#but it got away from me and this is with parts of it cut if you can believe that

[darkbluekies]

Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer. 

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him. 

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again. 

But he did. Somehow, he did. 

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one. 

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you. 

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other. 

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase. 

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights. 

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back. 

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says. 

Me neither, you think. 

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe. 

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered. 

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine. 

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke. 

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes. 

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank. 

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”. 

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint. 

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble. 

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry. 

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away. 

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat. 

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” 

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping. 

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly. 

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter. 

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling. 

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away. 

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall. 

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him. 

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead. 

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold. 

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty. 

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.” 

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused? 

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in. 

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks. 

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish. 

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him. 

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you. 

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you. 

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder. 

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning. 

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m not hungry”, you say. 

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing. 

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears. 

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks. 

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers. 

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled. 

His words send icy shivers down your back. 

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky. 

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls. 

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure. 

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside. 

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court. 

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole. 

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body. 

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole. 

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command. 

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries. 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-four —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.5k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The rattle of vials cuts through the quiet sobbing as you raid the cabinet, stuffing a backpack with painkillers and wound care. 

"We had antibiotics on us. Where are they?" 

From the corner of the room, the response breaks apart. "I don't... I don't know about any... This is all we have."

You drop the backpack in favor of the gun at your waist, and direct it at her. "Don't lie to me."

"I-I'm not! I don't know where they are!"

A twist in your gut says she's honest. "Is there any alcohol?" you press with a curl at your lips.

"There's... some... under there."

You lower the gun and move to the sink, uncorking a half-filled bottle that reeks of absinthe. It fits snugly into the backpack. A nod to Nereida. She lowers her own gun from the young woman’s temple. Straps over your shoulders, you step into the smoke-tinged air, leaving the woman behind, when her accented voice chokes out: "You have taken... everything from us."

You stand in the doorway, watching a piece of ash fall on the scuffed leather of your shoe, then glance over your shoulder. "There is still some medicine left in there. Take what you can, get the other women, and leave. This place could be teeming with Greys soon with all the blood spilt. Travel north. We're going south." Her glossy eyes drift up from her hands. Your gaze hardens. "We will kill you if we see you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers.

You look away. "Salome is in the cell. Alive."

The flames lick at the chapel’s frame as you return to the others. The stone walls have blackened, the door swallowed in fire, windows shattered. The acrid stench of scorched wood and charred flesh burns your nose. The last survivors—the few men left after Price and Kyle cleared the barn—had been shoved inside with the Grey. 

You need to get out of here—away from the stench of blood. Clean water is urgent. A safe place to treat everyone's wounds, even more so, though the missing antibiotics linger in the back of your mind. Adrenaline wearing off, you move quickly, pausing only to hastily dress Blue's feet and Ghost's back with medical cloth from the cabinet before continuing down the main road. While everyone yields a backpack and gun, Ghost carries Blue to his chest. He hasn't once let her go. 

The flames still flicker behind you when his grip falters. He stops to adjust her weight, and you touch his elbow, speaking low. "Let Price or Kyle carry her."

"I've got it."

You don’t press, though the gnawing concern remains. How much blood has he lost? You can only hope it's clotted enough to hold a bit longer. 

The only words Price manages are instructions—what to watch for to indicate freshwater. Downward slopes, converging animal tracks. You’re nowhere near as injured as the others, yet your thighs shake, your vision blurs, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut to regain focus. You still flinch at every sound, ready for blood.

An hour out, the sun hangs heavy. Dense vegetation and a small cliffside offer promise. Carefully, you help each other down. Ghost finally relents, letting Blue cling onto Price’s shoulders so he can manage rappelling down the rocks. You stay close without thinking, your hand ghosting over his bicep when he wavers.

Then you smell it. Water.

Relief nearly buckles your knees.

A narrow creek winds between boulders, tucked beneath towering cypresses.

Everyone washes off the blood, dulling the stench. A fire will be needed to clean it for the wounds. As you rake water through your hair, your gaze drifts upstream—where cypresses give way to ripened plum trees, bordering what seems like a property. Price sees it too. He’s already shouldering his backpack, moving to check it out.

The gown pools at your ankles, dipping into the shallow water as you cross. The property is silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker. You tighten your grip on the gun, scanning the unkempt garden and overgrown path leading to the estate—a summer home fit for a family or, as you soon realize, two wealthy old fucks. Their skeletons are all that remain inside, draped in dust like the furniture around them.

Price lowers the rifle to his side and nods in approval. "This will do."

If you could, you’d strip off the stained gown and shut your eyes. Instead, you follow Ghost as he kicks open doors—nothing but a bathroom and parlor. On the second floor, the first door to meet his boot reveals a bedroom. You shake the dust from the quilt, and he carefully lays Blue down. You're already sifting through the backpack.

Ghost kneels to take her feet. He fumbles with the cloth, exhaustion stealing motor function. You help, unveiling the jagged cuts edged with dirt. Ghost grits, "They did this?"

"I did," she whispers. "I hoped you'd find me... and the Greys... they got distracted by my shoes."

Her words linger as you dab alcohol onto a strip of cloth. "This will hurt," you whisper, biting your cheek.

Ghost grips her ankle to keep it still and takes her hand, offering something to squeeze. At first touch, her nails claw at his wrist. Her lips press tightly together to muffle a small sound that dies in her throat, and then she falls silent. Her eyes flutter shut, reopening only to release a lone tear when you finish with both, then wrap them again.

"Your arms," you say, reaching for them. One is already bandaged—must've been done by them. The other is freshly cut. When you try to look at it, she recoils, inhaling sharply.

"They did this one, didn't they?" he asks.

A slight nod of her chin.

Anger leeches from Ghost's skin.

He exhales sharply through flared nostrils, then gently takes her wrist, pressing a kiss to the skin just before the cut begins.

"Let Twix clean it, baby."

Her fist clenches before she offers you her arm. More tears cut a trail down to her lips. 

"There. Let's get you something else to wear," you breathe out, stuffing the cork back in once it's over. 

What you find in the closet is at least better than the bloodied dress she was supposed to die in—a large flannel shirt that smells like old man. Blue accepts it, but stares at the shirt in her hands for a long moment before asking Ghost to look away. He does, and you help her, keeping your eyes on hers while undressing her.

You turn to Ghost. "Your turn," you whisper.

Lowering to the bed is a great effort, one you have to steady with a hand under his armpit. As gently as possible, you peel the cloth from his back. Seeing his wounds before did nothing to prepare you for this—up close, in the unforgiving sunlight. Deep, inflamed gashes ooze fresh blood at the disruption. The stench of festering flesh makes it hard to focus as you murmur for Blue to touch his hair, distract him for the first dab of alcohol.

Where Blue was able to silence herself, he cannot. Not when it’s this bad. The terrible, wrecked groan and the violent jerk of his body make you want to disappear—to run and let someone else do this to him. But you know you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t trust anyone else to. So you steady the tremble in your fingers and continue, the room heavy with his pain. It finds its way to your back, as though someone behind you is holding a whip. The phantom pain sinks into your skin with each of his groans, forcing you to push it away to steady your hand as you work.

Blue twists her fingers in his hair, whispering in his ear. "It's almost over, dad."

By the time the wounds are cleaned, redness remains, offering little reassurance. Over a day's worth of sweat and bacteria isn't something you can simply undo. You'll need to keep an eye on them for infection. You sift through the vials and push two painkillers to his lips, helping him sit up to swallow them. As you’re about to help him back down, he grabs onto your wrist, a pulse of pain pulling your gaze to where you slit your own vein. The linen strip is soaked through. Ghost silently unties it and reaches for the alcohol at the bedside table.

"They did that?" Blue questions from behind him.

"I did."

The pain sears as he cleans it, though it’s nothing compared to his.

When he lays back on his stomach, there’s no fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. Blue curls up beside him, wincing. You get her two painkillers as well.

"Is he going to be alright?" she asks quietly.

You pull the light quilt over her body. "His body just needs to rest. So does yours."

"That's not an answer, Twix."

The way she calls you out makes your face fall. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't know."

There is a pause of silence before she sighs audibly, arms falling flat at her sides and her gaze finding the ceiling. "I don't think I can sleep."

Your chest tightens at the thought of what she must be thinking of, what she must have seen when you weren't with her. The wounds you can't wrap up. You dig for one of the sedatives: lorazepam. "Here." 

It takes a while for it to take effect.

"You're safe," you whisper to her, over and over, tucking her hair behind her ear until you feel the subtle shift in her muscles as they slowly loosen from their panicked tension. When sleep finally comforts her, a shift in the air causes you to leap up.

"It's me," Nereida whispers, poking in her head. "The others are sleeping, too."

Right. The others. "They're alright?"

"Just a few fractured ribs."

"Someone needs to keep watch."

"I'll do it." Seeing the protest twist on your face, she adds, "You haven't slept in days."

She's right. It was impossible to sleep in that cell outside of being drugged.

You give in. "Patrol the whole property if you can. And keep track of the air. The flowers here should help mask our scent, but—"

"I've got it, Twix."

The fatigue truly hits when she leaves. You barely have enough fight in you left to peel off the stupid dress and raise another flannel shirt from the closet over your head, the hem resting above your knees. There is a chair in the room—that's where you sink down, knees tucked to your chest. At first when you close your eyes, the world is loud and red. Then, it quiets to black.

A dove call announces morning, and you jolt awake to fresh light from the window.

You fell asleep.

They've already killed her.

You didn't get there in time—

Your gaze lands on the small body lying in the bed beside a much larger one, and the panic escapes through a shaky breath. You inhale and exhale to calm your heart rate before uncurling from the chair to touch Blue's soft cheek. The skin is cool. You move to her father next. Palm to his forehead. Hot, dry skin snaps your touch away as if burning you. 

"Fucking shit," chokes out of you, along with a fresh wave of urgency. Blue stirs in her sleep. You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself and whirl out of the room. A fever: you need water. If you hadn't slept so long, you could've boiled some sooner. With the recovered energy, you race outside in the chilled morning air.

Nereida sits up from the porch.

"Good morning. You're the first one up. I haven't seen—"

"He is burning up," you seethe. "You should've waken me. I slept all through the night!"

Her eyes widen. "I didn't—"

You push past her. "I'm getting water."

She lightly touches your elbow. "I already got some from the creek. I boiled it over the fireplace." She rushes to show you the full metal pot in the kitchen. 

You don't pause to say thank you, hoisting the water upstairs to urgently wet a cloth and place it over his forehead. His lashes flutter, once, then twice, before fully opening.

"You have a fever," you exhale, swallowing hard. "I need you to drink a little."

He sits up to swallow a handful of the water from your palm, faint bobs of his throat, and you feel just how dry his lips are. His voice emerges low. "Did they have anything for it?"

"I couldn't find the antibiotics," you bitterly admit, swiping a thumb over the faint freckle on his temple, as if maybe, the sip of water has already changed the temperature. It hasn't. A growl pushes under your breath. "The bitch probably lied to me and took them. We'll need to experiment a bit for now."

"Sounds promising," he manages through his teeth. He glances down at his daughter. "She's alright?"

"She's okay, not warm." You inhale sharply. "Lay down. Let me look at it again."

When he does, you gently remove the bandages and are met with yellow-green pus. The sound that fills your throat, caught between helplessness and disgust, has him popping an eye open to look back at you over his shoulder. "Sorry, it's just..." Another explicative leaves your lips, and you have to bite your cheek hard to keep from vomiting at the sight and smell. Blue is awake now, sitting up against the pillow; she need only glance over once for her face to twist in concern. 

"It's bad, isn't it?" She covers her mouth.

"I need to drain it," is what you say. Luckily, it's already oozing, saving the need to puncture the wounds open. You wet another cloth and carefully press at the swollen ridge of the first laceration, making him groan through his teeth as pus begins to run down his sides. Blue has one hand back in his hair, and uses another wet cloth to collect the pus. You keep pressing, draining each irregular wound, having to remind yourself the rotten smell being released is for the better. 

After what feels like hours, it's mostly cleared. Only a bit of swelling remains, revealing just how deeply the skin was shredded, as if slashed through repeatedly in the same spots. 

"How come you were hurt more than the others?" Blue asks him the question you've been mulling over since the moment you found him. 

"I was their favorite," he mumbles lowly. "The most handsome."

Your brows lower.

"It's not funny," she presses, nails twisting in his hair, teeth grinding. "It's infected. You could fucking die."

"I won't," he says to her, but the silent, heavy glance you exchange with him acknowledges the understanding that he very well could, deepening the harsh pit in your stomach. "We have a nurse here."

"An unlicensed one." You finish securing a new layer of cloth and lean back. "And one without real medicine." Realizing you are supposed to be reassuring her, you hide the way your nails pick each other and add, "But draining all that pus will help. Eating will help even more," you look at Blue, "For you, too."

Blue and you share a meal of wild cucumbers, strawberries, and two small field mice you catch by the creek, swiftly snapping their necks before skinning them. For Ghost, you boil the bones with garden carrots to make a broth. You have to coax him into finishing it, no matter how it tastes, promising that once it's done, he can sleep longer.

By the time the others are awake, you and Blue have failed to leave his side, simply watching the continued rise and fall of his chest as if it might halt if you look away. "Please get better," you catch her murmuring. The only time you go is to speak with Price, informing him that Ghost is in no condition to travel again. 

"Twix," he interrupts you, the knowing tick in his brow, and worn smile, making you realize you'd been rambling, your tone coming off a bit accusatory. "I have no intention for us to continue yet. No one is ready for it. We need food, and rest."

You release a filtered sigh, nodding. "I can help hunt, I just need to—"

A firm hand finds your shoulder. His seafoam eyes glance past you at the door to the bedroom, then back into your gaze, low voice barely above a murmur. "You've done more than enough. Let us take care of the food. Just make sure we don't lose him, alright?"

You nod, and when he turns to leave, you mutter to yourself, "I'm trying."

You spend the evening refreshing his bandages, and draining the new wave of pus. You have the idea to look for onions in the garden, remembering they have antimicrobial properties, but there aren't any. So you clean the wounds again with a flush of water, and also scrub his dirty hair a bit. Your brain must be tricking you, because once when you touch him it feels like his fever has at least dropped a degree or two, but then a minute later it feels like it went up more. There is practically no color to his skin except the angry red of his wounds, and the rosy sheen on his cheeks. Other than that he is a pale ghost. It's as if your efforts haven't done a thing. 

Frustration strangles your lungs, and you palm at your forehead. His body, deprived of sleep and nutritions for days, is struggling to bounce back, to fight off the encroaching bacteria. His unyielding strength is yielding; succumbing. He needs more food and water. You try to sit him up again, retrieving a small bit of leftover broth, but he is unable to help pull his weight.

"Come on, Simon. Please."

He's too heavy for you, even with Blue pulling at his other arm.

You hurry out of the room and call for Price. He and Nereida are there quickly, his rifle ready. "No, I just need—I need you to lift him."

Price drops the gun to steady Simon up despite the heavy hiss of protest. "Gotta eat, Simon."

He holds him as you spoon broth to his mouth, having to rub at his jaw to release enough tension for him to open it and swallow. 

The room is quiet once it's all done, and Nereida stands in the doorway with her head hung low. Price carefully lays him back down so as not disturb the work you've done to his back. He glances at the empty bowl in your hands. "Kyle cut up some squirrels he killed earlier. I'll tell him to make more broth with them in the morning."

All you can do is nod and pass the bowl to him.

When they leave, the heaviness in the room has Blue picking at her wrist. You take her hand, placing another painkiller and sedative in them, and urge her to lay down for more rest.

"I'll stay up with him, alright?"

Her chin drops, and she stares blankly at the quilt. "What happens to me if he dies?"

The hollowness in her voice cuts through you. "We can't think like that," you murmur, refusing to acknowledge how terrified the answer makes you.

"Why not?" Her eyes blaze in the dark. "It's a possibility. I've never seen him like this before."

You shake your head, touching two fingers under her jaw to tilt it up so yours eyes meet. "He's stubborn, like you. And he has too much to live for. He loves you."

She looks away. "I'm not like him. I wouldn't be able to keep going on my own."

"You’ll never be on your own. He and I... we will always come for you," you swear, your voice firmer than you intend. You soften it to a whisper, breathing out, "But even if you were, you’re smarter and stronger than anyone here. There’s nothing you can’t handle, Blue. It was you who kept yourself alive this time."

"It was just luck," she murmurs, curling a fist into the sheet below her. She peers back at you. "If you guys hadn’t found me, I would’ve been bitten to death."

"No," you insist. "It wasn’t luck. You survived because you saw the opportunities, and you took them. You made time for us to find you. You are just like him."

Emotion floods through you, thick and reeling. Without thinking, you pull her into a solid hug, pressing your nose to her scalp. "You’re just like him," you whisper again, screwing your eyes shut. White-hot tears escape, burning a quiet trail down your cheeks, and you feel her begin to tremble in your arms, silently soaking your shirt with her own tears.

Through them, she manages to whisper, twisting your shirt in her fists, "I-I don't want him to leave me again. H-he said he wouldn't."

"He won't," you promise, struggling to catch your breath through a choke, the words rushing out of you. "Never again. I won't let it happen."

After minutes, hours, like this, she grows limp with exhaustion, and you lay her back down, tucking her under the quilt and wiping your cheeks. 

You resume position in the chair by Ghost. 

This time, you refuse to close your eyes, locking them onto him—the way his cheek is squished against the pillow, the bare stretch of his arm, the curve of his ribs where an old scar splits into the new ones. You keep pulling the blanket over him, thinking maybe the extra heat will break his fever, only to rip it back off moments later, convinced the cool night air would be better. Frustration burns behind your eyes as you rub them hard, then press your forehead against the uninjured part of his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, Simon,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to trace your thumb over the freckles there, connecting them with soft, absentminded sweeps of your finger.

He needs more.

Real medicine.

Either the women are long gone with it, or it's somewhere none of them knew of. 

This is what you mull over well into the night when sleep threatens with a pull at your lids, and again, you see red. Blood-red. Like the burst of an open throat. You reopen them and jolt up to your feet, panting hard. The need for a distraction to keep yourself awake pulls you out of the room for a stretch of your legs, pupils straining against the dark hall as you stumble through it, crossing your arms over yourself. You've barely looked through this place besides what was necessary, so it's a surprise when you happen upon a spiral staircase going up, not down. 

A cool metal rail bites your fingertips as you heave upward, revealing a small attic library. Dark oak shelves reach the low ceiling, all of the leather spines neatly alined as if never having been touched even once: a capsule of time. A large window at the far end offers enough moonlight for your eyes to scan the embellished spines as you brush a finger over them, various French titles staring back at you. You work your way to the window, where the thin curtain is parted just enough to allow you a view of the creek, cliffside, and dark horizon where stars disappear into distant earth. 

"I shouldn't have believed her. I should've made her talk more." The words barely leave your lips before the stench of burning flesh fills your senses. Your hands shake violently. With a sudden, forceful yank, you tear the curtain from the rod. Your voice cracks, rising with rage. "I should have killed her—all of them. I shouldn't have let a single one walk away!"

You spin around and begin pulling books off the shelves, ripping at pages, thrashing them at the floor with a cacophony of thuds, until only half are left untouched. The years-old dust caking the covers explodes into your eyes, stinging them, and tears begin to fall, the painful kind. They come hard, ragged, anything but quiet. You sink to the oriental rug, burying your face into your knees and hugging them close as you sob through your teeth, scraping your nails into your shins.

You imagine all their faces: the blonde man who tortured them, the old woman you only saw once when they took Blue, all the pretty eyes beneath the stupid veils. In your head, you slash all of them to pieces. Shreds. Torn nerves and burst eyes. Until you are swimming in their entrails. 

There is a voice. In your head maybe. But no, it's real—someone touches your shoulder, and you flinch. You lift your gaze, and through it, make out the shape of warm, almond eyes, one of them half-opened beneath a swollen bruise.

Kyle kneels beside you. He doesn't say anything, just sits there, his knee touching yours the only point of connection. When your crying subsides, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state he's found you in, and wipe at your cheeks. "Sorry. I woke you up."

"I was already awake."

Silence hums between you, and he thoughtlessly picks up one of the books, thumbing through the pages, then quietly closes it.

"We all owe you our lives, you know. Nereida told us about all you did."

You dig your chin into the tops of your knees and stare off at the wall. "I still didn't do enough."

"You're doing all you can." His gaze pierces into the side of your face, making you feel translucent. "He'll be alright. Always is."

You don't know what to say to that, sighing through flared nostrils and looking down at your feet before over at him. "How is Ari?"

"He's alright. Just shaken, I think. Thank you for asking." A tinge of guilt finds you that you haven't checked on them enough. Ari, just a boy, and he's hardly crossed your mind through any of this.

"You know," Kyle continues quietly, his knuckles whitening around the book. "When we were in there, I didn’t know what to say to get him through it—because I couldn't see much hope myself. I had to watch, do nothing, while they made him memorize that goddamn book just to earn a meal. And he wasn’t allowed to share any with me." He lets out a short, bitter snort. "I've never felt so fucking weak. So powerless. Watching someone you love suffer, not knowing how to help them..." His gaze locks onto yours. "That has to be a pain worse than any torture."

His words catch you off guard. All you can do is reach for him, gripping his shoulders in a firm hug, evening your heart rate. He murmurs a promise about the broth, his hand brushing your shoulder before he excuses himself. Returning to the bedroom, you check their pulses—her pinky curled around his in sleep. You press a kiss to Blue’s hair, then, without thinking, let your lips brush her father's fevered temple. All you can think of is the harsh burn of his skin, and the medicine you know he needs.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Monster (Azriel X Reader)

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Everyone thinks that Y/N is a horrible person for what she did under the mountain, and she agrees, but Azriel realizes that things aren't what they seem.

I have not wrote any fanfiction in 5 years, which is absolutely crazy. I've been talking to my boyfriend a lot about story ideas and he asked me, why don't you just write it down? So here it is, it's not exactly what I used to write.

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You had hoped you would die under the caldron-forsaken mountain. The 49 years have cost you everything: your family, your court and your humanity. Amarantha had chosen you to be her right hand, you had no one to lose and everything to gain. You became known as Amarantha’s bitch, arguably a worse title than Rhysand’s. Your job was to keep discipline under the mountain and frequently had to whip and grant Amarantha’s wishes of public torture sessions when the Attor was not around.

Your reputation had made it outside of the mountain and throughout the courts, you were known to be ruthless and would kill without hesitation. You were an absolute monster.

Before Feyre had come along and saved you all from the mountain, the only one who understood your pain was Rhysand. For the first few years of your position, Rhysand would look at you with hatred in his eyes. He tortured people too, but you knew he didn’t enjoy it in the same way you pretended to. Every time you tortured the poor soul who got on Amarantha’s nerves, you would go up to them after the fact and hold their hand and ask if they had learned their lesson.

You had a gift and a curse, your gift was the ability to absorb pain from someone else, but the curse was that pain demanded to be felt eventually. Every whipping, every burn, or every cut that you performed, you took it from them to feel later. You kept this secret to yourself originally, but it’s quite hard to hide things from Rhysand.

On one unfortunate night, he entered your chambers under the mountain and witnessed the blood beginning to pool on your back. “Someone give you a taste of your own medicine?” He smirked, leaning against the door frame.

“Get the fuck out, Rhysand.” You croaked, mouth dry as you felt another blow to your back from the whipping earlier. “If I wanted to sleep with someone, it wouldn’t be Amarantha’s seconds.” You could feel the walls you built to protect yourself from Rhysand crumbling, like they were nothing but paper, and his eyes grew in realization.

He walked over to you and placed your face in his hands, his eyes growing wide with understanding. “You don’t have to bear their pain alone, Y/N.” He whispered, but you shook your head.

“Please go away.” You whispered, tears filling your eyes. Nobody had ever seen you like this under the mountain, “I can handle it, really.”

You felt the next blow and cried out, Rhysand caught you in his arms and held you. You felt him in your mind, and then your physical pain was gone, and it was just you both in your head. He was right there, in front of you, and all you could do was sigh. “I can explain.”

“Are you…. Are you taking their pain?” He whispered, and you nodded. “Why?”

“We’re all trapped here.” You replied, your voice echoing across the black void. “Someone will hurt them either way, at least if I hurt them… I can take their pain away and they can pass peacefully.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Rhys asked, and you shrugged. “I could have helped you, we’re on the same side.”

“It’s my pain to bear, I wouldn’t have agreed to this job if I couldn’t take their pain away.” You whispered back, he nodded in understanding.

From then on, you had one friend under the mountain, and when Feyre became part of the picture, you had two.

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

               When Feyre won the trials and you were released from the mountain, you realized that you had nowhere to go. Your court has disowned you and your family was…gone. Rhysand invited you back to Velaris to the dismay of his inner circle, and he agreed that your gift would remain a secret until you were ready.

               You trained as hard as you could and tried your best time and time again to win over the inner circle. You promised yourself you would tell them about your gift eventually but couldn’t bring yourself to do it, feeling like you would be using it as an “excuse” to torture others and end all the lives you did, when it was really inexcusable.

               The member of the inner circle that hated you the most was Azriel, he would immediately leave any room you entered, refuse to go on missions with you and would even stop training as soon as you were in earshot. You could sense him staring at you from afar sometimes, and whenever you would look it would be anger, hatred and maybe a little confusion in his eyes.

               You tried your best to make friends with everyone, but it’s hard to be friends with a sadistic murderer who laughed as they were killing the weak and defenseless. The only people who gave you a chance were Cassian and Feyre, and you couldn’t be more appreciative.

               One night, during one of your nightmares, you awoke to large hands shaking you awake and came face to face with Cassian. He looked at you in concern and placed a hand around your head in a brotherly, comforting way. Tears flowed down your face. “You were shouting your own name, what were you dreaming about?”

               “Cassian, do you think I can be forgiven for what I’ve done?” You whispered, looking up at him. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I need to tell you the truth.”

               Cassian was the first person you willingly told your story to, and he looked absolutely horrified. You showed him the scars on your back and told him about the worst things you have ever done. He comforted you for hours, and in return told you his stories about how he’s killed and how guilty he feels about it sometimes.

               It was nice having Cassian after that point, you two would spar, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to throw a punch when he was open. His laughter was a wonderful sound, and he would often catch you staring at Azriel- longing for his forgiveness but knowing that would most likely never happen. You knew he didn’t trust you, and you don’t think he ever would.

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

                “I need you two to go on a mission together.” Rhys explains, looking between you and Azriel. “I don’t care about how much you don’t like each other; this needs to be done. The attor was sighted on our border, and I need him found.”

               You took a quick look at Azriel before turning away, his hands were clenched into fists, and his shadows were swarming around angrily. “I can go by myself just fine.” Azriel snapped, “She’ll just slow me down and you know it.”

               “I need you BOTH to go, which is why Y/N is here.” Rhysand clasped his hands together, looking at you expectantly. “I think she will be helpful in this mission, since the attor is involved.”

               “I am familiar with the attor.” You sighed, peeking over at Azriel. “I may be able to lure him out.”

               “I bet he’s very fond of you,” Azriel turned to look at you, “I bet you killed more people than he did, did you guys keep count like a competition?”

               You stepped back, you had barely spoken to Azriel, but these were his first words with you. Every reassurance that Cassian, Feyre and Rhys had ever provided seemed to disappear.

               “I just don’t understand Rhys, why is she here? The rest of us have killed, sure, but for good reason. She is a monster.” Azriel’s shadows circled the room, and you could feel the hatred coming off him in waves.

               ‘You’re not going to defend yourself?’ Rhys asked you, and you gave your head a slight shake.

               “This is the last I’m hearing of it, Azriel, you better bring her back here in one piece or so help me.”

               After 3 cold days of searching for the Attor, he was nowhere to be found, and Azriel’s snide comments were getting on your nerves. The flight back to Velaris was cold and silent.

               “Hey, I’m sorry that we came all this way and didn’t catch him.” You whispered, staring down at the darkening landscape.

               “I just hoped that you would be useful for something.” He replied, not even looking in your direction. You sighed, your heart plummeting to your stomach. You had hoped, on some deluded level, that this trip would allow you to talk to him and explain yourself and maybe- just maybe- he wouldn’t hate you so much anymore.

               “I just wanted to say sorry- not just for the attor but for everything.” He looked down at you, and you couldn’t tell what expression was on his face. “I’m just- I’m trying to be better than I was under the mountain, the person I was then is not me. I hope you can believe that.”

               He nodded, looking back up at the setting sun. “I believe that you want to be better.” He said solemnly, “But if what everyone is saying is true, then there is no hope for you. You will never change, even if Rhysand and Cassian don’t see it yet.”  

               You couldn’t even bring yourself to nod, you felt the cold tears sting your eyes but tried to blink them away before they could fall. Azriel saw you for who you really were, the murderer. At least he won’t lie to you like everyone else has.

               The silence ticked by when all the sudden, an arrow flew by your head and hit Azriels wing with a sharp crack. He grunted in pain and dropped a couple feet; another 2 arrows swished by and tore through his other wing. “Azriel- land!” You shouted, searching the darkened forest floor for any sign of the attackers.

               “No shit Y/N.” Azriel shouted, his wings pumping as the ground came in closer. You felt Azriel turn to the side as another arrow whizzed towards your head, but he took another arrow to the wing. Did he just…protect you? You two landed on the ground in a heap, but you stood up quickly, knife in hand as you searched the darkness for your attackers.

               You feel a presence behind you, and turn around, quickly taking the archer to the ground and holding your knife to his neck. He was older, with pointed ears and white hair. He barred his teeth angrily, but with your knees holding down his arms and knife against his neck, he was stuck.

               “Why are you attacking us?” You seethed, your knife getting dangerously close to his neck. He struggled.

               “They told us you would be passing through- you killed my whole family you bitch!” he shouted, you froze, “Just kill me! Like you did to all of them!” You stood there in silence, hesitating, trying to remember who it was that you killed. You couldn’t kill this man too, you promised you would never hurt anyone again.

               Suddenly you were under him, his knife starting to slide across your neck. You didn’t even raise your hands to defend yourself, you could see the pain of his loss clearly on his face. You nodded, closing your eyes as you waited for him to finish. You remembered Azriel’s words from earlier, he was right after all, there would be no redemption either way.

               You felt the weight lift from your throat and took a deep breath, opening your eyes and seeing Azriel’s angry from holding up the man. Azriel looked absolutely terrifying in that moment. “No, don’t hurt him- “You started, but Azriel had his knife out and slashed his neck, throwing his body to the ground. You cried out, crawling over to the males bloodied form. His eyes frantically looked around, and you grabbed his hand, but there was no usual tug, no usual surge of power as you took his pain, you looked up again and met with lifeless eyes. The male was already gone.

               “Did you…did you know him?” Azriel spat out, grabbing you angrily by your arm and pulling you up. “He shot me out of the sky and just had a knife to your neck, and now you’re crying over him?”

               “of course I didn’t know him!” You pushed back at Azriel, looking down at the male who was dead. “I just…. I just….” You felt a wave of nausea roll through you and turned so you could dry heave. Another death, because of you, again.

               “You just what Y/N?” Azriel barked, and you flinched from him. “Tell me what is going on.”

               “He’s dead!” You whispered. Azriel looked astounded, looking at the man then at you. He then laughed. “Why are you laughing?”

               “Give me a fucking break, Y/N. Lets go.” He grabbed your arm, pulling you with him.

               You two wandered until you found a cabin, the candles were still burning when you arrived and there was a fire going in the fireplace. You were becoming more worried about Azriel by the minute, his skin was losing it’s color and he was almost limping as he walked. As soon as you both entered the cabin, he sat down in a chair and started removing his leathers.

               “Azriel- are you alright?”

               “I’m fine, I just need to get this arrow out of my wing.” He muttered, looking at you.  You watched him as he reached behind him, failing to get a good grip on it. “Would you mind?”

               “I can help.” You whispered, coming up behind him and looking at his wing. His wings were beautiful, dark and somewhat translucent, you had never been this close to him before. You could see an oddish green color seeping from one of the wounds and your heart dropped, poison.

               You slowly touched the area around the protruding arrow, he tensed up. Your fingers lightly traced the area around it, trying to figure out if pulling it out was the best option or if keeping it in to stop the blood flow would be better. Removing it would probably be best, since it was poisoned.

               “Azriel, I’m going to remove it now, okay?” You said quietly, bracing your hands on the arrow. This would hurt like a bitch, but only for a second. You pulled, wincing as the wing membrane tore open a little more. Azriel grunted. “I’m so sorry, but it should start to feel better now, okay? Let me go outside so we can ice it.”

               “No- don��t go.” Azriel looked back at you, his expression a little less guarded. “There could be more of them out there- it’s unsafe.”

               “I’ll be okay, we really need to keep an eye on this for a little bit.” You reassured him and walked out of the warm cabin and into the harsh cold. You grabbed as much snow as you could fit in your sack and came back in just a few minutes later, as soon as you walked in Azriel seemed to slump in relief.

               “How are you feeling?” You asked him, noting that his complexion had looked possibly worse than before.

               “I’m feeling okay.” He looked at you, his eyebrows scrunching, then a small smile came to his lips. You stopped in your tracks, if Azriel was smiling at you, there definitely was something wrong. “I feel a little funny….I think there was something in those arrows.”

               You nodded, coming over and handing the cold pack to him. He nodded and placed it against his wing, wincing at the cold. “You really confuse me, Y/N.” He admitted, his shadows seemed as lethargic as him as they swirled around you. “I can’t figure out who you are- I just see so many different things and it’s not adding up.

               “Who do you see?” You whispered, and he shook his head, somewhat confused. “You can tell me.”

               “You act like you are kind, and at first I thought it was for show, but you seem to be kind even when nobody knows it’s you.” He explains, his voice somewhat slurring. “You pay attention, you leave out books you know Feyre will like, you leave out Mor’s favorite snacks when she doesn’t even like you.”

               “And I’ve watched you train with Cassian; you refuse to throw a punch even when he’s wide open. Even- even with that guy outside who was going to kill you- you refused to hurt him, and you cried when he died.” Azriel looked at you, without hatred, for the first time. “How can someone who killed so many people, who tortured others and laughed as their families mourn, cry over a stranger? There is something you’re not telling me. Rhys and Cassian can see it, what are you not telling me? I want so badly to be on your side, please, tell me, who are you? ”

               You felt tears fall down your face, because he’s only saying this because he was drugged. “Azriel, I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.” You whispered, “I’m different than I was under the mountain.”

               Azriel nodded, head leaning back as he winced in pain. You grabbed his hand, not asking for permission, and pulled away his pain. You thought of your family, your last memories with them. Your mother, father and two brothers sitting at the table. Your brothers throwing food at each other whenever your parents weren’t looking, trying to get it into each other’s mouths, and trying to hide your laughter so your parents wouldn’t notice. You could feel him sigh in relief and fall unconscious. You sighed in relief, playing the memory again in your head, missing who you were 50 years ago.

               You woke up with a gasp, the pain from Azriel’s injuries tearing through your back. How did he deal with this much pain without even showing it? You snuck outside past Azriel’s sleeping form, and grabbed some snow into the pack that you had used for Azriel, hoping the cold would help your back.

               After shoveling some of the snow into the pack, you felt a presence behind you and looked up, seeing Azriel in the doorway. “Are you feeling bet-“

               “What did you do to me?” Azriel growled, walking down the three steps to confront you in the snow. “Who were those people? What did you do?”

               “You were poisoned Azriel, I just…I gave you some snow to cool you down and tried to get rid of the infection.” You looked up at him, trying to find the man who you had spoken to so truthfully a few hours before. “You were a little confused, which is expected.”

               He shook his head, “who was that family? Is that another family you killed?” he spat, and you froze in place. You didn’t realize that you had shown him that. “Forgot I asked. Don’t ever touch me again. Get back in here so I don’t have to protect your ass if someone else comes around to kill us.”

               You nodded, leaving the pack in the snow and making your way back up to the cabin. You could feel the chills start but could feel how physically hot your body felt. You laid down on the floor, where you were previously right next to the fire. Azriel stood next to the door, watching you intently like you might try to run away.  

               “Are you alright? You’re shaking.” Azriel stated, and you nodded. He walked over to you, hesitating then placing his hand on your forehead for a brief second. “Y/N, you’re burning up. We need to take off some of these layers.”

               You couldn’t find it in yourself to argue as Azriel ripped off your leathers, freezing at what he saw. He turned you over, but you were pale and nearly unconscious. You could hazily see a hint of worry on his face as you passed out.

The flight back was torturous, the pain had started shortly after you woke up, and with each pound of Azriel’s wings another wave of pain went through you. You noticed that for the first time, you were warm and Azriel kept you close to his chest. You could feel how slow your heart rate was, and the growing pain made your realize that maybe this trip would be the end for you.

“Hey Azzie” You whispered, looking up at him. He was truly so beautiful, especially with he early morning sunrise reflecting off his features and the small beads of sweat. “Are you hurting at all?”

“No Y/N, I’m fine.” He stated, looking down at you confused. “Azzie? Where is this coming from?”

“I think Azzie would be a fun nickname.” You laughed before groaning in pain. “I just wanted to tell you something really important.”

“And what is that?” He looked down at you, if you looked like how you felt, then you could understand the growing concern in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? We could have left last night.”

“I don’t want to argue, please.” You whispered, trying to get closer to him. You felt cold and hot at the same time. “Those people I showed you- I did kill them in a way.” His arms stiffened but you continued. “That was my last good memory before I…. became a murderer. I didn’t protect them, I left and they came and attacked and I was the only one brought under the mountain.” The pain in your chest matched the pain in your back. “I couldn’t take away their pain, I couldn’t hold them as they died, I will never forgive myself.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Azriel whispered, you sighed and closed your eyes again, listening to the thumping of his wings. “Why didn’t you just use the antidote on yourself too, I could have handled it.”

“I can’t use it on me.” You whispered, before falling back unconscious.    

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

               “I need help in here!” Azriel’s voice boomed, causing you to stir and groan from your position in his arms. “Rhysand!”

               You heard thumping and were placed on a soft surface; you felt a warm hand against your cheek and found yourself leaning into it. Then the pain started, and you felt yourself writhe as the poison worked its way through your back.

               “I’m not sure what happened, one minute she was fine.” You heard Azriel say in a panicked voice, “then she’s shaking from the cold, no matter how hot I turned up the fire. She has a fever, and her skin is cold to the touch. She has been delirious for the past two hours of the flight, talking about forgiveness and you and Cassian knowing the truth. What is going on Rhys?”

               You could feel a set of hands on your back and you screamed in pain as they tried to flip you over. “Don’t do that! You’re hurting her!” You heard a voice yell, and you tried to keep your mouth shut to prevent any more noises from escaping.             

               “High lord, I’m going to need to him out of here if he can’t control himself.” You heard the women say, you recognized her voice, was that the healer?

               “Azriel, what else happened?” Rhys voice asked, you realized that you couldn’t open your eyes, but you weren’t in as much pain, Rhys must be doing something to you.  

               “We were attacked on the way back; I took three arrows to the wing but she didn’t say anything. Hell, I didn’t even see an arrow go towards her.” You could hear, maybe it was worry, in his voice. “Then she healed me somehow, but she didn’t heal herself. She couldn’t tell me why.” You felt a hand grab yours, and from the ridges of skin there could tell it was Azriel.

               “Please, help her.” You heard him whisper.

               “Madja, Y/N an absorber healer, she’s been poisoned.” Rhys instructs; you hear a gasp from the healer.

               “By the cauldrons, I have never met one before, they are so rare.” You hear her say.

               Despite Rhys’s efforts, you feel another wave of pain shoot down your back, but you keep your mouth closed to avoid screaming. “Azriel- get out.” Rhys shouted, and you tried to shake your head in objection. You need Azriel, you gripped his hand tighter, or tried to in your half-conscious state.

               You felt your shirt rip open, and then your hand was released, and steps were taken away from you. “Rhys- what are those- why does she have all those scars on her back?”

               “She can explain when she wakes up.”

               You woke up with a start, a scream on your lips. “Y/N, you’re okay.” A voice said, and you felt two hands rest on your shoulders. You snapped your head to see, Azriel? You looked around, you were in your room, but a chair had been pulled up next to the bed.

               “How long…”

               “3 days.” Azriel stated, settling back down into the chair.

               You nodded, “and…why are you in my room?” You looked around, cautiously looking back at him. He looked…incredulous.

               “Oh I don’t know, maybe I’m just making sure you wake up.” Azriel cocked his head to the side, anger filling his eyes. “Why would you do that Y/N? I would have been perfectly fine, but you almost got yourself killed, you had no right to do that to yourself on my behalf!”

               “It’s not like I can help it!” Your voice was hoarse, and you winced at the scratchiness In your throat. He grabbed a cup of water for you on the nightstand, and you drank almost the whole thing. “Azriel- can I be honest?”

               “Please do, I need a good explanation.” He retorted, sarcasm lacing his tone. His shadows were surrounding you, but seemed almost- relieved.

               “I can’t watch people in pain.” You whispered, “Watching you in pain killed me inside, and even though you hate and can’t stand to be around me, I couldn’t just watch you go through that.”

               “I did hate you.” Azriel says, grabbing your hand. “How else was I supposed to feel? You had killed people I knew, people with families, tortured for fun and acted like you enjoyed it. Hell- I think the whole court hated you.”

               You looked down, nodding, tears in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

               “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Y/n.” You looked up, locking eyes with Azriel, “I was such an idiot, the signs were there, and you’re a terrible liar. When I saw the scars on your back, I – I lost my shit. Literally. I don’t Madja is going to let me anywhere near the healing quarters anytime soon.”

               “I was just trying to help people the only way I knew how.” You whispered, a tear spilling. He nodded, reaching up and cupping your face.

               “I feel like a monster too, I’ve killed and tortured, but I’ve always done it in the name of our court.” He exhaled shakily, giving you a small smile. “But you are kind, and I have just been so frustrated over the past couple of months because I wanted to hate you so much- but couldn’t bring myself to. Watching you laugh with Cassian and Feyre, I felt so helpless like you could never open up to me like that. I literally couldn’t even be in the same room as you, because I felt so…jealous for no reason.”

               “Rhys- when he told me about us going together, I was angry. Angry that he would put you in danger just for the sake of getting us to get along.” You watched anger fill his eyes, “and he almost got you killed.”

               “I’m okay.” You reassured, smiling through the tears that were still falling.

               “just make me a promise, okay?” Azriel released the grip on your face and grabbed your hand, fiercely. “I never want you to take my pain again, or anyones for that matter, okay? My pain is mine to bear, alone.”

               You nodded, feeling some relief. “Thank you Azriel, I…this means a lot to me. I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for so long.”

               “I want to hear everything,” he squeezed your hand again, and you could feel your heart flutter. “I will never let you get hurt again, and honestly…Azriel is so formal. I’m okay with Azzie….as long as its between us.”

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: since it's your seventh year at hogwarts, you have to choose a path for a future job, and you chose to be a healer and help madam pomfrey. you just didn't know remus lupin was a regular patient.

obs: this is going to be a series. here's part two of this story.

masterlist

The hospital wing was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the tall windows. You were already up, sleeves rolled to your elbows as you organized a tray of healing potions. You had been helping Madam Pomfrey for a while now, and despite the occasional sleepless night, you loved every second of it.

This was where you belonged.

Every student at Hogwarts had to choose their paths on future jobs by the seventh year. Some would go with the professors to learn a specific path, like aurors or politics and others would go with Hagrid (if they had interest in magical creatures). It was fun.

You would not spend all your days at the hospital wing, since there were other students helping around Madam Pomfrey. But sometimes you would ignore this fact and just stay around for more hours than needed.

You had just finished restocking the dittany when Madam Pomfrey entered, her expression tight with concern.

“Another patient?” you asked, reaching for a clean cloth and a basin of warm water.

She nodded, already moving toward one of the empty beds. “Yes, and he’s in rough shape. A regular of mine, unfortunately.”

Before you could ask what she meant, the doors swung open, and Madam Pomfrey levitated a limp figure onto the bed.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Remus Lupin.

He looked terrible—his school robes were torn, his face pale and slick with sweat. Bruises and scratches covered his arms, and there was a deep gash along his collarbone, seeping blood onto the sheets. His hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his forehead.

You had seen Remus around, always in the company of his friends, always with a soft smile and warm eyes. He was quieter than the other Marauders, more reserved. But this—this was a side of him you had never seen before.

“Will he be alright?” you asked, stepping closer.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “He always is.”

She glanced at you, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I’ll leave you to clean his wounds. Be gentle with him.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeves further as she walked away.

Gently, you dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it against a cut on his cheek, dabbing away the dried blood. He stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Remus?” you said gently. “Can you hear me?”

He let out a breathy sound before his amber eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with exhaustion, unfocused at first, but as he blinked, they found yours.

“You’re awake,” you said with a small smile, hoping to reassure him.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Where…?”

“The hospital wing,” you answered, still carefully cleaning the wound on his cheek. “Madam Pomfrey brought you in.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he huffed a weak chuckle. “Must be bad if I don’t even remember getting here.”

“You look like you got into a fight with a troll,” you teased lightly.

He smiled faintly. “Did I win?”

“Hard to say. The troll might be in better condition.”

That earned a soft laugh from him, though it ended in a wince.

“Stay still,” you scolded gently. “I need to clean these properly, and that won’t happen if you keep moving.”

“Alright,” he muttered with a small smile, but he did as you said.

You continued working in silence, carefully dabbing at the scratches along his arms. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t complain.

Then, your gaze landed on the wound on his chest—a nasty gash running diagonally across his ribs, partially covered by his torn shirt. You hesitated before clearing your throat.

“Um… I need to get to the wound on your chest,” you said, a little hesitant. “Can you…?”

His tired eyes widened slightly as he realized what you meant. “Oh. Right.”

There was an awkward pause before he weakly reached for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers trembling slightly.

You quickly stopped him, your hands gently brushing his. “Here, let me.”

He stiffened under your touch but didn’t protest as you carefully undid the buttons of his bloodstained shirt. As you pushed the fabric aside, your breath hitched.

His torso was littered with scars, old and new, crisscrossing his skin like a map of past battles. The fresh wound along his ribs was deep, still oozing.

You swallowed hard, trying to push aside the questions burning in your mind. What had done this to him?

Instead of asking, you dipped the cloth in the warm water again and gently pressed it to the wound.

He hissed through his teeth.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I know it stings.”

“It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gentler than Pomfrey, at least.”

You smiled softly. “She believes in tough love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered, his voice slightly strained.

Wanting to distract him, you asked, “So, what do you usually do when you’re not getting yourself nearly killed?”

His lips twitched. “Read, mostly.”

You knew that the best way to distract the patients was by talking to them, about anything, so they could think about something else besides the pain.

“I could’ve guessed that,” you said with a small laugh. “Any favorites?”

He relaxed slightly at the question. “I like Defense Against the Dark Arts. And anything to do with magical creatures.”

“Magical creatures, huh?” You carefully applied the healing salve to his wound. “You don’t seem like the type to go wrestling with a dragon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, definitely not. But I like learning about them.”

You smiled, tying off the last bandage. “Well, you’re all patched up. Try not to move too much.”

Remus let out a long breath, his eyelids growing heavy. “You’re… really kind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Get some rest, Remus.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before they finally closed.

And as you sat beside him, watching over him as he slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Remus Lupin—something hidden beneath the scars and the quiet smiles.

You just didn’t know what it was yet.

The morning was long.

You didn't have any classes this morning, despite still being Tuesday.

You figured it was best to stay by his side.

At least, until lunch, because after that you would have some charms classes.

You sat beside Remus, watching over him as the hours crept by, the hospital wing bathed in moonlight and quiet. His breathing was shallow, his forehead damp with sweat. A fever had settled in not long after he had fallen asleep, and you had spent the past few hours placing cool cloths on his forehead, ensuring he didn’t overheat.

Madam Pomfrey had come in once to check on him, nodded approvingly at your dedication, and left you to it.

You didn’t mind.

There was something about watching over him—something that made you feel… protective. Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before drifting off, like he wasn’t used to someone being this kind to him.

Or maybe it was just that he seemed to carry too much weight for someone so young.

You sighed, dipping the cloth in cool water again and pressing it lightly to his forehead. He shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing, but he didn’t wake.

A soft murmur left his lips—too quiet for you to catch.

You leaned closer. “Remus?”

He didn’t respond, just turned his head slightly, a faint crease between his brows. His fingers twitched where they rested by his side.

“Nightmare?” you whispered, watching his expression.

You wanted to reach for his hand, to soothe him, but you hesitated. Instead, you gently ran your fingers through his damp hair, hoping the touch might calm whatever dream he was trapped in.

Slowly, his features relaxed again.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And so, you sat there, watching over him, making sure he didn’t shift too much in his sleep or try to tear off the bandages in unconscious discomfort.

You kept taking care of the other students there, it was almost lunch time when your eyes glanced toward Remus—only to find his amber eyes already on you.

You came closer, staying by his side on the bed. “You’re awake.”

His lips curled slightly. “Yeah, unfortunately” His voice was rough with sleep.

You gave him a small smile. “How do you feel?”

He hesitated, as if he was actually assessing himself. “Like I got into a fight with a brick wall and lost.”

You smiled. “Well, you look better than some hours ago”

His brows lifted slightly. “Was I that bad?”

You gave him a look. “You had a fever, you were shifting in your sleep, and I had to stop you from undoing your own bandages twice.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did that?”

You nodded. “You don’t remember?”

“Not at all.” He looked both embarrassed and surprised. His gaze flickered toward the bowl of water and the pile of damp cloths beside it. “You stayed all morning?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s part of the job.”

He studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Madam Pomfrey would’ve done it if it was just ‘part of the job.’ You chose to stay.”

You hesitated. “…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His breath hitched slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if trying to figure out how to respond.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

Your heart warmed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he said, holding your gaze. “No one’s ever… done that for me before.”

The weight of his words settled between you.

You frowned slightly. “What about James? Sirius?”

“They’re great,” he said immediately, but then he hesitated. “…They don’t see this part of me. I don’t let them.”

Something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you reached out, brushing your fingers over the bandage on his arm. “You don’t have to hide when you’re hurt, especially not from me or what else i won't know how to help.”

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Finally, he smiled—small, but real. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You returned the smile. “Good. Now, do you think you can eat something, or do I need to force-feed you porridge?”

He chuckled. “I’ll eat. If only to avoid that fate.”

You grinned. “I’ll go get you something.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Remus was still staring at the doorway where you had disappeared when you returned, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands.

“Alright, hospital food isn’t exactly a feast, but it’s warm, and you need it,” you said as you placed the tray on his bedside table.

Remus sat up a little, wincing as he adjusted his position. He looked down at the tray—porridge, toast, and a steaming cup of tea.

You noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re picky.”

He smirked faintly. “No, just… hospital food isn’t usually something to look forward to.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just try a little bit, alright?”

With an amused chuckle, he picked up the spoon and took a tentative bite of the porridge. It wasn’t terrible, which was the best compliment he could give it.

As he ate, you had already moved on, fussing over the other students in the ward.

“Drink more water, Gabe, you’ll feel better faster.”

“Maggie, you’re supposed to rest, not reread your Transfiguration notes.”

“Barty, don’t poke at your stitches, I swear to Merlin—”

Remus found himself watching you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You were different.

It wasn’t just that you were kind—you loved this. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you spoke to everyone, the way you cared. It was like second nature to you, tending to people, making sure they were comfortable.

And yet… you were also a normal student. That much was obvious.

It hit him suddenly—he’d seen you around before. Not just in passing, but in the places he liked best. The library, tucked away in the quietest corners, flipping through thick medical textbooks and advanced Potions guides. The Astronomy Tower, where the view was the clearest. The courtyard, always with a book in your hands.

You weren’t just here. You were everywhere.

How did you balance it all?

Remus was still lost in thought when a hand appeared in front of his face.

He blinked and looked up.

You were standing there, a familiar-looking chocolate bar in your hand.

“Madam Pomfrey sent this,” you said with a smile. “She said it would help you feel better.”

Something warm settled in his chest.

He took the chocolate from you, running his fingers over the wrapper before glancing up at you. “She actually let you give it to me instead of forcing it on me herself?”

“She’s busy,” you said, shrugging. “But I think she knows I’d make you eat it either way.”

Remus chuckled, unwrapping the chocolate and breaking off a piece. As soon as it melted on his tongue, he sighed.

“Better?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Much,” he admitted.

You smiled in satisfaction before sitting on the edge of his bed. “So… I have a question.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were sharing a secret. “How do you do it?”

Remus blinked. “Do what?”

“Everything,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, you’re top of the class, always reading, and somehow, you still have time to get into whatever mischief your friends drag you into.”

Remus smirked. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious.”

He considered you for a moment before shrugging. “I guess… I don’t really think about it. I just do what I need to do.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

There was a comfortable silence between you.

Then, Remus glanced down at the chocolate in his hand. “You know… I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Not even your friends?”

He hesitated. “They try. But I don’t let them.”

“Why not?”

His fingers tightened slightly around the wrapper. “Because… I don’t want them to worry.”

You frowned. “That’s a terrible reason.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

You would say something else, but some other patient called. You smiled before turning around and going around to help others.

Hours later, the hospital wing was quieter. Most of the students had left, and Remus, finally feeling somewhat human again, was sitting on the edge of his bed, stretching his sore limbs.

You stood in front of him, holding a neatly folded set of fresh Hogwarts robes.

“Well, you look better,” you observed. “Still a bit pale, though.”

“I’m always pale,” he said dryly, though he smirked.

“Fair point,” you said, handing him the uniform. “Come on, get changed. You can’t walk around looking like you just wrestled a hippogriff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Just change, Lupin.”

He chuckled but stood, wincing slightly as he moved. You turned around, giving him privacy as he carefully removed the old ripped uniform he was using from earlier, and pulled on his new uniform. His movements were slow, careful not to aggravate his still-healing injuries.

After a few moments, he let out a small sigh. “Alright. You can turn around.”

You turned, scanning him critically before nodding in approval. “Much better.”

“You sound like Madam Pomfrey,” he said, amused.

You gasped in mock horror. “Take that back!”

“Never.”

You huffed but smiled, grabbing your bag from the chair. You had already changed into your uniform earlier, ready to head to class. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “But I want to.”

His lips parted slightly, but no argument came.

He liked your company.

So, instead of protesting, he simply nodded. “Alright then. Lead the way, healer”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but walked beside him as you both left the hospital wing.

The corridors were bustling with students heading to their next classes. You and Remus walked side by side, keeping a comfortable pace.

“So,” you started, adjusting the strap of your bag, “what’s your favorite class?”

Remus hummed. “That’s an easy one—Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

You grinned. “I should’ve guessed. You do always get top marks in it.”

He shrugged. “It’s practical. Useful.”

“Okay, but what about for fun?” you asked, tilting your head. “Not just what’s useful—what do you enjoy?”

He hesitated, then said, “I like Charms.”

You brightened. “Me too! It’s so satisfying when you finally get a spell just right.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “And you?”

“Besides Charms? I love Potions,” you said. “It’s precise, methodical… and it helps with Healing. I like that.”

Remus smiled. “That makes sense. You’re really good at it.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You noticed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… yeah. I mean, you’re always top of the class, and I have seen you brewing in the library before.”

You chuckled. “Guilty. I like experimenting.”

“What’s the best potion you’ve made?”

You thought for a moment. “Probably a modified Wiggenweld Potion. I adjusted it to work faster without causing side effects.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s incredible.”

You shrugged, but his praise made you warm inside.

“What about books?” you asked. “I know you’re a reader.”

He smirked. “What gave it away?”

You laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I always see you in the library with your nose buried in a book?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I like anything about magical creatures, honestly.”

You nodded. “I can see that. You seem like the type to befriend a werewolf or something.”

Remus nearly tripped.

You didn’t notice, continuing, “I love medical books, obviously. But for fun? I like Muggle literature.”

He recovered quickly, forcing himself to focus. “Muggle literature?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “There’s this Muggle author—Stephen King. Have you heard of him?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “I have! The shining is brilliant.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I grew up in a half-Muggle household. My mum had loads of Muggle books.”

“Oh, I love that,” you said excitedly. “Okay, tell me—what do you think of Jack Torrance?”

Remus chuckled. “Misunderstood, the man was literally being controlled by evil spirits”

You gasped dramatically. “Correct answer. I knew I liked you, Lupin.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard, but you just laughed, nudging him playfully.

He laughed too, shaking his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

Before he knew it, you had reached your classroom.

You stopped at the door, turning to face him. “Well, this is me.”

He nodded, suddenly wishing you had a further walk.

“Thanks for walking with me,” you said with a smile. “And take care of yourself, okay?”

Something about the way you said it made his chest tighten.

He nodded. “You too.”

With a final smile, you turned and disappeared into the classroom.

Remus stood there for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Then, with thoughts of you still swirling in his mind, he dragged himself to his own class, already looking forward to the next time he saw you.

Getting closer.

The days passed, and somehow, without either of you truly realizing it, you and Remus had begun to gravitate toward each other.

It wasn’t a conscious decision—at least, that’s what Remus told himself.

At first, it was small things.

You’d see each other in the library, sitting a few tables apart, until one of you would move closer—always under the excuse of needing a book the other was using.

You’d pass each other in the halls, exchanging small smiles, sometimes stopping for a brief chat about classes, assignments, or whatever book you were reading that week.

Remus, always more reserved, didn’t say much in the beginning. He would listen as you talked, and surprisingly, he never got tired of hearing you speak. You had this way of filling the silence without overwhelming it.

And what fascinated him the most?

You never got bored of him.

Most people—besides his closest friends—didn’t have the patience for his quiet nature, for his habit of getting lost in thought, for the way he preferred books over crowds. But you never seemed to mind.

If anything, you enjoyed talking to him.

And Remus liked listening to you.

Slowly but surely, Remus began seeking you out.

If he saw you in the Great Hall, he’d wave you over. If you passed each other in the corridors, he’d slow his steps so you could walk together. If he spotted you alone in the common room, he’d sit beside you, pulling out a book without a word.

And you? You found yourself looking for him, too.

One evening, you sat at your usual table in the library, a thick Potions book open in front of you. You were muttering ingredients under your breath, trying to memorize an antidote recipe, when a familiar figure slid into the seat across from you.

“You talk to your books a lot,” Remus observed, setting his own book down.

You looked up, smirking. “And yet, you still sit with me. What does that say about you?”

He chuckled. “That I’m patient?”

“Or that you secretly enjoy my rambling.”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe.”

You grinned, flipping a page. “What are you reading?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he said, holding up the book.

You raised an eyebrow. “Planning on running off to become a Magizoologist?”

“Not quite,” he said, amused. “I just like creatures.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “If you could be any magical creature, what would you be?”

He hesitated for a second. “A werewolf.”

You blinked, surprised. “A werewolf?”

He nodded slowly, studying your face. “Yeah. They’re misunderstood. People assume they’re just mindless monsters, but… they’re not.”

You frowned slightly, considering his words. “You’re right. They don’t choose to be that way.”

Remus swallowed hard, watching you carefully. “You don’t think they’re evil?”

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think… I think most of them are probably just scared. And lonely.”

Something in Remus’s chest ached. He had never heard anyone say that before.

“You’re… different,” he said softly.

You gave him a curious look. “Different how?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You just… are.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s a very vague answer, Lupin.”

He chuckled. “It’s the best you’re getting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I’m sure you will.”

You eyed him suspiciously but let it go. “Well, I’d be a phoenix.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They heal people,” you said simply. “And they always come back.”

He stared at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, quietly, “That suits you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

For a brief second, neither of you spoke.

Then, he cleared his throat, turning his attention back to his book. “You were mumbling potion ingredients earlier. Studying for something?”

You exhaled, shaking off the strange warmth in your chest. “Yes. Madam Pomfrey’s quizzing me tomorrow, and I cannot mix up the bezoar antidotes again.”

Remus smirked. “Do you want me to test you?”

Your eyes lit up. “Would you?”

He nodded, and for the next hour, he quizzed you, throwing in the occasional joke just to make you laugh.

The Marauders.

Of course, being friends with Remus meant that you were friends with the Marauders now.

One evening, you sat cross-legged on the Gryffindor common room floor, surrounded by parchment and books. Remus sat beside you, his own notes scattered around. Across from you, James Potter and Sirius Black were sprawled on the couch, watching you both with lazy amusement. Peter Pettigrew sat on the armrest, nibbling on a biscuit.

“So, let me get this straight,” James said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You spend your free time—voluntarily, I might add—working in the hospital wing?”

You looked up from your parchment, raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“And you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

James exchanged a look with Sirius, who smirked. “Merlin’s beard, Moony, you’ve found your twin.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Because enjoying something that requires effort is such a crime?”

“No, but we just assumed no one else was as much of a workaholic as you,” Sirius teased.

You snorted. “I love what I do, thank you very much.”

Peter perked up. “Does that mean you’re good at Potions?”

“She’s brilliant,” Remus answered before you could, flipping a page in his book.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, that’s good to know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

James leaned forward, an eager look in his eyes. “Because we need a potioneer for our next prank.”

You stared at him. “You want me to help you prank people?”

“Yes,” Sirius said smoothly, “because you’re cool.”

Remus made a sound like he was choking on his own breath. “Cool?”

James ignored him. “Think about it. You brew us something—nothing harmful, just a little mischief—and we execute it.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Would this be used on everyone or just specific people?”

“Filch,” Peter answered immediately. “And Snivellus.”

You hummed. “No harm, no permanent damage?”

James put a hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

You smirked. “I could make an odorless dye potion that only reacts to moonlight.”

Sirius gasped in delight. “That’s genius.”

“Imagine Snape walking around, thinking nothing’s wrong, and then—BAM—his face turns green under the full moon,” James cackled.

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll owe me chocolate.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Deal.”

Remus sighed, looking at you with an exasperated but amused expression. “You do realize you’re enabling them?”

“Oh, I know,” you said innocently. “But it’s fun.”

James grinned. “She’s one of us now, Moony.”

Remus looked at you, then at them, then sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Merlin help us all.”

[00valentina-writes00]

Angry Hot steamy shower sex with sevika.

♡♥︎Drenched in Heat♥︎♡

Warnings: Angry sex, fingering, brief thigh grinding, rip your clothing

“You never fucking listen.”

Your voice cuts through the sound of the shower, steam curling thick in the air, but Sevika barely flinches. She stands under the spray, back turned to you, muscles taut with frustration. Her broad shoulders rise and fall with controlled breaths, tension coiling through her frame like a storm barely held at bay. Water glides over her skin in rivulets, tracing the deep lines of her scars, the sharp edges of her strength.

You’re both pissed, the heat between you smoldering, and yet you still can’t walk away.

Sevika lets out a low, humorless chuckle before shaking her head. “And you never know when to shut up.” Her voice is rough, cutting through the thick humidity with ease.

You scoff. “Oh, fuck you—”

Before you can finish, she turns, crossing the small space between you in two steps, and wrenches the glass shower door open. The heat from the water rushes against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in her eyes. In one fluid motion, she grips your wrist and yanks you in, slamming the door shut behind you.

“Sevika—!”

She doesn’t give you a chance to finish. Her hands are on you—hot, demanding, rough as she shoves your soaked clothes off, peeling them from your skin like they’re nothing more than an inconvenience. The second you’re bare, she crowds you back against the glass, the cool surface biting against your heated skin.

“You got something else to say?” she growls, pressing her thigh between your legs, the firm muscle flexing against your cunt.

Your breath hitches, fingers curling against her wet, scarred skin, nails digging in. “Fuck you,” you bite out, even as your hips rock against her leg.

Sevika grins, but there’s no warmth in it—just something sharp, predatory. “Yeah?” Her metal hand clamps around your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to hold her gaze. Water drips from her dark hair, trailing down her scarred jawline, past the deep groove of her throat. “Then shut up and take it.”

Her mouth crashes against yours, teeth catching your bottom lip, sucking, biting hard enough to make you gasp. The kiss is angry, messy, all tongue and heat, her breath warm and heavy as she swallows your moans. She rolls her hips into you, her soaked skin slick against yours, and the friction makes you dizzy.

Her hand slides down between your thighs without hesitation, fingers parting your folds, groaning when she finds you already drenched—not just from the water. “Always so fucking wet for me,” she mutters, lips ghosting against your jaw.

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s breathless, needy.

Sevika chuckles, a low, taunting sound, before she sinks two thick fingers inside you. The stretch is immediate, delicious, the intrusion rough but perfect, and your nails dig into her biceps, desperate for something to ground you. She sets a brutal pace, fucking you against the glass, the slick sounds of your arousal mixing with the steady patter of water hitting tile.

“That’s it,” she rasps, voice thick with satisfaction. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Your back arches, hips grinding down against her fingers, chasing every deep, curling thrust. The glass door fogs up behind you, your body pressing smudged imprints against it as she fucks you harder. Her metal hand grips your hip tight, keeping you pinned, forcing you to take every inch of her fingers stretching you open.

“Fuck, Sevika—”

She cuts you off with her mouth, her teeth scraping your throat, biting down just enough to make you jolt. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she murmurs against your skin, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “So desperate now, huh?”

You whimper, legs shaking, your body tightening around her fingers. She can feel it, knows exactly how close you are, but she doesn’t let up. If anything, she fucks you deeper, curling her fingers just right, dragging filthy, wet sounds from your cunt with every thrust.

“You gonna cum for me?” Her voice is a rasp against your ear, her thigh still pressed firmly against your clit.

Your fingers claw at her back, barely able to hold yourself up as she ruins you against the shower door. “Sevika—fuck, I—”

But she already knows. Her grip tightens, her pace unforgiving, and she doesn’t stop until you’re falling apart in her arms, pleasure slamming through you so hard it steals the breath from your lungs. You convulse around her fingers, back arching, moaning into her mouth as she swallows every broken sound.

Only when your body sags against her does she slow, pulling her fingers out, her smirk sharp and satisfied. She drags her hand up your thigh, slick with your release, and smears it against your stomach before bringing her fingers to her lips, sucking them clean with a hum of approval.

“Still mad?” she asks, raising a brow.

You glare at her, but it’s weak, your legs still trembling. “Fuck you,” you mutter.

[rebelssvy]

addicted ✧.*

nanami x reader ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

added twt links !!!

summary: nanami was going out of town and had you recreate his fave porn so he could record. a little spanking, sex, oral sex fem receiving, he finishes in u.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

this came from an ask. i am working on the second part of it now, ukai version. save urself. this was also my first full jjk fic!!! lmk what u think

nanami had an actual problem. he was addicted to your pussy.

he was going on a mission soon, and the though of not having you clamping down on his cock every night brought him close to tears. he’s never been this emotionally distraught in his life. finally an idea struck his mind.

“my love?” he said as you two were cuddling in bed. your wine glass was on the counter next to you. deeply immersed in his love you lazily turned to face him.

“yes?” your voice alone did things to him. ungodly things. things that made him go heavy in the head.

“my mission is coming up soon and… i just keep thinking about how much im gonna miss you.” he said rolling over to put his head in the pillows. arm still draped over you.

you could tell the man was in heat. he was always so obvious with it. the way he would get al obsessed with you. and trust me he’s always obsessed with you. there was no doubt in your mind that he loved you. but there was somthing different about the way he yearned for you.

he was truly irresistible though.

“baby?” you tapped him on the shoulder to look up at you. his face was all flushed and his hair was ragged. fuck. he was perfect.

“hmm?” he mumbled, all drawn out. the next words that were going to come out of you were going to be truly shocking to him.

“wanna fuck me and record it for when you go away?” the smile on your face was blinding as you watched his entire demeanor change.

“fuckk babe that was the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.” he said before instantly pulling out his phone. you stopped him short.

“mmhmh not yet baby… first.. lets get some inspiration.” taking his phone out of his hands. you unlocked it and went straight to the compilation of porn he had ‘hidden’ on his phone. you knew where it was a week into dating him. only just recently have you been sending eachother videos labeled ‘when r we trying this?’

excitement filled your gut. all of your body stood on end as you scrolled though his personal collection. all his kinks, all his thoughts and secrets on a screen.

some of the videos added were new. you hadn’t seen them before. like this one of a girl practically jumping up and down on her bfs dick. fuck. that shit was hot. “i imagined fuckin you like that… after work and i come home an ur al hot f’me.” he slurred like he was drunk. but he was just drunk off your pussy. not even close to touching you and he was al riled up like a dog in heat.

the next one was foul. a girl chained up to a chair as the man had his cock buried in her underwear. pinching her clit tight and smacking her ass. you didn’t know he watched stuff like this. especially since he was normally all vanilla with you. his voice rang out in your ears when he spoke. “i’m sorry darling that one…. isn’t like me. i just can’t get it out of my head though… my pretty girl all tied up to my desk in my office… fuckkk. god let me touch you.” the way he rambled on you knew he was way past his limit.

you went to set his phone down but he cut you off. “no. keep watching. i’m gonna play with you and your gonna keep watching porn. got that?” you gasped at how demanding he was. he really truly normally wasn’t like this. it was.. hot.

“okay…” you said, hesitant.

you scrolled as he kissed and licked all your open skin. taking his sweet his taking off your undergarments. when you were fully naked he spent several seconds just staring at you before touching you. your wettness pooled as he then spread your legs. looking the most eager he ever has he licked your pussy. smacking on your clit and tounge fucking you.

“keep watching my phone baby.” he said into your sloppy cunt. brining two fingers to your hole, before putting them in.

it was hard to concentrate on the, man 69 his girl. when nanami was groaning under you. just from your taste. you forcefully pried your eyes back onto the screen.

you gasped when you came across a video so unholy you tightened around his fingers. “fuck me like this! please an- and record it! pleasee babe…” you held up the video to him, a girl getting so pounded her face was pushed into the couch.

he groaned under you. “fuck babe… i have dreamt of doing that to you. fuckin ur pussy al raw…” he mumbled to himself before pulling you into a missionary position. it was more intimate. you didn’t mind. but you wanted to be fucked tonight.

he pulled out his phone, his demeanor changed. suddenly, a fire filled his eyes. slapping his stop on your clit. he recorded everything. your face, your body, your wet fucking cunt. god. you needed him.

“please… i need ur cock…” you were suddenly camera shy. you didn’t know how to act anymore.

“want it so fuckin bad…?” he mumbled before shoving himself balls deep into you. the movement was harsh. your back arched into him. he was girthy. sometimes he was too much. you screamed out. not looking at the camera.

“…look at me baby..” he mumbled, phone in hand pounding into you. you let your head fall back.

“when i say look at the camera..” his voice was sharper, before he laid a soft little slap on your spred pussy. “- u fuckin look at the camera.” that movement awoke somthing in you.

“fuck na-! harder. slap me harder.” you moaned out. as if he wasn’t already balls deep in your sopping cunt.. he pounded you at rapid speed now.

almost like that angle wasn’t enough, he turned out over onto your face, ass up, like the girl in the video.

“fuck me! nanami~ fuck i’m gonna miss your fat cock…!” you moaned out to him. the words went straight to his cock and he fucked you like it.

his pace changed rapidly, grabbing into on of your arms with his free hand, he propped the camera up with the other. getting a clear view of you taking his cock like his little doll. you watched in the phones reflection of you getting pounded. your wet pussy getting torn apart.

it was all overwhelming you came on his cock without recognizing. the pressure was too great. it was too much. you were approaching your second orgasm. you went to warn him but no words came out of your mouth. just moans and gasps. plowing for your second orgasm, the way your tight pussy clenched on his fat fucking cock made him burie his load deep in your cunt. his liquid filled u up to the brim. almost too fucked out to hear his ple’s behind you.

“god y’ur so fuckin perfect.. this pussy- all mine. fuck yes all mine…” he mumbled over and over.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

ukai ver. soon…

[maniculum]

This resonates with me as my extended family has a similar fixation on preserving family names — though they’re not as creative with it, I have to say. There’s no Roy-Emmet-Jack rotation or first-syllable approach, just “well whose name hasn’t been passed on to the next generation? great, that’s the baby’s name now.” And nobody’s as bad off as poor Breathnach Thomas.

I have a couple cousins with unusual or old-fashioned names that get funny looks — I’ve had multiple exchanges along the lines of “your cousin WHO? did you mean [more common name that kinda rhymes with what I said]?” “no i did not.” A bunch of us go by our middle names for one reason or another. Two of my cousins-once-removed have entirely normal, common first names that I genuinely don’t remember because they’ve been referred to by their middle names since infancy despite those middle names sounding like last names. I have one cousin whose first & middle names are both common but also firmly gendered in different directions: I won’t dox them, but it’s along the lines of “Frederick Jane Lastname” because there was a traditionally-female name that needed to be given to someone and the only available baby was AMAB. My sibling ended up joining the “go by the middle name that sounds like a last name” crew a while back, but that was for gender reasons.

I’ve got one of the more inconvenient-for-paperwork names, actually, which I’ll explain under a cut because I ended up going on a bit.

See, my grandfather was named after his maternal grandfather. And his mother had changed her name when she got married, but wanted to give her son his grandfather’s full name, so he ended up with two middle names. Firstname Middlename Maidenname Lastname. Nobody really liked the sound of “Firstname”, though, so he always went by Maidenname Lastname. Then he named his son the same thing, who named his son the same thing, so I’m Firstname Middlename Maidenname Lastname III. All of us agree that Firstname isn’t a good one, so we all go by variants of Maidenname Lastname. (Which means we’re all also on Team “Middle Name That Sounds Like A Last Name Used As A First Name”.)

The maiden name in question — I’ve almost certainly mentioned on the podcast what “Mac” is short for, but rather than dox myself in a text post, let’s say it’s “McKenzie”. Convenient in that it contains two syllables that are at least semi-normal names. So my grandfather always shortened it to “Mac”, and then to differentiate, rather than use one of the other surplus names, my father went by [not actually] “Ken”. My father once told me that he pitched the idea of using the last syllable for me (not actually “Zie”, but something else that in no way passes as a standard name) but was vetoed, so I’ve always been another Mac.

You would be surprised how many forms, both physical and electronic, are against the idea of two middle names. I’ve seen my second middle name squished into my first middle name to make a single word, or hyphenated with my last name, or just deleted — which is unfortunate because it’s the one I actually use. (I fully agree with my father & grandfather that “McKenzie Lastname” is the best-sounding use of our nomenclature inventory.) So I’m constantly explaining to various bureaucrats that yes, this thing that says “Mac” is referring to me, I know your system says my name is Firstname, but I go by my middle name (a practice that is in itself apparently less common than i always thought growing up) — it’s short for McKenzie — yes, I know that your system doesn’t say my middle name is McKenzie, it wasn’t designed to handle four-part names and just deleted that one — yes i’ll hold.

When I was younger, I wanted to change my name to get away from the problem — my idea was to just chop off both the first name and the last name, then I’d have the entirely normal-sounding Middlename McKenzie — but never got around to it, mostly because I was also worried that a name change could just multiply my paperwork complications. Once I’d committed to an academic career, though, I kind of came around on it, because if I just use the first two names as initials, “X. X. McKenzie Lastname” turns out to look pretty good as an author name on papers & such.

The latest paperwork issue has been how this interacts with my current employer’s “preferred name” form. It doesn’t let you enter a full preferred name (like “X. X. McKenzie Lastname”) and say “okay use that one”, and it doesn’t have a “just use my middle name for everything” option. So it turns out that the only way HR could get the system to call me “McKenzie Lastname” was to tell the computer my name was actually McKenzie Middlename McKenzie Lastname. I’ve decided to live with it.

Random question, could you give some ideas on Irish names your family may have in the 1950-60s? I got a character with an Irish grandpa with 9 brothers and sisters (3 brothers and 6 sisters) and I only got the oldest sister name (soairse) and his name (Caine). I guess I could just name the rest some form of jack and Margret since those seem to be popular, but I wanted to see if there were some “interesting” names you found in your family tree that maybe one of the siblings got named after some ancestor?

Firstly for the sake of clarity: I'm American, not Irish. All of my ancestors for the last 4-5 generations have lived here, and while I like learning about the language/music/culture, I am absolutely not an expert. I HIGHLY recommend getting a sensitivity reader, I'm sure someone in the comments can wave at you if they're willing to take on the job.

Second, Triple-check the spelling, pronunciation, meaning and provenance of any names you do choose, and ABSOLUTELY DO NOT TRUST ANY BABY NAME WEBSITES, they're basically all AI slop at best. The best written-down lists and meanings are actually on Wikipedia.

Third: If you want to learn more Irish names, you can look up the names of like, any Irish musician or artist. I think spotify still has Genre Playlists, if you look up "Irish Folk" you'll get a shitload of names of Real Irish people- and hey, if Hirohiko Akari can name all his characters after 80's pop bands, you can make a subtle ref to modern musicians. Also you'll get a bunch of fun music! --- So while I was writing this, I somewhat departed from the intent of this response, and am putting the last point under a cut because the post got long. And weird.

So there is a thing in Irish-american families, and I think it's true in the British isles still where there are "Family Names", where the same set of first names is recycled over and over and over across generations. My dad's family has exactly three male names that they rotate through over the generations: Roy, Emmet and Jack*. In that order, where the son takes the father's first name as his middle name. My great-grandfather was Roy Jack Surname, my grandfather was Emmet Roy Surname, and my dad is Jack Emmet. My sister and I were AFAB, so the names skipped us and my male cousin in my generation is now Roy Jack. In the event that there are more than three living men with the same surname in the family, that's when they start reaching for the Given Names Of In-Laws We Like and might introduce a new name into the lineup.

*Names changed for privacy above and hereafter, but you get the idea.

So if any of your characters are descendants of that grandpa? They may share a first or middle name with one of his siblings. in fact, they may share the SAME first and middle name with a living relative, and be called "Junior" or "Young Firstname" to distinguish them from the relative they were named after.

My mom's family is from England and has a similar tradition: any new girl born into that family gets a name that is based on the name of one of her living female relatives, usually by sharing the same first letter or syllable. Elanor after Eloise, Vivian after Virginia, and also Jenny after Virgnia via 'Ginny' and every variation of Margret ever, which there are way more of than you'd think.

I cannot recommend doing what they did with Male names though: Name literally every boy Bob* for like five generations, and distinguish individuals by middle name (Bob-Howard and Bob-Benjamin) surname (Bob-Jones and Bob-Bailey) or Honorific (Captain Bob, Dr. Bob, Bob Jr.) when yelling out the kitchen window.

Most families have to good sense to not have the same name repeated in a generation, even if it has a shitload of nicknames. A mother and daughter might both be Margrets (with different nicknames), but two sisters or cousins wouldn't be.

If you've got in-laws you like, but their surname didn't carry over to their kids, you can also just use their surname as a first name! "Regan" is a first and last name, as are Riley and Bailey. This works out in some cases but not in others:

I have a pretty rare surname- last time I checked, there's only 14 people with it worldwide. It's similar to two other VERY COMMON Irish Surnames, but spelled different and from a different region. It's also Very Definitely A Surname- nobody would see my surname alone and think its a firstname.

Since I don't want to bandy it about, we'll pretend that it's "Breathnach", which has a similar vibe.

My Iowa family is Enormous and all descended from my Great-Aunt Lilyanne, Emmet-Roy's sister. Being a good catholic girl, Lillyanne took her husband's surname when she married, and most of her descendants still have that surname, and none have Breathnach.

After the last of my grandfathers grandchildren were born my Iowa family was sad- all but one of Emmet-Roy's grandchildren was female, and my male cousin has his father's surname. Assuming that we would all marry and take our spouses names, the Iowa family despaired that that the Breathnach name would die out!

So one of my second cousins decided that she would Carry On The Family Name, by giving it to the son she was carrying as a Firstname.

Yeah.

Being "Breathnach Surname" is bad enough, but this was compounded by the fact that the Iowa family's surname is Thomas.

YEAH.

My poor cousin Beathnach Thomas, who always has to re-do his paperwork because NOBODY ever puts the names in the correct boxes, who had his first name printed on every jersey he ever had because the uniform place went "that can't be right!", who cant buy his own beer because he's had so many drivers licenses confiscated because liquor store owners and bartenders think his ID is a fake, who has to not only spell his name to everyone he meets, but explain it too.

Then I made it worse.

I ran into cousin Beathnach in Bozeman, Montana quite by accident a few years ago, and while catching up, I mentioned that I was married.

"You know, it's a real hassle, but I'm kind of glad I've got the name I do. I'd heard you sister changed her name, and now with you married- I'd be sad to think we were running out of Breathnachs, you know?" he laughed.

I had to explain.

I married the most wonderful man in the world, who has an extremely common first and last name. Which was kind of a problem, because he shares it with some truly rotten people that always come up during background checks and he has have to explain he's not THAT asshole. It also sounds like and is only a letter or two off a lot of other very common names so his mail is constantly sent awry.

My husband will shortly abandon his too-common-for-comfort surname and become the newest Breathnach, taking the total to 15 (the paperwork takes a while).

...So the name lives on through us anyway, and poor cousin Breathnach Thomas went through all that for no reason. He got very quiet, got up from the table and walked outside to the veranda of the restaurant we were in to stare into the picturesque scenery for a while.

"Well, it's not like people change their first names..." he sighed, when he returned to the table.

"...You know how my sister changed her name? She only changed her first name. She's still a Breathnach." I explained quietly.

I've never seen a man look so haunted.

"I know lots of people who've changed their first names, actually. Mostly for transgender reasons, but a bunch because they just didn't like the one they were given." I added, because if he's going to get his world turned over, it's best to flip it all at once.

His brow furrowed at the ponderous speed of a continental collision, approaching the idea with caution. "...I'll have to think about it."

It's been about a year, but since then, I'll get a text from him every few weeks, auditioning a new given name. I do my best to be fair- I give him the meanings of those names, how they're likely to be misconstrued (some are tolerable annoyances, some pose a safety risk), and if he'd be sharing that name with anybody notable or troublesome. The first few were clearly based on Breathnach, but he began to branch out, and the trend of names has indicated that the idea of Naming Himself is causing my cousin to examine himself, and come to some Realizations (TM).

I realize I have gotten completely off-topic from your actual ask, but I urge you to really get into the nuance of nomencalture, because a name can tell a fascinating story.

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 28: Roleplay

I got a little silly with this one. Sheon's meant to be a little jokester

Length 1.9K

Sheon X Mreader

Sheon quivered as the stranger kept her in place and continued his advances. She shook her head and refused, her voice steadily growing louder. You came into the frame a second later, pushing the man away from Sheon, who quickly moved behind you. “Please help me!” She shouted, “Keep him away from me!” You hold your ground, and when the man throws a punch, you dodge before striking him in the ribs, making him drop to the ground. 

“And cut!” The man gets up quickly, patting your shoulder and Sheon’s. “Thanks for stepping in. You’re a real lifesaver.” You nod and look over at Sheon.

“No problem, this worked out great for us too.” When you told Sheon you wanted to try out some roleplay, this wasn’t what you thought she’d come up with. Yes, you had told her it would be cool to be a superhero of some sort, but for her to get her college friends who were making a short film for a class involved was beyond you. You had to admit this wasn’t exactly how you’d thought things would go, but it worked for your goal; at least, that was what Sheon thought. Once filming wrapped up, Sheon waved behind her back to her friends as she brought you home.

Sheon practically dragged you home, “I just need to give my hero a reward.” She’d repeat that line over and over again as she held your hand. “You saved me today, and I need to make sure to repay my debt.” The emphasis she added really made her sound cheesy, but you didn’t want to bring that up, or she might just leave you high and dry.

“You don’t need to do that, ma’am. It’s just what heroes do.” You say, trying to stay in character.

“Ma’am? Do I look old to you?” You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You know, no matter what you say, Sheon would turn it around on you. It’s just who she was. She knew you wouldn’t say anything at this point and continued on. “Is it so bad if a damsel in distress wants to support her favorite hero?” Sheon walked ahead of you, raising the ends of her dress so you could get a better look at her. While her dress might’ve been a plain black one, the stockings she wore added a touch of color that pulled her outfit together. The lace design was enough to have you stare at Sheon’s lovely legs. She smiled as she noticed how you stopped in place. “C’mon hero, let’s get to my place. So I can give you your reward.”

Sheon quickly brought you inside her home, glancing over her shoulder with a smile as she brought you to her room. Sheon almost pushed you onto her bed with how excited she was. She stopped herself, though, wanting to do something before you fucked her.

Sheon kneels before you, her hands eagerly moving, pulling at your pants. She’s completely forgotten her role, too excited to get to what she calls the good part. She shakes her head, too happy to get started. The toothy smile on her face was undeniable as she rubbed her hand against your crotch, your underwear, the only thing keeping her from her prize. “Ooh,” Sheon murmurs as she feels your cock grow harder. She glances up at you, realizing she still has a role to play. “Oh, I mean. Umm…” Sheon looks around, embarrassed that she couldn’t think of what to say. Her mind had gone blank, too focused on what was just out of reach. 

You both break down, laughing at the situation. Sheon leans into you, pressing her head against your thigh as she laughs. She pats your thigh and says, “I told you I’m not good at this. Can we drop it? I’ll make it up to you.” She says, her hand already reaching into your underwear and pulling out your cock. She doesn’t wait for a second, pressing her lips together and planting them firmly on the tip of your cock. “Mwah!” She says loudly, giggling as she opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out, running it along the head. Sheon wraps her lips around your shaft, slowly bobbing her head as she stares at you. Sheon tried not to smile as she felt you move your hands to her head. She just knew you wanted to push your cock into the back of her throat, but you still wanted to keep the roleplay going. Sheon moved her soft hand along the base of your shaft, making sure not to ignore a single part of it. Her other hand was under her dress, circling her clit. You felt the vibrations around your cock; it made you groan. 

The pleasure was great, and Sheon just kept adding to it. She pushed herself further, taking in more of your shaft as her hand cradled your balls, giving them soft squeezes. You were losing yourself to the pleasure she gave you. You felt her tongue swirl around your cock as she slowly bobbed her head. Sheon enjoyed every moment; seeing her “hero” go weak at the knees because of her fueled her spirits. You look down at the beautiful woman between your legs, her short hair swaying back and forth as she bobbed her head. You felt yourself nearing the edge and instinctively grabbed her head, pushing her toward your pelvis. Sheon couldn’t help but smile as she was pressed against your crotch, your cock down her tight throat. She pushed her tongue out as far as she could, trying to lap at your balls as your cock began to throb. She looked at you with pleading eyes, and in the next moment, you began pouring your cum down her throat. 

“Shit,” you groaned. Sheon gulped every drop down with ease. Even as her eyes became watery and she was running out of breath, she didn’t dare let a drop spill out of her mouth. She drank everything. The moment you let go of her head, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth for you to see what she accomplished. Sheon looked like a mess, with her mascara ruined and saliva running down her chin. She wiped it off her face after she was sure you had seen her empty mouth. 

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” She said, pulling herself to her feet. “I like knowing you have a rough side.” Sheon walked past you, bending herself over her bed and lifting her dress up, showing you her pale ass. She pulled her panties to the side. That was when you noticed how wet she was. Sheon ran her fingers along her slit before pushing her lips apart. “Can you be a little rougher?” She asks, giving you the same pleading look from earlier. You gulp, your thoughts focused on how wet she was. “I know you are big and strong. You don’t have to worry, I can take it. I’m a good girl.” Usually, you would’ve told Sheon that her being a good girl didn’t relate to fucking her roughly, but you were too taken with her correct her statement. You get behind Sheon, slapping her slit with your cock before pressing the head against her entrance. 

Sheon cooed as she felt you push into her, your cock spreading apart her lips and filling her cunt. “Oh, you’re so big,” Sheon moaned, looking over her shoulder. “You don’t have to be slow. Put it all the way in.” You followed along, grabbing her hips as you impaled her on your cock. Sheon threw her head back and cried out, loving the suddenness of it all. You pull out quickly before slamming yourself back into the warm cavern. You lose all control and begin to fuck Sheon senseless, just like she wants it.  She buries her head into the mattress, moaning your name as she grips the bed sheets with all her strength. You place your hands on either side of and continue to thrust in, bouncing against her ass as you drive your cock deeper with every thrust. “Fuck that’s it!” Sheon yells into the bedding. You could feel her walls tightening around you, but you didn’t want her to cum like this. You slow down and tug at her waist, lifting her off the bed for a moment so you can flip her onto her back. Grabbing her legs, you fold Sheon in half, knowing how much she loves this position. You see her smile as you slam your cock back inside her. She stretches her arms out, pulling you in for a kiss as you thrust into her with all your strength. 

Sheon moans into the kiss, her grip over you becoming stronger as she gets closer to cumming. You thrust wildly, letting nature take over. “I’m cumming,” Sheon mumbled weakly before repeating herself loudly. You watched her shut her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to hold back her climax. You drove yourself deep into her cunt one more time and sent her over the edge. She cried out as she came, but you didn’t stop moving. 

Sheon’s body felt like it was on fire as you continued to thrust into her. Her walls tightened around your cock, but her walls were so slick you slid in and out the same as before. Sheon could hardly speak; moans poured out from between her lips as she was being brought to another orgasm. She lost control of her body, losing her grip on you. With your new freedom, you pushed Sheon’s legs further, getting her feet by her head as you slammed yourself inside and shot your load into her hungry cunt. Sheon cried out again as you sent her spiraling into her second orgasm. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip as she came, the waves of pleasure that rushed over her making her body tingle all over as your cum poured into her cunt. 

Once you finished, you slowly pulled back and lay next to Sheon. She turned her head slowly, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “You monster, you didn’t even take my clothes off.” Sheon chuckled and looked down as if that would change anything. She looked back at you and tapped your chest. “Well? Isn’t my hero going to help me out of these clothes? I can’t go to sleep like this.” You let out a deep breath and helped Sheon out of her clothes, getting rid of the black dress first and then helping her take off her shoes. 

“We can leave the stockings on, right? You look amazing in them.”

“Yeah, right. They may look nice, but I want to be comfortable when I sleep.” She says before sitting up and going to the bathroom. Sheon returns a few minutes later in an oversized t-shirt. “This is a lot better,” she says as she lays back down on the bed. “I know I didn’t do a very good job, but did you enjoy it? At least a little?”

“I always enjoy being with you. Even if you aren’t a very good actress.” You say with a smile. Sheon playfully slaps your shoulder before laying her head on your chest. 

“At least we had a good time.” She says before shutting her eyes. Sheon yawns, drifting off to sleep slowly.

[helaintoloki]

Somethin’ Stupid

part two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: angst, lots of pining, eventual fluff

notes: part two is here! ty guys for the support and hope you enjoy <3

summary: being forced to go on a mission together allows bucky and y/n to come to an understanding

*part one

You wake up with an awful hangover and a broken heart.

A part of you had hoped that the events that had transpired last night were merely figments of a dream, a peek into some alternate dimension where you had misjudged your tolerance for alcohol and completely humiliated yourself in front of the man you were hopelessly in love with. But the glass of water paired with a bottle of aspirin and a note from Natasha excusing you from training today proved otherwise.

All it took was a single drunken confession to completely obliterate one of the most dearest friendships you had. How could you ever possibly face him after this? Not only had you completely misread his intentions, but he had responded less than enthusiastically to your profession. You’d seen it in his face, the guilt that swam in his eyes and sympathetic smile that he wore so beautifully despite how badly it hurt you. Though Natasha had cut him off before he could offer a full response, you had enough sense to know what had been coming next.

“I’m sorry kid, but I don’t see you that way. You’re just not my type.”

The mere thought has you reeling all over again as you fight to keep your nausea at bay and clumsily reach for the glass of water. You’re grateful that you’ve been given the green light to essentially lock yourself away in your room and hide in your shame for the rest of the day, but you know that eventually you’ll be expected to go back out there and resume your daily routine. But Bucky was part of that routine, and you feel absolutely pathetic as you realize just how much you’d centered your life around him.

It’s obvious that logic is not your strong suit when it comes to these situations, so it made sense that you felt the only natural solution was to simply avoid Bucky for as long as humanly possible. You’d spar with someone else, maybe ask Natasha to join you for a movie instead, and chase away your own nightmares from now on. Surely this would help you get over him once and for all.

At least that’s what you hoped.

However, you were only successful in avoiding Bucky for a straight week until Steve decided you two were the perfect candidates for a recon mission.

You’d followed Steve around the compound pleading your case as soon as he’d handed you the mission file, but the man was adamant that you were the only one right for the job.

“You’re the only one who can see inside the building without actually having to step foot in it,” Steve had reminded you, his stance firm and his arms crossed over his broad chest as he spoke. “We need to know if these guys actually have any stolen Stark tech on their hands before we risk going in there. Your vision can give us the layout of the building and determine their inventory without them even knowing.”

“If my enhanced eyesight makes me the most qualified then why can’t I just go on my own?” You adamantly protested before handing the file back to him. “It clearly states in the report that I’m not expected to go inside or make contact with any hostiles, so why do I need a partner?”

“You’re going to be too busy scanning the building to watch your own back, so you’ll need someone else there to watch it for you,” Steve reminded you with authority, his tone indicative of the fact that as Captain he had the final say. With a softer tone, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Besides, I think this will be good for you both. A team only works if everyone’s on the same page, so it’s important to me that you two figure things out. Understood?”

“You got it, Cap,” you finally relinquished with a discontented sigh before excusing yourself to prepare for the mission.

You end up in the car garage a few hours later anxiously waiting for Bucky’s arrival. A part of you had considered leaving without him and worrying about Steve’s wrath at a later point, but you knew better than to test your luck. He was right about needing someone to have your back, but you just wish that someone could have been anyone else on the team.

The sound of heavy boots making their way towards you prompts you to lift your despondent gaze towards their own. Despite only having been apart from him for a week, you still find your breath catching in your throat and heartbeat speeding its pace by tenfold as you lock eyes with his stormy gaze. You have no idea what he’s thinking, and you desperately wish your x-ray vision could allow you to look into his head and read his thoughts, but unfortunately that’s Wanda’s speciality, not yours.

“Hey,” he greets with a barely visible smile that makes your chest tighten with longing. You’d think that after being rejected you’d be over him by now, but it turns out it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Hi,” you murmur meekly, absently dragging the toe of your boot along the ground. The air is thick with tension as you both engage in an unwelcome staring contest and wait with baited breath for the other to address the obvious elephant in the room. After a minute, you finally speak, “Thanks for coming along.”

“No need to thank me,” he assures you in the softest tone he can muster, almost as if you’ll run off again if he doesn’t choose his words carefully. “You know I’ll always have your back.”

His reply has you swallowing harshly while your stomach twists itself in knots; this week had been miserable for you, and yet you’d never stopped to consider how Bucky was fairing in your absence. Even if he did only view you as a kid, you still had formed a close bond with the man, and it must have been jarring for him to spend his days unused to your absence. You’d essentially iced him out without worrying about the repercussions, and now here you were forced to face them head on.

“We should go,” you state suddenly in an attempt to avoid any further awkwardness. Bucky opens his mouth to protest but instead chooses to keep silent and grab the keys for his motorcycle. As much as he’s been dying to talk to you about what had occurred at Tony’s party, he knows you both need to be focused on the task at hand, so he instead chooses to offer you a helmet before starting up the bike.

The world almost feels whole again when you seat yourself behind him and wrap your arms around his torso in a tight hold as he begins to speed off to your destination. You’ve missed this closeness, his warmth, the scent of his cologne and the comfort it brings you to rest your cheek against his back as you watch the scenery pass you by. You’re not sure if your relationship with the super soldier will ever be the same, and a part of you wonders if it’s possible to borrow the time stone from Dr. Strange so you can go back and stop yourself from making such a horrid mistake. You’d feel better if you could at least know what Bucky was thinking.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was thinking about a lot of things.

Though everyone around him could see how stupidly blind he was to your adoration for him, Bucky legitimately had no inkling of your romantic feelings for him. The shock on his face that night had been genuine, and your confession left him dumbfounded as he scrambled to come up with the right words, but Natasha had whisked you away before he had been given the chance.

Bucky laid awake for hours that night reminiscing on all the times you’d shared together- evenings spent talking for hours until the sun came out, playful teasing over your earpieces during missions, letting you crawl into his bed at odd hours because it helped your night terrors. He could say he was simply being a good friend, a good teammate even, but he knew he’d only be kidding himself. Bucky would do just about anything you asked of him, and he knew it was because deep inside he loved you too.

The word kid had slipped out, but it was meant to be viewed as a harmless pet name. If he knew just how upset it would have made you he never would have used it, and it haunted him every single day you ignored him. He wanted to make things right, but that would only be possible if you gave him the chance.

And right now, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

~~~

Your eyes are laser focused on the building before you as you nestle into the high branches of a tree and ignore the biting cold from the snowfall. Bucky is perched beside you, gaze constantly shifting as he scans the area for any potential threats to your safety. You’ve been at this for about an hour as you meticulously scan each floor in search of any weapons as well as intel regarding how many people occupy the building. Your eyes are starting to burn from the amount of strain your powers put on them, something Bucky picks up on as he places a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“I think you should take a break,” he prompts with worry clear on his features. Though a part of you agrees, you’re too stubborn to relent to his suggestion. This mission is your chance to prove to him that you’re not just some kid he has to babysit; you are just as capable as anyone else, and you want him to see you not as a mentee but as an equal.

“I’m fine,” you insist indignantly before returning your gaze to the weapons base, “you’re breaking my concentration.”

“Y/n, if you put too much pressure on your eyes you’re going to have a crushing migraine for weeks and Steve will have no choice but to bench you from missions,” he reminds you, and though Bucky is only trying to be helpful you feel as if you’re being reprimanded like some child.

“Are you not listening to me? I’m fine,” you grit through clenched teeth. The pressure is getting to you, and this conversation certainly isn’t helping.

“Look, just stop to use the eyedrops Dr. Banner gave you and then-“

“Oh my god, would you stop?! You’re not my babysitter, Bucky!” You finally cry out in exasperation.

“Hey!” A third voice interjects before Bucky can respond, prompting both of you to turn your heads just in time to see a man below raising his gun in your direction. You’d both been so engrossed in your debacle to notice a guard had been sent to search the area, and your little outburst had just given away your hiding spot.

Your head is pounding from the overexertion of your powers, and you’re barely able to register Bucky yelling at you to duck. The man begins to shoot before Bucky can draw his gun, and you’re not quick enough to duck out of the way when a bullet comes in your direction. It shoots straight through your shoulder blade, the force strong enough to hinder your balance and throw you off of the tree branch.

“Y/n!” Bucky cries out, eyes wide as he shoots a hand out for you. He’s barely able to graze your fingertips before you go falling straight to the ground with a strangled cry. The last thing you see is his horrified face before you hit the floor with a defeaning thud.

Everything goes dark after that.

~~~

The lights of the infirmary are blinding as you will yourself to peel your eyes open with a groan. A dull throbbing fills your head as you lift your hand to shield your eyes and attempt to sit up only to be gently pushed back down onto the bed.

“Easy there, slugger,” a voice reprimands teasingly, “Bruce says you shouldn’t be making any sudden movements for the next few days. You didn’t break anything, but you’re bruised up pretty bad and need to be on a five day medication regimen to keep the migraines at bay, and that’s not even mentioning the bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“Natasha?” you murmur hoarsely, barely making out her figure through squinted eyes. Your mind is reeling as you try to recall the events of your mission, and your stomach drops as you recall that you hadn’t been alone when you’d been ambushed. “Where’s Bucky?!”

You try to sit up again only for her to push you back down with one hand while the other uses the control pad to dim the lights in the room. You’re grateful for the pressure it alleviates, but your racing heart does nothing to help your anxious state.

“Bucky is fine,” she reassures you, “he left to get you some water, but he’s been in this room all day since you both got back.”

“What happened? I-I remember arguing with him, getting caught, falling out of a tree…”

“You hit a couple branches on the way down which is why you’re all banged up, but luckily the snow helped break your fall and prevented any further damage. Barnes was able to get you both out of there unscathed, and thankfully Bruce was able to remove the bullet out of your shoulder with minimal scarring. But… I have to say, I’ve never seen Bucky look so worried before.”

“God,” you whine in embarrassment, palms pressing into your eyes as you hold your face in your hands. “It’s like I’m incapable of not making a fool of myself every time we’re alone together.”

“Look, just stop dragging your feet and face the issue head on. You two need to work this out,” Natasha reiterates, her eyes subtly shifting to the man that enters the infirmary with a bottle of water in his hands. “The sooner the better.”

Bucky looks like a dog caught with its tail between his legs as he approaches your bedside, swallowing nervously as Natasha moves past him with a “good luck” leaving her lips as she exits the room and allows you both some privacy. You take the bottle from him with trembling hands and a quiet thank you before finally willing yourself to look at him.

“I’m sorry… this whole mess is my fault,” you murmur remorsefully, fingers fidgeting with the paper label on the bottle, "if I had just kept my mouth shut that night-“

“I’m glad you said it.”

“What?” You breathe out in surprise, unsure if you heard him correctly or if it was just your migraine skewing your perception of reality. Bucky swallows nervously before seating himself beside your bed, a bashful smile playing at his lips as he meets your gaze.

“Look, I know I reacted horribly in the moment, but it was only because I thought you were too drunk to mean it,” he confesses almost shamefully, a flash of guilt present in his features. “It’s hard to believe a woman as wonderful as you would want a tired old man like me, and I assumed it was a spur of the moment thing. But I have cared for you the moment Steve introduced you to us as a new member of the team, and I don’t go out of my way to protect you because I think you’re some incapable kid who needs my help. It’s because… well, it’s because I love you too. And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Your lips are parted in shock as you process Bucky’s words, your mind racing to catch up as you realize the man you’ve pined for so long is now confessing his love for you. A part of you is scared that this is some sort of concussion dream and that you’ll wake up to find it wasn’t real. But the feel of his hand carefully cupping your cheek says otherwise, and you nearly melt into his touch at the feeling.

“You love me?” You repeat again in quiet astonishment. Bucky lets out a small chuckle in response.

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he reassures you with an adoring smile, “it killed me to be away from you for so long, and I hate that it took us being shot at for me to finally tell you that.”

“I guess we just operate better on chaos,” you weakly joke, smiling when it earns you another laugh out of Bucky.

“It certainly is our specialty,” he agrees with wry grin. Then, tone more serious now as he moves to take one of your hands in his own, he says, “I love you, y/n, and I’d be honored if you would give me the chance to take you out somewhere nice to makeup for this whole mess I put us through.”

With a soft smile, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and answer, “I’d love nothing more.”

And then, in the privacy of the quiet infirmary, Bucky leans in and steals the first of many kisses from you.

| tags: @cjand10 @wamefou @g1g1l @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 |

[void-my-warranty]

𝐀𝐱 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟖 - 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Fem Reader Zombie apocalypse AU (all parts here)

Watching the biters shuffle out of view, you can’t help but picture that uncomfortable image: the lifeless bodies of your friends, strewn around the soggy camp as a gruesome feast for the undead.

That’s what you’d surely find right now, if you could somehow teleport yourself to the middle of the brand new red zone. They were just left there to be torn apart. A decoy in death, distracting the biters for miles so their murderer could get away. Barbaric.

“I gotta piss.”

You gape at Gaz when he starts to shuffle out of the overhang, not a full minute after the last biter disappeared through the trees. 

“There’s biters!”

“Eh. They’re not as bad as people make out.” He leaps effortlessly down from the ledge, onto the damp leaves below. 

He may think they’re slow and stupid, but you’ve personally witnessed just how fast they can move when they’ve picked up a trail of blood. Perturbed, you’ve just sucked in a breath to argue, when you witness him shoot a quick glance at you over his shoulder, with a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

Prick. Baiting you as usual. 

“Enjoy your fucking piss,” you call after him, and mentally add, hope you get your dick bitten off. 

He doesn’t even attempt to get out of eyesight, just puts his back to you and unzips in front of the nearest tree. Of course he makes you listen to the disgusting spatter of urine on the forest floor. Of course he’s that kind of person.  

Averting your eyes, you attempt to gather yourself together and take stock of your various aches and itches. Specifically, you need to check how your new boots held up to the journey overnight. They were remarkably comfortable, so if you’re lucky, you made a smart swap the other day. 

Gratified to find them perfectly intact, your eyes wander further up your body, and your shriek of horror bursts out so abruptly, it makes birds take flight from the trees.

“Fuck, what is it?” Gaz demands, whipping around and yanking at his zipper.

“What is this?” you half scream, half choke at him, clawing your coat off.

The concern on his face quickly drops away to boredom, once he realizes the source of your distress. “A fucking winter coat, that you won’t survive without.”

Throwing the horrible thing onto the ledge past your feet, you jam your hand into the dark crevice of rock and close your fist around a decently sized stone. “That. Is. Nick’s.”

“Got no use for it now. It’s not got any blood on it, if that’s what you’re–”

The impact of a well-placed rock thudding against his shoulder cuts him off real fast, as he’s knocked back a startled step. 

Blazing, furious eyes lock on yours, but you simply don’t have it in yourself to give a fuck. Quickly you grab a bunch of smaller rocks as backup, and sit there breathing fast, silently daring him to come after you. It’ll only take a second for your hand to whip around again and pellet him with pain. 

“That is not,” you growl through your teeth, “what I’m fucking worried about.”

He knows you have the high ground. He hasn’t moved a step towards you since you threw the rock, hasn’t looked anywhere but your face. You’re in the superior position, but you have a limited supply of rocks. Meanwhile his weapons are all up here with you, but you doubt you could get your hands on any of them before he found a way to settle the score. 

“Last will and testament,” he finally says, jerking his chin towards the crumpled brown coat. “Gave it to you. Told me so.”

The rocks in your hand shift around, as you grind them together in fury. “Did he, Gaz? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Said it was the least he could do for being such a disgusting sicko, wanking over you every chance he got.”

“Unlike you,” you sneer, your voice dripping with hatred. 

“Fucking hell. You finished tossing your toys out the pram? We’ve got to get going.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

He belatedly does up the button on his pants. “You really think you’re in a position to be going off on your own?”

“I’ll take my chances with the biters.”

“You won’t last the week,” he assures you evenly, hands on his hips.

The week. This is your last day not bleeding, and then you’ll be cramping and vulnerable, and you need someone to watch your back. Someone to find water, set up shelter, tend to your wounds. It’s slow, cruel suicide to have your period alone in the woods. You just can’t burn the bridge just yet. 

“I don’t want to wear that coat,” you finally admit, relinquishing your handful of pebbles back into the dirt. 

Your eyes drop to his face again, soft this time. Communicating how scared you feel, how innocent and helpless you are. It’s just one thing, your precious little blinky eyes tell him. Come on, Gaz, can’t you give in on this one thing? 

His face turns cold at your attempted manipulation, shifting his shoulder as if it hurts. “Go piss, woman.”

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

It’s like that for the rest of the morning. You don’t talk, and he doesn’t talk. You just ignore your half damp clothes, and trod on for hours. 

The food is nice. Without Doran’s usual rations, and with a burning hatred of Gaz, you quite happily munch away at a decent chunk of what you brought. That’s what puts you in good spirits. That, and stopping to brush your teeth. Clean teeth and a full belly is really all it takes sometimes. 

Until you start to actually pay attention.

“Why are we going north?” you demand suddenly, feet stumbling to a halt. 

“Because that’s the fastest way to get somewhere cold,” Gaz replies over his shoulder, not bothering to stop and explain. 

“Are you… kidding?”

You stare slack-jawed at Gaz’s retreating back, mentally scrambling to comprehend how many hours you just lost, going for so long in the opposite direction of where you’re supposed to be headed. 

It’ll take two days to make up for it. Two days on your period, when extra walking might be the difference between life and death, especially if it means skirting around the bloody camp. 

And Gaz won’t stop walking. 

“Why the fuck would you want to go north for the winter?” you ask, having to run to catch up to him. 

“Biters are made of flesh. What do you think happens to them when it drops below freezing?”

You scowl at the ground as you walk, considering. “They… freeze?”

“Safest place to be is up north. We’re just lucky the weather’s changing.”

Lucky, yeah, right. Switching the threat of biters for the inevitability of losing all your fingers to frostbite sounds fucking genius. 

You’re going to have to get away from him, or change his mind. There are no sanctuary cities in the north, so he’s leading you away to certain death, on some insane theory about frozen corpses. And every step you take in the wrong direction is a step away from the safety Doran was always so sure about. 

Gaz stops suddenly, forcing you to come to a halt as well so you won’t smack into his pack. 

“What?” you whisper, peering around his body. 

“Marsh lands.”

Gaz tests the ground in front of him, his boot sinking a few centimeters into the damp grass. 

Great. Wet feet.

“Walk in my footprints,” he mutters, beginning to trudge through the squelching mass of underbrush. 

You wrinkle your nose in distaste. “What? Why?”

But he’s already begun the trek, not sparing you a backwards glance as he makes his way through the swampy land. 

“I don’t think we should get our feet wet,” you call over at him irritatedly.

“You won’t.”

Somehow, he’s right. Most of the time he weaves around and manages to find the high ground as you go, and the only things you have to worry about are his stupidly long strides, and the occasionally strong suck of mud on your boots. 

It’s exhausting.

In no time, your thighs are burning with the strain. The only options you have are to press on, or to beg him for a break, and both of them seem so impossible that you just get more and more upset at the situation. 

Long step after long step, you dutifully plop your feet down in his stupid footprints, and the uneven land continues to run your energy to the ground. 

Shluck, shluck, shluck.

“Gaz,” you huff finally, stopping to rest your hands on your hips. “Stop taking such big steps.”

He doesn’t stop. The prick keeps going at the same relentless pace, bow notched in his hand and scanning the trees for movement. 

So fuck him.

You start walking at your own pace, well outside of his impossible footsteps. 

And like a total piece of shit, he hears your change in stride and turns to glare at you. 

You give him the same look right back, imagining plunging that arrow straight into his chest with your bare hands. 

“I need you to stay in my footsteps.”

“Why?” 

He glances pointedly down at your independent footprints. “Because you walk like a woman.”

“I don’t think anybody will care if they think a biter is following you.” The idea of Gaz being pursued by the undead is so comforting, you can’t help but smile coldly to yourself. 

“I said you walk like a woman, not a biter.”

“And I, actually, don’t give a fuck.”

Your breath catches as you watch his eyes narrow and a muscle in his jaw tick up and down. It’s not fear that’s rushing through you, it’s relief. It’s so nice to be able to cuss someone out for once. Someone who deserves it, more than anyone else you’ve ever met out here. You can say what you want, because it really doesn’t matter if he likes you or not — you’re fucked regardless. 

Gaz silently secures the bow over his shoulder, and takes a step towards you. It’s an effort to hold your ground without flinching.

“Are you hoping to be carried?” he asks sarcastically, but with a real threat of something worse, laced into the words.

You open your mouth to retort back something just as ridiculous, but then you think better of it, in a flash of divine inspiration. 

“Yes. Carry me, I’m tired.”

The bluff is set up so perfectly, because you both know there’s no way he can walk with you in his arms for more than a minute. He was banking on your aversion to touching him, and your pride, but he doesn’t know you, and he guessed wrong.

Gaz stares at you, and you look steadily back at him, raising your eyebrow in challenge.

He doesn’t say anything. Just steps up to your body, leans down, and scoops your thigh up onto his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” you shriek, finding yourself suddenly half upside down, with his arm wedged between your legs, and one of your sleeves secured tightly in his hand. 

He shuffles your weight across his shoulders with a grunt. “Fireman’s carry. It’s the most efficient way to carry a fallen comrade. Or in this case, an insubordinate one.”

“I’m not being insubordinate, because you are not in charge of me.”

The earth rises and falls uncomfortably with every step he takes, jarring your bones and churning your stomach. 

“I admit,” he drawls, “not having you scheming of ways to kill me behind my back is a nice change, even if you are heavier than you look.”

Prick, prick, prick. 

There has to be something you can do. Some way to get back at him. In your anger, you scan the side of his pack for a weapon. There are only empty loops and a few carabiners visible, and the swaying handle of the ax that’s secured on the far side.

The ax. 

You’ve only got one hand free, but he can’t see what you’re doing with the other one. Every step he takes shifts your body slightly, and you swing your arm around to reach for the handle.

Sway. Sway. Sway.

Each time, it’s a hair away from your fingertips. Even when you start to strain, and risk Gaz guessing your plans, you can’t get a hold of it. You merely get the tease of the textured rubber handle brushing your fingers before it’s gone again. 

Step. Step. Step.

It’s infuriating to be so close to a weapon, and so helpless to reach it. Your attempts grow fewer and farther between, and you’re forced to content yourself with simply planning the murder in your own mind. You run it through so many times, you can practically hear the crunch of bones, the gush of blood while Gaz’s vile life drains away to nothing. 

Sway. Reach. Step. Step. 

Surely he’ll be losing his breath soon. He’s got to be hiding the exertion of carrying you out of pure spite, moderating his huffs of air to conceal what a toll it’s taking on him. You’re reduced to watching his ass shift and move with every step he takes, and only because it’s right below your face. 

He doesn’t even stink, this close to his armpit. Prick. 

Step. Step. 

Freeze.

Your name gets muttered suddenly, urgently.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Get me the ax,” he breathes, so quietly.

“Why?”

“Get me the fucking ax.”

“I can’t reach it.”

“Try.”

You glare helplessly at his ass. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?”

“…Fuck.”

Next Part

Dividers by the-aesthetics-shop

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Fake dating with hockey player Anakin 😵‍💫😵‍💫

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

Author's note: have no idea if you meant headcanons or fic so im sorry :// also this is also an opportunity for me to ask anyone who want to send a request to be more specific! It helps a lot

You should have said no.

You knew it'd be a disaster when ANAKIN SKYWALKER said, "I need a fake girlfriend."

And you need a freaking bag full of money

The words had barely left his stupid, pretty mouth before you rolled your eyes and continued walking. But, of course, he'd not let you go that easily. He chased after you, hockey bag slung over his shoulder, smelling like cologne and screaming trouble.

"C’mon, bookworm. It’s just for a little while. My ex won’t leave me alone, and Coach says I need to ‘grow up’ and ‘be responsible.’ You’re, like, the most responsible girl I know.”

Your mistake? Stopping to listen.

Your second mistake? Agreeing.

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN who sat with you to set the rules;

"Alright, we need some ground rules,” you began, tone serious as you laid your notebook flat on the table.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and that signature cocky smirk on his face. "Go ahead, princess. What rules you got in mind?"

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, ignoring the way his gaze lingered on your lips for a second too long. "First off, no unnecessary touching."

He raised an eyebrow, smile widening. "Unnecessary? So what's necessary touching? Hand-holding? Arm around your waist? Kissing?"

Your face heated up instantly, and you cleared your throat, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. "Only in public, and only when we have to sell it," you replied, writing it down in your notebook, though your hand shook slightly..if your mother would see this, she would instantly deprive you

Anakin chuckled softly, leaning in closer over the table. "Does that mean I get to kiss you whenever people are watching? Maybe slip a hand down to—"

"Rule two!" you cut him off, cheeks flaming as you forced yourself to focus. At least one of you had to be focused "No… suggestive comments."

"Can’t promise that, sweetheart."

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by how hot your skin felt. "You have to try."

"Fine, fine," Anakin waved it off playfully. Then he leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he took your notebook from your hands, flipping it closed. "My turn for some rules."

You blinked, confused. "Your rules? I thought this was—"

"Rule one," he interrupted "When we’re together, you don’t look at anyone else but me."

You scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the possessiveness in his tone made something inside you stir. "And why would I need to look at you all the time?"

His lips curled into a slow smirk as his eyes locked with yours. "Because if we’re selling this, I want people to know you’re mine. Fake or not, you’ll have to act the part."

"Fine. But that goes both ways."

"Of course, princess," he said, winking. "I wouldn’t dream of looking anywhere else."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your composure as he continued. "Rule two: when we’re alone, we still act like we're dating."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Wait, why? No one’s around to see it."

"Because I want you to get used to it," he said, voice low and teasing. "It’ll make things easier in public, right?"

You swallowed hard, trying to form a retort, but the way he was looking at you had your words caught in your throat. The way he said it—like he was daring you to admit just how much he was getting under your skin—made your heart race.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling your cheeks flush again as you looked away. "Fine. But if you cross any lines, this deal is off."

"I wouldn't dream of it"

He nodded at whatever you've been lecturing him about before he leaned back in his chair with that cocky grin of his. "Agreed. But there’s one thing I won’t agree to—you can’t limit how many times I call you my pretty little girlfriend."

He tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm... how about rule three? You have to wear something of mine to class.”

"Wait, what?" You blinked, caught off guard.

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You heard me. Just something simple. A sweatshirt, a jacket—anything. It’ll make the whole thing look more real."

You let out a breath, shaking your head but still writing it down. "Alright, anything else, mister 'I’m perfect’?"

He chuckled, leaning forward now, arms on the table “Oh, I’ve got one more. You have to come to my games. Obvious, right?”

You raised an eyebrow but wrote it down anyway, handing the paper to him with a sigh. “Sign it.”

He scanned over the rules with exaggerated care for someone like him, then grabbed the pen and signed it with a flourish. "With pleasure, pretty girl."

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN who walked you to another class;

Ball rang and you stepped out of your classroom, only to lock eyes with the devil himself. Anakin stood a few feet away, surrounded by his friends from the hockey team. When your eyes locked, a smirk tugged at his lips before he excused himself from the group and made his way towards you.

"What are you doing here?" You whispered, heart pounding at the sight of him.

He gave you a charming smile, hand quickly finding its way to the small of your back as he leaned in close "I’m here to walk you to your next class, of course."

You stiffened at the unexpected contact, but he didn’t seem to notice, of care, as he led you through the bustling hallway. His hand slid even lower, brushing your pocket, before coming dangerously close to your ass. "What are you doing?" You hissed, voice barely carrying an edge of irritation.

His hand didn’t move though, instead it pressed against you as if to make a point, before sliding in fully to your pocket..on your ass.. His voice got lower, just for you to hear. "I’m just doing my part to sell it, pretty girl. Can’t have everyone think I’m not totally smitten with my girlfriend, can we?"

He glanced around, clearly taking pleasure in the stares from other students. "See? They’re all watching us."

"I don't like that," voice tense but a little breathless from the mix of discomfort and... something else you refused to acknowledge

He grinned again, sensing your unease, and leaned in closer, his hand giving your ass a tiny, teasing squeeze. "Come on, loosen up. You’ve got to act like you enjoy it when I touch you if we’re gonna make this look real." His tone softened for a moment as his gaze met yours. "Where’s your class? Can’t walk around aimlessly with you."

"Chemistry... second floor." You said, words escaping your lips almost automatically as youso desperately tried to focus on something else to keep your composure.

Anakin nodded, still trailing behind you, large hand slipping down a little further, lingering just below your waist as he gave your bum a subtle pat. His words came out smoothly, as if this was just another normal conversation between a boyfriend and his girlfriend. "Looks like we’re headed to the second floor then, sweetheart." then he continued "So, how were classes today? Anything exciting? Any tests?"

"It was okay..." You muttered, wanting the conversation to be over.

He chuckled, clearly not buying it. The grip on your hip only tightened as he pulled you closer, breath warm against your ear. "Just ‘okay’? C’mon, at least one thing had to be interesting." His hand gave your ass a firmer squeeze, body pressing up against yours as you both moved up the stairs.

"Anakin, the PDA, remember?" You whispered, trying to pull away just a little.

He smirked, eyes scanning the hall to make sure no one was paying too much attention. When he didn’t spot anyone, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I’m just keeping up our cover, baby. Can’t have anyone thinking you don’t like my touch, now, can we?" voice sending a shiver down your spine.

"I want to stab you." You muttered

He laughed "Now now, let’s not get too violent. It’s not very ‘girlfriend-like’ to be plotting to stab your boyfriend, is it?" He teased, amusement screaming from his eyes

You furrowed your brows, about to fire back a retort when Anakin closed the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours in a swift kiss before pulling away. His hand gave your ass one final squeeze, smirk never leaving his face as he whispered. "See you after class, pretty girl." And even when he left, you swore you could still feel his touch on your body..and it definitely did not help you treat this as a normal «fake dating» thing

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN whose eyes made you feral - the way he looked down at you, a little too possessive, a little too protective, a little just too much for your liking. Gaze didn't leave you for a second while you would speak, eyes would soften, be so hypnotized/captivated by you, you caught yourself thinking if he was really pretending

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN who shamelessly grabbed your hand in front of his teammates..which obviously was flustering for you but weird for his friends, cause since when THE Anakin Skywalker dated some random?

HOCKEY PLAYER!ANAKIN who brought you to parties;

You should have stayed at home.

The party was loud, sweaty, too overwhelming— simply and shortly, not your scene at all. But Anakin had looked at you with those stupid, stupid big blue eyes and said, «I need you there, bookworm. Just one night. It's in the deal, remember?»

So you were standing in the middle of someone's packed house, hugging a solo cup to your chest, while Anakin—the guy you’re fake dating for reasons you’re still not sure of—was locked in an intense stare-down with his ex.

Padmé Amidala. The school’s golden girl. The one everyone thought Anakin would marry someday.

And maybe that's why your stomach curled in a way you couldn't process right now. The idea of competition, the thought of the real reason you were kind of stuck to fake-dating Anakin hit you like a wall.. He was doing it for her. To win her back, in this weird, so-anakin-like way..

Suddenly, before you can contemplate further, Anakin’s turning to you, hands finding your waist. Breath is warm against your ear when he leaned down.

"Kiss me."

Your brain short-circuits. What?

"What?" you echoed dumbly. The music was too loud, the bass feeling like it shook the floor. It all mixed with your beating rapidly heart in the perfect rhythm

"Kiss me," Anakin repeated, voice lower, rougher. His eyes are still trained on Padmé across the room, but his fingers squeezed your waist just enough to make your stomach do a flip.

Twice.

You didn't even have enough time to think properly

Because Anakin cupped your face and crashed his lips with yours. The kiss was deep, hungry, a little desperate. His tongue slide against yours, and your knees literally went weak. None ever kissed you this way..none kissed you in general with such..passion.. precision, as if he was too skilled in this matter

His hands tightened on your waist after he deepened the kiss, pressing you back against the nearest wall as if the idea of any space between you frustrated him.

You're gone. Done. Wrecked. Destroyed. Out of any power.

When he finally pulled away, with those pink lips glistening, being swollen, sinful, tempting, even. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the evidence of what he just did.

You stared at him dazedly

"Too stunned to speak, kitty cat?" Anakin smirked breathlessly

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[4chensungs]

just got an idea how about a one-shot of giving js the best head and you both know you give the best head but HE doesn't know he's also the best at eating you out so he rarely does that but he accidentally catches you ranting to of your friends about how much you miss him eating you out cuz his lips are so plump so it feels just PERFECT UUUGGHHH PLZ

notes: anon the wait is FINALLY over. thank you sm for the request i had the time of my life writing this <3

18+. smut. oral (f. receiving.) just overall messy.

-

what a crazy day when your boyfriend came home after spending a whole week, seven days overseas for one of his schedules. crazy how you wasted no time the moment he got there in getting on your knees and sucking him off, your favorite activity to do cause you're simply the best.

"fuuuck oh my god i'm going-" you cut jisung off when you trailed your lips to the underside of his dick, letting a out trail of spit to drip onto his shaft. you hum, mouth full of him - so good at teasing.

jisung groans nonstop, keeping your hair tangled in his long fingers to help you, fingers that you wish were inside you right now.

so in that day, when you sucked him off til he came two times in your mouth, you left unsatisfied. and wet.

panties all sticky, needy pussy asking silently for his attention. his mouth, moist and plump lips that make you go feral.

the question kept replaying in your head, why do you seem to enjoy giving head more than he does?

why are you the only one that makes sure to put your mouth on him to work?

-

"i'm sure he loves it, look at him. he's so whipped for you." one of your friends said. you had your phone in hand, the voices being heard through the other side of the voice call.

you spoke lowly, "i just.. just miss it. and i don't know how to tell him."

"oh cmon! he's your boyfriend. offer him some pussy and he'll go down on you immediately."

god. you ended the call just when jisung left the bathroom, being met with your figure sprawled on his bed. running his hands through his hair and looking at you with a sharp, interesting grin.

you smiled too, getting up a bit to lay with your head on the headboard.

"ji." your voice cracked. dumb, stupid because of him.

he got on the bed, crawling to your body. you were actually so innocent, the thought that he might've heard your call went missed by you.

he just grabbed your hands to pull your body closer and off the sheets, his lips meeting yours in a tender, warm kiss. jisung was always this sweet.

"why didn't you tell me, baby?" jisung leans away, his voice was quiet, tone sincere.

your lips were pressed in a thin line, and instead of answering him, you just lay back and part your legs, slowly - inviting him.

jisung hums in approval at the scene you're giving him, baby pink panties peeking out from your sleeping shorts as you give him the perfect view. the pair he bought for you.

he sighs before getting comfortable between your legs, big hands pulling them apart - chest pressed onto the mattress while his lips meet the skin of your thighs.

"i'm such an asshole." his pointed nose brushes up and down on your soft flesh.

you hold back a whine, "n- no ji you're not.. don't say that"

"didn't give my princess the attention she deserves. i'm s' sorry- shit."

jisung pulls your shorts off in an instant, your legs closing involuntarily at the sudden arousal that builds up your body and senses.

"it's okay ji, really... feels good."

he parts your legs again, pressing one knee to your still covered chest as the other leg went to rest around his head.

his glasses fogged up as he kisses your awaiting cunt through the already damp material of your panties - the lacy pink, he chose with so much love for his princess to look pretty for him.

"can't live without this pretty pussy mhm i'm sorry, love." he mumbles in your core.

one finger hooks around the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side to give him direct contact to your sweet wet spot.

"she’s so fucking beautiful."

this time you couldn't hold back a moan, hand coming to mess with his darkish hair and just as you were about to push him straight into your cunt, he was faster - licking all the way from your pussy up to your clit.

"ji fuck! ji- "

you tried to breath but it was hard, he was really making up to you. he meant it.

jisung leans his mouth away just to throw his glasses on the other side of the bed - big fingers now spreading your pussy open to give him better access.

“jisung mgh stop- wait sungie!” you squirm, hands gripping the sheets when he sucks your clit into his mouth, repeating this process tons of times til he notices you’re getting close.

he kisses your clit, tongue darting out to lick it, “want to make you know that i’m in love with you and this sweet pussy. always been.”

you cry out, hands shaking and throat hoarse from moaning his name. your mind’s all blurry, the smooching wet sounds of his plump and red lips eating you out like you were really the tastiest thing on earth.

the friction was so strong that you couldn’t help but slowly start moving your hips on your boyfriend’s face, riding his perfect features - feeling his nose bumping and his saliva and spit wetting your whole cunt.

that’s what you missed. messy, just how you crave it. and jisung seems to love this just as much as you do.

“fuck, princess. so wet, yeah?” he tries to sooth you by rubbing his huge hands on your waist and hips.

two more minutes and you’d cum, but he stopped.

you looked down at him between your legs. the loss of contact made you pout, whining like a baby.

“ji.. please.”

jisung eyes you, massages your swollen pussy with two fingers for a minute before getting up to meet your face, cute begging eyes staring at his, a little drool on your chin from how you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

he smiles, “you’re the prettiest, so gorgeous.” tucking the stray hairs out of your face.

jisung lands a kiss, two, three kisses on your lips, a blush growing on both of your cheeks - “let me suck you o-“

“no, love. i want to make this all about you.”

you blush again, messing with the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him closer when he starts to trail his wet kisses down to your jaw, neck, chest, stomach.

and in fact, he made sure that itd be all about you. making you cum so easily on his fingers at first, then his tongue. all the rounds of him fucking you and you just kept cumming on his cock. so it went.

© 4chensungs

[wcnderlnds]

last dance | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: turns out you both want different things but seunghyun has to give you the perfect goodbye ・❥・word count: 2.5k ・❥・warnings: 18+. smut. oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, swearing, angst. female reader. ・❥・ authors note: this took me all day to write and now i go hide like i always do when i write smut because i will always be forever nervous to write it. but there might be a part two to this. maybe. we'll see. also, didn't add my taglist because idk who wants tagging in smut so <3

As you sat there watching your friends have their very first dance together as a married couple, your heart clenched in your chest. You had to tear your eyes away instead focusing on the glass of wine you had in your hand. Today wasn’t supposed to be like this; it was supposed to be a happy day celebrating your friend’s love but how could you celebrate love when your own love life had just crumbled apart mere hours ago? The conversation with Seunghyun replayed over and over in your head.  

It had been like any other day – the excitement of watching your two friends finally tie the knot hanging in the air. It had spurred you on to wonder about your future with Seunghyun. You had been together for four years now. They hadn’t been the easiest four years but somehow, someway, you always made it through the other end stronger than ever. This was what true love felt like. Every single day with him made you fall even more in love. There was no doubt that you wanted to be with this man for the rest of your life so, you had voiced that to him. The second you had said that you wanted to get married one day, maybe even have children, he had turned pale. His whole body had gone rigid, his hands dropping from the tie he was trying to tighten. As he looked at you and said ‘I don’t think that’s going to ever be in the cards for us. Marriage isn’t something I’ve ever wanted’, your heart had plummeted into your stomach.

Really, it should have been conversation early on in your relationship but you had been so caught up in each other that some of the important conversations like that got lost along the way. His words had cut you deep, so deep that it had resulted in the two of you arguing. It made you think he didn’t love you enough even as he tried to explain why he didn’t want to get married. So, as you left for the wedding, all the hurt and scalding words that had been said between you hanging in the air, you knew this was the beginning of the end. 

Sitting at the table, you swirled around the last remains of your drink in the glass, bringing it up to your lips to swig it off. As you did, you locked eyes with Seunghyun who had been sitting at the table over talking to his bandmates. You didn’t tear yours away as he said something to them then made his way to you. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, holding his hand out to you. “Dance with me?” 

Your eyes glanced at his hand, hesitation coursing through your body but you took it anyway. He led you to the dancefloor, his hands finding your hips, placing yours around his neck. A slow song was playing, Seunghyun gently swaying the two of you to the beat. It was too painful to look at his face right now, focusing on his shoes instead but he didn’t let that last too long, his slender fingers reaching out to lift your chin up to look at him. As you met his eyes once more, you could see the pain in them mirroring your own. He knew as well as you that this was it for the two of you. God, it hurt. Your heart physically felt like it was breaking in two. 

“Seunghyun...” you started but he cut you off. 

“Let’s just... have this moment, yeah?” His voice broke as he spoke, the gentleness combined with his deep tone penetrating right through your broken heart. 

He tugged you closer to him, your body pressed against his with your head laying on his chest. His heart was beating just as rapidly as yours, his hand gently reaching up to your head to stroke your hair. It was soothing but it wasn’t enough. This was just hurting you more. Knowing this would be the last time he’d ever hold you like this, that he’d ever be this close to you? It was enough to bring you to tears. As you let them fall onto his suit jacket, he knew you were crying, squeezing his own eyes shut. Seunghyun wasn’t afraid of crying, he never had been but right now he needed to be strong for you. When he was alone later, he’d let the tears fall but right now making sure you had one last bit of comfort from him was his main priority. 

As the song ended and you pulled back to look at him, he kept his arms around you, his thumb running along your lower lip. “...I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.” 

“I know,” you whispered. 

He looked at you so intensely, like he was memorising all of your features knowing that he would never be able to look at you this way again. Before he could even control himself, he was leaning in and his lips met yours in a slow, passionate kiss. His arms wrapped around your body; his hands splayed across your back as he poured every ounce of his love into the kiss. Love wasn’t the problem; his own commitment issues were. Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, Seunghyun letting out a sigh. He didn’t say any words as he pulled away, he didn’t need to. Instead, he simply took your hand in his and lead you outside. If he was going to say goodbye then he was going to make sure it was one you could both remember. 

That was how you ended up in the backseat of the car, Seunghyun’s shirt half open, yours somewhere in the front of the car as you straddled his lap, hands cradling his face as you kissed him hungrily. His hands slid up your back, unhooking your bra. It was quickly discarded somewhere in the car, his eyes instantly falling to your chest. His head dipped down, his tongue swirling around your nipple. Your hand tangled in his hair, a breathy moan passing your lips as he worked his magic. Slowly, you grinded your hips against his feeling his growing length rubbing against your core. Thank the stars you’d decided to wear a skirt, only the barrier of your underwear in the way. It was good but it wasn’t enough. You needed him, you needed him like you needed air. 

His lips trailed wet kisses along your chest and collarbone until he reached your neck, biting down to leave his mark. It might be the last time he’d get to have you like this but he still wanted the world to know you had been his. You tugged at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips. “If this is the last time just... give me everything, please.” 

“Whatever you want, baby,” he mumbled, thumb brushing against your cheek as he crashed his lips back onto yours. His hand slid underneath your skirt, dipping beneath your underwear. The second his fingers touched your sensitive core, he bit back a moan at how wet you were. “You're always so ready for me.” 

His fingers slid between your folds, coating his fingers in your slick before he pushed two digits inside you. The intrusion had you gasping, his fingers setting a slow, torturous rhythm. He pumped them in and out, your head falling onto his shoulder as you ground against his hand. “Seunghyun, please.” 

“Please, what?” His voice was a deep, reverberating whisper in your ear only making your arousal worse. “Use your words, baby.” 

“More. I need more. I...” Words seemed to escape you especially when he suddenly sped up his movements, his fingers plunging in and out of your tight heat. You whimpered, hips rocking with him. He was nothing but determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy, his free hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back roughly as his lips found your neck. The feeling of his fingers deep inside you and the soft bites along your collarbone were enough to send you spiralling. 

You moaned out his name, biting down on his shoulder as you came all over his fingers. He didn't let up, working you through your orgasm until he felt your body slump against his. Only then did he pull his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips. He made a show out of pushing them into his mouth to taste you. His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head, a breathy sigh passing his lips. “You always taste amazing, princess.” 

His swollen lips brushed against yours, the sweet taste of you lingering on his lips. He gently tugged at your bottom lip, grinding his hips up into yours. You could feel how hard he was, how desperate he was and God, did you want him inside you so badly. The feeling was very mutual, his cock aching to be buried deep inside you. He lifted your hips off him momentarily, popping open the button on his slacks as he lifted his own hips to tug off his pants and boxers down his legs enough to free himself. He hissed as the cool air hit his erection.  

Licking your lips, you leaned your head down, his hand instantly coming to push you closer to his length. Your tongue darted out, teasing along his tip, the taste of his precum filling your mouth. He groaned, a deep husky noise; it was almost enough to send you spiralling again. The throbbing between your legs back yet again as he lost all his patience and pushed your head onto him. Your lips wrapped around his cock, taking as much of him into your mouth as possible. What you couldn’t fit, you wrapped your hand around. You began to bob your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks. With lidded eyes he watched as you took him deep into your throat, holding your head there. He let out a strangled moan, his hips instinctively pushing up into your mouth causing the tip of his length to hit the back of your throat. The choking sound you made was almost enough to make him come there and then. Instead, he pulled you off him, his thumb wiping at the corners of your mouth. You looked picturesque, the way your lips were swollen, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. This was one of the ways he was always going to remember you on lonely nights when he couldn’t have you anymore.  

“I need you so much,” he whispered, the pain in his voice like a knife to your heart. “Even if it's for the last time, I just... I fuckin’ need you.”  

You didn’t say anything, instead you slid your underwear off down your legs, moving to straddled him yet again. You took him in your hand, positioning him at your entrance before you sank down onto him. You moaned as you took all of him inside you, sitting on his thick length to give yourself time to adjust. His fingers dug into your hips; head tilted back as he looked at you. “You’re so beautiful. I... love you.” 

You rested your forehead against his, eyes squeezing shut as if it was too painful to even look at him after saying that knowing what was going to come after this was over. Regardless, you replied softly. “I love you, too.” 

“Don’t move. Not yet. I...just want to look at you... so I can keep this picture in my head,” his finger trailed along your jaw, his eyes piercing into yours now that you’d opened them. “You were always the best thing that had ever happened to me and nothing will change that.” 

You let the moment linger between you, knowing that you both needed it. Your eyes scanned his face, committing his dark, gorgeous eyes, strong jawline and perfect lips to your memory. Slowly but surely, you began to lift your hips up then back down. His hands on your hips guiding your movements, small breathy groans coming from the beautiful man in front of you. He leaned up, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. His tongue slipped between your parted lips, tongue tangling with yours as you picked up your pace. Seunghyun’s own hips bucked up into yours, his lips never leaving yours. One of your hands cupped his cheek, his soft skin flushed beneath your touch. The grunts and groans coming from him were some of your favourite sounds, ones that you’d miss so very much.  

“I’m so close, baby,” you panted, your hips beginning to lose the rhythm. Seunghyun took this as his cue to wrap his arm around your body, laying you back on the plush seat of the car.  

“Shh, let me take care of you,” he rasped, his body covering yours as he lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. He thrust into you hard and fast, your body moving with the force of his movements. Nails raked down his back (your turn to mark him as yours now), the sting of it causing him to moan. He had always loved when you did that. 

He could feel your walls squeezing him, letting him know you were close. So, he brought the pad of his thumb down, rubbing tight, small circles against your clit. His lips whispering “I love you” against yours as he changed to slow, deep thrusts. That was it. You couldn’t take anymore, your walls clamping down around him, your lips singing his name like a prayer as you came undone. He didn’t take his eyes off your face as he watched your orgasm hit you, it was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. He kept up his rhythm but soon faltered when he heard you whisper you loved him. He stilled, his hips flush against you as he came, emptying himself inside you with a deep groan. 

He collapsed on top of you, your sweat slicked bodies pressing together. You ran your hand through his hair as he nuzzled into your neck. Why couldn’t you stay this way? Just wrapped up in your own little bubble with the man you loved. But, no. Reality wasn’t that kind to either of you. You both wanted different thing and as selfish as Seunghyun wanted to be, he couldn’t do that to you. No matter what, you deserved to find everything you’d ever wanted but he wasn’t the one that could give you that. 

He lifted his head, a sad frown on his beautiful face. “I’m staying at Jiyong’s tonight but... I’ll drive you home and come get my stuff tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” 

That was all you could say otherwise you’d break down. The fact that this was really it was all consuming pain. And, as much as this had been the perfect way to say goodbye to each other, it made it all the much harder. 

How were you supposed to ever let him go? 

[luvfae]

BAD INVESTMENT

PART ONE

summary: while at club pentagon, thanos runs into the man that single handedly got him into debt, mg coin, but he also runs into you. mg coin’s pretty little girlfriend.

parings: myung-gi x f!reader, thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: violence, blood, swearing, alcohol use

bad investment masterlist

MG Coin.

The man who single-handedly ruined Thanos’ life.

The so-called crypto guru who convinced thousands—including him—to pour their money into a sinking ship. And now here he was, sitting at the bar inside Club Pentagon, a girl—you—perched between his legs like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Thanos clenched his jaw. The audacity.

He didn’t hesitate. He stalked forward, cutting through the crowd, eyes locked on his target.

“MG Coin,” he said, voice low, dangerous.

The man looked up, blinking at him in confusion. You glanced over your shoulder, and for a split second, Thanos’ focus wavered, his eyes dropping to yours. But then Myung-gi spoke.

“Do I know you?”

Thanos’ gaze snapped back.

“No,” he said coolly, cracking his knuckles. “But you’re about to.”

Myung-gi sighed, already exasperated. “Listen, if this is about crypto—”

“You stole my money,” Thanos cut in, his voice edged with restrained fury. “You owe me.”

“I didn’t steal your money, man,” Myung-gi replied, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault the market crashed.”

Thanos took another step forward, towering over him.

“You made the videos. You sold the dream.” His lip curled. “And I bought it.”

Myung-gi exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ, you sound just like the idiots in my DMs.”

Thanos smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. His eyes flickered back to you, his smirk widening.

“What’s your name, señorita?” he drawled, voice dripping with flirtation.

You couldn’t help it—the smile that spread across your lips, the soft giggle that escaped you. Like your boyfriend wasn’t sitting right there. Like you weren’t tangled up in his lap.

Myung-Gi’s fingers tapped against your cheek, pulling your attention back to him.

“Why don’t you grab us a drink, babe?” he said, all sugar-sweet smiles, slipping his card into your hand.

You nodded, slipping away into the crowd.

Thanos watched you go, eyes dark with interest. “Make that three!” he called after you, but the music swallowed his voice whole. No matter. He’d have his way one way or another.

His attention snapped back to Myung-Gi. “Who is she?” he asked, feigning casual curiosity.

Myung-Gi’s jaw tensed. “My girlfriend,” he bit out. “So back the fuck off.”

Thanos’ smirk sharpened.

“You know, MG Coin,” he mused, stepping closer, “I might be willing to call us even—” he tilted his head, eyes flicking toward you at the bar before settling back on Myung-Gi, “—if you let me have a taste of her.”

Myung-Gi shot to his feet, shoving Thanos hard.

Thanos stumbled back a step before straightening, his expression darkening, amusement flickering into something far more dangerous.

Slowly, he grabbed a fistful of Myung-Gi’s collar, yanking him close until their noses nearly touched.

“Touch me again,” he murmured, voice soft but laced with venom, “and I’ll cut off those sticky little fingers of yours and gift them to your bitch.” His eyes flickered back toward you, watching as you collected the drinks from the bartender. “Then,” he smirked, “I’ll make her my bitch.”

Thanos let go with a shove, smoothing out his shirt like nothing had happened.

“She will love it,” he added, grinning.

Rage flared in Myung-Gi’s eyes, and he swung—wild, unthinking.

Thanos dodged effortlessly, chuckling, before driving his fist straight into Myung-Gi’s face.

You appeared then, setting the drinks on the bar top before crouching beside Myung-Gi, who was clutching his bleeding nose, groaning in pain.

“Oh my gosh, babe!” you gasped, eyes wide with concern as you gently touched his face.

Then your gaze snapped up to Thanos, and the softness vanished, replaced by a fiery glare.

“You asshole!” you spat.

Thanos only smirked, watching you with lazy amusement as he loomed over you, his presence overwhelming.

He reached out, fingers trailing along your jaw before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “Mmm, fiery,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “I like that.”

Your scowl deepened, but he only leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a husky whisper just for you.

“When you’re done playing house with this boy,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from your ear, “why don’t you come find me? Let me show you what it’s like to be really taken care of.” His fingers trailed lightly down your arm, deliberate, slow. “I’ll make you forget every other man that’s ever touched you.”

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second—just enough for his smirk to deepen.

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, shoving his chest as you turned back to Myung-Gi.

Thanos chuckled under his breath, watching you fuss over your boyfriend, knowing damn well he had just planted a seed in your mind—one that would be impossible to ignore.

The tension in the air was thick as you helped Myung-Gi up from the floor, his face contorted in pain. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of frustration, but you forced it down. This wasn’t the time. Myung-Gi was your boyfriend, and that meant you needed to stay focused on him, despite the way Thanos’ words lingered in your mind.

You glanced back at Thanos, who stood across the room, watching you like he knew something you didn’t. His eyes were dark, calculating, but there was something else too—something that tugged at you in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“You alright?” you asked Myung-Gi softly, trying to calm his frayed nerves. You dabbed at his nose with a napkin, the sight of blood making you wince.

“Yeah, just a scratch,” Myung-Gi grumbled, clearly furious but trying to mask his vulnerability. His hand still shook slightly, though. “That guy’s got a fucking death wish.”

You didn’t respond. Myung-Gi was quick to forget about the threat, but you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had settled in your chest ever since Thanos spoke to you. You had never been one to entertain flirtation from men—let alone the kind of men who made your stomach twist—but there was something magnetic about the way that guy carried himself.

You hated that about yourself. Hated that you had even acknowledged the pull he had on you.

“Let’s go home,” Myung-Gi grunted, grabbing his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder, signaling the end of the night.

You nodded, offering a half-hearted smile. The night had gone downhill fast, and all you wanted now was to escape the buzzing of your thoughts. Myung-Gi wasn’t the easiest man to deal with when he was angry—especially when he had an audience.

The ride back was silent, the tension between you both palpable. Myung-Gi’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. You watched his profile, the way his jaw twitched with every passing minute. He hadn’t said a word since the club, and you weren’t sure what to do.

You hadn’t expected Thanos to show up the way he had, let alone provoke Myung-Gi like that. But what made it worse was how easy it had been for Thanos to get under your skin, how easily he’d distracted you.

“You know,” Myung-Gi broke the silence, his voice tight, “That asshole doesn’t know what he’s playing at.”

You didn’t answer at first, unsure of how to approach the conversation. You knew Myung-Gi well enough to know that when he was pissed off, trying to reason with him only made things worse.

“I don’t like the way he looked at you,” he added, his voice lowering. “You’re mine, got it?”

The possessiveness in his tone made your skin crawl. You didn’t respond, simply staring out the window, as if the city lights outside could distract you from the anger bubbling inside.

The next few days were a blur. You barely saw Myung-Gi outside of your shared apartment, and when you did, it was strained. His eyes kept darting toward his phone, as though waiting for the next notification to tell him everything was still okay, like everything was still under control.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about that moment at the club—the way he looked at you, how his words lingered in your mind. He was dangerous, you knew that. And yet, it felt like he was playing some kind of game, pulling at strings you didn’t even know were there.

[dumbgoondog]

Baby and Baby(Part 2)

MDNI +18 NSFW

Cw/Tw - pregnancy/breeding, rough sex, degradation

Ft. Sukuna, Geto, and Toji

Asking him to get you pregnant! GN!reader AFAB!reader

RYOMEN SUKUNA

You crawl into bed your massive husband already lounged across the furs of his bed. You scoot up trailing a hand along his thigh he has sticking out from the covers snaking its way to palm at him. He cracks open his eyes only two of the red lights looking at you before he starts to grin and give you low purrs sitting up some to enjoy your touches more.

You lean down kissing along his exposed leg glancing up to him a bit nervous not to touch him but what you wanted to ask. Sukuna seemed to notice after a bit his thick cock hard in your hand the slightly hesitant pace you had. He only quirks a brow and you swallow smiling and looking to him, “Kuna, I was wanting to ask… would you want kids with me?”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHA-!” Sukuna’s laugh roars through your bedroom as you jump letting go of his dick you were just teasing. You purse your lips looking away brows knitting together as he calms his laughs squinting at you. It takes him a few seconds before a massive hand grabs your wrist pulling you to his side, “no way, are you being serious?”

You nod and he picks you up and into his lap holding your shoulders all four eyes focusing in on you. You smile at him tilting your head anxious as you couldn’t read his expression that tended to be cold. Sukuna takes both of your hands with his lower ones his voice much quieter, “You want kids with me? Right now?”

You start to say yes but are cut off by a passionate kiss and him jerking your hips to grind against his length, he snickers at your startled whimper and moan. He’s hard, fully hard now both cocks poking between your thighs and you swallow realizing, he’s hard because that thought excites him. He breaks away from the kiss with a bastardly grin, “Fuck yeah then, let’s make some ugly babies! See if I can even give children! Hah!”

The answer is yes. Yes he can.

SUGURU GETO

Geto’s hips smack and smack against yours but he slows after you ask. Not fully stopping but he’s panting looking at you with a smirk and quirked brow, “Now Lovely, did you… say you wanted a baby?”

You nod looking to the side, “If you want that is!”

Geto slows to a full stop, he’s catching his breath and reaches to tuck his hair From his face. He smiles down at you reaching a hand to cup your cheek, you flush as he pulls you took look at him. Those beautiful dark brown almost black eyes warm and full of love as his hips give a sharp thrust, ripping a moan from you in surprise.

“Let’s get started then, hmm? Gotta get this tight pussy filled for you to get pregnant now don’t we?” His voice is coy, teasing. His expression is still so sweet and warm, eyes closed, yet he’s thrusting into your cunt with a rough vigor and he’s bruising your hips from how hard he’s gripping it. His tip pulsing and ramming into you gooey strings of your juices squishing between your hips. You gasp and moan squeezing hand grabbing and clawing at the sheets under you while he’s still got a soft hand on your cheek.

He cums and you feel it dumping deep into you, length twitching with every pulse of cum that rushes into you. His moan is delicious and he moves the hand on your hip to your clit, running teasing circles on it making you squirm and tighten around him. Geto smiles panting, he leans down over you continuing to rub your clit, dick buried into you still as he hums, “keeping it all in and I won’t move until you cum darling, then we’ll go again. It’s going to be wonderful, having kids with you.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“Damn- hell no!” He grunts between thrusts the bed trying its damndest to not break beneath you two, “got two shits I don’t even take of how do I- oh fuuuck keep squeezin slut.”

(Jk jk, I had too)

He doesn’t respond to your question, his fat cock still splitting you open bullying into your cunt’s warmth. Did he hear you? You muster the strength again putting a hand on one of his, “Toji- Toji baby- ah! I want- I want a baby!”

Oh! That was a harder thrust, you could feel that real deep in you, and his brows are more furrowed now like he’s focusing. Sweat dripping from his forehead and down his chest, you watch your mind trying to melt into mush again but again try to speak, “Toji! Baby! You hear? Ah- fuck! I wan-“

“I heard ya! I heard! Fuck bitch, I- oh god,” he groans somehow still able to go harder and faster, you had to wonder was the increase from excitement or- “Fuck- fuck- you wanna baby? Be nice in full of my kid huh? Let everyone know I fuck ya cunt good enough for one? Dirty slut.”

There goes your brain, putty as soon as he started growling at you, fucking you so raw and rough. He’s got that cocky side smirk, his mouth hanging a bit open and his eyes finally open. Those electric green eyes peer through his black bangs and droplets of sweat as he huffs and chuckles, “let’s get ya fucked full then, make me a daddy to your kids too.”

[bloggerspam]

He's confused, but he's got the Spirit.

A serious chaos oneshot VERY loosely inspired by this post.

this seriously ran away from me like why is there so much world building?? and For What??? You can also find this on AO3.

============

So the thing is, Ellie's not socialized.

Not properly, anyway.

And sure, she's not a dog, so it's not too late but sometimes…

Sometimes she feels like it's way too late.

Staring in confusion at an increasingly irate Robin interrogating her about her civilian life she feels like maybe…

This might be one of those times.

===

Ellie is very new to being a hero.

She's very new to a lot of things, actually.

Like school, and homework, and having a stable home and sort of a part time job (or would hero-ing be considered more of an extra curricular?)

Like gossip, and slang. And dating.

"I heard Nightwing and Flash the Second are hooking up." Wondergirl says suddenly, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she slumps onto the couch next to Ellie. It's a weird way to start a conversation, but Ellie is also getting used to not throwing a punch as a greeting so who is she really to judge?

She's only met these people briefly on the field, on various occasions. Maybe this is how they start conversations.

"Oh yeah, that's old news." Impulse jumps in before Ellie can say anything in response, hopping over the couch to bounce next to Ellie. He reaches over her to grab a handful of popcorn from Wondergirl on her other side. "Where is he by the way? Wasn't this whole thing organized by Nightwing?"

'This whole thing' being an overnight gathering of younger generation heroes in order to socialize and network amongst peers.

In other words, Danny had grinned when he invited her, a big ol' sleepover, squirt.

"He's visiting Oracle." Red Robin answers, walking into the large common room at Mount Justice the YJ is providing for the whole event. "She hasn't been sleeping well these past couple weeks, so he stopped by last night."

"Isn't Oracle his ex?" Superboy the Second asks, floating in behind Robin like an overly large golden retriever puppy. Ellie misses Cujo like a phantom limb. She hasn't seen him in hours.

"Yes." Robin says, but doesn't elaborate any further. Well, he makes a face as if to say and? but that's about it.

"….And Flash isn't bothered by that?" Wondergirl asks, leaning back to stuff more popcorn by a handful. She jostles Ellie a bit, placing the popcorn bucket into Ellie's lap as she leans back and away. Impulse leans closer to grab more popcorn by the handful. Ellie ends up smooshed, and unsure what to do about it.

"If he knows what's good for him, he would not." Robin growls under his breath, only loud enough for those with superhearing to pick up.

"Oracle is one of ours." Red Robin unknowingly follows up, sighing into his tablet. "Spoiler and Batgirl have been taking turns visiting but they went on a date last night, so Wing offered. Flash was there for dinner."

"Is anyone else weirded out by how he just knows that?" Superboy the clone (Ancients, that's gonna get old real fast, what're their alien names again? Right! Kon-El!) floats in to plop next to Wondergirl, grabbing the tablet with his TTK on the way. against. "Also this is all so very incestuous, you know that right?"

"And thinking your cousin is hot isn't?" Red Robin huffs, but allows the theif at least to almost daintily sit on the sofa arm Impulse is lounging against.

Ellie suddenly feels very cornered in. Why did she choose the couch again?

"First of all, Supergirl is hot, it runs in the family." Kon-El says, flexing his bulky arm and ignoring the eyeroll RR gives him for it. "Second of all, I can objectively appreciate her without wanting to bone her. Ya'll actually bone each other."

"Oh, but Superman isn't hot?" Wondergirl cuts in, raising an eyebrow when Kon-El makes a face like he's about to barf. "Objectively speaking, Superman is hot and I'm not even into guys."

"Besides," Beastboy chuckles when he saunters in with Raven, "The batbrood aren't actually related. I know—I've checked."

"Batman really does have a problem." Raven agrees, sitting criss cross in the air above where BB settles in a beanbag chair. "Maybe he's afraid of empty nest syndrome and this is his contingency to avoid it."

Ellie should have chosen the beanbag. Or the armchair that Robin took in the corner—even the ottoman.

Seriously, why did she choose the middle of the sofa—this is like the first day of class all over again, when she took a front row seat without knowing the downfalls.

Ellie wouldn't call herself shy in meeting new people, but going to a rich kid's school for almost an entire semester has shown her the error of her ways.

It turns out, playing charades and being happy peppy with random strangers who don't speak your language is completely non-transferable to making friends at school.

She's not exactly lonely in school, she's great at meeting people and being friendly and she has had exactly zero problems with anybody; Making friends has never been the problem.

But being friendly and amiable and easy to blend in does not make it easy to actually keep friends.

She can move from group to group, hang out with whoever she chooses and it wouldn't be weird—but at the end of the day? If groups are being made, Ellie's always the odd one out.

A social butterfly in the midst of bees in a hive.

"It funny that you think Batman has any control of his children." Red Robin smirks, dragging her attention back to the conversation at hand. Red looks over to Robin who rolls his eyes, huffing, but does not refute.

"I mean, Batman is kind of scary." Superboy the Second says. Ellie can't recall his alien name—maybe she can think of a nickname?

"Please, Junior," Oh, that's perfect actually. "You're giving us supers a bad name." Kon-El groans, leaning heavier onto Wondergirl, who smooshes against Ellie, causing Impulse to lean into Red Robin.

Red Robin tilts, but somehow manages to stay on the arm without any trouble—it's kind of impressive.

"No, I agree." Beastboy mutters. "All you bats are kind of terrifying, even though none of you have powers."

Robin bares his teeth in a poor facsimile of a smile. It's kind of nice, Ellie offhandedly appreciates that kind of ferality. And then the words register a half second later.

"Oh." Ellie breathes out, disappointed without realizing it. She slumps a little, before freezing when all eyes turn to her.

It's this second that she realizes she hasn't actually said a single word to contribute to the conversation—Mom, come pick me up I'm scared—

"Disappointed?" Robin raises an eyebrow, RR turning to look at her like shes a bug. "You don't trust humans to thoroughly beat you into the ground?"

That gets her attention yanked back to reality real quick.

"What??" Ellie croaks out, genuinely confused. "No??? My sister's completely human and she can kick everyone's butts here."

That seems to throw everyone off just as much as she's been tossed, which makes her feel better.

"Oh, you're one of those—" RR hums, rubbing his chin like Ellie's seen Batman do sometimes. "You really thought we were a family of cryptids?"

"I'm a ghost." Ellie shrugs, happy that the tension seems to immediately leave the room. "I just thought…would'a been nice to meet other supernaturals is all."

Aaaand of course, that makes everyone tense up again. Right. Death is a big Taboo thing to humans. She forgot—what did Danny say they should introduce themselves as again?? Shit.

Thankfully, Nightwing arrives shortly into the silence with a loud flourish and her brother trailing in right behind him.

Ellie isn't ashamed to say she perks right up, relieved. She's been kind of mucking this intro event right up and kind of wants to go home already.

"Who's ready for break out some of those good old introductions?" Nightwing booms out, jovial and peppy as he comes to a stop.

Danny—no, she should be calling him Phantom now—gives her a smile and a wave as Beastboy and Raven get up to join the other adults as they face the younger heroes.

"Welcome, your Majesty." Red Robin greets as he delicately steps down from the arm of the sofa to do respectful half bow with his hand open against his heart. Ellie is impressed—but then again, if anyone knew Realm's etiquette, it would be the bats.

Ellie does her own half bow, much to Phantom's amusement.

The rest of the young heroes scramble to straighten up as Beastboy and Raven do their own bows and greetings.

"Your majesty," Robin echoes, before clicking his tongue and yanking on Superboy the Second's cape to make him touch down on earth. He grabs the back of his companion's neck, forcing him to bow and doing his own half bow of greeting in perfect measure as the other heroes finally assemble themselves into their own bows.

"At ease, heroes." Phantom nods with a charmed smile, waving away the flustered younger heroes stumbling into their greetings. "I hate formalities with the passion of a thousand suns."

Immediately, all the young heroes collapse once more upon each other on the sofa. Ellie is once again, trapped. Damn, she was too slow.

"So, King Phantom." Nightwing gestures to the two groups of heroes, "This is Young Justice, and the Supersons."

"Is that really necessary?" Robin interrupts, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair, clearly taking advantage of Phantom's dislike for formality. "We've met each other before, clearly we are able to work together just fine."

"It's important to get to actually know each other, baby bird." Nightwing chides, walking over to ruffle as Robin's hair. Robin, predictably, slaps the hand away. "Besides, you can't effectively make plans if you don't know each other's abilities and quirks."

"Plus," Phantom smiles as he beckons her over. "It's the first time you'll officially be meeting Spirit outside of a crisis."

Ellie, once more a little squished up, phases right into the ground to escape her captors. She takes that scant second in the darkness of the floor to breathe in and out, centering herself. Why is she being so awkward right now? She's traveled the world, she's never had problems talking to strangers before, even at school she's a certified yapper!

Then again, she's not scrutinized from head to toe there—her each and every action in school doesn't exactly reflect upon Danny's standing in the Justice League like it does at Mount Justice.

She scrunches her face, shaking her head to rid herself of her 16 year old sensibilities and shyness, trying to put on her well worn coat of 12 year old audacity. She pops right back up to come back into visibility right next to Phantom, who lifts an arm to drape over her shoulder.

He's shot up recently, looking like slightly leaner, delicate version of Dan—all of Dad's bulk with Mom's features, a killer combo for sure. Ellie's really glad her template is pretty and buff.

"Spirit has yet to choose a haunt of her own, mostly spending most of her time in the Realms," Phantom begins explaining—which, right. She's supposed to introduce herself as a Realm's denizen! She'll have to remember next time. "She's my one and only heir, so it's likely she will remain around Amity Park unless some other place catches her eye."

Phantom squeezes her shoulder, smiling down at her. It never fails to make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, even though she cringes at the title. She's not exactly Princess material, but then, Danny thought he wasn't King material either.

"Your teams were chosen because of your proximity to each other's base of operations." Raven chimes in, quirking her lips. "Batman himself has given her permission to roam around Gotham, due to the high levels of ambient ectoplasm."

"Provided," Nightwing puts a hand up to stave off Robin's protests, "That she not meddle in Gotham's rogues."

"Scout's Honor." Ellie smiles to hide her nerves, trying to exude confidence with her chest puffed up and channeling Jazz with all her might.

"So…basically this is a playdate for the Princess." Red Robin surmises. "Under the guise of what, a teen hero gathering labeled diplomatic sleepover?"

"Way to make me sound lame…" Ellie grumbles, wincing. "Also, please don't call me Princess. I get enough of that in the Realms."

"Well…he's right, it is kind of a sleepover, and you are a princess." Phantom chuckles, patting her on the head once, twice before turning back to the young heroes. "Spirit won't actually be active on the hero scene. As a Realms citizen, we mostly just want you guys comfortable with each other in the event of a worse case scenario."

"That's all well and good…" Ellie says, drawing out the vowels as she thinks her words through, "But I don't actually know what we're supposed to be doing here."

Ellie tries to convey to Danny that she's never actually been to a human sleepover before, and judging by how his face goes all soft and sad, he probably knows.

"Watch a movie, chat a bit about school in vague terms, play some board games." BB beams at her in excitement, as if on her behalf. "Y'know, regular sleepover stuff, but kinda like a masquerade, with the secret identities and all."

Ellie reaches up, feeling the edge of the domino she created with her ectoplasm. Phantom has a sort of magic that's been set upon that prevents people from really looking too closely, but Ellie's never been comfortable with that so she had to learn how to manipulate her ectoplasm in ghost form to even be allowed to join as a hero—Jazz had been really mad at Danny for using "being a dead kid" as a crutch for his secret identity.

Good thing Nocturne and Ghost Writer knew a couple of spells…

"Phantom and I will be around," Nightwing continues, gesturing vaguely in a direction away. "BB and Ray are technically on call so they'll be with us for a little be too. We know you don't need supervision, but technically speaking this is a diplomacy thing so, we'll be in our rooms for the most part."

"Sorry if I'm cramping your style, Princess." Phantom grins with all his teeth, because he knows she hates it when he calls her that.

"Oh, you could never, Your Great and Woeful Majesty!" Ellie very dramatically brings her fist to her chest, stepping back and crossing her foot to bow formally, because she knows he hates it when she does that.

True to form, Phantom huffs, crossing his arms. "I knew I shouldn't have let you hang out with Fright Knight."

"Frighty is a delight and assigning him as my babysitter was the best decision you ever made." Ellie straightens up, jabbing a finger at her brother. "What you shouldn't have done was let me hang around Johnny 13 and Kitty."

"It's funny you think I let them do anything." Phantom laughs, "But that's good to know, now I know who to blame for that sass of yours."

Ellie scoffs. "As if I didn't get it from you."

Phantom puts his hands up in surrender, chuckling.

"I do seem to recall a certain Ghost King meeting Batman and calling him a crime-fighting furry to his face." Nightwing hums, bemused and rubbing his chin as if in thought.

The assembled young heroes start to burst out laughing,

"Hey now," Phantom says indignantly, "You're putting that entirely out of context."

"I don't know…" Raven smiles, "I'm pretty sure that's what happened."

"Weren't you only sixteen too?" BB makes a little thinking noise. "You were only Crown Prince when the JL tried to pick you up, right?"

"Patently unfair." Red Robin grumbles.

"Get good, scrub." Phantom shrugs, making Ellie giggle hard enough to float a little.

Beeps start to ring out, one by one, and the adults straighten up and answer their comms. Raven and Beastboy seem to sigh in unison.

"Duty calls," Raven drawls, putting away her communicator and pulling up her hood.

"Have fun, kiddos!" Beastboy grins with all his animal teeth, waving as Raven's inky black magic covers and vanishes them.

"I think that's our cue, too." Phantom nudges Nightwing in the shoulder, "We still need to go over those accords Batman drew up for me, and I'm sure the kids can't wait for us to get outta their hair."

"Right, right. Well!" Nightwing puts his hands on his hips. "Babybirds, you know the rules. Have fun!"

Phantom gives Ellie a little peck to her temple, squeezing her shoulder in comfort one last time before walking away.

Ellie watches them leave in a nervous kind of titter, trying not to fidget as she's suddenly left alone to fend for herself.

Of course, teenagers being teenagers regardless of their hero status, they don't leave her alone for too long.

"So is King Phantom like, your dad?" Impulse asks dashing away for a split second and coming back with an armful of snacks.

"Not…exactly." Ellie makes a face. She's not ashamed of her past, but she doesn't really want to get into her origin story on her first official meeting. "He's more my brother? I guess."

"But you're his heir?" Wondergirl grabs a bag of chips from Impulse's pile to open one up herself. "Doesn't Phantom have a consort?"

"Belladonna." Robin nods, already looking bored and annoyed with everything. "She has been working with Poison Ivy on the new recycling program Star City has been trying to implement."

"Yeah?" Ellie walks a little closer to the group, taking a seat on the rug instead of joining whatever cuddle puddle the YJ team is attempting.

Junior takes a seat on the floor with her, leaning back against Robin's armchair, completing the little circle they have going on. Kon-El tosses her a pillow, and she hugs it to her in comfort.

"If they have kids," Wondergirl elaborates, "Will they take over as his heir?""

"Oh!" Ellie breathes a sigh of relief. "No, that's not how it works in the Realms."

"How does it work?" Kon-El asks as steals a chip from Wondergirl, much to her chagrin.

"There's a…" Ellie hedges, kind of embarrassed. "Well, a rite of succession."

"Like that Klingon ritual?" Kon-El asks, to which Red Robin sighs the sigh of a long suffering friend.

"Ignore him." Red takes pity on her, giving her the out. "Is it confidential?"

"It's not that," Ellie hastily says, "I'm just, It's a little…I'm surprised you guys don't already know?"

"Spit it out, Spirit." Robin sneers. "Clearly, we do not."

Ellie sighs, mumbling.

"Whatwasthat?" Impulse's words cut through her.

Ellie sighs again, enunciating her words. "It's by Rite of Single Combat."

There's a long silence then. Kon-El whistling as if he's impressed.

"What does that mean?" Junior stage whispers to Robin, who clicks his tongue again.

"It means she will have to battle Phantom for the crown." Robin explains, far more patiently than she expected him too.

"Wait, but then, why is she already named heir if she has to fight for the crown? What if someone's stronger?"

Ellie flushes, curling up with her throw pillow and blocking out the looks Young Justice are giving her.

"It means," Robin grits out, "That she is strong enough that it is already likely she will overtake him in the future. Do you know nothing, Superboy?"

"But that's so…" Junior makes a face. "No offense, but you're like really young still, and isn't the Realms super big?"

Ellie groans, leaning back to starfish completely on the floor. She'd rather face the ceiling than be here right now. So far, this sleepover is the pits.

"My brother and I are kinda…special. And the Avatar of Time really really likes us."

A long silence. She decides she might as well go for broke, if anyone can understand the train wreck that is her life, it might as well be these heroes."

"I call him grampy. He's been trying to get Phantom to call him grandpa since I was twelve, but so far my brother is winning by calling him Old Fart. Grampy's kind of depressed about it."

"Grampy." Red's voice flattens, probably in shock. "You call the Avatar of Time, grampy."

"I've never felt more attracted to a man than I have now." Wondergirl breathes, "And I'm lesbian. He really—to Kronos' face???"

"Yeah, Phantom's my hero." Ellie smiles, proud of her brother and finally sitting up. "But enough about that. I know this is probably the last thing you guys wanted, being forced to socialize with a…." Ellie winces, "princess. But I promise I don't bite."

Robin side eyes her, which is fair. Last time they saw each other Ellie bit straight through a batarang. She grins at him with all her teeth, which he raises an eyebrow at but doesn't comment any further.

She thinks that's a good sign, from him. It kind of makes her want to bite something.

"Are you kidding?" Impulse bundles up his copious amount of now empty snack packages and dashes away for a second to toss them out, presumably. "It's usually just us four at Mount Justice, so it's nice to have company."

"Plus, even though Phantom's been active in the League for a couple years now, we know basically nothing about the Realms because it took so long to get the ECTO Acts overturned." Red Robin smiles at her, no doubt noticing how uncomfortable she's been. "As long as you're okay with the 20 questions treatment."

Ellie shrugs, better 20 questions than something like Spin the Bottle. Ellie's heard the horror stories from Jazz and she's not exactly sure where she stands on kissing strangers yet. Truth or Dare sounds kind of fun though.

"I heard you know Lady Pandora personally." Wondergirl chimes in, leaning forward a bit. "I kinda wanna hear more. Does she really have four arms?"

"She does! Wicked sword play too." Ellie grins, finally on some stable footing. "She's my weapons instructor."

"Did Phantom assign you instructors because you're his heir?" Red, who has somehow re-aquired his tablet, thinks aloud. "Considering the rite of succession, it must be the first time this kind of thing has been done."

"That's right," Ellie blinks in surprise, though she really shouldn't be. Jazz had said the bats were the one to be careful of the most when it came to secrets. "Most Kings take the throne by surprise, or necessity like it was in my brother's case. I'm the first one to take classes before succession."

"Must be a lotta pressure, being the first." Kon-El's voice is low, like he's thinking about something else. Which reminds her.

"It kind of is? But Phantom made it easy for me—paved the way." Ellie tries to sound nonchalant, "I'm lucky in that regard—I didn't have the be the first Realm's denizen hero, or Ghost Princess, or even," Ellie takes a deep breath, "Or even the first clone to become a hero."

The silence that follows that kind of hurts, even if she knows it's just for them to process the information she's given them. Jazz had talked her through this when Danny had dropped the news she'd be officially meeting Kon-El, with Mom and Dad reassuring her that she didn't have to tell anybody.

That no matter what, she was their surprise little girl. Pops had even went through the effort of putting together a presentation that, if the clone label truly bothered her, proved she could just as easily label herself as Danny's fraternal twin—just born 6 years late.

The science, apparently, was very sound.

"It's nice." Ellie keeps her voice steady, looking towards the archway that Danny had disappeared through for strength. "Having role models to look up to."

"Yeah." Kon-El breathes. When Ellie finally musters up the courage to look over at him, he looks like he's been weakened by Kryptonite. "Yeah, I'm—I'm glad."

"Was your progenitor Phantom?" Robin cuts in. "It would explain your complicated feelings regarding how best to describe how you are related."

"Robin!" Junior hisses, but Robin rolls his eyes. It's apparent even through the domino.

"It is a good question, Hayseed." Robin drawls, scrunching up his nose. "It is hard to tell with the spell he has to obscure his face, but you have the same," He flaps a hand, "…mannerisms."

"I am." Ellie puffs up her chest. "I couldn't have asked for a better template—he's real pretty under that spell you know."

"I couldn't care less." Robin doesn't say this insultingly, but more as a fact. Red Robin face palms at this, but Robin blithely ignores him. "It is more noteworthy that you are slated to defeat Phantom in strength—my clones were never a match for me."

"You've been cloned before?" Ellie perks up, fascinated. "All of my podmates melted. Were they brainwashed too? Phantom talked me out of my brainwashing, but my creator didn't exactly work too hard on that aspect—he just talked real nice and pretended to love me."

And now he buys her whatever she wants and gives science presentations to affirm her identity, all because he's in his dream throuple and became a changed man. Truly, her life is batshit crazy.

Robin nods solemnly. "My Grandfather was more…thorough in that aspect. I had no choice but to dispatch them when they came to kill me. Their molecular make up was always unstable anyway."

"Rough." Ellie hisses, "I heard that happens when the genetic sequencing—"

A loud coughing interrupts Ellie, Wondergirl looking very amused and also kind of heavily disturbed.

"Sorry." Ellie smiles sheepishly. "Pops is sort of a biochemist."

"They have biochemists in the Realms?" Impulse asks, somehow acquiring a muffin from somewhere. When she looks at it longingly, she gets her own muffin deposited into her hand within a blink.

"Thanks!" Ellie smiles, biting in. Blueberry, amazing. "And yeah, I guess? It's got all sorts of different people, considering it's the waypoint between all sorts of dimensions."

"What's it like there?" Junior's face scrunches up in confusion, "The more I hear about it the less I can picture it."

"It's very green." Ellie says through a stuffed mouth. Jazz would be appalled, "And it's full of floating islands."

"You know," Impulse thinks aloud, "That doesn't really…help."

Ellie shrugs. You can't really describe the Realms easily, so mostly she doesn't try. She tells them so as she chows down the rest of her muffin.

"Makes sense," Red Robin nods, still typing away. "Logic follows that a place made of ectoplasm would be very green, and floating islands aside if the Realms is a place full of different other places, then it would be hard to boil it down."

Wondergirl claps once, twice. "Alright. Enough of that—this is supposed to be a sleepover. First order of business should be getting comfortable and starting up a movie!"

"Race ya!" Impulse yells to Kon-El, and in a blink both of them are gone and back in their PJs.

"I was first!" Kon-El smirks smugly as he leans back sporting some black basketball shorts and a Wondergirl themed Muscle tanktop. The shorts have a little Red Robin symbol on the bottom right hem, and he still has his round black sunglasses on.

"Nowaynoway," Impulse vibrates, shaking Kon-El by the arm. He's sporting some Superboy pajama bottoms, thick and fluffy looking, with an oversized teeshirt that mimics Red Robin's uniform.

"Rob! Tell Impulse I won!" Kon-El yells over his shoulder, but Wondergirl and Red are already walking away and scoffing at them.

"Children." Robin sniffs, standing up to look down at Ellie. "Do you need direction to the locker room?"

"Oh!" Ellie smiles at the other hero's thoughtfulness. "No, I can just…"

She scrunches up her face, concentrating hard on the image of her favorite pajamas: Black pajama shorts with white stripes running along the side with Phantom's symbol stamped at the bottom hem, green ghost patterned fuzzy white socks, and a white sweater with a DalvCO logo embroidered on the breast pocket she stole and cut to be a crop top.

When she blinks her eyes open, her ectoplasm has morphed itself into that exact visage. With, of course, her domino still in tact. She beams up at Robin, who looks at her and nods approvingly.

"Adequate." Robin's voice is curt, but she can tell he's fascinated. Is this guy liminal? Before she can ask, Robin has already turned away to stalk towards a different hallway than the others.

"Don't mind him." Junior says, looking soft and fluffy decked out entirely in robin (the bird, not the hero) themed pajamas bottoms and an old Daily Planet teeshirt. "That's him being impressed."

"Oh, I know." Ellie grins, sticking her tongue out a bit. In her ghost form it's a little forked, so she embellishes with a little hiss. "I can kinda taste chemo-signals."

"Neat!" Junior perks up, floating a little in her face and pointing at his own nose. "My brother and me can smell those."

Ellie and Junior continue like that, comparing powers whilst Kon-El and Impulse bicker with each other, occasionally whipping around and grabbing more snacks and pillows and whatever else they deem necessary for the sleepover.

Red Robin, sporting an Impulse long sleeve with Nightwing sweatpants and a pair of weirdly tinted sunglasses, rejoins as he chatters with Wondergirl, who is rocking a Wonderwoman sports bra and biker short set. Robin silently melts from the shadows in a boring ensemble of green silk pajamas—the kind fancy rich folk like Vlad wear—and what looks like a softer version of his domino.

Soon enough, Ellie's sunk deeply into a pile of pillows surrounded by heroes in similar states, munching on a pizza roll as the heroes watch the newest Terminatra on the big screen passively, chatter flowing around her like a warm bath.

Eventually, as all teenage movies seem to make her believe, the conversation turns toward romance.

Or rather, the difficulty of dating as a civilian, and the perils of dating as a hero.

"I just don't get it—how do they do it?" Wondergirl groans, pulling blanket after blanket on top of her to melt into a fluffy pile.

"Do what?" Ellie is only half paying attention, Terminatra has just blown up a building and is executing a beat down she thinks Sam's mimicked on Skulker three weeks ago.

"Date civilians." Impulse answers absentmindedly—like this has been a topic brought up countless times before. "Flash the first is managing it, but he told his wife his identity before they got married, so we're not sure if it counts."

"Superman managed it." Kon-El tosses a piece of candy up in the air, which Junior dutifully catches with his mouth. "But then, his mom kind of knew Supe's identity before they started dating."

"I'm telling her that." Junior gleefully cuts in, "I'm telling mom you didn't call her mom!"

"Wait—don't!" Kon-El lunges as Junior pulls out a phone, both of them tussling about as they chase each other around the room.

"What about Batman?" Impulse turns to Red Robin. The rest of Young Justice ignores the commotion, even when the sofa gets scooched over 5 feet in result. "I feel like I hear about him dating, but it's always vague or, like, about rogues."

Red and Robin share a flat look. If Ellie couldn't taste chemo-signals, she wouldn't have been able to tell that they're kind of miserable and comisserating with each other.

"Batman…dates." Red carefully chooses his words. "I mean. You've seen…well—"

"Wait—are you telling me those are real?" Wondergirl eagerly jumps in, "You're telling me those aren't just a cover?"

"Father is, for lack of a better term, sincere." Robin grits out as Junior is tossed over his head. "Father also has terrible taste in paramours."

"Oh my god I can never look Batman in the eye ever again." Impulse whispers, Kon-El diving over the couch to catch Junior's phone. "Oh my god, oh my god, Batman can get it. I mean I knew but—holyshitholyshit. Everything? Even the—the swing???"

"We don't like talking about it." Red scrubs a hand down his face. "They're mostly one night stands, so calling it dating might even be overkill."

"I believe the term 'friends with benefits' is more fitting." Robin sneers. Behind him, Junior has gained his bearings and has dived back over to reclaim his phone to tattle. "He has calmed down since acquiring children."

"Gods." Wondergirl laughs. Kon-El has Junior in a headlock. "I need Batman to give me pointers. How does he do it?"

"You don't want to know." Red and Robin say in unison. They share another look, Red wincing and Robin crossing his arms and huffing.

"I kind of want to know." Ellie finally interjects, drinking the hot cocoa Impulse brought her from…somewhere. "But not enough to press for secret identities."

"Right, sorry." Wondergirl chuckles, scratching the back of her neck. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Ellie tilts her head away from the movie, feeling relaxed and honey slow as the cocoa works its magic.

"Have you dated?" Kon-El asks, somehow apprised of the situation despite not two seconds ago tussling with his brother. Both of them are sitting prim and pretty in their respective beanbag nests. "How does dating work in the Realms?"

"Courtship is…complicated." Ellie slow blinks, trying to get her thoughts together. "Realms culture is inherently more, I guess, aggressive in nature."

"Aggressive how?" Junior looks terribly confused, "Like, yelling i love you! all the time?"

"Sounds terrible." Robin visibly shows disgust at that, which makes Ellie laugh.

"No, no." Ellie grins with all her teeth, "We fight, peacock around with our special interests, bring each other gifts and stuff like that. It just depends."

"Like, fight fight?" Impulse purses his lips, "Or like, sparring?"

"The latter." Ellie reassures with a cheeky little smile. "Everything is above board in the Realms. Mostly."

"Considering the rite of succession is trail by combat, this is not surprising." Robin hums. "Does it not create power imbalances?"

"Not really." Ellie hums, placing her now empty mug on a nearby table to buy time. She searches for the right way to explain. "It's not about beating your partner, or your friends. It's about physical touch. The more powerful ghosts aren't even really ghosts—they're concepts given form, we call them neverborns. They don't really fight all that much. Ghosts like to feel something, I gues."

"Are you not a neverborn?" Robin tilts his head like a little bird as he considers her. "You are a clone, so you did not technically die."

"I'm something different." Ellie doesn't elaborate, and the other heroes seem to accept that. Halfas are still a secret to the world, and Ellie will be damned if she's the one who lets it out.

"You never answered," Kon-El swiftly moves the conversation along. "Have you dated?"

Ellie thinks on that. She might be 16 but she's only actually been alive for 4 years. Most of that time was spent traveling and getting trained in the Realms. She's met a lot of people but never actually dated—wait.

"Oh, yeah, once." Ellie ponders she went on that study date with her classmate just last week. "It was in my civvies."

"I was wondering why you needed a domino…" Junior mutters under his breath. Robin shakes his head in disappointment.

"And?" Kon-El grins, excited, "How did it go?"

"It was alright." Ellie flaps a hand. "Nothing to write home about. We studied, ate burgers. We didn't have a lot in common."

"Why did you agree to the date if you have nothing in common?" Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Ellie shrugged expansively. "He asked me if I could spare some time to talk discuss about a topic I'm very famiiar in, so I thought we did."

"So no crash." Ellie's thoughts churn slowly, crash must be some kind of slang. On screen, Terminatra was aggressively kissing the male lead with explosives going off in the background. "Was he cute at least?"

"I guess?" Ellie slumps further, mumbling. "I like how he tasted, at least."

"Tasted?" Wondergirl is suddenly pressing both hands on her pillow haven, looking down at her upside down. "You kissed???"

"What? No!" Ellie squeaks, bringing her hands up as if trying to physically stop her accusation.

"She tastes chemo-signals!" Junior pipes in happily. He really is like a little puppy. She really misses Cujo.

"So he asked about something you like and, uh, tastes nice," Wondergirl leans back, only for Kon-El to fill up the space above her, floating. "And you had burgers—what went wrong?"

"Nothing went wrong." Ellie wipes her face, already exhausted despite this short conversation. "We just didn't click. We talked about the thing, but nothing else. Which was the point, I guess."

"Are you sure it was a date?" Red interjects, looking doubtful. "Sounds more like he just wanted information."

"He paid for everything," Ellie shrugs in a what else am I supposed to think? gesture. "Picked me up and insisted on holding open doors."

"O-kay." Kon-El draws out the a in confusion. "That does sound like a date."

"It was a boring one, in any case." Ellie closes her eyes sighing. She's not exactly disappointed, as she didn't have any expectations going in. Especially, if she's being honest, when she didn't realize it could have been a date until halfway through.

It's just that she's a teenager, and maybe she should be more excited about these kinds of things.

Sam and Danny started their relationship with high school study dates, after all. Jazz had a couple of boyfriends at her ages, didn't she? Mom and Dad started out in college though, so maybe it's fine?

The conversation starts to move on to Red Robin's love life, the only one who has been successful as this point. Apparently, his boyfriend is studying abroad for his last year in college and they are discussing opening the relationship up.

Kon-El looks far to invested for it to be considered normal. Maybe they have a thing going on?

"What was the topic?" Robin's voice suddenly cuts through the chatter.

"Hm?" Ellie hums, breathing in. Robin kind of tastes spicy. Curious, deadly. She wonders if this is him relaxed. "Oh, cryogenics."

Robin's voice goes flat. "Cryogenetics."

"Mhm. You know anything about it?" Ellie did most of the talking with her classmate, so the study date wasn't even really productive for her even if she enjoyed feeling smart and informed for once. Robin seems like a smart guy, maybe he can teach her some things?

"I do." There's something going on with Robin. Like he's trying to figure something out. "I quite like Radebaugh's paper on cryocoolers specifically."

"Oh, hey." Ellie beams up at him, happy to have found someone else interested in the subject. "Me too! That paper on utilizing cryocoolers to superconduct aircraft generators and engines is actually a huge part of how I got into this field of interest."

Robin nods, looking pensive and tasting….conflicted and maybe even angry. A taste of the air doesn't really help—chemo-signals can only get you so far when you barely know the guy and he's going through emotional gymnastics. What, has he never seen anyone be excited about superconductors?

===

Danielle Masters.

Spirit has a civilian identity, and said civilian identity happens to be the newest addition to Gotham Academy's ranks.

The same civilian identity that Damian bribed with burgers to teach him about cryogenics, and thusly assisted in thwarting Mr. Freeze's latest invention to almost terrorize Gotham at large.

The same civilian identity who, apparently, called Damian Wayne a boring date to his vigilante persona's face.

Spirit, irritatingly, seems to follow her brother's brazen footsteps very closely in this regard.

Even if it seems she doesn't know it.

"You said the date was boring?" Damian, through sheer force of will, keeps his voice level.

"Well, yeah." Spirit looks at him as if he is hard of hearing. "I did most of the talking, he didn't really contribute anything."

"Perhaps he is more of a listener?" Damian hums, focusing on the hullaballoo on the other side of the room.

Drake is, as always, oblivious to the alien clone's affections. At least Sandsmark seems to be trying her damnedest to make that happen, though if Dowd hasn't been successful in the past however many months Damian isn't sure anything ever will.

"Sure, but it felt more like I was a bug under a microscope than I was just…hanging out with a guy." Spirit hums thoughtfully.

"Maybe he was interested in watching you." Damian was most certainly not. He was, however, reconstructing what little he knew of Freeze's weapon blueprints with the help of Master's explanation of cryocooler technology.

"That's alm0st worst." Spirit deadpans. "What am I, a painting?"

"Maybe you make him nervous." Damian suddenly realizes he cannot recall what Danielle Masters actually looks like beyond a basic description saved in his head.

Black hair, pony tail customary. A bit smaller than average, petite but built. Blue eyes.

What did her face look like? He could pick her out of a crowd, surely.

"Doubt it." Spirit scoffs. "I bet he doesn't even remember what I look like."

Allen and Jon are playing some kind of tag now, which almost makes him scoff. He doesn't, but only because his head is throbbing from a headache.

"But he paid for your meal, treated you with courtesy, did he not?" That, at least, Damian is sure of. Mother and Alfred would be disappointed if he didn't.

"That is the bare minimum, my guy." Spirit gives Damian a look now, looking helplessly out of depth, "What's this really about?"

"Nothing." Damian holds back the sneer he wants to give. "I just think it unfair, is all. What if he is simply shy? Or stoic?"

"Then he can be stoic—doesn't mean he has to be boring." Spirit challenges back, a little bit of fire in her eyes burning out the confusion and leaving frustration in its wake. "My former babysitter is the epitome of stoicism, and he's not boring."

"Be more specific, what exactly was boring about him?" Damian demands.

"Why does it even matter?" Spirit squints at him, as if on the cusp of something. This will not do—it is fine if he knows her secret identity, he is trustworthy. But he still knows nothing about this Realm's denizen.

"It's a topic that I have a great deal of interest in—" Damian's mind whirls, "Batgirl is selectively mute!"

Spirit's eyebrows shoot up, before her gaze narrows upon him. "I said what I said."

Damian may or may not have let his anger and indignation get the best of him. He can practically see the gears turning in her head, connecting the dots.

This was possibly a mistake of seismic proportions.

"And I will say, that calling him boring is an affront, if not a bold-faced lie." Damian decides that if his siblings can be stupid, he can be stupid just this once.

It is practically family tradition.

Spirits gaze sharpens then, morphing into a sort of angered shock. "You—!"

"I what." Damian grits out, daring her to say more.

Spirit scrunches her nose, which Damian refuses to acknowledge it as something inane like cute.

And then there's a glint in her eye, her disgruntled expression melting into a innocent expression that fools absolutely no-one, least of all Damian.

"You sure feel strongly about this subject." Spirit begins, looking sympathetic and consoling, "Like it's something that affects you personally."

If Damian were the type of fool to sputter, he would have. But he isn't so he didnt.

"As much as I detest repeating myself, I must state again." Damian's voice is clipped, as precise as Alfred's trimming of Grandmother's Rose bushes. "My close associate is selectively mute."

"Right, right." Spirit nods, making a thoughtful expression as she rubs her chin mockingly. "And you yourself, you're a…man of few words, yeah?"

"I am." Damian straightens his already impeccable posture, tilting his chin up.

"And just as you do, I hate repeating myself but I will say it again: Being a listener does not make someone boring. Batgirl is not boring." Spirit enunciates her words, as if he is slow on the uptake. He feels a vein throb at his temple in annoyance, but at least she's getting it.

"So you are rescinding your previous statement?" Damian rubs at his temples, finally relaxing.

"Nah. my date was boring. And I've also got news for you, Robin." Spirit grins with all her inhuman teeth. Damian refuses to acknowledge how to sight makes him shiver pleasantly. "Ya boring!"

Damian blinks. "Excuse me?"

"As much as I detest repeating myself, I must state again," Spirit mocks in a surprisingly accurate approximation of his voice, "I said what I said!"

Behind him, Drake bursts out into laughter, the older teen having come up behind him without his notice.

This means war.

"I will not forget this slight, Spirit." Damian growls out, mind already conjuring ideas of revenge.

"Then don't." Spirit flaps a hand, uncaring as she flops back into her beanbag chair. "Remember and stew in your inadequacies."

Damian, without really consciously deciding to do so, pulls out a knife and stabs at her head. Spirit rolls a little, dodging inelegantly but somehow still smoothly, and looking at the sharp edge of his knife.

The laughter behind him cuts off abruptly, the tension in the room skyrocketing at the escalation.

"Robin!" Drake hisses, Damian can already see how he is reaching to admonish him. Admittedly, he should not have attacked a diplomatic guest during a—

"Now we're talking!" Spirit grins, flicking her fingers to grow some approximation of claws before she swings out, aiming for his neck.

Damian rolls backwards into a flip, pulling out a kunai in one hand and his wakizashi in the other.

The older teens try to call out of them but it is of no consequence. They quiet down easily enough when Spirit's eyes glow a menacing kind of green.

"I was wondering when the fighting would start." Spirit flicks out her other hand, both sporting claws now. "Usually we start with the fights in the Realms."

And after that, well. It would be rude to deny cultural rituals, wouldn't it?

As he tosses his kunai and dodges another swipe, Damian ruminates on how he will ambush her at school to make her eat her words.

He is certainly not a boring date, and he'll prove her wrong even if it kills him.

When she manages a solid kick to his gut, causing him to crash against the wall, all Damian can really think about is how, at the very least, it'll be interesting to try.