a false body, the stain on their clan. Jake was fine with her being away from the hut—that was when he could tolerate her the most.

But after Neteyam was born, after the perfect Na’vi baby had come out of Neytiri, Artsut came around more to care for her grandson. Which meant Jake had to deal with more of her comments and sneers—and he would. For his son.

Forcing Artsut to not see her grandson would’ve been too cruel—not just for his son but for Tsu’tey as well. Tsu’tey—who wanted to keep the peace between his mates and his mother. Tsu’tey, the only male in his family who is able to stand up to her and not take any of her shit.

So, Jake wasn’t worried for the most part. Artsut would play nice for Tsu’tey—her favorite son. Omatikaya’s rightful Olo’eyktan. And Jake would ignore her presence. A fair compromise.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about seeing her now. Otherwise, his very good mood would be ruined.

“I went to see my mother today,” Neytiri said as she took Neteyam out of the carrier and gave him to Tsu’tey who was standing right next to her.

“For more training or something else?” Jake questioned, analyzing her body in a quick scan for any injuries he might’ve missed. “Are you okay?”

She smiled softly and pressed her hand to her stomach, “She told me that Eywa has blessed us with another child.”

Tsu’tey’s eyes widened and Jake’s mouth hung open. Neteyam watched them all quietly.

Neytiri looked down shyly, her ears fluttering, “I wanted to tell you at the celebration for a surprise but I couldn’t wait so—”

She didn’t get to finish as Tsu’tey launched himself at her, wrapping her in a tight hug, earning a joyous laugh from her. A large smile Jake hadn’t seen for a minute. Not since they first discovered Neteyam was coming.

Jake rushed over after placing his hunting equipment down, “You’re pregnant?” Neytiri nodded as Tsu’tey pulled away with a smile of his own. A grin broke out on his face as he pulled her in for a loving kiss, “Oh baby, I love you so much.”

All three of them joined together then—including Neteyam who giggled at their smiles. Sharing kisses, long hugs, and large smiles that they couldn’t contain.

Happiness was simple. That was what Jake believed.

He never thought he could achieve something like that. Not on Earth. Hell, no even on Pandora. Not after everything—but he worked hard for it. He kept going, wanting to prove to himself and his mates that he belonged there. That he was one of the People. That he would be a good mate. A good father.

And not something that destroys everything by a single touch.

Happiness was as simple as it was rare.

Whenever it came, Jake grasped onto it as tightly as he could. Because he never knew when he’d ever have it again.

He held on tight when Tsu’tey survived the battle against the Sky People. Nurtured it when Tsu’tey soon joined him and Neytiri in their union as mates. Loved it when Neteyam was born with his eyes and Neytiri’s markings.

But even then, even if he had a well-adjusted life a year into being on Pandora, Jake still had a long way to go. A long path to make up for all the strife he had caused.

For now, he would enjoy this night. He would enjoy being with his mates. He would enjoy this joyous celebration of the sturmbeest and the new life that would be here in nine months’ time.

It had been a good day for Jake Sully.

That night, Neytiri laid between Tsu’tey and him. That night he watched Tsu’tey’s body carefully as he usually did during the other nights. That night he couldn’t shake the warmth in his chest.

Happiness is simple.

At some point, Jake turned onto his back. His eyes trailing up to the sky. Stars. There were always stars here. And every night, Jake counted them until he fell asleep. Every night he had one arm around Neytiri. Every night he reached his hand out just enough until his fingers brushed against Tsu’tey’s bicep. Every night he would be the last out of the three of them—or four if he counted the heavy sleeper that was his son—to fall asleep.

Only this time there was a moving star in the sky. For a moment, Jake thought he was dreaming.

But the star kept moving. Closer and closer toward Pandora. Until Jake knew that it wasn’t a star anymore.

A body shifted, Jake instantly got up and placed gentle hands on Tsu’tey’s shaking body, trying his best to calm his mate down from the nightmares. Not knowing what he would do if he had to tell him—to tell Neytiri—that they were about to wake up in one.

It had been a good day.

Until it wasn’t.

Do you think I’ll like Pandora? I still dream about it. Being there with you. Do you still want me to come one day?

You woke up on a ship.

“Hold her down boys.”

At the moment, you hadn’t realized your body jerked roughly or that you were now being held down in your seat by a bunch of hands, far stronger and firmer than you. Never mind the tight seatbelt across your lap, no, they wanted to make sure you couldn’t escape.

So, you screamed. A horror-filled cry that sucked in all sound in the ship. Leaving the rest of the passengers with nothing but silence and your scream.

“Calm down, Doc.” The woman sat across from you spoke. The very same woman that approached you in your mother’s forest. “We wouldn’t want you harming yourself before we even get to the planet.”

With as much strength as you could muster, you tried pulling away from the two men sitting on either side of you, whose grips were practically steel. “What did you do?! Where the hell am I?!”

“I already told you five years ago, it wasn’t a request.”

You didn’t need to ask what she meant by five years. Your mother had told you about the process that got her to Pandora in one of her video diaries. You didn’t have to figure it out in your hazy state without getting pissed.

“You stole five years off me! What the fuck is wrong with you people!?” You seethed.

The woman looked unconcerned toward your outburst. “Your mother’s work is too important to give up, Doc. She and her group of scientists were close to probably giving us the one edge we needed against the Na’vi. The inhabitants of Pandora. With your mother gone along with the rest of her group, we were desperate for a replacement. Which is why we needed you. Which is why we wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Why the hell would I help you?!” You snapped, still fighting against the two male’s hold on you. “Get off me!”

“Boys.” The woman gestured for them to let go. After a pause, the hands were gone from your arms. And that was when you began to notice your surroundings.

Yes, you were on some type of ship with a few other soldiers. All of you strapped down to seats. And instead of your ash-covered clothes, you were now in a simple grey tank top, borrowed camouflage pants, and black combat shoes.

Slight groans and whines along the walls told you that the ship was still flying.

So you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. You had been practically kidnapped by the military—the RDA.

And you were trapped.

That is, until you reach Pandora.

“Now if you’re done throwing a fit,” The woman brought out a tablet and held it toward you. “I’m Captain DeVoe, by the way. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doc.”

You didn’t take the tablet.

Captain DeVoe sighed before pulling the tablet away and began typing on the screen. “Your mother had been close to finding a way to create an antidote for the neurotoxin those savages use on the tip of their arrows. It’s dangerous for us humans. And our goal is to get this small obstacle out of the way in order to proceed with our mission.”

You let out a short laugh, your body still tense and trapped. “Like I said. Why the hell would I help you? What my mother does has nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, but it does, honey,” DeVoe smirked while you scowled. The captain had to have been in her mid to late twenties. Her hair was cut short into a blonde buzzcut. Toned muscles underneath her long-sleeved shirt. She looked like she could break you in two without even breaking a sweat. So there was no point in trying to fight her. At least not in this confined space.

She held out the tablet to you. And again, you didn’t reach for it. Instead, you pressed your back against the wall behind you. DeVoe didn’t lower the tablet. From your spot, you could see on the screen a light blue rectangle and a digital lock above it.

“She’s kept everything we need behind a lock. Her last words were for you to unlock it and finish her work.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, “Those were her last words?” Another brittle laugh left your lips. “Wow, you all must be very desperate.” You continued to laugh, unafraid of the glare the captain sent you. “Fuck you. Fuck everyone on the ship and fuck the RDA! I haven’t even gotten to see her body yet—did you even bury her? Or did you toss her aside when you didn’t find any use for her anymore?”

DeVoe blinked and frowned. She then sighed, “I am sorry for your loss, Dr. Reeds. Really, I am. And I know emotions are quite high right now—”

“Fuck you.” You snorted humorlessly before leaning back against the wall again. The two men on either side of you shifted. You ignored them.

“Yes, you’ve said that already.” DeVoe tucked the tablet down next to her right thigh. You glanced at it briefly before directing your scowl back to the woman.

A speaker suddenly came to life above all of you. “We’ve entered the atmosphere. Landing in twenty.”

You sat up straighter as everyone suddenly began placing what looked like advanced oxygen masks on their faces.

Through all your righteous anger, you hadn’t truly realized it until right then. You were on Pandora. You were going to land in the place of your dreams.

And you refused to be happy about it.

DeVoe handed you a mask as she grabbed bags from under her seat. “Quaritch was always good at being persuasive. He’ll convince you. He always—"

A loud boom rattled your ears.

The ship suddenly flipped—if not for the seatbelts, you would’ve flipped too—and then it felt as if you were falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

You put on the mask in hopes of helping bring the air back into your lungs.

Falling.

Falling.

Thud!

Do you remember your second-in-command? JJ? Well, he retired recently. We threw him a really big party. Plus, he just had a baby too. I think it’s a girl last I checked, I’m going to have to ask Cheryl about that—you know her. Always being in the know with her coworkers…

There was no light. Heat closed in all around you, suffocating you and fogging your mask—or was that your quick breaths? No, that was the smoke.

Your ears rang terribly. People were moving but you couldn’t see who. Someone suddenly grabbed your arm, cut the seatbelt from your lap, and practically hauled your body from the seats and through the smoke.

You weren’t walking. A striking pain in your thigh prevented you from doing so.

Suddenly there was light. Lots of it. Your vision was somewhat clear enough to see that you were now outside. Enough for you to see that the one dragging you was a feral-looking DeVoe.

“Shoot them all down now!” She screamed. There was a long gash along her toned arm. “Contact base! We need backup ASAP!”

Finally, you realized what was happening.

There was fire—why was there always fire?

The large, winged creatures flew above the damage with people riding them. There were yips and hollers from the people on the creatures mixed with the explosions and shouts from DeVoe.

As your senses began coming back, as the world began to set around you, your instincts finally kicked in.

While DeVoe was distracted giving orders, you searched the ground until your eyes landed on a nearby rock. Quickly, you lunged for it, grasped it, and smacked it in the back of her head without wasting another second.

And the impact was hard too. You were sure you heard a loud crack from it.

When DeVoe ducked and stumbled, her grip on you loosened, giving you the chance to run. Or rather, limp through the wreckage and away from the fight happening around you.

But because of your leg, you didn’t make it too far.

A sudden weight knocked you down, a cry leaving your lips as you hit the ground. Wincing in pain from the burning in your left leg. When you tried getting up, the weight kept you pinned down. Whatever landed on top of you made sure you wouldn’t be able to move.

“I already told you!” Roughly, you were turned onto your back. DeVoe was on top of you, snarling. “You have no choice! Not when it comes to saving your race!”

“Get off me!” You cried out, trying to push her off. But DeVoe remained as firm as iron.

“That was a cute little stun you pulled back there. But make sure to remember this.” Instantly, she yanked your mask off.

Your eyes were wide and a loud gasp left your lips,

DeVoe grinned, a mad glint in her eye. “Your life is in my hands! That means I protect it or take it just like that! Don’t be stupid, Doc. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Pick! I protect you or you die!”

You held your breath. More booms sounded around you. More winged creatures flew above you. More yips. More hollers.

Briefly, you glanced at the mask in her hand and considered everything leading up to now. Because you didn’t have much of a choice.

None but one.

Finally, you stopped fighting. Your limbs fell loose against her.

DeVoe nodded with a smirk, “Good choice.” She gave you back your mask and stood up. You kept holding your breath. “Back up should be here soon. We’ll have enough numbers to take down these savages—”

She abruptly cut herself off when you slammed the mask down on your good knee, shattering it.

You then started breathing in the air.

“What are you doing?!” DeVoe screeched, grabbing you by the front of your shirt.

You grinned now, struggling to breathe, “You need me. I don’t need you.”

To them, you were valuable. DeVoe knew this. Which was why you knew she wouldn’t go through with killing you herself. It was like they said on the ship. You were too valuable. And they were desperate.

And that value would be lost once you’re dead.

“Damn you brat!” DeVoe growled as she took off her mask. “Selfish bitch—”

Blood splattered across your face when an arrow found its way through DeVoe’s head.

She slumped against you, the mask falling from her hand and skittering onto the ground a few feet away from you.

Your mind had not realized that DeVoe was killed. Was dead now. All you cared about now was grabbing the mask.

So once you got the dead weight off of you, you began crawling toward the mask. Your breathing becoming a struggle with every passing second.

You hadn’t realized—just like with DeVoe—that someone was watching you. Curiously and quietly following you as you crawled. You didn’t realize you weren’t alone until blue feet appeared in your line of vision. Until four fingers took the mask off the ground and away from your grasp.

A whimper left your lips through hollow breaths as you looked up to find a tall, blue alien woman standing over you. With guarded, yet silently curious yellow eyes.

A Na’vi. You had seen them in your mother’s videos. You had seen her avatar.

“Mom.” You rasped, lying on your back. You didn’t know how much time you had. Might as well stick to the original plan then.

Become invaluable.

But Mom…

“I-I just want my Mom.”

The Na’vi woman just stared at you. Her fierce gaze turned into something somewhat contemplative. You weren’t even sure if she understood you.

Black spots covered your vision.

There was barely any oxygen left to grasp for.

“Demon.”

The Na’vi woman hissed just as you lost consciousness.

This had to be the second time you’ve woken up from passing out.

Only instead of a ship greeting you, it was a white ceiling. And somehow instead of lying dead in the ship wreckage, you were instead lying on a cot. With a bandage wrapped around your injured thigh.

It was slow—slower than before—but everything came back to you. You were on Pandora. DeVoe was dead. At least that’s what you remembered happening. The arrow through her head certainly wasn’t a hallucination.

But why weren’t you dead?

For a while, you just say on the cot. Trying to figure out what exactly happened.

The Na’vi woman. Did she…Did she give you the mask?

No. She’d have no reason to. Something must’ve happened while you were passed out.

You were in some type of cell—perfect—no bars but no doubt some type of impenetrable glass in front of you.

A groan left your lips, dropping your head into your hands.

How the hell did it get so much worse?

A door opened further away from your cell. A thin-looking man stepped through it. A human man.

You watched him carefully and silently. The human male nodded to you. “You must be Dr. Reeds.”

Instantly, you tensed and the words tumbled out of your mouth, “I already told DeVoe I’m not helping the RDA. So torture me all you want but you’re not getting shit from me.”

He raised his brows both curiously and observantly. “The RDA hasn’t been allowed back on Pandora for a year now. Not after the war.”

War? You carefully stood from your cot, “Then why am I here?”

“Because you were on an RDA ship—” You move to protest, “Before you say anything or curse me, I already know about Joan Reeds and your supposed arrival. But unfortunately, you arrived at a pretty bad time. The People are skittish. They think it’s best to keep you here for now—”

“What the fuck?!” You screamed. The resolve was broken. There was no composing anything anymore. Your face was heated. Your muscles ached. Your throat hurting. “I didn’t even want to come here! Those fuckers kidnapped me and now I have to be imprisoned in a cell because of them?! I’m not RDA! I have nothing to do with this! All I want to do is see my mother who I couldn’t even bury!”

Toward the end of your rageful sentence, your voice quivered.

“Is she even buried yet?” You asked him, your voice now quieter.

After a pause, the male nodded. “She was buried. She…She was one of the few humans the Na’vi got along with. They gave her a burial years before. She—I’m sorry for your loss.

Everything was so—heavy. You were just exhausted.

You hadn’t even been able to grieve for her. Cry for her.

“I didn’t even know she was dead.” You sunk back down on the cot. “Not for four years. I didn’t she was dead for four fucking years. And now I’m here. On a planet I’ve been dreaming about since I was young. But now it’s just some fucked up nightmare.”

There was a long silence between the both of you. The male rubbed the back of his neck before saying cautiously, “Yeah, this isn’t ideal—um, I’m Norm, by the way. Norm Spellman. I work in the Avatar Program. I—well, I didn’t know or meet your mother personally but she was an amazing and intelligent scientist. Her work here and on Earth is very admirable.”

You almost scoffed at that but said nothing.

Norm moved to say more but stopped instantly, pressing a hand to his ear. For a beat, you watched him bleakly, as if he were listening to something.

He then turned to you, “Hold that thought.” And as soon as you blinked, he was gone out of the room.

For a moment, it was silent.

And then you cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

Until your eyes offered no more tears left to give.

Do you remember your second-in-command? JJ? Well, he retired recently. We threw him a really big party. Plus, he just had a baby too. I think it’s a girl last I checked, I’m going to have to ask Cheryl about that—you know her. Always being in the know with her coworkers.

I had to clean up cow shit yesterday. And I’m definitely smiling when I tell you this. It’s progress but you probably get to see and interact with creatures we don’t even have here. So, at least you’re up there…

Norm came back a little later after that. He approached your cell, typing something against the wall. A second later, the glass came down.

You straightened.

“They want to talk to you.” He said.

“Who?” You frowned tiredly as you slowly got to your feet, wincing at your thigh.

Norm thought for a bit, “Some representatives of the clan nearby.”

Reluctantly, you followed Norm out of the cell. He led you through a hallway until you approached a door where Norm grabbed a mask for himself and you.

“They’re right out there.”

When you walked out the door, you were startled to find three winged creatures and tall—really tall—Na’vi waiting at the landing strip where you were sure ships would’ve been. But instead, it looked a bit abandoned.

“Dr. Reeds this is the chief of the Omatikaya Clan, Tsu’tey, that’s Neytiri, and the last one is the clan’s Toruk Makto, Jake Sully.”

You analyzed all three of them. The Na’vi woman—Neytiri—you recognized from the crash. The one that had been standing over you before you passed out. Long braids, warrior paint on her face—matching her body posture she instantly took as soon as you came out of the building, and a bow clutched in one hand with a fierce expression. She was sizing you up. Same as you did.

The next one—Tsu’tey—watched your movements carefully. Out of the three he looked like the one in charge, a leader, someone that of importance. His snarl was severe, even making Norm shift uncomfortably despite it not being directed at him. He gripped a spear tightly in his hands, his eyes following every slight movement you made. As if readying himself to take you down the moment you step out of line. Dangerous beast.

Then there was Jake Sully. If you hadn’t learned his name, you could instantly tell that he stood out somewhat among the three. Compared to Neytiri and Tsu’tey, Jake’s stance was different. More human-like. Like a Marine—which you had been around back on Earth. They were mostly the ones hired as military protection, so you were around them often. Jake was exactly that. But it didn’t make him any less fierce or severe.

Then of course there was the gun that he held—another huge thing that stood out among the three of them.

“And this is Dr. Reeds. She was supposed to replace the late Dr. Joan Reeds, a friend of Grace—”

“Why is she here now?” The leader, Tsu’tey interrupted with a scowl. “We need no more demons here.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek but didn’t say anything. Norm, fortunately, continued talking so you didn’t have to. “The timing’s off, I know, but it’s on record that she was supposed to arrive here upon Dr. Reeds' last request. And confirmed by Dr. Augustine herself. She’s only a scientist, that’s all. We even have an unused avatar waiting for her.”

Tsu’tey didn’t look convinced, not surprising. Neytiri’s eyes never wavered from you. Jake’s tail swished behind him, but his expression was unreadable.

Norm cleared his throat, “If Grace approved of it—”

“Where’s my mother buried?” You asked. All four eyes snapped to you. Norm gave you a look that you ignored. “Spellman told me she had a burial here. I just want to see her. That’s all.”

“And then what?” Jake questioned, eyes narrowed. His face was still guarded.

You didn’t care for it. “I don’t know. Maybe then I’ll go back to Earth and die with the rest of the planet. Does that suffice?”

Tsu’tey frowned, clearly not liking your response while Jake lowered the gun slightly. Neytiri slowly eased out of her defensive stance.

Norm chuckled nervously—attempting to save your sardonic response, “You hear that? She said she’ll leave.”

You breathed out a sigh. God, you were so tired. “I just want my Mom. Please, that’s all I ask.”

Another beat went by before Jake, spoke first but in another language. Tsu’tey didn’t look happy at whatever Jake was saying, his ears were pinned to the sides of his head. Neytiri, on the other hand, looked contemplative.

Eventually, Jake turned back to you with a stern frown, “We’ll have a few warriors take you to your mother’s burial.”

“And after you do not return.” Tsu’tey hissed, his violent eyes pinning you in place. If I see you on my grounds again, I will kill you, demon.”

Jake breathed out through his nose, closing his eyes. He then looked at you, “Understood?”

You huffed, “Loud and clear.”

You’re far away from this mess and I think that’s good. Not that there is a mess, I’m just saying metaphorically….You know what never mind. I hope you’re having fun, Mom.

Please respond. I miss your videos. And it’s getting pretty lonely down here.

I still want you to have fun so don’t put too much energy into trying to respond.

I’ll leave you now.

Love,

your little shadow.

PS.

Remember how you said I accomplish more stuff than you could ever imagine? I kind of get the feeling you were only saying that to make me feel better. It’s pretty clear by now that out of the two of us, you’re gonna go far. Farther than I can reach.

Okay, bye now.

yes, another series! this time i'm going full force with the poly than i do with my other fics. and you guys have this beautiful fanart to thank! also i listened to you're gonna go far by noah kahan the whole time i wrote this chapter so it's probably obvious i was inspired by that song. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this new mini series of mine for anyone that's still out there in the fandom lol. i hope you guys will give this a chance--and tell me your thoughts when you're done! i love hearing from y'all. full rants and everything!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Buddy Daddies x Delinquent Teen Reader (1)

You’re home was on the streets 

Practically abandoned by your parents, you relied on one of the local gangs for your family

Working to join them for some semblance of protection against the world

And as it would happen it helped 

Despite your teachers and guardian-having friends warning otherwise

Thanks to them you were eating

A far cry from what you were left to before

But past aside your doing well 

Gaining experience and becoming more of an asset to the gang before your saddled with an unlikely obstacle

“Hi there! My name’s Miri, what’s your name?”

Suddenly this bubbly smiley kid is following you around

Somehow finding you in dark alleyways and shadows of buildings 

This kid just won’t leave you alone 

No matter how much you reprimand, sneer, or blatantly insult this kid 

“Kid! Didn’t I tell you to kick rocks? Now if you don’t leave I’ll steal your shoes.”

“W-what, don’t take my shoes my papas got them for me!”

“Then. Leave. Me. Alone.”

she just won’t leave you alone and it all comes to a head when she approaches you when your with your friends

“Well well look at this little tyke!”

“Oh my gosh, they're so small! (Y/n) I didn’t know you had a baby sister!”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah! My name’s Miri.”

And despite your protests they all invite pressure Miri to join you all on a…midnight stroll

Along a train track

It goes as expected and your crew successfully go along the train track until you hear the dreaded sound of the train

And as it would have it Miri’s shoes get caught

“Is everyone off the tracks?”

“Whooo that was close!”

“Where’s Miri?”

Your group resigns to stand by and watch horrified as she struggles with the track and the oncoming train approaches 

Way too close to the train you’re able to yank Miri from the tracks narrowly missing the train hurling by

“Whoa that was clo–”

“See what happens?”

“What? What are you talk–”

“See what happens when you hang around me?!”

“W-what but I love be–”

“You! Almost died! Can’t you see?! You don’t belong here so GO! Go home before you really get hurt.”

She goes home that day with tears in her eyes

While you wordlessly turn back to your group to head back to base

hoping that you don’t see her ever again

For awhile you don’t and things are back to normal

And while you’re spray painting the gang’s sign on a wall a burly woman knocks you to the ground

“Hey watch it, punk!”

“You wanna go pipsqueak!”

Apparently she was from a rival gang, looking to contest this area

Sending a quick call to your team, you prepare to fight this lady 

Narrowly ducking her first punch 

You throw your own 

Standing victorious as she buckles 

But you too would fall to your knees

after a whopping hit in the back of your head

It was an ambush 

And easily you found yourself at their mercy 

Only being released when you hear the separate thuds and the released grip from your arms

“What the–ooomf!”

Your original attacker is silenced by a guy with blonde hair 

Who punches them into a headlock before pulling a gun with silencer

“H-hey-”

Before you could stop him he pulled the trigger, nonchalantly reaching to the sky in a stretch

“Ah man after so long it seems I’ve still got it!” 

You shakily stand holding your arm that stings in pain

You try to limp away while he continues flexing 

But he notices

“Ah ah! (Y/n) don’t run away!”

You sneered, “How do you know my name?”

“Uh…not important. But look, you need to come home with me! Miri misses-”

“Ugh are you Miri’s daddy or something?”

“Papa actually–” “Look old man, what I said to your kid is true. She needs to stay far away from me and you know what? Maybe you should try watching her better.”

“We did. And we were.”

The tired voice was right above you 

Close enough to your back that you could now register the warmth teeming off them

You jump, despite the pain you back away against the brick wall

The man that spoke had black hair pulled back to reveal a pale guy with a grave look on his face

“Ah-! What he means is: we’ve been watching after you and Mirin. And we’ve decided that we’re going to be the papas you need!”

“What?!”

“Ahem we’ve decided–” “You're coming with us.”

“What?! Huh?!”

“Rei! You can’t just say that they're not going to understand!” 

“They’ll understand better when we get them home.”

“No no but there’s a method for these things and with someone of their age–”

The blonde kept talking to the one identified as Rei seemingly dividing their attention

You took the chance to limp as far as you could away reaching into your pocket to retrieve your last line of defense

“That’s enough of that.”

In a flash of black your pocket knife was out of your hand

Briefly squealing in pain at the pressure point being hit near your neck

Slumping into Rei’s arms he moved to cradle you rolling his eyes at Kazuki’s musings

“Rei!? They obviously weren’t ready!”

“They would’ve never been ready.”

“But we did the whole save-them-be-the-saviors-routine!” 

“Does it really matter now that we have them?”

“...Mmmm….Mmmmm!...I still would’ve preferred my way.”

The sounds of tires screeching and the sound of modded engines coming to halt

Had them both perking up

“Oh! Those bad influences actually came!”

“That was unexpected. The broken brakes should have kept them busy.”

“Now here’s the question: do we handle them now or later?”

“Did you throw your back out yet?”

“Hah! Not yet, yours?”

“...”

“Then I say we give ‘em a show!”

When you next awake 

You’re in a well furnished room

All patched up and nursing a sling for your arm

Immediately you get up finding yourself at the top of the stairs before you spotted them

“Hiii (Y/n)!!!” “Ah, good morning (Y/n) did you sleep well?”

There words don’t reach you as you register the blonde man from before and the little girl who’d been following you around

Why were they acting so calm?

They kidnapped you!

And the little girl was in on it too?

“Welp, we're heading out for preschool.”

 “Yup bye (Y/n) later I can’t wait to cele–mmmf!”

The blonde’s hand goes over her mouth sending her to get her shoes before waving to you

“I’ll be back soon! Breakfast is on the counter!” 

Not long after they disappeared from sight you heard the slam of the door

Good now you can–

“Going to have breakfeast?”

Once again that voice rang from behind you

Turning to see the same man with the grave face but this time with scruffier-relaxed look to him

His eyes were still intense and they held you in place all the way to the kitchen 

While eating some regretfully delicious french toast with Rei watching diligently 

Guess this was your life now…the newest unwilling addition to the family

[multifariousqueer]

Can you write Miles 42 being like really super duper protective and like controls her, he doesn’t let her go out by herself and stuff like that and is like always watching her. They argue about his over protectiveness but he could care less

Ofc babes!!!

warnings: toxic behaivor, miles being annoying, angst, references to robbery and murder, strong language, INCREDIBLY TOXIC BEHAVIOR!!!!!!, brief mention of drinking, lmk if I missed one or two

A/n: Send more miles 42 reqs pls

730 days. Thats how long you were with this man. Thats how long it's been since you got leave the house alone. Miles was very overprotective since his dad died and he saw the world for what it was. Evil and it was filled with nothing but scum. Miles determined that this world wasn't good enough for you and you needed to be "protected" and kept away from this disgraceful universe. So, he took it upon himself to protect the only two things that mattered to him, you and his mom and he did a good job at it.

Miles would walk you to school, work, home and if you needed something, he would be the one to get it for you:

"Miles baby, I can get it myself; its right outside." you pleaded.

"Nah, Mami. I don't want you outside by yourself. People are fucked up and they will hurt you." He said stoically.

"But-" you started

"Cállate, Y/n. Before I make you” he said, stepping closer

You knew Miles well and you knew to stop pressing because he would just shut down and you hated when he shut down. Miles would just put his hand on his braids and kick something before giving you the same speech:

“Y/n you saw what they did to my father, do you want that to happen to you too? Because if I let you go out by yourself, you’re at risk for that to happen and if it does or if anything or anyone touches you, I will kill them; and that’s a promise, Mami. I will kill anyone that lays a finger on you and not bat an eye. Don’t fuck with me, y/n. Stay close. Let me protect you and we will be good. Aight?"

“okay.” you would say. Miles had a way of making you seem two inches tall in these situations.

You never left his side. For two years, he would watch your every move(he put small cameras in your home. You didn’t notice until three months ago); he would take you shopping but never posted about you just in case a villain would use try to use you as his weakness(because lets face it, you’re his weakness), he would kiss you and be sweet in private but he would act hard when anyone else was around.

It was a cold winter’s day when you decided you had had enough. Your friend y/f/n(your friends name) had invited you out to a party. You had never been to one because of Miles but you decided enough was enough and you were gonna go. So you slipped on a small dress, cute heels and a jacket that made your tits look nice and left:

“I’ll be home soon!” You told your parent

“Okay, y/n. Tell Miles I said hi” they exclaimed

“Okay!” You shouted back. They knew how overprotective Miles was but they knew he was a good person overall so they left it alone.

As you walked to hail a taxi, you felt your phone vibrate:

Miles: Wanna go out?

You: No it’s okay, imma just stay in for tonight

Miles: Nah fr. Let me take you out

You looked down and debated answering the text, but ultimately decided not to. You got in the taxi and went to the party when you saw a shadow dash across the roof.

You walked into the party and greeted your friend:

“GIRL OMG YOU LOOK SO GOOD. WHERE’S MILES?” They shouted over the loud music

“He’s not here, it’s just me. Let’s go grab a drink!” You replied

“Oh Okay!!” Your friend said

As you were walking over, you could’ve sworn you saw a man that looked exactly like your boyfriend but he vanished when a man walked past. You brushed it off and grabbed a cup of jungle juice and went to dance. You grinded against your friend who caught it during the beat drop. You were having the time of your life until you checked your phone:

Miles: I know where you are, y/n. Come home or I’m coming there.

Miles: I should’ve known you’d lie to me. You’ve been acting real shady lately, wanting to go out and shit. Just wait till you get home, we’re gonna address this shit immediately.

Miles: I see you

Miles: Stop ignoring me, y/n. You know you fucked up

Miles: Imagine wearing the chrome heart necklace I got you while dancing like a slut on your friend

Your stomach dropped as you surveyed your surroundings, looking for a sign of him. When you couldn’t see him, you hailed a taxi and went home.

You fidgeted and fiddled the whole way home. The driver looked in his rear view mirror at you:

“You good, Mami?"

The name sent shivers up your spine as it was your boyfriends name for you.

“Oh! I’m fine, just cold haha” you laughed it off

The driver turned on the heat and sooner or later you were home.

You approached your doorstep and went to your room. Your parent was asleep and you walked in your room, thinking his threat was empty, until you went to shower and saw him behind the door:

“MILES” you screamed both in shock and horror

“Y/n.” he said, closing the door, encapsulating you both in the small room together

“I’m so sorry-“ you started

“you should be. What did I tell you, y/n? I do all of this shit for your safety but you continue to fight me and pull these stunts” Miles lectured as he closed in on you. Your height difference becoming more and more apparent

“Stunts? Fight? Miles I have been nothing but obedient to you which I shouldn’t even have to do if you treated me like a person instead of an object. That’s all I am to you isn’t it? An object. A doll. Just something you don’t want other people to have or see?” you argued

But your pleas and your confessions meant nothing to the man. He simply looked at you and said:

“yeah, actually.”

“what?” you said

“You are an object to me, you’re something I have to protect otherwise the world will take you from me like they did him.” Miles said, as stoic as ever

“STOP USING YOUR DAD AS LEVERAGE IN THIS, MILES. THIS ISN’T ABOUT HIM, ITS ABOUT YOU AND ME AND IF YOURE JUST GONNA KEEP TREATING ME THIS WAY, I’LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE.” You shouted, exasperated and on the verge of tears.

“do it, y/n. I dare you to find someone who will care for you and spoil you as much as I do.” Miles said, briefly breaking his nonchalant nature

“Fine I will!” you said reaching for the doorknob.

You left and put on clothes as you made him leave.

“You’ll be back.” Miles said, nonchalantly

“Fuck you, Miles Morales.” you said

It had been a week and you were sulking and debating getting back with the man when your family and friends told you were doing the right thing:

“I’m glad you left him, y/n. I heard he’s the prowler.” Your parent said

“Yeah I’m glad I left too.” you mumbled

As you were enjoying your fifth night of freedom, you saw a woman get mugged on the street:

“GIVE ME YOUR PURSE NOW LADY” The masked man shouted

The woman did as told and the man escaped but not before looking at you and running in your direction. With Miles, that man would’ve never even had the though to look at you.

You ran as fast as you could until you lost him in an alley behind your apartment. You decided you missed him too much and he was right so you pulled out your phone:

You: Miles you were right. I’m so sorry

Miles: typing...

Miles: its okay, I knew you’d find out soon enough; so what happened, Mami?

You: Some mugger saw me and charged at me and he had a knife

Miles: What did he look like

You: Beanie, knife, blue shirt and black pants

seen

You went home and went to sleep. The next morning you heard the news blaring in the house, along with the smell of bacon wafting through the house

“What happened?” you asked

“some mugger got killed.” your parent said

You had a stinging sensation in your gut and prayed that it wasn’t what it looked like when you heard the woman on the TV:

“It seemed like there were claw marks In his chest and he had been blasted with a ray gun."

Oh God...

You went to text Miles when you saw his text:

“You don’t gotta worry about that guy anymore, Mami. I’ll be at your house at 10.”

[cera-writes]

Omg, I love your blog! 👁️👁️✨ I really love how you write for X-MEN characters. Today, I’m requesting a song fic for either Remy or Kurt. I think they would both fit Too Sweet (By Hozier). I’ve been obsessed with this song ever since it came out. Thank you! ✨

A/N: THANK YOU <333 I too, am obsessed with this song lol Pairing: Gambit x F!Reader Tags: songfic, Hozier, fluff, mutual pining

Too Sweet - A Hozier Song-Fic

The insistent chirping of birds filtered through the blinds, a jarring intrusion into Remy LeBeau's slumber. Ten o'clock. Ten o'clock before Remy would ever say a word and none earlier. Unlike him, you were a symphony of pre-dawn energy. Your voice, a melodic counterpoint to the morning symphony, cut through his haze.

"Remy! Rise and shine, sleepyhead! I've already been out on my mile run this morning before the sun rose."

He peeked from beneath the covers, your silhouette bathed in the golden morning light. Even in your active wear, you possessed an ethereal quality. It couldn't be said I'm an early bird, Remy thought, a wry smile playing on his lips. You were the quintessential early riser, a stark contrast to his nocturnal rhythm.

"Don' you jus' wanna wake up, dark as a lake, cher? Smellin' like a bonfire, lost in a haze?" he mumbled, the words tumbling out unbidden. You paused mid-stretch, concern clouding your bright eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" Your worry was a balm to his soul, a secret he wouldn't readily admit. You cared about him, the man who thrived in the shadows, a stark contrast to your rose colored glasses. You were too sweet for him, a melody in his whiskey-soaked symphony of existence.

"Peachy, cher," he lied with a lazy drawl, forcing himself upright. You were right. The allure of being the thief in the night seemed to pale in comparison to experiencing a sunrise with you. He joined you on the cool floor, his movements stiff compared to your effortless grace.

"You know you don't gotta pretend," he propped up softly, voice laced with amusement. A heat crawled up your neck. He saw through you, your carefully constructed facade. Perhaps, it was this very quality that drew you to him like a moth to a flame.

As the day unfolded, the contrast between you became even more apparent. Your afternoon was spent enveloped in the warm aroma of chocolate and sugar, your hands weaving magic with the ingredients. Remy, however, sharpened his fighting skills with his staff, the rhythmic clang a stark counterpoint to your gentle symphony.

You offered him a hot cup of joe, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I remembered you liked your coffee black. Oh, and I just made cookies. Help yourself to a few."

He chuckled, taking a tentative bite. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, a stark contrast to the life he led. "You're too sweet for de likes of Gambit, cher," he teased, a pull in his chest that wasn't from the charged cards strapped to his thigh.

"What does that make you then?" you countered, a playful comeback escaping your lips. But beneath the surface, Remy saw a flicker – a spark of attraction mirrored in his own gaze.

Later that night, when the moon replaced the sun, casting familiar, cool shadows, he found you on the balcony, gazing at the starlit canvas above. This was his domain, the time he craved.

"Couldn't sleep, cher?" he drawled, leaning against the railing, whiskey in hand as he took a sip from the glass.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. "Just thinking."

He joined you, a comfortable silence settling between them. "Maybe," he started, feeling uncharacteristically hesitant, "maybe we don' have to pretend or play dis lil' game anymore. Maybe we can share de sky for a while."

You turned to him, your eyes twinkling like distant stars. "Maybe we can, Remy."

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco mingling with the cool night air. In that twilight space between light and dark, he found himself lost in the sweetness of your kiss, a perfect counterpoint to his world of shadows.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Shadow | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, unwanted sexual contact (not on reader)

Word Count: 5069

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Sam made himself and Dean don goofy outfits to go investigate the death of some poor girl who died the previous week. You were dressed as their supervisor, so you didn’t have to dress like the third Imagination Mover.

“You know, I’ve gotta say Dad and me did just fine without these stupid costumes,” Dean complained. “I feel like a high school drama dork. What was that play that you did? What was it— Our Town. Yeah, you were good, it was cute.”

“You did theater?” you asked Sam.

“Look, you wanna pull this off or not?” The brunet changed the subject.

“I’m just sayin’, these outfits cost hard-earned money, okay?”

“Whose?” You gave Dean a look.

“Ours. You think credit card fraud is easy?”

***

The landlady of the young woman’s apartment building let you into the deceased’s room. She called the alarm company as useful as “boobs on a man.” She explained how Meredith had been found in pieces scattered around the apartment. The landlady said there had been no signs of break in, and allowed you and the Winchesters to check the apartment out for a bit.

“So, a killer walks in and out of the apartment—no weapons, no prints, nothin’,” Dean said.

“I’m tellin’ ya, the minute I found that article, I knew this was our kind of gig,” Sam replied.

The EMF meter Dean was holding beeped rapidly.

“I definitely agree with you,” you chimed in.

“So, you talked to the cops?” Sam asked his brother.

Dean smirked. “I spoke to Amy, a, uh, charming, perky officer of the law.”

You ignored the way your heart squeezed in your chest. “Yeah? What’d you find out?” You did your best not to let on the emotional storm he was sending you into.

“Well, she’s a Sagittarius,” he said dreamily. “She loves tequila, I mean— wow. Oh, and she’s got this little tattoo—”

“Dean!” Sam cut his brother off.

“What? Yeah. Uh, nothin’ we don’t already know. Except for one thing they’re keepin’ out of the papers. Meredith’s heart was missing.”

“Her heart?” the younger brother sounded stunned. “So, what do you think did it to her?”

“Well, the landlady said it looked like an animal attack. Maybe it was— werewolf?”

You shook your head. “No, the lunar cycle’s not right. Plus, if it was a creature or somethin’, it would’ve left some kind of trace. It’s gotta be a spirit.”

Dean looked down at the blood stains on the white carpet and seemed to notice something. “Sam, see if you can find any masking tape.” His idea of taping the space between the splotches of blood like a twisted connect-the-dots revealed a strange symbol on the ground that looked like an “S” with a small circle cutting through the middle of it.

***

You were gulping down beers like there was no tomorrow and trying to peel your eyes away from Dean flirting with the gorgeous bartender. You and Sam were sitting at an empty table and leafing through his father’s journal.

“(Y/N), if you stare any harder at him, you’re gonna burst a blood vessel.”

You looked over at Sam. “Shut up.”

“You like him, huh?”

“What am I, five? No, I don’t like him,” you responded. 

He gave you a knowing look. “C’mon, (Y/N/N), don’t lie to me.”

You sighed, taking a big gulp of your drink first. “I don’t know, man. I’m not good with feelings.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean was back over at your table. “I talked to the bartender,” he grinned. 

“Did you get anything? Besides her number?” Sam asked.

Dean scrunched his face up. “Dude, I’m a professional. I’m offended that you would think that.” Sam gave him a look, and Dean bashfully held up a napkin with the bartender’s number on it in response.

“You mind doin’ a little bit of thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?” you asked.

“Huh? Look, there’s nothing to find out. I mean, Meredith worked here, she waited tables, everyone here was her friend. Everybody said she was normal. She didn’t do or say anything weird before she died, so— what about that symbol, you find anything?”

The younger brother shook his head. “Nope, nothing. It wasn’t in Dad’s journal or in any of the usual books. I just have to dig a little deeper, I guess.”

“Well, there was a first victim, right? Before Meredith?” you brought up.

“His name was, uh, his name was Ben Swardstrom.” He pulled a newspaper clipping out of the journal and handed it to Dean, “Last month he was found mutilated in his town house. Same deal; the door was locked, the alarm was on.”

“Is there any connection between the two of them?”

“Not that I can tell—I mean, not yet, at least. Ben was a banker, Meredith was a waitress. They never met, never knew anyone in common—they were practically from different worlds.”

“So, to recap, the only successful intel we’ve scored so far is the bartender’s phone number," the younger brother deadpanned.

Dean smirked at you and Sam, and you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. Sam seemed to notice something on the other side of the room.

“What?” you asked.

Without answering you, Sam got up from the table and headed past his brother. You followed him to a table where a blonde woman with short hair sat.

“Meg?” he asked.

You furrowed your eyebrows as the woman turned around and exclaimed, “Sam! Is that you? Oh, my god! What are you doing here?” She gave him a hug, and you could see on Sam’s face that he was confused.

“I’m just in town, visiting friends,” he lied.

The young woman looked around. “Where are they?”

You stepped up from his side. “Me!” you lied. “Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N).”

She gave you a smile, “Yeah, I remember, Sam told me about you.”

You turned to the younger Winchester. “He did?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam answered. “Meg, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to California.”

Dean came up between you and Sam; eyes raking over Meg’s body.

“Oh, I did. I came, I saw, I conquered. Oh, and I met what’s-his-name, something Michael Murray at a bar,” she explained.

Sam looked confused. “Who?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I’m living here for a while,” she shrugged.

Dean cleared his throat loudly, but was ignored.

“You’re from Chicago?” Sam questioned.

“No, Massachusetts. Andover. Gosh, Sam, what are the odds we’d run into each other?” The grin she gave unsettled you. 

“Yeah, I know, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Dean cleared his throat again, earning a “Dude, cover your mouth,” from Meg.

Sam chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Meg. This is, uh— this is my brother, Dean.”

She looked surprised. “This is Dean?”

“So, you’ve heard of me?” Dean gave her a salacious grin.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of you. Nice; the way you treat your brother like luggage,” she said harshly.

“Sorry?” Dean was stunned and so were you.

The woman didn't let up, and if it weren't for your horrible gut feeling, the two of you would likely be good friends. “Why don’t you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him over god’s green earth.”

“Meg, it’s alright,” Sam said.

Dean whistled lowly. “Okay, awkward. I’m gonna get a drink now. C’mon, (Y/N).”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” And with that, you bounded off to the bar with him. “What’s with that chick?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Weird, right?”

“Yeah, completely,” you responded.

The older Winchester motioned at the pretty bartender he’d spoken to earlier for two beers. 

“Sam ever mention her?” you asked him. “They seemed pretty chummy.”

“Why, you jealous?”

You scoffed. “No way. He reminds me too much of my brother. Freud would be rolling in his grave if I was. She’s just… bizarre.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbled, sipping his beer.

Sam came over to you and told you it was time to go.

“What, why?” you asked.

“Just… come on, (Y/N/N),” Sam responded. He dragged the two of you out of the bar after you and Dean chugged your beers quickly.

“Who the hell was she?” Dean questioned as you crossed the street outside of the bar.

“I don’t really know. I only met her once. Meeting up with her again? I don’t know, man, it’s weird.”

“Yeah, she seemed to really know you,” you said. “You said you only met her once?”

He nodded.

“And what was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitchin’ about me to some chick?” Dean’s tone was on-guard immediately.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was in that bus stop in Indiana. But that’s not important, just listen—”

“Well, is there any truth to what she’s saying? I mean, am I keeping you against your will, Sam?”

Sam stopped his brother. “No, of course not. Now, would you listen? I think there’s somethin’ strange going on here, guys.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean muttered. “She wasn’t even that into me.”

You elbowed him sharply. “Upstairs brain, please.”

“I mean like, our kind of strange.” Sam ignored his brother’s comment. “Like, maybe even a lead.”

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“I met Meg weeks ago, literally on the side of the road. And now, I run into her in some random Chicago bar? I mean, the same bar where a waitress was slaughtered by something supernatural? You don’t think that’s a little weird?”

“Well, yeah,” you said. “But I think I would’ve noticed if she was following us.”

“Yeah, okay, Nancy Drew,” Dean chided.

“Listen, dickhead, I’m very observant,” you responded playfully.

“Guys, can we focus, please? Look, I could be wrong, I’m just sayin’ that there’s something about this girl that I can’t quite put my finger on,” Sam continued.

“Well, I bet you’d like to. I mean, maybe she’s not a suspect, maybe you’ve got a thing for her, huh?” Dean’s grin was widening by the second.

Sam rolled his eyes and you laughed.

“Maybe you’re thinkin’ a little too much with your upstairs brain, huh?” Dean pointed to his head and then down to his groin.

Sam gave the two of you a bitchface. “Do me a favor. Check and see if there’s really a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts, and see if you can’t dig anything up on that symbol on Meredith’s floor.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked him.

“I’m gonna watch Meg.”

The older brother laughed. “Yeah, you are.”

“I just wanna see what’s what. Better safe than sorry.”

“Alright, you little pervert.” Dean continued walking.

“Dude!”

“We’re goin’, we’re goin’.” 

“Bye, Sam!” you called over your shoulder. You and Dean walked a few blocks down to Sam and Dean’s motel room and set to work searching for Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts.

***

About thirty minutes later, Sam called you. “Hey.” You continued clicking through pages on your computer.

“Finding anything?” he asked.

“Yeah, she checks out. High school yearbook picture and everything.”

Dean took your phone from you. “Let me guess. You’re lurkin’ outside that poor girl’s apartment, aren’t you?... You’ve got a funny way of showin’ your affection. Now, look, why don’t you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?... Yeah, that (Y/N) did have some luck with. It’s, uh, turns out it’s very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It’s a sigil for a Daeva.”

Dean handed the phone back to you. “He’s lookin’ for a nerd definition. You’re better with that than I am.”

You rolled your eyes. “ 'Daeva' translates to ‘demon of darkness’. They’re Zoroastrian demons, and they’re freakin’ animals, dude. Dean said they’re demonic pitbulls.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Google, man. It’s a magical place.”

He laughed. 

“Oh, one more thing!” you gasped. “These Daevas, they have to be summoned; conjured.”

Sam sounded surprised. “So, someone’s controlling it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. And, from what I gather, it’s pretty risky business, too. These bitches tend to bite the hand that feeds them.”

“And, uh, the arms, and torsos,” Dean quipped loud enough for his brother to hear. 

“So, what do they look like?” Sam asked you.

“Nobody knows. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? We’ve definitely got a major player in town.”

Dean took the phone back from you. “Now, why don’t you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?... No, bite her. Don’t leave teeth marks, though— Sam? Are you—?” He took your phone away from his ear. “He hung up.”

“Yeah, you fucking perv. You know he’s a total prude,” you snickered. “I’m kind of exhausted, if I’m being honest. Do you mind if I sleep here for a bit?” you asked him, referring to his bed that you were lounging on.

He shrugged. “Go right ahead. I’ll wake you up when Sam’s back.”

“Thanks. Night, Dee.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

You rolled away from him, sighing contentedly. You brought the covers up around your neck, and Dean's scent engulfed you as you did so.

You often found yourself unable to rest when you were alone in your room. Some part of you was still afraid of your father bursting into your room at four in the morning to go run drills if he was disappointed in your performance from the day before. And if sleep did grace you, it was normally hours of tossing and turning before you could finally turn your brain off. But somehow, this man you were just beginning to know made you feel safe enough to drift off in minutes.

***

You awoke to Dean lightly shaking you awake. You snapped into fight or flight and gripped his wrist, shooting up from the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, relax. It’s just me,” he told you.

“Sorry,” you said, cheeks burning. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam proceeded to explain what he’d seen after following Meg into a warehouse. 

“So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?” Dean quipped.

“Looks like she was using that black altar to control the thing,” Sam responded.

“So, Sammy’s got a thing for the bad girl,” he chuckled. “And what’s the deal with that bowl again?”

“She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone.”

“With who? With the Daeva?”

The younger man shook his head. “No, (Y/N) said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who’s giving her orders. Someone who’s comin’ to that warehouse.”

Dean thought for a moment and then looked over some of the papers the two of you had spread out on the table. “Holy crap.”

“What?” You jumped out of bed and walked over to him.

“What I was gonna tell Sam earlier—I pulled a favor with my—” he cleared his throat— “friend, Amy, over at the police department. The complete records of the two victims— we missed something the first time.”

“What?”

“The first victim, the old man— he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn’t born here. Look where he was born.” He pointed to a spot on the page.

“Lawrence,” you breathed. 

Dean continued to shuffle through files. “Meredith, second victim? Turns out she was adopted. And guess where she’s from.”

“Holy crap,” Sam muttered. “I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That’s where everything started. So, you think Meg’s tied up with the demon?”

“I think it’s a definite possibility,” the older brother answered.

“But I don’t understand. What’s the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?” Sam questioned.

“Beats me. But I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation.” 

“No, we can’t. We shouldn’t tip her off. We’ve gotta stake out that warehouse. We’ve gotta see who, or what, is showin’ up to meet her.” Sam pulled a hand through his hair and began to pace.

“I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t think we should do this alone,” Dean said.

“Dean, do you even think your dad will answer?” you asked him, knowing what he meant.

He didn’t answer but told you, “You and Sam go stake out the trunk. Get me somethin’ good.”

You nodded. “C’mon, Sam.”

You grabbed anything and everything out of the trunk that could’ve been remotely useful. Holy water, numerous weapons, and different books containing dozens of different exorcism rituals. 

When you returned to the room, Dean was talking to who you deduced was his father on the phone. “We think we’ve got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. So, uh, this warehouse—it’s 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can.” 

“Voicemail?” you questioned.

He nodded. He gestured to the stuffed duffel bags you and Sam were holding. “Jesus, what’d you get?”

“We ransacked the trunk,” Sam explained and listed off all the things you had grabbed.

Dean nodded and breathed deeply. “Big night.”

“Yeah. You nervous?” the younger brother asked.

“No. Why, are you?”

“No. No way.” He was silent for a moment. “God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” 

“I know. I’m just sayin’, what if we did? What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I’d sleep for a month. Go back to school— be a person again.”

“You wanna go back to school?” you asked Sam.

“Yeah, once we’re done huntin’ the thing,” he answered.

You felt slightly saddened. “Oh.”

“Why, is there somethin’ wrong with that?”

“No, no! It’s, uh, great. I’m proud of you,” you told him.

“I mean, what are you two gonna do when it’s all over?” Sam asked.

“It’s never gonna be over,” Dean answered. “There’s gonna be others. There’s always gonna be somethin’ to hunt.” He looked to you. “And I’m gonna need a new hunting partner if Sam’s not gonna be around… so…”

You gave him a lopsided smile. 

Sam continued prodding. “But there’s got to be somethin’ that you want for yourself—”

Dean cut his brother off. “Yeah, I don’t want you to leave the second this thing’s over, Sam.” He turned away.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

“Why do you think I drag you everywhere? Huh?” Dean asked his brother rhetorically. “I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

“ ‘Cause Dad was in trouble. ‘Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom.” Sam looked confused. 

“Yes, that, but it’s more than that, man. You and me and Dad— I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.”

Sam’s tone softened. “Dean, we are a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.”

Dean looked heartbroken, and yours ached for him, too. “Could be.”

“I don’t want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you’re gonna have to let me go my own way.”

You watched Sam with sad eyes, but you and Dean said nothing as you left the room to head to the warehouse.

***

You carefully climbed your way up the elevator shaft hearing Meg’s melodic voice talking in a language you couldn’t recognize getting louder and louder as you ascended. You tried your best not to make much noise while you climbed; a feat the brothers seemed to have trouble with.

You peeked over the cement slab that made up the seventh floor of the warehouse. Meg’s back was turned to you and she continued speaking into the goblet she was holding. Sam quietly pulled the gate open just wide enough for you and the brothers to slip through. The three of you headed behind two of the support posts of the warehouse. You drew your guns from your jeans and steadied your breath to attack her.

“Guys,” Meg spoke; never turning around.

You looked at the brothers in shock.

“Hiding’s a little bit childish, don’t you think?” her smooth voice continued. 

“Well, that didn’t work out like I planned,” Dean muttered to you. You would have laughed had it not been for your situation.

Meg turned and her boots clacked on the floor as she approached you. “Why don’t you come out?”

You slowly moved from behind the crates.

“Sam, I have to say, this puts a real crimp in our relationship,” she snarled.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“So, where’s your little Daeva friend?” you asked her.

“Around,” she sing-songed. “You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. The shotgun’s not for the demon,” Dean responded. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“So, who is it, Meg? Who’s coming? Who are you waiting for?” Sam jumped in.

“You,” she smiled. Just behind her on her left, you saw shadows beginning to form in the shape of demons in flowing, tattered robes on the wall.

Before you knew it, you were knocked to the ground, screaming in pain as something slashed your right cheek and left shoulder. It was proving difficult to fight something you couldn’t see. You screamed in pain again as you felt a slash across your thigh, and whited out from the pain.

When you came to, your hands were bound behind your back. You struggled against your restraints as Dean spoke. “Hey, Sam? Don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend… is a bitch.”

Dean had been tied on your right side; backs against the sides of the cement post.

“This, the whole thing, was a trap,” Sam figured out. “Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearin’ what you had to say. It was all a set-up, wasn’t it?”

Meg laughed.

“And that the victims were from Lawrence?” Sam continued.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that’s all,” the blonde smiled.

“You killed those two people for nothin’.”

“Baby, I’ve killed a lot more for a lot less,” she replied smugly.

“You trapped us. Good for you. It’s Miller time.” You could hear the smile in the older brother’s voice. “But why don’t you kill us already?”

You thought for a second. “Because it’s not a trap for us. It’s a trap for John.”

Meg tsked at the brothers. “I like her. She’s a lot quicker on the uptake.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re dumber than you look,” Dean told her. “ 'Cause even if Dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn’t walk into something like this. He’s too good.”

Meg approached Dean and straddled his legs. “He is pretty good. I’ll give you that. But you see, he has one weakness.”

“What’s that?” the older brother winced uncomfortably. You strained against your restraints even more, trying to be able to get to Dean.

You could see Meg leaning closer to Dean, her voice somehow becoming even more sultry. “You. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgment. I happen to know he is in town. And he’ll come and try to save you. And then the Daevas will kill everybody— nice and slow and messy.”

Dean’s voice strained in discomfort. “Well, I’ve got news for ya. It’s gonna take a lot more than some… shadow to kill him.”

“Oh, the Daevas are in the room here—they’re invisible. Their shadows are just the only part you can see,” she explained. 

“Why you doin’ this, Meg? What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And with who?” Sam asked her.

“I’m doing this for the same reasons you do what you do: loyalty. Love. Like the love you had for Mommy and Jess.”

“Go to hell,” he responded.

“Baby, I’m already there.” She slid over to Sam and straddled him. “C’mon, Sam, there’s no need to be nasty.” 

You didn’t like the full show you were being given of Meg leaning into his ear and ghosting her lips over his neck. “I think we both know how you really feel about me. You know, I saw you watching me— changing in my apartment. Turned you on, didn’t it?”

“Ew, Sam!” you scolded him.

“Get a room, you two,” Dean grumbled simultaneously.

“I didn’t mind. I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy. You and I can still have a little dirty fun.” Meg kissed up his neck.

“You wanna have fun? Go ahead then. I’m a little tied up right now,” Sam responded.

She smiled and continued to kiss him. She stopped when she heard something from your side of the room. She stalked over to yours and Dean’s post and took the knife from his hand, tossing it into a corner. Meg walked back over to Sam. “Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?”

“No, no,” he told her. “That’s because I have a knife of my own.” She seemed confused until he broke free and knocked his head against hers; sending her to the floor.

“Sam! Get the altar!” you instructed.

He ran over to it and aggressively turned it over. Before you knew it, Meg was sent flying out of the warehouse’s window and to the ground below. Sam came back over to you two and cut you free. You headed over to the window to see Meg’s dead body sprawled over the ground. “So, I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around,” Sam remarked.

“Yeah, I guess not. Hey, Sam?” Dean said. “Next time you wanna get laid, find a girl that’s not so buckets-o’-crazy, huh?”

***

You and the boys returned to their motel room so you could patch each other up and recover. You weren’t so convinced that your run-in with the Daevas was over and brought the duffel bag inside with you.

“Why didn’t you just leave that stuff in the car?” Dean asked you.

“Better safe than sorry,” you shrugged.

The older Winchester unlocked the door before you and you entered the room. You noticed the silhouette of a burly man standing by the window. You flipped on the light while Dean exclaimed, “Hey!”

The man turned around, and your jaw nearly fell to the floor at the sight of the scruffy, tanned man before you.

“Dad?” Dean breathed out.

John smiled. “Hey, boys.” He and his oldest son walked toward each other and shared a long hug. You smiled at them sadly. When they pulled away, John turned to his youngest. “Hi, Sam.” They shared a long look before John turned to you. “Didn’t think I’d see you again after Jericho,” he told you.

You responded, “I didn’t think I’d see your boys again after Jericho, either.” 

John gave you a half-smile. “Thank you. For looking after them.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

“Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know; I’m sorry,” Dean began.

“It’s alright. I thought it might’ve been.”

“Were you there?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I got there just in time to see the girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys answered their father. 

“Good. Well, it doesn’t surprise me. It’s tried to stop me before,” John sighed. “It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell. Actually kill it.”

“How?” you asked.

“I’m workin’ on that,” the older man responded.

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam urged. 

John’s tone hardened. “No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in a crossfire. I don’t want you hurt.”

Sam shook his head. “Dad, you don’t have to worry about us.”

“Of course I do. I’m your father.” He paused. “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.” Tears formed in Sam’s eyes as he finally hugged his father.

Suddenly, you were thrown across the room by an invisible force, something clawing at your back. 

“No!” Dean yelled before he was thrown down next to you. 

Deep claw marks formed on a number of parts of your body— your legs, arms, face, stomach— everywhere. 

“Shut your eyes!” Sam yelled over the chaos. “These things are shadow demons, so let’s light ‘em up!” Suddenly, a bright light began to fill the room.

You and the three men fumbled your way around trying to feel your way out of the room. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called to you while Sam called to his father.

“I’m here!” you told him. You felt his arms around you pulling you out of the room. Your leg protested and made you yelp in pain. You knew Dean was hurting, too, and you tried your best to continue moving forward.

“(Y/N), let me help you!” Dean urged you as you continued to stumble out of the room.

“No!” you said, but Dean swept you up anyway. “Dean!” He carried you out of the room and toward the car. You finally gave in and wound your arms around his neck. When he put you down in the backseat, you held your leg and groaned in pain. 

“Alright, come on,” Sam said. “We don’t have much time. As soon as the flare’s out, they’ll be back.” Sam moved to get in the car, too.

“Wait, wait, wait! Sam, wait. Dad, you can’t come with us.”

Sam huffed. “What? What are you talkin’ about?”

“You boys— you’re beat to hell,” John protested.

“We’ll be alright,” Dean answered.

“Dean, we should stick together. We’ll go after those demons—”

Dean turned to his brother. “Sam! Listen to me! We almost got Dad killed in there. Don’t you understand? They’re not gonna stop. They’re gonna try again. They’re gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad’s vulnerable when he’s with us. He— he’s stronger without us around.”

“Dad, no—” Sam put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “After everything— after all the time we spent lookin’ for you, please. I gotta be a part of this fight.”

“Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son—”

Sam shook his head as his father continued to speak.

“—Okay, you’ve gotta let me go,” John told him. Finally, Sam patted his father’s shoulder and allowed him to move away.

The three of you watched as got in his truck and drove off. You knew Dean was right, but it was so bizarre to let this man you spent so much time looking for leave just like that.

“Come on,” Dean told his brother. And with that, the three of you were off to god-knows-where to lick your wounds and get a hopefully decent amount of sleep. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm

[avensthetic]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 (max feat. huh yun-jin of le sserafim)

let's get married in vegas we don't need guest list i don't wanna think too much let's get matching tattoos i don't wanna think it through baby, I'm so stupid in love book a flight to paris only one way what'd you think about sharing our last name? let's get straight to "i do" i don't wanna think it through baby, I'm so stupid in love

𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙎 𝙏𝙍𝙐𝙇𝙔

aventurine stood at the doorway, the gloom that hung over him highlighted by the moonlight. his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with exhaustion, his body slumped with a weariness that went beyond the physical.

the moment he staggered through the familiar doorway, every fiber of your being screamed his name. but the words died in your throat, replaced by a gasp as he collapsed into your arms. his grip was so tight, almost frantic, like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. for one terrifying moment, you feared you held nothing more than the ghost of the man you loved.

"aventurine," you finally choked out, your voice shaky, "are you okay?"

he made a choked sound that might have been a laugh, but his eyes - usually bright with mischief - held only shadows. "depends. are you going to yell at me?"

anger sparked, bright and hot, but blanked just as quickly under a surge of worry. "are you injured? can i get you something?" you rattled off, tracing the wrinkle of his furrowed brow, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

he shook his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his next words were barely a whisper, laced with a familiar vulnerability. "just... hold me for a little while."

you did, sinking to the floor with him, wrapping yourself around his trembling frame. his familiar scent, mixed with sweat and blood, was a harsh reminder of the ordeal he'd endured. he had always shielded you from his true battles, from the real risks he took. now, those risks were undeniable, bleeding out of his usual bravado.

minutes stretched into eternity. you didn't speak, simply held him. gradually, the tension in his body began to ease, replaced by an exhaustion that made him lean all his weight on you. it was then you noticed the subtle tremble in his breathing, the way he kept one hand tucked deliberately behind his back. he always did this when putting up a front, in front of his opponents, sat in front of mountains of chips, cards stacked high, risks in every bet.

high risk, high return. all in. the phrases he always mutter under his breath once irked you. with no regards to his life, it made you fear that he'd one day leave you, that he'd just vanish. masking his fears with his left hand clutched tightly behind his back, aventurine lived life on the edge, unable to put his trust in his luck, much less believe in himself.

"aventurine," you murmured, gently pulling back, "your other hand..."

he stiffened, the usual cockiness abruptly gone. before he could evade your gaze, you captured his wrist, tugging his hand into view. his fingers were clenched - tightly, painfully so. you carefully pried them open, gasping softly at the sight of the simple silver ring nestled in his palm.

"what...?" your voice faltered, a mixture of confusion, joy, and a flicker of hurt. you'd waited so long, endured so much uncertainty, radio silence broken only by his haunting absence.

"marry me," he blurted out, the words raw and unfamiliar. clutched tight within his fist was the simple ring, simple and lacking the usual shallow glamor of diamonds, a silent offering of everything he couldn't yet put into words. "it's another gamble at life, i know," he added, the cocky smirk returning, a fragile shield against the vulnerability he'd just revealed. "but the odds of you saying yes seem pretty damn good..."

"idiot," you said softly, tracing the outline of his trembling fist, "would it kill you to ask me normally?"

mistaking your words for anger and rejection, aventurine flinched. he had pondered over it for a long time, thought of you when he watched you sleep peacefully, and even when he was out facing death. and he realized then while in penacony, that if there was something he can't leave nor let go, it's you. "i...i mean it. marry me, i swear i'm serious. don't let me go, don't leave, i swear i'll-"

"silly," you hushed, a finger on his lips. "don't hide your hand. this isn't one of your big bets, not one where you'd lose, because my answer to you will always be yes."

relief washed over his face, so intense it made your heart ache. his eyes, when he met yours, brimmed with unspoken emotion. he leaned forward, burying his face in your hair.

"i went somewhere so far, somewhere so dark... i nearly didn't make it back," he confessed, voice rough with emotion. you shivered at his tone, the bleak despair etched into his words.

"you came back," you whispered, cupping his face and tilting his chin up. "that's all that matters."

he kissed you then, with a desperation that stole your breath away. it wasn't the soft, playful kisses you were used to. this was raw, desperate, filled with a hunger that took your breath away. his hands sought purchase in your hair, against your skin, as if seeking reassurance you were real, that this wasn't some dream conjured by a lonely, weary mind.

you responded with the same pent-up intensity, fingers tightening in his shirt, needing that tangible proof he was back, he was safe. there'd be time for questions later. for now, just the heady scent of him, the rasp of his breath against your skin, it was enough.

breaking away, he leaned his forehead against yours. "penacony was...." he faltered, the usual confidence in his voice cracking. "you, this..." his gaze swept over you, over the safe haven of his penthouse that you made a home for him to return to, "you kept me going. the thought of you, i held onto it like a lifeline."

tears welled up in your eyes. so many nights spent staring at your ceiling, the deafening silence with his absence driving you insane. you brushed his unruly hair away from his brow, his warmth a reassuring presence.

"i love you kakavasha," you said, the words thick with emotion, "and i'm so, so glad you're home."

he closed his eyes, a kiss pressed to each tear that fell down your face. "you deserve better than this," he murmured, voice barely a whisper.

"i deserve you." you were firm, leaving no room for argument. aventurine...kakavasha — your kakavasha, was many things - reckless, calculating, infuriatingly difficult at times. but he was yours. he's here, he's alive, and he had chosen you. right now, with a ring he slipped into your finger, this was more than enough.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - 𝐄𝐍𝐃

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Apologies — Lucifer X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of tragic death, mentions of assault, insinuation of a mental breakdown, Angel being a caring and kinky bestie, Fat Nuggets being an absolute sweetheart, Lucifer being a mess, fluff, brief sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: You got into an argument with Lucifer and it ended with you walking out.

It had been a stupid argument that caused you to walk out before you could say something you'd regret. It hadn't been stupid to you, but rather Lucifer described it as stupid.

He realized his mistake the moment your eyes widened, filled with tears and you walked out the door without another word. He followed you, but it was too late. You were gone from his sight and you could be anywhere, especially with your long list of contacts and insane ability to hide in the shadows.

You opened up to him about the way you died. Ten years you had been in hell and told nobody how you met your tragic end. Nobody asked. Not until Lucifer, not until today.

The details of your captors drugging, breaking, and killing you slowly to avenge their friend who you accidentally killed, to save you and your best friend from being assaulted, came out.

Kicking. Screaming. Turning your throat raw with emotion, they came out.

You weren't even sure how it had turned into an argument, when your boyfriend of a year was the one who wanted to know.

Before you knew it, you found yourself at the hotel. It was the safest place to go, you thought. Charlie was thankfully out for the day, having mentioned over breakfast that she was taking Vaggie to the only art gallery in the Pride Ring.

The doors slammed behind you as you attempted to reign in your emotions. It didn't matter what you did, hot tears streamed down your face and your hands trembled with every step.

Angel reached you just in time for your legs to give out. He caught you and held you close, having never seen you like that before. His first instinct was to question you on what happened, but he could feel your sobs becoming heavier.

He scooped you up easily and got you upstairs to his room, asking that nobody says a word about you being there. If asked, nobody had seen you since breakfast.

Angel Dust rubbed circles on your back, like you had done for him many times, as he waited for you to calm down and regulate your breathing enough to speak clearly.

For him, it felt odd being the one to give comfort, rather than receiving it from you.

"You wanna tell me what happened, Toots? Coming in like that, you got me all worried."

You turned your head to the side and sniffled, embarrassment creeping in at the fact that your best friend had just seen you have a breakdown. And you had cried into the fluff of his chest so easily, as if you had done it a dozen times.

You stayed silent for another couple moments, not yet trusting yourself to speak without a trembling voice.

He kept rubbing circles on your back, just like you always did when he needed an extra moment or two to compose himself after a particularly rough session at the studio.

"I told him how I died." You said. Your voice was so quiet and defeated that Angel almost missed it. He would've, had he not been waiting to hear your voice.

It didn't take a rocket scientist for him to know that you meant Lucifer. After all, you spent most of your free time with him and the rest of it was helping out at the hotel (mostly keeping an eye on Alastor).

"It didn't go well?" Angel asked. You shook your head and inhaled a shaky breath.

"We ended up arguing — I couldn't even tell you about what, but he said the argument was stupid. . . I guess he was right. The argument was stupid and so am I, for even thinking —"

"Hey, you're not stupid." Angel firmly cut you off. His tone of voice caught you by surprise. "You're one of the smartest sinners I know, and that's saying something because I know some real dumb fucks that would blow your fuckin' mind, Toots."

You went silent again. Angel sighed.

"Listen, you don't have to tell me how you died. I'd never pressure you to, just like you never pressured me to tell you. . . But as your best friend in all of hell, I'm obligated to tell you that you shouldn't hide from your problems."

"That's kinda my thing, though." You sighed.

"I know. But you'll have to talk to him eventually." He untangled his limbs from yours and gently lifted you so that he could lay you on his bed. "I'm gonna grab something from the kitchen for you, alright? Get some rest. You cried for like an hour."

You adjusted yourself until you were in a comfortable position. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'll be back." He scratched Fat Nuggets head before he slipped out of the room.

The plump little pig easily maneuvered the bed, grunting with each step until he landed in front of your face and licked your nose. You couldn't help but smile at the adorable creature.

"Hey, Nuggs. . ." You cooed, allowing the little pig to lay himself against your chest.

You didn't even notice that his warmth lulled you to sleep until a glass of water and a pastry of sorts being set on the bedside table roused you from your light slumber.

"Hey, you." You stretched your stiff muscles as you greeted your friend. How much time had passed? It couldn't have been more than five minutes, right?

Angel didn't hesitate to get straight to the point as he saw you were feeling far better than you had been when you arrived.

"The short king is here. He wants to see you, doesn't believe you're not here."

You groaned and sat up, reaching for the water and pastry. The water chilled your throat and the small fruit pastry calmed the hunger that had apparently been there all afternoon.

"What do I do?" You ask once you've finished.

"Suck his dick or let him eat you out, I don't know, somethin'. You do better with this therapy shit than I do."

You groan once again as you stand from the bed, finally deciding to talk to him. Angel was right. You were better at the therapy shit than he was. He was there for you and tried his best. That was all that mattered.

You purposely took your time getting to the lobby, trying to go over what you wanted to say in your head.

But once you got down there and Lucifer laid eyes on you, he sprung into action, rushing over to pull you into his arms.

"[Y/N]! Honey, baby, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean for any of that to happen the way it did! I don't care — I mean, I do," he stuttered nervously. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry and I love you. Please forgive me! I never want to see you look at me like that again, I'm sorry. . ."

The words came out so quickly that you barely had the brain power to understand what he was saying, but it clicked soon and you wrapped your arms around him.

"I forgive you. . . I shouldn't have walked out, so I'm sorry too. . . I love you so much. . ."

Lucifer released his hold on you enough to get a good look at your face. "Never apologize for something you have the right to feel some way about."

You smile softly and cup his cheeks with both hands, pressing a quick kiss square on his lips.

He groaned the moment you pulled away. "Then you do the same, Luci. . . Can we please discuss murder plans over dinner from that place you told me about that just reopened down the street?" You ask sweetly.

"Absolutely we can! Anything you want, honey, it's yours. Anything at all." He promised with a broad smile. He had a feeling that he knew which murders you were planning, especially since he had been planning them the entire time you were telling him your story.

You knew he was already two steps ahead. That was good enough for you.