#and yet when the light hits them just right-

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1943 - wounds and whispers

chapter summary: After an attack on the battlefield, Logan wakes up to you as his nurse in Italy during World War 2.

word count: 8.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this one is short, and the ending is a bit abrupt, but i kind of wanted it to be that way- war is unpredictable. also, the ending is a tad bit different from the other endings, you'll see when you read! anyways, next chapter is when things get a little bit more interesting...

warnings/tags: mentions of injuries, fluff, angst, war, character death(s)

series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5

A mere 43 years later and Logan was already in his second war since you died that last time. Part of him almost wished that he could die, maybe then he’d see you and get to hold you forever. But that just wasn’t in the cards for him; not when he had this healing, not when he was already 111 years old.

Logan's mind was swimming in a fog of pain as consciousness crept back in. The last thing he remembered was the deafening blast of gunfire and the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side as he charged forward in the midst of the chaos. War was hell, and he’d been through more than enough of them to know that. But this—this felt different.

His eyes fluttered open, the bright lights overhead blinding him for a moment as he groaned, trying to push himself up. His muscles screamed in protest, his entire body feeling like it had been torn apart and put back together again.

“Easy there, soldier.”

The voice was soft but firm, and it froze him in place. Logan’s heart skipped a beat, recognition flooding through him even though he knew it wasn’t possible. His vision focused, and then he saw you. Standing right over him, your face illuminated by the dim lights of the field hospital.

It was you.

Logan’s breath hitched, his mind spinning. He’d seen you die—he’d held you in his arms not long before everything faded. The memory of that night, the pain in your eyes, the blood pooling beneath you—it was burned into him. He’d lost you again. But now here you were, alive, standing in front of him like nothing had ever happened.

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. “Y/N?” You probably didn’t hear him, given the quiet tone of his voice.

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, your hands working with practiced care to check his wounds. “You’re lucky, you know,” you said, ignoring the way he looked at you, as if he'd seen a ghost. “The shrapnel didn’t hit anything vital. You’ll live.”

Logan swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a pull, the same pull he’d felt every time he met you in a different life. But this time, it hurt even more. Because this was the first time he’d seen you since the last time you died, and now, here you were, again, as if the universe had decided to toy with him once more.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice rough with emotion.

You glanced at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “How do you know my name?”

Logan hesitated, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tell you—not yet. Not about the lives you’d lived before, not about the times he’d watched you die. He had to keep it together. You didn’t remember him, and that was both a blessing and a curse.

He cleared his throat, managing a tight smile. “Lucky guess,” he said, his voice strained, trying to mask the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.

You gave him a curious look but didn’t press further. “Well, lucky or not, you should be more careful out there,” you said, turning your attention back to bandaging him up. “You’re not invincible, even if you act like it.”

Logan nearly chuckled at that. If only you knew. But instead, he gritted his teeth as you finished patching him up. The pain from the wound was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He’d spent so many lifetimes with you, always losing you too soon. Always feeling like there wasn’t enough time.

And now, here you were again, standing so close to him, your hands gentle as you worked. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing with memories of you—of your smile, your laugh, the way you’d always found him, no matter the time or place.

But this wasn’t the past. This was 1943, and you didn’t know him. He had to play it cool, keep his distance, even though every instinct in him was screaming to reach out and hold you, to make sure you didn’t slip away again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.

You gave him a small nod, satisfied with your work. “Well, you’re still not cleared to leave yet, so you’re not gonna get away from me that easily.” You grabbed a small flashlight from your pocket and leaned in a little closer, shining it into his eyes to check his pupils.

Logan grunted, feeling the warmth of your proximity. It was almost unbearable how familiar you felt, even though you didn’t know him—at least not in this lifetime. His eyes followed your movements, the way you focused on him like he was just another soldier you had to patch up. But to him, you were everything.

“You know,” you started, your voice calm but a little teasing, “you really shouldn’t be throwing yourself into the line of fire like that. Kinda hard for us to patch you up if you don’t have any parts left.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, though his heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll heal,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was rougher than usual, like the words were struggling to get past the weight of seeing you again, alive and breathing.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Heal, huh? Well, you’re not invincible, soldier. Trust me, I’ve seen men think they’re untouchable, and they don’t last long in a place like this.”

Logan looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your voice. He didn’t want to make this harder on himself than it already was. “Guess I’ll just have to be more careful, then.”

You chuckled softly, finishing your check-up and tucking the flashlight back into your pocket. “Yeah, you do that.” There was a hint of amusement in your tone, but you were still clearly all business. “Now,” you looked at a clipboard in your hands, “James, you have a different name you’d like to go by?”

Logan grunted, his gaze fixed on you. The name ‘James’ felt foreign now, like a remnant of a past he didn't quite belong to anymore. His eyes flickered to the clipboard, then back to your face. The memories of every life you'd lived flashed through his mind, each one ending the same way, with you slipping away from him.

“Logan,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than he intended.

You looked up, scribbling something down. “Logan, huh?” You nodded, writing it down. “Suits you better than James… I think.”

Logan gave a small grunt, a mix of acknowledgment and the emotions he was keeping buried. He couldn’t tell you how much it hurt hearing you say his name, knowing you didn’t remember him at all. Every time he heard your voice, it was like a punch to the gut—a reminder that no matter how many times you came back, he was always starting over, and you… you were always slipping away.

“Glad you approve,” Logan muttered, his eyes drifting away from you. He was trying hard not to stare, trying not to let the overwhelming rush of memories take over. You looked the same, almost exactly as you had the last time—before George pulled that damn trigger.

You didn’t seem to notice the tension radiating from him, too focused on the task at hand. “Well, Logan,” you said, setting the clipboard aside. “You’ll need to stay here for observation, at least for the night. Make sure your body’s handling the recovery properly. We’ve seen some soldiers who think they’re fine, and then—” You made a gesture, mimicking someone fainting, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the floor, suppressing the mix of emotions threatening to boil over. That small smile—the one you always had, no matter how many lives you lived—was painfully familiar. Each time, the same softness, the same warmth. But this time, it cut deeper because he knew how this would end. You’d be gone. Again.

“You’re real good at this, aren’t ya?” Logan said, his voice low, trying to sound casual despite the weight of everything between you two, or at least, everything he carried alone.

You shrugged, your smile widening just a little. “I’ve had a lot of practice lately. War isn’t exactly kind to anyone.” Your eyes softened for a moment, like you were remembering someone, but you shook it off, standing straighter. “But, yeah. It’s what I do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he fought the urge to tell you everything, to scream at the universe for pulling you into his life only to tear you away. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He had to play along, had to act like this was the first time he’d ever met you.

He nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Guess we’re both used to it, then. War and all.”

You glanced at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?” There was a pause as you sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You seem… different from the other soldiers I’ve patched up. Seen a lot, huh?”

Logan leaned back slightly, his hand brushing against the place where the ring still rested in his pocket. He hadn’t taken it out in years. “More than you’d believe.”

There was a quiet moment between you, your gaze lingering on him as if trying to figure him out. “Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “let’s hope you don’t add anything else to that list while you’re here.”

Logan couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that escaped his throat. If only you knew what was on that list already. If only he could tell you how many times he’d seen you die, how many times he’d watched your life slip through his fingers. But instead, he just nodded again.

“I’ll try,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow.

As you stood up, preparing to check on the next patient, you paused, glancing back at him. There was something in your eyes, something almost familiar. But then, you smiled again—kind, unaware of the history Logan held with you—and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Logan exhaled slowly, the ache in his chest growing heavier. He had to stay strong, had to keep his distance. But deep down, he knew he was already caught, already tangled in the same painful cycle.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the engagement ring he’d never had the chance to give you.

Maybe this time, he thought. Maybe this time, you’d survive.

But Logan knew better than to hope.

---

You checked in with one of the doctors when Sandra, your friend and fellow nurse, put a hand on your shoulder and turned you to face her.

“Does he have a nice voice?”

You snorted, shaking your head at Sandra. "A nice voice? That’s what you want to ask?”

Sandra grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “Well, I saw the way you were looking at him. Thought maybe he had some mysterious, deep, soldier-thing going on.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a clipboard from the nearby desk. “He’s just a patient, Sandra.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Sandra leaned in, lowering her voice. “You didn’t exactly hurry out of that room.”

You shot her a look. “I was doing my job.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying it. “So... does he?”

You sighed, unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Yeah, okay. Maybe a little. He’s got that gruff, low thing going on.”

“I knew it!” Sandra nudged your shoulder, her expression smug. “You’re into the mysterious types.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, flipping through the papers on your clipboard, though none of it really held your focus. Your mind drifted back to Logan’s face—his eyes, the way he carried himself like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. There was something about him, something that felt... familiar. But you brushed it off. That wasn’t possible.

“I’m not into anyone,” you said quickly, snapping back to reality. “Especially not a guy I’ve known for like five minutes.”

Sandra raised her hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.” But the teasing gleam in her eyes suggested she wasn’t done with the subject.

You gave her a half-hearted glare before heading off to check on another patient. But as much as you tried to focus, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. The way his voice had this gravelly edge to it, how it felt like he was holding something back every time he spoke. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he recognized you, like you were someone important.

But that couldn’t be right.

---

You came to check on Logan later that night before you’d head back to your quarters for some rest. The makeshift hospital was quieter now, just a few murmurs from patients in the distance. Your shift had been long, draining, but something about checking on Logan felt... different.

You pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Logan was sitting up on the bed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor. His posture was tense, like he was carrying the weight of more than just a few injuries.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked softly, keeping your tone professional despite the strange pull you felt toward him.

Logan looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment that seemed to stretch longer than it should. “Better. You know, thanks to you.”

You gave a small smile, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze drifting back to the floor. “Still, you’re good at it.”

There was that same heaviness in his voice, like he was holding back more than just gratitude. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something about him felt... familiar. It was strange, like you knew him somehow, but you brushed the thought away.

“You should get some rest,” you said, checking the bandage on his side. Your fingertips lingered on the spot where the bloody wound had been earlier, but there was nothing—just smooth skin, as if it had never been there at all. Your brow furrowed, lips parting slightly in disbelief. You’d seen the gash when they’d brought him in, deep and ugly, impossible to heal so quickly.

Logan’s muscles tensed under your touch, and when you glanced at him, his expression was guarded, like he was bracing for something.

"That’s... impossible," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "It was bad earlier. There should at least be... a scar."

Logan shrugged, trying to act indifferent, but the movement was stiff. "Guess I got lucky."

You pulled your hand back slowly, still frowning. “Lucky doesn’t cover it. I’ve never seen anyone heal like that.” You tilted your head, curiosity edging into your voice. “How?”

His jaw tightened. "It happens."

“That’s not much of an answer.” Your arms crossed over your chest, and the edge in your tone softened just a bit. “You’ve got to admit it’s... weird.”

Logan gave you a look, one that made you feel like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out how much he could say. Or maybe how little. "Weird, yeah," he muttered, voice low. "Not much I can do about it, though."

You knew a deflection when you heard one, but you let it go—for now. You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to trust him, but there was something in his eyes, in the way he spoke, that made it impossible not to.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you shook your head with a faint smile. "Well, however it happened, you’re lucky I didn’t call the doctors in to see this miracle." You gave him a teasing look. “You’d be their new favorite science project.”

A ghost of a grin tugged at the corner of Logan’s mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I’d rather avoid that."

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. There was something strangely easy about being near him, like you’d known each other for years. You glanced at his hands—rough, calloused, like they’d seen more battles than you could imagine—and wondered just how much he’d been through.

"Why do I feel like there’s more to you than you’re letting on?" you asked softly.

Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "You ever meet someone and feel like you’ve known ’em before?"

His words struck a nerve, sending a chill down your spine. You swallowed, the strange familiarity between you two suddenly harder to ignore. "Yeah... I guess I have."

Logan nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. He rubbed his thumb against the curve of his knuckle—a nervous habit, maybe. Or just old memories surfacing.

"You should get some rest," you said quietly, almost reluctantly. It felt wrong to leave, like there was more to say, even if you didn’t know what.

"I’m not good at rest," Logan admitted, voice low.

You gave a soft laugh. "No one is these days."

As you stood up, Logan’s hand moved slightly—just enough that the tips of his fingers brushed yours, barely a touch but enough to make your heart skip. You looked down at him, surprised by how natural it felt, like you’d been standing this close to him a thousand times before.

For a moment, it seemed like Logan might say something—something important. His hand hovered near his pocket, where a small, heavy object pressed against the fabric. But then he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as if he’d changed his mind at the last second.

"Goodnight," you whispered, your voice softer than before.

Logan gave you a short nod, but his eyes followed you as you stepped away, like he was memorizing the moment—like it might slip away from him if he looked away for even a second.

---

The next morning, when you went to check on Logan, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, buttoning up his shirt over his white beater.

“Hey—wait.” You stepped in front of Logan, your hands instinctively finding his forearm as he finished buttoning his shirt. “You’re not cleared to leave yet.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, something passed between you—like the echo of a memory, distant but familiar. He gave you a half-smile, the kind that looked more like a grimace, and kept working on the last button.

“Gotta go,” he muttered. “Don’t do well sittin’ still.”

You crossed your arms, not budging. “Doesn’t mean you get to walk out of here half-healed.”

His gaze darkened, jaw clenching as if biting back words. You could tell he didn’t like being told what to do, but there was something more in his expression—something haunted, buried beneath that tough exterior.

“You think I can’t handle it?” he asked, voice low, gravelly.

“It’s not about what you can handle.” Your eyes softened, a hint of frustration slipping through. “It’s about what’s smart. I’ve patched up enough soldiers to know that leavin’ too soon isn’t.”

Logan’s lips twitched, like he might argue, but then he stilled, studying you with a strange intensity. The weight of his stare made your breath hitch for a second, but you refused to back down.

“Stay,” you insisted. “At least for another day. Let the wound close properly.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, like it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with you. “You always this stubborn?”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Part of the charm.”

Logan huffed, a reluctant laugh buried somewhere in the sound. He leaned forward slightly, his knees brushing yours where you stood between his legs. The air felt heavier—charged with something neither of you could quite name.

“Y/N...” The way your name left his mouth was different. Familiar, almost reverent, like he was tasting the sound of it after a long time.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “What?”

Logan’s hand drifted toward his pocket, hesitating just for a beat. He seemed to think better of it and instead leaned back, propping himself on his palms like he was trying to keep his distance.

“Nothing.” His tone was gruff, evasive, but you knew there was more he wasn’t saying.

You stayed where you were, close enough to feel the warmth of him. “You’re not really going to leave, are you?”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Shouldn’t stick around too long.”

“Why not?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated. “I just shouldn’t.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, like they carried the weight of something unsaid—something important. But before you could push further, Logan shifted on the bed, brushing past you as if putting space between you would make it easier.

“Look...” His voice softened just slightly, almost apologetic. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you have to go through this alone.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, the walls he kept up seemed to crack, just a little. He looked at you like you were someone he wanted to hold onto, but couldn’t—like you’d slip through his fingers if he let himself get too close.

You leaned in just a bit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help, Logan.”

The way his name fell from your lips sent a flicker of something through him—something dangerous, vulnerable, like it meant too much. His breath hitched, and for a second, you thought he might tell you whatever he was holding back.

But instead, he gave you a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You already have.”

It felt like the conversation was teetering on the edge of something, but neither of you were ready to tip it over just yet.

“You win,” he muttered finally, his tone rough but resigned. “I’ll stay... one more day.”

You grinned, victorious. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I’ll even let ya accompany me to the mess tent for lunch.” You held up a finger, playful but firm. “But only if you’re good.”

Logan gave a soft huff, the closest thing to a laugh you’d gotten out of him all day. “You makin’ the rules now?”

“That’s right,” you said with a smirk. “I am the nurse, after all.”

He shook his head, amused despite himself. “Fair enough.”

You lingered a moment longer than necessary, and Logan didn’t move away. His hand twitched near his knee, like he was thinking about reaching for you. It wasn’t the kind of gesture that strangers made—it felt too familiar, too intimate, like muscle memory.

“See ya at lunch, then,” you murmured, trying to shake off the strange pull toward him.

Logan gave a small nod, but his gaze stayed on you as you turned toward the door. Just as you reached it, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“You better not sneak out while I’m gone,” you teased, though part of you wasn’t sure it was really a joke.

Logan’s lips quirked at the corner, but the look in his eyes was heavy, weighed down with something you couldn’t quite place. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

---

By the time lunch rolled around, you were half-expecting Logan to be gone—off on some stubborn mission to leave the hospital before you could stop him. But when you returned, there he was, sitting up on the bed and rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his forearms.

"Kept my end of the bargain," he said, giving you a crooked grin that was more shadow than smile.

“Guess that means you earned lunch.” You gestured toward the door, and Logan pushed himself off the bed with an ease that didn’t match the severity of the injury he'd arrived with. You gave him a skeptical glance but decided to let it slide—for now.

The two of you walked through the makeshift hospital in comfortable silence. You noticed how other soldiers gave him nods or muttered greetings in passing, even though none of them really knew him. Something about Logan just demanded respect—maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you.

At the mess tent, you grabbed two metal trays, handing one to him. “Hope you’re not picky. The food’s... not exactly five-star.”

Logan smirked. “I’ve had worse.”

You sat together at a small table, away from the loudest group of soldiers. For a moment, it was almost peaceful, like the war outside didn’t exist. Logan picked at his food absently, and you couldn’t help but study him—how his hands moved, how his jaw clenched like he was always bracing for bad news.

“So... you’ve done this before?” you asked, breaking the quiet. “The soldier thing, I mean.”

Logan glanced at you, something flickering in his expression. “Yeah. A few times.”

A few times. The way he said it made it sound like more than just a couple of tours.

“Must’ve been rough,” you murmured, stirring your soup. “I can’t imagine coming back to it over and over.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and for a second, you felt pinned under the weight of it. Like he knew something you didn’t. “You get used to it,” he muttered, but the sadness in his voice told a different story.

There was a beat of silence, and then you leaned forward slightly, your curiosity getting the better of you. “You ever... think about what you’d do, you know, if you weren’t here? If the war wasn’t happening?”

Logan stared at his tray, his jaw tightening like he was biting back something painful. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Once or twice.”

The way he said it made your chest ache, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “What would you do?”

Logan’s thumb brushed along the edge of his tray—a nervous habit, like he was weighing whether to tell you the truth. “There’s someone,” he said slowly. “Someone I thought about settlin’ down with... a long time ago.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. “What happened?”

Logan looked away, his expression hardening like a door slamming shut. “Didn’t work out.”

It wasn’t the whole story—you could tell that much. But you didn’t push. There was something in the way he said it, like the loss was still raw, even if it had happened years ago.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, unsure why you felt the need to say it.

Logan gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. But you knew better. It did matter. It mattered a lot.

---

After lunch, the two of you lingered outside the tent, neither of you in a rush to return to the chaos inside. The sun was warm on your face, a rare moment of peace in a world that had been anything but peaceful lately.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said suddenly, glancing at Logan.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’d you expect?”

You shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. Maybe someone more... closed off. But you’re not as much of a mystery as you think.”

Logan chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You’d be surprised.”

You bit your lip, studying him. “You feel... familiar,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like we’ve met before.”

Logan went still, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off with some sarcastic comment. But instead, he looked at you with that same haunted expression you’d seen earlier—the one that made your chest tighten.

“Maybe we have,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words sent a strange chill down your spine. You stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. But Logan didn’t offer any more answers. He just stood there, watching you like he was waiting for something.

Before you could ask, Sandra’s voice called from the distance, snapping you both out of the moment. “Y/N! Doctor’s looking for you.”

You sighed, giving Logan a small, reluctant smile. “Duty calls.”

Logan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Better get to it.”

You hesitated for just a second longer, something inside you screaming that there was more to this—more to him. But instead, you gave him one last smile before turning away.

---

When Logan was alone again, he pulled the ring from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. The weight of it was familiar, comforting in a way that only hurt more now.

He’d carried it through battles, through lifetimes, always hoping—maybe this time. But hope had a way of slipping through his fingers, just like you always did.

Logan clenched the ring in his fist, his jaw tightening. He knew better than to hope. He always did. But still... here you were.

For now, at least.

---

The next day you begrudgingly cleared Logan and showed him to where he would be staying before he got called away for another fight. It was a small quarters, shared with some of the other guys, but it was better than the hospital bed.

You should know. Sometimes you’ve taken power naps on those beds—when the hospital got too busy or you needed a break but couldn’t leave. They were uncomfortable as hell, but after long hours, you didn’t have much choice.

Logan tossed his bag on the bunk, eyeing the cramped quarters. It wasn’t much—just a room with a few cots and a flimsy curtain dividing it from the rest of the barracks—but he didn’t seem to care.

“You’ll be all right here,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Logan smirked, glancing at the bed like it was just another obstacle in his way. “I’ve had worse.”

You gave him a sideways glance, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see a pattern with you.”

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound doing strange things to your heart. His presence was so... solid. Like he’d been through hell and back, yet here he was, standing in front of you like nothing could break him.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” you added with a smirk. “There’s always a chance you’ll end up back in the infirmary if you’re not careful.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms flex under his rolled-up sleeves. “You worried about me, nurse?”

“Maybe I am,” you teased, keeping it light even though part of you was serious. “I don’t want to have to stitch you back up.”

He laughed again, softer this time, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than just casual. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal.”

The words hung between you, something unspoken settling in. There was always something deeper with Logan, like the surface of his words barely scratched at the things he carried underneath.

Before you could respond, a couple of soldiers passed by, giving Logan nods of acknowledgment as they went. You noticed the way they looked at him, like he was someone who’d earned their respect without even trying.

Logan pushed off the wall, moving past you toward the door. “Thanks for the room,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I could use a drink.”

You laughed. “Well, good luck with that. This isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

He stopped just outside the door, turning back to you. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer underneath. “You wanna join me?”

You paused, surprised by the offer. “Are you askin’ me out, Logan?”

His lips twitched into a half-smile. “Just tryin’ to be friendly.”

You let out a small huff of laughter, shaking your head as you grabbed your cap and followed him. “Fine. But if you’re looking for whiskey, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel road filling the air. The base had quieted down a bit as the sun dipped lower, the day easing into a calm that didn’t come often in a warzone.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Logan from time to time, trying to figure him out. He was so... different. From anyone you’d met. From any soldier you’d treated. And yet, he felt so familiar.

You found a small spot near one of the mess tents where a few crates had been stacked up like makeshift seats. Logan grabbed a canteen from his jacket, unscrewing the cap before taking a long drink. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“That better be water,” you joked, taking a seat beside him.

Logan handed you the canteen, smirking. “Try it and find out.”

You took a cautious sip, then immediately coughed, the burn of the alcohol catching you off guard. “God—what is this?”

“Something I picked up,” Logan said, eyes gleaming with amusement as you wiped your mouth. “Figured it’d help take the edge off.”

You gave him a playful glare, handing the canteen back. “Next time, a little warning, maybe?”

Logan shrugged, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re trouble, Logan.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the crate. “Been called worse.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence for a few moments, passing the canteen back and forth. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever tasted—not by a long shot. And it did what Logan said it would—it took the edge off.

You studied him for a moment, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he was sitting still. “You feel familiar,” you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the soft sounds of the base around you. “Like we’ve met before.”

Logan’s expression shifted—just for a second. His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from you and toward the horizon. “Maybe we have,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

The words sent a strange, unexplainable shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to ask him what he meant, but before you could, he stood up, stretching his arms over his head like he was shaking something off.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost like he was forcing it. “You ready to head back?”

You blinked, still caught in the haze of the moment. But you nodded, standing up and brushing the dirt from your uniform. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you walked back toward the barracks in silence, the air between you feeling heavier now. Something had shifted—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But you knew it wasn’t nothing.

When you reached the barracks, Logan stopped at the door, turning to look at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice rougher than usual, like he was wrestling with something inside him. “If... if things ever get bad, you find me. Got it?”

You frowned, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Logan, what—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. “You find me. No matter what.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Okay. I will.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, then nodded, like he was satisfied with your answer. “Good.”

Without another word, Logan turned and headed inside, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket.

What did he mean? Why did he look at you like he knew something you didn’t?

You lingered there for a moment before finally heading to your own quarters. But even as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, Logan’s words echoed in your mind.

You find me. No matter what.

---

The next few days were a strange mix of routine and tension. Logan stayed around the base, mostly keeping to himself, but you found yourself crossing paths with him more often than you expected. Every time, there was that same intensity in his gaze, like he was watching you, waiting for something.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. But it did make your chest tighten every time you saw him.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found yourself wandering toward the edge of the base, needing a moment to clear your head. The war, the patients, the constant pressure—it was all getting to you. And Logan... well, Logan wasn’t making things any easier.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Need some company?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jeez, you scared me,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, pushing off the tree and walking over to stand beside you. “You looked like you could use some company.”

You sighed, glancing out at the fading sun. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there beside you, his presence solid and reassuring. After a few beats of silence, he spoke.

“You doin’ all right?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s just... a lot sometimes, you know?”

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “Yeah. I get it.”

There was something in the way he said it—something that made you believe he really did get it. Like he knew exactly what it felt like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

“Thanks for asking,” you said quietly, your gaze still focused on the horizon.

Logan was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I meant what I said before,” he murmured. “You ever need anything... you come find me.”

You turned to look at him, the seriousness in his voice catching you off guard. “Logan... why are you doin’ this? Why are you looking out for me?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Because... you’re important. More than you know.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Important? How? Why?

Before you could ask, Logan stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “Just promise me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise me you’ll come find me if you need to.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise.”

Logan held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your head spinning with questions.

You’re important. More than you know.

What did that mean? Why did Logan feel so... familiar?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you stood there, your mind racing. Logan had secrets—secrets you weren’t sure you were ready to uncover. But one thing was clear: whatever was between the two of you, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

---

On another day, you spotted Logan on the outskirts of base, sitting against a truck’s wheel with a notebook in hand.

He looked almost peaceful, maybe the most peaceful you’d ever seen him since he got here. Judging by the way he was moving his pencil, you assumed he was drawing something. You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him, but your curiosity got the better of you.

"Didn’t peg you for an artist," you said, walking over and leaning against the truck beside him.

Logan didn’t look up right away, just kept sketching, but there was a small smirk on his lips. "You learn a lot when you’ve got time," he muttered.

You glanced at the notebook, catching glimpses of rough lines and shadows. “What’re you drawing?”

He paused, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to show you, then turned the notebook just enough for you to see. It was a sketch of the base—a surprisingly detailed one, with the buildings and surrounding trees, even some of the soldiers milling about.

“Not bad,” you said, genuinely impressed. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

Logan shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Like I said, a lot of time.” He looked at you then, and for a brief moment, there was something more behind his eyes, something deeper. “Keeps me grounded.”

You studied him, wondering what that really meant. Logan had always been a bit of a mystery, but there were moments—like now—where it felt like there was so much more to him than he let on.

“You ever thought about doing something with it? You know, beyond just sketches?” you asked, half teasing, half curious.

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not the ‘show-off my art’ type. It’s just... for me.” He glanced back at the drawing, his expression softening in a way you didn’t often see. “Helps me forget.”

You nodded, feeling a tug at your chest. “Forget what?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Everything.”

The weight in his voice told you there was more to that statement—more than you could guess. You’d learned over the past few days that Logan was carrying his own kind of burden, just like you were. And yet, somehow, it felt like his was so much heavier.

“Must be a lot to forget,” you said softly.

Logan’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he might actually open up. But instead, he just gave a noncommittal grunt and went back to his sketching.

You watched him for a while, feeling the comfortable silence settle between you. It was odd, but Logan’s presence had become... something you looked forward to. Even with all the unspoken tension, being around him made things feel a little less overwhelming.

“I never thanked you,” you said after a while, breaking the quiet. “For, you know... looking out for me.”

Logan’s pencil paused again, and he glanced up. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you insisted, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Logan shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude, but his eyes softened. “I told you. You’re important.”

That word again—important. You wanted to ask him why, wanted to press him on what he really meant by that, but something in his expression told you he wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.

“Just… stay outta trouble,” Logan said, his voice dropping into something rougher, more serious. “I’d rather not have to pull you out of any more messes.”

You smiled, trying to keep things light. “I’ll do my best. But, you know, being a nurse in the middle of a war, trouble kinda finds me.”

Logan let out a soft huff of a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

The sky was growing darker now, the last traces of sunlight fading. You knew you should probably head back to the barracks soon, but something kept you rooted to the spot, standing beside him. The air between you felt charged, like there was something unspoken hanging there, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Logan,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “Why does it feel like you’ve been watching me? Not just looking out for me, but... like you’ve known me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. His eyes shifted, as if he was deciding whether to answer that. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, waiting for his response.

“I haven’t,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

The way he said it made you frown. “What does that mean?”

Logan’s gaze held yours, intense and searching. There was a flicker of something there—regret? Pain? Before you could figure it out, he looked away, his fingers tightening around the edges of the notebook.

“It means… I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not again.”

Again. There it was—a crack in the wall he’d built around himself. But before you could push him on it, Logan stood abruptly, tucking the notebook under his arm.

“You should get some rest,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “Long day tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift. “Logan—”

But he was already walking away, his back stiff and his pace quick. You watched him go, your mind spinning with more questions than answers. Something was going on with Logan—something bigger than you’d realized.

And you had a feeling you weren’t going to let it go until you found out the truth.

---

The next morning you found out that Logan had already gone on some mission to Sicily. You weren’t sure why you felt sad, maybe a bit betrayed that he left without saying goodbye, but you did.

You had only known him for a few days, but somehow it seemed longer.

You couldn’t just stand around and dwell on Logan leaving without a goodbye. There was work to do. You made your way to the medical tent where a doctor had been prepping for a surgery. As you stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic hit your nose, grounding you in the moment.

"Y/N, glad you’re here. We’ve got a soldier with a bullet wound to the abdomen," the doctor said, his tone brisk. "I need your hands steady and sharp today."

You nodded, pushing thoughts of Logan to the back of your mind. "Got it, Doctor."

The surgery went on for hours, the steady rhythm of your breathing matching the precise movements of your hands as you assisted. It was intense, but you had no time to be distracted. Life and death were real here, and your job was to fight for life.

When the surgery was finally over, the soldier stabilized, you stepped outside the tent to catch your breath. The sky was still overcast, and the damp air felt heavy. You leaned against a wooden post, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Logan was gone, but the memory of him lingered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unsaid. There had been too many moments—too many heavy, unspoken words between you. You tried to brush it off. It had only been a few days since you’d met him, after all. But somehow, it felt like more.

"Y/N."

You looked up to see one of the other nurses approaching. "Yeah?"

"You’ve been requested to assist with another unit. They’re setting up a temporary hospital closer to the front lines. It’ll be rough, but they need experienced hands."

You hesitated. The front lines meant more danger, more chaos. But the soldier in you—the part that was here to help, to make a difference—knew you couldn’t say no.

"When do I leave?" you asked, straightening up.

"Tomorrow morning, first light."

You nodded, giving a small smile. "Thanks for the heads-up."

That night, you tried to sleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Logan. To his last words before he’d left—"I don’t want you to get hurt. Not again." What had he meant by ‘again’? It kept echoing in your mind, nagging at you.

---

The next morning came quickly, and before you knew it, you were being packed into a truck heading closer to the front lines. The landscape passed by in a blur, and the closer you got to the new camp, the louder the sounds of war became. Shells exploded in the distance, and the ground seemed to vibrate with tension.

You spent the next few days in a haze of blood, bandages, and exhaustion. There was barely any time to think, let alone dwell on Logan. But still, every once in a while, your thoughts drifted to him—wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was safe.

It was late one night, a few days into your new assignment, when the unexpected happened. The sirens had started to blare, lights flashing around camp. That could only mean one thing- you were under attack. And judging by the loud engines overhead, none of you were going to make it out alive.

---

Logan had gone with other soldiers to Sicily for Operation Husky. He didn’t want to leave you, but part of him thought, hoped, that maybe he was your bad luck charm.

Logan stared at the coastline of Sicily, but his mind was elsewhere. The mission was straightforward—get in, clear the path for the troops, and secure the area. But no matter how focused he tried to stay, thoughts of you kept creeping back in. He wondered if you were safe. He hoped, for your sake, that you weren’t thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you.

It was torture, being away. But deep down, Logan believed it was better this way. Maybe him being around was what doomed you every time. You had died three times before, and each time, he had been there. Maybe this time, distance would keep you safe.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. The thought of your smile, your laughter, the way you challenged him—it made him ache with something deeper than just desire. It was like an old wound that never healed, no matter how fast the rest of him did.

One of the soldiers called his name, pulling him from his thoughts. “Logan, you with us, man?”

He grunted in response, nodding toward the others. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good,” the guy said. “We’re heading out.”

Logan followed, but his thoughts drifted again, back to you. He had promised himself he wouldn’t get attached this time. But it was too late for that. He’d been attached since 1854, since that first smile, that first laugh.

---

It was a few days before Logan made it back to base, one closer to the frontlines. The mission had gone as planned, but something gnawed at him, an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake.

As soon as the base came into view, Logan noticed something was off. Smoke still lingered in the air, and there were fewer people around than there should’ve been. His gut twisted. Something had happened while he was gone.

He found one of the soldiers he recognized, grabbing him by the arm. “What happened here?”

The guy’s face darkened. “We were hit. Bombing raid. Caught us off guard. There... there weren’t many survivors.”

Logan’s heart dropped. “Where’s the hospital unit?”

The soldier hesitated, eyes flicking away from Logan’s intense gaze. “It was one of the first targets. No one made it out.”

Logan felt like the ground had dropped from under him. “What do you mean, no one?” His voice was a low growl, almost dangerous.

The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. They didn’t stand a chance.”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The world around him blurred as the words sank in. You were gone. Again.

Without saying another word, Logan turned and walked toward what was left of the hospital tent. He had to see it for himself, even though part of him knew it was true. There was nothing left but rubble and debris.

His chest tightened, the weight of it crushing. You were gone. And he hadn’t been there to stop it. Again.

Logan stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the wreckage. He felt that familiar, burning anger rising inside him, but it was mixed with something else this time—grief. Deep, raw grief. He wanted to scream, to punch something, anything, but all he could do was stand there, numb.

He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he always carried with him. The engagement ring. The one he had never used.

It had been almost ninety years since he bought it. And still, he carried it, hoping one day he might finally be able to give it to you. But every time, every life, you slipped through his fingers.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. How many more times he could lose you.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with emotion.

He had thought putting distance between you two would protect you. But it didn’t matter. You were gone, just like the other times.

And now, once again, he was left with nothing but memories and that damned ring.

in this chapter logan is 111 years old and reader is around 24-27 years old.

[i-starcreamed]

May we request a TF One Starscream where he meets gn reader along with Orion, D-16, Elita and Bee when they got electrocuted and got kidnapped (?) to the High Guard's lair, and Starscream somehow was attracted to reader. (I just need this twink to be head over heels on someone)

TF1 STARSCREAM X READER

I need him so bad.

cybertronian!reader Possessive themes, star being lowkey manipulative idk, starscream himself is a warning

You woke up slowly, the light of your optics slowly returned to their original bright color. You tried to lift your servo to your pounding helm but found you couldn't move. Panic began to rise. You couldn’t help but ask yourself.. what happened?

A groan escaped you as the pain in your helm intensified. Your processor scrambled to figure out where you were and what was going on. Before you could lift your helm, something – or rather someone – did it for you.

A single digit tilted your chin upward, accompanied by a low hum. “Interesting..” He mused, tilting your helm to the side.

Through blurry optics, you made out the figure of a mostly red and grey bot standing in front of you. As your vision settled, your optics widened in recognition, and you realized you were kneeling. Instinctively, you tried to stand, only to be met with the rattle of restraints binding your servos behind your back. Your processor demanded a reaction—fear, caution. This was someone you should be afraid of.

“Don’t even think about yelling right now, pretty. I don’t want you waking your friends up yet.” He hissed, shoving a digit in your face before you could open your intake to speak.

You narrowed your optics, slowly swallowing your fear. “Are you going to kill us?”

He placed a digit on his chin, thinking to himself. “Hmm, maybe. Not you, maybe them. If you want them with their spark intact, I’d warn them to behave.”

“Uh huh...okay. Uh.. where are we?”

Starscream shot you an almost offended look. Right, of course—he forgot. Sentinel and the rest of Cybertron had long stopped telling the tale of the High Guard ever since…

“Why, you're in the presence of the High Guard. We’ve been sabotaging Sentinel’s work from the sidelines for decades, and I’m sure you miners never bothered to notice. No one ever does…" He looked off to the side, scoffing.

Your optics widened. “High guard…Starscream?”

"It's a pleasure to introduce myself to you," he said with a snarky grin. "I knew you’d recognize me eventually."

“You know what Sentinel did? We’re also trying to.. stop him. We were working on that just before you captured us.” You felt your spark leap. Would it be possible to have such a strong ally on your side?

He raised a brow, “it’s about time you all became aware.”

He looked over to the purple bot next to him, “Shockwave, undo their binds.”

“..Starscream that is illog-“

“I said, do it,” he snapped, not bothering to glance in Shockwave's direction.

You heard Shockwave huff before the restraints on your wrists fell away. Looking behind you, your friends were still unconscious—Dee, Bee, Orion, and Elita sat motionless.

“Can you let go of my friends?

“I don’t know about that, Y/N.” He mused thoughtfully, your designation rolling off his glossa smoothly.

“I don’t trust them… but you? I want you to work with me." He stepped closer, a sly smile spreading across his face. The bots around him turned their helms sharply in his direction—Starscream was impulsive but not....this impulsive. He was being outright foolish.

Before you could respond, he cut you off. "As you said, we have the same goal. I have an army. You could be a part of it."

He stepped closer to your still-kneeling form, humming in satisfaction.

He let his servo gently trace the side of your helm, following the line where the light hit your metal and reflected back a soft glow of color. Realizing what he was doing, he quickly pulled his servo back, letting it hover uneasily over your helm He doesn’t know what came over him.

“You could be by my side as an equal, not just some soldier. You could be more than you are now.”

His voice like a serpent’s hiss in your audio receptors. sounding ever so sweet. He knew what he was doing, but he didn’t know why. He needed a bot like you at his side. Literally and figuratively.

“…And if I refuse?” You whispered, your voice slightly shaking.

“Then I’d be losing the one thing that’s missing from me,” he leaned down to your height. “And you know I'm not about to let that happen."

[bratzkoo]

merging arrangements | wonwoo pt. 3

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, smut Rating: NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: for my Anna, my beautiful nurse. No smut scene here but I'll keep the rating NC-17. I'm sorry for rushing the fic but I'm planning on taking a break for a while and want to queue up as many fics as i can so my blog will update even if i'm technically on hiatus.

summary: Jeon Wonwoo's been smitten with you for years, as the two of you enter an arranged marriage, he hopes you'll feel the same.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @childish-fear

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Seoul skyline glittered in the early evening light as Wonwoo stood at the window of his office, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in his hand. The past few weeks since returning from his honeymoon with Y/N had been a whirlwind of business meetings, family dinners, and stolen moments with his new wife. Yet despite the growing comfort between them, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Y/N seemed distracted lately, her smiles not quite reaching her eyes.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Come in," he called, turning to see Mingyu enter, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Hey," Mingyu said, fidgeting with his tie. "Got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you about."

Wonwoo nodded, gesturing to the plush leather chairs in the corner of his office. As they sat, he noticed the tension in his friend's shoulders, the way Mingyu's eyes darted around the room, avoiding direct contact.

"What's going on, Mingyu? You look like you're about to confess to a crime," Wonwoo joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Mingyu let out a strained laugh. "Not a crime, exactly, but... well, it's complicated." He took a deep breath, then blurted out, "I'm married. To Ela. We've been married for six months."

The words hung in the air between them. Wonwoo blinked, trying to process the information. "Married? To Dr. Ela? But... how? When?"

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Wonwoo recognized as a sign of his friend's agitation. "It happened fast. We've been dating for a while, and when her father started pressuring her to consider an arranged marriage with some businessman's son, we just... we couldn't bear the thought of being separated. So we eloped."

"Six months ago," Wonwoo repeated, his mind racing. "That was right before..."

"Right before your engagement to Y/N was announced," Mingyu finished. "I wanted to tell you, but with everything happening so fast with your marriage, and the merger... it never seemed like the right time."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, trying to reconcile this new information with what he thought he knew about his best friend. "Does anyone else know?"

Mingyu shook his head. "Just Y/N. Ela told her recently. We've been keeping it quiet because of Ela's family. Her father... he wouldn't approve of her marrying someone who isn't from old money."

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Wonwoo. Here he was, in an arranged marriage that was slowly evolving into something real, while his best friend had secretly married for love and was forced to hide it.

"Why tell me now?" Wonwoo asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Mingyu's expression softened. "Because you're my best friend, Wonwoo. And because... well, I've seen how things are developing between you and Y/N. I thought maybe, if you knew about Ela and me, it might give you hope. That love can grow in unexpected places."

Wonwoo felt a warmth spread through his chest at Mingyu's words. Despite the shock of the revelation, he couldn't help but feel happy for his friend. "I'm glad you told me," he said softly. "And I'm happy for you, truly. But Mingyu, you can't keep living like this. Hiding your marriage, sneaking around... it's not fair to either of you."

Mingyu nodded, looking relieved to have finally shared his secret. "I know. We're working on a plan. Ela's making a name for herself at the hospital, building her own reputation separate from her family. Once she's more established, we're hoping her father might be more accepting."

As they continued to talk, Mingyu sharing stories of his secret romance and married life, Wonwoo found himself reflecting on his own relationship with Y/N. They had started as strangers, brought together by family obligations and business interests. But now, weeks into their marriage, he was beginning to see glimpses of something deeper, something that made his heart race and his palms sweat like a schoolboy with his first crush.

Later that evening, as Wonwoo made his way home, his mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Mingyu's revelation. He entered the apartment he shared with Y/N, calling out a greeting as he removed his shoes.

"In here," Y/N's voice came from the living room. Wonwoo followed the sound, finding her curled up on the couch with a medical journal. The sight of her, glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled back in a messy bun, made his heart skip a beat.

"How was your day?" he asked, loosening his tie as he sat beside her.

Y/N marked her place in the journal and set it aside. "Busy. There was a multi-car pileup on the highway, so the ER was chaos for most of the afternoon." She rubbed her temples, and Wonwoo resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. They were still navigating the boundaries of their physical affection outside of the bedroom.

"Sounds stressful," he said instead. "Have you eaten? I could order something in."

Y/N shook her head. "I grabbed something at the hospital. But thank you." She paused, studying his face. "Is everything okay? You look... preoccupied."

Wonwoo debated for a moment whether to share Mingyu's secret, but decided against it. It wasn't his story to tell. "Just a long day," he said with a small smile. "How about we watch one of those medical dramas you like? I could use a good laugh at their inaccuracies."

Y/N chuckled, the sound warming Wonwoo from the inside out. "Alright, but don't blame me when you start yelling at the TV about improper CPR techniques."

As they settled in to watch, Wonwoo couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this felt. Sitting with Y/N, laughing at the ridiculous plot twists of the drama, occasionally brushing hands as they reached for the snacks between them. It wasn't the passionate romance of Mingyu and Ela's secret marriage, but it was something. Something real, something growing.

Little did Wonwoo know, the peace of this moment was about to be shattered by revelations that would shake the very foundation of their budding relationship.

---

The next day found Y/N in the break room of the hospital, her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of the turmoil in her heart. The door opened, and she looked up to see Alexys and Ela enter, deep in conversation.

"I'm telling you, that new resident is a disaster waiting to happen," Alexys was saying. "I swear, if he mixes up another blood sample, I'm going to— Y/N? Are you okay?"

Y/N tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine, just... thinking."

Ela, ever perceptive, sat down beside her. "Thinking about what? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The concern in her friends' eyes broke something in Y/N. Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The silence that followed her confession was deafening. Alexys, who had been reaching for a cup of coffee, froze mid-motion. Ela's eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"But... but you're married," Alexys sputtered, finally finding her voice. "To Wonwoo. Tall, handsome, ridiculously rich Wonwoo. Who, might I add, looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands again. "I know, I know. God, don't you think I know that? It's just... Seung-cheol and I, we have history. And being around him every day, seeing him care for patients, remembering all the plans we used to make..."

"Oh, Y/N," Ela said softly, rubbing soothing circles on her friend's back. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Since the wedding, I think," Y/N admitted. "Maybe even before. I thought it would go away, that once I got to know Wonwoo better, these feelings for Seung-cheol would fade. And they have, in a way. Wonwoo is... he's wonderful. Kind, supportive, everything I never expected in an arranged marriage. But then Seung-cheol will do something, say something, and it all comes rushing back."

Alexys, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly exploded. "Are you kidding me right now? Y/N, do you have any idea how complicated this is? You're married! To a chaebol heir! Your families have merged companies! And now you're telling us you have feelings for the guy from ward?"

"Paid department," Y/N corrected weakly, but Alexys wasn't finished.

"Whatever! The point is, this isn't some drama where you can just follow your heart and everything works out. There are real consequences here. For you, for Wonwoo, for both your families. Not to mention poor Seung-cheol, who's probably been pining away this whole time thinking he missed his chance."

Ela shot Alexys a warning look. "What Alexys is trying to say, in her uniquely tactless way, is that this is a very delicate situation. Y/N, have you talked to Wonwoo about any of this?"

Y/N shook her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "How can I? We're just starting to build something real. If I tell him I have feelings for someone else... it would destroy him. And probably end our marriage before it's really begun."

"Okay, okay, let's all take a deep breath," Ela said, ever the voice of reason. "Y/N, you need to really think about what you want here. Are these feelings for Seung-cheol just nostalgia for what might have been? Or are they something deeper?"

"I don't know," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. "That's the problem. I don't know what I feel anymore."

Alexys, who had been pacing the break room, suddenly stopped. "Oh my god," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh my god. This is insane. We're in the middle of a real-life love triangle. A married love triangle. With chaebols and secret feelings and... oh my god, I think I'm having a panic attack."

"You're having a panic attack?" Y/N said incredulously. "I'm the one living this nightmare!"

"Ladies, please," Ela interjected, but her own composure was starting to crack. "We need to stay calm and— oh, who am I kidding? This is a disaster. Y/N, how did we end up here? First Mingyu and I with our secret marriage, and now you with your secret feelings, and... oh god, is this karma? Is the universe punishing us for all those times we sneaked extra pudding cups from the cafeteria?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Y/N couldn't help but let out a watery laugh. "I'm pretty sure the universe has bigger concerns than stolen pudding cups, Ela."

"You'd be surprised," Alexys muttered. "Those things are like gold around here." She took a deep breath, visibly trying to collect herself. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You're married to Wonwoo, who you're starting to have real feelings for, but you also have lingering feelings for Seung-cheol, who you've known longer and had a connection with before your arranged marriage. Meanwhile, Ela here is secretly married to Wonwoo's best friend, which adds a whole other layer of complication to this mess. Did I miss anything?"

"Just the part where both our families are expecting an heir to secure the company merger," Y/N added glumly.

"Right, because this situation needed more pressure," Alexys said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Anything else? Any other bombs you want to drop? Maybe you're secretly a long-lost princess or something?"

Y/N shook her head, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat. "No, I think that about covers it."

The three friends looked at each other, the full weight of the situation settling over them. Then, as if on cue, they all burst into laughter. It wasn't happy laughter, but rather the kind that comes when a situation is so absurd, so overwhelming, that the only response left is to laugh or cry.

"Oh god," Ela gasped between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "What are we going to do?"

"I have no idea," Y/N admitted, her own laughter subsiding into hiccups. "I just... I needed to tell someone. To get it off my chest before I exploded."

Alexys, who had slid down the wall to sit on the floor, shook her head in disbelief. "Well, consider it thoroughly off your chest and splattered all over this break room. Seriously, Y/N, only you could turn an arranged marriage into a K-drama worthy love triangle."

"It's not like I planned this," Y/N protested weakly.

"Of course not," Ela soothed. "But Y/N, you know you're going to have to make a decision eventually, right? You can't keep going on like this, torn between Wonwoo and Seung-cheol. It's not fair to either of them, and it's certainly not fair to you."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of her friend's words. "I know. I just... I need time to sort out my feelings. To figure out what's real and what's just... nostalgia or fear or whatever this is."

"Well, you've got us," Alexys said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Whatever you decide, whatever happens, we've got your back. Even if I think you're certifiably insane for getting yourself into this situation in the first place."

"Thanks, I think," Y/N said dryly. She looked at her friends, feeling a rush of affection for these women who were willing to weather this storm with her. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"Probably make much more sensible life choices," Ela quipped, earning a weak smile from Y/N.

As the three friends sat in the break room, the gravity of Y/N's confession settling around them like a heavy blanket, none of them noticed the shadow that passed by the partially open door. None of them saw Wonwoo, who had come to surprise Y/N with lunch, freeze in his tracks at the sound of his wife's voice. And none of them saw the play of emotions across his face – shock, hurt, confusion, and finally, a deep, aching sadness – as he quietly backed away from the door, Y/N's words echoing in his mind.

"I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The lunch in Wonwoo's hand suddenly felt like a lead weight. He turned and walked away, his mind reeling, his heart breaking with every step. The truth had been unveiled, but at what cost?

---

Wonwoo found himself wandering the streets of Seoul, the bustling city a blur around him as Y/N's words played on repeat in his mind. He had come to the hospital on a whim, wanting to surprise Y/N with lunch from her favorite café. Now, he wished he had never set foot in the place.

He replayed every interaction he'd had with Y/N since their wedding, searching for signs he might have missed. Had her smiles been forced? Her laughter hollow? Had every tender moment between them been a lie?

No, he decided. Whatever Y/N's feelings for Seung-cheol, Wonwoo couldn't believe that everything between them had been false. He had seen the genuine surprise in her eyes when he supported her career, felt the real warmth in her embrace when they lay together at night. There was something there, something real growing between them. But was it enough to overcome her history with Seung-cheol?

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city, Wonwoo found himself in a small park. He sat heavily on a bench, his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do with this information? Confront Y/N? Pretend he had never heard? The thought of facing her, of seeing the guilt in her eyes when she realized he knew, made his stomach churn.

"Wonwoo-ssi? Are you alright?"

The voice startled him, and he looked up to see Seung-cheol standing before him, concern etched on his features. For a moment, Wonwoo felt a surge of irrational anger. This was the man his wife had feelings for, the one who might steal her away. But as quickly as it came, the anger faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

"Seung-cheol-ssi," Wonwoo acknowledged, straightening up. He gestured to the empty space beside him. "Please, sit."

Seung-cheol hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, maintaining a respectful distance. An awkward silence fell between them, the air heavy with unspoken words and shared history.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Seung-cheol finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is everything okay? You looked... troubled."

Wonwoo let out a bitter laugh. "Troubled. Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it." He turned to look at Seung-cheol, really look at him. This was the man Y/N had history with, the one who still held a piece of her heart. Wonwoo searched his face, trying to see what Y/N saw.

"Can I ask you something, Seung-cheol-ssi?" Wonwoo said abruptly.

Seung-cheol nodded, a wary look in his eyes. "Of course."

"Did you love her? Before... before our marriage was arranged. Did you love Y/N?"

The question hung in the air between them, charged with emotion. Seung-cheol's eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face – surprise, pain, regret.

"I... yes," Seung-cheol admitted softly. "I did. I do. But Wonwoo-ssi, you have to understand, I never—"

Wonwoo held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just... I needed to know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I heard Y/N talking to her friends today. She still has feelings for you."

Seung-cheol's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the quiet park. "Wonwoo-ssi, I... I don't know what to say. I never meant to come between you and Y/N. When your marriage was announced, I stepped back. I've tried to be respectful, to maintain proper boundaries."

"I know," Wonwoo said, surprising himself with the lack of anger in his voice. "I've seen how you interact with her at the hospital. You've been... a good friend to her. A support."

"She's an amazing woman," Seung-cheol said softly. "Brilliant, compassionate. Any man would be lucky to have her love."

Wonwoo nodded, feeling a strange mix of pride and pain at Seung-cheol's words. "She is. And that's why... that's why I can't just let her go without a fight."

Seung-cheol looked at him, surprise evident in his expression. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "The truth is, Seung-cheol-ssi, I've been in love with Y/N for years. Long before our marriage was arranged. I fell for her at a charity gala years ago, watching her passionately discuss her dreams of becoming a nurse. Her determination, her compassion... I was captivated from that moment on."

Seung-cheol's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting this revelation.

Wonwoo continued, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "When our families arranged this marriage, I thought it was a dream come true. A chance to finally be close to her, to build a life together. But I never wanted it to be just a business arrangement. These past weeks, getting to know her, seeing all the sides of her I'd only imagined before... it's only made me fall deeper in love with her."

The admission hung in the air between them, a challenge and a confession all at once.

"So what now?" Seung-cheol asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo stood, brushing off his pants. "Now, I go home to my wife. I fight for our marriage, for the love that I've carried for years and that I hope can grow between us. And you... you respect her choice, whatever that may be."

Seung-cheol nodded slowly, standing as well. "For what it's worth, Wonwoo-ssi, I think you're a good man. Y/N is lucky to have you."

"Thank you," Wonwoo said, extending his hand. Seung-cheol took it, the handshake firm and respectful. As they parted ways, Wonwoo felt a strange sense of clarity. The path ahead wouldn't be easy, but he knew what he had to do.

When Wonwoo arrived home, the apartment was dark and quiet. For a moment, he thought Y/N might not be home, but then he saw a sliver of light under the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He knocked softly before entering. Y/N was sitting on the bed, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly. She looked up as he entered, and Wonwoo's heart clenched at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Wonwoo," she said, her voice hoarse. "Where have you been? I was worried."

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, maintaining a small distance between them. "I'm sorry. I needed some time to think."

Y/N nodded, twisting her hands in her lap. "Wonwoo, there's something I need to tell you. I—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "About your feelings for Seung-cheol. I overheard you talking to Alexys and Ela at the hospital today."

Y/N's sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet room. "Oh god," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Wonwoo, I'm so sorry. I never meant... I didn't want you to find out like this."

Wonwoo reached out, taking her hand in his. "I know. And I'm not angry, Y/N. I'm hurt, yes. Confused. But not angry."

"You should be," Y/N said, a sob breaking free. "I'm a terrible wife. We're just starting to build something real, and I'm ruining it with these... these lingering feelings."

Wonwoo squeezed her hand, waiting until she met his gaze. "You're not a terrible wife, Y/N. You're human. We entered this marriage as strangers, with our own histories, our own emotional baggage. It's natural that there would be... complications."

Y/N stared at him, disbelief written across her features. "How can you be so understanding? I just admitted to having feelings for another man."

"Because I love you," Wonwoo said simply, the words falling from his lips with surprising ease. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I believe that what we're building together is worth fighting for."

Y/N's breath caught, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Wonwoo, I... I don't know what to say. I care for you, deeply. What's growing between us, it's real and beautiful and I don't want to lose it. But these feelings for Seung-cheol, they're confusing everything."

Wonwoo nodded, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "I know. And I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. I'm not giving you an ultimatum. What I'm saying is... I'm here. I'm committed to us, to our marriage. And I'm willing to work through this, together, if you are."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them, Wonwoo saw a mix of gratitude, affection, and determination in their depths. "I want to try," she whispered. "I want to work through this. With you."

Wonwoo felt a weight lift from his chest at her words. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she cried, her tears soaking into his shirt. They had a long road ahead of them, full of difficult conversations and emotional hurdles. But as he held his wife, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, Wonwoo felt a spark of hope.

Their marriage may have started as an arrangement, but it had become something more. Something worth fighting for. And fight they would, together, against all odds.

As the night deepened around them, Wonwoo and Y/N remained entwined, the first truthful words of their new chapter hanging in the air between them. The truths had been unveiled, painful and raw. But with those truths came the possibility of a deeper understanding, a stronger bond.

The future was uncertain, but for now, they had this moment. This honesty. This chance to build something real from the ashes of their arranged beginning.

And for now, that was enough.

[half-dead-ham]

Tim Drake's I.E.F Ch.1

To all those new to this fic, Hi! Welcome! I'm sure you'll have fun with this since I'll be posting/updating the old update posts all at once. It's a lot, but if I don't do this now I probably won't later, so bare with me, will you?

[Ao3 chapter] [Masterpost] [Chapter 2]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting shot isn't the best way to start a friendship, but at least nobody died, right?

Gotham is dark.

 And big.

 And haunted.

 It would seem like the worst place for Danny to hide, considering just how many vengeful and sad ghosts there are. And yet, here he is, on his third month here after escaping leaving Amity Park after an unexpected and, frankly, embarrassing reveal of his secret to his parents.

 Needless to say, they did not take it well.

 Silently cringing at the images of the inside of ecto-proof cages and Fenton blasters running through his head, he floats on his front invisibly about his current interest in lazy circles as they perch on the edge of a rooftop. Red Robin, the first bat he encountered during his stay, and second favourite Gotham vigilante, (his first being Red Hood) was currently working on a case that revolved around a string of break-ins to large electronic stores around Gotham's commercial district. The contents of what was stolen didn't seem to have any pattern, but none of the security systems at previous stores were able to even glimpse at the thief.

 Red Robin, hearing rumors through his contacts of the electronic store across the street from them being the next target, had decided to stake out the place in hopes of a clue. The security feed was currently being patched through onto Red Robin's wrist computer as the bird watched silently for any signs of movement. A slight distortion caught Danny's eye and he lowered himself over Red Robin's shoulder to get a better look. Red Robin shivered at the sudden chill, but didn't look around like the first dozen times Danny had hovered into his personal space.

 It was weird, the lack of reaction. At the beginning, about a month beforehand was when Danny had first taken interest in the vigilante. He was bored of staying in the decrepit old building he'd started squatting in after the first few nights of paranoia fueled isolation. Figuring the best way to settle his nerves was a midnight patrol, he took off flying in a lazy pattern, first around his new house(not his home, not without them) and then around the rest of the district.

 He was just about to head back when he came upon police lights outside a small computer repair shop and curiosity, reluctantly, got the better of him. Danny, invisibly and intangibly as to not be detected, floated cautiously through the roof of the shop to see what had happened. He was not expecting to see Red Robin surrounded by four officers all huddled together watching—glaring—at the monitor displaying the shop's security footage.

 Seeing that A. There wasn't anything really bad about the place, like a body or any particularly fresh ghosts, and B. That his second favourite Gotham hero was on the scene had instantly made Danny much less cautious and much more curious. He waited for the officers to focus their attention elsewhere in the store and floated closer to have a look at what the hero, who was currently rewinding the tape, was so baffled about. Red Robin had just hit play when Danny came close enough for his shoulder to accidentally brush the side of Red Robin's head in a momentary lapse of his intangibly, sending the vigilante bounding to his feet in a defensive position, searching for anything close.

 Danny, in the split second between his accidental tangibility and Red Robin's reaction, had instinctively moved back and reasserted his powers for good measure. The video played behind Red Robin as he tensely searched the dingy narrow shop for anything that could have caused the cold chill and light brush to the back of his head, but even with the high tech sensors in his lenses he couldn't pick up anything that close to him, just him and the now three other officers in the building. His body slowly uncoiled, the fight bleeding out of him as he watched the officers inspect a particularly interesting piece of wiring near the entrance. 'Like a snake' Danny mused, before silently berating himself for almost getting caught by a bat. 

 Man, that would've been embarrassing.

 Danny was lucky he hadn't thought to switch to thermal viewing, or he would have noticed the massive cold spot just above him to his left.

 After that night Danny kept going for patrols around his squat house, and subsequently kept running into Red Robin in his case to find the ghost(ha) thieves. After the seventh time he figured it would be more interesting to just start out searching for the vigilante instead of running into him after the police lights directed him to a crime scene.

 An alarm from the store across the street had Danny refocusing on Red Robin's wrist computer. There hadn't been movement on the cam footage, but as Red Robin rose from his crouch Danny noticed one of the camera views where an empty display that had previously held a line of 60 inch flat screens not five minutes before. Rising and hopping off the cornice Red Robin toggled the button on his comm with an exasperated groan.

 "Oracle, it's RR," he paused and a woman's voice could vaguely be heard, "So you couldn't see anything either?" He groaned again, louder as he took a few more steps away from the roof ledge. "What kind of tech could hide someone from all the cameras in there?" Another pause, this time from both ends.

 "You think it's a meta?" Red murmured, almost to himself. "That could be why we didn't even see the goods getting moved," Oracle was saying something he couldn't make out, then "I'll try, but I don't know how much I'll find even if I can see them." Danny tuned out their conversation after that as another sound caught Danny's attention at the back side of the building. Red Robin was too focused on his conversation to notice or hear, but to Danny the hushed tones were both loud and suspicious.

 As he got closer to the edge, the tones became voices, all three deep and rough. He peered over the rear cornice to the alley below, and spotted three men dressed in all black loading the freshly stolen TV screens into the back of a nondescript white van. Two of the men were making their way to the front doors of the vehicle and were wearing large gaudy white belts and were shouting at the third arranging the monitors in the back. The half-ghost only had time to think 'well they don't look suspicious at all' before the first one got to the driver's side door and yanked it open. Belatedly realizing that they were probably the thieves the pacing hero behind him was looking for, Danny made a split second decision and dove for Red Robin's utility belt.

 Among the few gadgets Danny had seen Red Robin use, the tracking bug was stored in an easily accessible front pocket at the birds front. Rather than trying to be stealthy for the sake of him not being found out, Danny quickly made a downward sweeping motion with his hand to grab the tracking device intangibly out of the pouch. Only half noticing the full body chill he gave Red Robin on the process, he dashed back to the van of whose driver had just keyed the ignition and stuck the tracker to it's undercarriage in time for it to peel out of the alley back doors only just closing on the turn with a lot 'slam!' and into the dead side street away from the electronic store.

 As he watched the van go, he hoped that tracker had an automatic 'on' function or he would be down one piece of mysteriously missing bat-tech and up one very suspicious bat.

 Flying worriedly back up to where he had left said bat, he was greeted with his slightly panicked conversation with the person(s?) on the other end of his comm. "-I am not hallucinating! I just felt something go through me and nothing's here! I'm- no I'm not coming down with something Dick! "

 Something in the way he said that made Danny pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear that. Vigilantes and their secret identities, right? (was his name really Dick? Or was that just an insult? It felt like a name when he said it…)

 "I swear something has been stalking me for the last month and none of you will believe me!"

 The half-ghost flinched, realizing that yeah, he maybe hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought in hanging (haunting?) around the vigilante, but after the first few reactions to his ghostly presence he'd thought Red Robin had choked him up to being some regular Gotham chill or something, only shivering before going back to what he'd been doing previously. Before anyone, present or otherwise, could say anything else, Red Robin's wrist computer beeped and pulled up a map showing the location of the -thankfully operational- moving tracker.

 A small "What?" was the only thing to accompany the deep frown as Red Robin lifted his gloved arm showing the tracker, before reaching into the pouch that previously held said tracker and pulling out empty air. Somehow deepening his frown, the bird looked around the empty rooftop, scanning for seemingly anything, before moving his hand back to his comm to speak.

 "Guys, I think I got a lead," he stated wearily. He was met with a few seconds of dead air before a flurry of voices spoke one after another in a cacophony Danny could barely even start to decipher before Red Robin spoke over them.

 "Something took my tracker. I don't know what has it but it's heading to the docks, I'm going to see where it's headed and maybe find some clues about either who took it, or. that tech."

 A distinctly male voice replied this time, and Danny could vaguely make out something about the tracker leading to a trap. Danny really didn't think about what he'd do after setting the tracking device, just that his core urged him to help. Internally groaning at his lack of planning yet again, he was surprised to hear Red Robin's reply.

 "I don't think it's a trap. If what I think happened, then that thing that's stalking me might just have given me the lead I need to bust this case open. And yes I know you guys still don't believe me about the thing, but I've seen and felt too many things over the past month not to think something's keeping tabs on me." He started to make hand gestures around halfway through his rant, ending off with a grumble at the notion of invisible teens' currently unknown presence. He heard one more voice speaking up in a cautious tone before the vigilante raised his hand again to the comm. With a reassuring sounding "will do" he switched off his comms and headed to the fire escape off the side of the building and to his bike parked a few streets over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   The docks, Danny thought, were both more haunted and quieter than Amity's, and that somehow made them even creepier.

 While keeping up with Red Robin's ninja-like movements through the maze of Gotham's harbour he had spotted no less than fifteen ghosts of various power levels and forms, ranging from the usual blobs to some very concerning looking business men in drenched suits.

 Coming up on the location of the tracker Danny placed on the thieves van, they came to a warehouse that was a lot less dead than the ones beside it. Creeping up to an adjacent roof Danny could spot three guards, likely armed if their postures were anything to go by. Red Robin surveyed the perimeter before finding an open window on the second floor. He studied the opening for a few minutes to confirm whether or not there was anyone in the room, then pulled out his grapple and shot it at the overhang of the building just above it, sailing through the small hole with practiced grace.

 'Most of the batclan could probably take flight really easily… A bat that could actually fly, now that would be terrifying.' The intrusive thought couldn't escape Danny as he floated through the wall behind the bird, watching as he took a roll and came up in -from what the half-ghost could tell- a perfect defensive crouch. Red Robin checked the room for any cameras before creeping over to the doorway, the door itself having most likely been lost to vagrants a long time ago. With no one in the corridor -though with the other doorways having actual doors it was hard to tell- the vigilante stalked towards the open end, presumably where the office portion ends and the warehouse properly 'begins'.

 Red Robin stopped just short of where the office hallway met a grated catwalk that overlooked about two thirds of the warehouse below. Though it must not have been originally, the office space was held aloft by solid yet bare I-beams that jutted from the concrete below. Remnants of walls in the form of gypsum dust and water stains were all that proved the existence of a previously blocked off section to a now open space. The open space, of course, held pallets and pallets of stolen electrical equipment; TV's, computers, stereo systems, just to name a few that Danny could see. Along the wall to his right he could see the van he'd tagged with Red Robins tracer, along with two other vehicles of similar make to the one they followed. The first van currently had its rear doors wide open as four men in all black unloaded the monitors into a waiting palette for… storage? It was hard for Danny to say, but by the way the vigilante slightly below him gasped -silently, he noted absently- they had found the mother-load.

 There were more guys than just the ones unloading the van, obviously. They seemed to keep in groups, but in total there were maybe thirty of them, the ghost boy guessed. All of them had some small firearm on them, about half some visible melee weapon, and all had the same Bad Guy™ wardrobe of black long sleeves and pants.

 A good few had those garish white belts on, Danny had noticed due to the fact they stick out like the belt on his HAZMAT, though for different reasons. The goons that wore them didn't unload the goods with the ones who didn't have them, suggesting they had a different job in this operation.

 Red Robin was taking all this in just as much as he was, watching the men at work as they catalogued the new additions to a collection that clearly went further than just the department store robberies. 'Maybe they break into houses too?' Danny had to assume that because how else would you get a literal mound of cellphones and tablets without some good ol' B&E?

 You can't, that's how.

 Both Danny and Red Robin were too captivated by the floor below they weren't paying attention to the floor they were on. Specifically, they didn't notice the goon slip out from one of the offices they had neglected to check beforehand. He didn't see them—really just Red Robin, Danny was still invisible—immediately, but as the bird didn't turn around immediately the thug took the chance to take out his weapon—a short lead pipe in this case—and slunk towards the bird and ghost duo as silently his black converse could.

 Danny heard a scuff a second before the guy behind them took a swing—straight at the back of Red Robin's head. Thank the ancients so did he, swivelling on the ball of his left foot and kicking out with his right, sweeping the thugs legs and sending him face first into the catwalk grate with his momentum. As he landed though, he let go of his pipe.

 Which fell to the floor below.

 Which in turn alerted everyone to what was happening just above their heads.

 Danny metaphorically held his breath (not literally, he didn't need to breathe as a ghost) as, as one, the entire warehouse snapped to look in the direction of the loud clang! and eventually the bird in the rafters. Many rushed to unholster their firearms before shooting at the vigilante.

 Red Robin cursed and sprinted back the way he came, into the vacant room and back out the window to the opposing roof with his grapple. Behind them shouting and more gunshots could be heard, leaving Danny's ears ringing as the mob of thugs spilled out of the warehouse in pursuit of the rooftop runner.

 Danny had to resist the urge to put up a shield to aid the bird in his escape, his core screaming at him protect protect protect! As bullets whizzed by them in the leaps Red Robin took between corrugated rooftops. He deflected as many as he could without being obvious, but due to that a few found their marks, the first one in Red Robin's upper right arm, another grazing his left cheek to the bridge of his nose, and the final one getting through his body armour and through his lower left side, exiting through his chest.

 The last bullet made Red Robin yelp in pain, losing focus of his landing position and slipping on a slick spot on the next roof. His legs went out from under him and though he tried to find something, anything to hold onto, the strain had his right arm weakening, and with a look of terror, he fell.

 Protect protect protect protect protect pr̵̟̬̬͕̼̜̪̞̊̓͗̊͌͆͠͝ͅo̷̦̟̥̠͉̘͕͛̎͛͝ͅṱ̷̼͔̘̩̆ě̴̗̱͍̤̣̻̯̹̇̍̄c̶̡̤͔̫̠̲̍͋́͐̀͂̕͝t̵͚̟͓̔͐̏͊̈́̕ ̶̘͈͙̻̦̫̱͑̂p̴̧̩͚̝̲͓̜̰͑̅́̉̈́͛͝r̵̨̛̘̕ǒ̷̧̰̟͖͓̳̘̮̓̊̈́͗̉t̵͙̀͛��̢̝̰͍̗̪ḛ̵͖͎̭̹̾́̀͋͘ç̵̭̭̫̥̭͎͚̯͌̌̀̾ṯ̵̤̪̟̙̹̂̓́̊͛̐̓͘̕͜ ̵͙͈̟͆̀̍̆p̸̡̛̙͎̖̭̐̆̈́̇̏ṙ̸̘̗̪͖̂̽̉́̕o̶̝̬̔̅̈́͑̃t̷̨̧̛̖̘̩̩͇̺̀̔͋̈́́̄̈́͝ȅ̴̞̗͗̂͂͂̉̚c̶̛̥̹̃̃̓̐̽ṯ̶͎̈́͂̈͐̎́͒͝!̶̥̇̄̈̓̈́͗̀͝͠

 Before he knew what he was doing, Danny dove for Red Robin, catching him by the wrist not five feet from the very hard, very solid, concrete pavement below them. He lowered the vigilante down gently, his legs not supporting him due to shock of not going splat. (or possibly due to trauma and blood loss.) Danny only let go when Red Robin was firmly sitting on the ground, back to the adjacent wall and unharmed -other injuries notwithstanding- and turned to the rapidly approaching thunder of footsteps as the goons came running at them.

 Dropping his invisibility, Danny put a shield around the prone teen behind him. Better not to have him get worse due to some stray bullets while he was being protected.

 Why wasn't he taking the injured vigilante and getting the hell outta dodge to somewhere safe? Well that's because he was angry. He was angry they hurt something that was his. They would pay for hurting something he was protecting.

 And so, as the mob of goons came at the two teens, Danny, for lack of a better term, unfolded.

 A multitude of eyes and teeth and claws came gnashing and snarling outwards in a cloud of frozen shadow at the gang, causing many to panic and either shoot or flee. Some of the ones shooting shot the ones trying to get away, and the buildup of panic and screams and fear had Danny cackling in static echos as he gouged and disarmed and covered the mob in his nebulous mass. He never injured enough to kill, but enough to make sure that if they weren't carried away that they'd need a while to recover.

 As the stars that were his teeth and nails stopped flashing in blows delivered Danny adjusted himself back to his usual state, teeth only slightly sharp and claws firmly under the white of his HAZMAT gloves. Satisfied at seeing no man left behind was a code the thugs stood by, Danny turned back to the glowing dome that housed his vigilante.

 (No, not his, he can't own someone.)

 Red Robin was still in the same spot, which is good. He was also unconscious, which is less good. Gingerly, Danny put two fingers to the bird's neck, looking for and finding a pulse that while strong, was erratic and fast. He would bleed out without immediate attention, and it would be a bad idea to try and carry him to the nearest hospital for multiple reasons. Cursing, he took off his left glove and wrapped it under Red Robin's armpit, knotting it tight for a makeshift tourniquet. Trying to assess a chest wound with only the surface knowledge he knows from patching himself up would be disastrous, so from the small interdimensional space that held his possessions while in ghost form he pulled out his to-go med kit. Thankfully he hasn't needed it all that much since he got to Gotham, leaving much of the more heavy duty supplies for cases of emergency—cases like these. He takes the antibacterial spray and applies a generous amount to both the entry and exit wound, then seals both with his ghostly ice and wraps his torso in bandages. Debating on whether or not it was better to dress the cut on the fainted teens face, the need to respect his privacy won out and applied some gauze with a hint of frost to keep it on and to prevent infection.

 While not entirely satisfied with his handywork he knows the ice mixed with the spray will kill anything off except the bird himself, he focuses on the hard part.

 Telling the bats.

 He knows he has to. But the fear of them trying to look into him has him hesitating. His core thrums loud in his chest, urging him to help, protect your human, protect and the fear recedes for a moment. Before it can come back Danny pulls Red Robin's comm out of his ear and holds it over his own. Taking a fortifying breath he technically doesn't need he pressed the button on the earpiece and breathed out a nervous "H-hello?"

 "RR, status report." The female voice he recognized as hearing before, Oracle, comes over the comm instantly.

 "Uhhh, bird down?" He hadn't seen a code used for when a bat needs immediate assistance. He could've at least tried to sound more confident.

 "... Who are you and how did you get Red Robins' communicator?" Anand that just sent her on high alert, great going Fenton.

 Ignoring the question and putting a little more bravado in his voice he states "listen, Red Robin has been shot and needs medical assistance. I've patched him up but he's unconscious and might be in shock. One of you bats needs to get down to the docks and help him."

 The line was dead for a moment before another voice—was it Dick—came on the line to answer.

 "I'm on route to the docks now, tell me where he is and we'll see what happens to you."

 Relief flooded through Danny despite the thinly veiled threat and he quickly rattled off their coordinates, noting in between which warehouses they were in before turning off the comm and placing it in its original position.

 He stayed to make sure Red Robin was safe until he heard the silent hum of Nightwing's electric motorbike. Turning invisible he watched the older vigilante rush to check over Red Robin's wounds, make a comment into his comms, then turned his head to search for the one who patched him up.

 Giving up quickly he picked up his fainted younger bridal style and carried him over to his bike, placing him on the front with him just behind him to secure him. Then they were off, speeding to Danny didn't know where, probably the bat cave? He was about to head home when the thrum from his core gave him pause. It still needed to know Red Robin was safe, still calling to protect, even if there was no danger. Trying to ignore it would just make the thrum turn to a burn, so reluctantly Danny sped off to follow Nightwing and his (no, not his) Red Robin.

 'This is going to end either very well, or very badly…' Was all he could think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Next][Ao3]

[massivelyshadyshawdows]

First things first, I'll start the day with a meticulous cleaning routine. You see, a good toy is not only visually appealing but also hygienic and well-maintained. I've scrubbed every inch of my body, ensuring that I'm squeaky clean and smelling of sweet vanilla. After all, who doesn't love the scent of freshly baked cookies wafting from a submissive little slut? With my skin feeling silky smooth and my mind racing with anticipation, I've lubricated my tight holes, making sure they're ready to be filled with whatever my Master desires.

Now, let's talk about the attire. I've chosen a stunning black latex catsuit that hugs my curves like a second skin. It's tight enough to make every inch of me look irresistible, yet flexible enough to allow for the full range of motion that comes with being a sex toy. The shine from the latex is absolutely mesmerizing, reflecting the soft glow of the room, making me feel like a living, breathing piece of art. The sound of it squelching against my skin as I move sends a thrill through my body, a reminder of the erotic playtime that awaits.

My day begins with a series of stretches to ensure my body is as limber as possible. After all, I want to be able to contort into whatever position my future owner finds most pleasurable. As I stretch, my muscles protest, but I know it's all for the greater good. With every bend and twist, I imagine the delight that will be etched on their face when they see how easily I can fold in half or spread my legs wider than should be humanly possible.

Speaking of spreading, I've also decided to spend some quality time with my favorite butt plug. It's a big one, gleaming black. I lube it up with a generous dollop of lube, savoring the coldness as I spread it around the tip. I take a deep breath and slowly push it in, feeling it stretch me wide and fill me up. The sensation is oddly comforting, a constant reminder of what I'm here for.

As the day progresses, I'll be experimenting with different sensations. Perhaps I'll wear a pair of nipple clamps while I run errands, the constant tug keeping my nips hard and sensitive. Or maybe I'll slip a vibrator into my cunt while a coffee shop, my cheeks flushing as it hums away, bringing me closer and closer to the edge without allowing me to tip over. After all, a good toy knows how to keep itself on edge, always eager for more.

For lunch, I'll treat myself to a light meal of finger foods, something I can eat without the need for cutlery. It's all about getting used to serving myself up in bite-sized pieces for when I'm presented to my Master.

Throughout the afternoon, I'll be practicing my oral skills. I've got a dildogag that's just the right size and shape for the job, gagging and drooling like the good little slut I am. The sight of me on all fours, mouth stretched wide around a cock, is something I know will drive you wild. I'll spend hours getting used to the feel of it, the way it hits the back of my throat, making me gag and sputter.

As the sun sets, I'll slip into something a bit more… revealing. Perhaps a latex dress that barely covers my ass, or a skimpy little set that leaves nothing to the imagination. I'll wander around my apartment. After all, a good toy is always available for use, no matter where it is. I leave my door unlocked, just in case my Master decides to drop by unannounced. The thrill of not knowing if I'll be caught in such a compromising position makes my heart race and my cunt throb.

And let's not forget the finishing touches. I'll paint my face with a mask of obedience, my eyes lined with smoky black liner that makes them look like the windows to my soul—a soul that craves nothing more than to be used and abused. My lips will be a glossy red, pouty and wet, begging to be kissed or bitten. My hair will be pulled back into a tight bun, exposing my neck for whatever use my Master sees fit.

But the pièce de résistance? The collar. A shiny, chrome collar that says, without a single word, "I belong to you." It'll sit snugly around my neck, a constant reminder of my place. I'll attach a leash and lead, ready to be walked like the obedient pet I long to be.

As the night wears on, I'll keep myself entertained with a little bit of solo play. I'll tease and tantalize my clit with a vibrator, bringing myself to the brink of orgasm again and again without ever allowing myself to come. This is a crucial part of my training, learning to deny myself pleasure until it's given. By the time my Master arrives, I'll be a writhing, whimpering mess of need.

But what really makes today special is the promise of tomorrow. Each and every day is a chance to become more of the toy I was meant to be. Whether it's trying new outfits, learning new tricks, or pushing my body to its limits, I'll be eagerly awaiting the moment I'm picked up and played with.

So, today I'm becoming a better plaything. Submissive, eager, and ready for whatever comes my way. And when tomorrow rolls around, I'll wake up and do it all again. Because that's what good toys do. They crave the attention, the use, and the pleasure of serving and as the days go by, I'll only get better at it. More empty. More sexy. More slutty. More… me.

What are you doing today to be a better toy?

Could be anything, really. You might have decided that today you'll crawl around on all fours when you're in private, so that you can more easily feel like the submissive little pet you want to be. Maybe you've made up your mind to lift up your top and expose your tits when you're working at your desk, or spend the day bottomless, all to feel more exposed and slutty. Hell, you could even have resolved to spend a few minutes every hour pressing a toy into yourself, because you want to get more used to and eager for that feeling of being stuffed full.

Every single day is an opportunity to make yourself emptier, happier, and closer to the kind of plaything you want to be.

So, once again:

What are you doing today to be a better toy?

Share your methods down in the replies or reblogs! I'm sure that other bimbos, pets, and dolls would appreciate the new ideas.

[buckleyflower]

WHAT MY BRAIN CAME UP WITH BECAUSE OF THE UNCLE BUCK STILLS:

Think about Eddie entering the loft casually whistling the theme song of Buck’s most recent movie obsession, with his key, and finding Buck with his slightly oversized brown hoodie baking with his niece.

He’d stop in his tracks and think that it’s a fever dream. He’d stop and pray that they didn’t hear him so he could take a moment to fully take in that he gets to have this man, that this soft, cute giant is his, and is currently hunched on his niece’s back so she doesn’t fall from the stool she’s standing on.

The lights are dim and it’s dark outside and yet Eddie doesn’t remember being ever hit with such a blinding clarity. He wants to have a kid with this man, a baby, wants to grow another human being with Buck, because Buck is the best human he’s ever met. And that realization startles him fully.

Because it usually happens in your twenties, when you’re maybe young and carefree and you have no clue what you’ll do with your life: you’ll turn around and look at a person and think I wanna share my life with you, I want to raise my babies with you. But he’s not carefree, he’s the furthest thing from carefree. And he’s not a kid either. He has a kid. And one that is currently in another state because he doesn’t want to see him. And yet here he is, wishing he could have Buck’s kids.

Anyway— Buck saw him. Of course he did. And he smiles at him and Eddie’s insides explode as they have been for all this time whenever Buck looked at him like this. Eddie just didn’t know.

“Oh, Jee, look, Uncle Eddie is here!” He excitedly points at him and motions for him to get closer.

Eddie chuckles and reaches them both while Jee-Yun babbles and simply calls him Eddie, Eddie! all joyful and happy. She’s so sweet and looks like she’s only ever known contentment. Eddie wishes she could be like this forever.

He puts his lips on Buck’s forehead and sighs softly. “Hi.”

“You’re baking.” Kind of obvious but the alternative would have been marry me, have my children please.

“You’re here.” Then they say at the same time. As though they can’t quite believe they’re there. But not there as in the loft, there as in right now, together, for the rest of their time on Earth.

Eddie would like to tell him that there’s no universe where he would willingly be someplace else knowing that being with Buck is an option. Instead, he looks at the wide hoodie and blushes. “You’re adorable, do you know that?”

“‘M not adorable,” Buck pouts while Jee tugs at one of his hoodie strings to get his attention. “I’m a grown man.”

And Eddie chuckles. “An adorable grown man.”

He thinks he will go back to church as soon as he can because he has to talk to the priest. Not now. Now he could do something crazy like scream hey, look, I found my joy! and then run away. But he eventually will.

After all, when that evening Jee-Yun leaves, he cuddles with Buck between Buck’s body and the back of the couch, pressed ridiculously close, and drags his fingers on the side of Buck’s torso, across his ribs, on his soft skin, right under the brown hoodie he’s been loving ever since he stepped foot in the loft. So now, he has more pressing matters to attend. Like burying his nose into his boyfriend’s curls.

Everything screams soft, soft, soft, but most of all: joy.

Eddie finally found his.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 23

Ch. 23 | Ao3

Thank you, as always, to the best friends and betas ever, @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher

NSFW today :)

Early the next morning, Feyre woke to the gentle brushing of Rhys’s knuckles against her cheek. She had been dreaming of early mornings in her old manor, waking up to the sharp but comforting smells of new spices. It always meant her father had returned from a trip, bringing new things for the kitchen staff, who were always enthusiastic about getting started. 

“Darling, wake up.” 

“What? What’s happened?” Her heart was in her throat as consciousness surged inside her, whipping her back into existence, the memories of the previous night raining back down over her. She could still smell the spices in her nose, as though the dream hadn’t entirely faded away. But she was torn fully into the present, panic guiding her back.

“Nothing, Feyre. It’s okay, shhh.” His hands firmly pressed her back into the mattress, grounding her and settling her until she could breathe again. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He turned his face into her hair, laying back down beside her and pulling her body close. She relaxed as much as her mind would allow. 

“What time is it?”

“Before dawn. I wanted to wake you and see if you wished to go to Calla’s cell. It may be the only chance we have to do it.” She nodded, pressing her eyes tightly closed, the tears already  burning there again. He was right. If she wanted to see it, collect any of what Calla had left in the world, it had to be now. 

She nodded grimly, gripping harder to Rhys’s arm where it wrapped across her chest. He was dressed, as though he’d already been awake and out. 

“I love you, Feyre. I will be with you every step of the way.” 

“I love you, too.” The words flowed freely between them now, settling warmly as they always did around her heart and fluttering across her ribcage. It had changed nothing, despite her bargain with Vilja, the inky stars still pressed into her shoulder. 

It didn’t stop her from wanting to hear it as often as she could. 

She rose from the bed, feet hitting the cold stone floor as she went to the wardrobe to find clothes. She paused as she passed the table, her bloodied, leather wristband still lying on it. The blade had been drawn back in, but the blood would stain, just like the guilt on Feyre’s soul. 

“I can get rid of it, if you’d like. I just didn’t want to assume since it was a gift.” He was behind her, arms wrapping around her middle as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She eased back into him, letting some of the unsteadiness in her be settled by his body holding hers.

She closed her eyes, breathing through the cataclysmic ache in her chest. “No, don’t throw it out. I just–I don’t know yet.” He pressed a kiss to her temple then went to wash up, leaving her to turn away from the table and find her clothes. This would be her new reality, and she had to find a way to cope with it. She would start by making amends, salvaging anything that she could find in Calla’s cell and give her the send off that she deserved once they left this place. 

If they left.

When Rhys winnowed to the dungeons, it was pitch black, the candles no longer lit in Calla’s absence. They’d landed in Calla’s cell instead of Feyre’s this time, the door on it still open. Feyre tossed a small flame into the single candle near the top of the wrought iron doors, the light hitting the room around them and casting it in low light and deep shadows. The walls of dirt and stone were jagged with crags, throwing shapes that deepened the darkness. The pallet was just as rucked as it had been the last time she’d been down here. It was like Calla was still alive, as though she hadn’t left only to never return. Feyre could almost pretend that Calla was just doing chores somewhere down the hall. 

Feyre felt Rhys’s shock before she registered what she was looking at, the wall in front of her swimming in and out of clarity as her eyes focused. As her vision adjusted, she recoiled, stumbling back a step and taking in the wall with the hole that she and Calla had spoken through. It was covered in scrapes–in markings. From ceiling to floor, no part of the stone had been left untouched. She couldn’t see it before when they spoke, the other walls free from any changes, but this wall…there were tally marks to count the days, framed by strange markings and pictures. Spirals reached from top to bottom, raining down and trapping figures below, crushing them beneath the heavy gashes in the stone. 

There were stars at the top, framed by what appeared to be the tops of trees, as though one was looking up at the night sky from the forest floor. Feyre traced her fingers over a crude image of the Spring manor burning, flying creatures like the attor flying around it in the air. Farther left there were creatures with pointed ears crouching over the bodies of what looked like humans, their stomachs ripped open. The fae were covered in blood and holding what looked like human hearts.

Feyre stepped closer to the wall, taking it all in as she ran her fingers over the carvings. If these tally marks were correct, she’d at least been doing them since the day they’d arrived. She took tentative steps along the walls as she brushed her hands across the shallow cuts in the stone, her chest twisting with the realization of how long this might have been going on. 

Gods, when did she even have the time to do this?

She didn’t look like she’d been sleeping.

He was right–she hadn’t. Had she slept at all since they’d come here? Had she–

She paused when she heard a crunch beneath her feet. Stepping back, her shoe lifting from the floor ahead of her, she bent to examine the ground. The light wasn’t enough to work out what she’d been looking at, so she called the flame into her hands, holding it down low. There were sharp rocks, scattered as though tossed down haphazardly for use. They were covered in what looked like rust– perhaps Calla had dug them from the dripping wall. 

She moved farther towards the back of the chamber, wrapping back around until she neared the pallet where Calla had slept. It was messed up still, the straw rumpled on top of the small platform as though they’d torn her from the bed when they came to get her. Feyre leaned down to pull some of the straw that had fallen back to the top. As she did, something caught her eye. There, on the side of the platform not visible from the doors of the cell, the straw had been pushed up as though to hide something. No one would have seen it when they came to get her, but Feyre had noticed it coming from the other side. 

There’s something here.

She felt Rhys’s hand on her shoulder. 

What is it? 

She brushed the remaining straw back to display a massive hole in the wall, only a body’s width across, but it stretched the entirety of the way behind her bed. Just enough room for a person and nothing else. There were gouges, both deep and shallow, covered in that same strange rust as the rocks at the bottom of the carvings. The heavily packed dirt of the mountain side had been chipped away by hand…or by stone. 

A vision of Calla’s bloodied, dirtied hands flashed across her mind, and she understood.

As Feyre’s comprehension caught up to her, her breath caught in her throat. The rocks hadn’t been covered in rust. They’d been covered in blood. Calla had injured herself digging into the wall, recording the last of her thoughts in this world and frantically making what appeared to be the beginnings of a hopeless tunnel. Or a place to hide. She had slowly and methodically cracked that massive rock open, painstakingly pulling the jagged edges out one by one, and used them to start digging.

Rhys backed up. 

It’s not very deep.

Deep enough to hide. 

She held her fire up to the wall; it only went about seven inches in. But Calla was thin. With the hay there, she could have hidden, could have bought herself time, maybe. Had that been her goal? Or had she simply lost touch with reality entirely?

Feyre had stood in the other cell and spoken to her, had looked her in the eyes and thought that they would make it out of here. All the while, Calla had been over on her side carving and losing her mind. She may as well have been a world away. All those times that they’d been down here to look for her and found her cell empty…had she been gone, or had she been here, hiding in the walls? Feyre shuddered as she remembered the few times she’d had to wait to see Calla pop into view. Had she been steadily carving, hiding from Feyre just out of sight? Feyre felt sick. She had had no idea what she’d been going through, what she’d been doing– she’d known it was bad, but she hadn’t seen how bad. 

She hadn’t wanted to see. 

Feyre hadn’t been enough. She was only human, too. Call had needed more, a whole unit of support behind her. And she hadn’t gotten it.

The sob broke through her right as Rhys felt it coming and held his hand over her mouth to quiet the strangled wail emerging from her. She’d thought that she had cried all the tears she had the night before, but looking at these walls, at this desperate attempt at an escape–the actions of a frantic animal as it threw its last efforts out to save its own life. Calla’s last thoughts in this world existed now only on these walls, and Feyre felt like her soul was twisting its way out of her body. 

Rhys held her, his arms banding around her and his fingers firmly across her mouth as her chest heaved. He seemed to understand, and let go just as she turned and vomited into the straw on the floor. Her body retched, refusing to hold the horror of everything she’d discovered, everything she’d seen and endured here. 

The guilt and the trauma and the desperation all culminated here, in Calla’s last days and death. How long had she been falling apart? What had finally broken her? Or had she been broken long before they came here? Long before she’d even come to Spring?

They had brought her here. They had sacrificed her.

Rhys patiently cradled her as she cried, the well of tears withering once again as shame and regret took their place. It would be a long road to recovery, if a recovery over something like this was even possible. 

Would it make you feel better to know that you held out much longer than I would have in your shoes?

She sniffed in his arms. What do you mean?

I mean that you are a much better person than I am, and with a much better heart. 

Feyre scoffed, rubbing her sleeve along her nose. 

I watched you in there with her. You did everything you could to stop this. You begged her. You easily could have killed her at any time, and still you let her bring you to the edge of death before you acted, Feyre. 

She had. She had given everything, waited as long as she could. She’d almost died waiting. It hadn’t changed the outcome. 

You will carry this forever, love. But you will also find ways to cope. And if it helps to hear it, I would have done the same for you. 

It did help to hear it. The guilt would weigh her down, perhaps forever, but she knew the truth beneath it all. It hadn’t just been her life on the line as she and Calla fought. She had to push forward, had to remember what she was still here fighting for. 

If they succeeded here, she would have millennia to make herself suffer for what she’d sacrificed. But if she wanted that time, she needed to earn it– to focus on what she’d come here to do. She was the only thing left standing in Amarantha’s way, and she would not break. She would let the bright light in the promise of their future together help her keep it together, keep her strong. 

Calla had no personal effects, no items that were worth taking with them. Feyre wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. She took one of the stained rocks in hand and found an empty portion of the wall. On it, she carved simply the name Calla . She didn’t want to say any words, didn’t want to drag this out. There would be time to grieve and time to mourn if she succeeded. Instead, she bowed her head, placing her hand on the name on the wall, covering all that was left of her once-friend except memories. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She allowed a final tear to fall, then let Rhys take her hand as they left the cells behind. 

+++ 

As Feyre and Rhys landed back in their room, they froze in time with each other. An envelope had been shoved under their door in their absence, and the terror Feyre felt was echoed in Rhys’s tightening grip on her hand. He tensed beside her as they stepped forward to greet whatever was waiting for them inside it. 

Feyre noticed first that the envelope was different–not the thick folded parchment with scarlet wax and lettering of Amarantha. This letter had been sent in an envelope, and off-white, almost yellow coloring to it. It seemed to glow in the dour darkness of the entryway, and the only identifying item on it was a simple wax seal with the shape of a sun pressed into it. 

“It’s from Helion.” Rhys’s tone was still tense, but more suspicious than worried. Helion was the High Lord that watched Feyre as she moved through court, those amber eyes tracking her movements from the first night she’d come here. The one who was familiar, and yet a stranger. 

Rhys cracked the seal and began to read. “He requests a meeting with me, and says it’s urgent.” 

“Do you think this is a trap?” Feyre wondered if that knee jerk instinct would ever leave now, or if she would be destined for a life of looking over her shoulder at every step. 

“Stay here.” He crossed back to her in two steps, pressing a kiss into her temple. “I’ll be back soon.” She nodded, leaning it and savoring it, then leaning back again to let him go. She could find things to do here, could work some of the tension out of her body while he was away by moving. She continued to ignore the band on the table, tossing a shirt over it so that she didn’t have to see it anymore. 

Feyre had hardly begun picking up around the room when she heard the whooshing of Rhys returning. 

“Well, that certainly didn’t take–” Her voice cut off as she turned, the male on the other side of the room not Rhys at all. “How did you get in here?” 

Feyre was aware of the wards and enchantments Rhys had woven around this room. He’d gone over them with her to reassure her that no one could get in except for the two of them. They were made with their blood, keyed to only them. And yet, here stood Helion, his dark skin and bright eyes glowing in the shadows by the door. 

“I have my ways, Feyre Archeron.” She should have been terrified, alarms firing and telling her to run or call for help. But something about Helion calmed her, an ease to his words and posture that made him think that he was not a threat. That made him seem more of a comfort here under the mountain than a danger.

“You sent him away so you could come here.” It wasn’t a question, and yet, he raised his brows. 

“One might think that a prisoner would relish a break. And yet, you don’t seem happy.” He circled the outskirts of the room, picking up a cup on the table, sniffing it and putting it back down. Eventually, he pulled the chair out and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and surveying Feyre in that way of his that made her want to draw back, to hide. She felt as though he could see every bit of her, even the bits she fought to keep hidden. Something in his gaze told her that there were no secrets in Helion’s eyes. 

They held each other’s gaze, and she itched to fill the silence, to lie. She could tell him any number of things, but he’d heard her speak so casually when she’d thought he was Rhys. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have believed her even if she’d lied. 

“What do you want from me?” 

The smile on his face was charming and broad, spreading slowly as white teeth flanked by the sharp canines went on display. It seemed a genuine show of mirth, as though there truly were no ill intent behind it. It was a smile that she distantly felt she should know, the appearance of it like finding an old friend in a crowd.

“I heard you like bargains, Feyre.” She was instantly on edge. The calm of his presence might all be some cruel trick, a gift of a High Lord like the powers of Rhys’s mind. She wasn’t privy to all the secrets– there could easily be magic he possessed that she knew nothing about.

“What could I possibly give you that you do not possess? I am already fighting for your freedom– ” 

“I would like to offer you a chance to run.”

Feyre pulled up short. “What?”

“I have it on good authority that a window of opportunity for you to escape will open for a short period of time tonight. I want you to take it.” Her heart was in her throat. 

A way out. 

Her tongue dried in her mouth, the feeling causing her to clear her throat. But what was his catch? What were his terms? She’d been in Prythian long enough to know that everything came with a hefty price, and that sometimes bargains were tricky things. “What could you possibly gain from me leaving here?”

“There is someone I would like you to take with you.” 

“While I appreciate your vote of confidence in me, I can’t leave, High Lord, I–”

“Helion. Please call me Helion.” 

“Helion, fine. I can’t accept.” 

“Is it because of Rhysand? Take him, too. There is room for you all to flee.” The words swam in her mind. They could run. 

“You know?”

He smiled again, that grin stretching wide. “I can see through glamours, dear. I’ve known since you arrived. Plus, Rhysand is a friend.”

A friend. 

If they could run, if they could leave…But then Tamlin and Lucien and everyone else would remain. Her bargain would go unfulfilled. 

“The bargain.”

“I can break it.” Her jaw dropped. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. How do you think I broke your lover’s wards to get in here?” She remembered. She’d practiced with that very magic over and over in Spring, winding and unwinding wards. She just hadn’t imagined how far his powers might extend.

“She’ll track us forever. We’ll never know peace.”

“There is a place he could take you, a legend of old. An island that people believe to be myth where you might never be found.” 

And Rhys would never see his family again. His home. That vision of yearning, of Velaris, his family, flashed before her eyes. All of that would be gone to him forever. And the people beneath the mountain, both those she knew and those she didn’t, would never have the chance for peace or home again. 

She couldn’t even consider it. The moment she let the doubt creep in, admitted to herself that it was more likely than not she wouldn’t be leaving here, she knew it was going to consume her wholly. She had to hold on to the hope, needed to keep the dream alive. She demanded that beautiful possibility of a future in her mind, and it would keep her going. There could be no room for uncertainty.

“I appreciate your offer. More than you could possibly know. But I cannot go.” Helion seemed surprised, not bothering to hide his shock. 

“Why would you stay?” 

There was the briefest flash in her mind at the satisfaction she would feel at ripping Amarantha’s eyes out with her bare hands for the atrocities she’d committed. She chose to voice the more noble reasons, instead. 

“I made a promise that I would try. I took on the bargain for more reasons than one. If I leave now, you will all be bound here forever. I would be an oath breaker, and all of you would be the ones to pay that price.” The softening around Helion’s eyes was evident, the words striking some chord within him. “I won’t leave Lucien or Tamlin or anyone else here to deal with this. Not after I promised.”

“You care deeply for those you love.”

“They are my family.” 

He closed his eyes and turned his head, as though he were living momentarily in another place, remembering another time. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed. 

“I have seen everything you’ve done under this mountain, Feyre. I will never forget any of it. No one will.”

She nodded, and he rose to go, the glow illuminating his skin in the shadows. 

“I cannot thank you enough for your offer. I am sorry I could not take it.” He paused, but then turned to take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft and warm, and he smiled wickedly again. It did not meet his eyes. 

“Who were you trying to save?” 

But the second she asked, the air was whirring around them, filling with a swirling and potent darkness as Rhys winnowed back into the room with a clap of thunder so loud Feyre almost covered her ears on instinct. 

He appeared, the very image of night incarnate in front of her, back tense and eyes filled with rage as the shadows banked around him in fury. This was the High Lord of Night, the King of Nightmares that the books detailed. 

“Helion?” His shoulders relaxed a bit as he took in what was happening. Helion hadn’t even flinched at the display, just continued to smile. 

“Hello, Rhysand.” 

“You sent me the letter to get me out.” Helion smiled as Rhys echoed the same deadpan statement as Feyre had only moments before. He sent Rhys a quick, nearly mocking, bow. 

“Protect her at all costs, my friend.” And with a whirl of light, he was gone. 

Rhys was still breathing heavily, despite clearly not being all too concerned Helion had broken into his private rooms. He crossed the room silently and quickly, pulling Feyre tightly to his chest. “When I got there and he was gone, I worried it had been a trap. I worried–” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre fisted her hands in his shirt. She understood. 

Everything seemed so fragile and precious, as though they were dangling right off the edge of a precipice, and only the slightest movement could tip them right over the edge. 

“I’m here.” 

“What did he want?” Rhys didn’t draw back from her as he asked.

“To offer us an escape, provided we smuggle someone out with us for him.”

Rhys hummed. “And you said no, because you made a promise to save everyone at great personal cost. Am I close?”

“Hush.” The topic was miserable, but it was hard to not feel her heart seize at how effortlessly he knew her. The vulnerability of being known so thoroughly by him would never cease to fill that space in her chest with burning, aching love.

They held each other for a few moments, their bodies naturally beginning to sway with the need for comfort. 

“You must remember, I am an excellent dancer.” She smiled up at him as she said it. 

He pulled back, looking down at her with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Feyre, Feyre. Cracking jokes at a time like this?” She pretended to be offended, slapping at his chest, but he grabbed her wrist gently, plucking it from the air and pressing the lightest kiss to her palm. He entwined their fingers and held both their hands between them.

“When we return home, you can buy me fancy dancing lessons with your High Lord riches. Then I won’t have to step on your toes all night.” He kissed each of her cheeks, eyes searching her face as though looking for some sort of answer or plan or strategy he might have missed there before. 

“When we return home, Feyre. I will make you High Lady, and you can use our riches on whatever your heart desires.” His fingers strayed to the ring on her finger, out of sight with her glamours covering it. She dropped the magic from her hand, the ring on her finger shining and catching the light. He twisted it so the stars faced upwards, the brilliant shine of it somehow even more magnificent. 

And when he leaned in to kiss her again, their lips meeting softly, he paused between each touch. 

“Feyre. My friend through many dangers. My lover who healed my broken and weary soul. My wife. My eternity.” 

She sighed with the admission, letting the words wash over her. Husband and wife felt like such small terms for what she felt they had, not coming close to the depth of emotions and love she held for him or him for her. If they were to make it out of here, return to Velaris, and marry, would it feel like it came closer to touching that deep well of passion and intimacy, that vulnerability and possession she felt? 

He was hers. And she was his. She had never felt so possessive, so territorial, about anything in her life. Perhaps the titles did not matter so much. 

“You’re mine, Rhysand. Forever.” 

“And you’re sure that you want me? My titles, my past, and everything that comes with it?” The vulnerability shone within his eyes. She knew how he felt– knew that he was certain being with him would put a target on her back forever. “My actions here have damned me. They see me as a monster, and they’ll see it even more now with how I’ve had to treat you.” 

“They watched me put a knife through my friend’s throat.” 

“And they’ve watched me do worse for five decades.” 

She placed two fingers on his lips, quieting him and his worry. She could hear the words floating in his mind, the self deprecation. 

Emotionless. Barbaric. Cruel. Selfish.

“Rhys, I love you. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone thinks of you. I know your heart.” His breathing was deep, the catch of it telling her of the emotion he was holding in. “I would endure it all for you. If you go on holding that mask up for them to see, then I will be whatever and whoever you need me to be. So long as you never wear that mask with me, none of it matters.”

“I would never.” 

“I know. And if we never leave Velaris again after we finish this, then so be it.” 

His arms tightened around her, the tension in his shoulders melting a bit with her admissions, her love. 

“I love you, Feyre Archeron.” She wasn’t checking her ears or her tattoo anymore, the warmth of his words the balm to her soul that she desperately needed, craved with both mind and body like nothing she’d ever felt before. They wrapped her heart in gold and let it shine like the summer sun on her skin, lighting her up from within. 

She was still human, and maybe even if she won the trials, that would remain the case. But Rhys was hers in every way for as long as they might have. Whether it was days from now, or years, or millenia, her soul was his. It had been his since the moment their eyes had met across that room. 

For now, there was no mountain, no Amarantha, no mortality. There was just them, and it was more than enough. 

+++

Court felt more tense than normal as they walked in that night. Feyre and Rhysand had decided that the best possible course of action was to pretend he’d taken Amarantha’s words to heart. The glamour he’d cast over her was horrifying to the naked eye, her arms covered in gruesome bruises in various states of healing. As he’d added to it, she’d kept insisting on more, the visual they presented tonight able to make or break this last ditch effort to make it to the finish line. If Amarantha believed that Feyre was starting to crack as Calla had, she had no reason to interfere before whatever horrible task she was planning came to light. 

Sporting a black eye, split brow, and an unhealed cut at the edge of her hairline, Feyre put on her best show of limping behind Rhysand into the court, the whorls of dark paint strategically placed to display the bruised flesh of her body. There were no more diamond collars or posturing. She simply followed him, her expression sullen and angry, but submissive for fear of the consequences.

Amarantha offered them a wicked smile as they passed, Feyre fighting her sigh of relief as they passed the test. She continued to limp up their own small dais, falling exhausted at Rhys’s feet to survey the crowd. The fae were all busy, focused on themselves, but unlike typical nights, their eyes kept coming back to her. Every so often, she would catch one out of her periphery, but as soon as she felt their eyes on her, they were already looking away. 

Was it because of the last task? Was it because of the task to come? Or was it her oath? That she was willing to die for their freedom might surely draw interest. Or perhaps they hated her for refusing to lay down and die, taking something that could have already been theirs from them before they could even properly enjoy it. 

She chose to ignore it, her eyes instead sweeping over the crowd to find those she always kept track of. Tamlin, strangely, was nowhere to be found, the seat beside Amarantha empty again. Feyre tried not to wonder what kept him on the nights that he wasn’t in court. She hated to think of the things he’d endured here, surely not so different from Rhys. She wondered what would happen if they made it out. Would Tamlin and Rhys ever be able to reconcile, or would her relationships with each need to be kept as separate as water and oil. Could they ever reach an impasse where the pain and trauma they’d suffered might bond them in some way? Or would the past always be there to keep the two of them apart?

On the outskirts of the crowd, Feyre saw Lucien, his hair impossible to miss as he leaned against the wall of the room and spoke to another high fae. His face was set, serious, and she hated the way it looked on him. Lucien was meant to be smiling and cracking jokes, typically at her expense. He was lively and charming and fun, not this angry shell of a male that he was here. She hated the mask he wore, the masks they all wore here. She much preferred his smile, even if it was in mocking her, as it stretched from ear to ear–

She jolted. 

Of course. 

Feyre?

Rhys had felt her jump, or otherwise felt her emotions across that bridge between them. 

I think I just figured something out. 

Oh? Do share. 

I don’t think that Lucien is Beron’s son. 

Go on. His voice was far too calm. 

You knew??

I had my suspicions. 

The glamours, the glowing, his smile. That’s Helion’s smile. 

His jaw, too. 

Does he know?

He’s never said a word to me about it. 

Her eyes tracked over to Autumn, the angry face of Beron staring out over the crowd. Next to him, his sweet looking, glamoured wife. She shot the image to Rhys. 

That’s who he wanted us to save. 

Suddenly, she felt bad about turning him down. Not just an affair then. He loves her. 

There were plenty of rumors, but I didn’t start putting pieces together until you woke up from the whippings glowing. Lucien has no idea. 

No, he does not. 

It hurt to imagine that there was another world, another possibility, where Lucien had grown up loved and cared for. He hadn’t been run out of his home, his father hadn’t killed the love of his life. Even the few brief moments she’d spent with Helion had told her enough about him as a person. 

Oh, Lucien. 

Feyre felt a soft brushing of Rhys’s mind against hers, the comfort he could not provide with physical touch. 

You have a kind heart, Feyre. 

Unfortunately, a kind heart only gets you so far. 

Still, I hope you never lose it.

The night wore on, but it was all very standard. Near midnight, Feyre excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t drinking the wine, but they’d worked up a thirst earlier in the day, and she’d drunk enough water to drown a fish. Since she still couldn’t winnow, it meant a walk back to their rooms, but it was a nice break for Feyre to breathe, dropping the show if only for a moment. 

As she made her way back down the quiet halls, she tried to prevent her mind from wandering. If she lost, she might be living her last hours here. She hated this train of thought, shoved it violently away every time it reared its ugly head. 

Her thoughts were stopped in their tracks as a hand sprung out from the stone wall and yanked her inside, the yelp in her throat stifled by the hand over her mouth. She fought and screamed against it, thrashing in the arms that held her until she heard the voice at her ear. 

“Feyre, it’s me. It’s only me.” 

Tamlin.

She turned in his arms, the tears already spilling from her eyes. Every single emotion she’d been holding back when she refused to look at him at the third task springing immediately to the surface. 

“Feyre.” 

She flung herself into his arms before she’d thought twice about it. 

“I’m so sorry. I killed her. I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her as he held her, awkward at first, but his arms eventually folded around her back. 

“Shh, Feyre. Don’t.”

“But I did it. I took the gift you gave me and I killed her. I didn’t–she was going to tell Amarantha everything, and I killed her before she could.” Her tears soaked his shirt, but he stood still, understanding that she’d needed this. 

He wasn’t one for affection, had never been tender or loving outwardly in the time she’d known him, but still, he held her as the tears dried. Feyre understood now what Calla must have seen when she looked at them all. They were a family, a true family, and despite her efforts, Calla had remained outside of that.

“That gift was for you to protect yourself, and that’s what you did,” he said the words quietly, but firmly, as though he wanted no room for arguments

“I killed her,” she whispered again, the enormity of it too loud for the small alcove hidden by a tapestry that they were in. 

“I would never blame you for what happened.” Finally she pulled back, sniffling, her arms crossing as she took him in. He looked beaten down, smaller somehow than she’d ever seen him. This mountain, this hell, was tearing them all apart. 

“How can I save everyone? How can I possibly make this all not for nothing?” 

“You can, Feyre. That's why I came to find you.” 

“You know what the next task is, don’t you?” He nodded, but his lips thinned into a pressed line. “She cursed you. You can’t tell me.” The tiny flare of hope in her chest fizzled to nothing. Feyre opened her mind in case Rhys came looking.

“I just needed to see you. I needed you to hear me say that you must do what she asks. At all costs, you must.”

She didn’t like the way it sounded, and she liked even less the desperation in his eyes. “Is that all you can tell me?” A curt nod was the only response she got. “She’s going to make it painful, isn’t she?” He could barely eke out a nod. 

Feyre’s chest felt hollow, the hopelessness of it all clanging around her. They stood here, two entirely different people from the ones who bantered and drank in the twilight of Spring. 

“I’m sorry, Feyre…about Calla. I should have done more.” 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Me too. But she’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Nothing we can do but win, Feyre.” She met his eyes then, pleading and open and desperate. “Do what you have to do to save us. Remember what I told you in Spring when you and Lucien asked me about love, and do what she asks.” 

She nodded. “We can talk about the rest when we get out of here.” His eyes shuttered, something in them telling her how badly he wanted that and how improbable he felt it was. 

She opened her mouth to answer, but the tapestry guarding the alcove was pushed aside, Rhys’s silhouette calming Feyre’s defenses immediately. 

Tamlin met his eyes and immediately moved to leave. “Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring.” As he passed Rhys, the two locked eyes, an uneasy nod of peace between them, and then Tamlin was gone. 

It felt like goodbye. 

“I was worried when you didn’t come back.”

“I left my mind open for you.” 

“I know, I could feel it.” 

“Did you hear everything?” 

“I did, but I can’t make any more sense of it than you will.”

“I’m scared, Rhys. It sounds bad.” 

“All we can do is greet it when it comes, and use the time we’re given.” She sighed, her forehead pressed against his. 

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done here.”

“I would do it all again for you, Feyre. I would move this mountain, and all the rest.” Their breath mingled between them, the words stoking to life that magic of hers that loved him so, her chest alight with it. Every word they said to each other was a vow, a promise. 

Perhaps she had mistaken the bargain all along, her quest for his love being the true prize. She’d won it, whether she’d fulfilled the bargain or not. The pulling on her heart told her that he was hers, and she was his, utterly and irrevocably for whatever time they had been gifted. 

When their lips touched, Feyre swore sparks flew, the flames flitting around her fingers but not catching as she ran them through his soft hair. He pressed his hips into hers, her back arching against the wall as he leaned down to kiss her more hungrily.

“What about court?” she got out between kisses. 

“Fuck the court.” And they were falling into their bed, the winnow barely registering as Rhys moved his mouth to her neck. The sigh fell out of her without reservations, her head leaning back to give him more access as he groaned his appreciation and licked a broad stroke up the side of her throat, ending with a kiss pressed behind her ear. Her whole body shuddered, responding beneath him. She was lost to the feel of it, the feel of him. She ached for more. 

She’d barely had time to think the word before she felt his hot skin against hers, sizzling like a brand on her very soul. Their clothes were gone, a halfhearted thought from him all it had taken, and her body seemed to sigh in relief to feel his with nothing left to separate them. 

Rhys returned his mouth to the front of Feyre’s throat, the feel of his plush lips against her skin rendering her breathless as he descended down, down, over her collarbones and past her sternum. She came alive with the touch, his breath sending goosebumps scattering across her freckled skin as he moved his mouth to the side, taking her breast into his mouth and moving his fingers to caress the other. The strokes were gentle and teasing, and as Feyre arched into the sensations, he laughed darkly against her. 

“So responsive, my girl.” The words sent her mind spinning. He’d hardly touched her yet and she could already feel her climax roaring inside of her, coiling tightly around her spine and pulling there, coming fully to life as he pressed kisses along her skin. She could lose herself entirely in him, these feelings, these sensations. She could do this forever. 

She felt the bed move, felt his weight shift, felt his warm breath against her inner thigh. Her body jerked at the reaction, tightening with anticipation, and Rhys wrapped his broad hands around her thighs and pulled. 

“Don’t hide from me, Feyre. Never from me.”  He didn’t give her time to reply before his mouth was on her, his teasing tongue swiping over her, spreading her wide until the pleasure of it overcame all else, and she let her legs fall to the sides, relaxing in his hands. 

She knew him. She was safe with him. 

And gods , but he made her feel. 

She let herself relax into the bed, one hand wrapping in the sheets that smelled so like him, the other with fingers twining through his soft, messy hair. She could get lost in the sensation, forget all meaning of time and presence, just to keep feeling his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat in time with hers. 

When she came, her voice was strangled. A cry that sounded part prayer, part his name while the universe exploded behind her eyelids, back bowing entirely off the bed in response. He continued softly through it, easing her through each wave of her orgasm as she slowly spiraled back down, melting into a boneless heap upon the bed. She was in a haze, the calming feel of joy and satisfaction running lazily through her veins. Here, it felt impossible they could ever be parted, even by the wrath of Amarantha’s intentions. Here, none of it mattered except the eternity laid out for the taking in front of them. Here, she had everything. But still, that fire raged within her, that searing heat demanding more, more, more . 

And Rhys could feel it too. His eyes were focused only on her as he climbed the bed, an animal cornering their prey. But Feyre didn’t want to run– had never run from Rhys, not in any of his many forms– and she never would. Even if she did, Rhys would find her. She knew it to be true. And she’d always want to be caught by him. 

“I need you, Rhysand. Please.” His cocky smile faltered at the declaration, the overwhelm of lust and need sweeping him away in the same rushing torrent of obsession that Feyre found herself in as he settled his weight above her. His forearms fell to each side of her head as his hips rested between hers and he let his mouth fall back to her neck. He breathed her in before he latched on, his mouth finding her pulse point where her neck met her shoulder and sucking it into his mouth. Feyre’s whole body was tingling, the vibrations etched into her skin from her scalp to her toes. 

Feyre , he whispered, and she couldn’t tell if it was in her mind or aloud, the lines all blurring with his mouth hot against her skin. She reached down to touch, to play, her fingertips sliding over his skin and down to the trail of dark hair while he sighed longingly. Then his mouth was on hers, nothing slow about it. His lips moved skillfully, demanding, dominating, needing as she took him in her hands. She could feel his control slipping, the wanting overwhelming all else, and when she pulled away to ask him “Do you want me, Rhys?” His response was immediate. 

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words lit her up as she placed him against her, and he closed his eyes as he pushed inside. His hand wound beneath her, grabbing her ass with enough pressure to make her gasp against his lips as he began to rock into her. 

“You feel incredible, Feyre. You feel like…everything.” The breathless words sent her higher, her hands in his hair, scraping at his scalp, the nape of his neck. He was in her, around her, consuming her, and she wanted no part in making it stop. She pulled him as close as she could until there was nothing left between them, and finding that urge to bury herself beneath his skin still wanting, she pulled herself into his mind. 

The adamant walls fell around her with the tiniest brush against them, welcoming her in with a sharp inhale of his breath. They accepted her, he accepted her, and nestled within his own mind, she was home. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion circled around her, and she was the object of them all. He thought about how lovely she smelled– lilac and pears–the same way that she yearned and ached for his spiced citrus scent. He thought about how it felt like heaven to be inside her, sharing body and mind as one. He thought about how much he loved her, every single fiber of his being singing a song meant for his love, his life, his –

Feyre crashed back into her own mind, the orgasm overtaking her brutally this time as her legs shook around his waist. 

“Oh, gods. Don’t stop. Please don’t–” His mouth was on hers, the kiss near violent in its passion, and she lived for every second. Despite the tender love and gentle things his heart felt for her, this was a claiming, and she wanted him engraved on every part of her as deeply as he could go. 

She had barely caught her breath as he flipped her, hardly pulling out as he put her on her knees. He yanked her hips up and sank back into her, not missing pace as she cried out. Her body buzzed with a feeling of warmth, and it spread until every inch of her was humming with it. She could feel it spread as he sped up, the pace becoming enough that she saw spots in her vision, the pleasure owning every piece of her. She felt him lean over, the heat of his stomach draping across her back. She heard a thought– his thought– as it flitted through his head. He wanted this claiming as much as she did, his lips dancing across her shoulder while he moved inside her. 

Do it. 

Please. 

She sent the thought in a flurry of begging, her voice sounding like a plea even in her mind. He didn’t hesitate, his sharp teeth pressing against the skin of her shoulder as she felt her body tighten, the next wave unrelenting as it crested and crashed upon the last. She cried out as his pace faltered, her body squeezing around his the final push he needed before he gasped out her name, the grip on her hips tightening. She hoped it bruised, his marks on her body delighting her as she collapsed to the mattress below, letting Rhys catch himself on his arm as he fell behind. 

Their sweat-slicked bodies still sought out the other, hands grasping blindly and breath sinking as they came down together. The lights dimmed, and Feyre felt the sheet slide over them, cool and crisp against their flushed skin. 

“You are everything to me, Feyre. Absolutely everything.” The words felt deeper than love, deeper than a promise. 

She twined her fingers in his, pulling his hand up to her chest and pressing her lips to his knuckles. “Mine. Always.” And she meant it.

Long after she had left this world, she’d still mean it. Her heart belonged entirely to him, and as she felt it beat in time with his, she knew that he belonged to her, too. 

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[dresden-syndrome]

26/VII-1978. State Security department No. 64, Burgas region, People's Union Republic of Bulgaria, EESU.

"Full name?" Iva Kostadinova Milcheva.

"Date of birth?" 7th of April, year 1950.

"Registration place?" City of Burgas, "Prvi Internatsional" street, **** **** **.

"Ethnicity, citizenship?" Bulgarian, citizenship of EESU.

"Employment?" European Communist Party, chairman deputy of Burgas municipal committee.

The same unchanging questions and answers, learned by heart and thrown in an emotionless bureaucratic manner. Who knows how many thousands of them Iva had to fill before; in this country, it's just a part of life. Only this time she was made to sit in what looks like interrogation room, the guards standing besides and the light of table lamp straight to her face. Trying to keep calm and still, like she always used to, just as if today is not the most horrible day in her life.

"What did you bring me here for?"

During her Party career Iva managed to cooperate with State Security quite a lot; although wary of them, she viewed them with respect rather than fear. This day, when they called her to get in the black Volga for a visit, she didn't think anything could go wrong - saying no to State Security invitations has never been an option anyway - until they cuffed her hands and turned to the unknown direction.

"You've been accused of assisting in a right-wing revisionist conspiracy against the socialist regime. Did you know that?"

Arrested. Arrested for political crimes.

It's somewhat like an accident; nobody is safe from it, everyone prays it doesn't hit close to home yet it feels like it won't happen to you right until it does. As experienced as she was, Iva couldn't yet believe that. Isn't it that only the spies and enemies end up there? How could she, who always loved her motherland more than life itself, become one?

"No. I didn't participate in anything."

There were no answers in her head, no time to plan what to say or do for a better outcome. Only one task of immense willpower. Not to cry. Not to scream out loud. Not to think of her breaking future. Stay calm. Do what they say. Even if it gets worse. Even as she feels the cold steel lock on her wrists and her eyes cover by a thick cloth.

"Take that one to cell 2-18."

As Iva exited the main hallway, held by guards by each side, into what seems to be a staircase, a horrifying scream struck her ears from below. It sounded like someone cried out in pure agony, abruptly ending with a sound of doors locked at that lower floor.

"Just what they deserve."

After a long disorientating walk through quieter upper floors, the blindfold falls, the cuffs unlock and the door shuts with an unpleasant metal bang. A cold lonely prison cell, for a couple of weeks or for the rest of her life. Nobody knows.

The nice summer day which began with a cup of strong coffee, two cigarettes and a nice walk along the beach filled with Soviet tourists and ice cream shops finally comes to an end.

Art tag @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii @3-2-whump @unforgivenn

[otiksimr]

Queen Glacier

[hauntingblue]

Zoro was about to tell luffy off for making a scene but luffy just says some guys spilled red bean soup and he starts to make a worse one. Amazing

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw

Taking one of Simon’s balaclava from the closet, inhaling the lingering musk snd cologne scent while rubbing your pussy needily on the bedsheet. He went on a short mission for a few days, and you missed him, miss how he call you sweetheart with that gruff voice, miss how he sit you on his lap, murmuring sweet nothings while his hand

sneaks pass the waistband of your panties, pinching and flicking your clit to warm you up for his big cock, miss how his veiny and sturdy arms wrap around you while you fall asleep while basking in each other’s presence.

You kiss the balaclava on where his lips should be, but that’s not enough, the ache in your chest leads you to scramble to the closet again, taking out a pair of his skeleton gloves, putting those far-too-large gloves on as you slump down on the bed you two shared again, mimicking how he kneaded and rolled the sweet spot hidden between your slick folds, until you finally reach your high, dampening his gloves with your juices.

You tuck the used balaclava and gloves deep inside a discreet drawer, welcoming Simon back home the next day. He got a crazy amount of gloves and balaclava, sure he wouldn’t notice missing a pair or two, right? You try to convince yourself, till the day you think you finally get a chance to wash those fabric stained with the evidence of your guilty pleasure, that he appears behind you silently and catch you scrubbing them.

You have no one to blame other than yourself when getting put over his knees moments later, pajamas shorts pulled down, ass in the air and whining every time he lands a light slap on your reddened buttocks.

“Think I wouldn’t notice, hmm?” He rubs the spot he just hit gently, soothing that delicious tingle briefly “How many times did you come with my balaclava and my gloves?”

You look back at him, trying to respond with the vibrating dildo deep inside your squelching cunt messing your mind. “One ti-One- ngh…” your incoherentness brings yourself another slap, this time land carefully just above your stretched cunt and on the clit.

“Say it clearly, princess, can’t understand when you’re talking in moans.” Simon rubs your skin after the soft smack again, just like what he did whenever he gives you a teasing slap, but him rolling your over-sensitive bud that just got a sweet slap, only flares up your desire and makes you unable to think straight, his fingers and the dildo occupied your thoughts as you manage to answer more comprehensibly.

“One…only one time…” Your staccato reply receives a feign pity glance from him.

“Only one time? poor girl.” He grabs the base of the vibrating dildo and thrust in and out “Look how you lube this dildo with your juices so well, love. Finally satisfied?”

“No! No…please…” You paw at the bedsheets desperately, happy that he might end his ‘punishment’ soon, yet afraid that you won’t get the thing you truly craved. “Need you, Simon, please…! need you inside”

He grins imperceptibly, though the arrogance in his heart is satiated. That’s what he wants to hear, hear you say out loud about how much you need him, how only him can fuck you in the way others can’t.

Pulling the dildo out, seeing how your cunt grabbing onto it like you try to swallow it back in, he fish out his cock, standing straight and leaking profusely from enjoying the show “No need to feel empty for the lost, sweetheart, you’ll get what you deserve now.”

Simon press the tip of his length at your entrance, looking at you with smugness within those brown eyes, and he knows it’s going to be a long night when you gaze back with droopy eyes, still coming down from the edge, with a bliss-out smile spread across your glossy lips.

[kamitv]

▷ First Time?

Synopsis . When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, etc. / wc . 6k

A/N: ty to the nonnie on my main who asked if I’d ever write virgin!jjk men :3 [MDNI]

Who would’ve thought?

Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.

He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He didn’t exactly do parties and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?

And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick— it’s like some overly well-known campus fact about the guy.

So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?

Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get his knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his— he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever— mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me ‘nd yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to, at the very least, type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time— it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you then so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Dark ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you— you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweets of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours— his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours— he’s heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him. 

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on. 

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off. 

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you— of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret. 

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even— but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you— a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares?

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly— hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip. 

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him— Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long— your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum. 

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was. 

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up. 

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you? 

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down— twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that— it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Vixen,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this ‘nd I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

Part two.

[sttoru]

‘no matter how much time the king of curses spends with you, he doesn’t think he will ever understand you or your affectionate behaviour towards him.’

☀︎｜tags. true form sukuna x female reader. heian era sukuna. fluff. bits of mentions of blood & murder. big size difference. cold-big-monster-having-a-small-soft-spot-for-a-single-human trope. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’. not proof read! let me know if you like my characterisation or not; it’s my first sukuna fic.

a kiss on the cheek is one of the most innocent - yet apparently also the most difficult - things to do. it’s a small form of intimacy; not that hard to do. it’s really as simple as planting your lips on your beloved’s cheek. then all you do is retreat — maybe get a kiss on the cheek back from him. or on the lips.

“get moving. i’m not waiting all day for you.” sukuna grumbles. you had suddenly stopped in your tracks and the king of curses was confused as to what the reason might have been. the two of you had been walking through the courtyard for a few minutes now — well, you basically had to drag him out to take a little stroll together.

and now the same you was quiet. it bothered sukuna; you were always so chatty around him when it was just the two of you. he might have called you an ‘annoying brat’ for it, but he secretly enjoyed your company and voice.

“c-coming.” you reply in a quiet mumble, eyes glancing over at the monstrous frame that stood a few steps away. his dull yet sharp gaze was focused on you — like he was sizing you up. or rather: trying to figure out what’s wrong with the change in behaviour you showed.

sukuna watches you as you hurry over to his side again. he resumes walking, hands folded over each other under the material of his kimono.

though, he couldn’t yet let go of the fact that you were acting different around him. the king of curses’ suspicion only grew once he noticed how your fingers fiddled with your obi. you were anxious about something.

sukuna shakes his head slightly. some humans sure are difficult to understand, he thinks to himself. your happy yet reserved personality when you usually interacted with him had disappeared and made place for a nervous wreck. trying to figure out why made sukuna’s head hurt.

were you finally scared of him? like all other humans and curses were?

he doesn’t know why, but it felt like he would hate for such thing to happen. sukuna usually wouldn’t care if someone resents, fears or somehow even admires him. only you could make him think and care about such difficult and maybe even trivial things.

“uhm,” you break off his train of thoughts and his eyes are instantly on yours again, “may i do something really quickly?”

sukuna’s face doesn’t show any change in expression, but a small nod tells you everything you need to know. you clear your throat, “can you please lower your head towards me?”

lowering his head? oh, you got some guts. if anyone else had said that to him, sukuna would have obliterated them; there wouldn’t have been anything but red bloody dust left of their body.

but then again: it’s you. all exceptions the king of curses makes are for you.

sukuna slightly lowers his head to your level so you could do whatever you needed to. he’d be lying if he said that his curiosity wasn’t piqued. it always was when he was around you.

you gulp. it was time to do what you’ve longed to do ever since the beginning of your stroll: give the ryomen sukuna a kiss on the cheek. you don’t think he’d be mad—at least he never seriously gets mad at you. only to get a reaction out of you since your responses are always ‘intensely amusing’—as he says.

“go on.” sukuna’s breath hits your cheeks. he was so close—too close that it made you even more nervous in a way. as if you hadn’t even had your first kiss yet.

you swallow your fears and just go for it. your lips attach to his cheek in the fraction of a second—the speed of light—before they leave. it was right under his right set of eyes.

you take a step back and clear your throat. you try to escape the embarrassment of sukuna’s possible reaction by continuing your stroll, though were stopped by a strong hand firmly grabbing your forearm.

“where’d you think you’re going?”

sukuna’s deep voice echoes through your ears. you were surprised to hear the tone of it; almost soft. a tone sukuna uses on rare occasions: in your presence.

you turn your head around and smile sheepishly at the king of curses before you. he doesn’t return the same (not that you expected him to), however he does unexpectedly ruffle your hair for a split second. or at least he attempts to.

his large and warm palm lands on top of your head and he gives it a little and subtle shake. sukuna had seen you do a similar action to someone else before, thus he concluded that he could do it to you. maybe as a form of endearment or. . whatever you used it as.

he did find the way you tried to scurry away after giving him a kiss very adorable. even if he wouldn’t say so out loud.

“now, come along. we don’t have all day.” sukuna nonchalantly mutters after retracting his hand. it left as fast as it came, though you were still stunned at the slight show of affection the king of curses returned.

you instantly catch up to sukuna again—walking next to him as fast as your legs could take you. you were a bit more at ease after you got a positive reaction to your little kiss. it was a pity that he didn’t smirk or laugh at you—maybe mocked you like he usually would. but that head pat made up for it.

even if it did leave your hair a little disheveled.

you couldn’t properly see sukuna’s face, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips was undeniably there. even if it was for just a split second.

“how very interesting.” sukuna mutters under his breath so you wouldn’t catch on. he sighs and shakes his head, unable to keep out that memory of you looking so cute—standing on the tip of your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek with your comically small hand on his jaw line. he doesn’t know why he found that to be so thrilling.

you flutter your eyelashes. you were curious about what he might have commented on, “may i ask what you had just said? i didn’t quite hear it.”

a short second of silence hangs before sukuna tilts his head to the right to look down at you again; his face expressionless, but still having a hint of a grin on his lips.

“i said you better hurry before i gobble you up right this instant.” he replies, (playfully) intimidating you with his sharp red eyes that glinted with a form of danger.

you shiver (though knew the threat was an empty one) and instantly pick up your pace. you even get ahead of him, walking as fast as your legs could. you answer with a curt ‘my apologies’ and walk like you actually have somewhere to be.

sukuna’s grin only grows as he sees you get ahead of him. if you had turned around, maybe you could have caught onto that light flicker of affection in his expression.

“i’m coming for you, little one.” sukuna adds just to ignite some more fear into you and you react as expected, “you’re not escaping me today.”

it was a funny sight; your reactions always make him enjoy his time with you even more than he already (secretly) was.

the way his body reacts in mysterious ways when you’re around, is still very much an unsolved riddle to the king of curses. and the reasons as to why you aren’t scared of him and can easily give him all your ‘love’ are also still yet to be discovered.

until then, sukuna will continue to enjoy teasing you.

[how-the-feathers-have-fallen]

Dumping the start of the tags here cause tumblr has a tag limit of 30 :/ sorry op

Okay hold on

also more things I couldn't fit in. after cuddy bails out choreman chase gets assigned a bunch of clinic hours as Punishment TM. But mom-dad wilson (house is dad-mom) keeps him company till house gets angsty and comes to bail him out pick him up.

More I couldn't fit in at the end so I dumped here outta order:

wilson teahces the ducklings to paint since obvi house passed down his musical talents

rich kid chase got assigned clarinet at age 6. he's ok but has 0 heart. house jokingly points him towards a lyre in a music shop and he takes to it instantly. house go to tease him (baby angel lookin-) but chase looks so overjoyed and he says something like "look just like David played for Saul" so he melts on the spot (and convinces wilson to by him a kinnor so he doesn't know its his idea. he sings like a screeching alterboy tho)

I think cameron can sing but she's quiet and stumbles so she refuses to get formal training. she's tear rendering on a cello tho. surprisingly she can dj like all hell too. she had a wild college life before her 1st husband

foreman can sing smooth as silk. but he can't play an instrument to save his life (no patient for it). his dancing though? stage worthy. can be convinced to show off after a couple drinks.

Obsessed with the whole vibes of early season one of House. The ducklings have the energy of dysfunctional siblings along with their insane Vicodin-addict father. Wilson isn’t shown to have an office yet so he just lingers at House’s side while constantly and giving him fuck-me eyes. Wilson will just sit in on diagnoses and give his advice like he doesn’t have any responsibilities in the world. When the team needs to (illegally) shrink a patient’s tumor so it’s small enough to operate on, Wilson just says “alright” and does it along with Cameron. Chase does a silly American accent to fool a patient’s mother and it WORKS. Foreman is new and already despises everyone. House comments on how fuckable Wilson looks when Wilson is simply wearing a green tie and nice shoes. An old woman says that House has the same bedroom eyes as Ashton Kutcher. At one point the team, House, Wilson, and Cuddy all gather together in the small lab room to discuss a patient and are all basically brushing shoulders. Wilson reads a love poem out loud in the middle of the hospital to House. House eats tomato sauce that the team suspected was killing the patient. Wilson ditches his wife on Christmas Eve to go hang out with House and it shows a montage of them laughing and eating take-out. Cuddy greets House and Wilson by saying “hi, boys” like they’re kids. Foreman and Cameron are tasked to search a patient’s home and Foreman eats the ham he found in their fridge because he was hungry. The first scene with House shows him and Wilson walking down the hallway literally brushing hands and shoulders despite the hallway being huge. One of the first things Wilson does is lie to House. Wilson asks House — who rarely ever takes cases unless he finds them really interesting — to take a case and House just takes it. When asked why it was so easy, House just looks at Wilson with a smirk and says “you know why” and then they both smile at each other. This is all in the span of the first eight episodes.

[risuola]

I — NOT YET // When a guy in the club tries to assault you, you ask a random stranger to pretend to be your boyfriend. Little that you know that out of all people, you chose a mob boss.

contents: smut, mafia!au, briefly mentioned assault and tiny bit of violence, Sukuna (yeah, I consider him a warning), reader discretion is advised — 2,7k words

a/n: mada... mada mada~ the very second I heard this menace toying with Panda, Kusakabe and the rest in Shibuya, not allowing them to move unless he say so - my head went straight to the idea of him playing the same game in bed.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna never had to get used to being interrupted. Never. Anytime it happened in the past, all he had to do was to glance at the person and it usually got the message across. His gaze has enough power in it to quickly inform the intruder why invading his personal space or cutting him half-sentence is a damn bad idea. One look from him usually was enough to make anyone reconsider if they really want some problems. Sukuna had his eyes trained to be sharp and cold, his body strong and intimidating and his aura dangerous. He spent years building his reputation, earning a position in his world that now guaranteed him calm.

Now everyone and their mothers know that he’s not the one to cross paths with. He’s a VIP, he’s allowed everywhere and he has no qualms about killing someone. Ryomen Sukuna is a brand, he’s a threat, he’s untouchable, invincible. No one in the right mind would ever try to start anything with him at this point. That’s why, when he tried to relax in one of many clubs that he owns in Tokyo, he couldn’t believe someone had the guts to push onto him at the bar.

“Hey, sorry, can you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second?”, he heard near his ear and following the sound and the soft tug on his elbow, he turned his head towards you. Lucky girl, he thought while quickly assessing the view. You were too god damn pretty to be killed, looking at him with those pleading eyes that glistened in the harsh artificial lights. You were visibly scared of something, or someone, and oddly enough it wasn’t him who brought you to the verge of tears.

“Your boyfriend, huh?”, he mused, allowing his eyes to trail down your figure. The dress you had on left little to imagination and yet he wished to tear it off to see more of you. It hugged the shapes of your body perfectly and the silky fabric betrayed the lack of bra underneath. You were attractive, but clearly not smart enough to think twice before approaching a stranger.

“Please, I beg you, this guy—“, you tried to explain, squeezing your perfectly manicured fingers around his veiny forearm, but your sentence was cut in half when a man grabbed you by the waist, pulling you away just a little and harshly pressing your back against the bar. Sukuna watched as you winced when your spine hit the edge of the wooden countertop, he watched for a moment how you tried to push the guy away. With no effect, you weren’t strong enough to stand against him, you were trapped between the unwanted body and the furniture behind you, fighting the hungry hands that were groping your figure.

“Naoya, get off of me—” you tried, pushing his face away from where he was trying to suck a spot onto your neck.

“Oh, shut up woman, I know you want it,” the blonde-ish idiot grinned, twisting your arm enough to make a space for himself. He wasn’t bothered in the least with the fact he was trying to get between your legs in the very center of a club. Sukuna’s club.

Ryomen zeroed the whisky in his glass and got up from the chair. Usually, he would ignore situations like this. Other people’s problems were none of his business and he had enough his own things to take care of, to bother himself with anything else, but you. You were a problem he was willing to explore.

“Zenin, huh?”, he asked, connecting the name he heard falling from your lips with the wannabe gangster he heard about many times before. There was a certain reputation tied to Naoya’s name, mostly regarding his treatment of women but as long as he wasn’t touching his women, Sukuna couldn’t care less about this trash of a man. You definitely were not his woman. Yet.

“The fuck you want, I’m busy,” Zenin groaned, pulling his nasty mouth away from your shoulder for just a moment, only to shot a glare to the club owner.

“I can tell that you’re busy,” Ryomen grabbed one of Naoya’s wrists. It wasn’t looking like a hard grip, but the face of the blonde betrayed the sharp, bone-breaking pain he felt.

You felt some kind of relief when the stranger you just met stepped between you and your unwanted date. The large body of him towered above you completely, he was bigger than you thought when you approached his sitting form, but you couldn’t think about it for too long when he dealt with Naoya so easily. Once the blonde was gone, he turned to you.

Your heart skipped few beats once you took the image in. The man was huge, way taller than you and built like a greek god. The sharp outlines of his muscled torso beautifully showed through the dark graphite dress shirt. Looking up, you could finally see his face clearly. His features were attractive, dangerous with the black tattooed lines around them. He could easily be a gangster or something.

“T-thank you,” you spoke finally, snapping out from the initial impression of him. He was a red flag, you knew that. If not for the circumstance, you’d probably be the first to run away from him. He was hot. An absolute smokeshow, but he was certainly bad news.

“Was he your date?”, he asked, pulling a chair that he was sitting on previously and twisting it to position, before his large hands landed on your hips. There was no effort whatsoever when he lifted you and sat you down on the seat. He opted to stand next to you.

“No… I came here with a friend, but she left earlier. I was just about to leave as well, but this guy stopped me,” you sighed. “He wouldn’t let me go, I was afraid that he’ll just walk after me to my home. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture in itself was soft, but you shivered underneath his touch nonetheless. You couldn’t quite tell what made him so… scary. Was it his overwhelming frame? Or maybe the calm, distant demeanor? He had authority, he was expecting submission and when he was looking at you, you felt like a prey of him. Strangely, you were quite fine with that. You had no wish of doing anything with Naoya, but this man… he was different, he was interesting, he made you cross your legs just to feel any kind of pressure between your thighs. “Your name?”

“Y/n,” you replied.

“Y/n. Nice,” he gave it a soft nod and ordered two drinks. “Ryomen is my name. Sukuna Ryomen. Memorize it.”

“Sure…”

At this moment, you had no guts to ask why was it important to imprint the name he told you into your brain, but it all became clear just barely two hours later. You couldn’t exactly recall the moment Sukuna led you out of the club and into his car. There was something so enticing about his entire aura that made you lose your ability to think. He made you break every rule you ever had for yourself – to not talk with strangers, not go with them anywhere. Before that night you were doing exceptionally good in avoiding danger, you somehow slipped through your life up until that point without any major problems, but once you faced the problem, it was a big one.

The talk was good, it flowed easily and the menacing aura that Ryomen had all around him kept you interested. You had no idea that you’re attracted to bad boys, and maybe you were not exactly into school hooligans. Turned out, you’re aroused by the much worse kind – the kind that keeps a gun behind his belt, drinks pure whisky and makes people run away just by shooting them a glance. Yeah, that seems to be the kind of men you are into, because if there was any common sense left in you, you’d be out the door and running towards the safety of your dormitory. If there was any self-preservation instinct in you, you’d be probably anywhere else, rather than in here.

In the most luxurious house you’ve ever seen, not to mention been inside of; somewhere in the outskirts of Tokyo where you were not even sure how you can get back to your home from there. If you were just a little smarter, you’d for sure be in your own bed right now and not on the dark leather couch, with your silky dress scrunched up around your waist and your underwear torn to pieces and laying on the floor. If you had more braincells, maybe you wouldn’t be bouncing on that stranger’s dick right now, gripping onto his muscular shoulders as one of his large hands kept your hip in a dead grip, leading your moves up and down his girthy length and the other one tightly squeezed around the back of your neck, from where he was keeping his head close so he could kiss you so hungrily it took your breath away. But that’s just where you were. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

He felt so goddamn good, filling your tight hole to the very brim, stretching you to the point of delirium and he wasn’t even fully in yet. His moves were aggressive and yet sensual; he made you feel small even if it was you who was on top of him. You had no control, he made it clear with the way he was holding you and every time you tried to dominate him in any way, he quickly showed you your place back. Maybe later, he’ll let you have your way with him, but now, he was in charge.

“Think you can take all of me?” He asked against the delicate skin of your neck, now painted in red and purple marks he nibbed onto it. You could feel him grinning at the way you squeezed your little hands on his clothed biceps. He got you all exposed and yet he only allowed you to free his dick; his shirt was still buttoned up, his pants were still on his legs. There was a certain dominance shown in the way he got you all naked on top of his suit.

“N-no,” you breathed out, “too big.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” Sukuna doesn’t exactly accept no as an answer and he for sure gave you enough time to accommodate to his size. “You’ll take it and thank me for it, yeah?”

“Yes,” was all you could mumble, before both of his large hands landed on your hips. The iron grip, you were sure, was going to bruise you but now, it felt grounding in a way.

“Good girl,” he praised, his purr vibrated against your skin as he sucked yet another mark along your collarbone. It distracted you for a moment before he pushed your pelvis even lower, fully bottoming into you. Your clit made a contact with his lower belly, the harsh brush of his skin against the swollen bud making you moan louder than you were meaning to. You felt like all of your organs were moved out of the way just to make more space for his dick and Sukuna couldn’t be more satisfied by the way you took him in. “See? As if you were made to take this cock.”

Something incoherent left your mouth, a tear stained your cheek and the man was happy to lick it away, tasting the saltiness before he bucked his hips up, keeping yours in place. He took full control, thrusting into you with all the power he had in his muscular body and you held onto his shoulders with your little hands. The filthy, wet sounds were filling the interiors, bouncing off the walls and mixing with all of the whines and whimpers that were leaving your lips. Some grunts added to the melody, but you barely heard any of it, too consumed by the exploding pleasure between your legs.

Sukuna’s name was leaving your mouth like a prayer, you felt so close, you felt like falling and you had no intention to stop. The man grinned, licking a long stroke along your throat, his tongue curling upwards as it reached the tip of your chin. The taste of your skin felt intoxicating to him, he wanted to devour you whole, to keep all for himself.

“You wanna cum, huh?” His voice was taunting. “You’re clenching around me so fucking hard, you’re gonna milk me as well.”

“Yes, yes, please,” you near damn begged, chasing the bliss that you could almost taste on your tongue right now. It filled all of your body cells, rushed through your veins in ecstatic waves of lust.

“Not yet,” he ordered and it felt almost painful to force yourself back from the state of climax. You could tell he was playing with you, toying with his dominance, reminding you that it’s him who pulls the strings in here. And yet, he was still rutting into you, his movements completely different to what he was saying, he was fucking you like he wanted you to cum in that very moment. “Still not yet,” he teased, feeling your little fingers digging onto his shoulders, your manicured nails nearly making holes in his shirt as your eyes fell shut.

“Oh god, Ryomen, please,” you whined. Your thighs were shaking, your spine arching and the incredible tension below your stomach threatened to burst any second now.

“Now,” he ordered and just like that, all inside of you snapped. You came all over his dick, and you came hard. It felt like nothing you’ve ever experienced, like you were suddenly shot into another dimension and if not for the way he sped up his movements, you’d probably just get lost in the lustful feeling. Ryomen came just few moments after you, wrapping his arms around your waist and painting your walls white. You felt him throbbing, spasming inside of you, the hot seed gushed out of you as he was pumping it in, staining your thighs and the bottom of his black shirt. Then he pushed you down, fully onto his cock, plugging the way out for his cum.

You found his lips, swallowing his quickened breath as you kissed him with desire and he gave in, quickly dominating the kiss. You were tired, the muscles in your legs were burning from the intense exercise, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling of still wanting more. He made you hungry, he made you unsatiated and you were sure, you won’t be able to recognize yourself after you’re done with him. You were never such a greedy lover but frankly, you never had a chance to feel that good with anyone. The boys you’ve been with had no skills and if not for the orgasms you gave yourself with your fingers, no one else ever brought you over the edge like Sukuna.

“Can you undress?” You asked him, your lips brushing against his as you mouthed the question and he chased your kiss with his head, grabbing your lower lip between his teeth. There was a certain expression painted all over his dangerously handsome features, the menacing aura amplified as he took his sweet time before replying.

“I can undress,” he began, yet there was a but hanging in the air. He had conditions and you were open to hear them. “I’ll give you two options, little kitten. Wanna hear ‘em?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t undress. You can pull yourself together and I can drive you back to your home now. But I can also take the suit off, carry you to my bed. Then you’ll stay with me till morning, but don’t have any hopes for a calm sleep, no. The night will be as filthy as it can get. You’ll be sore tomorrow, most likely exhausted.”

You blinked hearing the options. It was clear as day, stop there or continue? You knew the answer already, your body decided for you even before he came up with an offer.

“Will you drive me home as well if I pick the second option?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s get you naked.”