#hopefully the concept got across?

[elisedonut]

fuck i'm actually going to end up enjoying Sevpercy huh

maybe in a picky I like them when they are in my head or when I do it kind of way

or in a time travel way because when it comes to Snape I like his teenage self a lot more than his adult self

[iinexorabile]

What happened between Urick and Yaha was a true tragedy tbh. Two people who were very close, who harbored a strong friendship that (at one point) blossomed into romance, but one that burned out quickly and ultimately crashed because (and these are understatements) one side was too selfish and cowardly (*cough urick cough*) and the other side FAR too obsessed (looking at you Yaha).

anyway, siri play fourth of july by fall out boy.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

[sserpente]

A Haunted Read (Kinktober #1)

You are certain the library you work in his haunted. However, you are not certain ghosts can cast green magic and tease you like that...

A/N: Request by @blackwidownat2814. This request is so old, I’ll go stand in a corner and be ashamed of myself. *clears throat* On another note… Happy Kinktober! It’s my favourite time of the year and I’ve got a bunch of spooky and/or kinky Imagines ready to go this year! Starting off strong with Loki, have fun reading! ;)

Words: 2019 Warnings:  ghost!Loki (sort of), smut

You were certain the library was haunted. You were not imagining things. You could hear it. Every single night. A mischievous chuckle, a dark giggle, right after whatever spirit had made itself comfortable in your workplace wreaked some havoc when you were trying to get through your shift.

The concept of a library that was open twenty-four hours a day wasn’t so unusual but it could have done with some more marketing. You were alone most of the time, sorting through books, listening to music, and handling returns left over by the day shift.

Working at night was refreshing. Regardless of the ghost haunting you, you already had the story of a lifetime to tell to your future children (or well, pets). Your boss didn’t want to believe you when you claimed that Thor, the Thor, and his brother Loki had visited the library two weeks ago, searching for a rare tome for a super-secret Asgardian mission.

A selfie with Thor (and Loki rolling his eyes in the background) was now your new profile picture on all of the social media platforms you were on.

Thor was just as righteous and warm as the media portrayed him. Loki was…something else. Cautious, quiet, snarky and to be frank, condescending. Not to mention he’d been the one to show up first, catching you reading a very steamy romance novel. Damn those gods and their quiet footsteps.

You bit your lower lip and rolled a trolley filled with books to your desk. At the end of the day, strangely enough, Loki had fascinated you even more than Thor had. After everything that happened in New York all those years ago, vigilance around his person was a given. But there was more to him than that, you were certain of that. After all, Thor kept him around for a reason, right?

In all honesty, he reminded you a little of those brooding and morally grey men in the books you liked to read. Cold on the outside but a good heart hidden beneath…right? His blue gaze had lingered on you just a little too long. It was captivating, mesmerising, stunning, breath-taking…it was hard to believe it was Thor who captured all the women’s hearts. Loki was not only handsome but also mysterious. He was your perfect book boyfriend and you had not just once caught yourself imagining him as the male protagonist in your latest erotic adventure.

A chuckle. You rolled your eyes. “Who is there? Show yourself!”

Silence. Of course. You hadn’t expected anything else. Except—

You flinched when the neatly stacked books on your desk scattered to the carpeted floor. You groaned. “Seriously? I just sorted through these!”

Perhaps you should have been worried about a poltergeist keeping you company at this time of day, alone and surrounded only by rows and rows of books, especially this close to Halloween. But then again, you had nothing to fear from the dead. The living were much scarier than anything a poltergeist could come up with.

Another chuckle.

“Really funny… You know if you’ve got something to say, say it. Maybe I can help you move on to the afterlife or something like that…” You bent over to pick up the books when you spotted a green hue flickering across the edges of some of the books, almost as if whatever had moved them still lingered on the covers.

Great. Ghost goo. Time to call the Ghostbusters.

Hopefully, the rest of your shift was going to be peaceful. You sighed, stacking the books yet again. They had to be re-labelled and some of them needed a new protective cover. If you got this done now…and the library remained this empty…you’d have enough time to finish that sexy Halloween novel you’d been reading.

After all, that was the best part of your job. It was heaven to get paid for reading. So you got to work, listening to some music to drown out the repeated chuckles. At least nothing else went flying for now. Although you couldn’t quite shake the constant shivers running up and down your spine. It was as if your body sensed another presence.

You didn’t hate it—but you didn’t like it, either.

Three long hours later, as you rolled your neck to ease some of the tension, you were done. The trolley was empty, the returns list was updated, all the books were re-labelled…and you finally had time for the steamy romance novel waiting for you on the desk.

After making some tea in the staff room, you made yourself comfortable in the surprisingly cosy desk chair and got lost in your story.

Your protagonist was about to be seduced by a handsome demon looking to devour her soul—of course, they’d eventually fall in love in the process. She was dreaming, half-awake, and then…experiencing sleep paralysis. The girl had gone to bed naked, making it even easier for the demon to tease her into oblivion.

Damn, this was hot. You could feel yourself growing wet, arousal rippling through you.

You flinched when something tugged at your hair. You flipped around. There was no one there.

The demon in the book pulled back the covers, revealing the girl’s glistening pussy to its greedy gaze.

Something tugged at your clothes. “What the…” Flailing, your eyes scanned your surroundings. Nothing. This was the first time this ghost was touching you. This…shit. “Stop it! Let go of me!”

Perhaps if you ignored it…you bit your lower lip, lowered your gaze, and kept on reading in an attempt to block the spirit out. No one liked to be ignored, right? Maybe it just wanted attention like a toddler. Or a pet.

The demon stuck out his long tongue and licked over the girl’s cunt, lapping at her juices.

It was just then you noticed that green hue of energy again, disappearing…underneath your skirt. Your eyes widened.

“W-Wait, no, what…what is…” Trying to press your legs together did nothing. The energy remained, forcing itself…you gasped.

“What are you doing? What’s happening, what are you…oh.” It did not wait for you to finish. The energy pressed up directly against your clit. A moan escaped your lips. No…no, this wasn’t supposed to feel good, what was it doing?

I-ignore it…just ignore it…just…ignore it…

The girl in the book whimpered, her legs falling open wider against her will. And then…so did yours. Fuck… You should be scared. Terrified. Instead…instead all you could sense was excitement.

You stopped reading, desperate to catch a glimpse of that green hue again…only for it to disappear. Damn it. Disappointment should be the last thing you’re feeling. And then, as soon as you brought your gaze back to the pages of your book, the pressure returned.

Oh. Oh my. Did…did the spirit want you to keep reading? And only then would it…

No. Oh no. You should not be playing this game. This was bad. Wrong. Maybe it wasn’t even a spirit after all. What if it was an incubus? What if it’d feast on your pleasure and steal your energy, your soul even in the worst-case scenario?

You bit your lower lip when the pressure intensified, sneaking its way past your drenched lips and…inside you as if to distract you from your worrying thoughts. Fuck…you’d never felt so…so full. How was this even possible?

Finally, the girl in the book opened her eyes only to find the handsome demon hovering directly above her the very moment he thrust up into her, claiming every single inch of her. And with every line you read…the invisible force working your own arousal kept stroking and teasing your pussy as if it’d done so a million times before. You couldn’t help it. You pictured Loki to be the demon seducing this girl.

Fuck it. Whatever this experience was, now was not the time for fear. You could be scared later and be horny now.

Growing hotter with every minute, it got harder and harder to focus on the text. You climbed the ladder fast, the mysterious energy pleasuring you better than any of your toys could. If it kept going, you would…you would…oh…

“I’m coming!” you yelled out, grateful that you were alone—save for the naughty ghost having its fun with you. You clenched around the energy force as you hit your climax, bliss unlike any other rippling through you. You dropped your book, your nails digging into the armrests, your head thrown back.

Your little poltergeist took its time. It did not let up until you’d come down from your high, your senses and dreadful realisation at what you had just let a ghostly appearance do to you washing away the last waves of pleasure.

And yet…you had never come this hard. If anything…this had been the most mind-bending orgasm of your life. You wanted to experience that again. You wanted to experience it again.

But, as the force slowly retreated and the green hue evaporated into nothingness, you figured it would be stupid to beg it to come back and give you more.

One thing was for certain, however. You could not, under any circumstances, let anyone ever know what had just happened to you.

The next evening remained uneventful. At first. No ghosts, no flying objects, no invisible hands forcing you to come for them. You were about to continue reading that faithful book from last night when all of a sudden, the main doors of the library opened and two now all too familiar figures walked inside.

Thor and Loki.

“Hey, you two! Any progress on your ancient Asgardian tome?”

You were quite flattered when Thor remembered your name and they both greeted you. Thor with a friendly “Hello”, and Loki with a curt nod. “No luck so far. But we have a new lead. Would you mind if we took another little browse?”

“Not at all, take your time. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Thor smiled and nodded before he walked off, straight toward the history and mythology section. Loki, on the other hand…lingered a little longer in place than he probably should have. God, even how he was standing there, lurking, observing you with those scrutinising blue eyes…he was grace personified.

“C-Can…can I help you?” you asked.

Loki smirked. “I was hoping you might be able to help me find some…lighter literature. To pass the time so to speak.”

“Uh…sure. W-what…” Oh, get it together! “What kind of literature were you thinking about?”

“I have an affinity for romance. Perhaps something along the lines of…what you read last night.”

Your face fell when he flicked his wrist and steamy erotica resting on your desk chair practically flew into his hands—enveloped in green mist.

Oh. My. God.

You didn’t get to respond. Not that you knew what to say anyway. Thor came rushing back to the front desk with an odd-looking compass in one hand and another really old book on settlements in Norway in the other.

“Loki! Loki, I think I found what we’re looking for. That thing Strange gave us is spinning like crazy, look!”

Loki didn’t look. His eyes were locked with yours still, his smirk never letting up. Fuck. Me.

“Are you quite alright, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he mused.

You gnashed your teeth, resisting the urge to growl.

Thor gave you a puzzled look. Shit.

“N-no. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“Right…” Thor began, “…we’d like to borrow this one.”

“S-sure…” Snapping yourself out of it, you took the book from Thor’s hands and scanned it before handing it back to him.

“Thank you! That will be all. Come on, Loki, stop terrifying the poor girl.” Thor gave you one last friendly smile before he made his way towards the exit.

“It was lovely to see you again, pet. I can’t wait to see what book you are going to read next,” Loki said before he turned on his heel and followed his brother, leaving you behind dumbfounded.

So he had intentions to return. Fuck…you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him to.

[soupuurr]

𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟-𝑚𝑎𝑛!𝑐ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠 head-cannons

pairing. spider-man!chris x sub!reader

genre. smut

⟶ cw. explicit content, masterbation, dirty talk, praise, web play, dry humping, overstimulation, oral. MDNI

note. back (hopefully) from my hiatus everyone… sorry for leaving y’all high and dry LMAO but here’s a cool concept i thought about after playing spider-man on my pc

spider-man chris who comes home after a tiring day to see you snuggled up on your bed, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of red panties. his favorite. he can't help but walk over to you and sneakily trace his fingertips over your hip. the heat of his fingers seep through the cotton material, prompting a startled gasp to fall from your lips. "shh, jus' me." he slips his hand under the fabric and pulls his mask off of his head before his eyes greedily rake over your moon bathed body. "wearin' my favorite panties huh? 'turns me on."

spider-man chris who pins your hips against the mattress and fucks you stupid whenever his mission doesn't go as planned. all of his pent up anger and frustration erupts and is directed at you, but you love it. "nothin' ever goes my way—fuck—at least i got you, yeah?"

spider-man chris who desperately pumps a hand over his cock in a nearby restroom because you sent him lewd pictures of yourself, texting him about how much you missed him, and that you wanted to feel him inside of you. you knew that he was in the middle of something important, but you couldn't care less—and chris was infuriated by how you had him wrapped around your finger, because he always found himself touching his cock at your words. he’d be hidden from sight, bottom lip slotted between his teeth with the majority of his suit bunched at his thighs. his mask would be carelessly draped over a random surface while his fist would furiously tug at his length.

spider-man chris who webs your hands behind your back, rivaling in the way you sat helplessly while the sticky substance held your wrists together. his tongue would slowly glide across his teeth as he felt undeniably aroused at the sight of your curious eyes gazing up at him, obediently waiting for his next move. he'd rummage through your bedside drawer before pulling out a tiny bullet vibrator, pink lips curling into a wicked smile as he eyes you like you were his fucking prey.

spider-man chris who grinds your hips over his cock while his suit was still fully on. his length would prod at your cunt while his fabric covered fingertips guided your trembling form. “doin’ so good f’me… gonna make me cum in my suit—shit.” he’d roll his head back, masked eyes shutting as his skull thumps against the wall. it wouldn’t take long for lengthy spurts of cum to darken the red material by his crotch. you’d pull his mask off—nearly cumming yourself as you observe the way his hair messily pooled at his forehead, tears of pleasure welling up at the corners of his closed eyes. his jaw fell slack as his hands gripped the flesh of your moving hips, hissing at the overstimulation. “t-too much.”

spider-man chris who eats you out with his mask on. he’d smirk against your pussy with his mask bunched above his nose, strands of his brunet hair pooling out of the bottom and curling at the ends. you’d claw at his head, pulling him into your body as he hums and purses his lips around your pulsing clit. his blue eyes would hungrily lock onto your own—not that you could see them—and his hands would rest at your inner thighs, occasionally pushing them apart when they’d close around his head. he thought it was just the hottest thing ever to have you falling apart against him while he tongue fucked you with his mask on. “you’re so beautiful like this, you know that?”

[reallyromealone]

Can i request Kaname Kuran x Pureblood Male Reader and reader is kaname's betrothed from birth. If you can you can put in more details but can it be an omegaverse please.

Title: mate oh my mate

Fandom: vampire knight

Characters: vampire knight cast

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Kaname x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, Omegaverse, Omega male reader, vampire reader, feeding, yuuki has rage

Notes:

Summary: reader is requested to attend cross academy by his mate and Yuuki is less than impressed

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"Fiance?" Yuuki was confused, looking around the room while Kaname nodded, holding a photo of the Omega in question, a pure blood dressed in soft cremes "he will be joining the night class!" Cross cheered, trying to see the bright side of the newest student. "He knows the rules, I assume?" Zero grunted at the pure blood who gave him a barely veiled look of annoyance.

"He is fully aware"

Yuuki tried to hide the envy she felt towards the Omega... This was kanames mate...

A pure blood male Omega, probably trained to be the perfect mate for him.

"But there's no Omega dorms in the night class...?" Yuukis question was a thinly veiled argument and Kaname looked at her fondly, as if she were a little sister "we have already made the proper arrangements, his room will be across from mine" Kaname seemed quite pleased with his words, always a slightly smug with each sentence.

Yuuki just sat there before letting out a sigh and standing, storming out of the room.

Confusion swept the vampires face, cross and zero knowing exactly why she left "she had to learn eventually..." Zero mumbled and cross agreed.

Kaname decided he didn't want to pursue this drama, human drama wasn't really something he cared for before excusing himself, after all...

His mate should be here any moment.

-

(Name) Sat in the limo calmly, dressed in his new uniform while staring at the scenery curiously while the sun was setting. He had never been to a school, having been homeschooled prior but his alpha wanted him close, not liking the distance and limited time together. A ring sat on his finger, a beautiful ruby, surrounded by garnets... It reminded (name) of kanames eyes...

His alpha had such lovely eyes...

"We can see each other each day my kana..." (Name) Whispered, pleased with the concept of seeing his beloved once again after almost a month a part, the only commutation being letters; thank god Kaname left him scented objects. The school was truly something, the grand school peaking from the horizon and the trees barely hiding it "so this is where kana stays..." (Name) Was curious about the school, his staff told him roughly how it works...

-

Kaname could sense his mate before he even got on the grounds, the exhaustion of his beloved seeping into his skin, the distance had been taking a toll on him after all. (Name) Was asleep when the limo pulled up and Kaname wasted no time scooping him into his arms and wandering to the night class dorms, looking at the light of his life and hopefully he will be less exhausted after this nap...

(Name) Was usually quite more lively, the sun to his moon but it seems that the seperation had made him so tired... Poor thing. He barely acknowledged the night class while bringing (name) to his room, the Omega immediately snuggling into the blankets and taking in Kanames scent. Looking at his mate, Kaname felt relief and crouched before him "soon we will be out of here... I just have loose ends to tie up and you will be marked and we will go home..." He promised before getting up and walking towards the door, glancing back at the sleeping vampire.

It was hours before (name) woke, eyes snapping open and looking around the unfamiliar room and sniffing... "Starving..." He whispered, wanting nothing more than his alpha to be here so he could pin him down and enjoy what he's been deprived of. Stepping out of the room he looked around with a slouch, Senri the first to notice him and alert the rest of the night class and subsequently Kaname.

"Where is he?" (Name) Said slowly, hungry and frankly not in the mood for any games of any sort "he's in the gardens... He will return soon" Senri spoke softly and (name) just stared before wandering off.

"I just don't understand! Why can't it be me?!" A voice called out and Kanames voice could be heard almost exasperated "Yuuki, I love you but not in the way you want... You're my sister and that will never change but (name) is my mate" Kaname explained to his sister who sobbed angrily "but I love you!"

"But I don't love you"

And at that moment, Yuuki Kuran broke.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she ran off and Kaname kept composure before turning towards his mate "hello my love..." Exhaustion evident in his voice and (name) wandered towards him "she had to learn eventually..." (Name) Reached towards him and gently traced his face and Kaname rested his head in his mates hand.

The two walked back into the dorms and up to kanames room, the Alpha offering his neck to his beloved who Kissed his pulse lovingly before biting in, starved of his mates blood. Kaname gently rubbed his hips and ass, letting his beloved take what he needed before pulling back and snuggling into him "are you hungry alpha?" (Name)s voice content and dream-like and Kaname simply kissed the blood from his lips "I'll feed later, for now we have much to discuss, no?"

(Name) Was graceful and elegant, arm linked with Kanames while students looked on in awe at the Omega with an ornate engagement collar, (name) nodding kindly to the fellow omegas in the school in an act of omega-omega kindness, no matter the hierarchy it was seen as an equal understanding to one another and safety in numbers.

Even if he was a vampire, it was nice to have fellow omegas.

"So why are you attending this school... You received your education" (name) asked while they walked to the headmasters office and Kaname hummed "to keep an eye on my sister, I worry for her and she's attached to a specific human... After the Rido situation... I don't want to risk it"

"Reasonable"

(Name) Was curious while sitting beside Kaname, the headmaster and an obvious hunter "thank you for coming here (name)" cross smiled and (name) nodded politely, looking towards Kaname who nodded "vampiric tradition requires the Omega to have approval before talking to an unknown alpha, as I am required to gain approval before talking to unknown omegas"

"I see, well (name) if there's anything you need here to make your transition smoother please don't hesitate to ask" cross said kindly and yagari glared at the Omega "and one slip up and it's curtains, do you understand me?" His voice stern and (name) nodded calmly "if I find out you fed on any student you will be executed"

"I can only feed from my alpha or those pills you gave me... " (Name) Spoke softly and cross looked confused "vampiric mates can only feed off each other, they don't have claim marks but the rules would still apply for them" yagari explained, already tired of this conversation and (name) was pleased the hunter understood.

"Well regardless, we hope you feel safe and welcome"

"Thank you, sir Cross..." (Name) Spoke kindly before leaving with his mate.

"Now let's hope yuuki doesn't cause problems" cross mumbled, leaning back into his chair.

[irisintheafterglow]

hi!!! could i request pro hero!bakugo & pro hero!reader where bkgs doing an interview and they ask about relationships and his answer is “I thought you people already knew that im married”

i have no idea how to word things but i hope that was readable🙏🙏

keeping it in the family

wc: 1.6k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, established relationship, dialogue-driven

note: RAHHH I LOVE HUSBAND BAKUGO. anyways !!! i hope you like this, i did get a little carried away when writing it so hopefully it makes sense. thank you for your ask!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two…give ‘em hell.” The roar of excited applause jumbles together with the late-night show’s opening theme and the screams of excited fans can still be heard even as Kirishima flashes a blinding smile to the camera. 

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heroes on Heroes! We’re so glad you’re joining us tonight, seeing as this is the finale of season one!” The audience cheers with fiery passion and it makes the three heroes onstage chuckle nervously. This was going to be a long night, especially if the superfans were crying after every word they spoke. “I’m Red Riot,” he pauses while the cheering erupts once again, “and I’m joined by my fellow pros, Chargebolt and Dynamight.” You wince from your place at sidestage from the sheer wave of noise that slams into your eardrums when the latter is introduced. 

“Thanks for having us tonight, man,” Denki grins. He eagerly drums the armrests of his chair, to the left of Kirishima. “I’ve been looking forward to doing one of these since I saw Deku’s a few weeks back.” 

“It’s a great concept, really. I love being able to just chat with you guys and shoot the shit about hero stuff. It’s so manly.” Kirishima turns expectantly to the other hero sitting to his right, whose hot-headed nature was blatantly obvious by how he was slumped in his chair, squinting slightly at the burning spotlights and clicking cameras. You admire Kirishima’s confidence in forcing Katsuki to say something. “What about you, Bakugo? How’re you feeling tonight?” 

“I’m alright,” he shrugs indifferently. Your breath catches in your throat and you can hear the Dynamight agency’s publicist put his head in his hands. “It’s been a while, so it’s good to see you guys,” he adds with unexpected fondness and you exhale in relief. His eyes meet yours for half a second and he shoots you a wink that makes your knees wobbly. “I saw that save at the bridge collapse last week, Shitty Hair. Pretty decent work.” Kirishima blinks once, twice, and then glances at Denki. Katuski’s blank look narrows into a scowl. “The hell are you looking like that for? I got shit in my teeth or something?”

“No, no. Sorry, man,” Kirishima laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting a compliment from you so early in the show.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d have to booze you up a little more to get you to be nicer,” Denki jokes and he recoils a bit when he’s struck with a molten hot glare from the hero across from him. 

“Whatever you’re about to say, bro, don’t say it,” Kirishima warns and the crackles in Katsuki’s palms gradually dissipate. “But, I’m wondering too. What’s with the good mood?” 

“I guess I feel like playing nice tonight,” he answers cryptically, his gaze flicking over to you again with amusement. You can almost sense the fainting girls falling over each other in the front row. Kirishima’s attention subtly darts over to you and a knowing smirk grows over his face. It was the first time you and Katsuki were at the same press event, since you both thought it was too dangerous to sneak around until now. “But, talk about that bridge save. I don’t think a lot of people know that the guy was wanted by several agencies.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Denki agrees with a quick sip of his drink. He swallows and sets the glass down with a light thud. “He’d been giving us hell for weeks. It's not really the best matchup for a sand villain to be going up against an electric hero.”

“It was the sand villain and his wife, wasn’t it? That chick with the melting Quirk?”

“Yep, they were a nasty couple to deal with,” Kirishima confirms. “I had to keep track of this guy’s damn sand spikes and his wife turning the floor to goop at the same time.”

“Goop is a weird-ass way to put it,” Katsuki points out with obvious distaste. 

“Yeah, but he was a pretty goopy guy.” Chuckles ripple through the audience and you can’t help breaking a smile too at Kirishima’s joke. 

“I think for me, at least,” Denki adds, “the biggest pain was the fact that they were married, and they had, like, marriage telepathy or something.”

“Bro, I thought that was just me! Here I was, thinking that I’d incapacitated one and split them from the other, when bam! Both of them appear in front of me like a damn genie.” 

“You ever have to deal with villain couples, Bakubro?”

“Nah, not recently. We’ve been doing a lot of big raids on all the crime families downtown.” He flexes his right bicep and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to show a gnarly purple spot growing on his skin. “Got this little beauty three days ago from a neo-Hassaikai asshole.” You're not fazed by the ugly shade of the wound because you were the one who stitched up the...less visible results of the raid.

“Jeez, man,” Denki says in disbelieving awe at his friend’s injury. “If you ever need backup, we’d love to do a team up with you.” 

“I think I’d rather die–”

“My agency would also love to team-up with you,” Kirishima interjects before Katsuki can finish his thought. The heart rate monitor of his publicist begins to rapidly beep behind you. “We can have a threeway team-up! That’d be pretty cool, don’t you guys think?” 

“What if we all just merged into one big super agency? Like a big family?”

“That sounds like the stupidest shit–” Again, Kirishima cuts off Katsuki’s brash protests and saves them from being taken off the air.

"That would be so awesome."

“Would that mean we’d have to get pro-hero partners, too? Keep hero work in the family?”

“I think Salonpas would have heart palpitations if we said we were trying to keep hero work within the family,” Katsuki points out and his friends nod in agreement. “On another fuckin’ note, that Half-and-Half idiot keeps hogging the number two spot and it pisses me off.” Though you didn’t often encounter Todoroki while you were on patrol, you knew that he was adamant about keeping work life and family life separate. It made him even more of a dedicated hero and a recent bust of a notorious crime ring bumped him into the number two spot over Dynamight for that month. You didn’t hear the end of it from Katsuki. 

“He and Deku just work really efficiently, Bakubro.”

“I can efficiently slam both their skulls into a–”

“You know what would solve that problem?” Denki butts in unceremoniously, covering up his harsh words for a third time. Katsuki grunts in response and the lightning-decorated hero gives him enthusiastic finger-guns. “Combining and making a family agency.”

“What are the chances that Sero would want to join too?”

“Probably pretty high,” Kirishima guesses. “He’s at my place every other week, anyway, so he’s basically my brother.”

“Alright, maybe this could actually work, then. I just need to find a smoking hot hero wife.”

“That’ll probably be the hardest part, buddy–”

“What about Bakugo?” You stiffen and the three guys turn their attention to a voice calling out from the audience. Speaking during the interviews was strictly prohibited until the question and answer section, but getting Katsuki’s attention was a surefire way to derail the entire episode.

“The fuck do you mean, what about Bakugo? Who the fuck said that?”

"Dude, just ignore them."

“Can’t be a family agency if Bakugo never gets into relationships,” the same nasally, irritating voice argues and your face feels like it’s been set on fire. Kirishima’s attention jumps to you for a moment and then back to his friend, whose palms are starting to spark like fireworks. “Do you just get no bitches, or something?” The audience gasps and security finally arrives to escort the disturbance out of the building. The director is ready to stop the cameras and jump to a commercial break, but Katsuki speaks before he can order the sound crew to cut the mics. To everyone’s surprise, his voice is nothing but amusement, like the insinuation didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

“You think I don’t get into relationships?”

“Bakugo…”

“It’s alright, Pikachu. I really don’t give a shit about whatever that guy said,” Katsuki reassures his friend with a sly glint in his eye. His friends watch him warily, like a grenade on the verge of exploding. Once again, burning red eyes meet yours with a single question that you answer with a resolute nod. “I’m not gonna blow up, so stop looking like that. Really, I don’t care.”

“Why not?” A tense beat of silence passes, then–

“I thought you people knew that I’m married.” A shit-eating grin spreads across your husband’s face as gasps of shock burst from the audience. Kirishima and Denki both shake their heads in exasperation. They knew already, of course, but they didn’t expect him to reveal his relationship status as a result of a heckler. “Yep, going on a year and a half, now. Around five years together total coming this winter.” More collective cries of jealousy, surprise, and betrayal shake the building’s foundation. "If you don't believe me, ask these guys."

"Yeah, we were at the wedding, too. It's hard to keep it a secret when all of your friends are also high-profile heroes."

“Can you guys believe that he fell in love during the winter?” Denki’s thumb juts out toward his friend, who frowns at the mere mention of cold weather.

“I fucking hate the winter,” he grumbles. 

“We know, man,” Kirishima says sympathetically, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

“Yeah, and shit hasn’t changed,” Katsuki bites back with lighthearted indignance. “Look, they saved my ass when it was cold; how was I not supposed to fall in love with them?” To your delight, his complexion has turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Yeah, I love them. What about it, asshats?”

“Is this a bad time to bring up the family agency again?”

“Let’s go to commercial before I blow this fucking chair to pieces.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[yandere-sins]

AAAHHH THE HANDMAIDEN READER KISSING THE LOWER SOLDIER IDEA IS SO CUTE IM CRYING- Imagine if the reader saved the soldier; he was injured badly in the middle of a frozen lake and due to him falling down the lake cracked. So reader jumped into the lake, saved him, and gave him a mouth to mouth cpr. She also took care of him, but one day she's too focused on taking care of him and she didn't realize that Childe's too close to the room already. It caused her to rush and drop her handkerchief.

Jealousy, jealousy is all I can say to that ;)

Sorry for the long wait, but I also have one more draft with a naughty story about the handmaiden concept as apology! Hopefully I'll get to finishing it soon!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Childe waited in dead silence in the shadows as he watched you take care of the soldier.

Puddles of water surrounded the two of you, more than just from the snow being dragged in, and not even the fire you lit could dry them fast enough. Your clothes clung to you, the curves of your body inevitably burned into his mind as you wrapped a bandage tightly across the soldier's chest, securing his arm skillfully.

This was the closest he had ever gotten to you. Even though he lost the pursuit somewhere between the steep Snezhnaya mountains and the frozen lakes that lay dormant in the snow, he was able to pick up your tracks just hours later. You were never that careless, never that boring when it came to running from him, so seeing you with the soldier came as a surprise. Childe wanted to capture you; you wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. And like magnets, you two kept attracting and repelling each other constantly.

But not now. Childe was finally able to see you in your full glory, your back turned, but the beauty of your muscles visible through the dark fabric that clung to you. Every piece of clothing was so expensive, yet it did nothing to elevate the natural beauty you already possessed. The few glimpses of your hair were enough to make him sweat, and although he was so close, he couldn't bring himself to barge in and destroy this blissful moment.

He had gone completely mad, but he knew that the second you noticed him, you would slip from his grasp, and the game would start anew.

Although he loved the chase, Childe appreciated the moment of respite. He was the shadow hunting you down, and right then and there, that shadow remained behind the gap in the door, hoping for one more glimpse. One more memory revealed, to add to his little, depraved library of fantasies, your face as elusive as you were.

Of course, he hated how much your focus was on the soldier. That he got to see your beautiful face without the hood, receive your kind treatment, feel your soft touch, and be in your outstanding presence. But Childe was also thankful to him for being a fool. Otherwise, he'd never gotten you to settle down for a while, long enough to catch up and witness you in all your glory.

His downfall was simple—you, always you.

Childe should have waited, should have gotten his fix like any good addict, and then acted. But his patience was wearing so thin as he watched you check the soldier for other wounds, inspect bruises, and gently comforted him with verbal reassurance. Childe, too, got hurt. Bled and trembled, but you never showed him the same grace. Perhaps he should have injured himself on one of your chases, badly enough for the Tsaritsa to order you to retrieve this pitiful, desperate boy.

He should have waited, but his body slipped through the gap on its own, taking one step after the other. You were close enough for him to grab your hair, twist you around, and reveal your face to him before he'd maul you like the madman he was. But in the trance Childe found himself in, he forgot one very significant risk to his plan.

The puddles.

The sweetest, purest gasp escaped you as you jolted to your feet, grabbing your hood as you rose. Before Childe could latch onto you or the soldier realized what was happening, you were out of the window, gone with the cold wind of the snowstorm that blew in. Childe stood motionless as he tried to register the loss of the chance he had just blown before retracting his hand, covering his face as he began to laugh. Quietly first, then louder until the desperation took hold.

"Sir?" the soldier asked, confused, afraid, in pain, and immediately, all laughter ceased as Childe breathed out, feeling like he was truly going crazy. What an amateurish mistake he made. You could not be bested when he made such dumb mishaps.

"What they look like?" he groaned, raking his hand down his face, needing the pain of his nails to settle the rage he felt at his own failure.

"Huh?" the soldier answered, stupidly so. Did the broken arm muddle his brain?

"What," Childe growled, "did they look like?"

The soldier gulped visibly at the rapid changes of demeanor, stuttering as he tried to explain your angelic features. It sounded nothing like you. He didn't even get close to describing how wonderful and amazing you were, even though his face slowly turned red. It pissed Childe off. That lowlife had no right to get flustered imagining your face. He was in no position to look happy and smitten with you when you already belonged to Childe.

"You're fucking useless," Childe mumbled in the middle of the soldier's miserable attempts to describe your beauty to Childe, who knew you best. Who knew you perfect and proper at the Tsaritsa's side as well as violent and bloody in the middle of your enemies' dead bodies.

Immediately, the soldier's stammering came to a halt as he looked down, regret in his eyes that matched how pathetic he was. It was then that Childe let his attention drift, his eyes falling on the soldier's healthy hand, which was clutched weirdly around a piece of fabric.

"Give me that," he growled, and the soldier reluctantly tried to hide his hand at his side. "Now."

Childe's eyes widened as he realized what the soldier had held onto, the delicate embroidery of the Tsarita's crest on the handkerchief nothing a mere footman would receive. "They gave it to me to help with the pain," he muttered, and Childe cared very little how hurt the soldier sounded now that he had to give up his trophy.

Letting the handkerchief dangle in front of his face for a while, Childe turned towards the window you left from, regretting not going after you. Eventually, he brought it to his face, rubbing the soft, damp fabric against his cheek, the feeling resembling your caress. A spark of delight went through him as he noticed your scent still clinging to it faintly, and he realized you must have left him this gift out of affection. It had been right not to follow you directly, or else he might have missed your gracious present! So even if he lost the chance to finally have you all to himself, not everything had been lost after all.

"I could paint them for you," the soldier suddenly said. "Arms busted, but if you want to see them so much, I could draw their likeness for you once I'm better, Sir."

Childe slowly twisted back, a newfound hope in his eyes as he looked at the soldier. A maniacal grin found its place on his lips as he stared the man down, unblinking.

"My, why didn't you say so earlier?" he asked, his mood improving by the second. First the gift, now a chance to see your face after all! Your picture deserved the space beside him in bed until the day he'd get to rest your body there. Childe's expression was so sinister that it made the soldier shiver—not from the cold this time, but from the deadly aura the Harbinger emitted.

Grabbing the man by his healthy arm, Childe pulled him to his feet, steading the soldier before they could make their way out of the west wing. "I know just the place, Comrade! I'll get you to a good doctor and make sure your arm is fit in no time."

"And then," Childe added, his smile turning into an excited, boyish grin, "You can tell me all about my beloved."

[whore4gwen]

Everything & More･ﾟ･｡

Young!Larissa x Milf!Reader

A/n: I have a screenshot of the ask, but I can’t find the actual ask anywhere!?😭 I sincerely apologize & hope whoever gets to see it! Hopefully, whoever did ask, I hope you don’t mind that I changed the concept slightly.

It’s been way too long since I’ve written for dear Larissa. I hope this is acceptable.

Tags: age gap, slight guilt, oral sex, begging, humiliation, pet names, slights religious themes, brief face riding, volume control, slight orgasm denial, borderline obsessive Larissa, Larissa is NOT a minor, play it safe & go with 19, top Larissa, bottom reader, fingering, all consensual, down bad reader & a very down bad Larissa, I think that’s it lmk if I missed any!

———————————————————————

You knew it was wrong, but how could anything that wrong feel so good? A small gasp erupted from your chest as butterflies filled your stomach.

Larissa pulled your thighs, scooting you, as if possible, closer to her ravenous mouth. She feasted on your center voraciously, as if she had been starved.

“Ooh Larissa.” You moaned as quietly as you could, burying your finger tips within the strands of Larissa’s hair, riding her face.

Your legs clutched together, suffocating Larissa between your thighs; not that she minded though, eating you out was heaven, it was all she imagined that it would be and more.Larissa would gladly worship the very ground you walked on, expecting any fate you deemed fit. She just couldn’t get enough of you, your smell, taste, sound, it consumed Larissa’s every thought.

“I-I’m so so close, please!” You begged, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Smirking, Larissa pulled away from your soaping core, “I would be quiet if I was you darling, it would be a shame if your daughter woke up and walked in on her mother, with her legs wide open, whoreing herself out to her daughters best friend.” Larissa teased in fake pity.

Groaning at yourself, you look away from Larissa, regret washing over you. Before you could think too much more about it, a bolt of ecstasy shot through you as Larissa pumped two fingers into you eagerly.

You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sinful sounds threatening to fill the air.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” Larissa asked, licking a broad stripe up your clit. Confused, your brows furrowed, as you gave her a questionable look. Smirking again, “It turns you on having your daughters’ friend fuck you for anyone to see, for her to see, doesn’t it?”

Blushing, you quickly advert your eyes away from Larissas. The weight of her words gnawing at your chest. You want to feel more than a tinge of regret, but it’s so difficult when a sexy blonde is knuckles deep inside you. Larissa watches a hoard of emotions sweep across your face. She smiles menacingly at her small victory.

Everything is going exactly as Larissa anticipated. She got close to your daughter so she could get close to you, everything Larissa did, she did for you.

[arachpool]

Transmasc!James who hasn’t told a single person outside of his family, not even Sirius knows until he begins to live with the Potters. It got sorted out at Hogwarts so no one would ever know, and it wouldn’t get figured out, he would just be James. No one knew what was in the past. James had always been James. No one could ever figure it out.

Ideally.

James’ whole perfect set up seemingly crumbled to the ground after a Quidditch game against slytherin that ended too quickly and resulted in an overall win, but didn’t really commemorate toward the House Cup due to lack of points and a too-quick catch of the Snitch. James was eager, sue him.

He was alone in the locker room, as usual, as he always waited for the rest of his team to exit before even beginning to change. He had been in the middle of changing when Regulus barged in, clearly in the wrong locker room.

Dread was barely enough to explain the way James felt, yanking his robes to his chest to hopefully cover the dark crimson binder that constricted his chest. Regulus noticed it. Of course he did. He was too observant not too.

Regulus wasn’t stupid. It clicked awfully quick for him, and then how drastic this must feel for James hit him like a brick. Eyes widening, he made quick work of an exit, huffing out an apology.

James nearly cried that night, and decided confronting Regulus would be the best option.

So he managed to find the younger before Quidditch practice, tugging him into a random empty classroom.

“What, Potter?” Regulus asked with slight annoyance at being disrupted. James swallowed.

“Yesterday. About yesterday.” It clicked in Regulus’ head what James was getting at. Regulus blinked up at the brunet. “Can you not…tell anyone? Like- please? I just-”

“That I walked into the wrong changing room? Potter, why in the world would I tell anyone that?” Regulus quickly covered, shaking his head in mock annoyance. James blinked. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Regulus knew. He also knew Regulus was obviously already denying the concept. A warm smile spread across James’ face, one that made Regulus’ heart skip.

“Thank you, Regulus.”

“Sure, Potter. Sure.” Regulus left the classroom as quickly as possible, desperately attempting to shake the feeling in his chest.

Months passed, and with each one, James and Regulus grew closer. It wasn’t intentional at first, James would beg to be Lily’s plus one to Slughorn’s Slug Club parties, and Regulus was a part of them, and who could really blame James for gawking at Regulus when he first saw him in dress clothes. They’d talk at the parties, more words being spoken at each one until they started hanging out outside of these things; sneaking up to the Astronomy tower at night, huddling under James’ invisibility cloak as they searched the castle for places to just hang out without the chance of being caught.

Until one day, James trudges into breakfast looking like fresh hell, and barely speaks to any of his friends. As if knowing this was a monthly occurrence, none of his friends even batted an eye at the mood shift. Sirius even continued on like nothing was different. Regulus had noted this during prior months, but didn’t care as much as he did now.

Again, Regulus wasn’t stupid. He could put two and two together.

So after James rejects Regulus’ offer to hang out after practice, James is wholly shocked to find a pile of items sitting on his bed when he enters the guys’ dorm that night. Peter and Remus had already knocked out, it being so close to a full moon that Remus was too exhausted to even bother going to Sirius and James’ practice. Sirius was too clingy to notice it, crawling into bed with Remus almost instantly.

James, on the other hand, was gentle with his random gifts as he examined them. On his bed sat a dark green blanket and a small box with a note placed atop it. He unfolded the note gingerly, smiling stupidly at Regulus’ neat handwriting.

My sun,

The blanket has a heating charm on it for you, and the box has some chocolate frogs and also chocolate from the kitchen. I had a House elf deliver it for me. I hope you feel better.

-R.A.B.

James couldn’t help the grin that plastered over his face. He sunk into the bed, positioning himself with the new blanket and popping a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

The next morning, Regulus was hit in the temple with a paper airplane. He gave an irate glance toward the origin before melting at James’ goofy grin. He neatly unfolded the parchment, smiling at the messily scrawled out ‘thank you I luv ya’ in still wet ink.

[penguwastaken]

About Brainwashing in Danganronpa

Hello to all 3 of the people who see this account. A few months ago, I made a thread on hit website Twitter dot com about brainwashing in the Danganronpa Series. I discussed where it came from, how it works, and how the brainwashing of class 77-B was never a retcon. The thread got a lot of attention there, even getting a "debunk" on other hit website Reddit dot com (lmao). Due to that, there's been a lot of responses and questions. Since I can't really update a Twitter thread, I decided that I'd make the Ultimate™ Brainwashing thread and hopefully dispel any information on the subject while making my original points more clear and covering things I failed to cover. So here it is: Brainwashing in Danganronpa, how it works, where it came from, and how it was intended from the start. (a 🧵 except not really) *Massive spoilers for Danganronpa Zero, Danganronpa 2, Danganronpa Another Episode, Danganronpa Togami, and Danganronpa 3, as well as the series as a whole*

Danganronpa Zero: First Sighting

Brainwashing has its roots all the way back in the second official entry produced in the series, Danganronpa Zero. During the story's events, Ryoko comes across a secret cult made up of students from the reserve course. They're seen staring at a strange video, seemingly turning them and turn them into mindless zombies.

The video depicts members of the student council killing each other. Ryoko is stunned while watching it. She can barely look away, but eventually through force of will she does. This same video is later used to convince the reserve course to rebel.

The way it's described to work is that it uses their “pent-up emotions,” implying that their emotions played a role in its effectiveness. It's also worth noting that the novel itself refers to what is happening as brainwashing, making this objectively the first depiction of brainwashing in the series right from the second entry.

Danganronpa 2: Now it Gets Dubious

Our next instance of brainwashing comes from Danganronpa 2. The concept is brought up multiple times, such as when Makoto states that the Ultimate Despairs were brainwashed or how the Neo World Program is good at treating brainwashing, though the details of what brainwashing actually means in this context are kept vague.

It's also worth noting that Danganronpa 2 was being written around the same time as Danganronpa Zero and Kodaka wanted concepts from the novel to appear in Danganronpa 2, likely so readers would feel validated. This is why things like Izuru Kamukura and the reserve course play huge roles in Danganronpa 2, it's not too much of a stretch to say that the same applies with brainwashing. One detail we’re given about the brainwashing is from Monokuma, who states the Ultimate Despairs were brainwashed by Junko taking advantage of their feelings. Specifically love, hate, grudges, and "anything really". If that sounds familiar, it’s because that’s exactly how the brainwashing video from Danganronpa Zero was described to function, using their pent-up emotions.

I should mention that Monokuma and Junko are known for being unreliable narrators who often stretch the truth, exaggerate things, and use hyperbole to manipulate people into believing their narrative. Monokuma describes the Ultimate Despairs as “nothing more than Junko’s limbs”, which contradicts the existence of characters like Nagito. Who, while in his despair state, did not work with Junko nor did he look up to her (at least in the normal sense like the other Ultimate Despairs). In fact, it would have been impossible for them to really obey any of Junko's orders as Ultimate Despairs because Junko was trapped inside of Hope's Peak with minimal connection to the outside world. This isn't a definitive "Monokuma is lying" statement, but just note that his word isn't 100% reliable. Meanwhile, someone like Makoto who outright mentions brainwashing, is a much more reliable source.

Danganronpa Another Episode: More Brainwashing! (kinda irrelevant tho...)

The next time brainwashing is used is in the next entry, Danganronpa Another Episode. Though its purpose in this discussion isn’t the most useful, as the brainwashing is caused by Monokuma helmets, which don’t have their functionality explained. I figured it was worth mentioning and describing at least, as its another example of brainwashing at least.

I did figure it was worth adding how the brainwashed children act. They obey the Warriors of Hope’s every command, as if they have zero control over their actions. This is different from how the Ultimate Despairs act, who still some free had free will after presumably being brainwashed judging by the actions of Nagito, who is also in this game.

Danganronpa Togami: I Hate My Life

Okay. As mixed as my opinions are on this novel trilogy, it does feature brainwashing. In fact, it might feature one of the most detailed and important descriptions of brainwashing in the series, and even outright CONFIRMS that class 77-B were brainwashed (sorta).

"Hey um... Tumblr/Twitter user Pengu... what do you mean by 'sorta'?" Well my uninformed reader who I guarantee has probably never read this book, there's a twist. I regret to inform you that the canonicity of Danganronpa Togami is rather questionable, as it depicts an extremely unreliable narrator’s warped viewing of events due to this thing called the K2K system, which means not everything in the novel is meant to be taken literally or at face value.

This doesn't mean that everything should be discarded or immediately dismissed however. This just means that we have to use our brains a little and decipher what the hell Yuya Sato was cooking when he wrote this novel trilogy. In the novel, we discover the existence of the elusive despair novel. When read, the novel will turn the reader to despair and inflict them with the despair disease. This novel is what's used to plummet the world into despair, as well as being what caused the class 77-B to become the Ultimate Despairs. There's no known ways to avoid it, once you read it, it's joever. 😔

As I said earlier, the events of Danganronpa Togami can’t be taken literally. Due to this and prior context, we can safely assume that the despair novel is most likely the K2K's warped idea of the despair video from Danganronpa Zero. Instead of being a book being read that brainwashed people, it was a video being watched. What makes me so sure? Well let's look over the similarities. The way the despair novel works is that it uses cruel words to overload the reader with negative emotions, causing them to snap and turn to despair. That sounds almost exactly like the despair video, overloading the viewer by manipulating their emotions until they turn to despair.

However, a major difference comes from the fact that Danganronpa Togami confirms towards the end that the despair novel doesn't literally brainwash people, acting as a placebo and an excuse for people with despair to use.

However I don't believe this suddenly breaks the connection to the despair video in Danganronpa Zero. All it shows is that the novel doesn't create despair, which is something we already established with the brainwashing video. It doesn't make despair, it makes it stronger. Whether it be via the disturbing imagery on the screen or the words on a page giving you an excuse, all it does is amplify despair. Basically it doesn't make despair come out of nowhere, it incites it. This connection's a little bit of a stretch but I'll bring it up anyways. The technology used in the despair novels was originally to bring hope. (Take notes, it will probably be important assuming you buy this connection.)

Essentially, the despair novel works in a similar same way as the despair video, but instead it’s a book and you read it instead of watching it. This means that class 77-B and the rest of the world were most likely brainwashed via the despair video, and that is what caused the class to become Ultimate Despairs.

Danganronpa 3: The One People Really Don't Like

And all of this brings us to the most detailed yet controversial usage of brainwashing: Danganronpa 3. Many assume that the anime’s usage of brainwashing is a retcon, contradicting the words of our holy savior Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair High School. However, I’d like to debate that. In fact, I'd like to finally put a nail in the coffin of this really stupid debate and finally show you that Danganronpa 3's depiction of brainwashing is exactly how it has always been described.

In Danganronpa 3, we are introduced to Ryota Mitarai and his anime. Using the power of subliminal messaging, it heightens the viewer's emotions and makes them more powerful. What was once a slightly emotional scene is now a complete tearjerker fully capable of tearing at the viewers heart strings! While he acknowledges that there are unethical things that can be done with this technology and it's technically brainwashing, his goal is to use this technology to make the world a better place, even if it can be dangerous. If that sounds familiar, that's because it's what Hope's Peak tried doing with the despair novel in Danganronpa Togami. Though I'll admit, this single point is a little bit of a stretch as there are differences. I just figured it was worth at least a mention.

Using her analytical prowess, Junko gets a rough understanding of how the technology works, so she develops the despair video, featuring the student council killing each other overlayed with subliminal messaging technology to make the despair felt while viewing the video stronger.

The video works on Mikan, however Junko fears that the video may not be powerful enough to fully go through with her plans due to not understanding the technology nearly as well as Ryota does. Because of this, she forces Ryota to create a better, more powerful despair video. A despair video v2 if you will. Junko’s fears weren’t unfounded, as we discover that Chisa had the mental fortitude to resist the despair video, similarly to how Ryoko was able to resist the same video in Danganronpa Zero. This is exactly why Junko needs a more powerful video, one that she knows can’t be resisted.

"Ermmmm, Tumblr/Twitter user Pengu, how come Ryoko and Chisa are able to resist the despair video but Mikan and nobody in the reserve course could?" Good question, the answer is pretty simple. As mentioned before, the video takes advantage of the emotions of the viewer. Mikan is already pretty weak minded, so there wasn't much issue in controlling her. The reserve course already hated Hope's Peak and would take any reason to hate them more, so a video that shows them the sins of Hope's Peak would affect them as well. Ryoko and Chisa have no connection to the reserve course however, and neither are particularly very weak emotionally. Ryoko has the analytical prowess of Junko and Chisa is just a very strong willed person in general, and paired with Junko's lack of knowledge about subliminal messaging when creating the video, it's pretty obvious it wouldn't be that effective on them. All the more reason for Junko to force Ryota to make a better despair video.

The despair video v2 that Ryota is forced to make comes in the form of Chiaki’s execution video, where the stronger subliminal messages paired with witnessing the representation of the happiest moments in their miserable lives and their closest friend suffer makes class 77-B unable to resist. Ultimately this causes them to finally snap, being overloaded with despair, and now they turn into the Ultimate Despairs. (side note this is so freaking cool idc what anyone else says)

This resembles Monokuma’s explanation from Danganronpa 2. Junko used class 77-B’s emotions and years of getting closer against them to turn them to them to despair. Now featuring the added context of her using the video designed to manipulate people’s emotions. Also as @jelimore pointed out, Junko leading the class to Chiaki's execution itself was manipulating them. This depiction of brainwashing fits perfectly with the information provided throughout the series, even down to the little details. It’s so close in fact that I can say without a doubt that Danganronpa 3 did not retcon anything. “But Tumblr/Twitter user Pengu, that isn’t how the video is shown to work during Hope Arc. Therefore it actually contradicts previous entries and is inconsistent!" To that I say, you’re correct! ...at least about the hope video functioning differently, but that doesn’t make it inconsistent. The hope video behaves pretty differently. Instead of overloading the viewer with negative feelings, it simply just shows them a repeating video loop that turns them into a mindless zombie, likely caused by even stronger subliminal messaging. The people affected can also snap out of this state with some time, as seen with Aoi.

The reasoning for this is actually pretty simple, it’s just different technology entirely. It’s stated that the hope video was developed later on after the despair video. If anything, it behaves very similar to the Monokuma masks from Danganronpa Another Episode, which we also already established uses different technology. The hope video doesn’t contradict the despair video at all because they both use completely different tech. This can also be seen with how the despair video uses subliminal messaging, meanwhile the messaging in the hope video couldn’t be further from subliminal. There is no inconsistency, just two different things.

The reason the hope video needed to be broadcasted everywhere was so that since it would be airing everywhere, nobody would have time for the effects to wear off or resist it. This would turn the world into mindless zombies who obey every command, similarly to the Monokuma kids. It's just that now they don't have to force bulky helmets onto everyone.

Debunking Common Arguments

With the hope video out of the way, I think it’s very safe to assume that not only is the despair video’s functionality very accurate to previous descriptions, it’s also always been the reason for the brainwashing of Class 77-B, long before Danganronpa 3. Even if you disagree and think the cause of brainwashing was never explicitly mentioned in Danganronpa 2, there's still the fact that Danganronpa 2 outright says it was brainwashing. So even if a video wasn't the direct cause of it, them being brainwashed was still always intended (though given the context and the fact the video was introduced in a tie in novel for the game, I'm certain that it was always the culprit). Many point to this line where Kazuichi asks why they became the Ultimate Despairs and Makoto says he never got an answer to debunk this. But... this doesn't change anything. He asks why they became Ultimate Despairs, not how. And this is completely ignoring the fact that Makoto clearly has done his own digging into the situation, he discovered the Remnants of Despair were hiding among Future Foundation after all. The Future Foundation had access to brainwashing videos, they found them, so of course Makoto is going to know about the brainwashing. What Makoto is saying here is that he doesn't know every little detail, all he knows is that they were brainwashed. I wrote a bit more about it here, but there's nothing contradictory in this scene.

Many also point to Mikan stating that it was her many human relationships that led her to being the way she is. Once again, this changes literally nothing. Mikan was the only one of the remnants who actually knew Junko, she was the only one who spent time with her because she was the first subject. This is why she gets more attached to her, and even why she'd believe what Junko would tell her when they spent time together. Monokuma also says that Junko used "hopeless methods overflowing with charisma and humor" to control the masses. I don't even know why I have to address this, but this statement is so vague you can interpret it as a million things. Like for example, this is how she got Ryota to work for her. While pretending to be Makoto to manipulate the people in the trial, Junko tells them that they all became Ultimate Despairs while coming into contact with her at Hope's Peak and they were subjected by her terrifying influence. Again, ignoring how vague "terrifying influence" is, this is literally Junko trying to LIE AND MANIPULATE them. This is quite possibly the worst example you could have used because we know for a fact that she is lying to them while pretending to be Makoto. There's other examples of Junko trying to manipulate them, like mentioning how everyone hated them and their all Ultimate Despairs at the end of the day. But that's just what this is, manipulation. You would think that the "Junko manipulated class 77-B" crowd would understand that saying "everyone hates you but I saw your potential" is literally manipulation 101. She even states that Izuru killed the entirety of a student council, which we know for certain is a lie because Danganronpa Zero (which came out before) says otherwise. Some say that the brainwashing turned them into mindless zombies and eliminates all blame from their actions. While I would agree that it does make them less at fault, they still have the ability to make choices and still have free will. Their original personalities haven't been overwritten, their brains were just rewired to crave despair. They're still each their individual person with their own ways of feeling despair, and characters like Chisa and Nagito show that they regain their free will to an extent. I also wrote more about that here, LOL.

Conclusion and Final Thoughts

This whole debate stems from people misunderstanding Monokuma’s words and going along with the popular interpretation, which turned out to be wrong. Whether you like the use of brainwashing or not, it objectively isn’t a retcon as it's been developed ever since Danganronpa Zero. Personally, I love the use of brainwashing. I think the way it's developed throughout the series and its usage in Danganronpa 3 is super interesting. If you disagree, that's fine! Heck, if you choose to headcanon that Junko manipulated 15 individual teenagers into all becoming despair hungry terrorists capable but ending the world and fighting off every military in the world in less than a year, that's cool too! But the truth is, Danganronpa 3's brainwashing is canon and it's also not a retcon nor does it contradict anything. Contrary to popular belief, Kodaka was involved with the writing of the anime. He provided a large draft and outline of the plot and oversaw its development. He produced the anime, he did his homework, the team even played the games to prepare for writing the anime. He knew what he was doing. I'm sure if Kodaka intended for them to all be manipulated one by one, that's what he would have went with. All information implying that it was manipulation is very few and far between and questionable at best, not to mention outweighed by everything implying it was brainwashing. Mind manipulation stuff is not new in this series, its been around since the first game and brainwashing was established in literally the second entry ever produced. Whether you love it or hate it, think it's the best thing since sliced bread or the death of the series, brainwashing was the answer the whole time. Some people just never noticed it, and instead of acknowledging that they were wrong, they stuck with a headcanon that they believed so much and jumped to the conclusion of "retcon". I hope this mega post managed to inform some people, maybe change some minds too. If you still don't buy it, then I guess there's nothing I can do. Thanks for reading all of this though, I tend to yap a lot about this franchise lmao.

[thedovesaredying]

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 3

Third chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto series. Nikto has some emotions and has no idea what they mean or how to deal with them. Original Cowboy concept based on the AU by @ghouljams

A/N: Finally got enough time to work on this chapter after weeks and weeks of hectic stress with work and university. Thank you to all of those still following along with the story, I'll hopefully have the next part out soon. Fun fact: The story of a horse getting hurt running into a fence because they were so excited to see someone is from one of the silly yearlings at uni lol.

Warnings: Minor medical proceedures, Nikto getting a little jealous.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

First | Previous | Next

Nikto can’t help wondering if there’s anything that can ruin your seemingly perpetual good mood. Even with your body dripping with sweat and elbow deep inside of a cow, you’re still somehow grinning brightly at the farmer standing beside you. Doing a part of your job that some would consider... unpleasant at best, you’re able to act as if it’s the most exciting thing you’ve ever done.  

One of the other farm hands, a man about your age, if a year or two older, is acting a little too interested in what you’re doing, however, and Nikto’s jaw is aching with how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. They make a soft groaning sound as they suffer under the pressure he’s subjecting them to, but unfortunately, it’s the only thing keeping him from snapping at “Darren” when the man crowds close to you with what he must think is a suave grin.  

“Alright, I can feel the cervix now,” you hum, and he can see the way your arm twists slightly within the animal, “it’s pretty easy to manoeuvre it around.” You frown to yourself, seemingly oblivious to the way that annoying brat leans a little closer, “the reproductive tract isn’t very heavy.” 

“And what’s that mean, darlin’?” Darren asks, and Nikto can’t decide what he hates more, the tone the other man is using to address you, or the way he thinks it’s okay to place a hand on your shoulder. The gelding underneath Nikto snorts, shifting uncertainly as he likely senses the tension brewing.  

“Oh,” you blink at Darren, as if only just noticing him for the first time, “normally you wouldn’t be able to move the cervix around so easily if she was carrying a calf, I’d be able to feel at least a little weight to it.” You reach a little further into the cow, taking a few moments longer before adding, “I can also feel the horns of her uterus, and there’s no fluid I can feel inside them.”  

Darren is nodding, but his gaze is far from focused on the animal or what you’re actually saying to him.  

You pull you hand slowly from the cow, removing the palpation glove and dropping it into the bin beside the cattle crush. “Looks like this girl’s open, I’m afraid,” you say, grabbing the can of cattle paint and spraying a bright green streak across the animal’s tail, “and that’s the last of the girls done.”  

Pulling the release lever, the heifer is let out of the crush and into the holding pen with the rest of the females you’ve checked for pregnancies. While most of them have little blue marks to indicate a successful insemination, a few of the younger ones weren’t lucky enough to take this time around.  

Darren looks as though he’s about to say something further (more than likely something stupid and obnoxious), but before he can do anything more than puff up his chest, Mr. Roberts is snapping at him.  

“Darren! Get your ass into the paddock, boy!” The old man has a scowl on his face that would have recruits shaking in their boots and a voice with a harsh snarl to it from years of smoking. “The hell do I bother paying you for?” he grumbles, watching as the younger man near enough trips over himself in his haste to get back to work.  

Nikto can’t help admiring the man for his no nonsense approach to his work. He’s friendly enough toward those who work for him, and when Nikto was looking for employment, took him on board with no questions asked. The elderly cowboy has made it clear that he could care less about where someone comes from, only that they can do an honest day’s hard work.  

“Well, thank you for giving us a hand with the ladies,” the old man’s tone softens drastically, and he offers you a firm handshake, “I know those big business farms have all that fancy new technology and blood tests to make checking for calves easier, but I much prefer the old method.”  

Although he would never admit it aloud, it’s rather… sweet, the way you beam at Mr. Roberts and nod along to his words. “Of course! A blood test would be useful for determining how long the baby’s been gestating for, but there’s nothing wrong with the palpation method to find out if they’re carrying anything.” 

Roberts seems pleased by your response, offering you an elusive smile, before giving you one final nod, “I’ll see you around town in a few days, and I’ll drop your payment off at the clinic.”  

There are a few final pleasantries exchanged, all of which Nikto ignores. He was supposed to be getting the horse tacked down and set out for the day. Getting distracted by you while doing your job was just an unfortunate happenstance. He urges the gelding onward with a gentle tap to the animal’s side, leaving you to the business of packing up all of your tools in peace.  

He dismounts once reaching the stable, giving the horse a firm pat on the shoulder before leading him into one of the nearest stalls. He can’t know for certain if anyone else will need Murphy before the end of the day, seeing as the horse belongs to Roberts, but the least he can do is ensure he’s comfortable until he’s turned out for the end of the day.  

While “Murphy” isn’t exactly a name that Nikto would have chosen for a horse, given it’s a little too human for his own tastes, apparently, the gelding was named after Murphy’s Law, seeing as the poor animal seems to constantly be getting into trouble. Anything that could possibly go wrong for him can and will. He’s only just recovered from a nasty gash he’d received to the front of his chest after getting a little too excited to see Nikto coming to greet him and crashing directly into a barbed wire fence.  

Nikto starts untacking Murphy, starting with the bridle and moving his way backwards. He gives the gelding a quick brushing down and picks out his hooves to ensure there’s no stones or injuries that’ve gone unnoticed. He leaves Murphy to his dinner while he works on cleaning off the bit of the bridle and applying oil where the leather has begun to dry out. It’s a difficult job with only one properly functioning arm, but he’s not about to ask for any assistance with such a mundane chore.  

When he gets back, however, he’s startled to find you standing there, stroking Murphy’s mane while the horse happily munches on a mouthful of hay. You’re cooing at the animal happily, giggling when Murphy starts trying to nibble at your shirt once running out of food.  

You turn and offer him a smile, face still a little warm from the sun outside and with several strands of your hair poking out in odd directions. He finds that the look suits you, oddly enough.  

It’s only when you call his name that he realises that you’ve been trying to speak to him and he’s just been there staring at your face like a complete idiot. He shifts his grip on the halter he’s holding and clears his throat. “What do you need?” He settles on eventually, deciding that’s the least offensive way of telling you he hasn’t heard a word spoken to him.  

Thankfully, you don’t seem to be too upset by it. “I was just asking how poor Murphy is doing, I know he had a nasty scratch recently,” you’re looking at Nikto, but your words are said in the same, high-pitched coo you tend to use whenever you’re talking to Sputnik, accompanied by a rather overdramatic frown.  

He rolls his eyes at you, but finds he isn’t entirely annoyed by the antics. “Fine. His wound has healed well,” he says while reaching over to try and guide Murphy’s head a little closer. He may not be a trained veterinarian, but Nikto has seen plenty enough injuries in his life to be able to tell when one isn’t healing well. Murphy, of course, decides not to cooperate, instead trying to press the side of his fluffy face up against you.  

Getting the halter over the horse’s head with one hand is rather awkward, especially with the way the animal insists on moving about. You reach out, and he’s about to snap at you for trying to do it for him. He’s had enough of people trying to treat him like an infant recently, as though he’s not a dangerous killer.  It was suffocating enough when it was hospital staff and physiotherapists, but even a civilian thinking he’s too incapable to perform such a simple task? 

But then, you simply grab the buckle in one hand and hold it in position for him to secure himself.  

It would be far faster and more efficient for you to take the halter and do it yourself, yet you stand patiently without comment, and wait as he pulls the strap over the horse’s head and fastens the catch in place. He’s not sure why the thought of you specifically treating him like a weak child had him prepared to lash out quite so aggressively, especially when he’s brushed off similar actions by other people with only a few choice words and a particularly icy glare.  

You return to eagerly cooing at the horse before he can force himself to offer any kind of thanks, and he quickly pushes down the uncomfortable tangle of emotions trying to crawl their way up from his stomach.  

“Are you finished for the day?” You ask after a few moments of silence. He gives you a nod and you’re quick to ask, “how’s your girl been holding up?”  

“Our girl?” he asks slowly, forehead scrunching up. Do you think he has a partner or some kind? Why would you think there’s a girl in his life? Has he done something to make you think he’s married or dating someone?  

“Sputnik,” you clarify, and his face must do something odd because you snort at his reaction. “Why, do you have another girl?” 

Nikto can’t help automatically scoffing at the question, shaking his head at the very thought, “нет, we have no one.” He sees your eyebrows raise slightly, as if surprised by that, but you quickly school your expression back into its normal, carefree smile.  

Your expression quickly turns into something playful, however, as you add, “really? A big, handsome man like you?” He’s not sure how genuine your teasing tone is, “surely you’ve got the ladies lining up.” You have this way of joking around with him and asking questions in a way that doesn’t make him want to immediately tell you to ‘fuck off’. It’s a strange feeling, and he’s not entirely sure he likes it.  

“You are just crazy,” he counters, going to cross his arms over his chest, only to realise he can’t and instead settling for just letting them rest in place. He sees your eyes travel down the length of his damaged arm, stopping at where it abruptly ends. You don't comment on it, however, and he’s annoyed by how glad he is that you don’t. You likely didn’t even notice his injury until now, given he’s been wearing his prosthetic covered by long-sleeved clothes and gloves every other time you’ve met.  

“Wow, so rude,” you grin, trying to playfully shove his shoulder, only to pout when he’s entirely unmoved by the action. He’s been called rude many times in his life, but this is the first time he’s ever found himself pleased to hear it from someone.  

The sound of the stable door opening has you pulling your attention away from him and toward Roberts, who has just entered. You give Murphy a quick pet to the side of the neck, and Nikto a final grin, offering up a brief, “I’ll see you around.” 

Roberts waves as you leave the stables, waiting for the large door to close before he turns to look at Nikto, one of his bushy eyebrows raised. “So, when’re you gonna marry that lovely girl?” The old man asks, leaning against the stall door with an upward twitch of his lips.  

Nikto near enough chokes on thin air, whirling around on the cowboy with a startled, “что?”  

The old man just sighs heavily, shaking his head, “just make sure you do it soon, yeah? We need another vet living out here on a permanent basis,” he ploughs on, “she already knows the area and she’s a lovely young lady.”  

As quickly as he arrived, Roberts wanders off again, heading back to work and leaving Nikto standing in the middle of the horse stall. He takes a long moment, just staring at where the old man had been a few moments ago while his brain slowly processes everything. Surely he wasn’t being serious, right?

-

Translations

“да,” - “Yes” 

"что?” - "What?"

[pokemenlovingmen]

Hiiii, can I request some headcanons with Arven and a touchstarved reader?

I’m on an Arven kick rn so all the Arven requests being my most recent ones are doing good for me!!

Arven X Touch Starved!Male Reader

TW: mentions of child neglect and all the things that come with Arven’s past

🥪 - Joke’s on you, he’s touch starved too actually.

🥪 - Needless to say, whenever you need touch, Arven is always eagerly matching your energy. He got such minimal affection—let alone via touch—growing up, having a boyfriend who is always seeking touch is like a match made in heaven situation for him.

🥪 - You can just call for him to cuddle and even if he’s in the middle of something or across the house, he’ll come a-running.

🥪 - Arven actually has a lot of little physically affectionate things I think he does to all of his loved ones, but he can be reserved in actually letting himself do them. The instinct is constantly there and he’s always fighting it though, good thing he has you and he doesn’t have to!

🥪 - In terms of his little physically affectionate gestures, he likes to clap people he likes on the back or shoulder. If the other person is distinctly shorter than him, he’ll ruffle their hair or give them a noogie. He also does friendly punching or elbowing, and while doing any of the above he always has a big grin on his face.

🥪 - You have to actually explain touch starvation to him, but when you do, it clicks right away and he immediately latches onto the concept because you just put a term to something he’s felt all his life and a lot of things make sense now.

🥪 - So it’s fair to say that there isn’t a single man out there who could be more attentive to your needs than him, because he has the same feelings. And by Arceus, Arven is dedicated to making sure your needs are always met.

🥪 - Arven’s favorite thing in the world is cuddling. He loves to cuddle; he can be big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter as long as he’s doing it with you. Bed cuddles are nice, but he really likes couch cuddles even more. After he cooks a nice meal for the two of you and you’re both full, warm and calm, nothing beats moving to the couch and curling up in each other’s arms. It’s a pretty sacred tradition that makes him feel safe—hopefully it would make you feel the same way, too.

🥪 - While cuddling, if he’s holding you, he is STRONG. Arven’s strength is actually pretty average, but he can white-knuckle hold you tight all night long, so if you like a strong pair of arms, this is a place you’ll want to be. He’ll usually rest his head on your shoulder, sometimes kissing your neck and shoulder blades if he’s really feeling the love.

🥪 - If you’re holding him, Arven kind of rolls and squirms a bit. He’s not a fan of being a little spoon in the traditional way—if you’re holding him, he likes to be facing you. Sometimes he buries his head in your chest, other times he rests your foreheads together. Once he’s gotten comfortable, though, he’ll just melt in your arms. It feels so special and safe. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before.

🥪 - When you cuddle, Arven is quiet… for a total of maybe ten minutes. He becomes a bit of a chatterer when you two snuggle, but he usually talks in a whisper during those times. While cuddling is often when you two will have your “big” conversations, usually regarding feelings and the swapping of your issues. Arven will listen the entire time you talk about whatever’s on your mind, including the reasons behind your touch starvation, all the while rubbing your arms with his thumbs and nodding. In turn, he’ll talk about being worried about losing you or scaring you off, and how happy he’s become since he’s found you. The conversations only get truly heavy when either of you are in a particularly distressed headspace, though.

🥪 - However you manage your touch starvation, Arven is happy to be on the receiving end. Tiny pecks as you pass him by in the kitchen, tight hugs before you separate for the day, a grab for his hand when you really need it… he’ll always be delighted to accept it all.

[vikisbay]

✧.┊︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶┊.✧

【JJK】 Rejecting the JJK boys kisses Pt 1

|Gojo, Megumi, Choso, Geto, Yuji, Toge, Yuta,|

Pt 2

A/N —> when I tell you I was non-stop writing all of these, I am obsessed with this concept★彡

✧.┊︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶┊.✧

【GOJO S.】 collage!Gojo

• music was blasting in your ear, your headphones sat perfectly on top of your head disconnecting you from the world around. Mid terms were coming up and you had been working your ass off, getting good grades was always top priority.

Your stupidly gorgeous boyfriend was sitting across from you mindlessly scrolling on his phone when he realized is amazing girlfriend (and hopefully) soon to be wife was sitting right in front of him. Your face was being blocked by the screen of your laptop so he tilted down revealing you to him. You were so focused on writing down something in your notebook you hadn’t even realized Gojo staring at you.

You were suddenly snapped out of your trance when your headphones were slid off your head and onto your neck, “hi sweetheart” his smile warmed your heart and his voice was literally ethernal. His hands cupped your face bringing it centimetres away from his, oh god how could you focus on studying now.

His lips just barely grazed yours before you turned your head.

You tried your hardest to suppress your laughter but his face was absolutely priceless, your soft giggles filled there air as he stood there.

He just stood there.

Tears brimmed yours eyes from laughing so hard, you felt bad but you were also enjoying it “so you don’t love me anymore?” His hand held your chin making you look at him “I’m sorry Saturo…” your apologize sounded real but the smile that was planted your face told him otherwise.

the offended look on his face made you feel bad you so you laid a small kiss on the corner of his mouth before placing your headphones back on your head, and with that he was satisfied allowing him to go back to his seat and scroll on his phone.

【MEGUMI F.】 high school!Megumi

• your eyes fluttered open, you lifted your head from your arms before stretching them over your head. How long were you asleep for? This question was floating through your head making you wish you had just stayed asleep, just for a little longer.

You looked around to find yourself in an empty classroom all the chairs were tucked in neatly and not a single object was left behind, except for the desk next to you. Textbooks and notes were scattered around messily. You rubbed your eyes trying to shake off your grogginess. You remember keeping a certain raven haired boy company while he studied but after awhile of watching him work you decided to take a quick nap. the question that now filled your mind was ‘where was Megumi?’

like magic the boy walked back into the classroom holding snacks. when he saw you a smile grew on his face “I got you snacks” his tone was caring and gently, he also kept his voice low due to the fact that you had just woken up. he set a bottle of apple juice in front of you before sitting down in his own seat. he picked up the bottle of apple juice once again and twisted the cap open before urging you to take it.

the cold liquid flowed down your throat soothing it of the harsh dryness you felt when you woke up, “you should really start going to bed at a reasonable time” he almost sounded worried but was ultimately cool and calm. you nodded your head agreeing with him knowing full well your lack of sleep was starting to affect your everyday life. he reached a hand over to you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

he leaned in and you were well aware he was going to kiss you, but this gave you an idea. you put a hand on his chest stopping him in his tracks, this action made his eyes open slightly wider then usual. he raised an eyebrow at you making you let out a soft laugh.

“your so annoying sometimes”

this time he acted fast leaving a soft gentle kiss on your lips, clearly not finding your jokes funny which only made you find it funnier.

【CHOSO K.】 collage!Choso

• Choso laid down in your bed waiting for you, his eyes constantly threatening to close due to how late it was. you did this every night you took almost an hour to do your skincare and Choso just didn't understand way it mattered, you were already so stunning you didn't need to spend hours on your looks.

his head turned to the door as soon as he heard your soft foot steps, as soon as you came into view his eyes couldn't leave your body. you were wearing just your regular tank top and shorts but you still look so effortlessly stunning “are you just going to continue you staring?” a soft laugh left your lips and oh God was he so in love with you and i mean everything about you.

“maybe I am?” he shrugged his shoulders before patting the space beside him on the mattress. you slipped in the blanket which was cold against your bare legs. you snuggled closer to the black haired man for warmth, his warm hands wrapped around your waist bringing you comfort as you hid your face in his chest. he leaned in to lay a sweet kiss on your cheek but you moved your hand to his face pushing him away.

he backed up just a little bit a frown planted on his face, “I just put serum on my face baby” a scoff left his lips “princess, I just want to kiss you” his whiny voice made you laugh softly. you had to reach up to kiss Choso and as soon as you did he completely melted into your touch, you pulled away still giggling about the entire situation.

he pulled you in closer before saying “you don't need all that shit to look beautiful, trust me princess”

【GETO S.】 husband!Geto

• you had been working on the perfect dinner for Geto for the past hour. your boyfriend has been slaving away at work for days, he kept coming home after you had already gone to bed and would leave for work before you'd wake up. you understood that he was making money for the both of you and you were super grateful.

you set the plate of steak and mash on the table accompanied with a tall glass of his favorite wine, now you had to just wait for him to come home. while you waited you decided to do the dishes and when you were doing them he walked into the kitchen “hi gorgeous” he said tiredly before walking up behind you lazily wrapping his large arms around your waist, he nuzzled his head in your neck while you continued to clean the dishes.

he was about to leave a kiss on your neck but before he could you pulled away “eat dinner first, then I'll kiss you” you wanted nothing more than for him to have his way with you, to do whatever he wanted but he had been neglecting his heath by not eating so you had to be stern about this.

he frowned “is this what you say to your tired husband” a smirk graced his face, you turned around to face the dark haired man in front of you. so now he hand you pinned to the the brim of the sink “its what I say when my husband cant take care of himself” a soft scoff leaves your lips, he found your sass amusing making him laugh. he knew you really cared about him and he loved you even more for this so he did as you said even if he didn't like the faceted that you rejected his kiss.

of course later that night he was making you scream his name and making you beg for his lips on you.

because he was always able to make you a mess even if just hours before you had all the control over him.

— yours truly, Viki

✧.┊︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶┊.✧

[coffin-ramblings]

We've got a post from Nemlei on TCOAAL's origins! Which is very sweet and poetic given last December was when she went off the internet. First will be the preview pics.

It's interesting how the moon has been a sorta background recurring motif in the game. Stars are most obviously associated with Ashley, Saturn the planet references the myth of him and the Olympians and the story of the Graves, but where does that leave the moon? It was also found in NGN above Lord Unknown's cradle, in between the stars that obviously represent Andrew and Ashley.

Maybe it being crescent shaped can mean that it's going to fade into obscurity or become a full moon, a reference to the route split? Maybe it represents their baby??? (which is another post for this crackhead theory)

When I first saw this, I thought Andrew was mad, but nope, it turns out that he's sad. I wonder why. It might be that lighthouse Ashley was stuck in with no stairs given that it's a different color and background from the one in October devlog. It might be the same one but changed across the scene. Who knows? I wonder what Andrew's thinking about here.

Someone pointed out to me that Ashley's smiling here. Is this before a climax, part of the falling action, or part of the epilogue? If so, does this suggest they are happier in the demon realm? Does that mean they become demons???

Also this is cute, I sure hope it's not a dream or daydream. Hopefully part of them sitting at the lighthouse?

Anyway, it's great to see Nemlei talk about the inception of the game. It's funny how Ashley was intended to be a silent protagonist, that is VERY opposite to how she turned out to be. I also really like how the game was made on a prompt of having gameplay, because it really enhances the horror. Nemlei did a good job there.

And their concept sketch is cute, I like it a lot.

Apparently, the plot, Andrew, and Ashley wrote themselves, I guess that meant that they really wanted to get it on with each other fast. And yeah, that last sentence is a fucking mood. I have way too many cool ideas but I can't write them all or writing them will kill me, so I just leave them rotting in docs and friends' DMs. And apparently Nemlei has an interest exploring her other one-shot VNs? Hopefully we get a follow-up to them all, especially Candy Scabs. But it's strange how Nemlei doesn't really talk about Jack in a Castle though. Perhaps she felt embarrassed by its quality?

This is overall an informative and oddly sweet post. Even though Nemlei is indeed a frustrating troll, she is a very cool and hilarious one. Happy holidays and I wish her a good new year.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART III

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: mega plot-driven smut ahead in this part of the story. you've been warned. MINORS, DNI. 18+

***

Despite everything, you and Steve both get through battling Vecna. You both grin and bear it. You both set aside your differences when the moment calls for it.

Just like you have before. Many times.

And in the midst of it all, you can't help but wonder about your uncle. How he's doing. If he's somewhere in his bunker still, hopefully drinking less (ideally, not at all) and keeping up his phone calls with Joyce. You'd told her to keep tabs on him, and you also told your uncle to keep tabs on her. They needed each other. You had the kids and the teens, but they needed each other. And sure, your uncle has you. Always. But you have to work, and babysit, and hang around a guy who hates your guts because the circumstances won't permit otherwise.

Eddie and Robin really stick up for you. They do. They really like you. Steve can’t stand it.

Even Nancy doesn’t mind you. Honestly, she’s scared of you more than anything. Steve doesn’t care.

The kids love you. Steve won’t make them hate you. He never would. But he won’t endorse their kind sentiments about you either.

More groups are formed, along with more plans. Scary, life-threatening plans.

You stay behind with Dustin and Eddie, knowing that Steve is quietly a basket case over the concept leaving Dustin alone without having him there to protect him from all this shit, the way he has before. With the demodogs, the Russians, and everything up to this point. That kid is his brother. His son.

It’s the only time that Steve tells you thank you.

And he sincerely means it.

By the grace of some unspeakable force, you manage to not only keep Dustin alive...but also Eddie. The bats have done their damage, and you've got some damage yourself. Though not nearly as bad as Eddie. You can withstand yours with adrenaline and the sheer need to protect one of your kids and get this metalhead back to the real world so that he can get proper medical attention.

When Steve and the girls all get back to the three of you there, after all the shit hits the fan - you, Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin all manage to get Eddie back across the gate and get him majorly patched up. Thanks to Dr. Owens.

You keep Eddie hidden at Murray's bunker. You're shocked to find it empty, your worry growing more every single minute. But Steve tries to assure you that your uncle is likely fine, probably just out to eat or something. However... even he knows that is not true. Murray does not go anywhere.

"Bauman," he's saying to you, softly. So softly. Softer than he's ever spoken to you once. "He's gonna be okay. I promise. We're here, alright?"

Two days later, Jonathan and his Cali crew all show up. Nancy and him are reunited.

And you watch Steve break.

He doesn’t let it show, not really. But you see it. Both you and Robin do. You let her comfort him. He needs his best friend, much more than he needs you. Especially in this situation. You are undoubtedly the last source of comfort for him in this specific instance.

You reunite with your Uncle Murray, who has returned with Joyce and — to your surprise — a very much alive Hopper.  It’s a beautiful reunion, as you all hug tightly. 

You all fucking lived, bitch.

Given the new flurry of debris-snow-shit in the air, you all end up having to take shelter.

Steve volunteers his house, given that his parents fled to their vacation home and he told them he wasn’t going. They ditch him, so he has the house all to himself. This time, he doesn’t have to be alone though.  He has his real family.

You all move into the Harrington House. Lord knows it’s big enough. But it’s also really tight, for two people who can’t stand each other unless there’s a really ugly monster guy waltzing around that needs to be killed along with his multi-species army of little uglies.

Given the close quarters, on top of the fact that you all can’t leave the house much unless it’s for supplies, you and Steve have no choice but to coexist.

He still resents you, especially seeing Nancy and Jonathan are now getting along again and seem to be doing better. But it's much more subdued now, and you both find a way to talk. Which happens mainly because of you, initiating.

You learn more about Steve's home life, given the pictures everywhere throughout the house. They're all pretty stiff, lacking warmth. You figured that Steve was a pretty lonely trust fund baby, and being that you're a lonely child you can relate to the loneliness that comes with that. Not the trust fund part. Just the only-child-syndrome part, which you know perfectly well forces you to either become very well acquainted with yourself...or hate yourself even more. Steve clearing did not lean into becoming his own source of reliability and companionship, the way that you did. And it made you understand him better. It made you understand why he needed to be around the likes of Carol and Tommy H. He did not know how to be alone with himself.

"I think my dad and I don't even like the same beer," Steve scoffs, allowing himself a humorless chuckle. You don't laugh with him, instead giving him a soft look. An apology with your eyes.

"And my mom, she just...I dunno. Sometimes, I wonder why she never left him."

You let Steve reveal as little or as much as he wants to. It just depends on the day.

The two of you watch out for the kids. You both go with them to visit Max in the hospital. You even initiate finding a way to get her to stay there while in a coma, thanks to enlisting the help of your uncle to help enlist the help of Dr. Owens. The kids love you for that.

Steve doesn’t love you… But he appreciates you.

A lot. He's beginning to find appreciation for you, for a lot of things.

Your uncle clocks the very niche tension between the two of you, now that you’re all under the same roof and he’s given no choice but to.

And damn, it makes him curious. He is, after all, the witch doctor of love…

Nevertheless, Murray takes his time choosing when to strike.

As you and Steve both help nurse Eddie back to health, and read to Max in her coma (which leads to both of you just simply talking), and make the kids laugh together, and even make conversation with Nancy and Jonathan (…it’s very double date ish) Murray watches his niece — and mannnnnn, is he amuuuuuused.

One night, you and Steve stay up to share some drinks with the adults. It’s the first time that the two of you actually make each other really laugh, heartily. The drinks help.

That’s sort of Murray’s plan. Vodka is, after all, the holy grail.

Even Eddie joins, along with Robin. But Steve sits next to you. Not his best friend, or the new friend he’s made in the metalhead. Nope, he sits his perfect, hunky ass that makes all the ladies drool right next to little ole you.

And damn, do you both laugh.

Murray’s never seen you laugh that hard with anyone in his life. He wonders if you’ve ever laughed that way at all. 

And the way that Harrington looks at you?  Especially when you’re not looking… Holy shit. 

And the way you look at him the same way... makes Murray grin ear to ear like a mischievous kid with the plan to wreak havoc.

Hopper and Joyce are so settled into their relationship, and Jonathan seems to be winning back the love of Nancy. Eddie and Robin are so single it hurts, but it's legendary too. And you? Steve? Well, you guys are mortal enemies. And yet somehow, sitting here in the Harrington's living room with glasses of chilled vodka, belly-laughing over anything -- you and Steve exude more chemistry than all of them combined.

So when everyone goes to bed, and Murray catches you alone, he grills you. Not like the others. Nah, you’re family. He’ll cut you some slack.

…not much, though.

It sobers you right up.

"Do not tell me for one second that you don't think he's gorgeous," your uncle is saying in a low voice. You're both standing in his bedroom, having fetched him a tall glass of water which turned out just be a way to fucking lure you into his witchdoctor trap.

"I love you Uncle Murray. I really do. But this theory? -- is not one of your other bullseye's."

"Face it, kiddo," your uncle is smirking. "Your uncle's never wrong. You're just never the one on the other end of his lectures when he's making astute observations. You're always contributing to it. But this time? You're the leading lady, darling."

"False."

"You like Steve."

"Murray...!"

"You like Steve..."

You try to tell your uncle that everything he is saying is nonsense. Steve hates you. He absolutely hates you. Loathes and despises you, and plans to do so until you’re all particles of dust. 

“Plus, he is so fucking annoying and whiny and entitled and has zero self respect unless it’s up against someone who calls him out for his shit,” you tell your uncle, gesturing to yourself on the last part. “Steve Harrington is a cocky guy who would just rather suffer in his own misery than ever see or lean into being this...this incredible man that he's...capable of being, the role model he has become to those kids, who love him, they love the human most deserving of being put first —”

.................

…oh fuck.

The silence is deafening. Murray’s smirk and all-knowing glare only adds to your being aware of what you just said to him, and admitted to yourself, out loud.

“Oh…oh so we do love Steve.”

Your uncle’s words are the cherry on top of the cake you just baked, and didn’t know you had the ingredients to make.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, you and Steve both sit with Max.

"Wondering what she wrote in yours?"

Steve is nodding at the stack of letters on the bedside table. You all left them there, promising yourselves not to open them. Because she will wake up.

Lucas took it hard, Max dying. You'd been there to hold him, comfort him, along with Steve. You both watched him burst into tears numerous times, sometimes sobbing uncontrollably, despite the fact that she was somehow still here. It broke both your hearts, but you both got through it with him. Together.

And while the other kids were taking it hard too...so fucking hard...it was Steve who carried the most guilt. Remorse, anguish and guilt.

"I failed my kid," Steve had told you at the hospital once. You looked at him with a furrowed brow and concerned eyes.

"Steve, no you didn't."

His voice shook, eyes drowning in nightmarish thoughts. "I wasn't there for her. I wasn't -- wasn't..."

"You could never fail those kids. Not even if you tried."

He didn't believe you. But he wanted to. You had squeezed his hand that day, sitting in the waiting room. And to your surprise, not only did he let you...but he squeezed it back, letting your hands rest that way for an hour as you fell asleep in the seats before being woken up.

And now, sitting in one of his guest rooms while Max lay asleep in the coma still, you can see that guilt in him is spreading.

Steve is holding the letter that she gave to him, and you ask him if he’s wanting to read it.

Steve snorts. "God, you kidding? She'll wake up just to kill me before going right back to sleep."

You smirk, biting back a real laugh. “True.”

But Steve looks conflicted. He fiddles with the letter in his hands, wanting to tear it open. You know that he does.

“…want me to read it out loud to you instead? She can kill me in your place.”

Steve chuckles at that.

...but he doesn’t say no.

In fact, after biting his lip for a minute and thinking, he finds himself nodding. Yes. Please, read it to me, he’s thinking.

So you do.

You take the letter and read it to him. You read him the words that only a little sister could write to a big brother who she loves and wishes she will grow up to be like. You read him words that make him light up like a Christmas tree, yet cause him a painful ache deep within his bones. You read him a letter of love that no one ever took the time to write, let alone express, to him his entire life.

Steve fights tears. He bites them back, successfully. You’re the last person he ever wants to see him vulnerable. Hell, he can’t even see himself like that without judging his own self harshly. He can only imagine that you will, too.

He doesn’t know, though, that not only would you never judge him for that. But selfishly, you wish he would feel safe with you. Or God, someone at least. Just not Nancy.  Someone who deserves him wholeheartedly.

"Steve," you speak softly.

He's staring into space, zoned out. But then, he finally looks over at you. He sees the kindness in him, and it almost takes his breath away. The way that you look at him...he just never thought you could...that you could --

"You're all of these things. Everything she wrote in this? You're all of it. And then some. You're the hero all those kids dream of being when they grow up. You're their favorite person. The one they trust, go to for everything. Even if you don't think that they do, they do."

He listens, unable to move. Speak. Breathe.

"You are...a great person, Steve Harrington."

***

That night, there’s a knock on your door. You’ve been given the guest room upstairs with no bunk mate. Unlike most of the people in the house. But given that Joyce and Hopper are together now, and El sleeps in Max’s room to keep watch, the four younger boys share a room with Eddie, Nancy is with Jonathan, Erica sleeps at her own house and Robin shares Steve’s room since she splits her time here and at home — you and Murray got the solo rooms.

Steve is now grateful for those sleeping arrangements tonight.

Because when you open the door, he’s on the other side. He looks sad, conflicted and lost. Like his mind is racing at a million miles an hour, yet can’t think of anything to say. He’s tongue tied, just staring at you expectantly…

What is he expecting?

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Is it Max?”

Something about your question makes Steve brows pinch together. Like it’s suddenly confusing him even more. But he doesn’t speak.

You wait patiently. But truth be told, you are anxious as fuck. Because damn, he’s pretty. He is so stupid pretty. And fuck it’s annoying. His lips are just the right shape in a pout, and it’s really fucking annoy —

His lips are crashing into yours before you can even finish dissecting them.

Steve is kissing you like life depends on it. Gentle at first, but eager. Determined.

And when you both pulls back -- you don’t hesitate for more than a solid 2-3 seconds, your eyes shocked while his eyes silently ask, is this okay?

Your lips crashing back against his answers — yes.

Steve is a hurricane of both madness and all things serene in the ways that he touches your body. He explores your skin with his lips and hands, as if he has all the time in the world. The curve of your jaw and neck. The jut of your collarbones. The feel of your clavicle, which leads him to the shape of your tits and nipples. He cherishes your body, hungrily exploring it. It’s heated, hot and heavy. He licks a stripe down your abdomen to the waistband of your sweatpants. The way his brown irises look up at you, all round and doe eyed, makes the back of your throat groan with need. It’s not loud or brash, nor is it strained and quiet. It’s soft but certain. Steve melts at it, his fingers curling one by one around the band of your sweatpants, his eyes still asking — please?

You’re nodding without even having to hear a word out of him. And Steve pulls.

Euphoria is the feeling of Steve’s tongue exploring your folds. It’s the sound of him sighing into your portal in pure pleasure, and the way he sucks your clit with fervency yet flicks it with supple patience. His hands knead into your thighs, one of them reaching to squeeze your hips so that he can pull himself up to you and let you taste yourself on his tongue. He wraps an arm underneath your waist, hooking you to him, asking in the breathiest of whimpers, “Please let me, angel.”

He’s getting a fistful of your hair into one of his big hands, adoring the way that you squeak a yelp. You suck on his tongue, hard, and it’s enough to drive him mad. He pins himself against you, grinding. But you sit up, keeping your bodies glued together and now using your teeth to tug on his lip and paralyze him in pure ecstasy. You take the opportunity to slide your teeth and tongue down his jaw and neck, trailing pecks and kisses along the way, and the throaty whimper he lets out makes you see stars behind your hooded eyes as you drag your tongue down his chest. The wet stripe you’re leaving glides down to his toned abdomen’s bunny trail, and as you curl your fingers around his sweatpants, you pause… letting your lips press the most fluttery of kisses to each of his scars.

Steve can’t help the shudders, sighs and whimpers that escape his lips, along with your name. It’s raw, uncensored.  He clutches your hand, which you extend up to him in a greedy grab as you slowly work his pants down with your other hand. You hook your fingers onto his chin, forcing him to let go of your hand in his and look down at you. He does, and it’s game over. You watch him and never break eye contact as you use both hands to push down his briefs…

…and thank God for that — because otherwise, you would see just what you’re up against as far as pleasuring him goes.

You feel the tip of his hard length tap your chin, and you scoot farther down into the mattress — on your knees like a perfect angel. Your tongue plays with its head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum, and Steve is shaking so hard he can’t stand it. He clenches his jaw, gritting out blissful curses through his teeth. “Fuck, baby, fuck.”

You take in the intense length of him, pleasuring him until he is touching the back of your throat and nearly gagging you senseless, and the mess he is up above you — it sends your mind into a tailspin. He has never looked so pretty, eyes squeezed shut except when he’s glancing back down at you with more fondness and adoration than you ever thought possible from not only a man who hates you…but any man at all.

And when Steve is just about to cum, he begins to beg. “P-please. Wait, please.”

His hands urgently cup your jaw, forcing you to look back up at him and cease your sickeningly perfect work. He pulls, and you follow. He drinks you in with his gaze, staring into your soul, as if he’s trying to figure you out. He stares and stares, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his brown eyes searching yours like you are the most beautiful mystery he has ever needed to solve. He looks as though he might ask you something. Say something...

But he dives in to kiss you again before he lets himself.

His hand wraps around the bend of one of your knees, tugging it up so that he can hook your leg around his waist. Then he does it to the other. And before you know it, you’re straddling him.

“Fuck, Bauman, please,” Steve Harrington groans into your mouth. Then softer, murmuring against your lips as he kisses them endlessly, “please let me, please.”

And you know what he is asking. You know what he wants. You don’t have to even think twice. Lifting yourself up, lining him with your entrance, he stretches you out and the euphoric sting of it sucks the air right out of you. And Steve.

Steve is winded by the feeling of how tight your walls are, and by just how right it feels to be inside of you. You both fit. Like a perfect match.

At this point, you’re both a frenzy of fucking. You ride him – slow, hard, fast, all of it. Steve keens into your mouth, then your neck as he buries his face there — completely overwhelmed. You hold his head there, comfortingly and securely, and so fucking perfectly as your fingers tug at the ends of his perfect hair.

“I’ve got you, baby,” your voice shakes in a breathy whisper, just for him. “Let it all go.”

And Steve does. His fingers dig into the curve of your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he presses the loud growl of his climax into your bare shoulder. He releases himself into you, hot and loaded, and you drip just as much onto him as he just shot into you.

As if that wasn’t enough to send you reeling — enough to make you see angels and devils and god — it’s the way that Steve shudders against you, catching his breath…and then pulls back to look at you…that renders you speechless.

His hairline leaks sweat, his face beaded with it. His eyelids are hooded, the dark brown irises dazed and daring to meet your gaze. His lips are parted perfectly — and the way he looks up at you with his tousled hair, somehow still perfect after it’s been pulled and messed with, is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Steve Harrington is so fucking beautiful.  He’s an all-American boy, yet a Greek god.

The way that Steve gently brings your forehead to his, breathing against you, closing his eyes at the contact — you find yourself timidly nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. And you feel him smile against you, opening your eyes just enough to steal a peek — and that’s when you feel a deep ache in your heart and soul that might as well kill you.

Because now you realize. That is love. 

Steve is love.

But you let it die inside of you tonight, not wanting to make this moment end any sooner than it has to. Instead, you let Steve entangle his limbs with yours, not daring to ask if he wants to stay. Because if you do, he’ll likely leave. He’ll realize that being in bed with you is the last place that he wants to be, and that he’s made a mistake. He’ll go back to hating you, more than he already does, and it will be the death of you. So instead, you just let it ride out however it’s supposed to.

You try not to count the minutes as Steve absentmindedly traces circles with his fingertips on your skin. Your hip bones, your shoulder blades, your spine. You tell yourself to forget that time and its limits exist as you stroke the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, your temple against his forearm, his outer arm draped over you. You tell yourself that this is it. This is heaven. This is eternity. You tell yourself even if you wake up and it’s just a dream, you’ll remember it for as long as you live. Because on the other side of death is this, and it will never end.

You let that ease your mind as he presses his lips to your forehead and you no longer fight sleep.

So when you do wake up…and find that Steve is still there…you’re shocked. But you stay that way until he wakes. He looks at you in awestruck wonder. Not confusion or regret. Just…wonder.

He props himself up on an elbow, still looking at you, deep in thought. All you can do is stare back, wishing you knew what the hell he was thinking but not daring to ask. It wasn’t worth risking this.  You stay that way for a little while.

He finally breathes a sigh, whispering, “Kids will be up soon.”

You give him a soft smile and gentle nod. You can already see Dustin waking up to go knock down Steve’s door, and that’s…not gonna end well if he finds out that Steve is walking out of your room instead.

Steve contemplates god-knows-what for another long moment before pressing a quick kiss into your hairline as he rises.

You watch him stand and dress himself, your heart throbbing at the way he looks in the early morning light streaming through the windows. His body is god-like. Tall, lean and athletic. His skin has the most beautiful constellation of moles that put the entire galaxy of stars to shame. And you ache at the thought of never being able to touch them again.

He gives you a soft grin after he throws his t-shirt back on, and before you know it he’s gone.

You lay there staring at nothing, feeling yourself leak a couple of silent tears and wondering why. You find yourself afraid to get up and face whatever new reality lies ahead of you on the other side of that door. 

***

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