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mischievousmoony · 5 months ago

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𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜'

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters' . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 2.6k

⟢ warnings: abusive parents, blood, cuts, head injury

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: i wrote this for fun and never expected to be posting it so i hope it's not bad... i actually never expected to be posting ever again but here i am ;) anyway i’d like to give this a part two (or more!) but i’m not sure what should happen next

An eerie silence overtook 12 Grimmauld Place on what had so far been an unremarkable summer night.

Not even the usual sounds of activity fell upon your ears. No creaks from the old floorboards in the hallway outside your door. No scratches against your window from the oak branch that desperately needed trimming.

No cracks from your father smacking one of your brothers for ‘disappointing’ him. No shrills from your mother fussing about whatever she decided would upset her that night.

Nothing.

It was complete, utter silence—a silence that would send a shiver down most people’s spine in a house like this.

As ancient as it is, the walls had witnessed countless tragic displays from the Black ancestors who came before you. These walls are soaked in dark memories, and any visitor would attest that they seep negative energy, drowning those that stay too long. As a resident, you’ve grown used to the sinking feeling in your stomach that comes with being in this house of horrors.

Silent nights like this were something to be grateful for. You could lie in bed, close your eyes, and imagine you were anywhere else. Tonight, it was Hogwarts that you longed for.

Perhaps you were in your dormitory, about to drift off after a long day of classes.

Or perhaps you were in the library, studying in the quiet lull of busy students focusing on their work. Perhaps you were even there on a study date with a certain brunette Quidditch captain. Your brother would certainly have a conniption if he knew this particular boy invaded your daydreams.

You almost drifted off to sleep as this fantasy played like a film on the back of your eyelids. Were those hushed voices you could hear? Had your imagination become so powerful that you could hear students whispering about their assignments?

Certainly not. The voices were real and coming from somewhere in the house. Your brows furrowed and you strained to listen. Not to eavesdrop, but rather to determine where exactly these voices were coming from.

You held your breath to listen more closely. Had the voices stopped? Just as you were settling back down to lose yourself in your imagination again, a long, blood-curdling scream jolted you upright from where you lay in bed.

If you learned anything at the hands of your parents, it was how to discern what was happening just by the sound of your brothers’ screams. You could tell that the scream belonged to a very much in pain Sirius. But the intensity of it was nothing like you’ve heard before. You itched to run to his aid.

"Don’t do anything."

A memory of Sirius’ voice echoed in your mind.

"No matter what you hear, you stay in your room and you wait for one of us to come to you."

You always did what you were told, no matter how much you ached to check on your brothers in moments like these. After all, as your brothers claimed, it would only hurt them more if they had to watch what happened to them happen to you, especially if it was just because you wanted to see if they were okay.

You were the youngest, technically only by two minutes when it came to Regulus, but still, both of your older brothers were fiercely protective over you.

Another spell of silence settled over Grimmauld Place after your brother’s scream. The only noise you could hear now was your heart beating out of your chest.

That’s what you listened to for twenty long minutes. Your heart rate maintained its rapid pace, as it always did until you saw one of your brothers in the aftermath of the assault.

Apart from your trembling hands, you sat completely still, waiting and waiting for one of them to come. The longer it took, the more fear built up in your stomach.

Finally, the sound of booming footsteps landed on your ears as someone barreled up the staircase. Two steps at a time, heavy, and fast. This step pattern was easily distinguished as Sirius’, and you finally stood up from your bed, staring at your door impatiently.

Sirius burst into your room like a bullet escaping the barrel of a gun. In one swift motion, your brother hauled your empty trunk out from under your bed and dropped it on top.

He unlatched it and tossed it open, “We’re leaving. For good. Pack only the important stuff.”

“What happened?” You reached for your brother's arm to force his attention toward you. He hadn’t looked you in the eye once since entering your room.

His clothes were completely disheveled. As you scanned every thread that was out of place, you noticed that his body was twitching every now and then. His hands trembled, and there was blood on his fingertips. Looking up at his face, you saw the source of blood—a wound hidden behind his hair. He had smeared away what blood had trickled down his forehead with his hands.

“You need to sit down.” You worried he could have a concussion.

Sirius took you by the shoulders and thrust you in the direction of your wardrobe. “What I need to do is find out where our parents hide the bloody floo powder. Pack.”

Sirius’ tone was authoritative and his grave expression made your mouth run dry. Before you could utter words of agreement, he was gone.

With a wave of your wand, your school books and supplies packed themselves. Meanwhile, you tore through your wardrobe, grabbing the essentials. You moved on quickly to grab whatever else you couldn’t live without: photographs of you and your brothers, letters of love that were hidden behind mirrors, gifted trinkets that you’ve grown attached to, and an ancient bracelet adorned with emeralds.

As you clicked your trunk shut, Sirius appeared once again with a crystal jar under his left arm, which also balanced his own trunk. His wand was held defensively in his other hand.

“Let’s go,” Sirius said flatly.

You followed him closely down the stairs to the drawing room.

Sirius placed the crystal jar on the mantle of the fireplace. You glanced back in the direction from which you came.

“And Regulus?” You asked, wondering where your twin brother was. He would be joining you, wouldn’t he?

Sirius had an unreadable look on his face as he paused to answer you. Before he could, the shrill voice of your mother interrupted, “What do you think you are doing!?”

Sirius grabbed you forcefully by the arms and shoved you into the fireplace. Your right elbow scraped across the brick like chalk as Sirius was acting too fast to be careful.

“Don’t you dare!” your mother bellowed and began casting hexes straight at you and your brother, aiming to maim. Luckily, Sirius was quite skilled with protego after all these years.

In between casting protection spells, Sirius shoved his hand into the crystal jar and collected a heap of floo powder. He thrust the soft, emerald powder into your palm. “Go to the Potters! I’ll be right behind you.”

As always, you did what your brother told you to. In a flash, you were stumbling into the cozy living room of the Potter's house in Godric’s Hollow.

Your eyes and mouth were filled with soot, and you nearly tripped on the carpet as you stumbled blindly away from the fireplace. Instead of falling, you ran right into something solid. Calloused hands landed on your upper arms. You blinked soot from your eyes to meet the gaze of James Potter.

“What’s happened?” His tone was laced with worry as he scanned your body for injuries. He gently picked up your right arm, inspecting the scuffed, bleeding skin. He winced as if the injury was his own.

You didn't answer. Instead, you turned to watch the fireplace. Feelings of anxiety swirled in the pit of your stomach as you waited for your brother. You thanked Merlin when he arrived just a few moments later.

He was coughing when he stepped in and fell to the ground almost immediately.

James regarded you briefly, holding his hands out to you as if to say “hold on” before leaving your side. He rushed to his best friend and yelled for his parents as he tried to determine the problem. Sirius’ skin began to swell and turn sickly shades of red. You recognized this as the effects of your mother’s stinging jinx.

James’ parents rushed into the room with panic written across their faces. They were in their nightwear and had their wands at the ready to defend their boy from any trouble he might be in. As they took in the scene in front of them, they discarded their wands and quickly came to yours and your brother’s rescue.

Fleamont Potter offered to take you to a guest room, insisting that you shouldn’t see your brother like this. You refused, wanting to stay with Sirius as Euphemia worked quickly to counteract the stinging jinx. Fleamont, like James, couldn’t hide the worry from his face as you settled in on the couch.

Your eyes were trained on your brother, but you began to feel sick watching him in all that pain. You shifted your gaze to the empty fireplace and wondered if Regulus would be the next to come through. You tried to shut out your other brother’s groans and cries as you stared desperately into the fireplace.

With a mix of Euphemia’s healing spells and the application of some herby poultice that was perviously prepared by Fleamont, Sirius’ swelling subsided and his groans turned into occasional whimpers.

You were able to stomach looking at Sirius again, but your face still showed levels of worry and unease.

Almost as soon as your eyes fluttered back to Sirius, James took notice of your worry. Confident in his mother's ability to tend to any other injuries Sirius may have, he to came you.

He moved slowly, as if approaching a frightened cat. You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Y/N,” He called gently, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You tore your gaze away from your older brother to look into the young Potters’ eyes.

“I don’t know why Regulus isn’t here,” you told James. You just wanted someone else to share this concern with.

James chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Well… when Sirius is better, we’ll find out what he knows about that. Okay?”

Your lower lip trembled as you choked out, “I’m scared for him.”

James offered a sad smile, “I know. We’ll find out as soon as we can, alright? But all we can do for now is make sure you and Sirius are okay. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You let your gaze drift away from James and back to your brother once again. He seemed to be in good hands with Euphemia and now Fleamont.

You nodded, giving James the okay. He had a gentle hold on your upper arm as he led you up off the couch. You followed him through his house until he guided you into the bathroom and sat you down on the lid of the toilet.

James sifted through the bathroom cabinets until he pulled out a yellowing pouch, stained with age, and a washcloth which he saturated with warm water.

James held out a hand toward you. “Can I take care of that elbow, m’dear.”

You placed your forearm in James’ palm while his other hand got to work on cleaning your cut skin. As gentle as James was being, you winced anyway. Seeming fearful of causing you more pain, James managed to be even gentler.

Once satisfied, James lost the washcloth and dipped his hand into the pouch that he recovered from the cabinet. The contents he pulled out look considerably fresher than the bag itself, thankfully.

First, he took out bandages, followed by a clear jar that contained a sticky looking yellow jelly. He scooped up a generous amount on his pointer finger and applied it to your skin.

As he worked, he kept stealing glances at you, building up the courage to ask what all the Potter’s were surely wondering that night. He decided to bite the bullet, “Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

You explained all that you knew, detailing the events from the moment you heard your brother’s scream to the moment you fell into James’ arms.

“Don’t know what they did to make him scream like that.” You shuddered at the possibilities.

James was applying a bandage to you now. “‘S okay. He’s doing better now. My parents probably have him all tucked in bed and fast asleep.”

James endearingly tapped your nose, “Let’s do the same for you, yeah?”

“I wanna talk to Sirius,” you protested.

“Like I said, my parents probably have him in bed by now. Come on, I promise we’ll get all your questions answered first thing in the morning.”

You sighed but agreed. James led you through his house once again: up the stairs, down the hall, and through the third door on the left. It was a small room with just a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.

“Just a moment,” James said and disappeared into the hall. Seconds later, he was back with a Gryffindor t-shirt and some sweats. “Here, you can wear these. I’ll bring your trunk up in the morning.”

James dipped out of the room once again to give you privacy to change. As you removed your shirt, you noticed bloody fingerprints on the shoulder and sleeves where Sirius had held onto you. You threw the shirt into the bin under the desk.

Once dressed in James’ loaner clothing, you sat on the bed. Light knocks peppered the door and you called for, presumably, James to come in. James entered with a glass of water in hand.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking a few sips from the glass before handing it back. He placed it on the desk for you.

James then helped you settle into the flowery, purple sheets, “Comfy?”

You nodded up at him.

“I’m, uh, just across the hall, alright?” James turned to leave. He stopped by the light switch and looked back at you.

He took notice of your expression, which brought a frown to his lips. Your eyebrows were drawn in as you stared straight ahead at the wall and the corners of your mouth were turned down slightly. You barely even blinked as James studied the far away look in your eyes.

James wanted to be by your side. He wanted to kiss you and hug you and tell you everything would be alright. But something about kissing you while your brother, his best friend, lay injured and clueless down the hall made him feel guilty.

James sighed and flicked off the light. The door was pushed into its frame, but James hadn’t left the room. Instead, he approached the bed and sat on the edge of it by your feet. You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look at him curiously.

“Gonna keep you company till you fall asleep, that okay?” James whispered an explanation.

You’re not sure if he could see your nod in the dark, but you were too tired to use your voice.

You sank back into the pillow and allowed your eyes to shut. A light pressure could be felt on your calf. James had rested his hand there, over the blanket. He slowly dragged his hand up and down, and you let his stroke lull you to sleep.

The last thing you heard before drifting off into a dream was a quiet whisper from James' lips, "'M gonna keep you safe here."

next part

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sweetadonisbutbetter · 8 months ago

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Good day to you, I adore your stories and it would be interesting to read fan fiction about the Hotel Hazbin Adam×Reader | woman| as Adam's third wife who is pregnant with his child, what will be his actions before birth and after, if it seems strange to you, then you can not write or not respond to my request, I will not be offended💗) Have a nice day/evening Sorry for my bad English, I'm Spanish;^

RAHHH THANK UOU SMM ☹️☹️ it’s not strange to me i would love to write this 😁😁 also yr english is perfect!!! i will write this as if they were in heaven, so it’s a little more shocking, and it will be a mix of a fic and headcanons

New Life, even after Death | Adam x AFAB!Pregnant!Reader

Relationship: Romantic Warnings: MENTIONS OF (PAST) ABUSE!! it is a brief mention and doesn't carry much weight but it is there regardless. Mentions of pregancy and birth, light NSFW, Adam being Adam

You needed to check if your eyes were seeing things correctly, or if you needed glasses. After all, there wasn’t any way that you were seeing two lines. You stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. After a moment, you snapped out of it before hurriedly grabbing the other test that sat on the counter and using it.

Now you had 7 tests in front of you, all with two pink lines on the little screen. You were holding the last one, waiting with anticipation to see what it would say. However, you knew what it was going to say, the previous ones had the same response. You had to face the reality that you were pregnant.

You are pregnant.

You were wracking your brain as to how this could be possible. You were in the afterlife, there was no way you could be pregnant. Not that you weren't overjoyed, you were elated. In life, you had trouble conceiving, much to your disappointment. It seemed that your husband at the time was also disappointed, killing you after your nth attempt and nothing to show for it. In your final moment, you couldn't help but feel a bit relieved, thankful that you had never had children with that man, in fear that he would do the same to them. After passing with no biological children of your own, you had grown to accept that you wouldn't ever have any.

When you first entered heaven, you were uneasy with how many children's souls there were. However, with time, you grew to enjoy the company of them. Playing with them while on your way to places or when you had the time, before either you had to leave or they were called out too. It warmed your heart and helped heal that small part of you that mourned never having kids. It helped you strive to be better and to experience the joys of being a mother. It was also how you had met your current husband, Adam.

You have no idea how it happened; one moment one of the children was introducing you to the first man, next thing you know, you were walking down the aisle with him standing at the end. You weren't one to complain, he was so sweet and patient with you. He was the first one you told your past to, from your childhood to your trouble conceiving, to even your terrible first husband. He held you tight as you cried and recounted the last half of your life. In turn, he told you of his life on earth. His life was like being married twice, and raising his kids and ancestors. His favorite pastime was watching humanity, the small acts of kindness from one person to another.

Of course, he had his faults, he was human. He would mock and laugh when people did stupid things. When someone he saw as not worth his time, he was known to wave them off without much thought. He would get angry over the smallest of things, and throw small tantrums when he didn't go away. Ever clingy when there was another male, in fear of losing you much like he did both of Lilith and Eve. You could list all his faults and flaws, yes, however, you could also list his virtues.

All in all, you loved your husband and knew that he loved you in return. It seemed that now, you both would have something to love just as much. You dragged yourself out of your thoughts as you looked down at the test, seeing that it had the results.

You stood in the bathroom that you shared with Adam, holding the final pregnancy test as it showed the same results; the same two pink lines that repeated over each test. Overwhelmed at the prospect of having a child now, you fell to your knees as tears began to build up in your eyes. You were going to have a baby.

A baby.

The thought became overwhelming and you sank into a full-on sob. There you were on your shared bathroom floor, crying like a baby as your wings were wrapped around you, doing your best to soothe yourself. Clutching the pregnancy test to your chest, you hunched over so that your stomach was touching your knees. You were so happy, so sad, so confused at the whole thing that once you finished crying, you just sat there for a while, staring at the wall. You were so out of it that you didn’t hear the knocking at the door or someone walking in.

“Hey sorry to barge in but Adam is looking for yo-oh.” A voice snapped you out. You turn to the voice and see Lute, still fresh in her exterminator outfit. Once she gets a good look at your face, she tenses for a moment, before dropping her weapon and rushing to your side. “Hey- is..is everything alright? What happened?”

Unable to say anything, you pull the test away from your chest, showing Lute. She took a moment, looking at you weirdly before taking it. After a while, her eyes widened as she turned to you.

“How?” She questioned, to which you could only sob-laugh in response. She didn’t say anything, just looking at the test that was still in her hands. You both sat there on the floor for a while, before another voice rang out in the house.

“Hey, sugar tits. I’m home.” Shuffling came from the front of the house as you and Lute shot up, looking at one another. Both of you scramble to your feet and leave the bathroom, grabbing all the numerous tests and taking the one from Lute. “Damn. Where the fuck is she? She normally runs to greet me.”

Lute picks up her weapon and leaves the bathroom first. She hesitates for a moment, looking back at you with a twinge of concern, to which you nod, assuring her to go ahead.

“Go ahead. I just…need to gather my bearings first.” She nods and leaves. As she leaves, you hear Adam begin to question her. Now alone in the bathroom once more for a few moments, you do your best to make it look like you weren’t sobbing your eyes out and figure out how to tell him.

You can’t help but think of his reaction. Would he be happy? Upset? You couldn’t fathom the idea of him getting upset, recounting his stories of when he took care of his firstborn. The fondness that was not only in his tone but also in his face showed that he did enjoy being a father. However, it had been over a millennia since he took care of a baby. Would he even want kids? You shake the thought and take in a deep, albeit shaky, breath. Leaving the bathroom and going to the front of your home, there you saw Adam. He stood by the front door, his mask removed and looking entirely bored of the conversation he was currently having with Lute. His eyes lazily move across the room before they land on you, he seemingly brightens before ignoring Lute and running to you. He grabs you by your side, spinning you before pulling you into a kiss.

Startled by his reaction at first, it took you a moment before you returned the kiss. Placing one arm is thrown over his shoulder while the other flies to his hair, gripping it. You make sure to keep the test firm in your grasp and not drop any. Feeling him smirk into the kiss, he begins to nip at your lip, attempting to deepen the kiss. You hear Lute clear her throat, stopping both you and Adam from furthering the kiss. Adam smacks his teeth in annoyance, looking at Lute.

“What? Can’t you see I am greeting my beautiful wife?” He says, squeezing you a little closer to him. Lute rolls her eyes before looking at you at the hand that had 7 tests back to you. You don’t say anything but instead smile softly at her, assuring her she can leave. She nods to you, taking her leave. With Lute gone, Adam smirks, before looking at you and snuggling his face into your neck. Giggling at the feeling of his stubble tickling your cheek, you pull him away by his hair. He grunts softly, the tug not too painful for him. You spend a moment looking at him, smiling at the look of your husband as you swear he has hearts in his eyes. You opened your mouth with the intent to greet him, however it seemed that your voice didn’t agree with what you wanted.

“I’m pregnant.”

Once again, it takes a moment before Adam responded.

“What?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

He passes out lol

He was not expecting that information after coming back from an extermination

Once he wakes up, you hand him the various tests, all showing that you are indeed pregnant

Very confused as to how you are pregnant like you both are dead? nothing should be working as it would

You both go to the seraphim and ask if they know what is going on

They don't lol

If anything, they are the MOST confused as to how this is happening

After the initial confusion, Adam is overjoyed to be a father again!

Literally tells everyone he talks to in any manner

"HEY FUCKFACE I GOT MY WIFE PREGNANT!" "Adam. That's the mailman." "HE NEEDS TO KNOW-" "Sweetie, no-"

In other words, word spreads fast.

Before you know it, all of heaven is literally congratulating you when you step out of your house

A lot of glaring at Adam, who just smiles and acts all innocent

Now that he knows, say bye-bye to independence.

Of course, he will give you space when you need it, but if you don't say anything he is most definitely hovering over you.

In your first trimester, he isn't as clingy, actually the most laid back throughout the entirety of your pregnancy.

Second and Third are his worst phases, never leaving your side at ALL- literally walked into the women's restroom after you (you promptly kicked him out, stating you just needed to piss)

When you start to show, he coos at your stomach, touches it, and sings rock songs to it.

Also will get you clothing that pronounces your pregnant belly

sure he would get you loose, more comfortable clothing too, but literally is so obsessed with your belly

Compliments you all the time, rubs you from head to toe when you ask

Coaxes and reassures you that he loves you, even as your body changes

Speaking of body changing: boobs

He will grow more obsessed with your boobs as they grow bigger from the milk

Will ask you numerous times throughout and post-pregnancy if he can drink from them

Kinda won’t stop until you cave, he just wants to try it so bad. The last time he dealt with a pregnant woman, was Eve and at that time he didn’t even know it was an OPTION. so seriously heaven-bent on trying it

His other kids, the ones he had with Eve, are elated to have a new half-sibling.

Because of this, when you throw a parent shower (You and Adam elected to be surprised for the gender), you gain a ton of stuff. Somehow got 3 strollers, a huge chunk of clothing for about the first 1.5 years of the baby's life, and a lot of toys.

The seraphims even went and gave you a personal gift for you and you alone.

Even with all the preparation, when your water broke, Adam was NOT prepared in the slightest.

Panicked and forgot all the important stuff while you were hunched over, holding your tummy as you waited to be fully dilated.

You had a private room to yourself to give birth, Adam by your side the whole time, a worried look on his face. He remembered when Eve gave birth, the pain and fear on her face mirrored that of yours.

However, in the end, everything was alright.

After squeezing the life out of Adam’s hand, most likely cutting off all circulation in it, you gave birth to a little girl.

Adam was beyond elated, loving his little girl so much even though she was covered in vernix, blood, and mucus.

Having mainly sons, anytime his daughters just existed in front of him, he couldn’t help but be elated at their existence.

Couldn’t wait to hold his daughter and feel her tiny hand wrapped around his finger

Not that he wasn’t checking up on you the whole time, he was.

When the doctor and nurses who helped deliver his daughter whisked her away to clean her, his attention was solely on you

Murmuring against your skin, telling you how great you did, how lovely of a job you did, and overall praising you and making sure you were okay.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“She’s okay?” You say, panting and entirely exhausted. He nodded and kissed your forehead.

“She is perfectly fine. What about you mamas? How are you?” He asked, wiping the hair that clung to your sweaty forehead. You could only nod as you tried to catch your breath. He smiles, relieved that you are okay.

You both stay there for a while while waiting for the doctor to come back. While waiting, you can’t help but think of how surreal this all was. You were finally having your baby, after your whole living life of wanting one, praying, and getting nothing in return. But now? You were watching the door for the doctor or nurse to walk in at any moment with your little girl, as your husband held your hand and stroked your hair.

Eventually, a nurse entered the room, with a small bundle of pink and purple. Adam stayed by your side as the nurse made his way to your side, handing your baby to you.

“She is perfectly healthy. Just wanting mom at the moment.” He says before leaving you, your daughter, and Adam. Holding her in your arms was a type of bliss you couldn’t help but tear up over. Here she was, your joy, the love of your life, your world, planet, and stars. Tears slip out as you kiss her forehead, the feeling of her wispy hair tickling your lips.

“She looks like you.” Adam softly says after a moment. You look at him and see he has the look of utter softness and love on his face. You smile in return, tears still running down your cheek.

“What? She just came out? I don’t think she looks like anyone just yet.” You say as Adam presses his hand against your cheek, wiping away some of your tears with his thumb.

“I know. But if she is anything like you, I just know she is going to light up the whole afterlife.”

You sob a little more, putting your hand over his and close your eyes.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I think I am the one that got lucky,” Adam says, causing you to open your eyes. He leans in to peck you on the lips, you lean in turn. After the kiss, you rest your foreheads against one another, relishing in the bliss of the moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

RAHH AND THATS IT!!! I HOPE U ENJOYED IT ANON AND ANYONE WHO READ THIS FAR-

i went into this not an adam lover, and i came out one as his no. 1 fan. i love writing characters i wouldn't normally. lets me think about them more than i normally do LOLL I wanted it end it off on the sweet note, so if there is more that was wanted i apologize but regardless, i loved loved lovedd writing this super soft and fluffy

i just checked my word count how is this almost 3k words what the hell

#hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #adam x pregnant reader #☾adoniswrites #anon ask #anon request

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sehaedazokla · 2 months ago

Text

robb stark and a witch reader

fem! reader terms and descriptions

a/n: robb and witch reader you will always be my most beloved…

you have never cared much for human men and hold every intention to continue that tradition with robb stark. despite his own misgivings, robb wishes to offer you all the courtesies a gentleman can provide. not without a tense jaw and a tight hesitation to his body; he has asked your house for assistance and been sent a lady in return. as alluring as your peculiar and haunting beauty is, robb needs men. he is met with equal disappoint in your own eyes – you have been sent to assist the lord of winterfell, not his young heir. neither of you extends a hand in welcome, but robb at least plays the part of a gracious host. no warmth is to be found in your stunning visage.

you find him rather boorish, brutish, unseemly – likely incompetent, having never seen battle. save for the blue of his eyes, brighter and clearer than the sky above. he is offput by your strange customs and odd manner of speaking, alongside the obvious dislike for humans.

your suggestion for a blood pact to seal your allegiance, for example, gives robb pause. he convinces you a signed scroll shall suffice.

sensible and cold, your advice comes to robb in eerie whispers with unimpressed gazes. he discovers quickly you have knowledge of a great many things and does not dismiss your counsel even if he is wary. in the stressful months following his assumption of his father’s role of his absence, it is you whom he finds himself turning to.

when not directly advising robb, your tongue spins unsettling riddles and breaths of valyrian, often cast to robb when he says something you deem foolish. there is no softness in your presence, no need for it. it is practicality that you offer, and practicality that robb is requiring.

he is left watching as you draw in the world at your whim. your penchant for shadow and flame, how light and dark alike seemed called to dance upon you. the winds of the godswood blow high and crisp as you walk beneath their branches, robb leading you to the weirwood tree his ancestors have prayed to for centuries. light breeze carrying your hair about your face as you are told warnings and wisdoms by voices long since lost to most human ears.

the strangest of strangers to him. unknown and foreign, as distant and cold and lovely as the moon.

save for when you gain the favor of his direwolf, taking long strolls through the castle with the creature at your side. you speak to him in valyrian, and robb cannot tell if grey wind understands your or not. robb is almost childishly jealous of the ease with which the wolf took to you – had all loyalty been discarded at the arrival of this witch?

and rickon and bran do not seem to fear you in the slightest. robb would find this is because you have given them no reason to. your general scorn for humans does not extend to the children, whom time and attention are given to whenever it is asked. you never seek out their company, but always provide it when you can, even if it means leaving robb in the middle of providing counsel.

and perhaps it is both of your innate instincts to parent and protect that you notice in each other as a surprisingly piece of common ground. pensive gazes watching after the other as you both engage with the young boys. robb knows without your saying that you are the eldest of your siblings as well.

but your efficiency in that department is where your true talents lie. you bloom like nightshade in combat, your skill with a sword almost as terrifying as your eyes. many witches are natural healers, your nature is more destructive than that. you seem more creature than human when you fight. and when bran’s life is on the line and robb is forced to lower his sword, heart clenched and mind racing, he sees blood trickling from the eyes and nose and mouth of bran’s captor.

the man dies quickly, melting to his knees, choking on blood as it spills from his face in crimson rivulets. when robb whips his head to see you, he knows, but cannot prove it because you have collapsed to the ground, faint and then unconscious.

you would keep your oath no matter the price you paid, to serve and protect the starks. it is by your bedside that he waits with anxiously wringing hands, his thick brows drawn together while the maester tries and fails to discern what has befallen you. the fire in the hearth flickers lowly as the night drags on, each moment that you do not wake worsening robb’s concern. grey wind curls himself by the hearth, resting among the furs.

you wake with tired blinks and a hazy memory, the first words that come from your hoarse throat ask after the safety of robb’s young brother. robb is a turbulent wreck of emotions: relief at your waking, frustration at his reliance on you in a time of trouble, gratefulness for protecting bran, anger at your quickness to do something that seemingly put yourself in danger.

when you stubbornly and coldly remind him of your promise to serve him, he grips the sheets of your bed in a tight ball as he leans towards you with pained and frustrated worry.

“your life is not mine. do not be so reckless, i order it of you.”

#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x you #robb stark headcanons #robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark drabble #asoiaf x you #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf headcanons #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf fanfic #house stark #house stark x reader #robb stark x witch reader

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kaszuma · 6 months ago

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Mockery | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 0 of “Certainly Yours”

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x fem!reader

summary: Mina Ashiro needed a team. But the moment she found one, she was at a loss at what to do when her Vice Captain and Lead Technician got off on the wrong foot.

warnings: Slight Kn8 B-side Manga Spoilers, Mentions of Soshiro struggling with self-worth, Mentions of slight animosity between you and Soshiro but nothing too major, First-time meeting, Mentions very few graphic depictions of slaying Kaiju.

wc: 9,712

–

note: Hello! Sorry for the long wait.

I originally planned to write Part 7 first. but decided to write Part 0 as a special chapter since I've hit a hundred followers. But by the time I finished, we hit 150. Thank you lots!!

There is less romance on this one, since it's a prequel to Part 1 of Certainly Yours. I originally wanted to incorporate a rivalry or an initial animosity between reader and Soshiro. So this was my best attempt on the subject.

There is a lot more interaction and inner pining because it's still in the initial stages in the relationship. And I had a difficult time cross referencing B-side manga with the things I've already written thus far. I’m disappointed we don't really have much information on Soichiro. And I have big plans to incorporate him in a separate part in much more excruciating detail later down the line. Involving jealousy..

Anyways. For now, I shall write Part 7 and give ya'll the comfort you need. Might be the big I love you's, you're looking for. Wink wink.

Also, please tell me if I missed any warnings. None of these are proof read and my phone lags really bad when I post 9k words worth of fanfiction.

–

The feeling of being needed was a foreign concept that Soshiro Hoshina had never experienced for himself.

The road that he paved himself had always been a lonesome one. Carved by the very callouses of his own fingertips. Where he'd dive headfirst into the nose of a cliff filled with criticisms and comparisons. The world familiar to him had always been accompanied by a sense of mockery for his craft. A sneaky way to bury his existence in the wake of the world that had been full of firearms and expert Kaiju exterminators.

In the face of it all, he had always been frustratingly average.

Not nearly as bright as the way his older brother had burned for the adrenaline of the battlefield. The use of firearms, specialized tools and weaponry that had been modernized to slay larger than life Kaiju. Had always been stacked against him. Someone who was not born with the innate ability to tackle such large threats. His use had been chained to the blade. One so sharp and pristined to the point of no return.

For as long as he remembered, it had always been like this.

Even before he had joined the Defense Force of his own volition. He had always felt inferior in the way his brother Soichiro had bested him in every sense of the word. A genius incarnation that had rarely been born into the Hoshina family's already impressive lineage. In a family who prided themselves as generational Kaiju-slayers.

By all means, Soichiro Hoshina was the perfect man born for the front lines. His presence alone dominated the field. Any Challengers he'd face would be a place where normal people would never be able to reach.

He mastered a variety of martial arts at a young age. Already flipping over instructors each time he was paired to a battle in an attrition of self-defense.

The sword techniques passed down within the generations of his ancestors, had all been perfected to improve upon his own. His sword an extension of his arm each time he wielded it. And in terms of firearms? Soshiro couldn't begin to imagine ever reaching the height of his brother's skill. The gap between them in terms of long ranged attacks had been far too large for him to delusionally think he'd ever make it. Let alone surpass.

And although their youngest was plenty good at the progress of his own swordsmanship. Soichiro was on an entirely different level than he was.

A genius, some would call him. A fact the younger Hoshina was far too aware of.

The dust he left behind when he ran forward was often a sight Soshiro was familiar with. Sweeping him off of his feet each time he'd issue a direct challenge with his older brother.

And although he hated to admit it. Soichiro Hoshina's existence was both an inspiration and a mockery to his own.

A frustrating truth that even he had no choice but to believe.

His enigmatic older brother had always been a person who was destined to become the Captain of the sixth division. And his junior of five years, who had not excelled in anything but his skill in close quarter combat. Had all but stood in his shadow, destined to live a much ordinary life as an instructor like his family suggested.

Not a single person expected him to keep fighting.

To keep swinging that blade of his which had been both a boon and bane for his existence in the defense force.

Each humorous jab, or critical comment directed his way, had always been replied with a simple smile on his cat-like features. Far too exhausting to correct the people who had never dreamed to understand what he wished for.

And even if they never did, even if no one ever believed that he'd be able to survive the chaotic life of killing a Kaiju with a blade alone. He'd fight tooth and nail if he had to, In an effort just to keep his style of combat alive.

Because swinging the sword had always been something he found extreme joy in.

He refused to let this be the written ending for his story. Refused to let fate decide on the path to his future actions. Not when his undoing had all been decided by his unlucky birth.

Had Soshiro existed in a different era, far away from Soichiro. Things may have turned out much differently, he imagined.

But alas, he was stuck fighting. Climbing the gritty stairs of progress. Dragging the heavy weights of his blades all the way to the bloody top. And It showed in the way he never stopped practicing. His personalized equipment had always remained in top condition. The sharp end of that thinly-cut mass of iron had always been razor edged and cut-throat in the way it was maintained. Not even a dent could be seen on the damn thing.

By all means the weapon he held had always been ready. Waiting in fact, for the day Soichiro would mess up and stumble.

And for some reason? Soshiro had a feeling that day would be today.

It was their usual four round duel. An agreement between brothers who'd meet up every afternoon at the end of their respective classes for the weekday. Books packed hastily in an effort to rush home so that they could clash blades in the open spaces of their house's courtyard.

It had been a daily routine at this point.

Often, Soshiro would be the first to come home. Dropping his bag onto the floor of his bedroom and rushing to wear his hakama which had been prepped on the foot of his bed. And the moment he puts it on, he shows no hesitation when he grabs an appropriately sized bamboo blade that he kept nearest his closet.

Soichiro, who was the last to come, had always returned home with his little brother already waiting for him at their usual spot. Stance wide and ready to begin their matchup.

And although he often found his determination awe inspiring.

The older brother was far too aware of his own blood's presence. His eagerness to catch him off-guard had been made clear. Always at the ready in the case he'd make a mistake so that he could close the gap in skill between them.

And Soichiro. Who was as equally as cunning as he is. Had always been one step ahead, at the ready for any of Soshiro’s practiced attacks that even he knew could catch up to him at any moment.

Genius my ass. What's the point of being called that when your younger brother was so close to surpassing you? His progress in the blade is abnormally fast.

And to Soichiro. It was utterly terrifying.

“Yer too stiff ya’ little wimp. How do you expect to swing and hit me when that stance of yours is too rigid.” Soichiro pointed out. His chin pointed at the darker haired boy's much smaller feet. The boy hadn't even hit a growth spurt yet. And at this point he had been much taller than Soshiro's current height. His little brother barely reached the waistband of his Hakama giving him an ample advantage in build.

“Tryin’ something new. Now shut yer’ trap and let me hit ya!” Soshiro replied. The same serious look plastered on his face.

And such a challenge is met by his brother's own smirk. “Quite the yapper today aren't ya?” He laughs.

“-Fine. If you managed to hit me once, I'll let you go at me for another round. That ‘a deal?”

“Don't even need to ask.” Soshiro smirks. And with quick footwork, the boy had already reached his older brother's inner circle.

His steps were precise in the way he wasted no unnecessary limbs in his movement. In three short steps he had been faced to face with him. The tip of his bamboo sword already pointed at the very sky. Ready to strike him in the shoulder in an attempt to have him drop his own weapon. A technique he had done plenty of times to Soshiro before.

But the braided haired boy had been quicker. More experienced for his age. Foreseeing the minor tells his brother would exhibit when striking his sword down. And he wastes no time, pouncing to the side. Narrowly avoiding the heavy hand that had almost hit him on the jugular. Where he knows would've hurt.

It was done in quick succession. Soshiro didn't even have time to realize that his brother had turned on his heel. His blade held with one hand, had swept the ground to hit his very ankle. Effectively throwing him off balance. Making Soshiro yelp as he landed on his rear. Sword slipping from the tight grasp of his fingertips which had not grown enough to garner a steady grip yet.

And he could hear Soichiro’s obnoxious laughter echoing from in front of him. Slapping his leg to try and calm his breathless laughter.

“Whoops, nearly thought you had me there didn't ya?” He places his free hand over his stomach whilst he slung his sword over his shoulder. Trying not to pop a vein while laughing so hard.

And the jolly expression on his face alone had made Soshiro grit his teeth.

“Hah!? One more round and I'll make ya’ eat dirt you big bonehead.” Soshiro had replied. Already scampering about to grab his sword from the sidelines. Readying his stance for another round.

But a little known fact about Soichiro is that his interests never linger on him for too long. Only allowing the younger boy a total of four rounds per day. No more, no less. Had that number exceeded. He'd spare no glance and show disinterest on entertaining the boy no more. And his laughter soon dies down.

“Nope, No way! That's the fourth loss in a row. That's ‘bout enough for today Soshiro.” The older boy shook his head nonchalantly. Fixing up the loose strands of his braid as he turned to walk away. Uninterested now that the battle had ended quickly.

“You coward–One more round! I ain’t done with you yet!!” Soshiro yelled. But he sees the way his older brother was already kicking the wooden sandals off his feet. Walking back inside where the scorch of the afternoon sun would not hit him. And mock reply he'd refuse much louder than before.

“Nope.” His mouth popped.

“Them's the rules, I'm afraid.. Now I’m starvin, let's go grab a bite to eat.”

He sees the way Soichiro had not spared a second to look back. Immediately making a beeline to the Kitchen where he knew a few snacks would be waiting for them.

But unlike the eldest, Soshiro had stubbornly stomped behind his brother. Trying his best to keep up with the older boy who had much larger strides in his steps.

“That ain't fair, you said you'd give me five rounds today!”

“I said I'd give ya an extra round IF ya’ managed to hit me. And beggars can't be choosers here seeing as how not one of your attacks managed to graze me at all.”

“-Looks like you'll need more trainin’ ya little twerp.” His hand had reached to pat him on the head. But Soshiro had slapped it away before it could ruffle the tips of his hair.

“Quit callin me twerp ya Bonehead! I'm not the one who's running away–Come back here so I can kick yer’ sorry butt!” He chased after him. A common sight for the household who often saw the siblings bicker with one another.

But Soichiro was too fast. The pleasant smile on his face remained as he grabbed a rice ball nearest the counter. All the while effectively avoiding the smaller one's tackles.

It had been a few seconds more before Soshiro would give up in his pursuit. The sound or his grumbling stomach made Soichiro want to laugh. But he figured he could spare the poor boy the embarrassment of pointing that out.

Eventually, Soshiro stopped. Grabbing a rice ball of his own, he chooses to sit at the tatami nearest the windowsill of their home. And with much delight begins munching on the rice ball with a fuming look on his face.

He hadn't given up..he’s just a little hungry. That's all. He reminds himself.

“One of these days I'll beat ya’ on the first swing. Just you wait.” And that sentiment makes his older brother smile.

“That so?” Soichiro replied. Sitting beside the younger boy who had taken large bites from his own food. And unbeknownst to Soshiro, a smile appears on the corner of his older brother's lips.

“Well, guess I should buckle up and train too. Wouldn't want my wimpy little brother here to get ahead of me. Now do I?” The younger one couldn't help but roll his eyes. Clearly unamused that his brother had taken to scorn him again.

“Train with what? You're already plenty good at everything else. Yer’ just being mean.” Soichiro couldn't help but chuckle at his brother's small pout. Already grabbing him another rice ball to hand to him, as a form of apology. And Soshiro wastes no time to accept his offer. Enjoying the fresh grains of rice wrapped in that salty seaweed sheet. A singular pickled plum had peaked from within the blankets of warm grains.

“Sure. But I ain't about to slack off and give ya an easy-win.” Soichiro chuckles. Though for some reason, his voice had been far kinder than usual. “-Besides…”

Soshiro pauses, raising a brow at his older brother who had stared at the golden rays nearest the open window. And a strange expression was etched on his very face.

“I'm willin’ to bet that someday..yer’ gonna find someone who's gonna need you. With or without that blade of yours.”

And he raises his head to meet his older brother's strange smile.

It had been a selfish, childish desire for sure. One that disliked the idea of his younger brother overlapping him one day. The sheer dedication and progress he had been making was a far cry to his own. But those words, he meant sincerely. And whether Soshiro was aware of that, he was sure that one day he'd at least think back on it as simply words of mockery to discourage him.

And he did not bother to correct him.

…

It had been a few years since then. And for some reason those words stuck to Soshiro like a moth with a lamp.

It was uncharacteristic of Soichiro.

Even after he cut ties with his older brother. He had always found that sentiment of his, strange. The enigmatic Soichiro did not usually go out of his way to comfort him. Let alone aid him in his training. In fact, he distinctly remembers all the times the braided haired boy discouraging him each time they dueled. Demotivated him to stop in his endeavors.

It wasn't uncommon for his anger to boil when it came to Soichiro’s demeaning behavior. His words, often echoing on days where he’d fail to prove his worth to the defense force.

And although he knew Soichiro was only teasing him. His constant onslaught of berations had made him think he needed to improve upon his flaws even more. His words of mockery, a lingering thought on the back of his mind that would've normally made a person give up. Had only strengthened his resolve. And his actions only lead to even longer strides of hard work that only evolved each passing moment he'd swing his sword.

So why was it that those words of his didn't sound like mockery at all?

Had his brother meant it? When he told him he'd find someone who'd need him with or without the skill of his blade?

It had been almost an entire decade since he last saw his brother. Who had gone straight ahead and became a captain of his own division. And Soshiro had just about joined the defense force. Hoping to prove his worth.

But that was easier said than done.

It wasn't until Mina Ashiro had walked in. Scouting him directly from the Kansai District. Offering him a chance to join the Third Division and rise to the top to become her Vice Captain. But even then, it had still felt like a blow to his existence who had been fighting just to stay in the game.

“I need your abilities. Will you join my force, Hoshina?” Captain Ashiro of the Third Division had spoken. Unabashed upon his entrance to her office. It had been one of those rare instances where he got to visit the Tokyo District. And he wondered if the woman in front of him was being serious in her resolve.

“Me?” He gives a wry chuckle. “Not sure I follow Captain.”

“You're a blade specialist. Yes?”

“That's correct.” He spoke with a weary formality.

“We can't overlook the possibility of miniature-sized Kaiju cropping down the line.” The Captain had spoken with determination. And her eyes meet Soshiro's with much the same determination she had when she first offered him a place next to her.

“When I need to shoot a threat, can I trust that you'll clear a path for me?”

…

Soshiro was frozen on the spot.

He was practically unable to answer her. Too shocked at the mere possibility of being offered a need for his skill with the blade. He had been forced to carry a gun with him before, and that didn't end well. Yet here she was, seeking assistance in a blade specialist who had so often struggled to keep up with entire platoons who had wielded firearms instead of steel.

So why now? Why was it when he resolved to only use blades did Captain Ashiro of the Third Division scout him out? Modern Kaiju of this day and age were large. Gigantic with plated shells that even firearms had struggled to pierce through. What good would a sword do in that situation?

And yet even then, he thought about it.

The possibility of fighting his way in the midst of soldiers who carried firearms and freezing rounds. The sheer thought of rushing forward and slicing Kaiju with the perfected combat abilities he had been polishing way before he had resolved to join the Defense Force.

But before he could resolve to make an answer, the door had opened. And you had entered the fray.

“Him? Well I suppose this isn't the first time the Third's willing to recruit strange people.”

Strange?

Soshiro had looked to the side. Catching a glimpse at your figure as you slowly closed the door behind you. Hands shoved to the front pocket of your lab coat as you walked right next to him. Saluting towards Captain Ashiro to formally greet her upon meeting her gaze.

“Captain.” You addressed. Right beside Soshiro. And you could feel his stares poking through your sides.

“At ease.” The Captain looks back towards him. “Officer Hoshina. This here, is the Third's Lead Technician. She's a weapons specialist and will be here to provide your support should you choose to join our division.”

The sweet smile on your face had not faltered. Taking you back to a relaxed stance as you came face to face with Soshiro’s own scrutiny. His raised eyebrow had been an indication of his hesitancy towards you.

Your eyes had made contact with his. And although squinted, you could see the glimpse of his wine colored eyes. Observing you thoroughly from head to toe.

You weren't exactly sure what was running in his thoughts at the moment. But his skepticism was met by a similar opinion of your own. Not entirely sure if he was as good as Captain Ashiro praised him to be. Though you had to admit, he was at least somewhat nice on the eye.

“I heard about you.” He tilts his head. Fox-like in his gaze. And a smile had stretched amusingly on the corners of your lips.

“Oh? Good things I hope?” He looked unbothered. Though in a sense that his kindness was only a front that he had all but gotten used to in hiding. Likely from your comment from earlier. And you had an inkling that he had a few things to say of his own. Sly in the way he'll word it.

”I suppose..” His reply was curt.

“Heard yer’ one of the few technicians that actually make Specialized Bioweapons, that about right?”

You nod. “Only for the strange ones.”

“-Ones that can't conform to the normalcy of standard firearms. Much like you, it seems.”

This makes Soshiro’s lips quirk. Suddenly very aware that your statement had been a jab of sorts. One he had gotten used to from his own division. And such a challenge was directly and expertly countered back in tandem.

“Well yer’ not so normal yourself ya’ know?” His accent had been made much clearer. And your eyebrows raise. Slightly irate in the way he jabbed at you. Though you let him continue, just to see if he could keep up with his own feist.

“-Heard you were the Technician that was kicked out for bein’ so stubborn to work with.”

And you had to hold back a wry chuckle. It seems his smile had a few sharp claws to fight back with. “So you've heard.”

“-But I suppose you too are used to that very sentiment, yes?” Your words seem to make that easy smile of his falter slightly. It was a miniscule comment, but judging by the way he had remained silent. The tension of the room grew weary as the two sparked a similar glare for each other. And although he found the situation slightly amusing, his displeased conversation had definitely soured his thoughts of joining.

Maybe the Third Division wasn't the place for him either.

What were the chances he'd have a different point of view should he switch divisions now? Your existence proved the very mockery his brother had implied. His Father who was normally supportive had not praised him for wanting to join the Defense Force when all he had was his skill in the blade. And the thought alone is enough to convince him otherwise.

Captain Ashiro's offer had been tantalizing, but not definite. And he has half a mind to excuse himself before things could escalate.

But as luck would have it. Captain Ashiro had been observant. Her intentions were never to have them be at odds with one another. And she clears her throat in the hopes she could ease the tension in the room slightly.

Administering as the only superior officer in the room. Who needed to take much responsibility.

“Sleep on it, Hoshina. We could use a close combat specialist like you out there.”

And whether or not she meant that. There hadn't been much time before an alert went off. A pin placed on his thoughts as he had found himself participating with the Third's mission to exterminate acid spitting Kaiju on the eastern side of the Kanto region.

…

Despite his hesitance. The thought of it still remained. And as if magnetized, he found himself willingly transfering to the Third Division. Somehow surviving a Kaiju attack that he had helped fend off with Captain Ashiro's help.

His sword. One he brought with him from back home. Had all been melted to the hilt. Its black steel had an unnatural wave of color on it. A result of his reckless actions when he remembered having to cut through the insides of a Kaiju's mouth. Saving both himself and a child from being devoured and melted.

Had Captain Ashiro and Okonogi; the Third's Lead Operations gal. Not hac impeccable timing, he was sure he would've been dead meat by now. And yet here he was, alive coupled with only a few bruises on his sore body.

After a few days, he had recovered fairly well since then. Deployed from the hospital after a back and forth discussion between the Tokyo and Kansai district. And he had finally gotten permission for his official transfer. h

His things were readily packed as he made his way to the bunkers of Tachikawa's base.

And just as he had stared at the broken blade, he had debated on whether or not he should've just thrown it out to get a new one.

It took ages to convince the Kansai district to forge him a blade. Steel that could withstand the strength of Kaiju skin. Or have a high enough melting point so that the acidic burns of its saliva and stomach were not affected by it. But that type of material was hard to come by. Let alone, he doubts command would grant him access to such weaponry when he had done nothing to prove his usefulness.

So even then, when he had been given the minimum necessity, he had been careful in its uses. Unsure whether or not his platoon leader would allow him to be given a replacement blade when he had so little opportunity to showcase his skill infield.

He’d likely have to ask Platoon Leader Ebina for a replacement. He had so few extra blades to spare. But the Third had at least been kinder to him than his last division. Surely they'd grant him better access to the weaponry of his choice, right?

Though just as he loathed the thought. His footsteps halted.

And in the middle of the empty hallways, nearest the corner where the sleeping quarters should be. Your eyes had met with his once more. The first time in a while since your encounter in the confines of Captain Ashiro's office.

“It's you.” You had spoken.

Suddenly aware that he had been staring at the broken blade in his hand. Unfazed by the heavy duffle bag he had carried with his other arm. The sudden softness of your voice had been unexpected to say the least. Given the last animosity you both displayed towards each other.

You walked closer to inspect the melted steel. Having already heard the report from Captain Ashiro’s latest mission. And for a moment, he feels as if you had looked almost displeased at the weapon. Guilty for having assumed the worst of him. “Looks like the acid's melted it down. I assume you have a spare?”

He nods. Sheathing the broken shortsword back in its holster. Making it look like it hadn't been broken at all. “That's right. Though I ain’t excited that I'm gonna hafta' throw another one out.”

This makes you smile. And his eyes had widened ever so slightly at the sight of your pretty teeth

So that's what you looked like when you smiled.

“Figures. It isn't very common for people to use steel against Kaiju nowadays. Let alone swords.” You spoke slowly. And this time, you see the way his mouth visibly frowns. A stark contrast to that usual unbothered smile of his when you had first met him.

“Well I ‘spose I'm not your common folk.” He spoke tight-lipped. And you cringe inwardly at your thoughtless words.

You hadn't meant that. A force of bad habit it seems. One that came from a place of wanting to help.

A soldier’s life, especially one that dealt with monstrous Kaiju, had always tipped the balance between life and death. And you had thought it reckless to see him remain stubborn when you first heard your Captain praise Soshiro's skill in the blade. Your impression on him, had made you think he was a reckless fool who did not value his life. At least not enough to learn how to handle firearms.

Though now, after having witnessed his actions through Okonogi and a few key witnesses from that day. You knew that you had been wrong in your assumptions. Planning to make amends the only way you knew how.

Your place as a Technician who could only fight through the weapons you made. One that you hoped would help people survive. Even for just a minute longer, just to make a difference.

“I didn't-” Your words were cut short. Not entirely sure why your voice had cut from the tip of your tongue. So instead you move closer grabbing the hilt of his blade from his fingertips. And that alone makes Soshiro tilt his head in confusion. “Here, let me have a look.”

And he watches you admire the weight and feel of the weapon. Staring at the black leather hilt that he had so often found himself gripping. Enough to cause a few dents in the area. Only further proving his dedication to his craft. But he did not understand your actions. Far too vague in deciphering you when he barely knew much to tell if your actions had been one of curiosity or just sheer brazenness.

“Do you…have something against me? Or is there somethin’ I’m missing here?" He blurts out. Unsure if your earlier comments were made from a place of ignorance or as a way to insult his way of fighting.

And your eyes had so easily pried from the blade and back to his face. Surprised that the relaxed persona of his had momentarily disappeared.

And for a second, you felt the weight of added guilt in the way you had addressed him earlier.“Against you? No, I-”

You sigh. “Not really. If anything I'm interested in you.” Managing to blurt out, almost frowning at the way you stumbled to admit that. Somehow that had been hard to say in front of his face.

“That so?” He tilts his head with a smile. “And here I was, under the impression that you hated my guts.”

You had half a mind to roll your eyes. Make another comment that might've irked his feathers for a bit. But you stopped yourself. Finding the smile on his face much more pleasant than you had imagined. A far cry from the masked practiced one he had adorned when you first met him with. And this time, you had made an effort to be more sincere.

“You've gained my trust.” You simply spoke. This time in a much more pleasant tone than you had anticipated. “I was wrong. I misjudged your confidence for stupidity.”

His eyes had trained over each other. And silence swept over them before you spoke hesitantly once more.

“I thought you were unwilling to adapt to change. But I see now you are much more careful than I anticipated.” Your admission makes him look away momentarily. Suddenly unused to such sincerity after their last meeting.

“Your skill in the blade is impeccable. And instead of being stupid, I'll replace your weapon for you.”

He raises his brow. Not entirely sure what you were getting at until you held the weighted blade with one hand. Unused to the way you had spoken softly this time. Almost apologetic even.

“You mean replace my weapon of choice?” He had assumed as much. Maybe you’d hand him a gun and see just how terrible he'd be at it. But you had almost smacked yourself on the head for wording things so vaguely.

“No.” Your reply was immediate. Making it clear that you had not meant to insult his skill in swordsmanship. That much was for sure. And maybe that had been the first spark that finally got through the both of you. That you had not meant to offend each other. Not this time.

“I meant–the material your weapon is made out of. It's barely functional, let alone made for slicing thick-skinned Kaiju. I didn't mean too.. yeah.”

Your words had caught his throat dry. And Somehow the awkwardness you had displayed had made him chuckle in response. Amused in the way you too, had stumbled in your words when you had so confidently spoken to him last time. He wonders if you were even the same person who'd responded with the feist he had experienced first-hand. Jabs and all.

Normally conversations like these would lead to persuasion. A simple comment to get him to use other weapons. To give up on his hard work with the blade.

By all means, he was used to the impracticality of his craft.

He was good with the blade. A prodigy some would call him. But his weapon of choice had not been suited for practical use. Often delegated as a Martial Arts technique, required to join the Defense Force as a form of experience.

But it seems he had forgotten who he was talking to.

For you had not been a very practical person either. A technician who made specialized weapons for the odd who would not dare conform to the standard way of fighting a modern Kaiju. And this time, he understood the words you had struggled to say out loud. Your apologies were clear, and you wanted to help. Even if you did look adorably helpless in trying to offer that option to him. “So, what I'm getting at is that, yer’ offering to help me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause I have no idea how you survived for this long with such a flimsy weapon.”

“‘Scuse me?” He couldn't help but laugh a little more. Finding your bluntness a charm. Your aura had been quite different from his initial assumptions. And it seems you were just a bold individual who was unafraid of speaking the truth if need be.

And the thought alone made him smile. Much more genuine in the way he realized he'd be faced with.

“Normally people just tell me that I'm bein’ stubborn by sticking to the front lines. But never that..” He chortled again. Finding the amusement almost breathtaking to stand upright.

And the sound of his laughter had been similar to the pretty bells you once heard during the peak hours of a windchimes's ring. Nice and genuinely pretty.

If he had laughed like that everyday, it might make things a little harder for you to deal with. But you ignore the quick pace in your heart strings. Rolling your eyes as if nothing changed in your demeanor.

“Oh please. I've seen it from the Operations Room. You're more than capable. But the weapons they've given you are…subpar to say the least.”

“-If you actually want to do more, you're gonna need a stronger steel base than this.” You had flicked your finger against the holster of the blade. And the sound of contact had echoed to his ear. And suddenly he is all too aware of that soft smile plastered on your face.

A confidence brimming in you that told him all he needed to know. A thought that you'd help him. To stick by his side and pave a way for him. Starting with a better weapon.

“And I can help you. If you let me.”

“Oh. So you're offering to fix my blade for me?”

“Even better. I'm offering you specialized blades. Ones that won't break so easily.” You beamed. And the sight of your eagerness had made him almost giddy. It almost sounded like a pipe dream in the way you had offered no hesitance in supporting him. It was a breath of fresh air amidst the many who had given up on him.

“Though of course, you'd have to rise through the ranks. Command will only authorize special made weapons for the strongest Officers after all.”

“Like Captain Ashiro?” He had spoken out of turn. A tilt on his head at the memory of her rather peculiar specialty. “I assume you'd want someone who can dish out firepower as strong as hers.”

It was no secret that the Captain of the Third Division had an unusual affinity for firearms. Her large weapon was akin to a cannon, fit to destroy larger than life Kaiju should they appear before them. But you had all but shook your head at his comment. Already one step ahead to stop his doubts from formulating. And somehow, despite the difficulty in reading him. You found yourself able to at least grasp a feeling of his inferiority. One that had been beaten down on his very body that had made you feel guilty at the words he endured.

The very same words you've mocked him with.

“No. The rest of the command can have Mina Ashiro for all I care. It's you I want.” You pointed to him. your finger squarely on his chest. And he hopes you couldn't feel the vapid way his heart was hammering upon its contact with the fabric of his standard uniform jacket. Eyes fixated at your determination and unexpected confidence in him.

“But why? Wouldn't ya’ prefer someone more capable in both long and close range weapons?”

“Like who?” You had inquired. And suddenly his thoughts shift to that amazing but annoying recruit he's encountered during his entry exams. One that he had formed a small rivalry with since they had entered the force right around the same time.

“Maybe someone like Gen Narumi?” He shrugs. Though you could tell he was hesitant in his choice of words. Which makes you chuckle. “The soldier who requested a ridiculously large bayonet? No.”

Somehow that made Soshiro visibly relaxed.

“He’s good but there's nothing I can do that can help him further. But you on the other hand?”

He raises his brows. Seeing the way you tilt your head forward towards him. And his breath is caught on his lungs, unencumbered in the way you speak your mind openly and in confidence towards him. Comparison did not exist in your mind. And from the look on your eyes, there had not been an edge of doubt in the way you responded almost immediately to his doubts.

“I'd be a pretty bad Technician if I didn't see your uses beyond that sword of yours.”

“So ya need me?” He spoke incredulously. And although it embarrasses you, you give him a curt nod. That makes a chuckle escape from his lips. “And suddenly I'm beginin’ to feel special since I joined the Third Division.”

“Well, it's true. The rest may not be able to see it. But I know it.” You paused. Looking at him in sincerity. One that he was not used to seeing. And he flinches upon your hand grabbing his own. Feeling the way his skin had rich blisters that had been replaced with heavy calluses over the time he spent training.

“You'll save more lives than I can count, and the only way you'll do that is if you're given a proper blade.”

“-Created by yours truly of course.” You let go of his hand. Hopefully he hadn't noticed the red tint on your cheeks as you looked away. And his laugh is the first thing you hear that makes you want to admire his pretty face.

“Yer crazy..” He shook his head.

Though more of a vapid insult. The smile remaining on his pretty lips had indicated it was done on jest. And for a moment, you were suddenly all too aware of how husky his voice had been, or how much taller he had shadowed over you. Or how much better he looked when he smiled.

And you find yourself taking a few steps back. The broken blade already slotted on your shoulder. Ready to take it to your lab and get a head start on designing a suitable prototype for him.

“So I've heard. But the Third Division is already full of that, don't you think?” And he couldn't help but nod. Watching the way you had slowly walked passed him. Already unused to the given space you had provided. For a moment, he wished you had held his hand longer. It had made him miss the warmth of your closeness from earlier.

“I suppose so. It's a lot different from the Kansai district, I'll give ya’ that.” He turned. Watching as you retreated slowly. And with a single glance, you had all but piqued the very last of his interest.

Suddenly, it was like getting caught on a hook. And he’s afraid he'd be seeking you out everyday. If he can help it.

If you’d allow it.

“If they couldn't make you shine then I'll make sure to pave that way for you. No kaiju is gonna break that sword of yours.” You turn around. Already taking a step forward. Hiding your pink face from his sight. Which he was admiring rather languidly had you not turned your head.

“You have my word.” You had finished off. And before he could even reply, Soshiro was left in the empty hallways of Tachikawa base.

The sudden absence made him slacken, who had gotten so used to your comforting presence. But in spite of his disappointment, he somehow found himself smiling on his own.

It sure is strange hearing someone say that to him.

Mina Ashiro may have been the first to ask of him. To request an offer for his help in the field. His assistance would prove helpful in the face of her attacks, which was made for long ranged weaponry. And he had finally gotten a chance to prove his worth to the defense force. By means of paving a path to slay the Kaiju that got in her way.

But you had been the first to offer that yourself. To pave a path for HIM should any Kaiju get in HIS way.

You offered him a chance to shine.

And he'd be damned if he doesn't reach that expectation of yours.

The one who had challenged him to go beyond a greater height than he had ever envisioned himself climbing. To be needed.

It wasn't after half a month later had he come back boasting the highest melee kill count from small to midsize threats of Kaiju. His actions ebbing a spark in the third's outlook on Bladed users. Inspiring a few onslaught of officers to join a few joint training sessions held swordsmanship. The Kendo match between districts has become a much more popular feat than before.

Now, learning the blade wasn't a simple formality anymore. It had been another path forward. And although only a fool would continue to wield a blade instead of the practicality of long ranged weaponry. Hoshina Soshiro had been that very same fool. He who pushed forward like a madman and insisted on using his signature shorthanded blades, despite the odds stacked against him

And Mina Ashiro had placed a great deal of faith in him. Enough to promote him to a platoon leader. And eventually a Vice Captain of the third Division.

And your eyes had never lingered elsewhere in his pursuit.

Often following his line of sight when you'd seen him train on the very confines of the training room. And even now, you had stared directly at him. Unable to look away.

Not when he had entered your lab with the unusual formality of his standard uniform. His star studded pin hooked on the left side of his jacket's chest. An insignia that had been a symbol of his inauguration as the new Vice Captain of Third Division's upper ranks. His title attained by the mere fraction of his efforts and hardwork.

And you dare not face him with such petty grievances like you had in the past. A smile etched on your pretty lips as you greeted him in a mock salute. As if to tell him you had been expecting this day to come.

“Took you a while, Vice Captain. I almost thought you'd given up on me.” Your joke had made him let out a chuckle. Closing the door behind him as he walked up to your place nearest the desk.

“And miss out on yer’ startled face? Never.” He had spoken more informally than you had imagined. Which made you drop the mock salute you had given him. Rolling your eyes as you moved to stand. Heading to the next desk over as he followed you suit.

“I think you're the one that should be startled.” You had hinted with a giddy giggle.

The correction made Soshiro tilt his head. A sort of curiosity washing over him. And you watch as he closes the gap between his and the proximity of your bubble. Braving to graze his shoulders against you as he crosses your side. Eyes magnetized in the way it had seen your pretty smile. “Oh. Didya' have a surprise for me? Didn't peg you as someone who gave gifts often.”

And you lean forward, nearest his chest. As if to whisper your little secret that you've been meaning to show him for a while now. “In case you forgot, let me remind you.”

Upon landing his gaze on the small glass case on the desk, you had moved your hands to slowly remove the top cover. Revealing the two refined swords around the same length of his arms.

The outer casing, its holster. Was tinted purple like his dark hair. The hints of military green had no doubt matched that of their Combat Suit's design. And it veered to life the moment his eyes fell upon the familiar insignia of the Third Division's logo atop of its hilt. A sign that this weapon had been his.

Well at least, he assumed as much. Judging from the proud and almost excited look on your face. “I finished your swords.” You spoke factually. “Just need your verdict on the matter.”

His eyes had widened. This had been a stark difference from his previous blade. The way it was made was measured perfectly to the length of his arms. The sword bent in a grip for just the way he preferred it to. And its tip? The one where a pivot was placed had been an indication that it was designed so that he could connect the two blades. Form it into one long sword, if he truly wished to.

That alone was an indication that this was likely not a normal melee. Made of simple bronze or steel.

No.

This was a bioweapon. Made from Kiaju to kill Kaiju. One that was only granted to the strongest in the Force. One that had been ready for his use. Built in custom to his preferences. And their eyes met, only confirming his suspicions when she had given him an awkward shrug of her shoulders. Acting as if invisible ink had occupied the space between their feet.

“I said I'd make you a weapon that won't break easily, didn't I?” In an instant, a hot flush billowed in his cheeks. Much the same when your normally hidden shyness had finally resurfaced.

The rare times it did, he couldn't help but stare. Far too enraptured in the gap that had swung between your feist and your awkward responses. And he nods in turn. Suddenly aware that you had been doing such a task so diligently to perfection. “I don't know what to say. I didn't think you'd actually make it.”

You hear him chuckle. And your shoulder had pushed him forward. Towards the weaponry you had made for him.“Go on, it's not like anybody else can use it.”

Soshiro had looked at you, hesitant in the way you had so readily offered him such a gift. Your words had been proven in the way your assurances hit his heart. And his hand had a mind of its own as it grabbed the hilt of the blade. Sliding its cover right off so he'd have a chance to see the refined structure of the thinly cut mass of iron.

One he had been accustomed to weilding since he had been born.

Though instead. He was met with the dark shade of a similar material. Stronger than Iron, nor any steel for that matter. It was a blade far too distinct to forget. Luminous in orange hues as if it burned with the same heat that had allowed him to move in the enhancement of his suit.

And it had been clear this weapon was far stronger than the rest of his blade. Bound to cut a Kaiju's outer shell much easier than his previous ones would let him.

And the light one that breathed with an eery calm had reflected his own wine red eyes on the blade. The very movement caused a sound cutting through air when he'd expertly move it with his fingertips.

A sight of which had glued your eyes onto him. Finding his stupor rather mesmerizing than usual. His concentration had not been a rare sight for you, especially when you had caught glimpses of the many nights he'd spend alone in the training room.

But being this close. Seeing the joy nipping at his face. Somehow it makes your heart flutter strangely. And you had to shake your head to snap yourself out of admiration for the man. Suddenly focusing your attention back to blade one which vyed for his approval.

“So, do you like it?”

Soshiro had hummed. The usual grin on his lips remained unphased despite the giddiness in his chest. “Mmm...I ‘spose it's subpar at best.”

“Excuse me? Rude.” He laughs at your comment. And he puts the blade back in its holder. Already placing it on the back of his waist, right where it belonged.

“I'm kidding.” He spoke immediately after. A laugh bellowing from his abs. Though your scrunched nose had made it difficult for you to believe his immediate reply.

“No, I'm serious. You've outdone yourself sweetheart. Never seen a sword this sharp before..” He looks you over, admiring the easy smile on your face. That and the nickname seems to have made your cheeks flare up in surprise.

And he had to remind himself to engrave that very image of you on the back of his mind. Fearing that he may never get to see such a sight again.

“Well say that first! It's kind of difficult reading your facial expressions, you know?” You huffed. Though the easy laughter of his had remained. And a smile soon replaces your hefty frown.

“Sorry, sorry. Is there a price I hafta pay ya’? You know, for making me such a nice weapon and all that.”

You shrug, scooting your way right in front of him where he could just as easily close the gap between the two of you.

Have your chest pressed up against his, hand gripping the plush of your lower back. Admiring the gentle way you'd likely stare up at him with flamed cheeks. But he stops, already feeling too guilty to indulge himself further. And your reply had been quick enough to distract him from any incoming thoughts that had pushed his mind to try and get closer to you.

“Only your help, when it comes to a few suit upgrades.”

Help huh? He supposes this would be a good excuse to go see you more often. Though the simplicity of such a task was a little more suspicious on your part. And he had an inkling you had a few things in mind that involved more than just that.

But then again. He couldn't exactly read you either. Not completely at least.

Not yet.

“Quite demanding, aren't we?” He nods.

You had rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“You're the one that offered. But fine, be like that.” You had crossed your arms. Already backing away, and you had felt the way he had firmly pulled you back. Hand against your elbow. Making you face him whilst he tilted his head in your direction.

“Now, now..I never said anything about refusing you didn't I?” He chuckles. And the deep rumble makes your stomach churn in small caterpillars. Ready to form butterflies should he continue.

“Wasn't that already implied?” You spoke. Aware of the way his palms had steadied you by the elbows. The hint of warmth against his skin was almost tantalizing to make you lean forward. But before you had the chance to, he let you go. Leaving only an inch of space between the both of you.

“Shh..” His finger had raised itself against your lips. Shushing you before you could make another smart quip at him that was sure to insight another bout of witty banter. One that he knew he'd grown accustomed to in the future.

“I was just messing with ya'” He laughs. Only confirming that he had been hooked indefinitely by you. And he moves his free hand to tug your hair behind your ear.

“Do you, or do you not want to help me?” You had asked incredulously. Already finding his musings rather annoying. But the way he looked at you had your breath caught in your throat.

His gaze, although clouded by the silent promise to himself. Had not seen the way you too had a similar look on your face. And whether or not you had been aware of this promise. It doesn't fail to make your heart pick up its pace. His voice was almost reminiscent of prayer when he spoke your name in a whisper.

“I do want to help.” He spoke slowly. And your eyes flutter closed wondering if his touch would linger for a bit longer. But his fingertips remained curt. Pulling back just as soon as it grazed your skin.

“And how do I know you're being serious?”

“All ya’ have to do is call me. And I’ll Certainly be Yours, if you want me to.”

And he meant it. He was sincere in his intention to get close to you. To help you like you had sworn to him. Use his skill to protect you, should you ever need it.

And somehow, he is reminded of the time his brother had spoken to him long ago. Back when they were kids, dueling with simple bamboo swords back in the peace of their own home. Eating those childhood rice balls in the afterhours of their respective schools.

Soichiro be damned. Because somehow he was correct in his predictions. His words were every bit of a mockery to his craft. And although it was a rare sight to have him be soft in his presence.

Somehow, that was the one time he did so dissolutely.

And now, it looks like he's found someone who needs him. With or without that blade of his.

And this time, there was genuinely no sense of mockery in the way he had met you.

He only hoped he wasn't too late.

#anime #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro #kaiju no 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #hoshina soichiro #mina ashiro #konomi okonogi #kaiju number 8 #kaiju #Kaiju no 8 B Side Manga #hoshina x reader #Vice Captain Hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader

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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

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acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

“I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

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metalotaku-da · 1 year ago

Text

So many cross overs so narrow of common hero choices. Let's expand a little.

"Rip what the hell is that?"

"It appears sir, to be a small human child. Around the developmental stage of 4-5"

"Even you know better than to cuss infront of kids.

"I was gone for five minutes."

"Actually I snapped you back to a minute after you left."

"Are You misser booser gol?"

"Yeah kid that's me. You a fan or something who got into something you shouldn't to find me?"

"No. Clockie said tis for you." Hands a sticky note to booster.

Note reads: this is Danny. You will care for him from now on. See this as payment for resetting your time line safely. If you even try pass him off to Bruce wayne/batman, I will ensure your entire familial line never touched time traversing. And you stayed forever trapped in the 31st century. -clockwork master ancient of all time. P.s. there is not conning your way out of this. I will hunt down every ancestor or decendant for all time.

"This looks very serious sir. Congratulations sir you are a father Now"

"Wow kid. Clockie must hate you. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not that bad of an option. Obviously I was judged better that batsy."

"Clockie ass hero I want to say wiff."

"OH kiddo and you asked for the greatest hero boostergold?"

"I wike space. He say geen lanern is space. He take care of me."

"I'm so sorry sir, you have already disappointed your new child. Should I take a commemorative photo of this milestone moment for you?"

"No" "yes skeets"

Camera flashes.

"I shall add this photo to a new album labeled baby book. It is labeled Danny's first disappointment, sir."

"Thank you skeets." X2 one sarcastic one pleased.

"I wan geen lanern."

"Think you're gonna need help anyway Micheal. Call one of them. Not guy."

"I would never co-parent with guy. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"Rip takes you as the utmost idiot sir. As does most of the justice league sir."

"Thanks skeets."

"You are most welcome sir."

"Can I pay wif the talking space ship?"

"Sure kid." Pushes skeets into the kids hands.

"I do not believe I am rated for physical interaction by children under 10 sir."

"To bad skeets." Picks up Danny who looks up at him instead of at skeets to smile all teeth. "Holy shit are those fangs? We are going to go see my friend Ted now. He will know what to do."

"He will atleast know not to cuss infront of kids. Don't know about the rest."

"Is ted geen lanern?"

Cue shenanigans. They were roommates, but adopted a child.

"Does Batman know you stole a child from him?" <- Jaime when he visits.

"Do not even joke like that. My existence is at stake."

"Batsy is the new beetle juice. In this house."

"Are You geen lanern?"

"Sorry kid I am blue beetle."

"Should I take a picture for Danny's third disappointment since becoming your child sir?"

"No skeets."

"3rd? How long you had him?"

"A week"

"Ouch. Hey kiddo why do you want to meet green lantern? Aren't these guys just as cool?"

"Considering the average human body temperature is 98.6 degrees I do not believe they qualify as cool sir." Jaime is picking up danny to hold on his hip.

"Clockie says geen lanern is space." Danny smiles.

"Are those fangs? Is this a meta kid? You like space? My scarab is from space. Isn't that just as... Oh My, no scarab!" Scarab starts to go into protect host mode while screaming danger desteoy threat in Jaime head just as Danny's eyes start to glow green at the statement and his mouth splits inhumanly wide with even more teeth. Ted and Michael scramble to grab Danny and move him away from Jaime till he gets control of the scarab again. But Danny has a death grip and won't let go of his new friend.

"I do believe sir that your new child qualifies as a meta. Should I take a picture to commemorate your child's first power demonstration sir?"

#dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #blue beetle #booster gold #ted kord #dc universe #danny phantom

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basichextechml · 2 years ago

Text

Wet Braids and Ribbon Ties

Wednesday Addams/Fem!Reader

Rating: Teen // 2.4K Words // No pronouns used for reader, but implied Fem, Soft as hell, Teen for graphic jokes and it being somewhat suggestive at the end, Wednesday being someone emotionally vulnerable, Makeout sesh

A storm brings you closer to Wednesday than you’d ever thought it could.

---

Pattern recognition was a necessary trait of human evolution, and essential for the continued survival of any species. Those that came before you had used it to scavenge food, tame animals, create languages, and form communities. Sure, you were still doing these things, but it was less urgent, society collectively pushing past those base instincts to refine such senses. Vaguely, you wondered if your ancestors would be a bit disappointed that your brain’s neocortex was being used to psych yourself out over the sight of braids. While they were trying to figure out what berries and fruits wouldn’t kill them, you were worrying about Wednesday Addams and her twin braids that seemed to haunt you. Though, you guess it wasn’t their fault that you had pavlov'd yourself into associating the hairstyle with pretty brown eyes and a penchant to make your heart race.

It was all made much worse by the storm that had been rapidly approaching Nevermore. Again, ancestors fighting for their lives in the elements- while you were fighting for your life at the sight of Wednesday with water droplets clinging to her lashes.

Wednesday’s investigation into the murders around the town had all but halted, all her leads running dry. The Sheriff wasn’t responding to her evidence, and Xavier hadn’t made any moves- but she still felt a pull in her chest, like something was missing. She had requested (demanded) that you follow her to the Gates mansion to poke around once more. Enid had vehemently rejected both of your requests to follow.

“What time are we going then?” You ask, leaning against her bed frame as you watch her fill up a bag with flashlights, rope, and a first aid kit.

She zips the bag shut in finality, “Tomorrow night, after curfew. We’ll have to walk, so wear a jacket.” It seems she never got over the time you wore a tank top in 45-degree weather and you kept putting your freezing hands on the back of her neck.

“Isn’t there a storm coming, though?” She raises an eyebrow as if asking ‘so?’, “We don’t know how structurally sound that place is, what if it floods?”

Wednesday lets out a quiet huff, lips pursed in a thin line, contemplating your words. Finally, she concedes. “You’re right, be ready to leave at 4. I’ll meet you in front of your dorm.”

Okay, yeah that seemed more reasonable-

“4? Like four in the morning?” You questioned incredulously, arms crossed in front of your chest.

There was a ghost of a smile at your confusion, an inherent pride to it. “I thought you wanted to beat the rain?”

While Wednesday had pavlov'd herself into being associated with the debilitating symptoms of falling in love, you also came to associate the girl and her long, dark braids with the troubling feeling of everything going wrong at once.

---

Stupid Pavlov. Stupid neocortex. Stupid pattern-seeking brain.

Due to years of evolution, you were now trudging through cold sheets of rain in a forest with the girl you liked looking for clues on a murder investigation at 4:48 in the morning. Your boots making contact with the mud made terrible squelching noises as you both slowly made your way back to Nevermore, the only sound between you being that of twigs snapping beneath your weight.

This endeavor had resulted in nothing, it was a long shot if Wednesday was being honest. She had already found the evidence once in the basement, and it had been moved when she came back. Why would the perpetrator come back to the home? She had no clue- but she had nothing else to go on, and was feeling a bit -to her disgrace- defeated. While she was in the middle of looking around the basement for the umpteenth time, the storm predicted on the forecast came early, The house, just as you had predicted, began flooding, cutting her even deeper.

Now, with no fruits born of her labor, and your cold hand in hers guiding her through the dawn of a new day; you were slowly and surely going home.

As the lights of Nevermore Academy shone through the thicket of the forest, you both continued on your leisurely pace, despite the pouring rain. You both were already wet, running would do you no good now. Despite the shiver that ran down your spine at the nipping cold, you were fine with staying outside a little longer.

“I’m sorry,” Wednesday said suddenly. The apology nearly made you stop in your tracks, looking at her in disbelief. Never had Wednesday apologized to you- for anything.

The look on your face, as if you weren’t trusting the words she was saying, snapped at the strings of Wednesday’s heart. Enid’s words come back to haunt her, tearing into her about her inconsiderate nature. She’s sure you’d been made to feel that way as well. It was confusing. She should feel overjoyed at the misery of others. But seeing you by her side, being soaked head to toe by the rain, chilled to the bone? She was just as miserable as you.

“I’m sorry.” She reiterates, knowing fully that you heard her the first time.

“You don’t have to apologize-”

“I do.” The words are biting, and that does stop you in your tracks, inadvertently stopping her as well. Wiping the rain from your eyes, you look down at your interconnected hands. This was the longest you had ever touched her. The longest she’d ever let you touch her. “I have been… Selfish, as of late. And for that, I apologize. I am single-minded, I put you in danger, and I…”

You watch with a hitched breath as she avoids eye contact. This is difficult for her. Her shoulders are rigid, her mouth tense, and her hands twitching. The rain pelts down on you both, and you suddenly feel like you’re the main characters in a film.

“I believe I’ve hurt you, so I’m sorry.”

She looks terribly beautiful, hair sticking to her face in waves, her lips, and her nose the brightest red you’ve seen on her, doe eyes big with her eyeliner running from the rain. You simply squeeze her hand thrice. As unhealthy as it may sound, you had already forgiven her for anything she had done long ago- and you’d continue to do so, as long as she kept dragging you around with her hand in yours.

“Thank you, Wednesday. I accept your apology.” And, again, you mean it. Pulling her a bit closer, just so your shoulders knock together, you begin your journey once again. “Now come on, I think we should both get dry before we die horrible deaths from contracting pneumonia.”

“I believe we have conflicting ideas on what constitutes a “horrible death”.”

“I’m sure we do, Wednesday.”

You both gingerly sneak through the door and through the foyer, tracking mud on the carpet up the stairs. Wednesday makes you stop once you get to the top, and take off your shoes so you don’t track the mud back to the dorms- so Principle Weems doesn’t suspect you two. Though, you think it’s a lost cause because you’re both the number one suspects for anything slightly off that happens.

Your dorm is closer, and quietly, in the early morning embers, you usher Wednesday into your room, locking the dorm behind you.

The single dorm you resided in was smaller than the rest, the space easily filled up by your belongings. But you wouldn’t be caught dead asking to switch, you liked having your privacy- a rarity at a boarding school.

Wednesday is already making herself at home, leaving her shoes at the door and shrugging off her coat and scarf. “You can shower first.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, doing the same. Wordlessly, she takes your own jacket from your hands, spreading it on the floor next to hers. The space heater you have for nights like these is already cranked on high.

“Yes,” Wednesday confirms, sitting down in front of the machine, “I just need some time to think.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick.”

You’re true to your word, grabbing your pajamas and heading to the bathroom. The shower feels nice on your frigid skin, and you make sure everything is still organized for when it’s Wednesday’s turn. An extra towel is left on the sink once you’re done. She’s sitting in the exact spot you’d left her, the lines troubling her forehead just as prominent. You search through the black clothes in your closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and a matching sweater with some socks, and tapping her shoulder. “Your turn,” You mumble, presenting your offering.

Her fingers linger on yours, the shadows and movements emphasized by the low lights in your room. The clothes are held away from her still-wet body, and she gets up, closing the bathroom door behind her. As you hear the shower start again, you put your towel on the floor, mopping up any water that had dripped off of her.

This evening hadn’t gone as you thought it would’ve. It was like that morality test, if an oncoming train had its brakes cut, and you had to choose between crushing six people or one, what would you choose? You, of course, were all seven people- you would die either way. That made Wednesday the train, didn’t it?

Before you knew it, the door to your bathroom opened again, Wednesday stepped out in your clothes, using the towel you’d given her to scrunch the water out of the ends of her hair.

Your mouth felt dry like you were at the dentist getting a tooth pulled, and they had to suction all the saliva from it.

“Do you have a brush?” She asked. Getting up from your spot on the floor, you flitted around your desk, grabbing the one you’d left next to your vanity mirror. Holding it for a moment, you contemplated your next words.

“Could I do it?”

Time stood still in your dorm, fingers nervously pushing over the prongs on your brush as you awaited a response.

Wednesday felt warm. Swallowing her tongue and sitting down on your bed, cross-legged. “You may.”

Her hair was long and thick, pitch black as the night sky, and softer than anything you’d felt before. She smells faintly of your shampoo, and you find yourself light-headed as you gingerly rake your fingers through the ends of her hair, ridding it of any tangles. Starting at the ends, you slowly brush through the damp hair, working your way up. It’s longer than you had initially thought, undone of its iconic braided style.

Wednesday felt nearly naked with her hair unstyled and wet in your hands. The brush working against her scalp treated her so tenderly. As if you would rather walk through the fires of hell than yank against a strand of her head. She licked her lips, eyes suddenly watery. She had forgotten what tenderness had felt like these past few years. She believed she didn’t need it. Maybe she was wrong.

Using your nail to part her hair in two, you push both sections over her shoulders, and the bed creaks as you get off to sit in front of her.

The girl who avoided your gaze when apologizing earlier is gone, and instead wholly intent on looking at you as you finger comb through the section of hair on her left shoulder. Deftly, you split it into another three, even sections, slowly beginning to put together her signature braids. Wednesday watches as your lashes flutter while you concentrate, enamored with how you lick your lips and twitch your nose. You’re engrossed in her. Sitting here in your clothes, letting you do her hair, she must be equally captivated.

You get to the end of the first braid before you notice an issue. “I don’t have a tie,” You announce, pouting.

“I left them in the bathroom,” Wednesday says, already getting up. But you stop her.

“Wait-” And you're leaning over to your desk, rummaging through the top drawer. Pulling out two strands of black ribbon, you’re back in your spot in front of her. She’d seen them in your hair before. Setting one down in your lap, nimble fingers keep her braid in place while the other positions the ribbon. Soon enough, she had a perfect little bow tying the braid together. You start immediately on the next one.

Wednesday Addams has bows in her hair.

Once you’re confident they’re even, you lean back, eyes immediately shooting up to her neglected bangs. Taking the forgotten brush, you lean in. Much closer than necessary for the task, but instead of pushing you away, she tries to see if she can feel your breath. Rounding off her bangs, you discard the brush for a final time, hands coming up to finger curl the longer ends, framing the hollow of her cheeks perfectly. Your hands settle on the curves of her jaw.

Her pupils are blown wide, eyes narrowed dangerously, and you feel like a meek hare in front of a desert viper. You’re sure her venom would sting, and you’d be happy to let it flow through you.

She lets her fangs sink into you, pulling you in until her lips connect with yours. Unlike her demeanor, she was soft against you, hands coming up to the nape of your neck to keep your lips flush against hers. The warmth of your sweater and your hands and your lips are too much and not enough, and when you finally pull away to catch your breath- cheeks hot and eyes lidded- she finds you irrevocably adorable. She understands why Anaconda kill and eat their mate. If you don’t stop looking at her like that, you’ll undoubtedly meet the same demise. Wednesday finds herself pushing you down, pillows cushioning your fall as you lazily bring her back into your embrace.

As the clocks crawl forward, you both stay the same, warm and flush against one another. And as the clock strikes 8:30am, you’re both broken from your reverie.

“Good Morning everyone,” Principle Weems sounds from the intercom, “Due to the storm, faculty has made the decision to cancel classes and extracurricular activities for the remainder of the week. If the storm lets up, this schedule is subject to change. Stay dry everybody!”

A bit late for that.

“We’ll be staying here.” Wednesday decides for you both, already pulling you back in. You kiss against her jaw in agreement, fingers pulling apart the bows in her hair.

---

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging, I'd really appreciate it! As always, my asks are always open to talk ^-^

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1CbNa8jneefleLKCK98HHC?si=1c7e5b671ae14e42

#Wednesday (2022)#Wednesday imagine #Wednesday x Reader #Wednesday Addams x Reader #Wednesday fanfic #my fics #all of my Wednesday fics so far have been written in the wee hours of the night

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