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riddleswhcre · 17 days ago

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prince of darkness

the grim reaper doesn’t just take souls. he claims them. a dark, lust-filled Tom Riddle where obsession meets damnation. are you ready to give him your soul?

warnings: smut, DUB-CON, non-con elements, coercion, fear kink, power imbalance, gaslighting.

au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

the air in the hospital room is wrong. heavy. stagnant. as if even the walls know what’s coming.

you grip your boyfriend’s hand—cold, lifeless, slipping further with every shallow breath he takes. his chest rises. falls. rises again. but each time, it’s weaker. less certain. the machines beep softly, filling the silence with their cruel reminders.

the doctors said there was nothing left to do.

you don’t believe them.

you can’t.

"please."

your voice is barely there, cracking, shaking, fingers tightening over his. you aren’t sure who you’re speaking to—a god? the universe? fate?

"please don’t take him from me."

silence answers.

your eyes burn, but you don’t cry. not yet.

instead, your mind drifts—grasping at something, anything. a whisper at the back of your skull. a thought you should have buried the moment it formed.

you could fix this.

it’s insane. impossible. the kind of desperate, reckless thing only a person on the verge of breaking would consider.

but you are breaking.

so, when midnight comes—

you go looking for something that shouldn’t exist.

the hospital chapel is cold. too cold. the candles flicker weakly, their glow failing against the press of the dark.

you step forward.

"if you’re real," you murmur, your voice barely holding steady, "if the stories are true—if there’s anything out there listening—i need you."

nothing.

the silence stretches.

you swallow, your throat raw. "death. the reaper. the devil. whoever you are, i’m calling you."

the air shifts.

the temperature drops, ice blooming across the stained-glass windows. the flickering candles shudder violently, their flames nearly snuffed out. the shadows stretch. move. the room bends, folds in on itself—

and he steps forward.

not like an apparition. not like a trick of the light.

like something that was always here, waiting just beyond sight, stepping through now only because he chose to.

tall. dressed in black, the fabric clinging to him like a second skin, sculpted over sharp, inhuman perfection. the world bends around him, unable to contain him. but it’s his eyes that trap you—bottomless, consuming, swallowing you whole.

he smiles.

"you called for me."

the weight of him nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

he moves closer, the air growing thicker with every step, as if the space itself is collapsing around him. you can’t breathe. you can’t move.

"did you think i wouldn’t come?"

you force your voice out, barely a whisper. "i—i need your help.

his smirk lingers, slow and knowing. "of course you do."

another step. you feel it in your bones.

"it’s my boyfriend," you manage. "he’s dying. the doctors can’t—" a breath. "but you can. can’t you?"

something flickers in his gaze. interest? amusement? he tilts his head, drinking in every desperate inch of you.

"saving a life is no small thing," he murmurs. "tell me, little one...what are you willing to offer in return?"

"anything."

the word leaves you too fast. too easy.

his expression darkens. not displeased. interested.

"you mortals," he says, stepping closer still. "so quick to make promises. so eager to throw yourselves at my feet." his fingers brush your cheek, cold as the grave. "and yet, you don’t even understand what you’re saying."

you flinch, but you don’t pull away.

his touch trails lower, his thumb ghosting over your pulse, feeling the way it pounds beneath his fingers. he hums, pleased.

"you’re terrified," he murmurs, almost thoughtful. "and yet, here you are. still looking at me like i’m your salvation."

your throat tightens. "can you do it or not?"

his smirk returns, slow and cruel. "oh, little one," he purrs, tilting your chin higher, forcing you to meet his gaze. "i can do anything."

the weight of his words sinks in. thick. suffocating. final.

"but," he continues, dragging the moment out, savouring you, "nothing is ever free."

you nod. "take whatever you want."

his eyes gleam.

"careful," he murmurs, voice dropping to something ruinous, curling around you like smoke. "a soul isn’t given, little one."

his fingers tighten. his breath brushes your ear.

"it’s taken."

the shadows move.

they devour the space between you, winding around your wrists, your throat. your breath catches. you can’t move. the weight of him—his presence, his voice—presses down like a vice, unstoppable.

"you belong to me now," he whispers.

the words sink into your skin. unshakeable. true.

your knees buckle, but he catches you—slow, deliberate hands settling on your waist, pulling you closer. your breath stutters as his fingers tighten, the fabric of your shirt twisting beneath his grip.

"did you really think," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, "that i would grant you mercy and let you simply walk away?"

the candlelight flickers. the walls feel smaller, as if reality itself is shrinking to make room for him.

"you don’t understand," you whisper, panic creeping in. "i just—i just wanted—"

"to save him," he finishes, mockingly sweet. "yes, i know." his lips ghost along the edge of your jaw, not quite touching, just enough to make you ache. "and now i get to decide what saving really means."

your stomach twists.

his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, slow and possessive.

"how far are you willing to go for him?" he muses, his breath cold against your throat. "would you bleed for him?" his teeth graze your pulse. "break for him?" his hands tighten on your hips. "would you let me ruin you for him?"

the way he says it—ruin—makes something hot coil in your gut.

"i—"

he chuckles. dark. dangerous.

"shhh," he murmurs, and suddenly you’re against the wall, his weight pressing into you, shadows curling tight around your wrists. his hands move—sliding up your stomach, your ribs, exploring.

"do you feel that?" he whispers.

your breath catches.

"that little heartbeat of yours," he purrs, pressing his hips against yours. "racing for me."

you whimper—because it’s true.

his fingers move at the hem of your shirt, slow and teasing, tracing idle patterns against the soft skin of your stomach. his touch is cold—unnatural, seeping beneath your skin, branding you from the inside out. a reminder of what you are now. who you are now.

his.

"you’re shaking," he murmurs, voice smooth and rich, edged with amusement. "is that fear? or something else?"

your breath catches as his fingers slide lower, just barely dipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, never quite touching where you need him to. he knows. of course, he knows.

"you don’t have to answer," he continues, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath freezing against your skin. "i can feel it. the way your pulse stutters. the way your body betrays you."

his other hand brushes along your ribs, inching higher. not rushed. not desperate. tom riddle doesn’t hurry. he takes his time. he unravels.

"you wanted this," he murmurs, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. "don’t lie to me."

"i—i didn’t—"

his hand tightens on your waist. not enough to hurt. just enough to remind you who holds the power here.

"you begged for me," he says, his tone dark, slow, merciless. "you whispered my name like a prayer, and now you want to pretend you didn’t mean it?"

your throat feels tight. "i just wanted to save him."

his laughter is low, knowing, cruel.

"is that what you keep telling yourself?"

his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice a whisper of death, of inevitability.

"that this was for him?"

his fingers move lower, slipping beneath your jeans, and your body betrays you completely.

a sharp inhale. your thighs clench.

tom hums, pleased.

"poor thing," he murmurs, dragging his fingers against you, feeling how wet you already are. "you don’t even realise, do you?"

you shake your head. "realise what?"

his fingers slide deeper, dragging through the slick heat between your legs, slow and taunting.

"that you were never here for him," he whispers, lips brushing against your neck, his voice sinking into your skin like poison. "you were here for me."

your breath stutters. his teeth graze your throat, sharp and deliberate.

"say it," he murmurs.

your eyes squeeze shut. "no."

a low, warning sound rumbles in his chest.

the next thing you know, his shadows are curling around your wrists, holding you still. his knee parts your thighs, pressing up between them, and the pressure is too much and not enough all at once.

"say it," he commands, fingers curling inside you, forcing another whimper from your lips.

you shake your head, biting your lip hard, trying to fight the way your hips are already rocking into his touch.

"you really think you have a choice?" his breath ghosts over your lips, and his fingers thrust deeper, slow and devastating.

your body betrays you again. a sharp gasp, the unbearable heat twisting inside you.

tom laughs softly. "that’s what i thought."

his shadows move—spreading your legs wider, pinning them open, holding you exactly how he wants you.

"so sweet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding in and out, dragging against every sensitive part of you, each movement slow, purposeful, designed to break you apart.

"look at you," he croons, his free hand trailing up your stomach, your chest, curling around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze. not yet. just rests his fingers there, reminding you who owns you now.

"dripping for me already," he murmurs, his voice mocking. "and i haven’t even fucked you yet."

a flush burns through your skin. shame. desire. need.

tom feels everything. he always does.

"you hate that you like it," he whispers against your lips, his fingers slipping out of you just to drag through the slick wetness between your legs again, spreading it, teasing.

he brings his fingers to your lips. "open."

you hesitate. his eyes darken.

"don’t make me ask again."

your lips part, and he pushes his fingers into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, making you taste yourself. his gaze never leaves yours, watching as you suck, as your body submits without hesitation.

"good girl," he breathes.

heat coils tight in your stomach.

his fingers slip from your lips, dragging down your body again, shoving your jeans lower, letting them pool at your ankles. you shiver, exposed, helpless, trapped between him and the wall.

and then—he’s lowering himself.

your breath catches.

he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, slow, lingering, his lips too cold and too hot all at once.

"say my name."

you don’t know it. you shouldn’t. but the moment he says it, it’s already there, curling in the back of your mind like a whisper that was always waiting.

tom.

ancient. inevitable. the name presses against your lips before you even realise you’re saying it.

and the moment you do?

his smile sharpens.

"you knew me before you even spoke it," he murmurs, voice dark and pleased. "because you’ve always belonged to me. haven’t you?"

"tom—"

his teeth scrape against soft skin, sharp and deliberate.

"shhh," he murmurs. his fingers tighten on your hips, holding you still. "i’m not done with you yet."

and then, his mouth is on you.

a sharp cry rips from your lips, your body jerking against the shadows still holding you in place. his tongue cold, devastatingly skilled—fucks into you, slow and cruel, dragging against every sensitive inch of you.

"you taste like sin," he murmurs, voice vibrating against you.

your hips buck, but he doesn’t let you move.

he devours you, licks into you like he’s starving, like he’s meant for this, like he wants to destroy you with pleasure.

"you’re mine," he breathes against you, his tongue flicking just right, making your whole body shake.

your hands claw at the stone wall, gasping, falling apart too fast. he won’t let you go until he gets what he wants.

"say it," he demands, and his fingers slip inside you again, curling just right, fucking you with slow, merciless precision.

you break.

"i’m yours," you gasp, desperate, mindless, gone. "i’m yours. i belong to you."

tom hums, satisfied, his lips pressing against the inside of your thigh one last time before he stands again, towering over you, his fingers dragging your slickness down your thigh.

his smile is dark, knowing, victorious. "good girl," he murmurs.

tom’s fingers move lazily over his belt, unfastening the buckle with slow, deliberate precision, as if he has all the time in the world. his gaze never leaves your face, watching the way your chest rises and falls too fast, how your body shakes even as you press yourself against the wall like you can somehow escape what’s coming.

you can’t.

his smirk deepens. he likes that you’re still pretending.

he frees himself, the sight of it sending a fresh shiver through your already-ruined body. the weight of his cock presses against the front of his trousers, thick, aching, demanding attention, but he doesn’t hurry. he just watches you, drinking in your expression like it’s his favourite sin.

"look at you," he murmurs, his voice smooth and cutting, filled with dark amusement. "still pretending you don’t want this."

your throat is dry, your mind spinning. "i—"

his fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet his.

"careful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly, as if daring you to bite him.

daring you to try.

"you’re already mine," he says, voice a low, dangerous promise. "there’s no point in lying to yourself now."

you shudder. his presence is too much, his body too close, his fingers too knowing as they slide down your throat, along the curve of your collarbone, tracing the shape of you like he’s memorising every inch.

he leans in, his lips hovering just over yours, not kissing, just waiting, letting you feel the way his breath ghosts over your mouth.

"you begged for this," he murmurs. "do you remember?"

you swallow hard.

his fingers curl around your throat, a light squeeze—not to hurt, just to remind you how easily he could.

"tell me how you begged," he whispers, his free hand dragging down your stomach, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the mess he’s already made of you.

you let out a broken sound, hips tilting forward into his touch despite yourself.

tom smirks. "that’s right. just like that. so eager."

he presses harder, his fingers teasing you again, but not quite giving you what you need.

"tell me what you said," he orders.

your cheeks burn. "i—"

his grip tightens slightly around your throat. "say it."

your breath shudders out of you. "i said i’d give you anything."

his low chuckle vibrates against your skin, dark and pleased.

"and here you are," he murmurs, his hand finally slipping lower, fingers spreading you open, teasing the aching, sensitive heat between your legs.

"dripping for me. desperate for me. mine."

your eyes squeeze shut as he strokes you, slow and cruel, dragging his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, playing with you like you’re something fragile and breakable and already ruined beyond repair.

his cock presses against your stomach, hard and aching, and the realisation of how big he is makes something tighten deep in your belly.

he sees it. of course he does.

"you should be afraid," he murmurs, his fingers still fucking into you, slow and devastating. "but look at you."

his grip shifts, his free hand sliding down your waist, your hips, his fingers pressing against the softest parts of you, mapping you, memorising the way your body responds to him.

"you love this," he breathes against your lips. "the fear. the power. me."

your whole body burns. your pulse races beneath his hand, a frantic thing, a desperate, helpless thing.

he nudges your legs wider, forcing you open for him, the shadows around your wrists tightening just slightly.

"say it," he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your slick heat, not pushing in yet, just teasing, making sure you feel every second of this.

you whimper. "i—i don’t—"

tom laughs softly, shaking his head.

"you still think you have a choice?"

his hips snap forward, and you feel him push inside, the stretch too much and perfect all at once, his cock forcing your body to take him, to open for him.

a sharp cry tears from your throat, your fingers clawing at the stone wall. his shadows tighten around your wrists, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

his growl is low, pleased, satisfied, dark.

"fuck," he breathes, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you still as he buries himself completely inside you.

you feel every inch of him. the slow, devastating drag of it.

"you’re perfect," he mutters, his lips brushing against your jaw, your ear, your throat.

his fingers press against your lower stomach, right where he’s stretching you open.

"do you feel that?" he whispers. "how deep i am?"

you can’t speak. can’t think. your body trembles beneath him, every nerve lit with fire.

"you take me so well," he breathes, pulling out slowly, dragging every inch of his cock against your aching, sensitive walls, before snapping his hips forward again, making you cry out.

"fuck, that’s it," he murmurs, setting a slow, merciless rhythm, fucking you deep and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every deliberate claim.

"tell me who you belong to," he demands, his voice low and sharp, his fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely.

your eyes flutter.

"say it," he growls, his thrusts deep and hard and inescapable, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

"i—" your breath shatters.

his hand slides lower, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing just right, just enough, pushing you too close, too fast.

"say it, or i stop."

a broken sob escapes your lips.

"i’m yours," you gasp, voice wrecked, shaking, completely gone.

tom groans, thrusting into you harder, the sound of skin against skin, the wet, filthy noises of your bodies echoing in the dim chapel.

"that’s my girl," he breathes, voice raw and dark and victorious.

"you were always mine."

and then he makes you prove it.

his fingers press against your lower stomach, just above the place where he’s already buried so deep inside you.

"feel that?" his voice is low, mocking, dragging through the thick heat between you. "i’m so deep in this pretty little cunt, i can feel myself inside you."

you don’t answer—not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t.

you’re already falling apart, shaking beneath him, the stretch of him too much and not enough all at once. he’s big, his cock dragging against every sensitive part of you, the slow, deliberate way he moves making it worse, making it unbearable.

"fuck, you’re tight," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, keeping you still as he ruins you completely.

your nails scrape against the stone wall, trying to hold onto something, but there’s nothing to hold onto—only him, only the slow, punishing drag of his cock, only the way he’s filling you so completely there isn’t a single part of you he hasn’t claimed.

and he knows it.

"taking me so well," he murmurs, his breath hot and cold against your skin, dragging his lips along your throat, your jaw, your cheek. "look at you. a perfect little mess. so wet for me. so fucking eager."

you whimper, hips shifting against his, already desperate for more.

tom chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "i should have made you beg for it longer," he murmurs, his voice low and cruel, hips snapping forward just a little harder, making you gasp. "you would have. in the end."

he knows what he’s doing—knows exactly how to break you apart, how to push you closer to the edge, how to make you forget anything but him.

his pace shifts, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper, his fingers slipping lower, spreading you open with every slow, devastating stroke.

"look at you, dripping down my cock already," he breathes, watching the way your body clenches around him, how easy it is for him to fuck you open. "so fucking good for me."

a sharp moan rips from your throat, your body shuddering as pleasure coils tight in your stomach.

he can feel it. of course, he can.

"you’re close," he murmurs, sounding so fucking pleased with himself. "come on, let me feel it. let me feel this pretty little cunt squeeze me when you come."

his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, circling just right, pushing you over the edge so fast you barely have time to breathe.

a sharp cry, your whole body trembling, the pleasure so intense it nearly pulls you under completely.

tom groans, thrusting deeper, fucking you through it, watching you fall apart with something dark and hungry in his eyes.

"that’s it," he breathes, voice rough and raw, fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he snaps his hips forward faster, chasing his own release now.

"you feel so fucking good," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, harder, deeper, inescapable. "so fucking perfect. like you were made for me."

his hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back just slightly, enough for his teeth to scrape against your throat, for his breath to ghost over your ear.

"you’re mine now," he murmurs, fucking you deep, slow, merciless, making sure you feel every inch, every stroke, every claim.

your breath shatters, your body still shaking from your orgasm, but it only makes him thrust harder, rougher, filthier, dragging every last bit of pleasure out of you.

"fuck—" his voice is low, desperate, his pace losing rhythm, his cock throbbing inside you as he finally lets go, slamming into you one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick and completely fucking inescapable.

his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you take every drop of him.

for a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing, your body limp and ruined against the stone wall, his hands still gripping your waist like he’s not ready to let go.

then, slowly, his lips ghost over your jaw, your cheek, your ear.

"that’s it," he murmurs, voice rough and sated, fingers sliding down your trembling thighs, spreading you open again, as if admiring the way he’s left you dripping, shaking, completely wrecked.

"you look so fucking pretty like this," he breathes, his thumb swiping between your legs, dragging through the mess he’s made of you.

your body shudders at the overstimulation, but he only smirks, watching every little reaction, every twitch, every shiver.

"you’re not done yet, little one," he murmurs, low and dark and utterly unshaken.

his fingers tease you again, just barely. a warning. a promise.

"we’ve only just begun."

─────────────────────

the steady beep of the heart monitor is the first thing you hear.

soft. rhythmic. real.

you blink against the sterile white glow of the hospital room, your body aching, your head swimming. the chair beneath you is stiff and uncomfortable; your fingers curled around a warm, living hand.

his hand.

your breath stutters. your boyfriend lies in the bed beside you, chest rising and falling with a steady, even rhythm. alive. he’s alive.

his eyelids flutter before his gaze slowly meets yours. familiar. safe. confused.

"hey," he murmurs, voice weak and worn. "you stayed."

a strangled noise catches in your throat. tears spill over, hot and uncontrollable, as you lurch forward, clutching him too tightly, burying your face against his neck.

he’s warm. so fucking warm.

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget. trying to convince yourself it was just a dream.

the shadows. the ice in your veins. the cold weight of him inside you.

no. it didn’t happen. it couldn’t have happened.

you saved him. that’s all that matters.

you force yourself to pull away, swiping at your tears with the sleeve of your jacket. "i—yeah. of course, i stayed. where else would i be?"

a soft smile tugs at his lips before exhaustion takes him under again, his eyes slipping closed.

you exhale, shaking hands still curled around his, willing the weight in your chest to disappear.

it was nothing.

it was just a nightmare.

a breath. another.

you can almost believe it—until the air shifts.

it’s subtle. just a whisper of something wrong. the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, your stomach twisting.

a shadow moves in the corner of your vision.

your pulse stops.

slowly—too slowly—your gaze drags to the mirror mounted on the wall beside you. the reflection stares back. the dim hospital lighting. the crisp sheets. your boyfriend’s still, sleeping body.

and him.

standing behind you.

your breath catches.

he looks the same as he did before—perfect and terrible and so impossibly there—watching you with those bottomless black eyes, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.

your chest tightens, throat constricting, fingers gripping your boyfriend’s hand too hard. but he doesn’t react. doesn’t see what you see.

because there is nothing there.

you squeeze your eyes shut.

"not real."

"not real. not real. not—"

a slow, quiet chuckle presses against your ear.

"sweet little liar," tom murmurs.

your lungs collapse.

you spin around, heart hammering, but—nothing.

the hospital room is still. silent.

your gaze snaps back to the mirror—but it’s empty.

just you.

just the bed.

just your boyfriend, alive and well.

your pulse thrums wildly beneath your skin, hands trembling as you pull them away from him, curling them into your lap. your nails dig into your palms, hard enough to hurt. hard enough to ground you.

it was nothing.

it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

the exhaustion. the grief.

that’s all.

you inhale slowly, pressing a shaking hand to your temple, trying to push him out of your thoughts.

but the burn of his touch still lingers on your skin.

your body still aches from the way he ruined you.

and somewhere in the deepest part of you, you know.

you can run. you can pretend. you can wake up to the morning light and convince yourself it was only a nightmare.

but tom riddle doesn’t grant mercy.

and when he comes for you again—

you won’t wake up at all.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴. 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭

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wandixx · 1 month ago

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"There is only so much you can for the dead" part 2

continuation to this, I should probably make an original title at some point

trigger warnings: graphic describtion of Danny's death

Moments of blissed, deadly stillness felt unfairly short. It was less than blink of an eye, less than a drop of darkness after he asked Team for the last time to leave and before he woke up, in exactly same state that he was when portal spat him out. He could barely perceive his limbs, and what he could, was consumed by agonising pain.

Fuck, he hated Death Days. Absolutely horrible experience.

His nerves were on fire, electricity dancing and burning across them. His veins and lungs and nostrils and ears and stomach and eyes and mouth and every little crevice of his body was filled with ectoplasm, like liquid fire and evaporated ice, drowning him at every attempted breath. He was crushed by an unimaginable weight, at the same time as his body exploded. He was just coherent enough to feel his bones breaking, cells bursting, his very molecules being rearranged and destroyed and rebuilt but not coherent enough to tell if his scream was anything louder than a whimper.

He was in the middle of the crowd that screamed louder than he could handle, as if every person who ever got to Ghost Zone used this exact moment to let out all of their anguish, hands dragging and pulling and squeezing and brushing at every inch of his skin. He was alone like no one was ever before, in silence that was deafening. He could be stomped to death any second without anyone turning his head, and so separate from everything that he could be only existing being.

He couldn’t help but wait for Death, merciless and brutal, whose twisted children invaded his bed time stories since he could understood words, whose corrupted children he was taught to hate. She was hideous and horrifying, but against everything, she was familiar and he wanted, needed, to see one intimate face in the situation that was so wrong, wrong, wrong. He waited for her to rip his last breath away so everything would stop.

If he had a scrap of himself that could feel worse, it’d cry when he felt her getting away from him, slipping between the fingers that were both tense and limp, impossible to control but possible to feel, broken and twitching. She was getting away but pain wasn’t lessening, maybe even getting worse, to the point where it was only thing that filled his brain.

And then it all stopped. No pain, not even any left over typical to how injuries worked, just a moment of weird pressure against his palm (just like the button), that soon stopped too.

He was in his human form, but in the hazmat he wore just before the accident. Something was wrong about it all. Something in his body made it feel like not his. Something in his chest was too light and too quiet and some intrusive thought made him want to claw on his rib cage until he ripped it open and realized what was missing.

Breathing seemed to easy, enough that he got lightheaded. It got a lot harder when he realized.

He couldn’t feel his core.

Before he managed to come to terms with that, there was a gentle pressure on his hand again.

And the pain returned.

*-*-*

Danny didn't wake up abruptly, with a choked scream and phantom burns. He also didn't wake up slowly, not in the nice, relaxed way at least, when the line between dream and reality is blurred beyond recognition. He woke up in pain, feeling like he wasn't even sleeping before, just… somewhere else while his body was destroying itself again for what felt like decades.

It took some effort to connect with his body after he woke up. To be able to move even a finger. Even longer, to open his eyes. Actual ages to sit up without urge to scream.

After seeing the absolute wreckage of the room, he kinda wished it took him longer. It looked like a warzone. Electrical burns on the walls and ceiling, random puddles of bubbling ectoplasm eating away anything they touched like an acid, and what little stuff there was before, was almost all broken beyond recognition, either by whatever force was doing its thing during his death day show or ecto. When he looked at it a bit more, it seemed to go in spiral around him.

It was kinda sad that the cookies went to waste like that. He was curious who brought them in though.

Thank fucking Ancients that Team listened to him and nobody was there when the whole mess was going down. They would probably join him on the other side of the veil otherwise.

He saw it all only because of his ghost enhanced in dark vision (thank Ancients he stayed in the ghost form) because apparently his Death Day shorted out both main electrical circuit and the emergency one. Thankfully, according to his ears, it only reached this and rooms next to him, instead of the whole Mountain.

Fuck. He really hoped Robin gave him some sort of back-up back-up room because otherwise he was dead. Or well, dead-er.

He rolled out of the bed, barely catching himself from smacking on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Though some would argue he didn’t catch himself if only his face didn’t fall to the floor like the sack of potatoes.

Only then he caught sight of big, ecto-green circle that embed itself into the wall right over the bed. It had familiar vibes. Really familiar…

He had to tell the Team about it yesterday.

*-*-*

M'gann was sitting on the needles, just like everyone else. Sure, Phantom asked them to forget about him and essentially ignore whatever was happening to him, but there was no way they'd actually be able to do it. Case in point, first time alarms about shorting out of the electrical circuit in the room. They run there so fast that they had door open to see what was wrong before the absolute onslaught of electricity and ectoplasm and something else turned off the alarms thirty seconds later. Truth be told, they couldn’t do much, not without risking becoming second ghostly member of the Team, they’ve been there and ready. Conner tried to come in anyway, with his invulnerability and such, but they had to drag him out when despite extensive dodging he got hit five times by the time he got two steps into the room. Also, there wasn’t really anything he could do to help.

So they just spent last almost twenty hours alternating between different things to keep themselves occupied enough to not fall asleep and distract themselves from quilt but not enough to not be able to drop it at the moments notice if it was needed. First plan was to nap in shifts if it was necessary but it quickly became apparent that sleep was impossible with how worried everyone was and when M'gann proposed to just shut down their brains with her powers, everyone got really defensive. Well, no was no. So they just sat, at the moment in awkward silence because every topic that wasn't Phantom felt too inane and every topic that was Phantom felt too… just no. No name for why, just no.

M'gann was about to get up to make another batch of peanut butter and oatmeal snacks that took few minutes to make and could be dropped at any second, when Conner practically jumped in his seat, tilting his head to hear better. Robin perked up from whatever he was doing on his wrist computer at the same time.

"Phantom left the room!” they exclaimed at the same time, jumping out of their seats.

This head start didn’t matter by the time everyone ran or flew out to the corridor, racing against clock to the room where they left Phantom. It didn’t seems so before, but now M’gann just cursed their past selves for not waiting somewhere closer. There wasn’t really any place where they could stay instead, unless they set camp right outside his door, but it still. They should be there five minutes ago, like Wally, who obviously run off.

They heard Wally speaking before they’ve seen him.

“Hey, hey calm down. It’s fine, they’ll be there in a second, just chill. They’re right after me, whatever happened, we’ll help you in just a moment, you don’t have to run. You’re barely standing. Phantom, calm down”

M’gann barely made it around the corner and she thought she had seen Kaldur actually smacking into the wall. He brushed it off.

Phantom looked beyond rough. It seemed like Wally, who had ghost’s arm across his shoulders, was only thing holding him up. His feet were firmly on the ground, not in his usual way, when he looked just a breeze away from flying, but in this fully human way, which was unsettling. His face was gray instead of his usual almost tan, eyes wide and terrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, not looking at anyone in particular “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

“Phantom, it’s fine. It’s fine, we know about the room, it’s fine,” Robin said, trying to placate him. It didn’t quite work. Ghost was on the verge of hyperventilating, which was a bit weird to see on someone for who breathing was voluntary.

“It’s not about room”

“I’m sure it’s fine anyway”

“It’s anything but. I’m sorry-”

“Shut up and tell us what happened if you’re so sure we will be pissed”

“Artemis!”

“Portal”

“What about it?”

“Portal is what killed me.”

M’gann didn’t like how the whole situation looked before, but it suddenly became much worse.

“My Death Day made another one”

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #i'll be honest with you guys #it feels like a set up to a much longer fic #story of Danny Phantom and first season of Young Justice show rewrite if Danny was on the team and they sometimes had to fight-#- off ghosts in their base while figuring out how to close both portals and coming up with increasingly bizzare ideas to do so #like the type of fic #which don't get me wrong #would be amazing to read #but I'm not ready to write it #and I set it up a year into Danny's hero journey and it's impied that Team worked together for a while #so it takes away my beloved “actually none of them has any clue what they're doing” trope that I'd love to use if I ever wrote dpxyj longfi #but who knows #maybe I will write it one day #anyway #this is first of five fics/parts of fics i'll post today as an (almost) New Year special #(almost) New Years fic special #wandixx writes #have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part

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iveriee · 6 months ago

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yandere alphabet with tom riddle !

—toxicity . delusional thoughts. murder. violence. kidnapping. starvation. manipulation. abuse. terrible communication skills . torture. bone-breaking. death. very loosely implied dub-con ?? jealousy. second person POV. reader's gender is NOT defined. this has got to be my magnum opus lol. in terms of quantity, NOT quality. yawns aesthetically in exhaustion. you mfs better reblog this ! / nf.

AFFECTION: how do they show their love and affection? how intense would it get ?

— i don't think he'd be that physically affectionate in general but he'd definitely wrap an arm about your waist if he wanted to prove that you were his. also, if you tried to deny him, he'd wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck — his grip unyieldingly tight.

— even if he's not that great with physical touch, he prefers acts of service and gift-giving way more. (it also allows him to guilt trip you soo..)

— would help you with your homework, especially if you're academically weak.

— if he wants to say something to you but he's repulsed by saying it verbally, he'll write a note.

— speaking (pun intended lol) of written communication, he will write many more notes for different situations.

BLOOD: how messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

— alot. I mean, alot.

— he wouldn't hesitate to murder people for you, if it was necessary

— but only if it's required.

— he may be a psychopath but he does not kill for fun.

—he'd scheme, manipulate and lie aswell.

CRUELTY : how would they treat their darling once abducted ? would they mock them ?

— depends on your behaviour.

— but he'd usually be cruel and sarcastic. (it's a defense mechanism, he does NOT want you knowing how much you mean to him)

— "I'm giving you food and all other necessities, shouldn't you atleast a bit grateful?"

— he'll demand utter and complete obedience from you.

— and if you don't comply to his demands...

— well, that's another story.....

— but if you do, he'll be internally ECSTATIC. (of course, he wouldn't actaully show that..)

— he'd squint suspiciously and say, "good. you finally did something sensible after a while."

DARLING: aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will ?

— he'd sabotage your relationships with others, especially if it's romantic. (not that he'll allow that kind of relationship to form in the first place)

— those vermin don't deserve to speak with you. they are beneath you and besides, you're his. all his. and he doesn't like sharing his possessions, oh no, he does not.

— he'd also steal your belongings. (interpret this how you want to ..)

EXPOSED: how much of their heart do they bare to their darling ? how vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

— absolutely not vulnerable. no, never, not under any circumstances, just no.

— he hates being vulnerable and exposed, it makes him feel weak and he much prefers to hide his feelings and compose himself

— even more so, he would never explicitly tell you the extent of his feelings. how an ache burns in his chest whenever he sees you. how he can't help but want to help out and take a strand of your hair and kiss it and never fucking let go and-

FIGHT: how would they feel if their darling fought back ?

— he'd be amused, at first. he knows that you cannot possibly hope to overpower him, even if you try your best.

— but his amusement would quickly turn into annoyance and he'd take your chin in his hands, tilt it upwards and whisper; "stop this nonsense and just shut up. else I'll do it for you."

— ( he'll do it for you indeed, in a particular way...)

GAME: is this a game to them ? how much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape ?

— yes, but also no.

— he enjoys watching you struggle and plan to escape. as aforementioned, he knows that you can't possibly do so without his help.

— but at the same time, he doesn't like it.

— he wants you to need him, to beg for him and to love him. he deserves all that ; after all, he's wasting all his time taking such good care of you ! should he not get something in return?

HELL: what would be their darling's worst experience with them?

— probably when you disobey him.

— you'd say something impudent and his expression would freeze. he'd gently take away the plate of food he brought for you, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a thin line.

— "hush now," he'd coo, when tears would begin to stream down your cheeks, hot and heavy. "you did this to yourself. i was merely giving you your meal."

—smirking, he'd plant a kiss to your forehead; a mark. an emblem to show that you are powerless against him.

— and then, without another word, he'd fucking walk out.

IDEALS: what kind of future do they have in mind for / with their darling ?

— a future where you'd be all his and not think of anyone else.

— he also wants you to love him as he 'loves' you.

— also, this is a bit far-fetched, but I assume he'd want to make you his horcrux if possible. what better way to claim you as his but to give you a fragment of his soul?

JEALOUSY: do they get jealous ? do they lash out or find a way to cope ?

— holy fuck.

— where do I even begin?. this man gets jealous at the tiniest things. you spoke to another person ? he's going to modify their fucking memories. you smiled at some random vermin? he's going to make sure they never get to see you smile again.

— he does NOT like you interacting with anyone but him. it makes him feel as though you are not entirely his. and he needs you to be his. because you belong to him. you are meant for him and he won't let anything get in the way.

— he'll usually remain composed and commit all the traumatizing shit when you're not looking. but if it gets too far, god forbid it does, he'll grab your shoulders, nails digging into your flesh and glare daggers at you silently for a while before saying; "you're mine. don't forget that."

KISSES: how would they act around / with their darling?

— depends on your behaviour.

— if you're good and listen to him, he'll smile slightly and kiss you. as mentioned before, he's not that affectionate; touch is foreign to him. he'll perhaps praise you aswell, if he's feeling particularly generous.

— but, merlin, if you're not.

— you are fucked. he'll insult you until you sob, starve you and deprive you of any social interaction.

LOVE LETTERS: how would they go about courting or approaching their darling ?

— he'd show his love through small things; like brushing a stray strand from your forehead, making sure you eat properly, kissing your palms softly. although this may seem like genuine courting, he would end up manipulating and guilt tripping you.

— (you ignored him? he'd pretend to be lovelorn and heartbroken until you cannot help but melt into him, mumbling fervent apologies.)

— he's a great gaslighter so he'd most likely gain your trust easily. unless you somehow know the truth about him.

MASK: are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else ?

— ...... he's tom riddle, what do you expect?. obviously he's VERY different when around everyone else.

NAUGHTY: how would they punish their darling ?

— oh hell no. he has so many ideas for torturing you that's it's just simply too difficult to decide. should he strangle you? use a spell that burns your insides? manipulate you into apologizing? carve his initials onto your thighs with a knife?

— he would end up either starving or threatening you. or, if the case is far too severe, he'd break your limbs; the exquisite sound of your bones cracking music to his ears. now you cant run from him and neither can you do anything without his help. the thought makes him smile.

OPPRESION: how many rights would they take away from their darling ?

— alot. and by alot, i mean 90% of your rights. you can't do anything without him. he should be your salvation, why are you focusing on other matters?. nothing else matters. only he does.

PATIENCE: how patient are they with their darling ?

— not that patient.

— he'd wait for you to eventually submit but if it takes too long, then he'd definitely take action.

QUIT: if their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on ?

— your chances of dying under his watch are very low, but if you do..

— he'd be torn.

— and probably on the brink of madness. how dare you? how dare you die? how dare you leave him? disgusting, so utterly disgusting that his eyes sting for the first time in years. he'd lose all passage of time and stare at your corpse for a very, *very* long time. and when he realises that no spell, no potion, no *nothing* can bring you back..

— hah. his fate is now doomed.

—however, if it was an escape, he would find you quite easily and when he does, expect to lose any autonomy you have and your limbs aswell.

REGRET: would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling ? would they ever let their darling go ?

— no. just. no. you belong to him, why would he feel guilty?

STIGMA: what brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc) ?

— growing up at wool's orphanage certainly didn't help his communication skills, he merely takes what he wants without a care.

— and also because he finds you unqiue. there is something about you. something indiscernable to the naked eye but not to him, no- he could find you in the midst of a crowd if he had to. hence, due to this uniqueness, he wants you. because he deserves it. he deserves the best after what he endured. and won't you give it to him?

TEARS: how do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves ?

— again, like a lot of other things about Tom, this depends on the situation.

— however, most of the time, he would hesitantly kneel down and trail his fingers across your cheeks. stop crying, he'd think. it's making me feel things I've never felt before. but if you do not stop crying, his grip on your cheeks would sharpen and he'd frown.

__ "stop. crying." he'd say firmly. "it's embarassing."

— if that does not shut you up, then god knows what would.

UNQIUE: would they do anything different from the classic yandere ?

— he'd be a bit more mean but not really. however, it depends on what we define a 'classic yandere' as.

VICE: what weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape ?

— he's observant, so most ways of escape have been sealed off. can't think of much. but maybe if you bruise his ego enough, you could distract him.

WIT'S END: would they ever hurt their darling ?

— oh yes. he would. happily, even. (if you disobeyed him, that is.)

— your cries are everything to him. they remind him that he's the one in charge here. mostly, it's just psychological manipulation but he will physically hurt you if needed. (insert bone cracking sounds here)

XOANON: how much would they revere or worship their darling ? to what length would they go to win their darling over ?

— he wouldn't really worship you in the traditional sense but he would go to great lengths for you, whether it be murder, scheming, or anything that comes with risks in general.

— but if you submit to him, he'd be quite nicer and perhaps would even compliment or kiss you. a kiss so soft that it sends a shudder down your spine..

— he does revere you though, in his mind. he can't afford to show this in reality because he fears that you might take the upper hand when he does. he finds that you're beyond the worth of a hundred lives. still, you're beneath him.

YEARN: how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

— for a very long time. he would wait for a while; he knows he'll be easily able to gain your trust and eventually manipulate you into loving him. however, too long is simply too long. if he's been pining after you for years and you still do not fancy him, he'd snap.

—and when he does, you'll be dead. (?)

ZENITH: would they ever break their darling ?

— he would, if it was needed to make you all his. and then he'd blame it on you; you were the one who rejected all his advances. he merely wanted to care for you!

— and then, when you're broken and nobody can fix you, he'd tsk mockingly. "i warned you, didn't i?"

#harry potter #hp fandom #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #yandere tom riddle #yandere tom riddle x reader #yandere alphabet #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle angst #dead dove do not eat #yandere #yandere x reader #fanfic #dead dove: do not eat #voldemort #voldemort x reader #verie ! [fanfic]

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signanothername · 6 months ago

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I know next to nothing about Delta Sans lol... what are some of his main traits and characteristics? /nf

I GET TO RAMBLE ABOUT DELTA LETS GOOOOO

Funny enough, Delta’s canon material isn’t very vast, considering most his canon story is animated, so you can imagine how long it takes to animate and how few animations there are, despite that i just can’t help but love this bitch

Let’s start with basics since you don’t know much, you might see Delta’s Au with 3 names: Ultratale, Vitaltale, and Delta’s tale, which are all canon as they’re all used by Delta’s creator Animated Zorox

Ultratale is the Au’s series old name when it was first animated (and is now cancelled), Vitaltale is the Au’s current name which refers to the new repooted series, Delta’s tale use is honestly unclear for me, but i like to believe it’s more of a general name for the Au

Kay so with that out of the way, Delta is a sans that fused with the human soul of bravery, that’s why he has his signature orange gloves, (and Delta can talk and communicate with the bravery soul inside his head)

Delta is from a Genocide timeline and is the only survivor, so after he defeats Chara (who’s called “Omega Chara” in the Au) Delta takes it upon himself to become a protector of Aus (imagine it as his coping mechanism for losing his own Au fused with Bravery’s sense of protection) but he’s not a protector in the same sense that is Ink, Delta travels from Au to Au pretty much looking for a fight, looking to see if the Au he’s in is in trouble and fighting whoever causes it to save it from the same fate his own Au faced

So he’s kind, brave, righteous and honest… too honest chchchch

But he’s also egotistical, super hot headed, and can easily rage, and despite deeming himself a protector, he’s only a protector to those who need protection, so the poor bitches who threaten the Au? Yeah Delta isn’t above tainting his hands with someone else’s blood (ma boi is passionate about murdering fr fr) in his defense tho he tries listening and talking to them and convincing them (for roughly 10 seconds) if it doesn’t work then he goes for the kill

Look at him telling Cross he’ll kill him (god I love him)

But he’s also willing to put himself in danger if it meant protecting someone else (basically putting the life of others above his own)

What’s also fun is the fact Delta can easily give up like a normal Sans would, It’s Bravery that keeps him going

But what I also really love is his way of fighting/using his powers, Delta tends to use his own blaster’s jaws as a super speed jet pack, and his fighting style tends to mostly be up close and personal, like this bitch will break bones with his bare hands, and believe me, this bitch sure got stamina cause DAMN

He can even fully fuse with Bravery, like he becomes a glowing orange lamp hcchchchch

he’s a bit reckless but still smart to know when to stay a safe distance or change tactics

One of my fave things is him using his gloves as armored shoes cause why the fuck not y’know?

Delta is also semi canonically friends with Color and Epic (semi-canon as in the creators of these three drew them together as the ��Epic Sanses Trio” but are not necessarily part of their own respective timeline’s stories chchhcch) but it’s fully canon in my heart <3333

If you’d like to see the actual canon content for Delta, I recommend checking this doc made by @howlsofbloodhounds they’ve done an amazing job at collecting as much as they can <3

#anyway i would not deem myself a Delta expert #so Delta experts out there feel free to correct me if i got something wrong #anothers ask #ultratale #vitaltale #delta sans #fast moving gif #fast moving images #flashing gif

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prettyinpink69 · 9 days ago

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There's not a thing that I would change ♡

OK so I can't stop thinking about sevikas cutie potootie tooth gap so... here are my thoughts. If this is absolute garbage just scroll pls

I hardly write and honestly I have no idea what I'm doing sooooo enjoy? Maybe?

1.1 K words

All credits to GIF owner

It was another long night waiting at home for Sevika, the bedroom was only filled with the neon lights reflecting into the dark bedroom as you were curled up in the sheets missing her warmth. She said she'd be home hours ago but waiting for her to be done with whatever Silco had her doing wasn't uncommon.

Another ridiculously long hour passes and you decide to just try and get some sleep. The minute your eyes flutter shut, you hear the faint click of the front door of your old, worn-down shared apartment open and close. Your eyes open and you subconsciously sit up in the bed, letting the sheets bunch up around your hips. The sound of Sevika's heavy, leather clad boots get closer and closer to the bedroom. The sound of the door swinging open instantly plants a smile on your face, knowing your girlfriend was home for another night... worrying she wouldn't turn up home was always a worry in your mind.

"Hey Sevi..." you say with a slight smile, you can tell from the way her shoulders are slumped she's exhausted. "Princess..." the way her voice broke mid word was enough to replace you smile with a small frown. "Sit down Sevi... long day?" Your hand pats the bed next to you as you scoot over to make room for her large frame. The bed dips as she sits down and rests back against the headboard. "Long is an understatement princess... Silco is working me to the damn bone." She runs a hand over her face, the exhaustion being shown through her dark under eye bags and the way a sigh leaves her lips. However her hand catches her to lip as she's rubbing her face and just for a second shows her gap tooth.

Unconsciously you smile at the sight, you only realise when Sevika raises her eyebrow at you. "Whatcha lookin' at princess?" You scoot closer to her and cup her cheeks, caressing her rough skin on her cheeks. "Nothing sevi just... your really pretty you know that?" It earns an instant scoff from Sevika, you furrow your brows not in confusion but frustration. She could never see what you saw in her... she was beautiful, her tanned skin and those grey eyes you found yourself lost in far too often. And that dammed tooth gap, sevika hated it but everytime you saw it, it made you feel all giddy inside, you only ever really saw it when she smiled. Which was rare but you probably saw it the most.

"Pretty? Babygirl I'm not 'pretty' I'm rough, and scarred and well... I'm nothing compared to you princess." You frowned, the slight insecurity which she tried to hide under her 'tough girl' act slightly shone through. "Sevi I think your so pretty, there's not a thing I would change about you. Your scars are beautiful, they're your personal story. And yes your tough but your beautiful. And your little tooth gap just makes me... feel things. So in the nicest way possible, and don't tell me off, please shut up" you giggle at the end hoping she won't get mad at you for being a little bratty. But she doesn't get mad, instead that signature smirk crosses her face and you know your in for a long night.

"Oh you.. feel things hm?.. Need some help with that? " As she was speaking, her hand was creeping up your bare thigh closer and closer to your dripping aching core. Subconsciously you spread your legs just a little wider as you look at her. "Sevi..." your small plea only gets you a chuckle from sevika's lips. Her thick, long, slender fingers run over the wet patch on your panties which earns a small gasp and moan from your lips. "So sensitive already... its embarrassing really princess... just a couple of rubs and you'd be cumming in these panties hm?" Her teasing only pull a pathetic whimper from your lips as your hips grind harder on her hand, seeking any sort of friction.

"Sevi please... n-need you..." And that's all it takes, within seconds sevika has ripped your panties off and has situated herself between your legs inhaling the sweet scent of your arousal. "So desperate princess... considering this tooth gap is getting you so worked up let me use this mouth to help out this needy cunt sound good princess?" Before you can respond a moan is ripped from your throat as sevikas hot wet tongue laps up your wetness, exploring your folds with precision. "F-fuck s-sevi... please... fuck yes..." Your hands naturally move down to grip your small hands in her hair, afraid she'll pull away at any second. You gripping her hair only eggs her on more, her tongue kitten licking and swirling around your clit like your her last meal. Your a babbling mess of 'please' and 'don't stop', the coil in your tummy getting tighter and tighter...

You barley catch it but you definitely feel the delicious vibrations it causes against your clit "taste so fucking good, fucking slutty pussy taking my tongue so well" she says before pushing the muscle of her tongue in your hole. That's what send you over the edge, your walls tighten around her tongue and you grind against her face. "Fuuuck sevi- ohhh fuck yeah.. mm just l-like that" she continues to help you ride out your orgasm, making it last almost a ridiculously long time, if she was gonna make you cum, she was gonna make sure you enjoy it. She always did. Your hands slowly let go of her hair as she peppers kisses all the way up your lower stomach, to your navel, up the valley of your breasts she stops at your neck to leave her mark. "Your mine princess." The tone was demanding but you didn't at all disagree with her statement. You were hers. You both knew that. "Mm' yours sevi..." she finally placed a sweet kiss on your lips, you could faintly taste your lingering arousal on her lips... its safe to say you were not done and it was going to be a long night...

#Spotify #sevika smut #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane

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patchworkcuddlebug · 22 days ago

Text

Like a Person

[This story is softcore smut.]

The witch's gaze catches it like a rat in a trap. She tilts her head as she saunters over, the otherwise frozen audience of dolls docilely clearing a path. The witch kneels, cupping its head in her hands.

"Could you repeat yourself, dear?"

It takes a second to gather its bearings, trying and failing not to sound mortified. "This one, said that it does-"

The witch interrupts it. "Good dolls obey."

Its mouth speaks on its own, in a more monotone voice than before. "This one said 'I still feel like a person.' Miss"

"Oh, you poor thing." She didn't sound compassionate or sorrowful. She was smiling, looking down at the doll like a morsel. "Why don't you join me in my study. Then I can help you deal with those thoughts of yours."

The witch walks away, hesitating only for a second when it notices the doll is still frozen in place. She looks back, scoffing through her smirk. "That's a command, dear."

The doll's legs began to move.

. . . . .

The moonlight pools into the witch's cauldron, swirling as it dissipates a volatile air. It's as if it emanates an electricity, softly pulsing through the room.

The doll can't help but notice all the small hints of magic contaminating its surroundings. The wood finish of the bookshelves peeling to reveal a faint glow underneath, the way the curtains longingly sway without wind, and the way the candles illuminating the room seem to blink in unison.

The witch sits across from her toy, behind a desk cluttered with half-finished scrolls. She leans forward on her elbows, staring the doll down as she rests her glare on intertwined hands. The doll sits with its knees together, arms overlapping as it tries to soothe itself with its own contact.

"Curtsy, dear."

The doll sits with its ankles crossed and legs tilted to the side, placing its hands together on its lap.

The witch closes her eyes and tilts her head, giving a smile exhale of satisfaction. "Good doll. Do you feel more like yourself yet?"

The doll was still tense, barely managing to look at its witch. It was in a cage with a predator, one with a voice like silk and a smile like god. "Y-yes Miss, this one-"

"The truth, dear."

"No Miss."

The doll was a hollowed out empty space shaped like a person. It had no heart to race, no bones to chill, and no muscles to shudder. It felt that absence desperately, craving nothing more than a release of this tension. "This one feels out of place as a doll. As if it is a human that does not belong."

The witch leans back, almost sending a ripple through the imperceptible density that surrounded them. As if the magic wasn't even there, as if it was air. This woman could kill anything that lives in a thousand ways with no resistance. The world lives and dies by her whims, and dolls are very replaceable.

"Why would that be, dear?" There was a flirtatious edge to her words, playing with her toy. She placed a hand on her cheek and gave a pitying look, an intentional pose. "Why don't you tell me about the parts of dollhood you don't agree with. Stillness, obedience, docility… and your purpose, of course." She giggled.

The doll wished it could breath, calming itself, stalling so it could think even for a moment. But it was commanded by its witch. It started talking before it could even chose between resistance or obedience, as a natural reflex.

It recites its feelings like a presentation. "This one struggles to find stillness, it finds obedience involuntary and intrusive, its docility is an enforced persona, and…" it looks down, flinching away for only a moment, but it is a harsh disobedience, hurting as if it was staring into the sun. "This one feels disconnected from its purpose. Miss."

The witch waited patiently until her doll was finished to sigh. "Oh, what a shame. You don't seem very much like a doll at all, do you?"

The witch stood up and sauntered to where the doll sat, almost flying through the oppressive atmosphere. She stands behind the doll, waiting for just long enough to make it flinch when she places a single finger on its exposed neck, just above the strap of her uniform. "I suppose I have no choice but to give you your humanity back. Let you run along back to that 'existence' people seem so keen on."

Scratching. As the doll's neck curved, the witch twisted her finger just enough to have the edge of it barely scrape along the doll's hardened exterior.

The witch placed her arm around the doll, resting her weight on its back. She lowered her voice to a whisper as she moved her lips to its ear. "Unless you'd like to stay here with me~"

The doll was silent. Stiff, but not still. It was desperate to react, but it didn't know how. Even if it did, it would never dare to break the witch's command, even if it wanted to.

"That was a question, dear. Good dolls respond."

"This one wants to be a doll Miss." It squeaked out, hurried.

"Oh? And here I thought you weren't enjoying yourself." The witch tightened her hug, raising her chest to press against the doll's back. "Whatever could be driving you to stay?"

She's so warm. She's so soft.

"Speak."

"You Miss."

"Louder." The witch purred, digging her claws oh so gently into her prey.

"You, Miss."

The witch let out a husky, sinister chuckle, nuzzling her head into the nape of the doll's neck. Even then, it was perfectly stiff. "I thought you said you were 'disconnected from your purpose'. Did I hear you wrong, dear?"

"N… no, miss."

"Then you lied to me, didn't you~?"

"…This one didn't-"

"Yes or no, dear."

It whimpered. "Yes Miss."

The witch playfully tsk-tsk'd in disapproval as her removed her grip from her doll, standing back up straight. She towered over her toys even when they stood, and now in its seat her doll had to crane its neck to look up at its witch as she deserved.

"That's a big mistake, doll." She speaks with the same flirtatious playfulness as she always has, circling around to the doll's front. She placed a hand on the doll's head, trusting it with her weigh as she straddled her legs around the doll's torso, sitting on its lap. It deliberately leaned away from the doll, sparing it from any of her tantalizing closeness.

She reaches around the doll to grab the back of the chair. "Bad dolls need to be punished. And since I'm feeling generous…" Slowly, ever so slowly, she leaned forward. "…You'll have the honour of choosing your punishment."

She finally felt her chest press against the doll's face. The hem of her bodice opened just barely enough to let the doll rest its head in her cleavage. "It's a big decision. Take all the time you need~"

It wanted to stay here, oh so badly it did. It wanted to spend the rest of their eternities letting Miss lean herself against it, using it as nothing but a support while letting it smother in her wonderful body. But it was a doll, and it was given a command.

It leans away just enough to speak. "This one would like to be put on display, Miss." It decided with little deliberation. "This one thinks it is a fitting punishment for a failed doll."

The witch grabbed the back of her doll's head, leaning it just forward enough to give it a deep and passionate kiss on the forehead. "Oh, how predictable. I'm not sure if this will be a punishment for you, but I did make a promise, after all~"

She places both hands on the doll's thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze as she hoists herself back upward. The witch turns away, hesitating only for a second when it notices the doll is still frozen in place. She looks back, scoffing through her smirk.

"Do I need to tell you to do everything, dear?" The witch snapped her fingers. "Come."

The doll obeyed.

. . . . .

The doll was a hollowed out empty space shaped like a person. It had no heart to race, no bones to chill, and no nerves to shudder. In its current state, it couldn't even smile. Its witch clearly commanded it to be perfectly still.

It stood next to the couch, facing away from the wall. It was standing at attention, fully on display, no uniform hiding the artistry of Miss's favourite decoration.

The doll assigned to tidy the living quarters finished its task at the coffee table, now moving on to the new installation. There is no recognition in its eyes, just a docile readiness to perform its task.

It's holding a feather duster.

#dollposting #empty spaces #this one's words #1.5k words

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omagpies · 3 months ago

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hey have you considered a potential curlayna child wanting to be an astronaut and the both of them nearly have a heart attack... kthxbai

okay your ask sparked a conversation between me and @cyanidecrystal so here goes:

(slightly recolored james mcavoy faceclaim lmaooo) this is Yuri, they/them;

(sidenote: this drawing is retroactively about baby yuri now)

they grow up only knowing a very, very sanitized version of what happened on the tulpar; while PE had no finances to cover up the story, the company producing the ships did, so even the initial splash of news was quickly suppressed and only remains as sporadic bits free floating in the infosphere. curlanya only tell them the bare bones of it, but since their family relationships are solid, yuri sees no reason not to take their word for it.

what does win is curiosity, and yuri does end up trying to dig things up just to know more about their family. the blurry, low res picture of post-crash curly they manage to find is written off as either one of the dead crew members, or perhaps even something generated by AI.

as a child, yuri already proudly declares that they are going to become an astronaut; curly and anya by then still haven't set foot in a spaceship or even a plane, so they sweat nervously but ascribe it more to a childhood whim (i'm going to be an astronaut AND a president AND a garbage truck driver)

it is not, in fact, a childhood whim

as yuri is growing up, their interest becomes more prominent. curlanya, excellent parents overall, make their first serious blunder and try their best to discourage them from pursuing a career in space

of course, it means that yuri ends up going behind their backs and sneaking off on a short-ish trip (think a jupiter moon, not even leaving the system) as an intern. they text them right before they lose signal, something like 'hey, remember you said you'll make it up for me for not letting me go on that school trip? (it involved a transcontinental flight) i've got it covered now so no worries, see you in a week!'

someone on the trip recognizes yuri's last name, asks if they are related to curly. yuri is surprised by this, deeply unaware that curly had a solid reputation as a captain and a pilot back in the day.

the trip ends up taking a little longer. during it, yuri sustains a minor injury for reasons of being a goober. something benign like a mild burn or a blackeye, so they come back wearing a temporary eye patch and supremely chuffed about finally looking at least a little like dad

curlanya do not react well. they don't yell or anything, but they are Weird, and it's not the reaction yuri was expecting. they don't know how on earth this is such a big deal to them.

(meanwhile, curlanya are severely triggered by literally everything about this and are in the process of discovering that all the trauma they thought to have processed has not, in fact, been fully processed, and their kid is now making them face it on hard mode)

they do end up having an argument about it. yuri is upset and offended and says some things they probably shouldn't, like 'just because you had an accident doesn't mean i will, and you're fine anyway!' (in their defence, everything happened so long ago, and curly's had years to recover by now)

perhaps they even say something like 'i'd rather get into a crash than stay at home doing nothing like you'

yuri is forbidden from sneaking away again, so of course that's what they do.

this time, however, when someone asks them if they know curly, the person ends up telling them a fuller story of what happened. with a fresh and exciting degree of understanding of why their parents are Like That, yuri is forced to sit with their feelings until the trip is over. forced to think over all the jabs they'd thrown their parents' way because they didn't understand.

after that second trip, the three of them finally sit down to have an honest conversation. curlanya still omit some details (like anya's assault), but since yuri really does want to work in space, it's time for them to reckon with their paranoia. their trauma must not define the life of their child.

yuri asks curly how he'd lived. curly smiles and says that he doesn't know either, yuri would have to ask their mother about that.

from then on, they learn to support yuri. whatever breakdowns they have, happen when it's just the two of them.

curlanya are both emotionally involved parents, but this is where curly becomes a little more closed off and lets anya take the reins. he doesn't want to bombard their kid with his problems, so he sticks more to logistics.

(for example, obsessively looking up every crew member of every trip yuri goes on. no background goes unchecked)

eventually, yuri invites them to come on board the ship they're now working on. after much hesitation, curlanya agree. curly is allowed into the cockpit (recognized by name if not by face) and reckons with the strange mix of nostalgia and despair. the equipment is just different enough to not send him into a fully blown flashback, but he does have to make his excuses and go hyperventilate in the bathroom.

it's a real moment of growing up for yuri, when they goes to find their father and see him so helpless. it's a gradual process, a series of 'god, i never knew it was this hard for you guys to accept this'

the more they understand that, the more they, too, understand how much their parents love them and how much their support costs them

still, learning more about the accident doesn't pass without a trace for yuri. for a while, they are uncertain if this is what they really want to do. ('i think i saw a picture of you after the crash. tell me it was a fake')

anya wins that day. her trauma wasn't as obvious to strangers, wasn't gawked at or paraded like curly's. it's easier for her to think rationally about this. and after all of it, she wants yuri to chase their dream

(maybe yuri even writes a resignation letter for their company and tells anya about it. after their heart to heart, anya tells curly, and he calls the company and tells them not to process it just yet. yuri stays on the roster.)

eventually, of course, the cat is out of the bag, and someone callous enough to bring it up asks yuri about the assault and if they are a result of it.

deeply distraught, yuri doesn't immediately clock that the math doesn't math. all they can think of is that they might be the child of their mother's assailant. that curly might not be their father.

they come with it to curlanya, and that's when they finally show yuri a picture of curly from before the crash.

yuri has always thought they took after their mother in pretty much everything except eye color. now, they find a blond version of themself looking back at them, and it feels like coming home.

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curlanya #yuri the curlanya kid #caw caw #curlya

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save-the-villainous-cat · 10 months ago

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Could you do uh some story about villain who betrayed hero but then regretted it, and hero hates his guts for it? I just want to see the world burn.

If u don't want to , that's fine, love ur writing, keep shining queen

“You…” The tears in the hero’s eyes blurred their vision and their mind alike. Their hand shook around the blade as they tried to let their own weight the work, instead of actively pushing it into the villain’s chest.

But the villain was just as determined as always, just as strong. None of them were happy about the situation. The hero saw it in their eyes.

Why did it have to come to this?

“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered and the hero could feel how their resistance weakened. Their weapon was already slicing up the villain’s suit.

For the first time, the hero didn’t have a plan. Their mind was full of rage and urged them to finish the job.

With the villain out of the picture, these feelings would go away. They would be able to sleep at night, they would be able to move on and get into a relationship. They wouldn’t dread the hours.

But they couldn’t. They couldn’t kill them, no matter how intense their pain was. They couldn’t kill this person who had shared a bed with them. Who had cared for them. Who had loved them.

Right before the blade could cut through flesh, the hero cursed and tossed it away. Tears of rage and grief ran down their cheeks and they could barely form any words as they sat on top of the villain and broke down into a million pieces.

Their tears fell onto the villain’s chest as their trembling fingers clawed at the villain’s suit. They wanted to make them suffer, they wanted to make them feel the kind of pain that they had experienced, that they were still going through.

But the hero knew violence wouldn’t ease their mind.

“Leave,” the hero said eventually. Their voice was shaking. “You have to leave.”

“Please, I am sorry. I didn’t lie about my feelings for you.” The villain’s voice was calm and calculated as so often but the hero could hear the little bit of desperation that came through.

“No, you have to leave.” The hero dried their tears with their sleeves. It was as if their heartstrings snapped. That kind of pain was completely different from all the wounds the hero was used to. Torn flesh and broken bones — all of that didn’t even come close to what they were feeling now.

“I am sorry, okay? I am sorry for lying. I’ve fallen for you, I cannot help it. I wasn’t supposed to but I did and I — I think about you and I miss you and it wasn’t supposed to be like this, okay!?” The hero shook their head.

“Leave the city,” they said. They had no other choice.

“No,” the villain said. Their eyes widened and instead of their calm demeanour, they panicked. They sat up and the hero stood up, ready to go. For the umpteenth time, their heart squeezed together until blood dropped. “I won’t leave you a second time. I don’t care if you stab me to death or poison me or beat me. I don’t care if you torture me. I won’t go. I will stay with you this time. I will make it up to you. Whatever you want. Tell me what to do and I will obey.”

“I don’t want you here,” the hero answered. “If you love me, you’ll be gone by tomorrow. You will never come back.”

“No, please.” The villain stood up and reached for the hero. Their hands found the hero’s forearms and for a second, the hero was back in their bedroom, waking up next to them. They were stitching up each other’s wounds. They were kissing at the kitchen table.

The hero pushed them away.

“You’re not welcome here anymore.”

“You know as well as I that we belong together,” the villain said. Despite the shock in their eyes, they seemingly tried to keep it together. To use reason instead of emotions. The hero cursed themselves. Even when they hated them, they knew them. They knew every single habit, every single detail. “This will haunt you.”

“You already do.” The hero paused and took one last look at the villain. “Don’t you ever come back.”

#kinda hate this but wtvr #BAM EXILED #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #angst

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spider-stark · 11 months ago

Text

spider-verse masterlist // link to my general masterlist

General Warnings -

🕷️ This blog is 18+

🕸️ This particular masterlist contains tasm!Peter Parker, tasm!Harry Osborn, & MCU!Peter Parker fics

🕷️ Some of my fic's contain dark themes or content that is considered inappropriate by some readers, so adhere warnings! I am not responsible for your content consumption; so please read responsibly!

🕸️ If you happen to notice that something is not tagged appropriately or you feel a fic needs a particular warning, please let me know and I will do my best to correct this mistake.

🕷️ And, as always, happy reading!

SPIDER-BOY

🕷️ SUMMARY - Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.

🕸️ WARNINGS - older work

THINGS CHANGE

🕷️ SUMMARY - Your ex-boyfriend, Peter Parker, finds out that you're planning on going out with Harry Osborn, and he's definitely not happy about it.

🕸️ WARNINGS - sexual situations, slight degradation kink if you squint, no true smut, older work

GUTS

🕷️ SUMMARY - Peter gets seriously hurt saving someones life, in the midst of panic your true feelings for him come out.

🕸️ WARNINGS - stabbing, blood, violence, some fluff, older work

HANDS

🕷️ SUMMARY - Peter is completely oblivious to just how horny you get while watching him work.

🕸️ WARNINGS - sexual themes, older work

SWEAT & SPANDEX

🕷️ SUMMARY - You tell Peter about an idea you had, he makes it a reality.

🕸️ WARNINGS - breaking & entering, rough handling, bad smut, potentially could be seen as con-non-con

SHUTTER

🕷️ SUMMARY - You barely even remember Peter's name, but that hasn't stopped him from forming a dangerous obsession with you.

🕸️ WARNINGS - mature themes, stalking, some non-con acts (taking pictures), -creep/perv!peter

OUR GIRL ft. Harry Osborn

🕷️ SUMMARY - You're forced into attending a gala with Peter and Harry, where your best friends unintentionally plant a tempting idea in your head.

🕸️ WARNINGS - pining, light alcohol consumption, banter, alludes to sexual content, best friend harry/peter

PLAY NICE ft. Harry Osborn

🕷️ SUMMARY - Peter and Harry both want a turn with you.

🕸️ WARNINGS - light smut, threesome, degradation

FOREVER INDEBTED

🕷️ SUMMARY - Peter Parker might’ve saved your life, but Harry Osborn owns your heart.

🕸️ WARNINGS - mature themes, cheating

OUR GIRL ft. Peter Parker

🕷️ SUMMARY - You're forced into attending a gala with Peter and Harry, where your best friends unintentionally plant a tempting idea in your head.

🕸️ WARNINGS - pining, light alcohol consumption, banter, alludes to sexual content, best friend harry/peter

PLAY NICE ft. Harry Osborn

🕷️ SUMMARY - Peter and Harry both want a turn with you.

🕸️ WARNINGS - light smut, threesome, degradation

SPLIT LIP

🕷️ SUMMARY - Harry gets into a fight and emotions start to unfold.

🕸️ WARNINGS - angst, fighting, lil fluff, smut, blood, unprotected sex

ANTI-HERO - unfinished - part I // part II

🕷️ SUMMARY - In their personal lives, they're both head over heels for one another, their friendship finally blossoming into something more. But as vigilantes? It's complicated.

🕸️ WARNINGS - fighting, blood, potentially mature content

INFINITELY YOU - series masterlist linked here

🕷️ SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

🕸️ WARNINGS - story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

A DARK AGE - on hold

part one // part two

#spider-stark masterlist #spider-stark spiderman masterlist #spiderman masterlist #peter parker masterlist #my work

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gavisfanta · 1 year ago

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Hello :) could you do a story where Fermin come home from practice and he is clingy/ can’t stop kissing the reader ? Please :)

THOUSAND TIMES - FERMIN

summary: fermin comes home from practice and you see his soft side again

warnings: none

a/n: shorter story but its cutee

Fermin was at practice, the house was empty and you missed his touch.

Not in a sexual way, quite the opposite.

The two of you have only been dating for a short time so you're still very "lovey dovey" as Gavi likes to call it.

You always laughed at him, however, he was right somehow.

The beginning of relationships are always very affectionate and shy, then you grow closer and get a bit more comfortable around eachother.

Even tho Gavi has never been in a relationship before, he somehow gives the best advice about love and relationships.

Fermin and you can thank Gavi your whole relationship, he was the one who interduced you to eachother.

Gavis and your family have known eachother for years and of course every week there was a party at one's house.

Usually it was theirs, Gavi and you were close immediately, since you two went to school together it was easy for you two to get along.

As Gavi got older he started playing football more intensively. The two families often met up to go and watch Gavi's game where you saw Fermin for the first time.

On the field however he looked very scary to you, might had to do something with the age difference between you two.

Two years now isn't much, but it used to be back then. So whenever Gavi was hanging out with Fermin, you stuck with Aurora, playing with her.

After a few years, when you and Gavi were both 18, he decided to interduce you two, he felt like you and Fermin would get along well because your personalities were quite similar.

Gavi wasn't exactly wrong but the things between you and Fermin didn't work out at first. Provoking, pushing and fighting were the perfect words to describe your 'friendship' with Fermin.

The day that changed whatever was going on between the two of you was a party you three went on.

Let's just say the night ended with you being in Fermins bed with hickeys all over your body and no clothes on.

Then the day after the party was rather awkward than comforting, because of what was supposed to be a one night stand between friends turned into much more.

Gavi couldn't stop laughing as soon as he found out that his childhood bestfriend had hooked up with his other childhood bestfriend.

For the two of you it was pure horror, Gavi made you two hang out the entire time and after some while you discovered that you had feelings for him.

Now you were standing there, waiting for him to come home from practice.

To your surprise in that seconds as you thought about him the front door opened.

"Amor I'm home." Fermins voice echoed throught the house as the door closed shut.

"Finally" You said and walked over to him and hugged him. Fermin wrapped his hands arpund your lower waist and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

"I missed you." His warm breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine. Wrapping your arms tighter around his neck he smiled a bit.

"Let's go and lie down. I'm so tired." He mumbled and you couldn't help but smile at his soft voice, he was always so sensitive after practice and you loved when he wasn't so cocky.

Although you found him so hot when he was cocky it was good to see Fermins other side for an evening.

So as you and Fermin walked up to your bedroom he followed behind you, he couldn't leave his hands off of you andas you fell onto the bed he hid his face in the crook of his neck and started planti g sloppy kisses on your neck again.

He pulled down your black shirt a bit so that he could kiss your collar bone.

You giggled as he started sucking on your sweet spot while you started scratching his back with your acrylics.

He moaned against your neck and you couldn't help but smile while you pulled up his shirt so that you could scratch his bare back.

"I love you Y/n, did I ever tell you that?" He mumbled as he pushed himself over you and put his head on your chest.

"A couple of times." You smiled as you watched the soft side of Fermin being all clingy with you.

"It seems like not enough." Fermin said and stood on all fours over you, then he grabbed your waist and pulled you further down on the bed. You just watched his face as he then dived into your neck and took his hands to tickle your stomach.

"Fer- stop-" You laughed as he kissed your neck and you couldn't stop laughing.

Then after like 5 minutes of you just laughing and him admiring the way you moved and the way your eyes looked he finally stopped.

You breathed heavily and Fermin then leaned down to kiss you on the lips. You melted into him as you finally relaxed after being so tensed up from laughing all the time.

Fermin hummed as you ran your hand through his hair while his lips were still on yours. Then he pulled away and you looked into his eyes. Those brown eyes you could get lost in for years.

"I love you and I'll tell you a thousand more times if i need to."

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illiterateaffairs · 2 years ago

Text

DISTRACTIONS V | A SLIGHT MALFUNCTION

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 5,901

summary: afc richmond is off to amsterdam for an exhibition match, but the problem with going on a trip with the team is that jamie is on the team. poor guy just wants to know what he did wrong.

A/N: if someone is out of character in this chapter, no they aren’t. pretend i’m a perfect writer!

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

So you’re definitely screwed - and not in a fun way.

The evening when Jamie came over to share pizza and watch Grey’s Anatomy with you ended with him spending the night. It was the first time he did so without sex being involved. The worst part was that you initiated it. You both let time get away from you - and Jamie became very invested in Meredith and Derek’s tumultuous relationship - so you told him he could crash since it was so late. You’d offered timidly, fearing he’d think it was weird since this wasn’t your usual routine. But he didn’t even hesitate in agreeing, and you didn’t turn him away when he followed you to your bedroom.

Something shifted between the two of you after that. You actually felt like the friends part of your friends with benefits situation carried more weight. Now when he came over, instead of immediately jumping each other’s bones, you shared a meal, watched a show, or even played a game after Jamie noticed the few board games you had stowed away in your closet.

And you talked more, too. He started telling you stories about his family; how close he and his mom were, and the strained relationship between him and his father. He never went into much detail, but you could gather that his dad was definitely not a great person. You liked that he trusted you enough, though, to let you in on even a tiny bit of his struggles. It made you understand him better. Naturally, you also started sharing more with him, such as how lost you felt before coming to the U.K. You’d confided in him about the lack of friends you had back in Chicago, since Mason practically isolated you from the world outside of his own, and how insecure that made you. “Well, now you’ve got a whole football club who’d do just about anything for you,” he’d whispered, gently running a finger across your cheek as the two of you laid in bed.

At one point you almost told him a funny story about your childhood that involved Ted, but you bit your tongue and gave your uncle a fake name. Jamie cackled, though, as you described your Uncle Steve’s attempt at helping you with a science fair project that ended with baking soda shooting out of your fake volcano and into his eye. When you caught yourself musing that Jamie’s laugh must be the greatest sound in the whole world, you knew you were in trouble.

You were fucking screwed. You and Jamie agreed: no feelings. The second one of you felt weird or that you didn’t want casual sex anymore, you’d stop. You never discussed what would happen if one of you felt more, because it seemed implausible. Yet, here you were.

The obvious solution was to call it off. Jamie probably wouldn’t care. On to the next. But the selfish part of you couldn’t do it. He was just so cute and sweet and he made you feel good. And not just in bed - in general. When you were around him, you felt confident and happy and safe. Mason, at least towards the end, made you feel anxious and inept and small.

Maybe that was why you were feeling so over attached. You were used to the bare minimum from a guy, that now that a decent one was showing you attention and kindness, you were obsessing over him.

But Jamie wasn’t just decent, he was…Jamie. And despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you really liked him.

So, over the course of the last few days, you did what any reasonable person would do: ignore the problem until it just goes away. Unfortunately, the problem was Jamie and he was a little hard to ignore, since you worked with him. But you did your best to put some distance between the two of you. When he wanted to come over, you told him you had plans with Sam or Keeley. When he wanted to sneak away to your office, you told him Rebecca needed you. When he showed up at your flat with takeout from the Chinese restaurant you’d offhandedly mentioned loving once, to which he remembered, you fucked him on the couch and ate cold lo mein afterwards. But that was your only moment of weakness.

You told yourself you couldn’t avoid him forever; just long enough for your feelings to dissipate. You were just in some sort of honeymoon phase, and once the novelty of him wears off, you can be normal about everything, until you both inevitably get bored of each other and move on. It was never meant to last forever.

You have to ignore the way your heart aches at that thought.

It’s because of your fool proof plan to get over Jamie that you decide not to attend Richmond’s exhibition match in Amsterdam this weekend. Something you hadn’t told Jamie, or anyone for that matter. Which is why you’re starting to feel particularly awkward as Ted sits across from you at your desk and goes on and on about the trip.

“I was thinking when we get there, we could grab breakfast and sight-see for a bit before the game. Maybe Beard will tag along. What do you think?”

You’re pushing a piece of chicken around your plate absentmindedly when Ted looks up at you, and furrows his brows.

“What’s wrong, Kiddo?” he asks, setting his own plate onto your desk.

You look up, with wide eyes, “Who, me? Nothings wrong. I’m great! Fucking fantastic.”

He tilts his head, fixing you a look.

Your shoulders drop as you sigh, “I just…don’t think I’m going to go to Amsterdam this weekend.”

Ted’s eyes widen in shock, “What? Why not? I thought you’d be excited! New country, new adventures. You know, Amsterdam is one step closer to Iceland.”

You huff out a laugh as you rub your temple. “I know, and I do want to. I’ve just been feeling kind of run down lately. I feel like life's been kind of go, go, go since I got here. Which has been great! But it’s catching up with me and I think I just need to unwind for a weekend by myself.”

While this isn’t exactly the truth, life has been a bit hectic, so you hope he buys it. Ted nods thoughtfully, as though he wants to ask more, but accepts your answer.

This time you tilt your head and give him a pointed look, “What?”

“Nothing,” Ted’s quick to respond, “What you said makes sense. I guess I just haven’t checked in on how you’ve been coping with everything. You’ve seemed so happy since you’ve been here. You and Sam seem to get along real well, and Rebecca always sings your praises. But you are thousands of miles away from the only home you’ve ever known. Heck, I’ve been here for almost three years, and I still sometimes wake in a cold sweat craving barbeque sauce.” Ted smiles when you giggle. “All I’m saying is it's okay to miss home; to miss your parents, even to miss he-who-shall-no be named.”

You're surprised when, despite Ted avoiding his name, the allusion to Mason doesn’t make your head spin. You snort, “Well, while I do miss my dads and deep dish pizza, I can assure you I do not miss Voldemort.”

Ted hums, “That’s good.”

“You’re right, though. I honestly have really loved my life here these past few months, but I think I made myself skip the part where I processed all the changes. So, I think some time to just be will be good for me.”

“I think so, too,” he nods, “But the team and I sure will miss you this weekend.”

You don’t have time to bask in the sentiment when a knock comes through your office door. Before you can respond, the door opens to reveal Jamie.

You swear time stops for a second, as Jamie looks from you to Ted, and Ted looks from Jamie to you. You just blink, practically staring into the abyss. You know Jamie is scrambling for an excuse as to why he’s here, as you try to rationalize why either one of them is in your office. Thankfully, Ted has more than one brain cell and is able to play it cool.

“Hey, Jamie, what brings you here?” Ted greets cheerfully.

“I’m, uh, here to ask if I can see the videos we got today at practice.” Jamie makes up and you’re almost proud, “I have to make sure my public image is maintained.”

“Yes, he’s very stringent about that.” You add on, giving Ted a playful eye roll about Jamie’s ‘antics’, and he’s none the wiser. Ted gives you an amused smile.

The older man gets up and starts gathering trash into the takeout bag to dispose of. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for dinner, Kiddo. Don’t tell Roy, but this is why you’re my favorite coworker.” Ted turns to you in the doorway and winks from behind Jamie. He pats the younger man on the shoulder, and as he leaves, shouts back, “Good night, you two.”

Jamie shuts the door behind him, “Do you have dinner with Ted often?”

You shrug, “Sometimes.”

Jamie nods, and you’re relieved neither of them were suspicious of anything. You’re still overwhelmed by the two of them crossing paths like that, that you’re late to processing that you and Jamie are alone in your dimly lit office which is exactly the type of situation you’re trying to avoid. However, Jamie doesn’t initiate anything like you’d expected. Instead, he flops down into the chair across from you, almost dejectedly. He beats you to the punch before you can ask.

“Why aren’t you coming to Amsterdam?”

That takes you aback, “You heard that?” You glance briefly in the direction Ted disappeared in, “Did you hear anything else?”

“No,” Jamie frowns, “I got here right when Ted said the team would miss you.”

You hold back a relieved sigh.

“We will miss you, by the way,” Jamie adds, “Me especially.”

Your stomach flutters. What the hell did that mean?

“Really?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” Jamie nods, “Hotels are the best places to have sneaky sex.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, honestly grateful he’d snapped you out of your stupor.

“Sure they are. Especially when you’re sharing a room with one of your teammates.”

“Well, I could get us our own room. A private suite. Maybe with a jacuzzi tub.” Jamie reaches across the table, taking your hand and rubbing it gently with his thumb. “That is, if you come with us this weekend.

You stare longingly at your intertwined fingers and he almost has you. Luckily, you have a miniscule shred of willpower left.

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” you reluctantly pull your hand from his, “I really need to stay in Richmond this weekend. I need some time to relax.”

“Well, I could help you do that,” Jamie scoffs.

“Jamie, please.”

You must give away how desperate you are in your tone, because Jamie’s playful expression changes to concern.

“Are you alright?” he asks, “Did something happen?”

“No,” you shake your head aggressively, “I promise. I just want some alone time. I feel like my social battery just needs to recharge, you know?”

After a moment, Jamie still looks unsure, but nods. You think he’s going to say something else, before he’s standing up.

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nod, and then throw him an encouraging smile, “Break a leg this weekend.”

Jamie’s face scrunches in confusion as he juts back, “What?”

You squint, “You’ve never heard that saying?” he shakes his head, “It means good luck.”

“Why the fuck would breaking a leg be good luck?”

You stare at him for a few seconds before frowning, “I don’t actually know.”

He shakes his head and continues to the doorway, giving you one last look as he wishes you a goodnight and disappears from view.

Sourly, you realize this was the first time he hasn’t offered to drive you home since you’ve met. Maybe that was for the best.

Jamie Tartt doesn’t yearn.

He’s liked plenty of women. He’s even loved a couple of them. But he doesn’t obsess over them.

You’re different, though. Apparently.

As soon as he left your office after finding out you weren’t coming to Amsterdam, he couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. It really wasn’t a big deal. It was two days. You weren’t even a couple. And yet, the idea of being apart for that long made his chest hurt. What the fuck was that about?

He’d been having confusing feelings a lot recently when it came to you. The two of you are closer than ever, bonding over little things between really, really great sex. At the same time, he felt like you were pulling away, and he couldn’t understand why. He thought you were having fun together. It really seemed like you enjoyed yourself, whether the two of you were just hanging out, or participating in your more extracurricular activities. But maybe you were getting tired of it. Maybe you were getting tired of him.

Shit. What did he do wrong?

And why does it bother him so much?

It was all your fault, really.

You with your kind heart and sweet compliments, which didn’t feel earned but he appreciated. You with your safe and comfortable embraces. You with your absolutely addictive laugh, that he’d jump through hoops to hear over and over again. You with your fucking eyes and the way you touch him during nights together, making him feel so wanted. You’ve gotten him accustomed to a certain lifestyle, one that he’s never experienced before, so now he wasn’t sure how to go back to before you started hooking up. Maybe that was what unnerved him. He was afraid if you stopped the benefits, the friendship would also stop, too. A little bit was about missing the sex, but mostly he’d miss you.

God, how you’ve ruined him.

Now here he was, surrounded by his teammates, in one of the greatest cities in the world, as they all mourned yet another loss. Despite how soul crushing these consecutive losses have been, Jamie finds himself more upset by the fact that he can’t see you tonight. With that thought propelling him, he jogs out of the locker room and finds an empty hallway to call you in. He doesn’t care if this makes him seem weird or desperate. He just wants to hear your voice.

“Hey, Jamie,” your soft voice answers after two rings. He clocks that you still sound a bit off, but it soothes him nonetheless, “I saw the game. I’m sorry.”

He manages to laugh, “Why are you watching football when you’re supposed to be relaxing?”

He smiles when he hears your own laugh through the phone, “I can multitask.”

There’s a beat of silence before you continue, “How’re you feeling? How’s the rest of the team?”

“Everyone’s miserable,” Jamie says point blankly.

“Wow, no hesitation there.”

“Yeah,” Jamie chuckles dryly, “Wish you were here, though.”

He listens intently as you sharply inhale. When you don’t respond after a few seconds, he calls out your name.

“Hey, Jamie, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner and if I don’t hurry, half of it is going to boil over. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Tell the team hi for me.”

Before Jamie can even say goodbye, you’ve hung up. That doesn’t sit well with him. Not just because you ended the call so abruptly, but because he knew you really only cooked when you were anxious. Something was definitely up. Even if it had nothing to do with him, he finds himself wishing you’d at least want to confide in him.

Later that day, when the team has boarded the bus, the morale is criminally low. It’s so bad that it has Ted Lasso declaring that he’s revoking curfew and encouraging everyone to pull an all-nighter in Amsterdam. Suddenly, Jamie’s mood is boosted for the first time all week. A night of debauchery with his teammates was the perfect thing to get his mind off of their losing streak and you. Unfortunately, Roy has his own shit going on and decides that he needs to take it out on Jamie, by forcing him into an all night training session. Despite the disappointment, Jamie will take a distraction in any form at this point.

So, he plasters on a smile and forces Roy on a running tour of Amsterdam. By nightfall, he’s annoyed the grumpy coach into admitting, one, that he’s never seen a windmill and doesn’t believe they exist, and two, that he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.

Naturally this leads to Jamie teaching Roy how to do exactly that. After a series of attempts that are simultaneously humorous, frustrating, and endearing, Roy successfully manages to stay upright, and the two of them bike off in search of a windmill.

For some reason, Jamie finds it in himself to apologize to Roy for making fun of him earlier. He’s also surprising himself when he tells Roy about his childhood visits to Amsterdam. The first involves a suppressed memory of his father taking him to lose his virginity, and the second with his mother, that he actually looks back on fondly. He’s never told anyone about either of these trips - even you.

He supposes Roy could sense this, when he makes an admission of his own; that he’d been taking his anger out on Jamie because he’d found out Keeley has a new girlfriend. That’s all Roy says on the matter and Jamie doesn’t push him for more.

Not long after that, they finally make it to a windmill. Jamie genuinely smiles, taking it as a win when Roy appears mildly happy. If Jamie could tell his childhood self he’s staring at a windmill in Amsterdam with his hero, that kid would probably shit himself. Now Jamie’s just happy they get along at all.

Maybe it's because of the bond they seemed to forge that night, or maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but as they start biking back, Jamie finds himself confiding in Roy about something else.

“Hey, can I get your opinion on something?” Roy doesn’t say yes, but he also doesn’t say no, so Jamie continues, “I’ve been sleeping with this girl-”

Roy groans.

“I know, just hear me out. We’ve been hooking up for a while now, and it's just casual, which is great, but recently she’s been acting weird. I think she’s making up excuses not to see me and it bothers me that she’s not telling me what’s bothering her. But we’re not in a relationship, so why should I care? I mean, I do care. Like, if she’s upset I want to know so I can help fix it. But I care as a friend, ya know? I guess what I’m trying to figure out is how to ask her what’s been going on, without fucking up our situation and making her think I like her more than I do,” Jamie explains in a rush.

Roy discreetly rolls his eyes, “Well, it does sound like you fucking like her.”

“What?” Jamie almost veers off the road, “I do not!”

“Yeah, you definitely do.”

“No, we’re just friends who occasionally have sex,” Jamie states firmly.

“Alright, so if she told you she wanted to stop?”

Jamie hesitates, but eventually responds assuredly, “I’d respect her wishes.”

“And if she wanted to start seeing someone else?”

Jamie’s expression becomes pained.

Roy chuckles as he shakes his head, “I fucking told you.”

Jamie sighs, “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to…like her.” I promised myself. This was not the time for Jamie to spiral, but now his heart was racing. He knew he was too attached to you, but liking you? Romantically? And all it took was Roy fucking Kent to point out the obvious for it to sink in.

“Well, tough shit,” his coach scoffs, “You like her, so what? You think she doesn’t like you? She must if she’s been putting up with you for however long.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jamie rolls his eyes, “And I have no idea how she feels, but that’s not what freaks me out. Its if she does feel the same way, it’ll be real, and when I inevitably fuck it up, I…I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never met someone like her, and the last thing I want to do is mess things up like I always do.”

“So instead of the risk of potentially getting hurt down the line, you’d rather knowingly hurt yourself now by pretending like you don’t have feelings at all and hope they’ll go away?”

Jamie glances at Roy briefly before letting out a humorless laugh, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Roy nods ruefully, “Yeah. I know a thing or two about that.”

Jamie sits with Roy’s admission. He assumes it's in reference to his breakup with Keeley, and he’s seen how he’s handled that. Maybe he should tell you, and maybe you’d live happily ever after. But there was still a chance you didn’t have the same feelings, especially with how you were seemingly avoiding him. That didn’t really give him a vote of confidence. After a few moments, Jamie’s brought out of his thoughts when Roy surprises him by saying your name.

“It's her isn’t it,” Roy asks, “She’s the girl you’ve been seeing?”

Jamie narrows his eyes, wanting to deny it, but not seeing the point, “How’d you know?”

Roy shrugs, “You’ve just seemed…,” it nearly pains him to say, “Happier, since she’s been around.”

Jamie’s eyes soften, but then turns mischevious. He practically smirks despite the weight of this conversation, “You obsessed with me or something, coach?”

Roy grunts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“I have been, though,” Jamie admits, “Happier. Like I said, I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s so smart and funny, and so goddamn nice, despite some of the shit she’s been through. No matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’ll ever deserve her.”

Roy takes in Jamie’s words thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”

Jamie chances a glance at Roy, surprised by his words.

“You’re a good guy, Jamie. And she’d be lucky to have you.”

Jamie tries not to be touched by Roy’s compliment, but a small smile finds its way on his face. Not many people have said this about him - he’s not even sure he believes it himself. He doesn’t know how to respond to convey his appreciation, so he just softly says, “Thanks.”

Roy looks over to Jamie and gives him a meaningful nod. “But if you tell anyone I said any of this I’ll fucking deny it.”

Jamie manages a laugh. “Aye aye, coach.”

Despite his insecurities, Roy’s belief in him is almost enough encouragement to want to tell you everything and see where it goes. You had been putting up with him - to borrow Roy’s words. More than that, up until recently, he felt the two of you growing even closer, so there could be a chance it was because you were starting to develop feelings for him, too. He was inclined to believe it was all in his head, but maybe he should start looking at the glass half full instead of completely empty.

While he definitely wouldn’t be professing his feelings to you right away, he was allowing himself to feel something akin to hope.

Wow. Losing an exhibition match, bonding with Roy Kent, and denying but eventually accepting his feelings for you all in one night. When in Amsterdam.

The pair continue to bike down the street in comfortable silence. That is until Roy accidentally veers off the road into the woods.

“Fuck!”

Back in Richmond, you’re doing a horrible job of getting your mind off of Jamie.

You started your evening by watching their match, which definitely defeated half the purpose of not going with them to Amsterdam, but you used wanting to support the team as an excuse. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Jamie, though, so by the time the game was ending, you were knee deep in making a whole-ass lasagna you definitely couldn’t eat by yourself. After their unfortunate loss, you sent Sam an apologetic text with a lot of emojis. What you weren’t expecting was Jamie to call you, and you felt like not answering would be rude. You thought you could handle a friendly conversation, but then he was saying something about missing you and you were panicking and hanging up before you could process what you were doing.

You knew your tactics of avoiding him wasn’t exactly a nice thing to do. You just were not a confrontational person, and even though Jamie would most likely be cool with, well, cooling things off, you didn’t know how to express that to him. Jamie didn’t seem like the type to be angry at you for just asking for what you wanted, or try to convince you to change your mind, like someone else you once knew, but past circumstances clouded your brain, making it more difficult to try.

So for now, you’d try to find the space to let any feelings go away on their own. Because that will definitely work.

After over-indulging in homemade Italian food, you try to get invested in some good old TV. You try watching something new, not having had time to binge watch as of late, but you couldn’t focus on the plot enough to get invested. So, you tried watching Grey’s Anatomy, per usual, but even the iconic Cristina Yang wasn’t enough to keep your mind off of Jamie. As a last ditch effort, you threw on a trashy reality show but of course that reminded you of Jamie.

Giving up on television altogether, you decide to Facetime your dads and catch up with them. Admittedly, you hadn’t had the chance to have a long conversation with them in a few weeks, only speaking to them briefly over text or quick calls between work and football matches. You were instantly comforted once their faces filled your phone screen, and you vowed never to go this long without speaking to them.

Dad and Pops take turns filling you in on their life in Kansas, from work woes to neighborhood gossip. They also tell you about going to Henry’s soccer games and how well he’s been doing. It warms your heart that he’s most likely taken up this sport in honor of his dad. They also inquire about how work has been going for you (”it’s still really great!”) and whether there’s anything else of note to share (”nope!”). You wonder if they can sense the nervous energy radiating off of you through the phone.

Then they ask you if you’ve been writing at all. For some reason this catches you off guard. It was as if you’ve never heard of the concept. When you first got to England, you’d try so hard to write during your off time. Rebecca has even encouraged you to do so when things were light at work. However, writer’s block was still plaguing you. And recently, all of your free time was taken up by team outings, dinners with Ted, and being with Jamie. But here you are, free from all of those things for the first time in weeks.

After talking to your dads for nearly an hour, ending with a promise to do this more often, you’re hanging up and running for your laptop. You plop down on the couch and pull up a blank word document. To no surprise, you stare at the blank page for five minutes when no ideas come to mind. Normally, this would segue into you opening Google News to see if any little piece of media struck inspiration. When you do this, the first article you see is about AFC Richmond facing another defeat.

You groan, closing the browser immediately. When you’re face to face with the empty page again, you aggressively smash your computer keyboard.

Fuck Jamie Tartt.

For some reason, typing the words out on the page made you feel a tiny bit better, so you keep going.

Fuck him and his stupidly attractive face and his dumb, endearing jokes. Fuck him and his ability to invade my every thought, and the way he somehow knows exactly what to say to make me feel better when I’m sad. Fuck him and his surprising thoughtfulness and his sense of humor that perfectly complements my own. Fuck him for being so good at fucking me, that he’s probably ruined me for anyone else. Fuck. Jamie. Tartt.

You stare at your stream of consciousness thoughtfully. It was like you were making a pro-con list where every con was just a pro you didn’t want to be true. These were all things that drove you nuts about Jamie - the way he became such a light in your life without you giving him permission to. He was supposed to be a safe choice because he was so unsafe. His reputation was bullshit. He wasn’t just someone you fooled around with until you got bored, or he did. He was someone you could see yourself being with forever without growing tired of him.

Okay, avoiding him definitely wasn’t enough while these intrusive thoughts were circling your brain.

You reread the words on your screen one last time, as your hand hovers over the backspace. Before you click it, you find yourself amused by your chaotic ramblings. You even find yourself thinking…this would be a very intriguing first line of a book.

It would take some fine tuning and obviously a name-change, but if you’d picked up a book and this was the opening sentence, you’d absolutely need to know more.

Running with this thought, you start tweaking your words, while you simultaneously try to envision a circumstance for this story outside of your own.

A friends with benefits storyline would be a little too on the nose, but enemies to lovers is always a good trope. Maybe after this first line, you could jump back in time, making readers wait until the book was halfway through to learn the context for this angry thought.

Suddenly, you’re taking all your ideas and running with them. You switch between writing paragraphs, to writing ideas, outlining scenes, and jotting down incoherent thoughts that you’re not sure fit, but could honestly be enough of a thought-starter for a whole other story. No matter how it all fits together, you’re pretty dead set on a romantic comedy angle. You wonder why you hadn’t had the idea for one before, considering it was one of your favorite genres as a consumer. It probably has nothing to do with the lack of romantic-comedy-energy from your last relationship. And certainly there’s no correlation to being able to write one now with the current situation you were in.

Before you know it, it's the middle of the night and you’ve been writing for hours. You’re not sure any of its good, but its something. The one thing you know, as your eyes begin to droop, is that you’re not going to write anything of substance while your energy is sufficiently drained.

You force yourself off the couch, managing to plug your computer in, before you crash on your bed. The next time your eyes open, its 9AM, and with barely seven hours of rest, you feel too wired to go back to sleep, anxious to start writing again. So, you put on a pot of coffee and fire up your laptop. You’re relieved you’d had enough of a brain at 3AM to save your document.

You spend the whole day writing, only stopping for snacks and bathroom breaks. You only become aware of what time it is when someone pounds on your door as the afternoon turns to evening. You hastily save your word doc before sliding over to the door. You should be surprised that Jamie occupies the other side, but you really weren’t. What surprised you was how much he looked like a zombie.

“Jamie?” you arch your eyebrow, as you move out of the way so he can cross the threshold, shutting the door in his wake, “Everything okay?”

“Guess what,” he says with a dopey smile on his face, “Ted let us stay up all night, so I taught Roy how to ride a bike and we saw a windmill.”

Part of you wants to laugh, but the rest of you is just really confused.

“Wait, you didn’t sleep last night?”

“Mhmm,” he nods once.

“God, you should be passed out at home right now. Why are you here?” Your eyes widen, “Don’t tell me you drove in this condition.”

“I ordered an Uber,” he explains sleepily as he takes your hand and tugs you to your bedroom.

Despite your plan to disengage in sexual activities - and all activities - with him, you don’t bother arguing knowing this wasn’t going anywhere while he was this tired. Still, you curse yourself for finding a sleep deprived Jamie very adorable.

You giggle as he plops down onto your bed face first. He manages to hold onto your hand as you stare down at him from beside the bed.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jamie just mumbles incoherently into your mattress. Giving up entirely, you go to fold the comforter over him, having not bothered to make your bed this morning. “While you are welcome to nap here, I’m sure your fancy bed at home would be much more comfortable.”

As you begin to tuck him in, he turns over suddenly, and pulls you onto the bed beside him.

“Yeah, but you’re not there and I wanted to see you,” he mumbles tiredly, his eyes fluttering up and down slowly.

You allow yourself to bask in this moment, with your face a few inches from his. Sitting up slightly, you gently trace your fingers over his eyelids, coaxing him to sleep.

“Well, now that you’ve seen me, you can close your eyes and get some rest,” you whisper. His face nuzzles against your hand a little before he settles into your pillow.

He mumbles something else, but then you’re pretty sure he’s fully passed out.

Sighing, you push yourself up and out of the bed. Per usual, he doesn’t stir at the movement, nor when you shut the bedroom door as you head back to the living room.

Once you’re alone and back on the couch, you let out a long sigh and rub your face. He does not make it easy, does he?

Even as warmth spreads across your face, Jamie’s words about wanting to see you echoing in your head, an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. If you really wanted to get rid of the feelings you had for Jamie - feelings that were rapidly increasing by the second - you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You were going to have to end your “relationship”.

Suddenly, you’ve lost the motivation to continue writing a romantic comedy for the rest of the night. It was fun while it lasted.

You’re not sure you mean your sudden ability to write again or something else.

A/N: well that’s no good! lol, this was the hardest chapter to do, i rewrote some of it several times, so please let me know what you think of it!

Taglist: @atabigail @boundtomyfate @sammysgirl1997 @lil-tracys @shephard17895 @alaspice @itsbarbraann @redpool @drmeghanjones @straightforwardly @alex-sulli @aiyaiy @artemismaximoff @roadtoself-love @theloud-yet-quietone @forcesofgrief @kirisimpster @geek-and-proud @grippleback-galaxy @lalla-04p @gabbycoady13 @royalestrellas @qardasngan @creationcitystreet-em @percysaidnever @emily-b @mrfitzsimmons @k-n-e @agentstarkid @legobatmans9thab @mrsprongs25 @escapismqueen @sokkigarden @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @dollfaceyourfear @dicgohargreeves @heyitz-julia @vampirodelascajas @grxcesmind @lizziel1410 @a-sweet-little-fangirl @scaramou @beardsplitter @gcidrvsh @ringpopdust @marveltg365 @optimisticsandwichgladiator it wouldn’t let me tag the last few of you, let me know if its something with your settings, otherwise i can keep trying in future updates! <3

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #mine #distractions series

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kewpikayo · 4 months ago

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Hi guys!! Happy Halloween to you all!! I am so excited to have been a part of this event! I have literally had a blast writing for this and getting to make friends with everyone involved. Just to hold witness to their skill, drive and dedication to their chosen craft is breathtaking and I count myself honored to know such moving, beautiful people. I am thankful, from the bottom of my heart, for you all and I can't wait to binge read every single one of your fics and feast upon every art piece made! I dedicate this first chapter to the lovely @dewdropdinosaur, the amazing @xalygatorx, and the magnificent @chefskjssart. I also want to mention all of the lovely people I have met due to this event and everyone from the Helluva Watchparty server! Thank you so very much @fraugwinska and @macabr3-barbi3 for coming up with and hosting this event!! Also a HUGE shout out to @fraugwinska for creating my banner for my story and for creating the gorgeous poster for the event!!! You are amazing~! With that being said, I do hope you all enjoy the story! You're in for a ride for a couple of chapters haha. Have fun and stay tuned~! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Your at Chapter 1: Team Player: WC: 4,077

Chapter 2: Left Hanging

Chapter 3: Burning Alive

Summery: Two strangers, good with their hands, one with machines and the other with knives, are desperate to escape the Entity's grasp. You need Alastor more than he thinks he needs you. When you propose a deal, however, it is an opportunity the radio host can't seem to pass up. Maybe with a promising partnership, the two of you might just make it out of the trial alive. Only time will tell if teaming up will have been a useful endeavor... Or not at all...

"Partners...?" Human Alastor x reader

Warnings & Tags: Reader is a survivor, no use of Y/N, Reader has a nickname, Alastor is a little shit, Asexual Alastor, Violence, Blood and Violence, Injury. minor character death.

Improvisation was a necessary skill and was considered, by the general public, a practiced talent that so few possessed; let alone could master. For a radio host, it was a skill that was often expected and anticipated. Having the ability to breeze through topics of discussion and flight of the audience’s fancy with simplicity and ease was envied.

To be expected, it was an ability that Alastor was exceedingly proficient in. However, he was never one to appreciate improvising with the absence of his favorite tinkering tools…

With great irritation and a brief, sharp snap of bone, Alastor’s second target that evening had become his most recent victim; the body lifeless within seconds of his bold hands clutching around the poor brute’s throat. As dust returns to dust, so too did the corpse of his target fall limp; greeting the mud below with a dense, subdued thud.

Never before had he been so disappointed in acquiring a kill in all of his existence.

It was honestly such a bore, and terribly anticlimactic in nature, that it had the demon yawning. Barely any exertion was needed on his part as he dropped down on one knee and pilfered around the belongings of the newly deceased. With a sigh he noted the absence of blood his kill had presented him with an ample amount of dismay. The pitiful fight his victim had given him was easily comparable to the emptiness of the broken vessel’s pockets: sad, sparse and leaving much to be desired. Such a waste.

What a forgettable experience…

Finding no object of his desires within the austere expanse of the other male’s personal inventory; Alastor resumed his previous posture and continued his merry way through the muck dredging up underneath his hunter’s boots.

At least this strange place, the darkest marsh he had ever had the privilege to traverse, had allowed him the luxury of supplying him with comfortable, familiar footwear. The kind Alastor wore in life, that is. The custom red and black oxfords he usually sported would do him no good in these wet conditions.

Interested in procuring a blade for himself, Alastor carried on with his measly hunt. His cream colored shirt sleeves were rolled up pristinely to his elbows to fight the humidity in the air. His tan skin was the only part of his body covered in nakedness.

The radio host proudly, but cautiously stalked amongst the cat tails, fluff from the plants clinging to his jeans. Complaints and curses alike were softly hissed beneath the confines of his practiced grin as he wiped sweat from his brow. He peeled the plant based affections from his clothing; tremendously irritated that his search so far had not been fruitful.

As Alastor sauntered forward, the occasional chirping of crickets and birdsong died away; producing an extreme sense of urgency into his bloodstream. The feeling clawed its way up his spine, delicate shivers dancing on his dark skin; but for the life of him he could not understand why.

However, he received his answer for the foreign feeling upon hearing a chorus of feminine terror. The continued abrasive treatment of his low vocal range and vocabulary immediately ceased at the sound. The echoes on the wind brought the sweet melody to him; music that was slowly drowned out by curses and shouts of the resistant sort.

Making his way towards the source of the cadence he enjoyed, Alastor was met with quite the sight. A cloaked fellow with a peculiar mask had a scrawny looking female hung from his shoulder; fighting every second she was in the other individual's grasp.

The voice belonging to you, a captive little lady, bloomed into yet another tantalizing scream as you were lifted up and placed onto a hook like contraption. Metal violently tore into flesh, ripping sinews and muscles apart to conform to the shape of your body as you were left to dangle helplessly. Crimson torrentially dripped from your fresh wound amidst panicked cries.

The fresh blood produced by your harrowing experience awoke the tell-tale signs of Alastor’s hunger, his growling stomach sharpening his senses to the utmost degree.

Of course, now was not the time to be thinking of breakfast. Curse his human guise and its continuous need for sustenance…

Alas, although very much entertaining, the show given to him was not what had insnared his focus. Surprisingly, the reflection of the blade held within Alastor’s target’s grasp had him pleasantly distracted. His mind ran in circles, plotting to procure the tool the other was using for himself.

Noticing your screams had silenced themselves to nothing but faded, pained whimpers; you had finally managed to acknowledge his presence amongst the cattails and behind miscellaneous boxes and crates.

He put a finger to his upturned lips in silence as his eyes bore holes into your skull with just his stare alone; willing you to cease your current noisiness. He was pleased when you returned his gesture with a subtle, inconspicuous nod and looked down, feigning defeat. Good. You and your sweet, but damnable, chirping would not spoil his fun. With certainty, he would not allow his hunt to be ruined.

With meticulous effort, Alastor’s stealth was successful as his hands made purchase around his victim’s throat once his prize was within reach. In a graceful, dramatic flourish to show off for his lovely audience, the individual’s neck was snapped in twain before much of a fight could be had. The fool was ignorant of his demise as the cloaked, masked killer slumped to the earth, lifeless and growing cold. The poor bastard didn’t know what hit him.

After his show was finished and a third kill was acquired that evening, Alastor kneeled down to inspect the object of his covetous obsession.

The blade he had desired ever since waking up on that deserted, modern steamboat was finally within his careful grasp; dripping fresh scarlet into his palm as he inspected it closer. No doubt the liquid belonged to you, the lovely lady of the hour he ignored, who still dangled precariously from the iron hook above his head.

Alastor continued his efforts in silence, standing to his usual impeccable posture as he cleaned the pilfered knife on his jeans. He brushed the blade against his trousers until it gleamed brightly under the nearest lanterns hanging from the power lines overhead. It was still terribly dark to be considered mid-morning; but at least the faint mist from the swamp gathering around his ankles was able to provide ample cover.

Seeking to return to the shadows, Alastor secured the blade in its sheath along his belt before taking a few steps away. His attempts were met with quite a bit of resistance. An incredulous sigh left you only to be followed by grumbles of frustration.

“Um…Hello? Still very, very stuck here…I, um…I could use a little help…”

Right. You were still present.

Alastor paused to turn his head and peer at you over his shoulder. Despite his permanent grin, the look he granted you was one of absolute disinterest. He calmly observed you, making no attempt to retrieve you from your painful perch.

The two of you continued your tacit stare down until you shook your head and looked away. With an irritated huff, you spoke through gritted teeth as you immediately rescinded your request for assistance

“You know what? Fuck you…I’ll just do it myself…”

Alastor turns to face you fully as he folded his arms, intrigued by the colorful vernacular you decided to spat his way. Rude as you were, it was rather interesting to watch you fumble around on that hook. It was very much akin to a caught fish longing for the relief the river could provide.

A surplus of other vibrant curses and varied complaints tumbled from your lips as you reached up to grasp the hook. You paused to catch your breath; your teeth gritted in preparation for the agony to follow.

With zero amount of finesse and a great deal of clamor in your voice, you proceeded with your attempts in dislodging the hook from your shoulder.

However interesting and delicious the bloody spectacle was, it was painful to watch. It was terribly irritating to see how many times you struggled. Several minutes passed by before you managed to successfully set yourself free with a deafening yelp and an unharmonious fumble. Blood painted the wet earth deep maroon in your burdensome descent.

“So… Do you actually ever…Y’know… Help anybody? Or do you just…’Tend to ignore everyone who addresses you?”

Breathless and struggling to take in air, you were hunched over on your knees. You hadn’t moved from where you had fallen as you looked up at him with exhaustion and a furrow of your brow. Your free hand clutched to the gaping, bleeding wound in your shoulder.

What a sight. Still, your defiant tone was something he didn’t appreciate.

The radio host adjusted his red suspenders that had fallen from his shoulders as he looked over to you. His grin was a sneer as his subtle dark curls obscured one of his amber eyes. Would he even attempt to humor you with a response or rebuttal?

…Perhaps this once.

“…Only if it’s worth my time.”

Alastor watched as you instantly became mute, obviously processing the offense his words supplied you. Your nose scrunched up in frustration as you chewed the inside of your cheek. You reached for your forgotten, dingy baseball cap on the ground and donned it with a huff. There was a pause before any more words greeted him.

“Well, my life, as well as what I have to say, is certainly worth more than a few measly minutes of your time… I have a plan that you might be the type to appreciate. That is if you can manage to pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually listen…! ”

Alastor’s eye twitched. Who did you think you were to address him with such hostility? Where did you get the audacity? Hadn’t he saved you enough from nearly being killed regardless? The thought only made Alastor’s blood boil. He gripped the blade in his grasp tighter. Such an ungrateful little soul…

“…I think I shall be the judge of that.”

The magnitude of his sneer was heightened as the radio host regarded you. An incredulous chuckle escaped the confines of his strained smile.

“Besides, why would I ever wish to associate with a rude little hussy such as yourself, hm? You’ve already proved to be quite the nuisance, especially with your failed attempts at escaping harm's way. Anything you are willing to offer me I might as well do myself. At least then I’ll be guaranteed a sufficient chance of succeeding… ”

Surprisingly, his statement was met with a defeated sigh, your head hanging to the side in an attempt at composure. With your spiteful countenance before, he didn’t think you would give in so easily. Perhaps your words were a means of deception, proving yourself braver than you truly were. What remained in front of him was the lingering, fighting spirit of a terrified, broken girl.

Interesting.

“Shit…look. I’m not…I’m not good with apologies…and I’m sorry I cursed at you…So I guess… un-fuck you or whatever…? Also, I guess you do have a right to be an asshole…You don’t know me or owe me nothin’…”

When he didn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing his expression change, you sighed yet again.

“…And I realize that a lot of tha time my mouth moves before my brain... But I promise…You're gonna want to hear my offer…”

With desperation drenching your features, you tilted your head in a last attempt to get into Alastor’s good graces as you gestured towards his knife.

“...Just with seein’ ya hold that blade, I assume y’know your way around a weapon like that…And ya look like you're good with your hands. Well, I’m pretty good with mine too, so… We can, y’know… Work together to make it outta here..? Maybe…?”

So far, your attempts at persuasion were failing epically, but he would continue to listen to whatever useless drivel that fell from your maw. He always did love a good show, and the expression you were making both intrigued him and bettered his mood.

“...That is, uh…That is what ya want, right? To go home?”

A quick, dry laugh escaped Alastor’s strained smile as he admired the way your face fell at the sound.

The only home he ever truly desired would be in the arms of a soul far out of his reach. His mother would not be found anywhere near his usual place of inhabitance. It was a moot point to ponder. There was no undoing what had been done…What he wanted he would not be able to obtain, nor was it something you could provide.

Alastor was right to ignore you before. Your words were meaningless and a waste of his time.

With no other response from him, an exasperated sigh left you.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you…The only other way outta here is by takin’ a permanent dirt nap and I, well.. I don’t plan on dyin’ today and I assume you feel the same…Sooo teamwork’s our best bet…”

Alastor tilted his head in curiosity. However trifling you were, he thought it perdinant to at least hear you out. He was being overly gracious, and if yet another phrase that displeased him came from your mouth you were as good as dead. Despite his smile’s presentation of interest, there was a deadly edge at the end of his next utterance.

“…What do you propose?”

“Well…I’m good with wires. My old man was a mechanic, so I got a lotta practice growin’ up…I digress, but it’s kinda hard to fix generators if I keep gettin’ attacked or hooked…”

Grunting, you willed yourself to a standing position, dusting off excess dirt from your mud soaked jeans.

“...So what I’d need from you is the assurance you’ll keep everyone away from me so I can fix at least five of those gen’s. We ain’t gettin’ nowhere without them workin’ properly…”

Once again clutching your injured shoulder, you winced as you made your way over to where the demon stood. Your anguish was audible, enough to make Alastor’s mouth water despite his current dissatisfaction with your presence. He took a step back from you. You had gotten too close for his liking.

“I think we could be useful to one another..And after tonight you can rest assured you won’t have to deal with me no more…But until then, if you can just, y’know…Do what you did before with Ghostface and pick off the others, then we may actually have a shot at makin’ it outta this shit hole alive…”

You hold out your hand; a brighter, hopeful expression present under the blood and grime attuned to your visage.

“So? We got a deal, or whatever? Scratch my back and I scratch yours?”

Your gesture was met with amber eyes being narrowed as Alastor looked down at your bloody offered hand. He was quite within his rights to deny your request and be on his merry way. If he was of a better mind, Alastor might have already left you in the dust.

Still, he pondered more on your words as thoughts of freedom flooded his mind’s eye. You stated the impossibility of liberty without fixing five of the machines that were no doubt spread across the premises, so repairs were necessary. He was used to such when it came to his line of work, making his radios function like new or maintaining the upkeep of his other preferred equipment.

Still, by the appearance of your denim jacket and ripped jeans, he surmised he had found himself in the middle of the modern era; which could only insinuate that modern technology had a hand in creating the essential items of escape. Alastor stifled a growl. Of course machinations resemblant of his arch nemesis would have a play in his supposed capture. The thought was infuriating and made his skin crawl with hatred and disgust.

Alastor had absolutely no interest in operating or learning to associate with such devices. Loathe as he was to say it, he would have to permit your continued presence. At least until freedom was achieved.

Vexing as you were, perhaps you would prove yourself useful as the night went on. Perhaps your assistance would prove an ample enough apology for the offense your prior verbiage caused.

“Usually, I’m not one to appreciate company in my efforts. I prefer working solo, but…”

The radio host’s eyes narrowed as he bit his tongue. The shameful lowering of his pride to admit you were needed sent an unpleasant taste to the back of his pallet. The feeling made him immediately want to throw up.

“...You do have a point. Fine…I shall aid you if only for the sake of escape…”

The moments between his words and your own fueled more interesting unspoken prospects. Though sensical and practical, it was rather curious that you requested him to kill the others. It was a task he had no qualms with, but having another acknowledge his prowess with his chosen craft elevated his ego. Begrudgingly enough, your plan was brilliant and would surely succeed if he was the one behind the task.

He hoped his little slaughter spree, now that his weapon of choice was acquired, would go smoothly and supply an efficient means of entertainment that evening…

“So… Whatdya say? Ya wanna make this official, then?...Partners?”

You gesticulated your offered hand in earnest, eager to ascertain some sort of plan for escape. Alastor quirked a brow. You must be desperate for protection if you felt the need to acquire an agreement of such without asking for the name of the fellow you were doing business with. Perhaps you just weren’t the type for much small talk, however necessary the information. Still, it was a hilarious oversight on your part. He would fix it. Promptly.

“My, you certainly are an eager beaver…But you aren’t going to ask for the name of the gentleman you are conducting negotiations with? Quite the questionable set of business practices you have there, doll…”

You rolled your eyes as you struggled to bring your other hand to prop up the elbow of the arm remaining outstretched, your shoulder exhibiting its horrendously mangled and deformed shape in your efforts. It was as if you had been to the nearest butcher and had requested to be placed on the chopping block.

“What's your name, then?”

“Why, I’m so glad you asked! The name’s Alastor. It is a real pleasure to be meeting you.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you too, I guess…Now can we shake on it? My arm’s gettin’ tired.”

Alastor chuckled. You were certainly such a feisty little lady. Quite the character, indeed.

At least you weren’t boring.

“I suppose you have a deal then. Partner’s it is…I can’t wait to become a team player, my dear…”

Leaning down to meet your short stature, Alastor kept his impeccable posture as he bent at the waist. Lifting his hand, he teasingly flicked your baseball cap down over your eyes with a chuckle before offering you a dark gloved hand.

You moved your hand up to lift your cap, revealing the grumpy furrow of your brows as you accepted the other’s extended palm. He could hear the audible annoyance in your voice, the sound reverting to a low grumble. It was very much resemblant of the incessantly adorable noises alleycats would make. While alive, his mother insisted on feeding the disgruntled beasts, assuring more of their presence outside of their townhouse.

The two of you participated in a single, firm shake before wordlessly parting. When you glanced down to search for something within the confines of your pocket, he takes the chance to wipe whatever remained of your blood off of his glove and onto his button up, painting the cream fabric a bright crimson.

“I suppose, however, if we plan to continue with business, might I also have the pleasure of your name? It would be beneficial to know who I am referring to should you feel the need to scream that you require further assistance…”

Unfolding a piece of rolled up parchment, you spared him but a glance as your hands made light work of their task. In your hands rested a ripped, dusty map. It looked as if it had weathered far worse conditions, but had somehow still remained intact.

“…Scout. It’s not my name, but it's what my folks call me the majority of the time. Feel free to call me that too, I guess…”

Alastor made a mental note of the interesting nickname and pondered how it was acquired while he watched you peer back down at the damaged paper in your hands. Your bloody index finger pointed at a location.

“It says here that we’re in “Blackwater Swamp”. Huh…The name’s just as bleak as the location…figures. Anyways, uhh… There's supposed to be a big boat, The Pale Rose…? Down that way…? That's where I, and most likely you, woke up…”

Glancing back up at your partner, you pointed in the opposite direction from where the two of you were facing as you jostled the map in your hands to smooth out the curling parchment. The sound your actions caused had you glancing up and over your shoulder in apprehension.

Silly thing. There was no need for you to worry for your protection as long as he was in your vicinity. You had made a bargain, after all, and Alastor always completed his end of a deal one way or another. You were safe.

For now.

Finally feeling more relieved there was no active threat nearby, you glanced back down at the map.

“And, if I'm readin’ this right, this map also shows where all the generators are and also the exit…Yeah, right here. Have a look.”

Pointing at the intended spot, you double tapped the page before looking up at your colleague in crime and turning the map around so that he could have a gander.

“Interesting. Who knew you had such a useful commodity in your possession. Where did you find such a thing?”

“It was just in a random box I opened when I woke up. There’s tons of that kinda shit around here. Just gotta look…”

Turning the page back to face you, you observed the guide in your hands more intently than before; speaking with assurance of the plan forming in your mind.

“Once we’re both done with our respective jobs, we’ll meet back up at the exit and get the hell outta here. Sound good?”

The demon stood back up to his usual height as he gifted you a genuinely amused expression. With the promise of his assistance, you were certainly set in your ideals that you would make it through the night.

Alastor’s wicked grin grew in delicious splendor. How unfortunate it would be if that wasn’t the case…

“It seems we have a plan in place…”

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

Wrapping up the map and shoving it into your back pants pocket, you looked over your non injuried shoulder to address him with an urgentness in your tone, the sound intreating him to listen intently.

“Well, we best get started. Stay safe out there…Don’t do anything stupid and try not to die…Alright?”

A chuckle rumbled in the radio host’s throat at the concern igniting your expression. You were worried? For him? How absurd and endearing a spectacle.

So the radio host was right. Your crude and classless persona was indeed the facade of a frightened girl. You should’ve been more concerned with yourself considering your current situation. Already you were sufficiently injured and still profusely bleeding beautiful shades of scarlet.

Alastor was certain you wouldn’t last the night. Not without his assistance.

“Oh, I can assure you that won’t be a problem; but you do the same…”

Pleased with his reply, you silently nodded as you did your best to cautiously duck and hobble behind the surplus of plywood from the deserted paddle steamer nearby. Your free hand graced the splintery surface of a broken pallet for support as you stepped over a plethora of weeds.

Just the pitiful sight of you retreating had the curvature of Alastor’s lips upturned. Things had indeed proved to be rather intriguing…

#hookedonhazbin2024 #hazbin hotel #hazbin halloween #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #Dead by daylight crossover #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hope you guys have fun #See you in Chapter 2~!

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x-press-it · 3 months ago

Text

Devilish Desires - 5/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others…) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn’t know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Finally, we're here! I had this chapter partialy written since ages (I think it was the first one I wrote) and it's now out for you to read \o/ It's time for some revelations :D (Sorry in advance for the bucket of lore coming your way XD ) I'm so excited, I really hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it :D It's time to feed the hunger again :D

Need some music? I've got you I wrote the second scene with this particular song in repeat

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 5/8

Word Count: 8.7K / 60K+ for now

The hum of the Danger Room felt more intense from the command center, each vibration resonating in Logan's bones as he leaned against the console, eyes locked on the floor below. It had been two days since the sparring session, and in the day that followed, the team had decided E would face this trial. Logan had offered them a few words of advice about the Danger Room's unpredictability—the way it tested not only skills but instinct and resilience. Now, as night had fallen, the room thrummed with anticipation.

On the other side of the glass, E stood in the center of the vast metallic space, their posture deceptively relaxed. But Logan’s keen eyes could see the tension in their muscles, coiled like a spring, ready to be unleashed. Their hair was down, swept back into a half ponytail to keep it out of their eyes, but still falling like a thick curtain down their back, where the glint of metal—perhaps just a trick of the light—flickered beneath. The simple sport attire they wore clung to their frame, unadorned except for the three bracelets catching the cold light on their left wrist, while their bare feet flexed against the smooth floor. Their gloved fingers twitched, as if itching for movement, a restless energy building in the charged silence, waiting for the simulation to come up around them.

“They look confident,” Jean remarked, eyes narrowed with mild curiosity, but there was an edge to her voice. Logan didn’t respond, jaw tightening. There was no point sharing how skilled E was; they were about to witness it with their own eyes.

“They better be more than just confident,” Scott muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he cast a skeptical glance at Charles. The professor remained composed, hands folded on his lap, as if waiting for something only he could anticipate. With a few practiced keystrokes, Hank finally configured the simulation.

Below them, the virtual reality sprang to life, the soft whisper of machinery and the flicker of artificial lights surrounding E's silhouette. The walls shifted, blocks emerging from all around the room as pixels spread over their surfaces, multiplying and transforming into the textured sprawl of an urban maze—alleys and crumbling rooftops taking shape around them. The objective was simple: evade, outmaneuver, survive. A test of adaptability.

E moved, graceful and quick, weaving through the fake streets, their movements precise and calculating. Logan's eyes followed every twist, every sudden dart, watching as their focus turned sharp. He knew that they were dancing on the edge of instinct and training, the latter being a completely new experience.

“Fast,” Kitty admitted, a touch of surprise lacing her words.

Scott's arms tightened across his chest, eyes fixed on E as they moved fluidly through the simulation. “Speed doesn’t always win fights,” he countered, his gaze unwavering as he frowned at the holographic city. The hint of critique in his tone made the others nod in agreement, their silence suffocating.

But Logan couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, a brief flash of irritation twisting his features. He masked it quickly by clearing his throat, but the sharp sound had already drawn their attention. Eyes shifted to him, brows lifting in question, but he remained silent, jaw set tightly as he turned his gaze back to the floor below.

“I don’t see why you insisted on this, Charles,” Hank said, the low rumble of his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room. His analytical eyes narrowed slightly as E’s pace faltered. What was happening? Logan's hands twitched at his sides—something was wrong. Tension rippled through the command center as each person silently judged every move they witnessed. E was keeping up, for now, but not without effort.

“Yeah, what’s so special? Just another pretty face with tricks,” Bobby added with a short, dismissive laugh. Logan’s jaw clenched tighter, muscles shifting under his skin.

Charles steepled his fingers, leaning forward in his wheelchair with an unreadable expression. “Patience, my friends. There’s potential there. Untapped, but it’s there,” he said calmly, though the confidence in his voice was met with a few skeptical glances.

Logan’s teeth ground together as he watched them scrutinize, his muscles coiled with something raw, protective. This wasn’t just a trial for E; it felt like a trial for him, too, as if every dismissive comment was a thinly veiled accusation that he was thinking with something other than his brain.

Suddenly, a part of the simulated cityscape fractured with a metallic groan and came crashing down toward E. They twisted sharply, eyes wide, narrowly rolling out of the way as debris shattered where they had just stood. Dust plumed around them, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow. Logan's hands clenched around air, claws itching, muscles flexing as if ready to leap down there himself.

The murmurs intensified, no longer masked by civility. Each comment jabbed at Logan, who could see the slight stutter in E’s movement below—a shadow of hesitation—as the room adjusted, shifting to create new streets ahead while the terrain behind dissolved seamlessly into nothing.

“That was close. They’re fast, sure, but is it enough?” The criticism in Scott’s voice was borderline caustic, hitting Logan like a sudden blow to the stomach.

“Enough!” he said, voice cutting through the low chatter. Heads turned, surprised. He rarely broke his silence, rarely defended anyone outside his trusted circle. “You all stepped into that room as first-timers once, too.” The statement wasn’t loud, but it was like a shot ringing out, silencing any further mutters.

Silence hung for a breath. They exchanged glances, eyes sharp with wariness, doubt simmering just beneath. The shift was palpable, the tension stretching taut as realization sunk in: they thought he was under their influence, as if E’s enigmatic pull was some kind of intoxicating drug.

Below, E stumbled, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through their poise. The sight struck Logan, a sudden twist in his gut. “That’s it,” he muttered, blood boiling, as he pushed off from the console, ignoring the startled looks as he strode toward the door.

“Logan, where are you—” Jean started, but he was already gone, the metallic door sliding shut behind him.

Their back pressed against the rough façade of an artificial, crumbling building, muscles taut as they scanned the street past the corner they were hiding behind, E’s heart raced. The air hummed with the ambient sound of clanking metal and distant combat. The Danger Room was more relentless than they had expected, its projections more immersive and intricate than they could have imagined. Every inch of their being screamed for focus, but exhaustion—and most of all, hunger—gnawed at their resolve. The weight of the command center's watchful eyes, laced with thinly veiled animosity, chipped away at their energy reserves, a constant, draining reminder of how unwelcome they truly were. They had known this would be difficult, but not this punishing.

As they prepared to move forward, a flicker of movement caught their attention—a shimmering distortion in the air, just a few feet from them, cracking the illusion for a heartbeat. What now? Frustration and irritation surged within them as the projection rippled, revealing a familiar form stepping through the pixels. E’s eyes widened in surprise. Logan. His expression was stormy, unreadable as always, with a raw determination etched on his face. The glint of his left claws, half-drawn, made their breath catch for a split second before they realized he wasn’t there to attack. He moved swiftly to hide beside them, his back pressed against the artificial building. The air between them buzzed with the charge of their connection. Concern.

“What the hell are you doing here?” E whispered, their voice harsher than intended. The slight breathlessness in their tone betrayed them, and Logan’s keen senses didn’t miss it, catching the faint tremor at the edge of their stance.

His brows furrowed, deepening the lines carved by years of battle and unyielding reliability. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly, eyes searching theirs for the truth they stubbornly tried to hide. Up close, E could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his instincts coiled tight. The primal protectiveness that had driven him past Jean’s concerned call was written in every line of his posture.

Above them, in the observation deck, the palpable, hostile energy grew, stoked by Logan’s intervention. E gritted their teeth, feeling its force like a storm pressing down on them, threatening to break through their resolve. They held their breath, adapting to the oppressive weight with each rapid heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” E countered sharply once they regained control of their voice, though the claim rang hollow. They turned away, ready to press on, but Logan’s voice caught them like a tether.

“You’re not,” he growled, inching closer, casting a shadow that darkened the line of their vision. The cold, glaring artificial sun above was a poor mimic of real warmth, but Logan’s presence radiated heat, grounding them amidst the surreal chaos.

A silence stretched between them and E hesitated, a moment’s pause in which the weight of their exhaustion threatened to spill over. The edge of their allure had dulled, they knew it—no subtle shimmer beneath their skin, no echo of energy. Where vitality had thrummed, there was now a draining emptiness, a void that was craving his touch, his admiration.

Logan’s gaze sharpened as he took in the rapid rise and fall of their chest, the glazed weariness in their guarded eyes, the dullness to their horns, the fine sheen of sweat glistening on their neck, and the way their fingers twitched inside their gloves as if struggling to suppress a tremor. He couldn’t ignore how different they seemed from the fierce, fluid form they’d shown two days ago. His instincts screamed at him to act, to pull them out of this self-inflicted trial.

“E,” he said, his tone softer now, the rough edge replaced with something raw, familiar. His right hand lifted, hesitating before landing on their shoulder, a steady weight that offered comfort.

They met his eyes, the defiance in their stare wavering briefly. For a breath, the noise of the Danger Room dulled, replaced by the heat between them. The test, the hunger, the harsh judgments—everything faded as Logan’s gaze anchored them. They nodded once, forcing a small smirk that Logan didn’t buy for a second.

“I’m good enough,” they murmured, the sharp edge of confidence slipping.

Logan didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, and the concern etched into his rugged features went far deeper than simple vigilance. It was something fiercer, more personal. “Don’t push it. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I do, actually,” E said, glancing at the command center before meeting his eyes again.

The animosity above seemed to swell, the silent disapproval pricking at them like thorns, likely fed by Logan’s gesture. They rolled their shoulders, shrugging off his hand in an effort to appease the unspoken hostility growing from the observation deck. They couldn’t keep up with this for much longer. They had to end this soon, or the consequences—ones they wouldn’t dare imagine—would catch up to them.

With a deep breath, they set their jaw, the mask of sharp confidence snapping back into place. Pushing off from the wall, they squared their shoulders.

“Let’s finish this,” they said, their voice steady despite the strain.

Logan didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes as he fell into step beside them spoke volumes. This was no ordinary training exercise. The stakes had shifted, and he would be damned if he let anything happen to them.

With a shared glance, they pushed forward, moving through the chaos. The mechanical whisper of the Danger Room came back to life around them, roaring in E’s ears as they navigated the labyrinthine maze of twisted metal and simulated war-torn streets. Every turn, every shadow, tested their resolve. Every step was weighted by exhaustion, their body teetering on the edge of collapse, finding strength only in Logan’s unwavering presence at their side. The extraction point glimmered in the distance, a brief beacon of hope.

But that hope was short-lived.

A metallic groan rumbled through the air as a shadow stretched across the ground. E’s eyes snapped upward, and their breath caught in their chest. Towering above them, metal plating glinting under the harsh artificial light, stood a sentinel—its towering form ominous and all too real. The red glow of its eyes sent a shiver down their spine as it powered up, joints whirring with deadly intent.

“What the actual fuck?” they whispered, eyes wide as a brilliant laser beam split the air, barely missing them. They dove to the side, rolling onto the cracked pavement and pushing themselves up against a wall for protection, breathless.

Logan’s gaze darkened as he pressed his back next to them, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits as he processed the sight. “Really, guys?” he muttered, low and venomous, clearly directed at Scott and Hank, who undoubtedly had a hand in programming this nightmare. Fury coiled tight in his muscles, but he didn’t let it show. There was no time for anger—only action.

“What’s that thing?” E’s voice, despite its edge, wavered.

“Listen,” Logan said, gripping their arm and forcing their wide eyes to lock with his. “That’s a sentinel. A robot designed to kill every mutant it sees. We need to take it down.” His voice was as unyielding as steel, but beneath it lay something softer—belief. He trusted them.

E’s pulse hammered against their temples, but Logan’s resolve wrapped around them like a shield, momentarily blunting the razor-sharp hostility pricking at them from the command center. They nodded, swallowing hard as they reached behind their back, fingers parting the curtain of their black hair as they curled around the cool texture of two big metal rings. With a swift motion, they pulled the circular weapons free, their sharp edges catching the artificial light. Chakrams.

Logan’s brow arched, the barest hint of amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you—”

He didn’t get to finish. The sentinel’s red eyes flared, and another beam cut through the air. E’s eyes widened as they registered the attack a heartbeat before it struck. With a surge of adrenaline, they shoved Logan hard, propelling him out of harm’s way as they dove in the opposite direction. The ground shook beneath them as the beam exploded against the wall, scorching the surface where they'd stood mere seconds ago, debris scattering like shrapnel.

They hit the ground with a grunt, pain sparking up their shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. Pushing themselves up, E glanced over at Logan, who was already rising, eyes narrowed with a mix of frustration and admiration.

“No time to chat, pretty boy,” E muttered, gripping their chakrams between their indexes and thumbs as they locked eyes with him. Logan gave a sharp nod, the sound of his claws unsheathing a cold metallic promise.

Together, they moved with the seamless coordination of two souls bound by an unspoken connection—like a red thread pulling them through the chaos, guiding their every move. E darted forward, using their agility to keep the sentinel’s attention, chakrams slicing through the air with deadly precision. Each throw found a weak point—joints, sensors, anywhere that could be chipped away to disrupt its functioning—before returning to their fingers, drawn back by the essence they had infused into the circular weapons long ago. The sentinel’s massive hand swung in retaliation, narrowly missing them as they twisted out of its reach.

Logan took the opening, charging up the sentinel’s back with the ferocity of a man who knew how to make every second count. His claws gleamed as he latched onto the metal plating, scaling the behemoth with a speed that defied logic. Sparks flew as he plunged his claws into the nape of its neck, tearing through wires and circuits with a snarl.

The sentinel stuttered, its movements jerking as it faltered. With a final, violent lurch, it began to collapse, metal shrieking as it toppled forward like a giant felled by time itself. Logan leapt down, landing in a crouch just as the robot crashed to the ground with a sound that echoed through the chamber.

E turned, breath heaving, as the dust settled around them. Relief surged in their chest, but the victory was fleeting. A sudden noise—an ominous creak—rippled through the air. E’s eyes snapped up just in time to see a chunk of debris, dislodged from a nearby structure, plummeting toward them.

Before they could react, Logan was there, moving faster than seemed possible. He grabbed them by the waist, yanking them to the side as the debris smashed into the ground where they had just stood. The impact threw up a pixeled cloud of dust, metal dressed in a stone-like sheen skittering across the cracked surface.

Logan’s arm stayed wrapped around them, the weight of his protective embrace more solid than the chaos surrounding them. For a moment, everything was silent except the pounding of their hearts. E looked up at him, eyes wide and stunned, and caught the raw, unguarded look on his face—one that spoke of fear and relief mingled with something deeper.

“You good?” he rasped, voice low and tight.

E nodded slowly, catching their breath as he released them from his hold. The warmth lingered on their skin and their throat became dry, forcing them to clear it. “Yeah,” they whispered, the reality of their near miss finally sinking in. The sentinel was down, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. Though, with Logan’s eyes locked on theirs, the weight of the hostile energy above felt a little less suffocating.

Around them, the holographic shield shimmered and fizzled out, leaving an eerie silence in its wake as the walls of the Danger Room shifted and retracted, returning the space to its usual stark, featureless expanse. The air was thick with tension, the adrenaline still pumping in their veins.

E couldn’t help but smirk, the exhaustion still gnawing at them but not enough to mask the small victory. “I think we make a pretty good team,” they said, their voice betraying the tremor of weariness that ran deep.

Logan shot them a sideways glance, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the concern still written on his face. “Yeah, just don’t get used to me saving your ass,” he muttered, though his words lacked the usual bite. Beneath the gruff tone, there was something softer—almost affectionate.

E raised an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in their tired gaze. “Oh, don’t worry,” they teased back, reaching behind and slipping their chakrams into the small crochets sewn into the back of their tunic, where they rested securely, hidden beneath their long, disheveled hair. They opened their mouth to say more, wiping sweat from their neck, but before the words could form, the door to the Danger Room slid open with a hiss.

Logan’s instincts flared to life, sharper than ever. He moved in front of E without hesitation, his broad form a solid wall between them and the approaching team. His eyes darkened with barely suppressed rage, chest heaving as he fought to control it.

“What the hell, guys?” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, rough and seething. “This was supposed to be training. You used a fucking sentinel? On someone who’s never used the Danger Room before?” His glare was as raw as his voice, daring anyone to challenge him.

Scott’s jaw tightened, meeting Logan’s gaze with a stoic defiance. “We needed to see what they could do in a non-controlled environment,” he countered, his cool tone only fueling Logan’s fury further. The tension between them thickened, crackling with unspoken animosity.

Logan took a step forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing with unrestrained aggression. His face flushed red, a clear warning that he was dangerously close to losing it.

“Logan.” The calm, steady voice of Charles Xavier sliced through the tension, his wheelchair gliding smoothly between them. His eyes held a mix of reproach and understanding. “It was indeed a bit too much,” he acknowledged, addressing the group. “But we’ve learned something valuable. E showed they can work with the team. They fought well with Logan.”

A small scoff escaped Scott’s lips, the sound turning Logan’s rage into a furnace. “Of course, they did,” Scott muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking between them. “It’s easy for lovers to fight in sync.”

The words struck like a match to gasoline, igniting the fire in Logan’s chest. His jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack. He moved forward, but a cold hand—trembling, far lighter than it should have been—landed on his forearm. The movement froze him, and he glanced down, meeting E’s gaze. Their face was pale, drawn, the defiance in their eyes replaced with an exhaustion so profound it was almost tangible. Their knees buckled slightly, and in an instant, Logan’s anger was gone, replaced by a wave of deep, gut-wrenching concern.

He reached out, catching them in his arms, steadying them as their body swayed. “Easy,” he growled, his voice softening, becoming more protective. His focus shifted entirely to them, every instinct urging him to shield them from the glare of the team.

With a quick glance at the others, Logan’s eyes hardened again, colder than ice. “This isn’t over,” he spat, teeth bared in a silent promise, his words dripping with warning. He didn’t care to explain further, focusing instead on E. Without another word, he gently guided them out of the Danger Room, his movements deliberate as he shielded them from the questions, the stares, and the storm he would unleash later.

For now, only one thing mattered—getting them out of there and making sure they were okay.

The walk to E’s bedroom felt longer than it should have. Logan's arm stayed firmly wrapped around their waist, guiding them as their steps faltered. They leaned on him heavily, their usually sharp gaze clouded with exhaustion.

When they finally reached the door, Logan pushed it open, leading them inside and helping them sit down on the edge of the bed. E reached over their shoulder, carefully pulling the chakrams from their tunic and placing them on the bed beside them, the metallic weight a comfort against the soft fabric. With a sigh, they removed their gloves, setting them beside the weapons.

Logan stayed close, his eyes scanning their face, searching for any sign of what was wrong. Their breathing was ragged, an unusual warmth radiating from them as sweat slid down their skin. Their fingers clutched the blanket beneath them, as though it was the only thing holding them steady.

He sat beside them, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn’t want to leave, not when they looked like they were hanging by a thread.

“Logan…” Their voice broke, weaker than he’d ever heard it, and a tremor ran through them. There was more than just exhaustion—there was fear in their tone that made something in his chest tighten.

He shifted closer, brows furrowing as he studied them. “You okay? You look like hell.”

A faint, breathless laugh escaped them, but there was no humor in it. “Thanks… exactly what I needed to hear.” The words came out flat, without their usual teasing edge. They tried to stand, legs trembling beneath them. “I just need an hour… outside, and I’ll be fine. It’s… nothing.”

Logan’s reflexes were quicker than their unsteady movements. Rising too, his hand shot out, grabbing their arm before they could collapse. “No way in hell you’re goin’ anywhere like that. You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’ll be fine…” E muttered, trying to pull away, but there was no strength behind it.

He tightened his hold, eyes narrowing. “Are you on somethin’? Drugs?” His free hand shot to their forehead before settling on their cheek, searching their eyes for any sign of intoxication.

They laughed again, hollow and cracked, leaning into his touch instinctively. “I wish it were that simple.”

Logan’s frustration flared, his patience thinning as he gripped both their shoulders between his hands. “What do you mean by that?”

Their eyes met his—dark and shadowed with exhaustion, and something else. Something resigned. “I can’t live on food alone, Logan. I need… more.”

“The hell does that mean?” He wasn’t sure if he was angry, worried, or both. No, definitely both.

They swallowed hard, gaze falling as their voice dropped to a whisper. “Emotions. Desire, joy, lust… worship.” The last word left their lips like a breath, carrying a desperate weight that made his gut twist.

He went rigid, realization dawning on him. It was starting to make sense—the way they came at him at first, their playful behavior, the way their energy surged when they sparred, how they seemed to pull at him without even trying. It wasn’t just empowerment, it was sustenance.

“Negative energy drains me,” they continued, each word sounding like it took effort. “Criticism, doubt, disdain… it’s why I’m like this. Because of the team’s… distrust. But you… you’re like a damn buffet to me.” Their gaze locked onto his, more serious than he’d ever seen it, a deep, ravenous hunger veiling their vision. “Your healing ability… it’s dangerous for me. It makes me want to eat you alive. It’s hard to resist.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, processing their words. Finally, he asked, “So, what the hell do you need to feel better?”

E’s hand trembled as it reached up to cup his cheek. Their touch was light, hesitant, but it felt like fire against his skin. “There’s a solution… but I won’t force you. I’d rather die than hurt anyone again.”

Logan’s eyes searched theirs, taking in the raw pain and sadness—a vulnerability he’d only glimpsed until now. Something deep inside him shifted.

“If I can help… just tell me.”

Their eyes flashed with desperation, a glimmer of something dark and intense. “Kneel.”

He stiffened, caught off guard. The command hung between them like a challenge. Their tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight he couldn’t ignore. He could push back, deflect, but then they whispered, “Please.” The word, almost a cry, trembled out of their lips.

The softness of it cut through his defenses. With a grunt, he exhaled sharply and sank to one knee, his eyes never leaving theirs, still unsure but unable to pull away.

E moved closer, the fabric of their sweatpants brushing against his nose, their unique scent—spice wrapped in smoke—filling his senses and clouding his thoughts. Their tail slipped free, caressing his cheek like a soft, warm breeze. As the energy between them shifted, Logan caught sight of their horns subtly lengthening, the tips darkening to a crimson hue that shimmered with a subtle pulse.

“Is there anything about me you find attractive?” Their voice was softer now, teasing but tinged with need.

Logan's gaze flickered to their hips for the briefest moment before he forced himself to look back up. “Maybe,” he muttered, heat pooling in his lower belly.

E sighed, their tail trailing down his neck. “I can feel that. Your pulse… it’s quickening. It’s not enough to make me better… but it’s a start.”

Their fingers slid into his hair, gentle but firm, tilting his head back slightly. “Tell me, Logan. What would you do to me if I let you touch me?”

He swallowed hard, his breath shallow, unable to fight the images their words conjured. The pull in his chest tightened as if they tugged on it, firm and relentless. His voice dropped, low and feral. “I’d… I’d hold you by the hips. Smell you.”

E shuddered at his confession, eyes closing as they soaked in his desire, a deep sigh escaping their lips. The strength they had lost was starting to return, slow but sure, coursing through their veins like a lifeline.

“You’re not allowed to touch me,” they whispered, their voice more commanding now as they felt his muscles tense under their tail. “But I grant you the right to imagine it.”

The impact of their words hit him harder than he expected, his reason struggling to keep control. His jaw clenched, and he felt E’s hand lightly combing through his hair, each stroke sending a sharp pulse of heat down his spine. The weight of their touch made his blood rush faster, thrumming beneath his skin, coaxing everything he’d tried to keep buried to the surface without apology.

“Keep going,” they ordered in a breath. “What else do you want to do to me?”

Logan groaned low as E's hand tightened in his hair, forcing his gaze to meet theirs. Their eyes burned with something primal, hunger so raw that there was no room for hesitation. He knew that look, but this time, it wasn’t controlled or smooth—there was desperation hidden beneath it, like a storm tearing through their soul, destroying everything in its wake. And that desperation was pulling at him, unraveling every shred of restraint he had left.

E's lips curled into a smile as they felt his struggle. “Tell me, pretty boy,” they cooed softly, their voice laced with an intoxicating sweetness.

He clenched his teeth, eyes shutting tight, fighting to push back the images flickering through his mind. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it. But their power, the praise, their sultry words, were messing with him in ways he couldn’t resist, coaxing out the desires he kept buried deep inside. The energy swirling around them was intoxicating.

E's fingers curled tighter, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at them again. “Use your words. Be a good boy,” they continued, their tail caressing his neck. “You know you want to.”

Logan growled, fighting the urge to let it all out. The shame mixed with desire was like a drug to them. He could feel it—E's energy was returning, and with it, the confidence they had lost just moments ago. Their posture shifted, becoming more commanding, more certain, towering over him.

“Words! Now!” Their voice crackled like thunder in his mind, no longer a request but an order, sharp and insistent.

His pulse pounded in his neck, and he knew they felt it too—the barely controlled beast inside him, clawing to break free. “You sure you can handle that?” he muttered, voice rough and strained, as though dragging each word up from the depths of his soul. The restraint cost him dearly, but their nearness made it impossible to hold back.

E’s eyes, dark with a hunger that now matched his own, met his. “I need it, Logan. I need you.”

The simple admission shattered the last of his resolve. Their gaze pulled him in, command and vulnerability twisting him tighter. His breath came harsh, uneven, his lips parted as the words slipped out before he could stop them. “You want to know what I’d do?” His voice dropped to a low growl, fingers curling at his sides, desperate to act on the vivid images in his mind. “I’d pull you so close there wouldn’t be an inch left between us. Make you feel every bit of what you’ve done to me.”

A shiver ran through them, their chest rising as they drew in a shaky breath. The tension between them thickened, electric. Confidence surged in them, and they leaned into him, letting his energy flow through them like a wildfire finding dry kindling, a soft laughter bubbling in their chest.

“Don’t stop.” Their voice, now more than a whisper, carried an edge of authority. “Tell me everything that runs through that gorgeous head of yours.”

Logan’s breath hitched, muscles tensed with the war waged inside him. His gaze turned predatory, and he felt the last barrier of control splinter. He drew closer, his forehead almost touching their leg, so their scent—spice wrapped in smoke—was the only thing filling his thoughts. “I’d take my time… pulling your pants down. Start with your thighs, kiss every inch—”

Something snapped inside them. E gasped, the intense rush faltering as their grip on the bond loosened. A sudden softness overtook their movements, the intoxicating power that radiated from them wavering.

They stepped back abruptly as they came back to their senses, eyes wide with a mix of concern and regret. The haze in Logan’s mind lifted, confusion colliding with clarity, his pulse still thrumming with the heat of the moment. He blinked, shaking his head as he caught his breath, eyes searching theirs. “What… what was that?” he asked, his voice soft with confusion.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful,” they whispered, kneeling in front of him, their hands trembling slightly as they reached for his cheek and shoulder, their composure slipping. E’s fingers brushed back a strand of his hair, gentle. “I got carried away. It… can happen sometimes, when the hunger is too strong. I lost control. I pushed too far. I’m so sorry.” They studied him, their eyes scanning his face for any sign of damage. “Are you okay?” E asked softly, their voice more tentative now.

“I guess so,” Logan muttered, still unsure of what had just happened.

E slowly rose to their feet, one hand extended toward him. He exhaled, the last embers of their moment cooling, and took their offered hand. The tension between them now mixed with lingering desire and mutual understanding.

Logan felt the force of E’s strength as they effortlessly pulled him up, the realization hitting him that they were back to their full power. Despite the energy that coursed through them, embarrassment was written all over their face. “Thank you, Logan.” Their voice still carried the worry they’d shown a few seconds ago. He caught the shift in their demeanor, but his response came naturally. “It’s okay.”

E, however, wasn’t so easily soothed. Sitting on the edge of their bed, they shook their head, avoiding his gaze. "No. It’s not okay," they muttered. "A normal person could have been seriously hurt from that.” Their words trailed off, and Logan could see the craving still burning behind their eyes—a flicker of something deeper, darker, barely restrained. “Good thing you heal fast…"

Their horns had returned to their smaller size now, but he knew that look. The hunger wasn’t gone.

Logan’s eyes couldn’t leave them, and he sat beside them, the bed protesting under his weight. "You're not done, are you?" His tone was blunt but laced with understanding. "You need more."

E sighed, and for a moment, their confident, commanding presence crumbled, leaving them looking small, vulnerable, and uncertain. "Yeah, I do," they admitted quietly. "I've been hungry… for most of my life. Pretty much since the day I awakened… which cost me someone’s life."

Logan didn’t push for details, though the weight of their words hinted at a story full of pain and regret. If they wanted to share it, they would. He wasn’t the type to force anyone into reliving their worst memories.

Instead, he asked a more practical question. "How do you usually deal with it? The hunger, I mean."

E's gaze shifted, as if deciding how much to tell him. "I find people who agree to let me… feed on them." The word clearly didn’t sit right with them, the frown on their face making it obvious. "I go to clubs, feed on the emotions in the crowd, or find a lover who’s up for a night of pleasure."

Logan's brow furrowed, caught off guard by the ease with which they said it. He wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but the detachment in their voice was something else. It sparked his curiosity.

"What do you mean? You can feed on… sex?" His voice was rough, but the question hung between them, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their reaction.

A sad smile tugged at their lips. "Yeah, I can. I only did it once… and someone died." They hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I make them feel good instead. I feed on their emotions, not their life force. I'm a giver, only."

Logan blinked as the realization hit him. "So if you have sex with someone, they die?" The weight of it settled in his mind. "So that means… you haven’t… since?"

E shrugged, their expression resigned. "I haven’t had sex in the way you conceive it in roughly… 250 years, give or take… maybe it’s 260. Time gets blurry after a while."

"Wow…" was all Logan could manage, his mind reeling from the thought. A pretty thing like them, not having been with anyone in… centuries? His thoughts drifted, imagining it, and he felt his face warm slightly before he caught himself. But before he could hide it, E chuckled.

"I can sense you’re thinking about me again," they warned, a hint of humor glinting in their eyes despite the sadness. "Did I get too much into your head?"

Logan grunted, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "You wish." Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here, something raw and uncharted. An opportunity that could satisfy the primal part of him always searching for more—a connection that might, even for a moment, quiet his restless spirit.

“How do you keep the hunger in control around the kids here?” His voice softened as he spoke, more carefully this time, a rare edge of concern threading through his words.

A long, strained silence filled the space between them. E’s expression darkened, the raw vulnerability that slipped through making Logan’s chest tighten. Their shoulders slumped, and for a moment, they looked impossibly small, their strength faltering under the weight of their admission. “I don’t.” The words were soft, but the heaviness in them rang louder than any shout. “I haven’t properly fed since I got here… which is also why… I had that meltdown.” E’s gaze faltered, a rare crack in their usually unshakable facade. "I don’t want to hurt them, Logan. They're just kids. Too innocent. I… I don’t want to corrupt them with this."

Logan’s throat tightened as he processed the weight of their words. Their restraint was admirable, but the flicker of concern in his chest grew into something heavier, a gnawing worry that lodged deep. What if he hadn’t been there to help? Who would they have turned to? The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“Maybe…” He hesitated, unsure whether his next words would cross a line. But they were already on the tip of his tongue, and his protective instincts pushed him to speak. “Maybe we could work out an agreement.”

E looked at him, brow furrowing in confusion, the weight of his offer hanging in the air. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving theirs. “Well, if I’m a walking buffet, might as well grab a bite now and then, right?” He tried to keep his tone gruff, but the underlying implication was clear—he wasn’t just talking about feeding.

They stared at him, disbelief written all over their face. Logan added quickly, “To keep the kids safe, you know…” His voice dropped, edged with something deeper—a personal stake he couldn’t quite define.

E’s chuckle filled the room again, their eyes gleaming with amusement. “Convenient,” they said, seeing through his cover but not arguing. If Logan was offering, who were they to say no?

“I mean,” he carried on, voice low and rough, as he tried to push past the weight of their amusement. “No strings attached, you know? Just a quick fix once in a while. Maybe you could try bein’ a little selfish. Not just givin’, but takin’ too, to blow off some steam.” He leaned in a little closer, his words edging toward a challenge, a hint of something dangerous in the way he spoke.

A slow, teasing smirk spread across E’s lips, their eyes gleaming with something dark and playful and Logan couldn’t help but remember how he first thought they would be trouble. And, oh boy, had he been right. It was written all over their face again, but hell, maybe that’s what made life worth livin’. Though, instead of jumping into his offer, E shrugged, playing it cool. “Yeah, sure,” they said nonchalantly, “if you’re up for it… And if you think you can handle my games." Their eyes glinted with amusement, but they left the offer hang in the air for a few heartbeats. "Maybe we can work something out.” There was another pause. “Just to keep the kids safe.”

Logan chuckled, the sound rough but laced with genuine amusement. “Of course. Just to keep the kids safe.” Though, the words were more loaded than either of them were willing to admit.

Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding flickering between them before silence settled, thick and charged. Then, E stood, a shift in their demeanor as they moved with purpose. “So, if we’re going to do this, might as well make it good for the both of us, right? What do you like most?” They flashed a playful smile. “Guy? Girl?”

As they spoke, their form shimmered, shifting into a strikingly handsome man. Logan’s brow lifted, eyes narrowing as he assessed the change with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The ease with which they wore this unfamiliar face made him feel both intrigued and guarded, muscles unconsciously tensing in response. Before he could fully process the thought, E shifted back into their original form, and he felt his heartbeat slow to its usual rhythm.

“Want me to look like someone you know?” they teased, voice laced with something darker, a playful glint sharp in their eyes. Logan’s gut clenched as E’s features rippled, reshaping into Ororo’s elegant visage. The sight tugged at a memory of storms and shared battles, sparking a flicker of warmth that was swiftly overtaken by wariness. Then Scott’s face emerged, stern and self-assured, making Logan’s teeth clench involuntarily—old rivalries resurfacing for a brief, silent heartbeat. But it was the final shift that gutted him: Jean. The phantom ache hit him hard, a rush of regret and want tangled in an old wound he thought long scarred over. He forced himself to stay stoic, the turmoil in his chest hidden beneath a practiced frown. E’s eyes glimmered with mischief as they returned to their usual form, gaze locking with his in an unspoken challenge.

But they weren’t done.

“What about plain old me?" The question carried a whisper of vulnerability, softening the edges of their usual bravado. Before Logan could catch his breath, they morphed again, this time into something unexpected: tanned skin glowing warmly, innocent blue eyes staring back at him, long, wavy brown hair that spilled down to their knees. The transformation stunned him, a contrast so striking it made the breath catch in his throat. The unfamiliar curve of their smile, the way their presence seemed more tender yet powerful—it tugged at something primal, something he hadn’t expected.

Logan’s gaze lingered, caught off guard as curiosity tangled with an unexpected coil of desire. He felt his senses sharpen, instinct flaring as the tension between caution and temptation thrummed just beneath his skin, daring him to stay composed, even as the line between control and surrender blurred at the edges.

Hell, they knew exactly what they were doin'.

He let out a low breath, eyes steady on them. "Take the one you like most," he said finally, his voice thick with the weight of it all. "I’m good with whatever. Might as well be comfortable, you know." There was a small pause before a few more words slipped out. "But I gotta admit…" He smirked, unable to hold back. "Leaves some interestin' ideas."

There was a spark of amusement in his eyes now, the prospect of what could come. So many versions of them, so many ways this could go.

Logan kept his cool on the outside, but his thoughts were racing. He wasn’t exactly shy about what he liked, and the way E changed forms so effortlessly was unlike anything he'd seen. The possibilities? Endless. And for a guy who'd lived as long as he had, it took something special to surprise him.

But as much as his mind wandered over the many options in front of him, there was still that feeling — something deeper than just lust. Maybe it was the way E seemed so guarded under the teasing and power. The way they tried to make everything sound casual, even though Logan could see the weight of their long, lonely existence hanging on their shoulders. It made him pause.

He leaned back again, his hands on the mattress behind him, taking in their latest form — tanned skin, long brown hair, blue eyes. It was tempting to let them become someone else, someone new every time. But then, something clicked. “You don’t have to change for me, you know,” he said, voice a little softer, but still with that signature gruffness. “I kinda like you the way you are.”

The smirk on E’s face flickered, like they weren’t expecting that. It wasn’t just the words — it was the way he said it. Like he actually meant it. They stood there for a second longer, holding his gaze, before they shifted back into the form they always wore until now. Still powerful, still beautiful, but now with a hint of vulnerability they didn’t usually show.

Logan’s lips twitched, just a hint of a smile. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “I’m not exactly picky. Just as long as you can handle me.”

E chuckled, walking closer. “I think I can manage,” they said, though there was a glimmer of something else in their eyes now. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, Logan wasn’t sure yet. But he’d figure it out eventually. After all, it wasn't just about keeping the kids safe anymore. There was something more brewing here, and Logan could feel it.

But for now, he played along, letting the tension between them hang in the air. He knew this settlement was going to get messy, but hey, hadn’t that been always the case for him? At least this time, he’ll get some fun out of it.

Logan smirked, still taking in everything E had just shown him. He’d seen a lot in his time, but nothing like this. It was a display of pure power, confidence, and—hell, he couldn’t deny it—beauty. His curiosity got the better of him as he spoke, voice low. "What’s your real form, anyway?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "And… is E even your real name?"

E smirked, clearly enjoying the effect they were having on him. Slowly, they shifted back into the form of the young woman with the long, wavy brown hair that cascaded down to nearly touch their knees, tanned skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Their piercing blue eyes locked with his, intense and unyielding. The two horns above their hairline, now fully extended, had the sheen of polished obsidian, gradually darkening to a deep red at the tips, adding an almost regal fierceness to their look. Their thin tail moved with a life of its own, curling toward his cheek as it had earlier, the only constant in their shifting forms.

A pair of feathered wings unfurled from their back, the inky black plumage fading to a crimson red at the edges, casting subtle shadows across the room. It was an image of raw power and allure, both ominous and breathtaking in equal measure. But what really got him was the way their hips swayed as they moved closer, drawing his attention like gravity itself.

"This is my real form," they said, their voice soft but laced with power. "Once, I was Amrit, Amrit Kaur Singh. But that was centuries ago. When they revealed themselves…” Their wings twitched at their back, a subtle shift betraying old memories. “I became Ezekiel. Ezekiel Nepharael.” E let the name float in the air between them for a couple of heartbeats. “I sometimes go by Eki or Zeek, depending on whether I’m feeling more… feminine or masculine. But for most people, I’m just E."

Logan felt like his mouth had gone dry, his eyes glued to them as the energy in the room practically buzzed around them. The wings, the tail, the horns—it was like nothing he’d ever seen, but damn if it wasn’t mesmerizing. His throat felt tight as he tried to form words.

"You like what you see, pretty boy?" E teased, their smirk widening as they stepped closer once again, a playful gleam in their eye. It wasn’t even a question, more like a statement of an universal fact. They could feel his reaction, sense the heat of his desire.

Logan, despite himself, nodded, a muscle in his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep composed. "Yeah…" he managed, the word caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, his voice rough and breathless under the weight of it all.

E’s smile softened, though, almost tender, like they were savoring every drop of the power they felt from him. It wasn’t just lust—they could feel the admiration, the curiosity. They took a slow breath, as if inhaling his energy, their smile growing even more gentle before they pulled back, releasing the hold they had on him.

Logan blinked, shaking his head as if snapping out of a spell. “I mean…” he cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his composure. “Yeah, that’s… that’s okay, I guess.” A smug smile curled on his lips.

E chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement. They shifted back to their favorite form, casually sitting on the bed, still exuding the same undeniable confidence as if they were wearing something far more formal than their simple sportswear. "So," they said with a playful smile, "how do you propose we handle this agreement, Mr. Howlett?"

Logan cleared his throat again, his gaze meeting theirs with an edge of concern. "I’m not gonna sell my soul to the devil, right?" he asked, half-joking, but there was a quiet unease gnawing at him, like something deep inside was warning him.

E chuckled again, shaking their head. "No, don’t worry. I’m only in the business of pleasure, not deals. And I’m a giver, remember?"

"Right," Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he mulled over the details. "Well… whenever you’re feeling… peckish, just knock on my door. I’ll do the same. If one of us doesn’t feel like it, then nothing happens. No strings. I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me anything."

E nodded, clearly pleased with the terms. "Fair enough," they said, but their smile turned sly again as they leaned forward, adding, "Anything you’d rather avoid? Things you don’t like doing?"

Logan's mind flashed to the moment they'd almost shared a kiss under the stars a couple of nights ago. He felt a shudder at the memory of the pull he'd felt, like he was going to be drained dry. "No kissing," he said firmly. "Also… maybe we should keep this between us. No one can know. And… well, if something makes either of us uncomfortable, we stop. No explanations.” He paused, briefly considering, but nothing else seemed necessary. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s all I ask."

E’s smile softened, genuine this time. They nodded. "Agreed. I’ll have the paperwork for you tomorrow." Their eyes sparkled with amusement, and despite himself, Logan chuckled.

"What?" E asked, amused. "I’m still a lawyer, pretty boy," they teased.

This time, the nickname sent a new warmth through Logan’s chest, one he wasn’t quite prepared for. Clearing his throat again, he stood up. "Well, if you don’t need me tonight, I’ll see you around, counselor."

E smirked, watching him intently, their eyes sweeping over his broad shoulders and the way he moved. "Of course you will," they purred, their voice low and full of promise.

He was halfway to the door when they called out. "Logan?" They waited until he turned to look back at them, their eyes softer now. "Thanks again. And… goodnight."

He gave them a small nod, his voice low as he responded, "You too." Without another word, he left the room, the weight of their offer—and whatever this was between them—still lingering heavy in his mind.

To be continued…

Notes: Curious about what does E looks like? Check out their moodboard. If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

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pong03 · 7 months ago

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Kaito character analysis

Let's start light before I get more into the conspiracy theorist ramblings. in nsfw stuff I have read I feel like he is commonly misunderstood. I have read a lot where he is hasty, unemotional and self-serving... although I can see where hasty and lazy may come from but, think about: Kaito towards MC focuses on making her happy and although not always successful it is his main goal, BUT to write him as UNEMOTIONAL.

Y'all he is the most emotional of any man in the whole series. especially, in a first time headcanon post he should not be written as unemotional... we all know he would be crying and being like "MC you're such an angel boo hoo" and "I'm so glad I had my first time with you." he might be quick to finish but I think he would very guilty and put effort towards making it up to MC as soon as he was physically able. ALSO one thing I read he just was written as giving no aftercare,,, sorry am I the crazy one to say Kaito (most of frostheim) would be the most into aftercare?? His grandma always told him blah blah blah.. to him sex wouldn't even parallel to the aftercare experience, and tbh dude would be the one to need it the most. Tell me he wouldn't do everything the MC told him too and if was even slightly degrading to her he would be SOBBING afterwards all like "I'm sorry I said all that mean stuff, I know you asked but I don't believe any of it. You're SOOO NICE." You can't disagree with me yk I'm right. Okay.. I'm like trying to keep this part short but kind of failed. Obviously your head canons are what you're entitled to... just I feel like a lot of people admit to struggling to write him so maybe they'd preesh a post like this. HML if you want Kaito advice ig okay, admittedly this second part is a bit in-depth... like could be a reach but I have A LOT of evidence so hear me out. We all know Kaito hates being a ghoul and is considerably weaker willed than the other ghouls, he is also raised by his grandma. We can assume this because she is the ONLY family member he talks about (on the home screen and in the story) and the process of becoming a ghoul is intense right? Something that would be surprising if he regrets becoming one and is the big ol baby that he is. I think that Kaito's parents are the ones who made the deal, and they didn't survive. He was born to a poor family we know this because he talks about it all the time. SO my personal thought is he was born to a single mother who didn't have any funds to raise him even with the grandmother's help, so she wishes for greatness for her baby, and makes a deal with a devil to protect her child. Because we know he doesn't have the academics to get in Frostheim and he probably was not open about being a ghoul, it's a hoe-scaring quality. So I think he's basically got assigned-plot-armor-at-birth. and basically the demon could be kind of like how luca's monster is possibly his brother, and his mom's soul in entwined with a demon's (like a ghoul's would be) and basically they co-parent him which would explain why his stigma is so weak comparatively to other ghouls. this is more exploratory, but what I truly BELIEVE bare bones is: Kaito's parents are the one's who made the deal. That's it that's all I truly believe in and everything else is speculative. I just think it would be cool especially because I think the process of becoming a ghoul is left especially vague for this purpose. Hehe let me know what you think about this and other things that you personally think about kaito! I'm really curious about other fan's thoughts.

#tokyo debunker #tbd #TBD headcanons #character analysis #kaito #kaito tbd #kaito fuji #theories #TBD theories #fuji kaito #first of a series

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snailor-bee · 1 year ago

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Marco x NB!Reader / SFW / 2.1k Summary: Marco is finally going to confess to you! If only it would stop going wrong... Notes: Written for @op-xreader-zine! All the art is done by the amazing @issatheartist thank you for working with me on this! ;w;

This was it! Marco was finally going to do it. He was going to walk up to you and confess.

He'd been crushing on you for a while now and it was time. He'd dealt with the teasing from his brothers and the nurses for far too long. Originally Marco had held himself back because he hadn't wanted to ruin what the two of you already had.

Friends, nakama, family.

Still, everyone had insisted that he go for it and had completely ignored his reasonings for maybe why he shouldn't—"Marco, you can't seriously use your rank as an excuse; the only person higher than you is Pops"—so that's how he found his hands sweating, wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

Maybe it was a bit simple but at this point, Marco figured it was better than nothing. His head felt like a jumbled mess and he hadn't really planned out how he was going to do this but he'd wing it as he went along, all Marco had to do was find you and—

So distracted by his thoughts, he bounced off someone's body made a little oof of pain.

"Marco!" Izou's voice broke through his thoughts. "Watch where you're going. What are you doing?"

"I, uh," he couldn't bring himself to say it. Izou was the ship's gossip and if Marco said he was looking for you in order to confess then you'd hear about it before Marco even got to you. Sweat beaded at his brow as Izou's sharp gaze took him in. Uncharacteristically, Marco knew he looked nervous.

Which might as well have been blood in the water for a shark, when one was dealing with Izou.

Then all at once, Izou's posture softened and he smiled. "Are those for me?? For my birthday!? Oh, you shouldn't have, these are my favorite too!" Still gushing, Izou grabbed the bouquet and Marco was too stunned to stop him.

"A-ah, yes. I was worried you wouldn't like them, yoi," he said, going for a smile. It was a bit strained but Izou didn't seem to notice. Marco cursed himself internally. He'd been so focused on the almost-not-quite-confession, Izou's birthday had completely slipped his mind.

"No, they're perfect ," Izou enthused happily and Marco sighed fondly, letting the anxiety of confronting you fade. He could always do it later.

The next 'attempt' wasn't really an attempt.

Marco had been walking down a street when his inner phoenix noticed a section of smooth rocks. Without too much thought, he reached out and snatched one up. He frequently did this; the drawers in his office were filled with random bits and bobs, shiny pieces of metal, rocks, and other random things that appealed to his phoenix half for whatever reason. Marco never mentioned it to anyone but a few of his brothers who had been around him for years had picked up on it, though they were kind enough not to point it out.

So, without much thought, when he saw you chatting with some other shipmates, Marco ambled over and handed you the rock. "Here, for you."

You raised a brow and looked into your palm before running your thumb over the stone's surface, feeling out the texture.

Inside, his phoenix cooed and Marco was grateful he wasn't in his half-form. He could tell that his tails would be going wild right about now, watching your reaction.

"...Thanks," you said at last, sounding confused before you pocketed the rock and turned back to listen to the story that Ace had been in the process of telling. It didn't deter Marco at all, you had accepted it!

Feeling thrilled somewhere deep in his bones, he barely felt the jab to his ribs.

"Hey," Thatch whispered, "you know they aren't a bird, right?"

Confused, Marco cocked his head. Thatch gestured at you with his chin. "They probably don't know why you just handed them a rock. Shouldn't you be doing more, uh, human courting stuff?"

There was a few seconds of incomprehension before the meaning hit him and Marco felt like dissolving into dust and disappearing forever. He leaned over to bury his head into Thatch's shoulder to cover up the sound of his groan of pain as his brother laughed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, you'll get them next time, birdie."

Next time ended up being a love letter.

Old fashioned? Maybe. But Marco was getting desperate. At least this would be crystal clear.

He'd gone through numerous editions. The trash can in his room was overflowing with failed attempts, bunched up balls of paper scattered around his desk as he tried again and again until he finally felt he had it all down.

Exactly what about you that made him smile, how the simple sight of you lifted his spirits and the sound of your laugh made his chest tight. He'd bared it all.

Walking across the busy deck, the night breeze ruffling his hair, Marco was barely able to return the greetings he got as he passed by scattered groups. He'd locked eyes with you right away and once you noticed him coming, you'd said your goodbyes and were coming to meet him halfway.

The closer and closer the two of you got, the more and more nervous Marco became. The butterflies in his stomach were making him feel like he might throw up. What if you didn't return his feelings? What if you thought the letter was lame?

What if you went to read it right away? Oh fuck , he hadn't thought this through. He didn't want to watch your face as you read the confession, heartfelt though it may be. If you had to turn him down after he poured his heart onto the parchment, Marco really didn't know how he was going to take that.

Saying it to your face, letting you turn him down gently without realizing the true depths of his feeling was way more appealing.

His step faltered before a rush of heat flashed beside him. On instinct he tossed the letter into the roar of fire. Ace was likely showing off and didn't even notice the slight disturbance.

"What was that?" you asked, finally having made your way to him.

"Nothing," Marco said quickly. "Someone did their report so badly, so I had a bunch of corrections but thinking it over I realized I'll just have them redo it. Makes it easier, yoi."

You laughed. "Harsh. I'd hate to be them, putting in all that work for nothing."

Marco shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Yeah but I'm sure they'll get over it."

"Wow, Marco, you're not very good at this are you?" Ace asked with a snicker. Marco glared, fork paused midway to his mouth. Thatch elbowed him good-naturedly from his side. They were sitting in the galley, the shipmates talking around them creating a symphony of noise that easily hid the conversation from others.

"Good at what, yoi?" Marco asked, placing the fork down. Thatch threw an arm around his shoulders and shook him lightly as Ace's eyes sharpened with glee.

"Now Ace," Thatch said, mockingly sweet, "don't go teasing our resident birdbrain here. He's trying so hard, the poor thing."

"Get off," Marco said, irritated as he pushed at Thatch until he let him go, laughing.

"Think they've even noticed?" Ace asked thoughtfully before shoving something into his mouth and chewing loudly.

Marco opened his mouth to answer but Thatch beat him to it. "Hopefully not, though Marco looking so pathetic has been quite amusing." Thatch batted away his hand before Marco could punch him in the ribs, the bastard.

Grunting with annoyance, Marco looked away just in time to catch you several tables away leaning your head back with a laugh and he stared, heart suddenly in his throat. He couldn't help it, you were just so—

"Plus the whole ships been taking bets at this point," Thatch tacked on and Marco tore his gaze away from you.

"What?!" Marco demanded as Ace hooted joyfully. Thatch shrugged, grinning all the while.

"Maybe you shouldn't look like a lovesick bird all the time and we wouldn't have to take bets on when you finally get your act together. Do not" —Thatch pointed a steak knife menacingly in Ace's direction after a garbled noise had started— "talk with your mouth full. Swallow."

Dutifully, Ace swallowed his barely chewed food and took a second to catch his breath before barrelling on, "Whatcha got planned next, Marco? Anything good?"

"Excuse me? All my ideas have been fine so far!" Two blank looks had his hackles raising but before he could argue more, your voice rang out.

"Hey, Marco!" Immediately he whipped his head up and caught your eye. You waved before you arrived behind Ace, patting him on the shoulder. "I was wondering if we could spar later?"

Quickly, he nodded back. "Yeah, that sounds great!" Embarrassingly, he heard his voice hit a slightly higher pitch, almost as if his voice had cracked. Ace and Thatch did a terrible job at stifling their giggles as Marco felt his face flush traitorously.

"Great!" you enthused, apparently having not noticed. "See you after lunch?"

Not trusting his voice, he nodded and you skipped away happily. Once you were far enough away, Ace and Thatch collapsed into loud laughter, Ace banging on the table as Thatch wheezed out between his laughs, "What are you Marco, twelve ?? What was that?!"

"I hate both of you," Marco grit out between clenched teeth before shoving his half finished tray of food at Ace. "Finish this, I'm leaving, yoi."

"Good luck on your dateeee," Ace managed to yell out before he got too far away. Marco flipped him off over his shoulder.

"So, Marco." You looked uncharacteristically anxious as you fidgeted and looked at everything except him. Marco felt his stomach drop to the deck. What was wrong? You hadn't... noticed had you? Fuck, this was not how he wanted you to find out.

He'd come to find you for your spar after Ace and Thatch had literally laughed him out of the galley. You'd seemed eager enough to see him before dragging him to a quiet part of the deck, mentioning you had something to say first.

Seemingly steeling your nerves, you looked into his eyes and they burned with determination.

"I've liked you for a really long time now. You're literally one of my best friends and more than that you make me feel like I can fly, like nothing could ever hurt me. I didn't really want to mention this and have it ruin our friendship but I can't keep it to myself anymore. Please go on a date with me!"

Time seemed like it stood still as he gaped at you. He could see your cheeks flush, likely with embarrassment at your proclamation but he was still reeling.

Finally, you swallowed. "And if you don't feel the same—"

"No!" he cut in, finally finding his voice. Marco grabbed up your hands, cradling them close. "No, don't. Just, I—" He chuckled with wry amusement before pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "I'm just a little shocked. I've been trying to ask you out for ages now."

"Wait, really?" you asked, mouth dropping open. He nodded with a smile. There was a strange buzzing in his body, from his toes up to the tips of his ears. Everything felt a little fuzzy, a little warm. He wanted to run around the deck like a teenager again, grab you close and never let go, scream over the railing until he ran out of breath. So many different emotions were raging through him, he was beginning to feel dizzy from the weight of all of them.

Deciding to just pick one, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into his chest, breathing in your scent as he began to chuckle lowly. You joined in and soon the two of you were full-out laughing. When you separated, he brushed a hand against your cheek reverently, giddy that he was able to do so.

"To be honest," Marco began, "I don't think I can spar right now, I feel like my knees are made of jell-o."

You laughed again. "That's okay, I'm feeling the same. Wanna go tell Pops instead?"

Marco ran a hand through his hair, before smiling at you. "Sure. We're about to get the teasing of a lifetime."

You held out a hand and he took it, fingers twining together with yours like they were meant to be.

"We may as well get started," you said back, fondness shining in your eyes and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something more.

#one piece #one piece x reader #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco the phoenix x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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