#SHES THE ONE WHOS HAUNTING HIM NOT C

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Yeah, right!

The one who's haunting you is C. Bite me, Carmy!

Sydney is always on his mind, unconsciously.

For Carmy these words are synonyms:

Sydney = Menu = Star = Love/Passion/Purpose

All he fucking thinks about is her menu and how to get the bullshit star for her and of course, he's constantly freaking out about not being good enough trying hard enough to achieve it.

Syd's not just in the Polka dots sauce

She's everywhere because he created every single one of those dishes for her and for her bullshit star.

The colors of her headscarves inspire him too, she's all over

Everything she in the past said she likes, made the cut

He gives her flowers, he made himself for her:

He subtracted and pushed but only kept the ingredients she likes

He is connecting through food with her because it is the only way in which he knows how to show his love, he's not great with words, she's just not seeing it because she only sees he's not running stuff by her first, but in his head he doesn't have to because he's already following her wishes/tastes as it is.

Bonus track: Acid, as usual, in this context it means that he knows her the menu is imbalanced. He obviously doesn't perceive himself as the "acid" in her dishes, ofc, but Carmy is aware they are out of sync and is trying to fix it. Syd is being patient with him, because he's not the best communicator, which he conceded, btw. But she's also oblivious to the fact that he is giving her the control of changing it all if she wants to. She can't see past her frustration and he can't say the words. AWESOME! KILL ME NOW PLS!

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[rafey-baby]

stepdad!rafe being gross about his stepdaughter…

c/w: stepcest, kinda angsty, slight somnophilia & some dubcon fingering, use of dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 880

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx 

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

Her relationship with her stepdad has always been rather strange.  

But she’s never really minded, because it felt nice to have someone fill that hollow pit inside her, the one that’s always been there, haunting her ever since her father left when she was just a little girl. An itch she could never quite scratch.  

It didn’t help that her mother was never exactly present in her life either— always too busy with work or looking for solace from the bottom of a wine bottle or blaming her for everything wrong in her life.

She was sixteen when her mom brought Rafe home for the first time. And she never quite understood why he had married the woman in the first place— why he filed for divorce only after she’d moved out for uni, and not the moment he found out his wife wasn’t spending all those late nights in the office, but instead in the bed of a stranger.

However, she didn’t much care for his reasons because he’d always been more of a parent to her than the people who were supposed to. She always secretly wished he would’ve been her real dad— not just someone she assumed felt obligated to take her under his wing when he found out how horribly she’d been treated all her life.  

That’s why she never really paid too much attention to his lingering touches or the borderline controlling tendencies that always seemed to fizzle to the surface whenever she’d do something he deemed bad. She was just happy that she finally had someone who made her feel safe, protected. What more could she really ask for? 

It felt nice when someone cared. 

And now, even if she’s legally an adult and capable of making her own decisions, she prefers when Rafe makes them for her. After all, is it so wrong to just want to be taken care of?  

Because university was a lot. And the never-ending deadlines, assignments and all the late nights she spent trying to understand something she just couldn’t, had grown into this hurricane inside of her. It swallowed up everything that once made life beautiful and worth living; hiding them away from her, until she was crying to her phone nearly every night with her daddy on the other end, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.  

And she could only take it for so long until one day, she was knocking on the door of Rafe’s brand new house with tear-soaked eyes and a suitcase— his strong arms wrapped tightly around her the only thing able to placate her in months because with him, everything felt secure.  

And she liked spending time with him and living on the island, had even gotten a weekend job at a surf shop (despite his protests) because she wanted to do something useful, something other than loitering around the house that felt more like a spooky mansion whenever he was at work.  

The empty hallways and her spacious bedroom were especially unsettling at night when she’d had a bad dream— more often than not making her tiptoe over to Rafe’s bedroom with a pout, asking if she could sleep there instead. ‘Of course you can, sweetheart’ he’d always murmur; voice gravelly with sleep and already making space for her under the covers…

Then one night, as she’s peacefully snoozing off in his warm embrace, his fingertips slip past the waistband of her fleecy pajama bottoms— merely grazing at the smooth skin of her lower tummy, telling himself he’s just trying to do something with his hands so sleep could find him faster.

That’s until he notices she’s not wearing any panties, getting an insatiable urge to tuck his fingers between her soft thighs— already meeting a sticky mess there. After all, he only has so much self-control around the innocent little angel he swears was sent from heaven just for him to taint; to ruin.  

And it’s not like she seems to mind with the way she snuggles closer to him in her sweet slumber; the round of her ass pressing closer and closer against his crotch with every unconscious shift of her hips.  

Only when he begins mindlessly thumbing at her clit, does she stir— drowsy voice panicky when she mumbles out something inaudible.  

“Shh. S’just me, relax, yeah?” he hushes her, wet fingertips rubbing lazy circles over her weepy cunt when she whines— a complaint already blossoming on her tongue, something about him being gross, no doubt.  

“Is dad not makin’ you feel nice?” he coos, other hand dragging her closer with a grip on her thigh when she tries to pull away.  

“This is— you shouldn’t…” she stumbles over her words, trying to wriggle away from his overwhelming touch.   

“Shh, what do I always tell you, hm?” he clicks his tongue, his hold firm as he coaxes her to tell him what he wants to hear.  

Momentarily, she gets distracted from squirming around as she searches through her fuzzy brain before whispering out the answer. “…dad knows what’s best.” 

“There you go, that’s m’girl,” he breathes out, pressing a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek as a reward— smiling against the skin when she lets out a muffled whimper, because his hands do feel nice.

[hsnlv]

caught in the act (of falling) | y.jw

req!: jungwon with fake dating trope (and like he wants to make it a real relationship or smth like that)

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: what started as a fake dating scheme to fend off jungwon’s ex turns into stolen kisses, lingering touches, and feelings neither of you expected. when “pretend” starts to feel a little too real, jungwon’s flustered confession might just change everything.

warnings/others: fake dating trope!, cute flustered jungwon🤭, jungwon’s ex is obsessive (i would be too if i were one actually)

w/c: 1.07k

here’s my masterlist!

you honestly can’t figure out how you and jungwon ended up here—tangled in each other’s arms in his room, no one around but the two of you. his chest is warm against your back, his chin perched lazily on your shoulder, and his hands are wrapped around yours, helping hold the comic you’re both supposed to be reading. except neither of you is paying attention. how could you, when you can feel his breath tickling your neck every time he exhales?

this whole thing started as a joke—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. jungwon’s ex had been haunting him like a particularly clingy ghost, and out of sheer desperation, he asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend. fake dating, he called it. to drive her away.

at first, you thought he was out of his mind.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

“jungwon, have you completely lost it?” you whisper-shouted, darting nervous glances at his ex, who was seated way too close to your table in the cafeteria. her glare was sharp enough to cut through steel. “she’s going to end me.”

“she’s not going to end you,” jungwon whispered back, though his tone wasn’t exactly convincing. “look, it’s a foolproof plan. a few hugs, maybe hold hands—just when she’s around! it’ll be fine.”

“fine? jungwon, she’s been staring at me like i ran over her cat.”

he winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, fair. but you’ll be doing me the biggest favor ever. i’ll owe you one. please?”

you crossed your arms. “and what exactly does fake dating involve? because i swear if this gets weird—”

“it won’t!” he exclaimed quickly, his face scrunching up in that stupidly cute way that made you want to throttle him and pinch his cheeks at the same time. “just little stuff. harmless things. like holding hands. maybe linking arms. y’know, couple things.”

you eyed him warily. “define ‘couple things.’”

<<<<<<<<<

“couple things” turned out to be… a lot. jungwon, in his infinite wisdom, decided you both needed to “practice” being a convincing couple. this involved a series of increasingly absurd activities that had you questioning his sanity—and yours for agreeing to any of it.

“okay,” jungwon said one afternoon, pacing in front of you like a drill sergeant. “let’s practice nicknames. couples always have nicknames.”

“we already have nicknames,” you pointed out. “you call me by my name, and i call you uwon to annoy you.”

“no, no, no.” he waved his hand dramatically. “those aren’t cute nicknames. i mean things like ‘baby,’ or ‘sweetheart,’ or… or ‘honeybuns.’”

you nearly choked. “honeybuns? jungwon, if you call me honeybuns in public, i will personally make sure your life is a living nightmare.”

“noted,” he said with a laugh. “okay, let’s keep it simple. i’ll call you… babe. and you can call me—”

“uwon,” you interrupted, grinning. “i’m sticking with uwon.”

he sighed but didn’t argue. “fine. but we still need to work on PDA. let’s practice holding hands.”

you raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, we’ve held hands before.”

“yeah, but not like this,” he said, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. his grip was warm and secure, and he gave your hand a small squeeze. “see? it’s all about the squeeze. it makes it look more real.”

“this is ridiculous,” you muttered, though your cheeks felt suspiciously warm.

<<<<<<<<<<<<

present.

weeks passed, and jungwon’s ex finally got the message. her death stares became less frequent until she eventually stopped showing up altogether. mission accomplished. but the fake dating didn’t stop.

“uwon,” you call softly, the nickname slipping out naturally as you shift in his arms. he hums, his chin still resting on your shoulder, but his hold on you tightens slightly.

you put the comic down and turn to face him, his hands automatically settling on your waist like it’s second nature. “what are we doing?” you ask, your tone light but pointed.

he blinks at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “reading?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “not the comic. this.” you gesture between the two of you. “what is this, jungwon? because i’m pretty sure your ex isn’t spying on us anymore.”

jungwon freezes, his eyes darting away like he’s suddenly very interested in the corner of his room. “uh… practice?” he says weakly.

“practice for what?” you press, crossing your arms. “you said the whole point was to convince your ex. but she’s gone now. so why are we still… doing this?”

he scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “well, you know… just in case.”

“just in case of what?” you shoot back, leaning in slightly. “jungwon, are you hiding something?”

his face flushes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for an excuse and coming up empty. finally, he blurts out, “okay, fine! i like you, alright?”

your brain short-circuits. “you… what?”

jungwon immediately panics, his hands flailing as he starts to babble. “oh my god, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to just—i mean, i did, but not like this! and i totally get it if you don’t like me back, but—oh no, wait, please like me? or don’t? no, wait, maybe you could? or we could just pretend this never happened? or—”

“jungwon,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral.

“yes?” he squeaks, his wide eyes meeting yours.

instead of answering, you grab the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. he freezes for a split second before melting against you, his lips moving softly against yours. the kiss deepens, and his eagerness makes you giggle into his mouth, causing him to pull back slightly, breathless.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, pouting.

“you,” you tease, your fingers still gripping his shirt. “you’re way too eager.”

his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t back down. instead, he grins mischievously and suddenly hovers over you, gently pushing you onto your back. “you stole a kiss from me,” he says, his voice low and playful, “so now you’re stuck with me. forever.”

before you can respond, he leans down and captures your lips again, this time with more confidence. his hands cradle your face, and the weight of him above you is both grounding and electrifying. when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his smile soft but radiant.

“so…” he whispers, his tone teasing, “can we drop the ‘fake’ part now?”

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “yeah, i think we can.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. “She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[rosesareredrosa]

There's a Difference

Mattheo Riddle x fem reader

Summary: Mattheo thinks he is not worth it and thinks he will hurt y/n because of his past but y/n doesn't think so shes ready to take a risk

w/c: 924

You shouldn’t love me.

Mattheo’s voice was laced with a mix of defiance and resignation as he spoke the words that had been haunting him for weeks. The dim light from the torches cast flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the hard edges of his jaw and the turmoil in his dark eyes. He stood just a few feet away from you, his usual confidence faltering as he forced himself to look away.

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him slip away so easily. “Well, why not?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if he could find an escape route hidden in the stone walls of the Hogwarts corridor. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid, before he finally turned his attention back to you. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely let anyone see.

“I’m not worth it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I’m going to end up doing is hurting you.”

You could hear the sincerity in his words, the fear that drove them. But you weren’t one to be easily scared off, especially not by Mattheo Riddle. The boy who was always so confident, so untouchable, now stood before you with all his walls down. You took a step closer, refusing to let him push you away.

“Is that a promise,” you challenged, “or are you just afraid?”

The question hung in the air between you, daring him to confront the truth he was trying so hard to deny. Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled with the emotions he usually kept locked away. No one had ever called him out like this before. He was used to people either fearing him or idolizing him, but you… you were different. You saw right through his carefully constructed facade, and that terrified him more than anything.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “But that’s all I know how to do. It’s in my blood, Y/N. It’s who I am.”

You shook your head, refusing to accept that as the end of the conversation. “That’s not who you are, Mattheo. It’s who you think you have to be. There’s a difference.”

His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign that you understood the darkness he carried, that you knew what you were getting yourself into. “You don’t know what you’re saying. My father… the things I’ve seen… the things I’ve done…”

You took another step closer, until you were standing directly in front of him, your eyes locked onto his. “I know who you are, Mattheo. I see the way you fight against what you think you have to be. I see the good in you, even if you don’t.”

His breath hitched, the walls he had spent years building up around his heart beginning to crumble under the intensity of your gaze. For a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, you were right. But then the fear crept back in, reminding him of all the reasons why he had to keep you at arm’s length.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice shaking, “I can’t let you get close. If something happened to you because of me…”

You reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m not afraid of you, Mattheo. I’m not afraid of what could happen. What scares me is the thought of you shutting me out, of you letting your fear dictate your life.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from your words. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe,” you replied softly, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Or maybe I just see something worth fighting for.”

Mattheo’s eyes fluttered open, and in that moment, the battle within him finally reached its peak. He could keep fighting against his feelings, pushing you away until you had no choice but to give up on him, or he could take the risk and let himself be vulnerable, let himself love you the way he so desperately wanted to.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Mattheo closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, as if he was pouring all of his fear, his hope, his love into that single moment. You responded immediately, your hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if you could hold him together by sheer force of will.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, but the tension that had been hanging over you was gone, replaced by a sense of calm that neither of you had expected.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” Mattheo said quietly, his forehead resting against yours.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a fierce determination. “Then we’ll hurt each other. But we’ll also heal together.”

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. “You’re too good for me,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Mattheo chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it after all.

[everythingseasoning]

love, forever?

vampire! Suguru Geto x reader x vampire! Satoru Gojo

Tags: Morality, and selfishness vs selflessness themes. // Vampire! Suguru and Satoru, who are vampire hunters that protect humans from evil ones. // Blooming rivalry between Satoru & reader for Suguru’s attention. // AU characters. Satoru is clingier and more emotional than his canon self. Suguru despises the strong (vampires) for hurting the weak (humans). // New vampire lore ;). // Angst. Suguru battling his inner demons, trying to do good despite his vampire nature and urges. // Reader has multiple targets on her back (Naoya appearance!) // Both Suguru and Satoru fall for reader. // Eventual smut in later chapters. //

Chapter Warnings: College party drinking, Reader slaps Satoru, Mentions of blood and feeding, Reader falls in a ditch (LOL), Suggestiveness, MDNI

Chapter Word Count: ~4.3k (it’s worth it!)

NOTE: even if you you saw the teaser already, or any edit of the teaser, please read this chapter, as I’ve edited it a lot, and added in more juicy dialogue & scenes ;)

Ch. 01 | Living Haunted

The drink is nothing short of young and dumb, the blend of tooth-rottingly sweet flavors hitting your taste buds as you stare holes into Suguru’s back. You can see the sculpture of his muscles and beautiful bones through his tight tee, your ex’s sculpted body turned away from you. He’s speaking to a girl you had heard about— the life of all parties, pretty, smart, and fun. You could see that she might be his type. Green jealousy explodes in your chest, along with a poisonous, deep sense of insecurity. The horrible feelings move through your body. Was he moving on already? Did you really mean so little to him? Would she be the one to make him stay?

You take another swig from the plastic blue cup, hoping the painful twisting motion of your heart would be soon dulled. Coca Cola, sherbet, and yakult alcohol would be your poison of the night, you think, swallowing down the concoction as tears prick your eyes. 

“Another one of those people who drinks their troubles away?” 

The voice amidst the bass and booming music causes you to turn, your eyes meeting striking blue ones. Snowy hair rests soft and thick on his head, your heart skipping a beat when you see such a beautiful stranger. 

If you were being honest, you weren’t in the mood to talk to somebody else— not when your heart was still tied right onto Suguru’s. You love Suguru, you really do. The recent past haunts your every waking moment. And even in your dreams, he’s there, chuckling as you braid his hair, the nonfiction book he’s been reading facedown in his lap as your fingers thread his silky locks; He’s watching you with a fond smile as you run ahead of him in the campus garden, jumping amongst the flowers; The warmth and sturdiness of his hands against your face as the two of you kiss— his soft, supple lips meeting yours in that familiar dance and tangle. In your dreams he’s still yours. You both made up. In your dreams, things are warm and right. 

When you wake up in an empty bed, with an aching heart, it just feels cruel. The light slipped away again. You thought you had it. You had your dream come true only to realize it was just that— a fleeting dream. There’s no respite from the memory of all his adoration, thoughtful gestures, all the times you’d stare mesmerized as he sat focused, his eyebrows pinched as he worked… The way he felt when you were wrapped in his embrace, your face buried in his sturdy chest— that feeling of being cared for— 

You missed him bad, with every fiber of your being. 

Suguru is still all you can think about. You’re at this damned college party because, even a month after he’d broken up with you, all you wanted was to be close to him, to see him. It’s pathetic. Knowing he’d be here, knowing you’d be tearing your heart open again, the wound freshly cut back open— and you still came here. How many times had you stalked his social media despite having been removed from his following? 

“Cat got your tongue?” The beautiful stranger breaks you out of your thoughts, forcing a reply. 

“No—” you start to say, raising your voice. It’s just barely audible over the clamor of the party. 

“Really?” He butts in, raising an eyebrow. “‘Cause it seems like there’s some hard evidence against your statement.” His small smile is as unconventional as it is disarming. 

“And you are?” 

“Satoru Gojo, if you haven’t heard about me already. I go here, don’t you know?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “And why would I know of you?” 

Satoru just tilts his head ever so slightly, his smile unwavering as he replies, “Your head is under a rock, is what I heard you say.”

Confusion flits across your face before your mouth falls open slightly, a feigned look of offense stretched on your features. You feel like ignoring this pesky person. You glance away for a second, in search of Suguru’s back— the spot he’d been standing in holds a different person, somebody you don’t know, somebody you’re not at all interested in. You frown, scanning the crowd.

Satoru waves a hand in front of your face. You look up at him, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“What? Need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?” 

“That’s an overused line,” You shout back, the music so loud you can barely hear yourself. Your attention shifts away from the snowy haired man back to the sea of party goers. You desperately search the throng of buzzing chaos. No sign of Suguru. Just dancing, mingling, kissing, drinking, the typical activities going on under the strobe lights. Fuck.

Suguru, where did you go? Please… Your heart feels like it’s a rock in your stomach. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her right now in somebody’s bedroom. It’s not my business— but I can’t stand the thought of it—

Satoru chuckles, and you look back at him, unable to hide your expression of pain. You’re about to excuse yourself to find a bathroom to cry in, when he speaks again.

“You’re right. How should I flirt, hm? Wanna coach me? It’ll lift your blues, too,” His smirk would’ve had you folding had you not ever met Suguru. But you did cross paths with the raven-haired man— collided and intertwined, more like— and now nobody compares to him. Nobody would ever be him. 

“Not really. Excuse me,” you begin to say, before turning slightly, about to slip away—

“Suguru is my best friend,” he says. 

You freeze, whipping around now to face Satoru.

“He told me about you— first time he ever told me about anyone, actually. Suguru said you were somebody he actually loved.” Satoru’s cheeky expression has been wiped off, replaced with one of aloof nonchalance and detachment. It’s almost eerie, but your focus isn’t on that.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes caught on Satoru’s, hanging onto everything he says like maybe, just maybe, it means that Suguru wants you back.

“He’s had his fair share of flings and hookups, after all.” Satoru teases, smirking again, bending down to your level.

“I thought I was losing my best friend to a weakling.” His breath is surprisingly chilly against your face. “Turns out you were never the one. Sucks that you couldn’t make him stay.” You feel everything shatter. “Sucks for you, I mean,” Satoru finishes. He leaves out the part where he gloats about being the one Suguru has always admired, and stuck with. 

You’re shocked, mouth hanging open. You’re hurt. You’re aching in confusion about what wasn’t good enough about you. You’re angry and betrayed— all the feelings clash like giant waves crashing against one another inside your heart. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Satoru grins, shrugging. “It means what it means. But I’m curious,” he says, leaning closer, his pearly teeth glinting red under the strobe lights, “What is it about you that had Suguru caught up on ya?” His lips graze your cheek, his voice in your ear, “I don’t get it.”

You slap him before you can realize what you’re doing. Violence is not the answer, but this time, it sure as hell felt like it. Your fingers sting, your panicked thoughts a running train. Did I just? Oh my god! I didn’t— I fucking did—

“I— I’m sorry—” you stammer quickly, eyes wide in shock at your own actions. Satoru is eerily emotionless, staring down at you with those startling ocean eyes. You shiver despite the heat of the stuffy, overcrowded room. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all he says. You open your mouth to speak again, blinking— 

And he’s gone. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A swig of the liquor causes the liquid to slosh in the green bottle. 

“Thought you liked shy girls, Suguru?” Satoru pokes, a red handprint on his cheek. He’s kicked back on the couch outside the bathroom, grimacing when the alcohol hits his tongue. He’s spitting it out back into the bottle immediately. 

“I do,” Suguru replies calmly, a streak of lovely bare skin showing amidst the shaving cream on his face. He runs the razor back down, taking off more of the fluffy white foam. 

“Yeesh. Can’t believe we used to drink this shit,” Satoru sticks his tongue on dramatically, tossing the full glass of alcohol across the room. It lands right in the trash bin with a clang. “That’s where it belongs,” he huffs. 

“So?” Satoru prompts, kicking his feet up. “You realize she doesn’t fit your ideal type, right? Why’d you get with her for a whole year, then?”

“She was shy at first,” Suguru says softly, a glint of something like pain in his eyes. He catches Satoru’s gaze on him in the mirror and the glint disappears. Satoru notices, but says nothing, now peeling open a candy from its foil wrapper. 

“And I told you already, Satoru,” Suguru continues, sparing his friend an exasperated glance. “I love—d her.” A blip. A mistake so quickly covered that if it was anyone but Satoru, they’d have missed it.

Blue eyes pierce Suguru. 

“But it wasn’t going to work out. Love isn’t meant for us. You and I… We’re not meant to be with humans,” Suguru murmurs, looking at his face in the mirror. It was myth that vampires didn’t have reflections. They do. But there’s something the myths forgot. Some sort of change is written in a vampire’s eyes. There always has been, and always will be, some sort of difference from a person’s antecedent human form, and their new, evolved one, hidden in their eyes after they turn. Suguru touches his eyebags, dark and heavy. 

That’s not what changed. No. His warm, earthy brown eyes had turned purple the night Satoru turned him. He woke up with them, the day after everything changed. 

Suguru’s tired reflection stares back at him, rich amethyst irises shining like glossy, sharp stars in the mirror. He wishes he didn’t recognize them. Now he’s stuck dealing with people commenting on his “cool contacts,” for the rest of eternity. Suguru exhales deeply, softly, his still, dead heart aching.

“Being undead with a vital thirst for human blood will do that,” Satoru ho-hums, blissfully unaware of the insensitive nature of his obliviousness. 

Suguru is silent, continuing to shave. He grimaces at the knowing that his vampire instincts made him crave you dangerously, the one he loves, more than anything else. It was cursed, his very existence. He was turned into a walking, sentient, functioning monster. The blade knicks his skin. He curses quietly.

“So,” Satoru grunts with chocolate melting on his tongue, grateful that at least his cravings and delight in sweets didn’t change when they turned, “You don’t trust yourself to be around her without hurting her. But you were doing well for a year. What do you say changed?”

Suguru dabs at the blood dripping down his otherwise unmarked face. It would heal, his skin would be perfectly smooth again in a day, not a trace of his mistake, or scar, would remain. All wounds heal within 24 hours for vampires. It’s something Suguru was grateful for, considering his job of being a vampire slayer. 

“My urges got insatiable. Blood bags weren’t enough,” Suguru says curtly. Despite the battle of breaking up with you being long over, Suguru’s mind is a war zone. I couldn’t even look at her… without… needing to taste her blood. His fists clench on the marble sink. It got bad. I almost hurt her.

Satoru stares at his best friend, knowing that in this silence, his mind is a maelstrom. Suguru sees Satoru’s unflinching gaze, but remains quiet. He knows his friend won’t understand. 

But Satoru presses on anyway, nodding, looking bored. 

“Right. You can’t suppress your urges right now. That happened to me too. The second year is the hardest.” Satoru was the one who turned Suguru, after all, on that unwelcomed, fateful night. “It helps when you just feed on multiple pretty girls a night and compel them all to forget— You could’ve had both, you know. Her and human blood from others. You’re so mopey now.” Satoru’s callous remark piques Suguru’s irritation, a flame of anger burning in the raven-haired man’s chest.

“I won’t do that and be in a relationship.” 

“I saw you feeding on that random chick an hour ago. If you and I didn’t always ask for consent before feeding, I’d never have believed she would be okay with that,” Satoru’s eyes gleam playfully. Suguru doesn’t reply, and Satoru deflates. 

“You’re still grumpy. You move around like you’re actually dead, Suguru. You torture yourself by still caring about your ex. She’s nothing special. I don’t get it.” 

Ah. The truth comes out. Suguru’s eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a firm line as something dark flickers in his eyes. 

“Satoru, she has a name, and she’s worth something even if you can’t see it. Just shut up.”

“And what worth do you see in her?”

Suguru is silent for a moment. How could he convey the light and warmth that you were in his life? He’d died twice, once literally, once figuratively, and yet— you brought him back. “…She’s… good.”

“And?”

Suguru’s temper flares. “You just don’t get it, so will you just leave it?” He snarls, fangs involuntarily popping out. He curses silently in disgust at what he has become. 

“You’re such a grouch nowadays,” Satoru huffs, before popping another chocolate into his mouth. He gets up, stretching. 

“Well. I need to feed again.” 

“Be safe about it. And I’m not referring to your safety,” Suguru says sternly, his whole head turned to look at Satoru now, some white foam still on the man’s face. 

“Yeah, yeah, mom, I got it.” With that, Satoru pulls his black coat over his lean, muscled body, a wolfish grin on his face as he slips out the apartment door. Did he need the black coat? No. Not at all. Vampires don’t get cold. They’re already icy to the touch. But it helps him blend in, both with humans and the night. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re intoxicated. It’s two AM and you’re stumbling around campus like a fucking idiot. 

Well how about that? Satoru spies you from across the quad, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. 

He slips through the shadows. 

You nearly jump when a tall, dark figure appears before you, looming over you. 

Snowy hair shines in the lamplight, blue eyes flashing like glaciers, staring right at you. You swear they flash red for a second.

“You again?” You slur your words. You aren’t scared. He’s Suguru’s best friend, which means he by extension must be a good guy. Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Satoru grins. His teeth are brilliant, his canines shining ivory and glistening like expensive accessory jewels.

If Satoru was being honest, this was a chance to understand the enemy. The golden goal would be to get Suguru to forget about you and move on, so his best friend could finally look and be alive again, the two of them happily slaying the vampires that hurt humans— and this was the first step in his plan. 

“Hey,” he nearly purrs, slinking around you as you take a step forward— stumbling a bit— 

Cold fingers grip you firmly, holding you upright. Satoru: 1, gravity: 0. 

“You’re fucking making me freeze even more!” You retort, snapping at him as you yank your warm arm away from his cool grasp. You were more than tipsy, but you recalled his rudeness from earlier.

He lets you go and you teeter. “Just trying to help. You sure aren’t shy, huh?” Satoru remarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spit out, the question giving you both Deja vu.

“It means what it means,” Satoru grins. Deja-fucking-vu. You’re getting fed up now, huffing and mumbling under your alcohol-tinged breath, an insult that Satoru’s super hearing picks up on. He stifles a laugh. You keep walking. 

“Wait,” Satoru calls out. You don’t turn around or slow your snail-like pace. He strides up to you in two quick, lengthy steps. He bends, entering your vision, his teeth sharp and protruding from his close lipped smile. Were they always that long?

“I’m great at reading people. And as much as you want to deny it, your heart is beating faster around me.” He suppresses his urge to poke your ribcage, directly over the beating muscle. 

“Shut up,” you growl. 

“You could make me, you know.”

“There you go again with that cliche flirting,” you snort. 

“And here I am again, asking if you’re offering lessons. Though the better question would be if you’re even qualified to give them,” Satoru grins.

He keeps up with your sluggish pace as you try to make your way back to the dorms.

“What do you want from me? Don’t you think it’s weird to be flirting with your best friend’s ex?” 

You think this will shut him up. That, or he’ll have a lame excuse. But for the first time in this second conversation you’re having with him, his answer changes.

“If I’m being honest,” he speaks in a rich, velvety, low voice, and you almost feel entranced, your feet stopping, your gaze resting on Satoru. “I’m doing this for him. And about what I want?” 

You sway in the chilly night breeze, barely registering anything but the sound of his voice. 

“I want to know you better,” he purrs. You’re breathless as he continues, his voice like a siren in your ear, “If you were sober, would you let me bite you?”

He pulls away, and you’re back to your senses in a second. You feel like slapping him again. You almost do, but your hand misses, causing you to stumble. 

“Too slow!” He cackles as you tumble onto the ground, your dress flying up.

You look absolutely humiliated, livid, and harmless from the ground, eyes narrowed in deep hatred for this weirdo. 

“Need a hand?” Satoru smirks, his tall, silhouetted form outlined in light from the lamp behind him. 

You push off the cold cement, ignoring him, fuming silently as you continue your drunken walk to the dorms. That typical pang of hunger hits Satoru out of the blue, impelling him to leave.

“I have to go now. See you around,” Satoru says, before disappearing, the need to find a sober person he can get consent from to feed on overpowering him. 

Suddenly the night is quiet again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You keep walking, not realizing that there are no longer lamps to light the way until you’re surrounded by darkness. You aren’t familiar with this part of campus, squinting to see the road sign to your right. You barely make out the words ‘Under Construction’ written in bold black letters, and you shiver as the cool breeze swings through the area. A snapping twig sounds behind you and your eyes widen, fear running through your intoxicated bloodstream. 

“Hello?” You call out. You hate to admit it, but you regret letting Satoru leave. Nobody answers.

You take another step into the darkness, speeding up your pace. Another snap of a twig, and you’re breaking out into a full blown run now— blood rushes through your ears—

Something catches your foot, and you tumble forward, falling down into a ditch, knocking out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru sighs contentedly, his eyes crossing as he swallows his last gulp of blood for the night. The woman is staring at the ceiling with a lovestruck look, the pleasure from the toxin in his fangs acting like a drug. He releases his lips from her skin, licking at the two puncture marks on her neck. 

“Fuck…” She mewls, leaning in to kiss Satoru. He lets her kiss him.

“Look at me,” Satoru commands gently, his voice taking on a different tone now— and she’s under his spell in an instant. 

“Forget this entire interaction. Forget that you ever saw me. Forget that I fed on you. Don’t question the slight tenderness in your neck tomorrow morning. Associate it with sleeping weirdly,” he murmurs, and she’s caught on his every word, nodding when he stops talking. 

“Good.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru retraces his steps, walking on the road he last saw you on. His teeth have retracted, going back to a normal length, as they always do after he’s fed. Yeah, he may be selfish, jealous, and dislike you— but he’s not a villain. It’s late, you are intoxicated, and he still wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“She’s probably fast asleep back at her dorm. I’m just wasting my time,” he grumbles in the dark. But he just has this funny feeling, like something happened, and now he’s acting like some lovesick fool that worries and checks in on their lover. 

Blood. Satoru smells it, that familiar, rich, sharp scent that sends a rush of electricity through his body. Because he just fed, his brain doesn’t light up as it usually would, and he realizes that somebody is hurt— and that somebody is probably you. 

Satoru’s legs are a blur as he races towards the source—

He stands over a dirt edge, a hole in the path made by the ongoing construction. You lay in the ditch looking like a broken doll, effectively knocked out. There’s a gash on your arm and knee. 

“Fuck,” Satoru curses, quickly climbing down to get to you. He’s by your side in a flash, checking your pulse. It’s normal. He feels the tension in his body drain. You’re probably just passed out from the combination of alcohol and falling in a ditch. Satoru rolls his eyes, huffing, “Idiot,” as he scoops you up into his arms. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

He didn’t know what to do. Leave you in the hallway of the coed dorm? Drop you off at the 24/hour care station? He figured he should do the latter, and so he went. 

He dings the bell at the front desk, shifting to readjust your relaxed body. Ten seconds go by. During that time, Satoru finds himself staring at your face, a few smears of dirt on your skin. You breathe in and out, because you have to. It’s not like him and Suguru, who breathe to fake their normalness and blend in. They have no need for oxygen. Your lips look so soft. Your chest rising and falling gently, you look totally at peace, and Satoru is mesmerized. He gets lost in the rhythm of your breaths for a moment— the steady beat of your heart bringing about a peace and longing ache in his own lifeless one. He snaps out of his daze, and rings the bell again, huffing impatiently. Another ten seconds go by, and he starts to spam the bell. 

“Where are they?” He grumbles. Satoru slips behind the desk, frowning and pissy, looking into the back room. Nobody is there. 

“Seriously?” 

He can’t just leave you here when the door is unlocked and the place is unattended. Satoru curses under his breath again, looking down at your sleeping face, your body curled against his frame in his arms. 

“Guess Suguru has to confront his demons tonight,” Satoru sighs, not realizing the weight of the statement he’s just uttered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Sweet, mouth-watering, the scent of a dream— it wafts through the hallway, into his room, and Suguru wakes up with a growling stomach. 

Human blood. One that smells absolutely ravishing. Suguru sits up, alert and awake, wondering if Satoru brought back somebody to share, somebody who wanted to be fed on and possibly fucked by the two of them. The raven-haired man stands up and tears open his door—

Satoru is hunched over a body on the couch. Suguru makes his way over, his fangs protruding, his amethyst eyes glinting with hunger—

Satoru finishes wiping the blood off your arm, the sight of the red cloth in his hand making Suguru freeze when he realizes Satoru brought back a hurt person.

“Satoru–” 

Satoru turns, standing up, and Suguru finally catches a glimpse of who is on their couch. If his heart was beating, it would have skipped a beat. 

Suguru’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape. You?

“Hey,” the snowy-haired vampire says. “Before you get pissed—!”

Suguru is crossing the living room in a flash, shoving Satoru up against the wall. Suguru’s head is ringing, swirling with hunger, anger, fear, grief, and shame. Something as seemingly small as the sight of you did that to him. 

“Did you fucking hurt her? I swear to god, if you so much as touched a hair on her head—” Suguru hisses before Satoru shoves his best friend back, scowling.

“Listen for a second! She was in a ditch when I found her, okay? By the construction site. I may not like this little pest of a weakling, but I didn’t hurt her,” Satoru retorts. Suguru backs off, clenching his fists so hard that it draws red blood of his own. His eyes burn holes into the floorboards. 

Satoru watches, a beat of silence passing before he speaks up, “Hey, Suguru. Just… just take a moment to get a hold of yourself. If you have to take a walk…”

What Satoru didn’t understand was how absolutely feral Suguru was for you, down to a chemical level. Bringing you around was enough to make Suguru’s head pound with a dizzying need to feast on you— but bringing you when you were bleeding? Suguru is feeling white hot need pulse throughout his body.

“She— she’s not supposed to be here—” Suguru manages to say, his voice strained. 

“Why–”

“She can’t be by me!” Suguru roars, looking up from the ground to meet Satoru’s shocked gaze. Suguru’s purple eyes are filled with a storm of anger and pain, and Satoru opens his mouth to apologize—

But Suguru is gone in a blink, the door to their apartment creaking as yellow light from the hallway spills in, falling on your face, painting you in a soft glow. 

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[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 10 2/2

Masterpost

Jazz’s roommate Tiffany was fine and all that, but Danny didn’t feel that he was missing out on much when he phased from the stairwell directly into the little ensuite bathroom that connected to Jazz’s bedroom. He could hear quiet conversation from the living room– the TV, maybe?

But Jazz had clearly locked her bedroom door before she left. Danny made a note that Tiffany definitely wouldn’t be finding him and then he starfished on his sister’s bed. He set an alarm for 1 am with a smidge of guilt. It probably wouldn’t wake her up. Maybe she wouldn’t even stay home for the night, she had a boyfriend, right? Or was she the one with the girlfriend who worked downtown?

Whatever. Danny slept like the dead. In fact, he slept through his alarm and woke up to see 7 messages from Jazz. The one showing on the screen was “DANIEL FENTON Tiffany thinks my bedroom is HAUNTED because someone is snoring in there.”

“Oops,” Danny said under his breath. He opened up the clock app and made sure that the alarm wasn’t going to go off again. He quietly pulled open Jazz’s drawers to find a clean pair of socks and a hoodie that didn’t have his university name written on it.

The first thing he pulled out was a baby pink hoodie that had SQUAT written on it in white all-caps print. “I sure do,” he said to himself, and changed into it. It was a lie. He did not lift weights. That was Jazz’s hobby.

He did enjoy the thought of how pinched her face was gonna get when she saw him in her clothes. Danny had a little chuckle over it before he phased back out and nearly fell down the staircase. His arms wheeled for balance.

When he caught himself he looked around to be sure no one saw. The zone was clear. Danny smirked.

“Another perfect landing for the Phantom.”

Oh, duh. That was a thought. He didn’t have to hoof it.

It was dark enough that he reconsidered his plan to walk to Arkham on foot and ducked back into Jazz’s place to transform where no one could see the light show.

He made good time across the stretch of ocean that separated Jazz’s dream job from the rest of Gotham City. He knew where to go, based off of insider information.

Jeremy Waters had landed himself in Arkham, rather than standard criminal housing, because he would not shut the fuck up about the debt the Ghost King was going to owe him and how he would repay it in the blood of everyone who crossed him or whatever. He was in the low security end, given that he was just some dude, but Danny still spend a moment steeling himself to wake Jeremy and (ugh) talk to him.

‘He’s going to take this as positive feedback,’ Danny thought glumly. ‘He’s going to think he’s gotten something in his obsession with me. He’s probably going to be even more annoying.’

He wasn’t entirely sure that Jeremy’s focus on gifting him spouses wasn’t projection. The guy was kinda obsessed.

The weight class difference between the two of them was just absurd, metaphysically speaking. Jeremy was a 52 year old Poli-sci graduate who had ditched a middle of the road career in the Foreign Service at age 40 and started pursuing immortality. Midlife crisis and all that. He had a bit of boxing experience, but that was it. He was just a human guy.

Danny was king of the dead and he could shoot lasers from his hands. He was strong even for a ghost.

‘It’s pathetic that he creeps me out still. It’s just such bad vibes to be pursued by this old guy who won’t take no for an answer.’

Still, gotta do what you gotta do. He blew frost into the room to set a mood and scramble the fuck out of any surveilance equipment. Then he grimaced his way through calling out, “Jeremy. Jeremy. Jeremy!” until the jerk woke up.

…and immediately started genuflecting. “My lord Phantom,” Jeremy whimpered. His whole body was shaking.

Danny wished it was fear. But no. It was excitement, like he was some freaky little purse dog. He shuddered. “What did you do differently in your latest summoning?” he asked. His voice somehow came out cold and superior.

He could see Jeremy’s dazed grin even when the guy was still looking at the cell floor. “I am so glad that you ask, my lord,” he babbled. “I increased the number of ritual participants from 7 to 12. I changed from Kosher to Pink Himalayan salt. I was initially going to offer my humble self as a sacrifice-”

Danny’s stomach lurched.

“But when the Red Hood burst in, I knew that it was a sign!”

The red what now?

“Surely someone whose aura is so soaked in death and brutality would be a flavorful meal for one so horrendous and deathly as you, my Lord,” Jeremy babbled on.

Danny made a face.

‘He thinks I’m going to eat the sacrifice spouse?’ Danny paused. ‘...Was he lying, or does he want me to eat him? What does he think will happen if death eats him?’

He had a morbid curiousity that made him want to ask. But it was probably best not to know. He needed to sleep at night.

“It was the Pink Himalayan salt that was powerful enough to draw my attention,” Danny told Jeremy, because he really didn’t need any good information. “I reject your offering. Stop trying.”

He left immediately in hopes of not hearing the wailing and gnashing of teeth behind him.

[ambiguous-avery]

When He Slides In...

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2768

Summary: ...And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, PWP (Plot? What plot?), pining, pure filth because I have no chill, no beta we die like men

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. This was the title of an audio I listened to, and the line lives in my head rent-free. Plus I figured this would be a great birthday gift for our one and only boy! Thanks to my bestie for reminding me of this momentous day!

The first time you met the Winchesters – and subsequently ended up beneath the eldest – was when you had called for some back up with a vampire nest you had found in a rural town in South Dakota. It was a routine hunt, but the nest had taken up residence on a farm with far too many places to be ambushed from. Thankfully, there was enough practiced experience between the three of you that the hunt only left you with several bruised ribs, Dean with a too-close-for-comfort almost bite, and Sam with a bloody gash cutting across his cheek. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. You had joined the two of them at a bar in town, eager to take a well-deserved moment of reprieve. And you left the bar with Dean. Just Dean.

After you parted ways, you fully accepted that it would be a one night stand, and your paths would never cross again.

Fate had different plans for you.

It was a standard haunted house case that pulled you to a small town in the middle of bumfuck, Iowa. Something something father killed his family when he was discovered having an affair before turning the weapon onto himself. And now he was killing other cheaters in the town. You’d have been tempted to leave him be – was he really doing harm by getting rid of those kinds of people? – if it weren’t for the fact that he would go after the affair partner as well who wasn’t always aware of just who they had gotten in bed with. It was a cut and dry case. Except you couldn’t find where the damn body had been buried, so you were having a hell of a time salting and burning the bones. The extended family had been so ashamed of what their son had done that they had buried him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of town. 

You had just about hit the end of your rope when two very familiar Winchester boys rolled into town in a sleek Impala that purred like a kitten. And there he was. The one and only Dean Winchester, all swagger and bravado, and fuck, had he gotten hotter? Seriously, God hadn’t played around when chiseling him from marble.

“Hey, sweetheart, long time no see.” He grinned at you, his voice rumbling. 

Leave it to the grave-desecration-brothers to pinpoint where the cheater had been buried. It took several hours in the library pouring over a convoluted family tree before the three of you eventually found a living descendant and another hour talking with her and convincing her to let you guys go through old family books she had stored in her attic. Cheater’s sister happened to jot down which grave was his in her diary. Bleeding heart saved the day. You had ‘cheers’ed to that before knocking back your beer and excusing yourself from the bar with Dean in tow. 

Despite the long span of time you had spent apart, Dean was still familiar to you. The way his lips felt as he kissed you. The way your body seemed to slot against his just right. You couldn’t forget how he felt. Not when every touch of his had seared your skin and left imprints in its wake. Dean had ruined you for anyone else. Because he didn’t just leave his marks on your body. He had carved out a piece of your heart and taken it, leaving a hole in it that ached with every beat. Dean was a heartbreaker, and you were just another name on a long list of casualties. But you were on that list, and you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that it was good enough for you. 

“Dean,” you sighed against his lips, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Glad you didn’t forget me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, kissing you again. You could never forget him. Could never forget the way his hands felt as they teased at the hem of your shirt before sliding up your side. Could never forget the scent of leather and bourbon and cedar that encompassed him. Could never forget the way he looked at you and you let yourself believe just for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, you were something more than a hookup in his eyes. Dean’s touch was a flame, and he was going to kindle your entire world to ashes. And as long as he kept looking at you like that, you would let him. Over and over and over again. 

He trailed kisses along your cheek, across your jaw, and further down the side of your neck. His lips left your skin just long enough to slide your shirt over your head and make quick work of the clasp of your bra. He sucked a bruise just below your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue before dipping lower. Dean was attentive, leaving no part of you physically untouched but all of you still wanting. His nose dragged between the valley of your breasts, leaving another mark there. 

“You’re gorgeous; I hope you know that, sweetheart,” he murmured, and your response died in your throat as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue.

There was so much you couldn’t say. Couldn’t tell him how much more you wanted from him. It was silly. You barely knew him in the bedroom and even less outside of it. But there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that you couldn’t shake. An unspoken pull. Something that kept the two of you in the other’s orbit. You were doubtful Dean felt it. It was just you and your silly little heart looking for anything to quell the loneliness that threatened to consume you. 

Dean moved lower, deftly ridding you of the last of your clothing so you were bare for him. And then his mouth was on you, stubble scratching lightly, and all thoughts were wiped from your mind in an instant. His fingers dug into your thighs, all lips and tongue on your clit and folds and fu-uck. You carded your fingers in his short hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned, a low and guttural sound that sent vibrations through your core, and your answering cry was breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his head or the bed sheets or anywhere. The sigh you let out when he slid a finger in you must’ve unraveled some of his self control because a second one joined it none too soon. He curled them, and your back arched.

 If you could form coherent thoughts, you might have had the wherewithal to wonder about when or where or how he learned his talents. But such wasn’t the case as everything tightened. Your tension collapsed into a litany of moans and gasps, and Dean was a solid presence between your legs. He was a maestro, and you were his instrument. He plucked at your strings until you came shuddering around his fingers, your nails biting into his skin. He coaxed you through your release, gently sucking and keeping a steadying hand on your leg. Your head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving. There were too many words that threatened to be the next to spill from you, so instead, you pulled Dean up by the hair and put every word you wanted to say to him in a kiss. It was deep and longing and you tried so hard to tell him just how lucky you felt that you got him for the night with it. If that’s all you ever got of him, it would be enough. It wouldn’t really, but you could delude yourself long enough to convince him.

He met your passion, one hand tangling in your locks and the other slipping beneath you to press against your lower back to provide counterpressure as he rolled his hips against yours. Your jaw went slack as you felt the length of him pressed against you, hot and heavy and hard beneath his jeans. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to get more skin to skin contact. Gasoline coursed through your veins, and if Dean didn’t set you ablaze this very instant, you were sure you would spontaneously combust. Thankfully, Dean was a smart man. He picked up on your desperate plea and stripped out of his shirt before briefly standing up to strip out of the rest of his clothes. 

As he looked down at you, his green eyes met yours, and you could see him searching for something. Acceptance? Approval? Adoration? All three? You’d give him all of those. Whatever it was, you could only hope that he found it as you looked up at him, sprawled out on the bed and propped up on your elbows. You took your time taking him in. The cut of his jaw. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The tattoo that sat just above his left pec. Your gaze dropped lower, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip before dragging your eyes back up to his again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

Dean pounced. He yanked you into a kiss, messy and primal, crushing you into the bed with his weight. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down the length of his back, needing to leave a mark of your own on him so maybe he’d remember you for more than a fleeting night. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound ringing in your ears. There were no barriers left between you two, and you arched your body up into his, looking for all the contact you could possibly find. His hand dropped down to your ass and pulled you against him, his cock frotting against the junction of your hip. You raked your fingers in his hair and pulled it, pressing your mouth to the side of his neck and biting and sucking there until Dean was cursing under his breath.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dean bit out. You released him, eyes locked onto the angry red mark you had left. He fumbled with his discarded pants for a brief moment before pulling a condom from the pocket. 

“Smart man... smarter than me." 

It was good that he had his wits about him because you were more than ready to throw caution to the wind. You were a hunter. You risked your life every day. What was one more risk? You knew you’d be thankful when your brain wasn’t drowning in lust, though. He rolled the condom over himself before kneeling between your legs again. He grabbed the backs of your knees and spread your legs wide, lifting your ass off the bed before settling it on his thighs. Dean took a moment to guide his cock into place. His gaze met yours again, waiting and pleading. You gave him a subtle nod.

Dean rolled his hips, sinking into you with slow thrusts. You audibly sighed as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He said your name, reverent and sincere. He said your name. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Not some nickname he probably used to mask the fact that he forgot the name of the woman under him. Your name. You whimpered.

“Dean... I missed you too,” you admitted. But he didn’t understand the depths of your words. He couldn’t. He kept a hand on your knee, keeping you splayed open for him. You braced a hand on the headboard and turned your face aside, biting the knuckle of one of your fingers and panting into it.

“No, no, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me,” he said, leaning forward to grab your chin and guide your eyes back to him. The shift caused him to sink just a little deeper into you. You squeaked when your eyes met green ones. There, behind the lust and desire, there was Dean. And for a moment, you could see the vulnerability there. The lonely man who wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted. 

“Move, Dean. I need you.”

And that’s all it took. Dean surrendered to what felt good and snapped his hips, pounding into you, thrilling at the way you moaned and moved with him and accepted every aggressive stroke like you were made for it. He lowered his body and leaned forward onto his hands so he could drive himself deeper into you. His hands found yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. He pinned you to the mattress, caging you beneath him. You shouted in response, your legs clenching against Dean’s sides and the drag of his cock setting every nerve alight. 

“There you go, pretty girl. You can take it. You can take me. I know you can.” His words were fuel for the inferno that threatened to devour you. You were trembling. Aching. He was the musician; your body was the instrument. You were a violin string. You were tuned too tight. You were breaking.

Your groans and cries turned to fervent whimpers, and you fought against his hold as your release danced just beyond your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Dean clicked his tongue, commanding your attention. You stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, drinking in the sight of him as though it would be your last.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice sounded so utterly wrecked in your own ears, but you didn’t care. You had abandoned your dignity long ago. “Dean, please. Need more.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He let go of one of your hands, and his thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles around it. “Come on, pretty girl. Need you to come on my cock.” His breaths mingled with yours, and your answering cry was high and thready as you lost yourself in him. Your voice, so needy and desperate, must’ve been enough to be Dean’s undoing because the hand holding yours tightened as he rutted into you until he came in hot, throbbing pulses that sucked the energy out of the rest of his body. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan as his whole body shuddered above you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, brushing stray hairs out of your face with his free hand. His other still clasped yours tightly, fingers still laced together. You leaned up to kiss him, and your lips met in a tender way. An unburdened, unhurried kiss. A kiss for the sake of kissing.  You could’ve stayed like that forever, but all too soon, Dean broke the kiss and peeled himself off of you, his hand leaving yours. He stood, moving to discard the condom before grabbing a towel from the bathroom. You sat up, watching his retreating back and taking pride in the red lines your nails had left in their wake. You could only hope he would remember you.

When he returned with a damp washcloth, he coaxed you back against the pillow as he wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering sweet nothings all the while. There was silence between you for a long while, and you realized too late that your time with him was coming to an end. He had set you aflame, and now you would have to find a way to rebuild. But you’d do it all again if Dean asked it of you. But when he spoke, you hadn’t expected the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you maybe wanna... you know... stay?” he asked quietly. “For the night,” he added. You swallowed.

“Um... isn’t Sam due back sometime... soon?” Why were you making excuses? This opportunity didn’t even show up in your dreams. Dean wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Well... not to be presumptuous or anything... but I might have told him to get his own room for the night.”

“Oh.” Oh. He had planned on you staying with him? You were done for. 

“Yeah... Uh, nevermind. You don’t have to. You’ve probably got somewhere better–”

“I’d love to stay,” you blurted out. “With you,” you clarified, as if it weren’t obvious. The smile that split across Dean’s face was blinding, and it became your new life’s mission to do whatever it took to see it directed your way time and time again.

“How about I order us some food? We can watch a movie and cuddle?” And really, you were only human. A request like that from Dean Winchester was as easy to fulfill as breathing.

---

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[raven-dor]

i'll be watching you

in which steve harrington can’t stop thinking about the one girl who believed in him

PAIRING: steve harrington x fem!reader, dustin henderson x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, realization, ANGST ANGST ANGST, nostalgia, CRAZY amounts of yearning, obliviousness

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

AN: this hurt to write... enjoy!! (also the 'present' is the mid 90's, so Steve and you are in your late 20's)

Steve was utterly confused. First, he decides, of his own volition, to apologize to Jonathan Wheeler. Then, he knocks on the boy’s door to find Y/N, panic evident in her expression and her hand bleeding. 

He bursts in, worried about her safety, to then find that his girlfriend is also there, with a gun pointed at his face.

He was then dragged through the Wheeler’s house away from some sort of creature before finally being ushered out by Y/N, her words haunting him as he opened the car door. “I don’t want you wrapped up in this, Steve. Just leave it alone.” 

Why would she care? And why could she be involved, but not him? No, Steve thought to himself as he grabbed his bat, she could not go through this alone. (He would later reference this moment as the second his feelings for her grew past friendship.) Screams rang through the Byers property, and Steve burst through the door once more, swinging his bat and slamming the monster square in the face. 

Y/N was on the floor, grinning wildly at the boy before her. “Steve!” He ran over, extending his hand and pulling her into his arms. “What are you-” 

“Don’t tell me to leave it alone ever again.” He whispered.

She nodded, hugging him tightly. “Fine.” 

A cough interrupted their moment, and they pulled apart, remembering where they were. Y/N laughed, nudging the King of Hawkins lightly. “You’re quite the hero.” 

A chill ran down his spine, and he clenched his eyes shut. She made him crazy sometimes.

Steve groaned, shoving his face further into his pillow. Not again, he thought. This had been the third time this week he’d woke up this early. Every time it was the same, it was almost like he was going back in time, his dreams exactly as they had been in real life. 

And every time it revolved around her. 

He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he have a dream about puppies or his dream job?

His alarm clock rang, and his heart dropped. “Shit!” Jumping out of bed, he sprinted to the bathroom, fixing his hair as best he could in two minutes.

His real shift at his very real job started in ten minutes.

“Y/N!” 

God, she forgot how dismal this gym could be. All the horrible memories of middle school gym class came rushing back. Over by the locker room is where Tracy C. tripped her ‘on accident.’ The bleachers were where she’d sit when she wasn’t picked for dodgeball. 

And by the exit door was where she would secretly cheer for Steve as he played basketball. 

She was sure some of these kids, at least the ones she knew, had had the same happen to them. The doors to the gym opened for the hundredth time, Dustin Henderson walking through with what Y/N could only identify as a Steve Harrington special. 

She waved at the boy, smiling brightly as he walked across the gym to meet her.

She hoped he hadn’t seen her space out.

“Are you okay?” 

So he had. Y/N smiled, nodding. “Of course I am, now that you’re here.” He blushed. “You look very handsome, Dustin.” 

“Thank you.” He grinned. “Steve helped me.” 

“Really?” She smiled, laughing to herself. “That’s really nice of him.” 

“We’re friends now!” Dustin was still grinning. “He drove me here.” 

Her eyes darted toward the entrance, and the young boy’s face fell ever so slightly. “He said he doesn’t want to come in because…” He motioned for Y/N to lean down, whispering in her ear. “Because of Nancy.” 

Of course, how could she forget about Nancy? She loved her friend, but her heart ached to think about Steve’s undying love for her. “Ah.” She locked her lips, figuratively throwing away the key. “Your secret is safe with-” 

“Henderson.” 

She looked up, locking eyes with Steve’s instantly. He was beautiful in that color, she realized. It brought out the gold in his eyes.

“Wow.” Steve smiled shyly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “You-” 

“Are you kidding me?” He murmured as his eyes peeled open. 

This had to stop. 

He already deeply regretted his life choices, and now he couldn’t even escape them in sleep. He drove to work grumpily, parked his car grumpily, and stood at the Family Video counter grumpily. Robin laughed, shaking her head. 

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” 

He glared, sticking his tongue out. “Good morning to you too, Robin.” 

“You’ve been pissy lately,” Robin said it like it was a fact like everyone in Hawkins had been talking about it. “What’s up, Harrington?” 

“I-” He couldn’t tell Robin, she would never let him live this down. No, this was the type of thing you kept to yourself, driving yourself crazy until- “Just had a rough night.” 

“Okay.” Her shoulders deflated, grabbing the cart full of VHS tapes. “Let me know when you want to tell the truth.” 

“Shit, shit shit.” Y/N’s eyes were glassy as she clung to Steve’s side, supporting him as he walked. “Why’d you have to be the hero?” 

“That’s part of my-” He winced, laughing as her face grew even more worried. “Part of my charm, babe.” 

Y/N ignored the way her cheeks flushed, leaning him against the giant boulder. “Just be quiet.”

He nodded, leaning his head back in pain. “No problem.” 

“Really?” She scoffed, muttering thanks as Robin handed her cloth to wrap around his (chiseled) abdomen. “You scared me, you know.” 

Her voice was soft, much softer than normal. It sounded weak; scared even. He frowned, reaching out and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you did, Harrington.”

“Can you just-” He sighed. “Can you look at me? You haven’t met my eyes since you’ve gotten down here.” 

She shook her head, trying her best to wipe away the dirt from his gaping wound. “I really hope this doesn’t get infected.” 

“Y/N, come on.” He smiled, forcing himself not to cry out in pain. “Look at me.” 

“I think Eddie’s-” Robin received a hard glare from Steve, and she nodded, walking away without another word. 

Her face felt hot, eyes watery as she looked up at him. He grinned, whispering so that only they could hear. “There she is.”

“Here I am.” She whispered back, tears falling down her cheeks freely. “Now can I-” 

“I’m so mad at you right now.” 

Her head cocked to the side. “What?” She must have misheard him. 

“You heard me.” His tone was tense, but his eyes told a different story. “I said to stay in the boat, didn’t I? Don’t follow after me.” He scoffed, flailing his arms, pain ringing through his aching muscles. “And what did you do? You followed me.” 

“As opposed to what? Watching helplessly as you were dragged into hell?” She stood up, glaring. “Would you rather have died down here?” More tears fell as she stared, hissing at him so the others couldn’t hear. “You don’t have to do everything alone!” 

“I know that-” 

“Then why can’t I follow after you? Huh?” She glared. “You’re not the boss of-” 

“I didn’t want you wrapped up in this!” He yelled, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin jumping at the sound. “You should’ve left it alone.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, last I checked, I was involved first.” She yelled back. “Now shut up so I can fix you.” She knelt again, tying the cloth Robin gave her earlier gently around him. An uncomfortable silence fell over them before she spoke once more. “Just be careful, alright? I can’t do this without you.” 

“Y/N…” His eyes were watering, from the pain or what she said, he couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry.” 

“Good.” She wiped the dirt from her hands. “I’m sorry too, I guess.” She stood up, muttering. “Even though I have no reason to apologize.” 

He laughed, reaching out for her hold. “Could I-” 

“Yes! Yeah, of course.” His arm expertly laid around her shoulders, and in another life, they could have walked through Hawkins High like this. “Please stop acting like the hero. I can’t bear it.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes full of desperation, and his heart skipped. Shit. “Yeah.” 

He nodded, kissing her temple gently. “Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Hey!” Eddie’s voice interrupted whatever was happening between them. “Why don’t you take a break? I can take care of Harrington for a bit.” 

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned, not even bothering to look at her best friend, still staring up at Steve with that dangerous look in her eyes. “I really don’t mind.” 

“Y/N.” Steve whispered. “You’ve done enough for me to last a lifetime. I’ll be okay.” 

She looked hurt, but let go of Steve regardless. “Alright, he’s all yours, Munson.” 

Eddie waited until she was by Robin and Nancy to speak. “She was the first one to dive in after you.”

Steve smiled. “Really?”

Eddie nodded. “You know she likes you, right?” 

“I know.” He laughed as he watched her jump on Robin’s back. “I like her too.” 

“Good, good.” Eddie placed a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Just, don’t hurt her, okay? She seems strong, but…” 

“I won’t.” Steve was so confident in it, so sure. “I would never do anything to hurt her.” 

His latest dream had thrown him for a loop. Eddie, a man he was never close with in school, died hours after that. God, he thought as he ran through the streets of his neighborhood, that had been the last time he’d talked to the metalhead. 

His shower was cold, and not because he forgot to pay the water bill. He’d made it cold on purpose, maybe this was how he would stop having these dreams. 

Lately, they felt closer to nightmares. This one, in particular, had reminded him of how close they'd been, of how hard Y/N had taken it when Eddie had died. It had never been the right time to ask her, he kept telling himself, even after she left, and he stayed. 

'Never the right time' had been his downfall. 

Work had been the same, a mother asking for a children’s movie, a teenager who was obviously not old enough to rent an R-rated movie asking where they could find one, and an older couple asking for Gone With The Wind. The door rang for the fourth time that day, and he recited the same old boring greeting. “Welcome to Family Video, do you need-” He looked up, his breath catching in his throat. 

It couldn’t be. 

“It’s been a while, Harrington.” She laughed, and his heart fluttered. God, her laugh was still the most perfect sound he’d ever heard. “Are you doing alright?” 

“I-” He grinned. Was this real? It had to be- nope, he had officially losing it. He should have opened up to Robin when he had the chance.

“Hello?” She stepped forward, giggling. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re spacing out on me. That’s my thing, you know. Not yours.” 

He laughed. “You look-” 

“Mama!” A little boy ran through the front door, clinging to Y/N’s leg. 

Steve’s head felt like it was spinning. 

“Hey, babe.” A man, around their age, walked up beside her, kissing her cheek gently. She grinned, leaning into his hold. “I tried to entertain him in the parking lot-” 

“It’s fine, honey.” She smiled, looking back at Steve with a sort of melancholy look. “This is Steve.” 

Steve waved, and the man waved back. Y/N’s cheeks were red, and in any normal situation, Steve would have laughed. She was cute when she was flustered. 

Right now, he couldn't find it in him to tease. He just wanted to curl up on the floor and die. “This is my husband Nick, and our son, Edmund.”

“No!” The little boy’s shrill yell livened up the place. 

Y/N laughed, looking down endearingly. “No, huh?” 

He nodded. “My name is Eddie.” 

Steve’s heart dropped, tears forming in his eyes as he stared at Y/N. Her husband laughed too, kneeling. “Kiddo, your nickname is Eddie. Your name is-” 

“Eddie!” 

‘Nick’ just laughed again, standing up. “There’s no convincing this one, I’m afraid.” 

Y/N stared back at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. He finally spoke, finally said a full sentence for the first time since she’d walked in. “It’s a good name, Eddie.” 

She nodded, her eyes growing teary. “It is.” 

She was just as perfect as the last time he’d seen her. Radiant, happy, glowing, all things she was now. He knew, deep down, if he had told her that he loved her, she would have stayed, put her life on hold to be with him. And that - that was Steve’s worst nightmare. 

She had an actual chance, to leave, to make something of herself, and he wasn’t going to be the reason she never achieved it. He hadn’t, as he stared helplessly at her family, heart officially breaking when her husband set his hand on her growing stomach. “I get to name the next one.” 

Y/N shook her head, smacking his chest playfully. “I thought you said you liked Edmund.” 

“Kidding, babe.” He looked at Steve, smiling awkwardly. “Did you two know each other well?” 

Steve shook his head before he could think. “Just knew each other from school.” How do you tell the love of your life’s husband that you fought monsters together? He was almost sure Y/N hadn’t told him, and Steve didn’t blame her. He’d never told anyone either. “She was always the smart one, no one could keep up.” 

She wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, laughing. “I wouldn’t say that…” 

Nick, who was really a nice guy, Steve would later realize (even if he hated his guts at that moment) nodded. “You still are.” He looked at Steve again, laughing. “She runs circles around me. I wouldn’t have it any other way though.” He kissed Y/N on the cheek, staring at her the way Steve wished he could. “Keeps me young.” 

That had made Steve laugh. Damn it. Y/N had laughed too, rolling her eyes. “You're 29, Nick. Not exactly old here.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Nick clapped his hands, grabbing Edmund from his wife’s leg. “Have any cartoons for this one?” 

Steve nodded, leading them down the aisles toward the kid's section. “Aladdin’s a good one.” 

Eddie had lost energy as quickly as he’d gained it, Nick carrying him to the car with a haphazard ‘nice to meet you’ thrown in Steve’s general direction. 

Y/N stood in front of the counter, handing Steve the cash for the movie. Her tone was light as she spoke, almost like no time had passed. “He’s a good kid.” 

Steve smiled. “Takes after his mother.” 

“He-” Her voice sounded thick, and she stared at him with something Steve couldn’t quite place. “I hope you’re doing okay, really.” 

He nodded. That seemed to be all he could do now. “I am.” 

“Well…” She clapped her hands, walking back. “I’ll see you.” 

She pushed the door open, sparing one last look before disappearing from his sight.

Maybe, he thought to himself as his very soul began to die, it would have been better just to go mad. Go mad thinking about what could have been, rather than seeing her and realizing she had everything he'd hoped for.

Just not with him.

taglist: @kendallroydefender @beebeechaos

[milaisreading]

hi hi hi how are you? i hope you're warm this winter season <3

i saw you were accepting yandere blue lock requests and i wanted to request one🥺:

yandere ness with his sweet/bold gf and kaiser turns yandere for her later on

🌱🩷: SURE! I hope u like what I wrote and thank u for the request!

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. It's a yandere fic, so please don't read if u don't like those themes. Requests for Yandere Blue Lock are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

"Huh? Who is that?" The 9-year-old (Y/n) asked done of her classmates as they were leaving the school grounds. The two girls next to her turned to look in the direction (Y/n) was looking at, only to find a magenta-eyed boy playing alone in the snow, making some weird circles in the ground.

"That? That's Alexis Ness, he is in the same year as we are. Just a different class. Why do you ask?" A brown-haired girl asked.

"He seems... lonely. Should we go and play with him? It is a sad thing to play alone in the snow."

"What?! No way. (Y/n), he is a weird guy. Everyone stays away from him." A blonde girl said back, surprising the girl.

"Weird? He seems normal." (Y/n) said back as the brunette friend from before shook her head.

"You are way too naive, (Y/n). Trust me when I say he is weird."

"I heard he thinks he is a wizard and looks at some weird curse books. He even asked one of our teachers if our library has spell books." The blonde girl said as (Y/n) tuned them out for a bit.

'Spell books? He likes magic, too?' The girl thought in excitement as she observed the boy more. Suddenly, Ness looked up at her, his eyes widening in surprise. Smiling at his look, (Y/n) raised her hand, waving at him.

"Hii!! You have pretty eyes!" She yelled loudly, surprising not only her two friends, but also Ness. The boy blushed a visible red shade and said something, but nobody understood him since he was way too quiet with his reply.

"What are you doing?" The blonde girl scolded her silently, pulling her on one of her arms.

"He is giving me the creeps. Come on." The brunette girl added in, pushing (Y/n) away while the other dragged her by the arm.

"Hey! Don't be like that, he looks nice. And his eyes are pretty."

Ness watched the three girls leave, his eyes fixated on the (h/c)-colored girl as she repeated the same comment about his eyes. The boy's cheeks turning even redder as she repeated those words.

"My eyes... pretty?" The boy mumbled to himself, his heart hammering against his ribcage. A sense of disappointment hit him as the girl disappeared from his sight.

"As always..." The boy said, going back to playing in the snow. His thoughts were haunted for the rest of the day by the girl.

A week had passed since that incident, and Ness tried to forget about the whole incident. After all, nobody stays with him for too long. Why would that girl have-

"Hi! You are Ness Alexis, right?!" The boy jumped a little, looking up from the snowy ground and at the girl that was talking to him. The boy blushed a little, not used to this kind of attention from anyone, especially from a girl.

'It's her again?!' Ness gulped and slowly nodded his head.

"Y-yeah, that's me. How do you know me?" The boy asked cautiously as (Y/n) crouched down, looking at the small circles Ness drew into the snow.

"My friends remembered your name!" (Y/n) said, smiling at Ness. The boy's face grew even redder, slowly nodding his head.

"Why... why are you talking with me? Everyone finds me weird, you know?" Ness spoke up again which caused the girl to raise an eyebrow.

"Weird? I don't see it. You seem normal to me. What are those circles about?"The girl wondered, pointing at the snow. The boy stayed silent, face red as he mumbled something eventually.

"Huh? What did you say?" (Y/n) blinked, looking up at him in confusion.

"It's... Uhh to summon things." Ness repeated as her eyes widened in surprise.

"Huh? How does that work?"

"Are... are you really interested to hear that?" The boy gulped nervously.

"Yep! Show!" (Y/n) cheered as Ness slowly nodded his head.

And that's how their friendship started. Ness didn't know what exactly he did to make her interested in being his friend, but he wasn't going to complain. He found her curiosity cute, flattering even. Finally someone tried to understand him, unlike his siblings, parents, and kids in school. And although her friends tried to talk (Y/n) put of hanging out with him, she rejected the idea, even stood up for him.

Moments prior....

The classes had ended for the day and Ness went to look for (Y/n) in her classroom, she was always the last one to leave. The boy was in a quite good mood and couldn't wait to show her a new spell book he found.

"I am serious, (Y/n), that guy is weird." Ness stopped as he heard a feminine voice coming out of the girl's classroom. He knew that voice, it was the blonde friend. (Y/n) mentioned the girl's and the other ones name, but he never bothered to remember them. Partially because he felt slightly uncomfortable when her attention wasn't on him.

"He isn't. Please, give him a chance. Ness is really nice." The boy felt his cheeks heat up as he listened more.

'She thinks I am nice...'

"You say that now, but watch him pull something weird soon. Please, we worry about you. Why do you like playing with him?" The brunette friend said.

'What does she mean by that?' Ness was offended now.

"I like him, and he is fun to talk to. You guys don't have to be friends with him, I won't force you. But I won't stop hanging out with him."

Ness felt his cheeks flush once again. Nobody ever did that for him. Nobody ever opted to hang out with him after confronted by others.

"(Y/n)...." Ness mumbled as he felt a strange warm feeling fill up his chest.

Present time...

"Ness! Ness!" The boy jumped a little, startled by (Y/n)'s.

"Y-yes?" The boy wondered, surprised how close she was now.

"Are you alright? I was calling your name for a good minute." She asked in worry, which made the boy all giddy inside.

'She is worried about me!' Ness thought, nodding his head.

"Yeah. I was just thinking about a lesson."

"Oh, ok!" She smiled in relief.

"You wanted to show me something. What was it?"

"Yeah, I found a new spell that I wanted to show you!!"

A few weeks later...

Ness was used to the feeling of sadness, fear and loneliness, but rage? Rage was an emotion he never felt... until he saw (Y/n), his one and only friend get punched in the face. What was worse is that she got punched because of him. A group of boys had started insulting Ness and (Y/n), being as protective of her friends as she was, started arguing with them to stop. The verbal arguments slowly got more intense and in the end (Y/n) got punched. Ness was glued to his spot, eyes wide as his breathing grew heavier. The shock slowly turning into something he never felt before. He felt like destroying something, or rather someone.

"You got quite a big mouth for someone who hangs out with that weirdo over there."

"Don't say that...." (Y/n) glared back while holding her bruised cheek.

"What? You are a loser and he is a weirdo, maybe you two should hang out-"

"Don't say that about him!" (Y/n) yelled back now, punching the boy back. That caused him to fall down.

"He isn't a weirdo, you dumbass!!"

Ness watched in terror as the two started fighting, while the other 2 boys went to get a teacher.

Later that day...

Ness and (Y/n) sat in silence in the nurses office as the woman went to look for some bandages. The boy looked at her bruised face in guilt and anger. How could he not do something? How dare that guy hit her? Were some of the thoughts Ness had in his head. The boy clenched his fists and held back a few tears as he spoke up.

"Why did you do that? Why did you get hurt for me? I am used to those words, you shouldn't have jumped in-"

"You shouldn't be used to that, Ness!" (Y/n) yelled back, glaring at Ness. But, she wasn't mad, she was sad that he was used to it.

"I... I just don't like seeing you like this. You don't deserve it. And I would do this again for you, Ness."

"Ah..." The boy gasped a little as he stared at her with wide eyes. Something... Something definitely shifted in Ness that day.

Years had passed since then and both (Y/n) and Ness grew a lot closer since their elementary school days. During those years, Ness had developed a love for football, and while (Y/n) didn't understand much of it, she supported him in his passion. And while she was developed her own interests in art and fashion,Ness would be the first one to tell her to show her mentors the recent idea she got. Ness dubbed himself her #1 cheerleader, after all.

One thing that came to a surprise to (Y/n) was Ness confessing to and asking her out after he got scouted for Bastard München. The boy had worked up a lot of courage that day, and was over the moon that she said yes to him. He worked really hard on not only building up his courage, but also om getting rid of potential love interests of (Y/n). That part wasn't really that hard, now that he thought about it, a few intimidating words with his signature smile were enough to scare people off.

Ness already had planned out their future. (Y/n) will move in with him as soon as he got an apartment, then he will ask her to marry him, and they will live a happily ever after. But... Ness failed to see one person coming into their lives. His name would be Michael Kaiser... Bastard München's star striker.

It wasn't until his and Kaiser's first official game with the team that they met, and when they did... Ness was less than happy.

"Goo, Alexis!!! What a great assist!!" The magenta-eyed boy smiled as he heard (Y/n)'s loud voice and he turned to wave at her.

"Nothing but the best for you, (Y/n)!"

Kaiser, who was a few meters away, raised an eyebrow at the boy's words and the kiss he sent her.

"Hm? Who is that, Ness?"

"Huh? That's my girlfriend, (Y/n). She is so sweet and her smile is as beautiful as the sun." Ness sighed dreamily as he waved at her again. Kaiser pretended to puke and he grabbed the back of Ness' shirt.

"Focus on the game, idiot."

"Yes Kaiser, but don't insult me like that."

While most people didn't pay attention to the exchange, (Y/n) did. Her eyes narrowed at the blonde.

After the game had ended, most of the players went to change and take a shower, Ness, Kaiser, and their coach stayed behind for a while, which (Y/n) used as an opportunity to sneak up on Ness.

"Alexis, you did such a great job! I loved every second of it!" The girl cheered as she hugged the boy from behind. Ness blushed madly and turned so that he could hug her instead.

"You think? I was a little nervous in the beginning." Ness chuckled as (Y/n) nodded her head, kissed him on the cheek a few times.

"I couldn't be prouder of you." She smiled, causing the boy to stop and look at her for a moment.

"Really?" He asked with a red face.

"Ye-"

"Can you two stop that? You look so dumb." Kaiser's voice interrupted the two from talking further.

"Uh, Kaiser-"

"And you look like the rejected version of the Beast, what now?" (Y/n) said back, narrowing her eyes at Kaiser. The boy stopped for a moment and turned to look at (Y/n) as Ness tried to calm her down.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me." She rolled her eyes at his act.

"Now, mind your business." (Y/n) gave him a short fake smile and turned her attention back to Ness.

"Oh! I made you some dinner as well, since you told me you didn't eat anything. Come on." She said while pulling him towards the benches.

"A-ah... sure. Thank you, I completely forgot about that one." Ness blushed again. Kaiser was left both confused and shocked by what had happened. Not only did someone act like that towards him, but Ness didn't stop it either.

'(Y/n)... just what is wrong with you?' Kaiser thought as he looked at her for a while. He didn't even notice that he was staring until Ness glared at him.

'Weird... does she mean that much to him?'

For the next few weeks Kaiser spent some of his free time searching for (Y/n) on social media and observing her when she would visit Ness during practice. And every time she would visit, Kaiser would start an argument with her. It didn't even matter what the subject was, the weather, the clothes, the grass, they would argue. Ness would stop the arguments rather quickly, not wanting to get in trouble, but also because he wanted (Y/n)'s attention for himself. He deserved it! Kaiser won't steal those moments from him. He needed to stop whatever Kaiser had planned for (Y/n).

"Can you stop obsessing over my girlfriend, Kaiser. Get yourself another girl to fawn over." Ness asked, or rather demanded from the blonde as they changed in the locker room.

"What are you talking about, Ness? I hate her guts and you know it." Kaiset spit back as Ness sent him a side glare.

"Don't lie to me, Kaiser. I know that look, many guys had that same lovesick look around (Y/n), and all of them failed dating her."

Now, Kaiser wasn't usually the one to be confused, but this statement from Ness really took him by surprise.

"You must be stupid or blind, Ness. I do not like her, you can have her all for yourself. She just pisses me off." Kaiser repeated back with a much harsher tone. The magenta-eyed boy stayed quiet as he finished changing and then slammed the locker shut, surprising Kaiser.

"You better stay away, Kaiser. I won't let anyone get in the way of my happy future with her." Ness sent Kaiser a warning glare and left the room. The blonde stayed silent as he watched Ness leave, feeling even more frustrated now.

"That dumbass, can't he listen? I don't like that thing he calls his girlfriend!" Kaiser gritted his teeth.

"Her and that stupid know it all attitude. That stupid voice and those perfect eyes... and soft hair. The cute frown she makes when talking- What am I saying?!" Kaiser stopped himself as he realized where his thoughts were going. Slapping his cheeks a few times, Kaiser shook his head and continued charging into his clothes.

"I don't like that dumbass. She is just an annoying nobody. Ness can have her for all I care."

The blonde mumbled, trying to ignore the annoyance he felt from the last part.

That encounter happened last week, and Kaiser still to this day couldn't get Ness' words our of his head. Moreover, he couldn't get one particular line out of his memory.

'Can you stop obsessing over my girlfriend, Kaiser.' Repeated in his head whenever he caught himself looking at her pictures for too long, or whenever he found himself thinking of her. It was so weird, and it started affecting him to the point where he nearly injured his ankle. What was it about her that he even obsessed over? Maybe her personality? Or looks? It frustrated him to no end.

'I will end that dumbass once and for all-'

"Here." Kaiser's thoughts got interrupted by the same girl that was plaguing his mind for weeks.

"What is that?" The blonde wondered as he eyed the white container suspiciously.

"It's just some gel that is good to use for your muscles. Alexis said you nearly ruined your ankle the other day." (Y/n) replied back as she held the container in front of him.

"Why? Were you worried for me? I am touched." Kaiser smirked up at her, which made the girl a little angry, but she held herself back from yelling.

"No, I wasn't. I just don't want Alexis' team to lose because their star striker was too Charles's to look out for himself." She bit back.

'Because you idiot won't leave my head!' Kaiser wanted to say, he really wanted to put all the blame on her! But, he just couldn't bring himself to.

'Why?' The blonde wondered. (Y/n) stared at his silent figure, really curious as to what he was thinking, but she kept silent as well.

"Hmm... Alexis is back." She announced as the boy walked out of the locker room.

"Here, take it or leave it. I don't care. And, take care..."

Kaiser was shocked as he heard the soft tone in her voice and the gentle look that she sent him for a few seconds. The blonde looked back on the container that was put on the seat next to him. He hesitated for a moment, but then eventually grabbed it.

"Hmm..." Kaiser mumbled as he held the item and looked where (Y/n) was hugging and kissing with Ness. The blonde tightly grabbed onto it as his breath hitched up and eyes narrowed. What was this rage he was feeling? Kaiser bit his cheek as he kept on staring at the duo and wondered what it would feel like if (Y/n) kissed him like that.

'I wonder what her lips would feel like? Where they as soft as they looked?' Kaiser gulped, a red blush spreading across his face.

'And being so close to that scent of hers...'

Kaiser wanted to get lost more in his thoughts, but was interrupted as Ness opened his eyes and looked back at Kaiser, never breaking the kiss.

'Back off.' He could hear the boy say as he hugged (Y/n) tighter. And, in that moment something snapped in Kaiser. He didn't know what it was, nor did he care. The only thought running in his head was that he needed (Y/n). He needed her to be his. And his only.

[writingjourney]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

!!! this fic contains spoilers for RHRN, do not read on if you wish to remain spoiler-free!!!

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Or: Copia is taking up his new position. It’s not an easy feat.

content: 1.8k words, gn!reader, angst, grief, hurt/comfort, some fluff and kisses, post!rhrn so spoilers, established relationship

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 – White dust sheets cover the furniture like ghosts of a life left behind. The path forward is hidden underneath layers of insecurity and grief but as he packs up years of work in pre-used cardboard boxes it almost feels as though he cannot see the path at all.

His new office is just down the hall. It is a fast job. Two trips and his desk has become another ghost. One more trip and he has emptied out all personal belongings from the dusty shelves. The rest stays, not useful to him anymore in his new function.

It is an involuntary trust exercise. To give up what he built for half a decade, the legacy he took over, being forced to let it rest in the hands of someone else. Unlike his brothers he had no way to prepare who follows his footsteps and perhaps that is where the ache in his belly comes from – the uncertainty.

He cannot quite bring himself to unpack the boxes in his new office yet. But it is not his office anyway, Copia thinks. No, it is his mother’s office and he feels like an intruder placing his things on her desk. Her smell clings to the old fabrics, clings to him, a strong perfume that Copia has not been able to get out of his nose ever since he covered her body with yet another white sheet.

Yet another ghost.

It has not been long, he tells himself, a weak comfort. As he stands here with an old card she wrote him – Welcome Home, C! – he can hear the clicking of his mother’s shoes on the tiled floors like a faint echo that haunts the hallways of the Ministry. Everyone is busy preparing for this transitional period, mourning their Mother Superior, but now it is Copia who has to guide them, navigate them through this darkness.

He realises that he himself has footsteps to follow and that he is just as unprepared. A new era, for all of them.

“Love?”

He turns and his world lights up for a brief moment. You occupy the doorframe in a black mourning habit, the one all Siblings chose to wear in honour of his mother. Of course he finds that it suits you better than anyone else. But perhaps that is because he has felt the sturdy fabric against his wet cheeks so many times now that it means comfort, home.

“Do you still need help with the boxes?” you ask.

All he can do is shake his head. You approach and he wants to close the card, hide it away, not even sure why. You have seen the fallout, you have held him through the worst of it. Perhaps he is ashamed, in a way, that he cannot move on as fast as his new role demands of him.

“Was this from her?” you ask, nestling up to his side.

“Mhm.”

His hand is trembling lightly as you lay yours to rest on top of his. The swipe of your thumb against his bare wrist sends goosebumps down his spine and when you wrap the other arm around his waist his eyes are watering.

“Perhaps you can frame it, together with some photos,” you suggest.

He nods, leaning into your embrace as a solid rock forms in his throat. You hold him and he lets the silent tears run down his cheeks, gathering at the dip of his chin. Your thumb continues to draw slow crescents over his pulse. He can’t speak. He does not have to.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 – He is glued to the mirror.

You try not to fuss, he is nervous as is. It is first official day, after all.

“I didn’t know you had a new uniform,” you say with a lint roller in hand, joining him in the bedroom. The jacket is brand new, all black but unusual in its ornamentation, satin lapels that run from his neck towards his armpits. A clerical collar underneath sparkles against his Adam’s apple.

“I eh… splurged,” he says, cheeks dusted a bashful red.

He says it like he is wasteful, does it whenever he treats himself to something, but you also know he is wearing the same black winklepickers he wore as a Cardinal ten years ago, never replaces any pieces of clothing until he finds holes in the fabric, that he only bought new jackets when he could use them on stage to look his best for the audience. The suit is no different, it is as much a boost to his confidence as it is a display of his new status. A performance.

“It is a rather nice suit,” you note, running the lint roller down his back.

“Mhm.” He pauses, looks down at himself and tugs at the sleeves. “It is… unfamiliar.”

“You wear it well, Copia.”

He smiles and his confidence resurfaces. You find that he looks handsome in a completely new way. You have seen so many facets of him that you can tell he is beginning to mold himself into this role, even if he might not see it himself yet. In the mirror, a stranger is looking back at him through black-rimmed eyes but in time he will see himself again, a grown version.

“It is not all,” he says. “I… found something. In the desk drawer.”

He points to a velvety black box on the dresser. Inside, you find a beautiful ornament, two ruby brooches holding a bejewelled black grucifix, another ruby at the bottom. It is one of the most beautiful, elaborate pieces you have ever seen.

“A gift, I think.”

He looks uncertain when you glance up. But you have no doubt that it was meant for him, meant for today. You carefully take it out of the box, delicate as it looks it feels sturdy and well-crafted. One brooch to each lapel and the grucifix dangles over his heart. Light from the window catches in the gemstones, a prism splitting the ray into sparkles that reflect in the mirror, a spectacle of multicoloured beams flickering across the walls.

Copia watches the dancing lights, mesmerised, until the sun hides behind a cloud and the room is gloomy yet again. When you focus back on him a tear pearls from his left eye, running down his cheek and leaving a black streak in its wake. The piece is more than jewels – it is a memory, a promise, a token of trust.

“It is beautiful,” you say. “As are you, Copia. So beautiful.”

His smile is tinged with sadness but there is hope, now, too. You smooth out his jacket, admiring him for a moment, unconcealed, and he must see it in your eyes because the smile shifts until one corner of his mouth pulls into a lighthearted smirk.

“Do I get a kiss?” he asks.

You grab the satin and pull him close. One day you are going to peel him out of this jacket and it won’t feel heavy anymore.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 – You gently wipe at his under-eye. The black smudge is persistent and you stop when the skin turns red. Copia’s eyes are closed even as he holds you. Wrapped around you he feels hot to the touch, almost feverish. He has gone non-verbal since he came home and you give him the space he needs, soft touches, rest and quiet.

The tension of the day still sits in his muscles, you can feel the knots when you run your hands over his back. The hot shower did not help, nor did the pasta he barely touched for dinner. He did well, everyone said this to you today. Whether he feels it you are not so certain.

You lean in and press a kiss to the round tip of his freckled nose. He blinks at you through tired, reddened eyes, lips curving into a lazy half-smile. His hand tightens at your waist, slides underneath your shirt to feel your skin. He’s your whole world molded into the shape of a man. Love, stored in the crinkles of his crow’s feet, every line on his face, in the brushstrokes of grey at his temples, an endless supply.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper, trailing the curve of his spine.

His eyes open and you feel guilty for disrupting his peace. But then he pulls you ever closer, squishing, the softness of your bodies mingling with a comforting warmth.

“I don’t…” He stops, brows pulled together. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I have no doubt that you can.” You study his features, move your hand to trace the lines of tension and smooth them out. He lets you, eyelids fluttering at the soft touch. “Every day from now on will be easier, Copia. My baby, I have such confidence in you. Unshakable.”

The words stir something in him. Some wetness gathers in his odd eyes but he blinks it away. You have to fight your own tears, good tears, for how far he has come. Then Copia nods, nods again but with more conviction. A deep exhale through his nose and he swallows the doubts away.

“You are right, always,” he says. “I was Papa Emeritus IV, eh? I did that.”

“You did.” A smile, proud and amused. “And now you are Frater Imperator.”

“Mhm, I am.”

“You are the head of this church, they are still your flock, adoring you, admiring you, trusting you. None of this has changed.” You cradle his face in both hands, a firm press of your thumbs to his cheekbones. “And you are still the man I love.”

“I am?”

“Forever.”

He closes the gap himself, a grateful kiss, seeking. You try to give him what he needs, firm and soft kisses, hands roaming, legs entangles. His tongue swipes over your bottom lip, deeper still until all air escapes you and a dizzy fog fills your head. He is all you know, all you want for the rest of this life you live together.

The kisses slow down, not any less deep, and he cradles your head, keeping you pressed together. There is some need building, a languid wave that fades out in ripples. You feel him stir against your leg but he is not quite here with you, not entirely, and it subsides after a moment.

He breaks away with a heavy sigh, keeps his eyes closed.

“Perhaps not tonight,” you say, stroking his hair.

He nods and rests his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose, the embrace tighter than before. It feels easier now, somehow, and you can picture it so clearly. The future, him, and even in your head the world is quiet as you hold him close.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

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[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

X

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

X

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

X

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

[hellfire--cult]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader {Dark}

Part 2: Run, Rabbit, Run {Steddie x Reader}

WC: 13.1 k

⚠️ +18 MDNI, Slightly dark fic due to wickedness of characters, chasing kink, mentions of bones breaking, tendons splitting, dark woods, blood, knife play, explicit sexual scenes, many forms of Paraphilia described inside the story, owning kink, breeding kink, obsession.

Plot: Once a year, the Haunting Ground event takes place, where the prize is a White Rabbit. This year, the head of The Black Dragons decides to finally join the trial, and claim what is rightfully his. No matter who he has to take down for it.

Author's note: Well shit, I just... wanted to write something out of my comfort zone, and well... this happened. If I missed any warnings please say so, but I hope you enjoy this, and if you don't like any of the warnings above, please, don't read. There isn't any gore at all, js. Also, I didn't proofread this. Please SEE THIS ART of how Eddie ACTUALLY looks in this story. Can't thank Corpse enough for it!

You can always support me by hitting the reblog button with tags, and I always enjoy reading your comments!

BUNNY, BUNNY, BUNNY

The rules are simple:

1- You must keep running, only hide when threatened.

2- You can hurt your opponent, make them unable to keep moving, but you cannot kill them.

3- No water and no food will be provided.

4- No weapons except makeshift ones you may create with natural materials you find.

5- The chase ends once everyone has tapped out of it or one person was chosen.

6- Medical care will take out injured opponents, as well as waiting outside every exit in the woods.

He looked all around him in the big wide center of the room, a ball room. There was a big buffet, serving various kinds of foods to fill a whole army, as well as drinks, non alcoholic, were being served around. He scanned all around him, looking at the various masks everyone wore.

A wolf.

A fox.

A blank face.

A goat.

A clown.

There were many varieties, many kinds but mostly were in animal masks. Coming to this kind of event was not something he ever thought of doing, at least not by his own accord. But here he was, in a demon mask, a black skull that covered half of his face, with its black horns going up. He stood out, definitely stood out, and he noticed by all the faces turning towards him. 

He was recognizable, his dark hair tied in a bun, his lips under the top sharp teeth of the skull mask, his eyes showing in the holes of the eye sockets, and then, unlike anyone else in the room, he was only wearing a blazer over his torso, leaving his skin exposed. People looked at him as if he were insane for doing this stunt, others thought he was cocky for trying to think he had a chance dressed like that, but others were simply scared of him.

Tonight, his name was Demon.

He glanced around once more to see the many different people he clearly recognized. Sons of rich families, looking for some fun, for some sense of victory that they can just get with daddy’s money. He also recognized the rings of various people that were only hired to enter this competition and win the prize for their boss. And then, there was him. The only Mafia Boss entering the competition, and that’s why everyone was looking at him.

Mafia bosses don’t often do the dirty work unless it’s a very important client, business or victim. In this case, there was a treasure he wanted, something he had been intrigued by ever since it was mentioned to him, and all he had to do was step over everyone else that was standing in this room with him. 

There might be forty people, all waiting for the presentation to finally start. He knew the time to go out was coming close, so they should do it any time soon. A man stood next to him, and he immediately recognized his voice. Carver Jr. Son of the CEO of Kirasoft. Inc. 

“I am telling you, this year she is getting caught, man.” He hears him say to the other guy next to him, who he didn’t recognize, but probably from the same rich kind of family.

“Can’t believe it’s been the same White Rabbit for three years… How did she manage to do it?”

The lights dimmed and he looked up at the ceiling, knowing there was a specific light that was above him, making him visible even in the dim room. He smirked and looked back down towards the stairs that lead down to the ballroom. He sees the man, the man who hosts this event, the man who gets the money of every single person that pays to participate. 

“Welcome to the annual Haunting Ground night.” Claps were heard around Demon, but his hands were kept inside his front pockets as he waited for the man to continue his stupid speech. “Every year we host this marvelous game, in which there is a prize to be won, a marvelous prize.”

The snicker in the man’s face made Demon’s blood boil, as his hands fisted in his pockets. The need to murder him, the need to see his flesh gush out as he talked was increasing, each second it passed. He looked around again, seeing all the women, the men, the people with masks, smiling with confidence towards the stage. 

“Hearing the rules for a third time is quite annoying.” Demon hears a woman talk next to him to another contestant. She had a deer mask on, her whole face covered so he didn’t know who she was, but it didn’t matter, none of the people inside the room mattered, the only one that did was the person in all white that was going to appear at the top of the stairs. 

And no one, absolutely no one, was getting her except him.

“The rules, you all know about them, but I want to remind you about the emergency beeper you all will have in your pocket. If endangered, if in extreme pain, or you just want to tap out of the contest, you press it, and the emergency team will know your location and come get you.” The man says and Demon only rolled his eyes to the sky, knowing he won’t be using it, but actually making other people use it.

The fact that he couldn’t bring any weapons irked him. He always thought things like this would end in blood baths, but they were being pretty humane about this. Yet, he wanted to murder every single person in this room at the moment, because how dare they even try to steal her away from him? Not that he didn’t kill a few past contestants from the past two years. He heard from the men that participated, that some had grabbed the White Rabbit, just by an inch, but a scratch here and there was done to her skin.

Of course he wasn’t going to let them go unharmed for that.

“If you endanger someone to the point of killing them, you will be disqualified and brought to authorities.” Demon scoffed at that. He has the police wrapped around his finger, and there is nothing anyone can do about it, but he will keep his hands to himself, as much as he can, just so he wouldn’t be disqualified from this. 

He could hear the whispers surrounding him, and also knew that they were about him. He was the most dangerous person amongst the people, and if anyone had a gram of brain cells, they would let him get the prize. But of course, he knows many will try to defeat him, try to throw him to the ground, hurt him, because there are also people from families he had destroyed during the years, just like his uncle did in the past. 

Being the nephew of one of the biggest Mafia bosses didn’t mean anything, you weren’t automatically feared or respected just for being a direct link, a family member. You were respected when you were entrusted with the men, the organization and the operations at such a young age, and even more so, when you are not merciful at all, except when needed to. 

Demon never hurt women or children, and the only time he had to kill a woman was because she had backstabbed his uncle, almost to the point of killing him. She was his right hand, but all this time, even if killing for him, she was planning on taking over him, completely over stepping on Demon. He found her taking out her gun when they were in a transaction between crews, and got her in time before she could actually take it out. His uncle fought that she was protecting him, but Demon saw how she was looking at the back of his uncle’s head, right as she got her hand inside her coat. 

She was operating for the other crew they were doing a transaction with.

So of course, Demon immediately took care of it, eliminating her in front of her brother, the other boss that was sitting in front of his uncle, just so that he knows they are not to mess with. And Demon did all that, at the mere age of 17. Now, at 28 years old, he was a man to be feared, respected by many, and to never try to backstab him, in any sort of form or way. 

But three years ago, he got fixated on something, on someone, when he visited the house of the Red Flies, the second most known Mafia family in the eastern states. He knew he was obsessed, he knew that he shouldn’t even try to get her, but he was immediately swept by her presence, by her voice, by her eyes, in a way no one had made him feel before. This only happened when he locked eyes with her, a small smile appearing on her face, and he knew, he immediately knew, that she was meant to be his.

She was going to be his, no matter the cost.

“Everyone, I present to you, the White Rabbit.” 

And there she was, at the top of the staircase, with a spotlight over her head, the white rabbit mask covering half her face, with the ears going up to the ceiling. She was wearing a white short dress that stuck to the body but was loose at the end. Her lips were drawn into a thin line, as everyone was clapping at her, in awe, with desire in their eyes as well as ambition and greediness. 

The reason why everyone wanted the White Rabbit was simple. They were from a high, a very high association, be it a company or a mafia gang, but they wanted out of that. The White Rabbit holds the power of bribery towards bosses, as well as threats and blackmail. More likely daughters and sons that want to destroy their own lineage. 

Many people here knew who the White Rabbit was, but just by name, even if three years had passed. She was never caught, and she never gave herself to anyone because that can also be done. The White Rabbit can willingly choose who to go with if they so desire. And that’s why Demon was with a smile to his face, his jacket still open as he looked at the White Rabbit. She was scanning the room, looking at all the contestants and then, her eyes landed on a torso, her eyes hazing over as she kept staring at his chest.

You see, Demon also possessed that knowledge, and of course, he studied her, knowing more than her name. Over the last three years he had sent his own men to participate in the trial, but with no intention of winning but just to see what the participants did and how she moved in the woods. 

Demon knew her name, how she looked like, the sound of her voice, who her father was, and also, he knows the things she likes, the things she desires, the things that make her tremble, and that’s why he is exposing his torso, and as she kept her eyes on him, a small grin appearing on her face, her tongue licking her bottom lip even slightly as her eyes clouded with pure lust, her mouth watering just at the pure sight of his tattooed chest and even more when he suddenly takes his tongue out, running his tongue piercing all over his top lip.

Stigmatophilia: Sexual Arousal for body modifications, such as piercings or tattoos.

“Always looking like a diamond in the rough.” He heard Carver say, almost a mumble, and Demon’s blood was boiling already. How dare he look at her? How dare he even think he has a chance? How dare he touch or imagine touching something that was his? How fucking dare he even comment on his prize? 

“We all know how this goes. The White Rabbit will have an upper hand of five minutes to infiltrate the woods. Do not, by any means, hurt the White Rabbit. If the White Rabbit is caught, the decision to go with that person for a limited time, or to be completely owned, is up to them.” Demon smirked at those words. There is a contract the White Rabbit has to sign before submitting themselves as the prey. If they decide they want to do a temporary ownership of their body, then the contract is not signed by the captor. But if they do decide for a complete ownership of body and soul, the contract will be signed by both parties, kind of like a marital contract.

This was all in the Mafia organization of course, it’s not legal, but it is something to be respected in between the groups and companies. Demon does not like this idea, because no person should be owned, no person should be held like an animal, no person should be treated like an object. But in the White Rabbit’s eyes, he saw that longing, he saw the need of belonging to someone, of being owned. 

And he was more than happy to oblige.

“Do you think this year is the year? Will she get caught?” He heard the woman next to him, and for the first time in the night, he finally talked, with a gruff voice coming out of his lips.

“She will.”

The people around him all turned with widened eyes, shocked faces behind their masks, as whispers erupted all around them. He was still locking eyes with the White Rabbit, whose smile was still on her lips, almost a snicker, a wicked grin, and he couldn’t wait to start running, he couldn’t wait to start chasing, his body was already trembling at the need of wanting to earn his prize.

“No more food, no more water. The trial starts now… Rabbit… Run.” The host finally said and Demon saw how the light over her head turned off, and in two seconds it lit up again, only for her to be gone. “Get ready and line up to the edge of the woods.”

At his queue everyone started heading out of the ballroom, but Demon just walked, calmly, hands still in his blazer pockets, heading towards the big doors and finally being hit with the wind of the night, the sound of the leaves ruffling all around and the trees merging up in front of him, a sea of trunks and bushes that he will have to run through. 

He stood next to Carver, who was already in a stance of pounce, waiting for the sound of the gun so they could all start running. Demon slowly took off his blazer, throwing it in the ground, revealing his completely tattooed torso, with many ink designs such as dragons, or skulls, or demons, and they go all over his arms and back as well. There are some patches of untouched skin, but overall, he is completely covered in them. 

The many people that stood next to him on each side were looking at him, gulping, except for Carver who simply rolled his eyes at him. Demon looked up at the full moon that was going to help him look through the deep woods, the light that he knew how to follow to keep a steady pace, and the shadows that would help him knock down any person that might come in his way. 

After a minute, he saw the man, the host, walking up on the balcony of the building, his silhouette shining with the moonlight as he raised the flare gun up. Demon took a deep breath in from his nose, getting his hair up in a low ponytail, calmly, as his chest rose and fell with his breaths. His eyes gazed back to the woods, a small grin appearing on his face as he fixed the rings that were on his right hand.

BANG.

His fist immediately collided with Carver’s Jaw, sending him backwards, and the only thing that could be heard was the crack of teeth and a gurgled grunt as he fell to the floor. He quickly turned to grab onto the ponytail of the woman that had screamed at the vicious act, the woman with the deer mask on, pulling her back towards his chest. He wrapped his right hand over the woman’s neck and her hands immediately flew to his forearm, trying to break free.

“Let ME GO!” She yelled with a choke and he scoffed with a roll of his eyes when he raised his left hand up, pressing it at the back of her hand to bend it forward and then with his right arm he started pressing onto the sides of her neck to start cutting her blood flow towards her brain. 

Her body started to go limp and when he felt her arms fall from him, he instantly let go of her, letting her fall to the ground, completely unconscious. He doesn’t hurt women. It will take more time if he does this trick every single time, but even if they try to go after him, he won’t hurt them. Many had already taken off, but some, a very few, stayed to look at what he’s done. 

One by one, they started backing up back into the house as they saw Carver’s mouth going slack as he tried to talk, making Demon turn to throw a wicked grin his way. The blonde man took the beeper out of his pocket and groaned as he pressed the button to finally call assistance. Once Demon heard the beep, he took off running into the woods. 

His blood was pumping with adrenaline, his breathing steady as he rushed by the trees, jumping over boulders, hearing some screams and passing by some men injuring one another. When he arrived at a cleared up area, he stopped running at the sound of some bushes rustling, right next to him, the crack of a twig catching his attention. 

He instantly jumped forward when he saw the bushes finally moving and a man, a bigger man than he is, jumped out of them and onto him, but missed thanks to Demon's premeditated step. The big man steadied himself, wearing a bear mask as he glared at him, a sly smirk on his lips. 

“Well, well, well… Didn’t think the Boss of the Black Dragon would be in a thing like this. Don’t you have many women to choose from?” The Bear chuckled at his words but Demon only grimaced at them. He thinks The White Rabbit can be compared to any woman? To any person? 

“If you want all your limbs in the same place, you would close that mouth of yours.” Demon threatens but Bear only belly laughs at him, shaking his head.

“It’s just you. You know, your uncle really fucked me over with my company.” At those words, Demon could only roll his eyes, not wanting to waste another second in this mindless conversation.

“You probably didn’t pay up in time, or, if I remember correctly, didn’t you kill your wife?” He remembers the deal. This man, and his wife, were going to share half and half of the credit The Black Dragon crew was giving them. The wife asked for a divorce, which would have made the contract void, and the money had to be returned in its entirety to the organization. She had her half untouched, he didn’t. She was going to be free, he wasn’t. 

So in his anger, he killed her, making it seem like suicide to the legal eye, but to the organizations he was seen as a murderer. Now, seeing him in this trial, wanting to get the White Rabbit, Demon felt his blood burning up in anger, because he wasn’t going to let a man like him get her… He wasn’t going to let a man like him get any other woman or person.

“She killed herself. I made that very clear.” The Bear’s face fell, as he clenched his fists next to his hips. Demon knew what was going to happen, so he fixed the bloody rings on his right hand again, his smile spreading knowing it was Carver’s blood. 

“You won’t get her.” Demon says in a dead tone, which the bigger man only chuckled at, unamused, and he took a step forward, and Demon only cracked his neck once. 

“We’ll see about that.” And the first fist was thrown by The Bear, only to be dodged easily by Demon, moving aside. He raised his leg up and immediately hit the bigger man at the right shin with his combat boot. The Bear groaned loudly, turning his whole body to tackle Demon into the ground, his upper body slamming with Demon’s torso, sending him to the floor with the big man on top of him.

He cursed under his breath as the air in his lungs got knocked out slightly thanks to the impact, feeling a sharp sting on his shoulder, making his eyes go wide and groan in pain, looking at the side. The Bear cheated, a small swiss knife now was on Demon’s shoulder, pressed by the man that was on top of him. 

“I see you’re still playing fucking dirty.” Demon almost but snarls at the man on top of him who only laughed out loud and shook his head at the words.

“You don’t get anything in life if you don’t do it my way. My wife knew that, yet, she decided she wanted to fuck me over.” He was laughing, and Demon’s veins were popping out from the anger, from the rage, from the images of this man’s hands over your body, tracing his knife on your skin until he could bury it into the deepest of your gut if you made a wrong move.

His left hand was free to roam, and he grabbed onto a small boulder that was on the floor, immediately clenching his fingers around it to throw his arm up, swinging it towards the man’s head, making him yell in pain as the rock busted his ear and ripped open the skin on his temple. He fell to the side, holding his side of the head in pain while Demon sat up in one quick movement, taking the swiss knife out of his shoulder and throwing it away. Wasting no time, he lunged himself over the other man’s figure.

He was now on top, having won the wrestling match, or the kid fight he just had, and the man below him yelled for mercy, which made Demon only grin wider and wider, knowing that he was a step closer to his prize. In one swift move he pressed his knee against the man’s thigh, while his hand grabbed onto his calf, pulling it upwards, and he just needed one snap, he can at least make it quick for the guy below him.

SNAP. CRACK.

“MY FUCKING LEG!” The Bear yelled below him, only for Demon to scoff at his cries. He stood up and walked off the wailing man who was already taking out his beeper to call for medical care. Demon grabbed onto the beeper, a glare in his eyes as he looked at the man below him.

“After this, you better hide… Because I will kill you.” He threw the beeper far away from The Bear. He would have to crawl with his broken leg to get it, making that task torturous to say the least. 

“P-Please, spare me– This is just a game–” Demon pressed his foot onto the man’s broken leg, and another yell of pain could be heard through the open field. 

“No. You should have noticed that this is not a game to me, and you should have known that messing with me today would be a very bad choice.” He let go of the man, stepping away. The Bear’s face was stained from the tears of pain he was induced to, but Demon could care less. 

The black haired man immediately took off again, running through the bushes as he heard a few screams and yells of victory. His mentality started spiraling as he felt himself growing impatient by how long this was going to take. If he had to take out every single contestant he was going to end up doing a massacre and that was against the rules.

Because he would kill for The White Rabbit.

He was hearing many beeping sounds around him, some grunts and people that were writhing on the ground in pain as he walked by. So many were with broken bones, some had scratches all over their bodies and that’s when he remembered the wound on his shoulder. He looked at it as he walked, moving his shoulder in circles to see if it caused any damage. He scoffed and chuckled as he noticed he could still move his arm freely even if the wound was open. 

The bastard couldn’t even aim a knife right. He didn’t really deserve to live, not if he is going to threaten death right in the face and expect to come out alive from it. That’s what Demon was. Death. Crossing him meant bargaining with life, and backstabbing him with treason meant instant death. He didn’t do most of the dirty work, only when it’s necessary and when he would get pleasure from it, and that man he just fought, he wasn’t going to be killed by a stranger in his organization. Demon was going to cut his head off himself.

He stopped walking when he heard a rustle, but it wasn’t on any of his sides. He turned his body, scanning all over when he heard it again. He smirked as he put his hands in the front of his pockets, his heart beating into his chest from the adrenaline and from the excitement of getting closer and closer to his objective.

“You should come down from the trees.”

A small giggle could be heard from his back as he slowly turned to finally see the person he wanted most climbing down from a tree. Her white dress flowed with some white shorts underneath, but the white was now smudged with some dirt, and some blood as well. Her white ears moved as she tilted her head at him, scanning him all over, her body rocking on the balls of her feet.

“Your ears are very perceptive.” 

 “You’re just too loud.” He says in a low voice, watching the White Rabbit start moving, circling him, with her hands behind her back, swaying her head from side to side as if humming a song. His head followed her, seeing her bare feet covered in mud as the leaves crunched under them. 

“Hmm… Someone got you.” She says, pointing at the wound on his shoulder, in which he simply shrugs as if to show her that he wasn’t fazed by it.

“By playing dirty.” She hummed again as she looked down at the floor, still circling all around him as if inspecting him, scanning him, and her mouth watered at every single patch of skin she saw inked. She was already imagining what his legs looked like, and she was already trembling with the idea of using her nails to give him new scars.

“Are you here to get me?” She asks him, finally stopping right in front of him, just a few feet away, her hands still behind her back with a grin on her face. He took his hands out of his front pockets, letting them hang on his sides.

“To claim you.” She tilted her head at his voice, her smile widening, creepily so, as her eyes glistened with sudden excitement and adrenaline and Demon knew what was coming, because he had studied the White Rabbit after all.

“You’ll have to catch me first.” And she turned on her heel, and sprinted off into the darkness of the woods, and Demon’s teeth showed as his wicked grin grew, and grew.

Autassassinophilia: Sexual arousal when being in a dangerous situation, such as being chased, or wanted for murder.

His feet started working, running forward to where The White Rabbit went, listening to far cries that were deep into the woods, and he wondered just how many other people were left, not that it mattered, because he already won. He knew he already won when he decided to sign up for this trial. He knew he had won the moment he stepped into the ballroom. He knew he had won when she had smiled at him, right at the top of the marbled stairs.

He stopped running when he came into an empty spot, surrounded by trees, looking all around him. His eyes twitched as he tried to listen to the sounds, knowing now that it was just him and her. He was preying on her as much as she was preying on him. He knew she was circling him, his little rabbit, trying to be sneaky, but a twig was heard from his left side and his feet immediately moved to that sound.

Long strides were taken thanks to his long legs, his belt clinking as he ran, going past the trees once again. He ran in between trunks, jumping over the fallen logs, but his eyes sparkled when he heard a giggle from behind him, making him stop in his tracks, turning around rapidly to see her retreating figure, running away from him. A smirk appeared on his lips. She had run past him and he didn’t notice.

He started running after her, deciding to swerve left, going deep into the woods again, no longer following behind her. She kept running, her breathing completely accelerated, her belly turning with anticipation, with adrenaline, with arousal, with desire. Oh, she wanted him. She had waited, and waited. But his footsteps were no longer heard behind her, making the White Rabbit stop, turning around to try to listen to her surroundings.

He wasn’t following her, did she run too fast? Did he lose sight of her? But she was sure she was hearing him behind her, not even five seconds ago. She took one step, then another, passing by a tree but she stopped her movements again, her eyes widening, goosebumps emerging on her skin as she slowly turned her head to see the figure that was just behind the tree, waiting for her.

“Caught you.” 

Demon immediately pounced on her, grabbing onto her shoulders and tackling her to the ground, a crazed smile on his face as she struggled to get free, but it was already done. He was on top of her, his calves over her thighs to pin her down while his hands were on her biceps now, digging deeply, pushing her onto the ground. She was panting heavily as she opened her eyes to finally see the man that was on top of her.

“Dirty.” She spats and he scoffs, licking inside his bottom lip as she relaxes under his hold. A small smile appeared on her lips, the moonlight shining through the woods, just enough for him to see her. He took one hand away from her bicep, getting hold of the bottom of her mask, pulling it up to finally reveal that beautiful face he got mesmerized with three years ago, at a simple meeting. That face that told him, we’re equal. That face that told him, I will serve you if given the chance. That face that he wanted to see, everyday, at every hour, for as long as he lives. That face that claimed him that same night, with a smile, with the stares, with the intense stare in the eyes.

You.

“Hello, Bunny.” That was your nickname in your father’s organization. Bunny. Too pure, too innocent, too charming, yet, you were the complete opposite. You were nasty, you were evil, you were vengeful, you were a freak. A complete and utter freak. And he was the same, he was your exact same, and you were expectant of him. You were waiting for him to appear. You were in this trial behind your father’s back for three years, because you wanted him. You wanted the man that had whispered in your ear ‘You’ll be mine.’ three years ago. You wanted the man that’s been said to have killed and destroyed many organizations and the members inside of them. You wanted the man that you knew could own you, yet, wouldn’t cage you.

Your fingertips from your free hand raised up, finally touching the teeth of the black demon mask he was wearing, first grazing it, gently, as if taking in this moment with him, this moment where everything will change, this moment where your life will finally become yours, and his. You gripped onto the mask and finally lifted it up, and he helped by bending down slightly so you could rip it off his face, throwing the plastic far away from you both.

“Munson.” A smile appeared on your face as you saw him, your cheeks flushing at his sight, as if you were a bitch in heat in front of her master, and you weren’t far from it. You knew Eddie owned you that same night you met him, and he also knew you were meant to be his. 

“What are those?” He asked, placing a hand on your waist where a stain was on your dress, a shiver running down your spine as a soft moan escaped your throat, knowing his hand was covered in ink and touching you.

“I might have snapped a few tendons here and there… Putting the competition away for you…” Your eyes were already looking up at him with desire, with the need of being alone with him, of him claiming you, completely. He smirked down towards you, leaning down to talk closely onto your face.

“What’s your choice, Bunny?” He softly asks, his eyes hinting of desperation, but also insecurity of some sort, but he didn’t have to worry. He shouldn’t, because you are his, you’ve always been his.

“I’ll stay with you, forever, if you’ll have me.” His eyes widened slightly with emotion, his gut turning at your words and his hand flew to grab onto your jaw, harshly, to pull you towards his lips, into a messy yet wanton kiss. A kiss that he had been craving for far too long. You moaned onto his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he finally let your thighs go, his calves resting on the floor now. 

His teeth caught onto your bottom lip, and you could already feel the iron taste filling your mouth, knowing he was piercing your skin, but that only made your thighs clench with eachother even more, wetness pooled inside your shorts as his actions showed you that he studied you, that he knew you, and he knew what you were into. He pulled away from you, licking his lips from your blood as he looked down, seeing your bottom lip with your red tint, blood coming out from the inside of it. 

“You’re mine. I’m going to protect you Bunny, I’m not letting anyone take you away from me, and if they dare come close… I’ll kill them, you say the word… And I’ll kill everyone you tell me to.” A soft smile spread on your face as you looked at him, crazed and wild eyes staring at each other as your grip on his shoulders tightened, and a firework was shot into the sky, but you two didn’t move. Just stared into each other's eyes. 

You’re free.

Your hands gripped on your last bag with the remaining clothes you had. A smile on your face the whole time the elevator dinged closer and closer to Eddie’s penthouse, one of the many properties he possesses. You hadn’t changed, still wearing the white stained dress over your body, but the people that organized this trial had already sent your prepared luggage to Eddie’s, meaning that the only thing left to deliver was you.

The ding didn’t even startle you as the doors opened, and a big double door greeted you a few steps away from the metal confinement. You stepped towards it, and grabbed onto the handle, finding the door open. A smile appeared on your face as you opened it, walking in to take in the immense decorated space in modern yet vintage looking furniture. You put your bag down, closing the door behind you as you stepped inside the apartment, seeing that it had stairs going up to a second floor. 

You were looking around, knowing that he should be here somewhere. After he had caught you, you were brought into the office to sign off the permanent contract to him, with a smile to your face all the while. The host was simply looking at you as if you were insane, because being owned by the Black Dragon association was not something many desired, much less, being owned by the boss of it.

Eddie was sent home so you could gather your bags, and those bags you saw at the very corner of the living room. You heard something in the kitchen, making you tilt your head slightly at the sound, like a rattle, so you followed it, walking into the dimmed light kitchen, modern, with the cupboards and utilities in black, against the white marble counters, but your eyes centered on the person that was pouring two glasses of wine, in the middle of the room.

“Hello again darling.” He put the wine bottle on the counter and his eyes finally looked up to lock with yours. He was still shirtless, still with the same bloody clothes, the wound in his shoulder already stitched and bandaged, and your mouth salivated with the need of pressing your tongue onto his skin. His hair was down, eyes a deep brown that only made you move by instinct, slowly approaching him with your hands behind your back.

Like a small bunny.

“This house is a little big for you.” You say as you stand next to him, grabbing onto the wine glass and taking a small sip from it, the burning of the alcohol soothing your throat and calming your nerves. Nerves that were there because you waited so long to be with him, alone, like this. Completely owned by him, his property, his partner. 

“Glad that you are filling it with me now.” He says in a low tone, which sends shivers down your spine, because for some reason you knew that the night was going to be long, and that by the end of it, you won’t be able to walk. Hopefully.

“So, you’ve been studying me over the last three years, huh.” You say with a smile, not looking at him, still with the glass of wine on your lips, and the alcohol was slightly stinging the wound he provoked on you in the woods. 

“And you’ve been waiting for me for three years.” He retorted, his eyes slowly turning black from how his pupils began to dilate the more his eyes roamed your body. He took a large chug from his wine glass, putting the crystal on the counter again while you giggled at his words, making all of his blood go south immediately. 

“Took you long enough.” You replied to him and his hand twitched on the counter as he stared down at you. Your giggle stopped but that wicked smile was still on your lips, setting your glass down as you finally turned your head to look at him. “I’ve been studying you too.”

“And how so?” He asks, the need to grab you, the need to get hold of you, pin you down, making you shut up, beginning to gnaw in the deep of his gut. You shrug at him, not even sparing him another word and his eyes twitched, his fire igniting as his right hand rises up, tracing your cheek softly in which you melted at, pressing your face against it. 

Your eyes suddenly widened when his hand enveloped your throat, in one swift movement, and pressure was applied, cutting your blood flow and oxygen at the same time. A choked moan escaped your lips as he looked down at you, a smile appearing in his lips, knowing very well that you were drenched by now, clenching onto nothing as he applied more pressure on you.

Asphyxiophilia: Sexual Arousal when being choked, often cutting the oxygen circulation.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight Bunny.” His left hand, which was still on the counter, found the knife he had already prepared for this moment, the knife that would start it all. “I own you. I make the rules and you just follow them. There’s nothing else you have to do.” 

You nodded, choking on your voice as your eyes started rolling to the back of your head, your hands gripping his wrist and he finally let go of some of the pressure to let oxygen flow in your body again. You choked a sigh of relief, your breathing already jagged by how much air entered all at once in your lungs again, yet his hand was still on your throat, his tattooed hand. 

His left hand raised up, pressing the tip of his blade onto your cheek, the smile still on his face as he looked at you. You smiled through your dizziness at him, and oh you were so beautiful. He guided his knife down, slowly, gliding it over your body, until he reached the hem of your dress. Your eyes widened as you felt the sharp tip of the knife over your shorts, your clit twitching at the sharpness of it. That sent an adrenaline shock through your body that almost made you squirm, but you knew that if you moved he might hurt you there.

He appreciated you staying still, and you were just too perfect for him. He twisted the knife so the blade would be facing upwards, and he slowly punctured the tip of the knife inside your shorts, but not through your soaked underwear. He smirked at you one last time and that’s when you heard the intense ripping sound, a gasp escaping your lips, the blade stretching the dress off your body as it ripped it in half, going all the way to your collarbone. 

His eyes scanned your frame, a white bra on your body as well as the matching thong that he could see from the slit of your shorts. The both of you had dirt all over yourselves, but that only enticed him to take you even more. To finally own you completely. He motioned towards your hands with the knife, which were still wrapped around his wrist. You gave a sigh as you dropped your hands to your sides, making the dress finally fall off from your shoulders, as if it were a coat. 

He slowly let go of your neck, letting the knife rest on top of the counter again, your breathing heavy and with the imprints of his fingers already on your neck, and tears were threatening to fall down from your eyes as you looked at him, but they weren’t enough. They weren’t enough for him, and he wanted more, he wanted to see you completely ruined by him. 

“On your knees.” You shivered at his command, wanting to be a brat, deny him, but this is what you’ve always wanted, to belong to him. For him to use you as he pleases, for him to drag you around like a plaything, but yet, to protect you like a partner, like an equal. You slowly got down on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes and he pressed his fingers under your chin to keep you up. “Will you do everything as I say?”

“Yes, yes, I will.” You were desperate now, not being able to handle anymore teasing from him. 

“Open your mouth, stick your tongue out.” He commanded this time, and you did as told, opening your pretty mouth from him, your pink tongue sticking out and he grinned at the view. He gathered his saliva inside his mouth, to then lean in and drop his spit into your mouth and tongue. He immediately closed your mouth with force. “Swallow.”

You didn’t. You closed your eyes at the taste of him in your tongue, just for a second and his eyes widened, lust covering his features as he saw you moaning with his spit in your mouth. You then swallowed, and opened your eyes again, sticking your tongue out for him, as if asking for more. He straightened up, his belt coming undone, the leather slipping off from his pants. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it later on.

“What do you want me to do now?” You ask him and he simply smirks down at you, wicked eyes crossing his features as he unbuttoned his pants, dragging the zipper down.

“You just stay there, look pretty, while I fuck that bratty mouth of yours.” A gasp was heard from you but it was an excited one, your eyes immediately darting towards the bulge that was inside his pants as he finally pulled them down, along with his boxers. His cock springing up to hit against his pelvis, right in between the V shape that you want to trace your tongue on. “Spit.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you lunged forward as he grabbed onto his shaft, pulling it down for you to spit on it, and his hand started going up and down on himself, slowly, and your lips turned into a pout as you stared. It wasn’t fair, you wanted to do that. You raised your hand up only to be stopped by a sting, a sharp sting and a smack. His other hand was still holding the folded belt, and he used it to hit your hand away, making your eyes sting with tears as you put your hand back down, rubbing it softly with your other one, looking up at him with a frown in your face.

“Wh–”

“Don’t fucking touch me. I said, STAY THERE.” He almost growls at you, sending another shiver down your spine, but you straightened up, looking up at him, waiting for his instructions as he still stroked himself with your spit, making you gulp with need, seeing how large he was, your body moving forward, wanting to give it at least a small kiss to the head, only for another sharp sting hitting you, this time, it was a slap by his big hand, not that hard, but not gentle either, making you turn your head away with a whimper.

He waited for you to turn back at him, to see your reaction, to see what you are thinking because even if he studied you, he still has some self control and empathy in himself, and much more when it comes to you. He doesn’t want to hurt you in ways that you do not enjoy, but as you slowly turn to look back at him, your cheek stinging, with a smile to your face and hazy looking eyes as if in a trance, he couldn’t help but smile down at you.

“Can I beg?” You ask, and it was an honest question, a question of boundaries, a question to get to know him even more, to know what you can and can’t do, and he was appreciative of that.

“Yes. Beg for my cock, I want to hear how much you want it Bunny, how much you’ve been wanting it for these past three years.” And your breathing hitched at that, an excited smile appearing in your lips as you looked up at him, your brain completely drained from conscious thought as your desire poured out of your lips.

“Please Eddie, I want your big cock in my mouth, please… I want to taste you, have your cum dripping in my throat, been wanting it for so long, please– Don’t keep me waiting baby, please…” Your sultry voice filled his ears, a shiver running down his spine as his dick twitched in his pants, asking for attention, but there was a reason for you wanting to beg, because you studied him too… You know what he likes.

Narratophilia:  Sexual arousal to obscene words.

“Then open your fucking mouth, and you’ll take what I give you.” You didn’t waste a second, your nails digging in your knees as you opened your mouth again, sticking your tongue out for him. With one hand he guided his cock, and with the other he pressed it at the back of your head, pulling you forward towards it. 

He first taunts you, pulling your head back for you to kitten lick the tip, to then pull you forward again to take it into your mouth only to repeat the motion again. A soft whimper vibrated in your throat, which made Eddie’s hold grow tighter on your scalp, and he finally thrust himself inside of your mouth, halfway in and started going in a slow pace first so your mouth would get coated in your saliva. He knew he would hurt you if he made you deepthroat at once, and he didn’t want to destroy your vocal chords, at least not yet.

You closed your eyes as you hollow your cheeks to finally start sucking on him, letting him bob your head back and forth at his own pace, but you relished in the taste of him, a moan escaping your throat in delight as your spit helped your movements be smoother each thrust he did into you. He was holding back his groans at your sight, finally having you at his mercy, on your knees. His self control slowly slipping away as he tilts his head back, closing his eyes at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his cock, loving the way he could feel you moaning against him.

Your pussy clenched at nothing, and you wanted to touch yourself, relieve some of the tension building inside of you, but you knew better than that, so you kept your hands at your knees, fingernails scratching your skin. His hand finally let go of his cock, guiding it towards the back of your head, finally joining his other one, gripping onto your hair. He stopped you from bobbing your head, only for him to start thrusting himself inside of your mouth, inside and out, still in a slow pace.

Your eyes opened to look up at him and his eyes beamed at how you were looking at him. Pleading for more. So that, he did. He thrusted deeper this time, a gulp being heard from you, a gargle, but not a gag, not quite yet. His pace quickened, a groan finally coming to his throat as your eyes started tearing up the deeper he went in. This is what you wanted, to be used by him, and your wetness sipping through your underwear and shorts even was an indication of that.

“What a fucking slut, not even gagging.” He chuckled only to stop when even if you had a mouth full of him, he could still see the cocky turn up of the corner of your lips while staring up at him. His nose flared and he suddenly slammed himself inside your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. A tear slid down your cheek and you finally gagged at him, but because it was a surprise to you more than anything. He pulled back only to slam himself back in, your gags and gurgles filling the room as your mascara started running down your face.

He pulled back just for a second for you to take a deep breath through your nose, and he trembled slightly with a moan caught in his throat as he saw your face. His hands gripping your hair even tighter, not being able to contain himself as he started thrusting himself into your mouth, quick, but not deep like before, yet your spit mixed with his precum started slipping from the sides of your mouth. 

He couldn’t help but wanting you to keep crying, to keep tearing up, so he slammed himself again against your mouth, hitting your throat again, and you breathed through your nose in order not to gag, but your eyes widened when you realized that he was staying there. You whimpered against him, as more tears slipped through your eyes as you tried to keep your breathing under control, but he was groaning in pleasure at the sight. 

You started gagging, your body lurching forward a couple of times and that was Eddie’s queue to finally pull away from you, taking his cock out of your mouth.

“Ung–” You were panting, trying to move your throat a bit to numb the sudden beating it received, but Eddie simply pulled you up from your hair, making you gasp as you stood on your two feet again, your knees screaming in pain from being against the hard floor for too long. His face was inches from yours and your eyes saw what he was looking at. You couldn’t help the smirk that came to your face as you felt his dick twitch against your hip as he inspected your cheeks, your tears.

Dacryphilia: Sexual arousal to seeing the partner crying or shedding tears.

His lips immediately connected to yours, a rough, deep kiss, full of lust and desperation. Your mouth opened for him, once again, and his tongue invaded it in a second. You clenched again when you felt his tongue piercing all around your cavity, on your tongue, clinking against your teeth. He moaned into your mouth when he felt the mix of his taste, your spit, as well as the saltiness of your tears. 

He pulled away from you, pulling his boxers and pants up but not buttoning himself up as you stared at him, completely dazed for his next move. He couldn’t help himself and he leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, in which you sighed dreamily at, knowing you were being a good girl. His good girl.

“Let's go upstairs. I have to ruin you.” You trembled at his words, excited for that to happen, excited to be ruined by him, excited to be yourself with him. He turned you around, and he grabbed his belt from the counter with one hand, the other being pressed against the small of your back, guiding you towards the stairs. You went up, your pussy clenching at each step taken as the adrenaline pumped in your veins. He was right behind you, now finally walking you towards his room.

He opened the door for you, and you walked in to take it all in. Realization hit you. This wasn’t just any of Eddie’s properties, this was his house, the one he considered home, the one that was all him and not something designed by someone else. His guitars were on display on one wall, a few paintings and limited vinyl editions of what you believed were his favorite bands, the big king sized bed in the middle of the room with dark comforters, and the big window on its side, a few feet away with long black draped curtains. 

You were now part of his home.

A sudden feeling filled you as you turned around with excitement to wrap your arms around his shoulders, the action completely startling him as he looked down at you. Your lips immediately found his, as you took in the feeling that he owned you, but in the most caring way possible, and like you stated before, you knew he wasn’t going to cage you up, not that you minded if it was done by him.

His lips moved with yours as he slowly guided you towards the bed, his hands going to your back to finally unclasp your bra. The back of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you pulled away from him, taking your bra off completely. He looked down at your bare breasts, wanting to dive into them, take them into his mouth, but he made a promise to you first. He raised a hand, slapping one of your tits with it, making you gasp with a moan.

“Get on the fucking bed, and raise your hands over your head.” You smiled at him as you sat down on the bed, pushing yourself backwards into the middle of it as he kept his eyes on you, slowly walking towards the side of the bed as you laid down, throwing your arms up, almost touching his black headboard. From the corner of it, he opened a small wooden door, at the very top, and he started pulling a black rope from it, your eyes widening at it, while a small smirk spread on your cheeks.

“The headboard seems new.” You managed to say in a hoarse voice, and he chuckled at that, grabbing onto your right wrist, pulling you towards the bracelet of the rope, wrapping it tightly around your skin. 

“Custom made. Received it a couple of days ago.” For some reason, he didn’t want to lie to you about that, nor tease you, because he wanted you to know that he prepared himself for you and just you. This bed was made for you, and that made you moan with need, your thighs rubbing together at his confession. He circled the bed, going to the other top corner of his headboard to pull the same rope out, grabbing your left wrist and pulling you towards him again, and you felt the tug onto your right hand, not letting it move further. 

“How thoughtful of you Eds.” You smiled at him when you noticed he wasn’t tightening the bracelets too hard on your skin. You have noticed that he was thoughtful of you, careful to some degree with you, yet, rough. His hand went down again, slapping at your left breast now, your back slightly arching at the feeling, with a moan trapped in your throat.

“Are you going to stop talking?” You giggled and licked your lips, wanting once again to go against him, but you knew better. You liked being dominated, you really did, and you knew that your other side was something you couldn’t do with Eddie. He sighed at your giggling, heading towards his dresser where he left his belt at the top of it. You bit your lip as your eyes glistened with anticipation.

“You’re gonna punish me? Don’t you want to fuck me? Take me? Breed me? Why are you taking so long Eddie?” You lifted your legs up, bending at your knees, spreading them open for him and he almost dropped the belt to the ground at your words, groaning as you used his kink against him. He put his knee on the edge of the bed and you smiled at him, a wicked smile.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” 

SMACK.

You gasped loudly as your body jolted upwards from the mixed sensations that just went through your whole body, like an electric shock. He swung his belt towards your clothed cunt, smacking it, sending a sharp yet burning pain through your whole body, and your clit throbbed with the need of more friction, even if painful, it still felt so good after being neglected for a long while.

Eddie was smirking as he looked at you, squirming under him, his cock wanting to explode out of the confines of his boxers again, the zipper that was already down from his pants digging into the bulge as it twitched on him. He raised his belt again, smacking you on your left inner thigh, making you jolt again and your legs spread even more. You were perfect for him, simply perfect, moaning thanks to what he was doing, tears starting to form in your eyes again… You were his.

Sexual sadism: Sexual arousal on causing pain, non life-threatening.

“Eddie– Eddie please–” You were begging again, but that earned you another bruising smack to your other inner thigh, your back arching at the pain, yet pleasure that shot through your body as the ropes on the headboard clinked at the movement of your arms.

“Are you that desperate for my cock?” He says as he looks down at you, and you nodded desperately, a tear sliding down from the corner of your eye, and honestly, Eddie was too. He waited too long for this, and even though he wanted to do so many more things to you, he knew he had time, that you both had time.

“Yes, please, fill me up– I need your cock inside of me, waited too long for you baby, don’t tease me anymore, don’t tease us any longer…” You begged but this time it was a genuine one, a very truthful one that Eddie couldn’t deny. He put the belt to the side, almost throwing it, and he grabbed the hem of your ripped shorts and underwear, ripping it off from you in one move, helping him with the movement of your legs. 

He looked down at your wet pussy, and you already made a complete mess of yourself. The shorts were drenched as well as your tongue, and he couldn’t help but think again that he was blessed with you by some god. You were his equal, completely unhinged, crazy, and you two were desperate for one another. 

His cock would have to wait, because he couldn’t help himself as he saw you like this, at his mercy, legs spread and inner thighs red from his ministrations. He held you at the back of your knees, your eyes widening when he bent them forward, towards your chest, and your hips raised up, your cunt facing the ceiling. He smirked at it, leaning down to take a long swipe against your wet folds, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You wanted to arch your back, but you couldn’t as his grip was tight on the back of your thighs, making your back arch downwards. A moan escaped your lips as he kept swiping his tongue on you, licking on your wetness, tasting you, and groaning at how sweet you were, relishing in the fact that he could have you like this any time he wants from now on. Your hands made the ropes clink again, as you tried to guide them to his head, to hold onto him, and you whined at the restraints.

“Eddie– Eds–” You moaned his name and his hand raised up to smack your lifted ass as it left your thigh to do so. You gasped at the feeling, keeping your knees to your chest in order not to go against him. He flicked his tongue on your clit, and your moans finally started coming out of your mouth, one after the other. He was almost eating you up, like a starved man. 

And he couldn’t get enough. He could do this all day, he could stay buried in your pussy if he could because you just tasted so good, so much better than what he anticipated, than what he had imagined. All these years of waiting paid off, because it tasted as if you were waiting for him, it tasted like you were made for him, to his taste, that someone made his favorite flavor, and it had always been you.

His tongue finally dipped inside you, and he moaned against your cunt as he felt your walls clenching around him, the ropes clinking as you thrashed your arms from the sensation, his nose bumping on your clit as he moved his head up and down, his tongue flicking inside of you, and he really was devouring you. 

Thanks to all the edging, the teasing, and how you had been wet from the very moment you saw him in the ballroom, the coil in your belly started to form rapidly. Your moans escalated in sound, and your eyes closed at how good his tongue was flicking at your walls, trying to reach that place that would make you see stars. He took his mouth off you with a gasp, getting air back in his lungs and you almost cried at the loss, only to feel one strong and large finger enter you, and curling in a come hither motion. 

“Oh, FUCK!” Your head went back into the pillows as a moan escaped from your lips, loud, the spongy part of yourself being rubbed onto over and over again. He smirked at the sight, his panting from desire being heard along your moans.

“Are you enjoying yourself little Bunny?” He asks and you nod your head desperately, tears prickling in your eyes as you feel the burning at your hip from the position and your wrists tugged onto the ropes again.

“Yes, yes, yes! Please– Please keep going!” And he was going to. He wasn’t going to edge you, not this time, because you’ve been such a good girl, even if a little bratty, you were a good girl for him. He pushed another finger inside of you, your eyes widening as both of them started rubbing you, repeatedly, your belly screaming for release. Your chest was heaving up and down as your panting increased and his movements became fast, the squelching of your cunt being heard across the room.

“Come on, cum for me. Fucking look at me while you cum.” And that you did, staring up at him with your mouth open, moans coming out as your belly finally exploded, your vision going white as you tried to keep your eyes open for him, but you knew the tears were blocking your vision. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers and you heard him curse at the feeling as he tried to keep the fast pace on you. Your legs trembled around him as his name spilled out of your lips.

“Eddie! Oh my god, SHIT!” You kept riding your orgasm against his fingers, your walls clenching and unclenching until it finally stopped, your body jolting once, then twice as Eddie slowed down his fingers on you, and once he saw you relaxing onto the bed again he pulled them out of you.

He was breathing heavily, looking down at you as he made your lower body hit the bed again, a sigh of relief mixing with your panting as you finally felt some of the burning on your hip go away. He looked at his fingers, licking your juices off of them, and through your half lidded eyes you could see him, making your pussy clench again. You wanted to laugh at how needy you were, how desperately you wanted him. 

He wasn’t going to last long, not with you having sucked his dick, and he almost busted through his boxers while eating you out. He got off the bed, not even bothering to wipe his mouth from your slick and his spit, wanting to keep your taste on his mouth for a little longer. He walked over to one side to let your left wrist go, and he rubbed the red mark that appeared on your skin. You smiled up at him and nodded, as if telling him it was okay. He then walked to the other side to let go of your other hand, followed by him ripping himself off his pants and underwear. 

You wanted to have him in your mouth again, seeing his pink tip leaking precum was enough to make you want to open your mouth and stick out your tongue, buit he had other plans for you. He got on the bed again, but before getting in between your legs, he got his hands underneath your ass and waist, turning you over and onto your stomach, a gasp coming out of your lips. 

He positioned himself behind you, lifting your hips with his fingertips digging on the flesh of your skin, marking you up. When you left your upper body on the mattress, he groaned and grabbed onto his belt again that was on the edge of the bed, almost falling over, and made a snapping sound with it before landing it against your right cheek, making you jolt up and almost squirm away from the sting. 

“In all fours, or I’ll strap you to this fucking bed without touching you again.” That made your trembling hands press against the mattress to prop yourself up instantly. You stuck your ass at him, wiggling your hips slightly, earning yourself another smack from his belt on your other cheek, a squeal escaping your lips now. Another smack on the same place, and now a moan was heard in the room as the burning increased in that area. 

“Eddie…” You whimpered and he put the belt down, grabbing your ass with one hand, and his cock with the other to finally guide it to your waiting entrance. You moaned with need when he pressed the tip against your clit and you knew what you had to do now. “Please, I need your cock, don’t tease me anymore–”

He plunged himself inside of you, a choked gasp trapping itself in your throat at the sudden massive stretch with no mercy, your eyes widening at the feeling as they immediately prickled with tears from the sting. He was halfway in, and started invading your hole, a little slow, but not quite. He groaned with a smile to his face as he felt your tight walls engulfing him.

“Yeah, this pussy was made for me… So perfect.” You whined at that, almost a whimper as he finally bottomed out and you felt him almost at your throat. He was too deep inside of you, the stretch almost painful, but it couldn’t compare to how much pleasure it gave you. You needed him to move despite the burning sensation, because your belly was screaming for him, your mind and sould needed him.

“Eds, move, please move–” You didn’t have to beg anymore. He pulled back and slammed himself back in, making the fat of your ass jiggle at his movement, and a loud moan was out of your mouth in a second. He repeated the motion until he started going at a brutal pace, and the slamming of the headboard filled the room in between your breaths and the moans. Your arms were trembling as your body went back and forth against him, his hands now at your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

You could hear the squelching of your pussy as he moved, wet from your climax and getting even wetter at finally having him, at finally feeling him inside of you, and the realization that you get to have him from this day on whenever you want. He was moaning, without shame at all because you were too warm, too beautiful, too pretty right now. His hands went towards your asscheeks, spreading them open to see your small hole, and a grin formed in his face between his jagged breaths.

“Next time– I’ll prep you, and I’ll fuck this little hole of yours. Would you like that, my sweet Bunny?” My. My. My. You were cock drunk now, not being able to think about anything else but him, and the way he was claiming you over and over again at every slam of skin against each other. 

“Yes! Yes! I’ll take anything from you–Fuck!” He wanted to laugh at that, as he smacked your ass with his hand, against the already bruising mark that was there. You groaned at that and he pressed his hips against you, harshly and deep and you choked on your own sounds at that. You were certain that if you pressed your hand against your belly, you would be able to feel the tip of his cock inside of you.

He reached out to grab hold of the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair to finally clench at your scalp, making you yelp. He pulled you upwards, your back hitting his chest as you ached it for him to keep thrusting in and out of you but he stood still. His mouth was on your ear as he breathed against it, whispering softly.

“You are so fucking perfect for me.” You smiled at that, your bodies sticking against each other's sweat. You licked your lips as you turned your head to look at him.

“I studied you too, you know…” You confessed to him, and he raised an eyebrow at you. You grabbed onto his hand that was in your waist, pulling it up towards your mouth. You put his index and ring fingers inside, sucking on them and you felt his hips start to move inside of you, at the same rhythm of your lips. You pulled them out to graze your tongue towards the belly of his palm where you suddenly bit at the flesh, harshly, marking him. His dick twitched inside of you as he moaned against your ear a smile appearing on your lips as they still latched on his skin, blood filling your mouth.

Odaxelagnia: Sexual arousal to biting or being bitten.

“You fucking slut.” He ripped his hand away from you, and despite the pain, he gripped onto your hips again, setting a brutal pace against you, your back arching against him, ass sticking out as your head rested against his shoulder. His mouth immediately found your shoulder, biting onto your skin until his teeth went through, your eyes widening at the burning and pain, but it sent an electric shock towards your belly which began its tightening again. 

“Only for you– God, just for you–!” He licked the blood that oozed out of the inflicted wound, and his other hand went towards your clit as his hips slammed against your ass, his dick hitting that perfect spongy part of yourself that made you moan almost in screams as he hit it repeatedly and without missing. His fingers started circling against your nub and your pussy clenched around him, earning a moan from his part.

“You have to come with me, I’m going to fill you up so fucking good.” He says into your ear and it comes unexpectedly, your eyes widening as his words triggered your orgasm way harsher than before, his fingers flicking on your clit rapidly as your juices gushed around him, making a mess out of your legs and his, and the comforter below you two. He cursed under his breath as his movements started faltering, stuttering.

“Eddie– Fuck, please, PLEASE–” You were still riding your orgasm out when you felt that warmth finally fill your belly, coating all of your walls as he spent his seed inside of you. He moaned loudly against your shoulder, as he kept pumping himself inside of you, your pussy clenching him to milk every single drop until you finally came down from your high and his hips stopped moving completely.

You were both breathing heavily as you tried to get some oxygen in your lungs. The room smelled like sex, your sweat, your juices, his cologne, and it was such an amazing smell to you. He groaned when he finally pulled out of you and his hand raised up to grab onto your chin, turning your head to look at him. His lips found yours again, this time, a tender kiss, a kiss of belonging, a kiss that sealed this bond between you both.

Your new home.

“You really are on the pill then.” Eddie says as he lays in his bed, a new comforter over his legs as his back is pressed against his headboard. You were naked with a towel on your hand as you dried your hair with it, walking towards him after a nice shower you both took together.

“Of course.” He groaned at that with his arms crossed over his chest, looking away. He knew it was too soon to have a kid with you, but he really wanted to claim you in every way possible, and having a family with you, was another way of doing so. You smiled at him, throwing the towel to the floor, as you got inside the bed with him. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close to him and you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Why did you decide to enter the trial?” He asks you and you hum at that question.

“My father has been trying to marry me off for the past three years… Sadly, all of my bachelors went missing, or were killed in action.” You say with a smirk to your face, and Eddie’s grin widened at that. He can still remember the screams of the men that tried to marry you, claiming you like he did. 

“I wonder what happened.” He says as if he were playing dumb. You giggled at that and nodded.

“Hmm… You didn’t know about my last bachelor, did you?” He blinked at that, and looked at you as you stared forward, a glint in your eyes that were filled with mischief, but also lust. “Right before entering the trial, my father told me I was to be set up with a new bachelor, and to be honest, he is a pretty, a very pretty boy.” You licked your lips at those words, Eddie’s attention already drawn to you as you spoke.

“Who was it sweetheart?” You turned to look at him, a wicked smile on your face.

“Harrington Jr.” Eddie’s eyes sparkled at that. The son of the Harrington Emporium. You licked your lips at him as he hummed at you, his eyes suddenly turning lustful as he looked down at you.

“Mmm… He is a pretty boy.” You turned your body to be closer to his ear as you talked in a sultry tone.

“Can I have him Eddie? Please?�� He chuckled at that, but a new obsession was growing in his head, storming his mind. “I’ll share him, I promise…”

“We can plan on him being the next White Rabbit.” He says and your chest was filled with excitement as your hand reached for his cheek to make him turn to you, licking your lips as you talked.

“I’m the hunter next year.”

“He’s all yours.”

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny, you're so funny with your twitching nose.

Second part maybe? Do you guys want Stevie?

REBLOGS MAKE ME REALLY HAPPY YOU KNOW.

A/N: Yeah, kinda came out of my shell with this one, I hope you all like it, and if you don't well, you do you booboo. TO ALL MY FRIENDS THAT WAITED FOR THIS, HERE YOU GO, I LOVE YOU, MWAH.

[cloakedsparrow]

Bat Family 'Bruce is Tim's biological parent' AU Idea #1

Wherein Jack Drake: a) Regularly tags along on archaeological digs despite not being an archaeologist. b) Commonly smuggles home archaeological finds despite that not being legal. c) Does not believe in curses, hauntings, or any mythology despite the world that he lives in being populated with *gestures at comics* all that.

As a result, Jack is like a magnet for cursed objects and keeps smuggling the damned things home.

The first time little Timmy suspects this is happening, he knows his dad won't respond well to him suggesting the most recent package he sent home is haunted. He knows he'll respond even worse if he tries to get anyone else involved. So he sends his mom a private email explaining what's going on. Janet replies that he's right to be suspicious, that this has absolutely happened before, and that he was right to contact her. She tells him she's sending over a friend who can help and gives him a password that she'll tell the friend so he knows it's okay to let him in the house.

John Constantine shows up within the hour. Tim is certain he didn't drive there (the alert that someone passed through the gates never went off and no one put in a code to open them) but there is a cursed object in his house and John knew the password Janet gave him, so he's mostly just happy to have an adult there to handle the situation. Even if a somewhat bizarre adult.

John takes care of the cursed object and is impressed that Tim reacted to it much faster than most do. He gives Tim his card with instructions to call him if anything like what was happening starts to happen again or if anything else weird starts happening after his father has been to any digs or sent home any strange packages.

As Jack is the aforementioned cursed object magnet, Tim ends up calling John fairly often for someone who doesn't actively work with the occult and is, in fact, a child. John keeps praising him for catching on as quick as he does and giving him information to catch onto other types of mystical/magical wickedness. Tim gets really good at recognizing when magic/curses/spirits are at play.

Then, Janet dies and Jack goes into a coma. Tim is fostered by Bruce for a year and a half and doesn't have to worry about curses or haunted objects for all that time. When they do come across something of the occult, Bruce/Batman has his own contacts, so there was never a reason for Tim to bring any of it up.

Then, the events of Identity Crisis/Crisis of Conscience occur, and Bruce doesn't want to talk to Zatanna (his usual mystic go-to) if it can be helped. He doesn't want to call in anyone connected to most of the Justice League if it can be helped.

So when they come across a cursed object, Tim immediately identifies it and tells Bruce not to worry, he knows a guy who can handle it. The man knows his civilian identity, so they'll have to pretend Bruce bought the object as part of an action or estate sale lot.

John comes and handles it. Before he leaves he comments that he's glad Tim's biological father finally decided to step up and that Bruce better take good care of the boy.

When Tim explains that Bruce isn't his father, the look on John's face clearly shows that he's trying to figure out how to back-step, but not in the expected way. More in the 'I let on information i wasn't supposed to' way.

Which is how Bruce and Tim end up running a paternity test in the Cave at four am.

Alfred and Dick are delighted by the results.

[Alternative ending: John pulls Bruce aside to let him know that Janet told him Jack wasn't Tim's father and that both he and Bruce were on the short list and he hadn't known Jack died or he'd have contacted him already. They have to wait to find out which of them is the lucky one. Either Bruce turns out to be the father and John just lets Tim know he can still call him whenever needed or it turns out John is the father and they decide Tim should still stay with Bruce but John has visitations. Also, Tim might have been showing signs of his Homo Magi heritage when he recognized all these cursed objects. John insists on teaching him to use his magic despite Bruce's unease with it.]

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 3 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Australia, sir."

Bucky froze in place when he heard that. Australia? It was so unlike you. In all the time you spent together, you always talked about visiting Europe. That was your dream—to save enough money to open a café there, buy a boat, and travel around the continent.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter now. At least he finally knew where you were.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded.

After his security team gave him the location, Bucky immediately called his pilot to prepare the plane. Within minutes, he was on his private jet, accompanied by his assistant, who sat nervously across from him.

The assistant hesitated before asking, “Sir, when do you want to reschedule the meeting?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his phone. “If I’m not in the company, there’s a vice president. Let him attend the meeting instead. The company pays him a high salary for a reason. If he makes the wrong agreement at the meeting, I’ll fire him.”

The assistant swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the pen in his lap. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the cushion as silence settled between them. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin. His gaze drifted to the window, the clouds blurring past.

The matter of this marriage was far more complicated than any company matter.

He broke the silence. “Do you ever have marriage trouble?”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question. “Uh… yes, sir.”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward him. “Have you ever argued to the point where your wife left the house?”

The assistant hesitated, his hands stilling. “That’s… no, sir. We argue sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I see.”

His situation wasn’t like those couples who separated after endless fights. This marriage was different—it was based on a contract. There was no need for messy legal proceedings or divorce lawyers. No drawn-out drama. It was supposed to be simple, painless.

But it wasn’t.

He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pressing against his temple as memories of his parents’ divorce flashed through his mind. He’d witnessed it all—the yelling, the accusations, the blame. He could still remember the cold, suffocating atmosphere in the negotiation room as both sides tore each other apart. And they’d forced him, a child, to sit there and watch.

They called it love once, but what he saw was anything but. His parents acted like children while he was expected to be the adult.

Marriage was supposed to be a union between two mature individuals who respected its meaning. His parents may have loved each other once, but they destroyed that love with betrayal and adultery.

It was full of lies and deception. For young Bucky, hearing the arguments was painful. Even now, he still feels a lingering resentment toward his parents.

Bucky shook his head, clearing the bitter thoughts. He’d never wanted a traditional marriage because of them. When his grandfather, Paul, had told him he needed to marry to inherit the company, Bucky had been clueless about what to do.

That’s when he remembered a friend mentioning a matchmaking agency. “It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” his friend had said.

And it was expensive—but it was worth it. With you, he’d fulfilled his grandfather’s condition and taken over the company. You were his perfect partner.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He rubbed his chin as he rewound every moment he’d spent with you, searching for something he might have missed. He couldn’t think of a single instance where he had disrespected you. Both of you respected each other’s personal space and schedules. He knew you had a close relationship with Grace, your best friend.

Friends.

Friends?

His brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, Grace was the only friend of yours he really knew. While you had met most of his circle, he knew almost nothing about yours.

Bucky leaned forward, clasping his hands together tightly. After giving it more thought, he realized the imbalance in your marriage. He was the dominant one, the one whose needs and routines shaped the relationship.

And he had barely noticed.

His jaw tightened, the weight of his ignorance sinking in. For the first time, he wondered if that was why you left.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After a long flight, Bucky’s plane finally touched down at the destination. He had managed to close his eyes during the journey, but rest was impossible—his thoughts were consumed by you. Memories, questions, and unspoken words replayed endlessly in his mind.

As he stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit his face, bringing a brief sense of clarity. The head of his security team approached him immediately.

"Sir, we’ve found her location," the man reported.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The security detail led Bucky toward the docks, their hurried footsteps crunching against the gravel. His heart was pounding, each step feeling heavier as the weight of anticipation bore down on him. He scanned the area, his sharp eyes searching frantically for any sign of you.

And then, he saw you.

There you were, standing near the edge of the dock, the soft breeze tugging at your hair as you stared out at the endless horizon. The setting sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look almost ethereal, like a mirage he’d conjured in his desperation.

His breath hitched. Relief washed over him first, flooding his chest so quickly that it nearly brought him to his knees. After days of relentless searching, and agonizing over where you could be, there you were—within reach.

But then came the ache. A sharp, searing pain in his chest that he hadn’t expected. Seeing you standing so calmly as if the world hadn’t turned upside down for him, struck a chord deep within. You looked so at peace, so distant, and he couldn’t understand it.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He closed the distance between you in long, determined strides, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. Relief, anger, confusion, longing—it all melded together as his voice broke through the silence.

He called your name, loud and raw, the sound carrying across the water.

You turned, startled, your wide eyes locking with his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He saw the flicker of surprise on your face, the way your lips parted slightly as if you were about to say something. But what shook him most was what he didn’t see.

There was no regret in your eyes.

Bucky’s chest tightened, his fists clenching instinctively at his sides. How could you look at him like that—so calm, so unaffected—when he’d been unraveling without you? He reached you in a few quick strides, his hand shooting out to grab yours before you could move another step.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he called out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. You turned, visibly startled but composed, no trace of regret on your face.

He didn’t stop running until he reached you, grabbing your hand before you could step onto the yacht. "Why did you leave?" he demanded, his tone raw with frustration. "Didn’t I say we’d talk this through?"

You look at him, your eyes steady but filled with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to continue the marriage contract."

“I know.” He fell silent, his gaze locking onto yours. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

"No," you replied, shaking your head with a soft smile. "Didn’t you get the letter I left for you?"

Bucky frowned, the words unsettling him. The letter? What could it possibly say that justified this?

"It’s not you," you said, your tone steady. "It’s me."

"Lies," he shot back, his voice clipped with disbelief.

"It’s not," you insisted firmly.

"Explain it to me like I’m five years old," he demanded, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "In the contract, we promised no lies, no deception. We even agreed that if one of us developed feelings, the marriage would end before things got messy."

Your gaze softened as you added, "Bucky, I love you."

The confession hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him stunned and speechless. He had braced himself for accusations, for anger, but not this.

You took advantage of his silence, gently pulling your hand free from his grasp. You turned to the captain of the yacht and gave a subtle nod, signaling him to start the engine.

As the boat began to drift away from the dock, Bucky’s senses returned. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Anywhere," you replied, your words floating back to him.

Standing at the edge of the dock, he could only watch as the boat carried you farther away.

From your place on the yacht, you glanced back at him. “What a fool,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I told everyone not to let you find me.”

The captain, standing at the helm, turned to you and asked, “How far do you want to go?”

"Keep sailing until I say stop," you said, your tone resolute.

"Alright," the captain replied, steering the yacht into the open sea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The yacht moved steadily through the endless expanse of blue, its wake cutting a gentle path through the water. You stood at the edge of the deck, the wind brushing against your face, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. The horizon stretched infinitely, meeting the sky in a blur of hazy gold and blue. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze tangle your hair and the sun warm your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you thought. The kind of beauty that felt untouched, unclaimed—exactly what you were searching for.

“This is it,” you murmured, barely audible to yourself.

With steady steps, you approached the captain’s cabin. He glanced at you briefly, his expression questioning.

“Stop here,” you said.

“Are you sure?” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes.” Your answer was firm, final.

He nodded and went to work, releasing the anchor with a heavy clunk as it descended into the ocean’s depths. The yacht slowed to a gentle halt, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the waves.

Without hesitation, you peeled off your clothes, revealing the simple swimsuit underneath. The air felt cool against your skin, but it didn’t matter. You stepped to the edge of the deck, your toes curling over the rim. For a brief second, you inhaled deeply, and then you leaped.

The water embraced you like an old friend. It was cold but refreshing, its weight washing over you, pulling you into its quiet, endless depths. You swam, letting your body move freely, unbound by the constraints of gravity or obligation.

You dove deeper, the light above you diffusing into shimmering rays that danced like silver ribbons. Down here, there were no walls to confine you, no contracts to dictate your actions. It was just you and the ocean—an infinite space where you could finally breathe.

For the first time in years, you felt free.

You floated on your back, staring up at the vast sky. The sun cast a golden glow across the water’s surface, making it sparkle like liquid diamonds. You let out a long breath, your body rising and falling with the gentle waves. This was what you had been looking for—a release from the weight of expectations and the burden of feeling tethered to things you didn’t truly want.

You didn’t understand why, but in this moment of letting go—of money, of love, of the life you’d meticulously built—you felt alive.

All your life, it had been about money. Growing up with a father whose high income only highlighted what was still lacking, you learned early that nothing was ever enough. There was always another competition to win, another prize to chase. Independence wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.

Money became your anchor, the thing that kept you afloat. You thrived on it, obsessed over it. You checked your bank accounts daily, reveling in the sight of green numbers climbing higher and higher. It was intoxicating, the sense of control and success that came with it.

Each time you earned more money, it was a step closer to impressing your parents. Impressing them became a lifelong goal—one that would finally make them say, “We’re proud of you.” But no matter how much you earned, it was never enough.

And then there was love—a concept you understood in theory but never cared to possess. Money filled the void better than any romantic notion ever could. Love was messy, complicated, and it demanded sacrifices you weren’t willing to make. Money didn’t ask for your vulnerability; it only required your focus, your ambition, your endless thirst for more.

The two were the same, you realized. Money and love—they both left you parched, chasing something that always seemed just out of reach.

Then what were the other things that made you confront money and love at the same time?

When you joined the matchmaking agency to find a wealthy partner, you hadn’t really thought it through. There wasn’t a grand plan, just the vague hope of finding someone who could meet your terms. Honestly, you expected the candidates to be older men—someone seeking a companion to attend events with, nothing more. You had even specified one unique condition in your profile: no intimacy.

So, it came as a shock when the person who agreed to your circumstances turned out to be Bucky Barnes—a man only two years older than you. Not only that, but he was willing to pay an impressive amount to seal the deal.

When it was Bucky’s turn to lay out his requirements, everything seemed to align perfectly. He needed a partner who could convincingly play the role of a devoted spouse, just long enough for him to inherit his family’s company. You knew you could handle that. Pretending to be his loving wife? It felt like an easy role to play.

His parents were simple to fool, far less intimidating than your own strict, demanding family. The real challenge, however, was his grandfather, Paul. With his sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, Paul had a knack for spotting liars. Yet, even he couldn’t see through you. You gave him exactly what he longed for—a granddaughter-in-law who treated him with genuine care. That part was easy because you understood what it felt like to crave love and approval.

The first year flew by without a hitch. You and Bucky played your roles to perfection. The arrangement opened doors for both of you—financially and socially. When the time came to discuss extending the contract for another year, you agreed without hesitation. The benefits far outweighed any drawbacks.

But then, somewhere in the second year, things began to shift. You started to feel something for Bucky—something dangerous. It wasn’t part of the deal, and you hated yourself for it. From the start, Bucky had been upfront about his feelings—or lack thereof. For him, love was a waste of time. He had no use for romance, and you had respected that. Until now.

You couldn’t stop it, though. No matter how hard you tried to suppress your emotions, they crept in, uninvited. It was written clearly in your agreement: no feelings, no complications. If either party broke that rule, the contract would be terminated immediately.

So, you buried your feelings as best you could. Love was messy, unpredictable, and it made you want things you couldn’t have. It filled your mind with fantasies, leaving you restless and craving more. And you despised it.

You just needed to hold on a little longer.

But then, everything changed.

Two days before the marriage contract was set to end, something happened—something you hadn’t anticipated.

And in that moment, you realized nothing would ever be the same again.

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