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mountainsandmayhem · 2 days ago

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Maid Discreetly - Chapter Three

Tommy Miller x Female OC (18+ only)

Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man? Chapter Summary: After a truly horrible day you come face to face with the last man you want to, but the same man you can't stop thinking about. AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers. Please remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for all future chapters. Divders by @saradika-graphics. As always thank you to @lotusbxtch and @for-a-longlongtime for helping me expand on my ideas and add all my punctuation xo. WC: 3.9k

Story Masterlist || My Masterlist || Joel and Kim

cw: dad's being dads, men being men, talks of sex toys, reader drinks wine and the men drink whiskey. Reader has a bad day at work.

Tommy

Joel: Can you stop by the office today? I have a new contract for you. Tommy: Office? So official Tommy: I’ll be at the club tonight, meet there? Joel: I can’t be in that club anymore. Can barely be here. Tommy: Remember those terrible vampire movies Sarah used to like? Joel: Unfortunately Tommy: You’re acting like that girl when the vampire left Joel: I’m here until 5

Tommy sits across the dark wooden desk from Joel, studying his brother while he slides the contract to him. The dark circles below his eyes seem lighter today, which means he probably got some sleep for once. Joel was at JMKink - the exclusive members only kink club they own with their friend Tess - the day after the gala, sitting at the bar and actively ignoring everything and everyone around him. At first, Tommy took it as a good sign. Kim had been gone for about eight months at that point and it looked like Joel was ready to move on. Unfortunately, Joel hasn’t been back since. Between losing Tiffany and now Kim, Tommy has seen Joel go through heartbreak more times than someone like him deserves. Maybe he should take this as a warning - nothing good can come from getting involved with younger women. After all, Tommy has always considered himself the younger, hotter brother, and he needs his beauty sleep to keep that up. Not that he really needs a warning, falling in love isn’t for him, not in the way it is for Joel, so no real harm can come from daydreaming about that girl from the gala.

“Sounds like he wants an office renovated here and possibly one in California, and then also looking to build a home,” Joel says, sliding off his reading glasses and leaning back in his black leather desk chair.

Tommy looks around his newly renovated office. “Speaking of, looks good in here, man.”

Joel sighs, “Thanks. So, look, the California office could be tricky since the local regulations there aren’t always the same as here, but I have an architect there that’ll be on call for you.”

“Did it help?” Tommy asks, choosing to file away the bit about California and the architect, and focus on the facelift Joel has given his office.

“What?” Joel snips, annoyance growing in his voice, but when he meets Tommy’s gaze he softens a little.

Tommy gesture’s around the room. “This. All of this. Did it help?”

Joel looks around the room and then back at Tommy, “At the time, but now that it’s done I feel the same.”

As much as Tommy likes to tease his older brother, he does care about him more than anything else. He leans forward, reaching a hand across the desk to rest on Joel’s. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

The small smile that Joel gives him is forced, the soft melancholy in his eyes revealing what he won’t say. “I’m fine, I just fucking miss her. Falling in love again wasn’t part of the plan, you know that. Changes things, ya know?”

Tommy chuckles as he moves his hand towards the contract, snatching it up and waving it at his brother as he responds, “I don’t know, and after seeing all the shit you’ve been through I’ll continue to stay far away.”

Joel lets out a small laugh as Tommy settles in his chair. As he flips through the contract he thinks about you again. You mentioned Kim, which means Joel may know your name. He glances over the paper at Joel, whose gaze is focused on his hands, the pad of his left thumb rubbing along the cuticle of his right one. Even without making eye contact, Tommy can see the dim, almost lifeless look of his eyes. He won’t admit it to himself, but not bringing you up with Joel is more to protect himself than his older brother. He makes a silent pact with himself that if you’re still the main character of his subconscious in a month that he’ll ask.

You

It’s been a truly shit day.

First, one of your maids called in sick. Then, shortly after sorting out who would take her clients, another called you to say her bathroom cleaner slipped from her hand as she was walking and she got bleach on a custom Louis Vuitton bathrobe. You got absolutely torn apart by the client on the phone when you called to report it and after ordering him a new one you decided you deserved a small treat.

You had barely made it out of the parking lot when your phone rang with yet another problem; this time, the cleaning supplies you ordered were going to be delayed by six weeks due to a recall of one of the ingredients. You turned around, foregoing your Starbucks, and went to talk to the warehouse supervisor about what items were needed most so you could start sourcing them elsewhere. After six hours on the phone with different suppliers, and a missed lunch break, you tried to call it a day, but the universe had other plans for your evening.

The low air pressure warning comes on just seconds before your steering wheel jerks to the right on its own.

Fuck, flat tire.

Tension from the stress of the day causes your jaw to ache. You turn on your hazards and pull into the shoulder of the highway then get out to assess the damage. Before hopping back into your Bently, you snap a picture of the tire and call AAA.

“I’m sorry, honey, you’re looking at about a two hour wait because of rush hour,” a woman with a thick southern accent says.

You sigh, “Don’t worry about it then. Thanks anyways.”

You didn’t mean to come off rude or annoyed, but you just wanted to go home and sink into a bubble bath with a glass of white wine.

Guess I’m doing this myself, you think, looking down at your cream coloured paperbag pants and white button up, both of which will be ruined after this.

You gather everything you need from the trunk and swap out the tire for your spare, then drive to the nearest tire shop. Just when you think you’re in the home stretch, the man at the counter sees you as a target and tries to tell you he can’t repair it and that you need a whole new set of tires. He tries every slimy tactic in the book, but you don’t back down. You and your father haven’t always seen eye to eye, but in times like this, you’re thankful for him. A good portion of the population would believe this man; you, however, know the puncture is not on the sidewall and, due to the angle of the nail you ran over, the tire simply needs to be dismounted and a two piece patch/plug combination needs to be used. When he tries to bring up the wear on your tread, you stop him and let him know that a 6/32 tread or deeper is perfectly acceptable, plus your Bentley is brand new. The actual repair on the tire is quick, but you pull into your side of the four car garage about two hours later than you had hoped.

“I’m home,” you call out. The silence of the house is broken up by your dad’s laugh coming from upstairs. You go into the kitchen and scrub the dirt and oil off your hands, blowing the dark strands of hair that have fallen out of your half up, half down hairstyle from your face. You pour a large glass of wine, then take it and the bottle upstairs.

“Honey? Is that you?” Your dad calls from his office, when the top stair lets out its signature groan.

“Nope,” you say from the hallway towards his cracked door, trying your hardest to be chipper. “It’s me.”

“Oh, there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

You roll your eyes, “Right now?”

“Yes, just quickly.” He says, and you can tell from the slight slur of his words that he’s at least two whiskey’s deep. Your dad is a good man and he rarely drinks, so he’s a cheap drunk when he does. Unfortunately for him, whiskey and business deals usually go together in Texas.

You look in the mirror hanging at the top of the stairs, and put your glass and the bottle on the small table underneath it before trying to smooth your hair. As you step into your dad’s office, your eyes fall to him immediately.

Tommy fucking Miller, mister ‘I’m-at-table-twelve’ himself.

Before you can say anything, your dad starts.“Honey, this is my friend Tommy Miller. He’s gonna be doing some projects for us.”

Fuuuuuck that.

“Miss,” Tommy says, standing and extending his hand to you. You grip his large hand harder than necessary, shaking it as your dad introduces you. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Pure, white-hot rage simmers under your skin. Why the fuck is he acting like Mister Manners? And friend? No, the bible on the table in your dad’s office is proof enough that he would never be friends with a man who owns a sex club. Your mother, who is far more religious than your dad, would be horrified, no doubt scrubbing everything Tommy touched with holy water. Fuck, she might even bring in the priest at church to perform an exorcism on the air in the home.

“You too,” you say, trying to ignore the way his hand is soft yet firm as he shakes yours.

“Kiddo,” your dad says, clearly forgetting that this is a business meeting and he should be treating you like any other employee. Those were his stipulations for you when you moved from cleaning and into the office. You’re not to call him dad, yet he doesn’t seem to have that same rule for himself - ever. He continues, “I wanted to talk to you about the office here in Austin. Kim is doing really well in California. My email is flooded with requests for services. I think it’s time for me and your mother to go out there and start the process of hiring a staff. I was thinking you could sit in for me here.”

You don’t miss the careful wording of what he’s said. “Sit in”, not “take over”. You also don’t miss that he’s saying this at 8pm in his home office while you’re not only covered in dirt, but also have an audience featuring Tommy “every-woman-undresses-me-with-their-eyes-because-I’m-so-fine” Miller.

I’ll work on the name, you think angrily before forcing a smile across your face.

“Thanks, Dad. Yes, I would love to.” You can feel Tommy’s eyes burning into you, so you smile bigger, exposing more teeth than anyone ever has. If your dad had set this meeting at the office during normal business hours, he would have been trapped there to listen to you pitch why you want more. You know you can handle more, you know you deserve more, and the fact that he’s chosen this time to offer you a chance to “sit in” just further hammers in the paranoia that he’s not planning to let you take over. All of this was intentional, and your heart and stomach simultaneously sink; yet, you hold your head high and keep your smile bright.

“Wonderful,” he exclaims, clapping his hands once and then grabbing his whiskey. “Tommy’s going to be doing the renovations at the office, so I’ll let you handle all the meetings with him. Work with him, kiddo, let's make sure his crew can get in and out as easily as possible.”

You glance towards Tommy, something about his face is smug and all-knowing, and you’ve never wanted to punch someone so badly, but then he blinks. With that simple subconscious reflex, everything about him changes and the air in the room feels thicker. Something akin to sympathy fills his big brown eyes and he gives you a tight lipped smile. No one has ever looked at you like this; benevolent, understanding, supportive. It was too dark at the gala to make out the more delicate features of his face, but now you can see a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks; it gives a softness to his edge. The way his eyes dance around your face is like a silent call of understanding. The urge to punch him eases, the ache in your bones from the day intensifies, and an overwhelming desperation to climb into Tommy’s lap weaves itself in your mind. You want to feel the heat of his body as he wraps those big arms around you. You’d tuck your head beneath his chin and tell him how your future feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. He won’t judge you for pouting and saying it’s not fair to be asked to sit in when you’ve worked so fucking hard. Instead, you imagine that his grip would tighten, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The thought of receiving physical and emotional comfort makes the back of your eyes burn.

“Of course,” you say, looking back at your dad. As always, his expression is unreadable. To distract yourself from the lump that’s formed in your throat you look down at your pants and then force your tone to be polite and perfect, exactly what’s expected of you. “Please excuse me, it’s been a bit of a day. Dad, can you give Tommy my information, please?”

“Already done, honey,” he says with a smile before you spin towards the door, willing yourself to not cry until you’re out of the room.

You get about five steps into the hallway when Tommy’s hushed voice saying your name meets your ears. “Wait. Look I just…”

Tears flood your lash line and you force them back before turning to face him. You can’t do this right now, regardless of how looking at him just felt, it’s not real and you’re too vulnerable. “Just what? Why are you here? To be a prick again?”

He pushes his hands into his dark jean pockets, his expression downright sheepish as he says, “No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head and looks at his shoes. Without looking up he says, “Look, I’m sorry.”

You scoff, grabbing your wine glass and the bottle from the table. The words are like venom as they leave your lips, “Men like you don’t mean it when they apologize.”

“Men like me?” He sounds winded.

“Yes,” you say, keeping your voice at an angry hushed whisper. Tommy avoids the dagger-filled glare you give him as you continue, “Men who think they’re god’s gift to women. Men like you and your brother.”

That gets his attention, and his eyes dart to yours. “I was an asshole that night,” he confesses, then gestures around the grandness of the hallway and vast, sweeping staircase. “All of this makes me uncomfortable. We are in very different tax brackets. I didn’t belong at that gala. I don’t belong here. My actions that night were a defence mechanism. I know that’s a piss poor excuse but I am sorry. I understand if you don't believe me. I promise that I’m not that guy and I will prove it somehow.”

You stand frozen. Of all of the things that could have come out of his plush lips, that’s not what you thought you’d hear.

Don’t refer to his lips as plush.

“I had a really shitty day, Tommy.” He doesn’t say anything, just nods as you turn around and head to your bedroom.

Tommy

“Find the bathroom ok?” Jim says, adjusting the bible on the small table between the two armchairs the both of them have been occupying,

“Yes, thanks. So, Joel mentioned a potential home being built?” He asks as he sinks back into the plush, brown leather chair.

Jim takes a sip of his whiskey and nods. “This has to stay between us, but it doesn’t look like my dear daughter will be getting married anytime soon.” The implication that you’d need, or want, a man to provide for you causes irritation to prickle at the base of his skull; but there are too many thoughts swirling through his brain, so he shuts it out and tries to listen to Jim. “I’d like to build her a house. I bought a lot about three blocks away.”

Tommy tries to engage in conversation, but the newly-developed guilt that he’s been fantasizing about his new friend's “dear daughter” for the last few weeks claws at his stomach. He thought he would never see her again, never see her intoxicating green eyes, or her dewy olive tanned skin. She was a safe fantasy, but now that he knows who she is, what her name is, and more importantly what her last name is; he has to stop. There are a few very prominent surnames in Austin; everyone knows who those families are, and people with those last names, her last name, don’t end up with a Miller. Furthermore, he likes Jim, respects what he’s built and his nose for business. As his friend, he cannot have those kinds of thoughts about his daughter.

“Speaking of which,” Jim says loudly, bringing Tommy back to the conversation, he’s not sure what they were speaking of to get to this point, but he smiles at him nonetheless and Jim doesn’t seem to notice. “You should come to the Fourth of July party. Marilyn, my wife, well, she would love to have you.”

“That’d be great, Jim. I can definitely stop by.” Just as he finishes his sentence he hears two sounds simultaneously. Water being turned on and a distinct buzzing. He shifts in his seat, realizing that your bathroom must be just on the other side of the wall across from him. Does this mean you’re naked, your soft skin glistening as the water runs down it? And the buzzing?

“Excuse me a moment,” Jim says, picking up his phone that’s on silent and vibrating on the desk. Tommy lets out a slow breath after Jim leaves the office, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

The angel on his shoulder tries to talk some sense into him. You gotta stop, Tommy. This is not ok. You just mistook a phone ringing for her using a vibrator. You shouldn’t even be thinking about her with a vibrator! The devil, on the other hand, throws in a very unhelpful again.

He distracts himself by looking around the office. Large french doors serve as the entrance from the hallway, there’s an oversized dark wood desk along the back wall where they started their meeting and then the two chairs they occupy now to the left of it. A cross hangs on the wall above him and a worn copy of the bible on the table between them. Tommy was never raised to be religious. His grandma would say grace before their weekly family dinners on Sundays, but they never went to church. It dawns on Tommy that Jim must not know about Joel and the club. Local church groups have always made their disdain for that place known. Protesting and trying to get them shut down. This is why Tommy is a silent partner. He can run JM Construction without anything except a shared last name tying him to JMKink. Joel keeps a pretty low profile, and every member of JMK signs all sorts of contracts that bind them to secrecy.

The wall across from him, the one your bathroom must share, is covered in Jim’s accolades and family photos that he didn’t notice originally. Pictures of you as a baby, on family vacations, and at various graduations are all framed and proudly displayed. You’re right there on the wall, and have been the entire meeting. His disinterest in family life caused him to miss it. A few photos have an older sibling in them and a sense of longing tugs at Tommy’s heartstrings seeing all those memories on the wall.

That’s new, he thinks to himself.

When Jim comes back in, Tommy stands and shakes his hand. “Thanks again, Jim. Really looking forward to the projects.”

“Remember, the house stays between us,” Jim says with a wink.

“Absolutely. I guess I’ll see you on the fourth.”

“Come around four. We’ll have everything, so just bring your appetite.” Jim’s free hand claps Tommy’s shoulder and then he shows him out. Tommy sits in the driveway in his dark blue, hand restored 1969 Mustang for a few minutes, staring up at the house. His irritation from earlier spreads. He likes Jim, a lot, but viewing his daughter as someone who can’t purchase a home on her own causes his molars to clench together. He barely knows you, but he knows you’re smart and independent, and the last thing you’d need is the type of spoiled, mediocre boy your dad probably envisions you with. Those are the “men like you” that you tried to lump him in with, but Tommy is not that kind of guy. He is, however, someone who is true to his word, so he will prove to you exactly who he is over the course of the renovations.

You

The warm lavender scented water wraps around you and you can’t fight the lump in your throat anymore. You let the small sob pass your lips, then clamp a hand over them, worried that your dad or Tommy might be able to hear you on the other side of the wall. Tears carve lines down your face as they fall freely from your eyes. You hear your ex-boyfriends words as clear as day.

“Your dad is still going to leave me the business. You know he will, so if you think ending things with me means never seeing me again, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Your dad loved Preston. On paper, he was the best man for you. He came from wealth, his trust fund made yours look like peanuts and half the buildings downtown had plaques with his great grandpa’s name on them. He was a business student with a major in accounting and always knew exactly what to say to flatter your father. You overheard them one day talking about Maid Discreetly, Preston giving him all his thoughts about the business and how to grow it along with your dad.

He wants you to sit in for him. Not take over. While your dad was getting drunk with Tommy, you were looking for alternate suppliers and ensuring that the business could continue to run. You were getting screamed at over a miniscule little bleach stain on a robe. You were rearranging schedules to cover a sick maid. Now, you have to smile and nod and act like you’re so grateful to “sit in” on a job that everyone knows should be yours. Six figure salary or not, you deserve more.

Then there was Tommy. What was with his nice guy act today? And why do you hate that more than you hated how he spoke to you at that gala? He seemed fake today, aside from that brief moment in your dad’s office where you knew he could tell how disappointed you were, no matter how big of a fake smile you plastered on. You sink further into the deep soaker tub and close your eyes. Your Lollia bubble bath pops softly and you focus on the quiet crackling sound instead of the deep-rooted disappointment that today has unearthed. Tommy’s soft brown eyes appear in the dark.

Am I wrong about him?

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luxhesperus · 1 year ago

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finally finished kaleidoscope of death and i have to say that i did not see that twist coming...

because it was absurd, to say the least? don't get me wrong, i absolutely loved the plot and characters! it's just, the twist wasn't... fitting?

[ok spoiler below]

like, if it had been qiushi who was the door god it would have made more sense considering that the whole time, the reader is kept being reminded that qiushi wasn't quite reacting like humans would... almost like it was hinting that qiushi wasn't human

hell, some of the characters even pointed out that even nanzhu, the ever cold and steady leader of obsidian, had reacted to the doors more human than qiushi (you know, the depression, the time he had to spent recovering from each door)

double hell, even qiushi himself found it quite odd how he needed less time to recover from the doors in comparison to nanzhu and the others

so the twist being that nanzhu was the door god is just so... it feels like i've been blindsided? only because no part of the narrative ever suggested, even ever so slightly, that nanzhu was anything but human, ya know? so that twist felt kinda weird

it brings up so many questions too... like where did the doors come from? when did it start? before nanzhu, a door god, found interest in qiushi, what was in the twelfth door originally?

even so, i loved the story and its characters! i actually have a lot more to say, especially about the 11th door (maybe i'll dive into that later when i've actually gotten some sleep lol)

#i enjoyed this novel so much im not even kidding #like i literally stay way past 6am everyt ime because i could not put it down #it only took so long for me to finish this bc id only read it every 12am lmao #the doors are so interesting!!#especially the 11th!! like i knew deep down it was going to be related to reality #and that's exactly what im going to talk about later #but for now #this incoherent bablling of a very unusual choice of twist #im not saying it's bad #but it's not a good twist either #it just feels like the twist was forced ya know??#or maybe that's just me #ruan nanzhu #lin qiushi #kaleidoscope of death #死亡万花筒 #si wang wan hua tong

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fairy-angel222 · 1 year ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

The latter opening his phone to a video of Gojo fucking you, one of his close friends and roommate, from behind. The camera capturing your tear filled eyes as you cried. “S-Satoruu— nnh, please.. please don’t show Suguru.” He couldn’t see you like this, especially when it was for his best friend. The one whose charms you promised him you wouldn’t fall for.

Gojo ignored you completely, and you let out a broken whimper when you took that as your answer. The camera now panning down to the recoil of your ass as Gojo hammered into you, using his hand to spread your cheeks before zooming in on the way your pussy stretched to take his thick cock.

“That’sss it. Look at that filthy fuckin’ cunt. So wet n noisy f’me. Pussy’s creamin’ all over my cock, shitt.” He groaned, palm landing meanly onto your ass as his pace sped. “Suguru’s gonna love this. He’s a lil pervert f’you baby.”

You mewled loudly, head fuzzy as you babbled out words of embarrassment. Attempting to hide your face in his sheets.

Geto was furious, his jaw clenching along with his fist as he watched Gojo taint his precious girl. That was supposed to be his job. Watching as Gojo’s hand twisted roughly in your hair to pull you up to his chest. Your eyes rolling back with the arch of your back as you let dumbed down cries consume your shaking frame.

Geto hated it. But he couldn’t stop watching. Beginning to stroke roughly at his cock to the sight of Gojo molding you around his cock. A loud groan vibrating in his chest when you started begging the white haired man to cum in you.

Gojo angled the phone to show your whiny face while forcing you to keep contact with your reflection. Teary eyes and drool filled lips staring back at you with a choked cry. A smirk on his face when he tilted it down to the lewd bouncing of your tits. "Bet Sugu’s gonna jerk off to this when he sees it baby.”

“Wonder if he likes hearing you beg for me to breed your cunt full. You think he likes it baby?” He faux cooed, lips ghosting over your ear with heavy breaths. The man putting himself in the frame to chuckle darkly before grinning. A shiver raking down your spine at the feeling of his teeth on your skin.

You could only whine with a hiccup as you blinked up at the camera. Your head spinning as you tried to looked away with a moan. You didn’t want Suguru to see you like this.

Gojo grip on your hair tightened, tugging harshly as you whimpered. “I’m fucking talking to you ya know, you were doing so well baby. Just had to screw it up, didn’t you?” Gojo scoffed, shoving your head into the bed below with his hand behind your neck. The mean snapping of his hips rocking you back and forth each time his cock kissed your cervix.

Gojo sighed, the camera now picking up his tensed abs as they glistened with sweat. His pelvis meeting your flesh faster than Geto could keep up with. “Your little slut needs a lesson or two on obedience Suguru.” He smiled lazily, “Guess someone’s gotta teach her huh.”

The video ended. And Geto was quick to press replay.

He groaned, still fisting his cock to the image of your face contorting into one of pure pleasure as you looked at the camera through your lashes.

Cursing himself as he reached into your bedside drawer to grab his favorite out of your panties. Pretty pink one with part lace and a bow in the middle. Using it to imagine that it was you bouncing on his cock, your tight cunt gripping him snug as you made a sticky mess on his thighs.

His pace quickened, breathing getting heavy as he panted. Ragged breaths falling past parted lips until he felt his cock twitch. Spilling thick spurts onto his clothed lap like the pervert Gojo said he was.

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inthelittlewood · 7 days ago

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Questions about Eyes And Ears AU

I had somebody ask for a brief interview regarding my storytelling for their university project and thought I'd lend a hand.

I thought those of you that follow the story might like the insight too, so here ya go:

When you first introduced the Listeners in Evo SMP, did you have a broader narrative or concept in mind, or were they more of an atmospheric element at that point?

The honest answer is that I didn't want to write too much about somebody else's character(s), that being Grian's Watchers. If I could write the conflict from the side of the Listeners then we could continue the narrative with a pre-designed opposing force but have them be relatively mute for the most part. Partly to build anticipation of when they might act or retaliate but it also worked for behind the scenes purposes too. If the series hadn't slowed/stopped as suddenly as it did, I definitely would have poked Grian to pick his brain about what story elements fit his original imagining of the Watchers. So it was mostly narrative reasoning but they also served a mechanical behind the scenes purpose of transporting us to a new area which was necessary due to bugs we'd encountered with world gen etc.

What inspired you to flesh out the Eyes and Ears AU more in recent years? Was that mostly a personal creative decision, or was it influenced by fan interest?

Honestly I hadn't premeditated too much their reintroduction into anything that I was working on. Sure I'd seen a little chattering here and there about the Watchers but I honestly just wanted to write an individual story beat (albeit a tropey one) of c!Martyn snapping and turning on Ren but that never came to fruition due to Scar taking us out. The plan was always to backstab Ren then say a cool line like "Red Winter is over, Red Spring has begun" or something else punny. Seeing the fevered reaction of the audience though gave me some confidence that I could try my hand at some layered or entirely post-production storytelling, so heading into Last Life I was all guns blazing.

The Eyes and Ears AU is quite open-ended — do you intentionally approach it with the idea of leaving narrative space for fan interpretation?

It really is right? Yes, it's a very mindful decision to leave it open-ended but not so much for the audience's benefit or interpretations, but to give myself creative freedom to take the story wherever I'd like to. Committing to too many power scale, multiverse or narrative shackles early can really strangle stories I've noticed (from reading comics and manga) meaning back pedalling or aggressive retcons are required to explore certain paths, which is rarely a good experience for the reader. I do enjoy their versatility and capability to be applied to any Minecraft or adjacent story too. Some might call it too broad, I call it malleable.

How do you feel about fans expanding the lore through headcanons and theories? Have any fan interpretations stood out or surprised you?

I think it's brilliant! People inundate my inbox on Tumblr seeking permission to write stories or create characters / AUs but I've literally no authority on that. I suppose it might be a different conversation if they were profiting off of those works, but 99% of people simply want to write for fun which I highly encourage!! I'll be honest that I haven't read a great deal of AUs or headcanons, my exposure to them is mostly via chat messages during lore talk streams or questions that come through regarding the Eyes And Ears AU. As a general rule I try to avoid reading too much of other people's works on the topic because I worry I'll accidentally regurgitate it in some way then stumble into plagiarism, you know? It's why I focus more on digesting stories outside the fandom whether it's manga, Sanderson books, reading old Japanese folk tales and the like. I can source inspiration from those on how to weave narrative and execute plot twists without having to glance in my front yard.

Has fan content (art, theories, animatics, etc.) ever influenced how you think about or approach the AU?

Oh for sure they have. It's literally why after every season we'll do a sit down stream and talk about the lore in detail. Figure out the puzzle and potential trip wires of plot points from the episodes and how we can neatly pack them into the pre-existing story. A lot of people wouldn't do that as they'd be precious about their work and believe their opinion is th only correct one, but I looooove soundboarding with the audience on it. I also take that mindset in game and sometimes think about the scenery of an impactful moment whenever I'm able to control / design it. I'll have little quips or quotes cooked in my mind for how I'd ideally deliver a blow or plot twist, buuuuut given the nature of the Life series you very rarely get to execute things how you'd like haha! I definitely wouldn't have done as many of the poems had their not been such a positive reaction to those. I often see individual lines or entire passages make their way into art pieces as typography or highlighted in animatics which is really gratifying. It's why I also put such an emphasis and priority on audio production in my editing. If I can craft something that feels atmospheric, driving and punctuating with music, staggering vocals or sound effects then the auditory portion is already done, they can focus solely on the visual aspect of things. I try and be as cinematic / TV like as my skillset allows for that reason.

You’ve mentioned trying not to fully canonise the AU, but still referencing it consistently — how do you balance telling your own story effectively, while trying not to involve other creators, particularly on the Life Series, when a lot of your time is spent in a group?

The easiest way to do this, is to not do it. For the most part the only storytelling done with the AU is done in post-production. I never name drop the Watchers or Listeners in world (believe me, I was as surprised as all of you when I saw that Secret Keeper statue in Secret Life!!) and in recent seasons they haven't even reared their head as an influence whatsoever. They're on holiday, they deserve it. But when they do whisper in my ear, they're motivated decisions that I would likely make as a player/character anyway because the win objective is always the thing I'm striving towards. I can just pepper angst around it to make things seem more manipulated rather than selfish ha. I think that's why the open ended nature of the Watchers has served me well because as much as they have a singular motive which is to feed on negative emotions, that can be achieved in so many ways ranging from bloodlust to deception, heartbreak to panic. It's versatile for storytelling. It can be in your face, or a slow burn.

What do the Watchers and Listeners represent to you, symbolically or narratively? Do they serve a specific function in the stories you tell?

The Watchers used to represent the audience when Grian first introduced them, but after departing EVO I've definitely breathed more of an egotistical and sinister air into them. They're very much a unique entity / faction now, they in some ways represent gluttony, selfishness and neglect in achieving their goals. The Listeners on the other hand, are a lot of the opposite traits, but I'm still wanting to explore how being the hard end of most conflicts can be dangerous. I want to explore that at some point, whether it be with infighting or failures. They shouldn't be seen as simply bad/good, they're just, different. It shouldn't be too hard navigating that nuance but I want it to reflect elements and motives that we find in our own lives.

#inthelittlewood #eyesandears #trafficblr

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aakeysmash · 4 months ago

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You haven’t seen farmer!sukuna for three whole days. He had to go to the city to get you the grade-A flour you begged him to fetch to be able to make your bread, but a storm made him stay away from you for way longer than what you both can stand. When he fiinally comes back home, you stop swirling your beef stew, turn off the stove, and run to him. Your summer dress flows around you, and he grins, catching you effortlessly when you jump into his open arms.

“Hey,” you smile. It blinds him for a second.

“Hey, wifey,” he responds, matching smile on his face, already brushing his nose with yours.

His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs when your lips descend on his, and he walks you both to the couch while you manage to throw his straw hat on the ground. You grip his hair, savoring the taste of the hum coming out of his throat when you grip it a little bit harder. It tastes of familiarity, of comfort, and a little bit of desperation.

“Did you miss me?” You ask him smugly, mumbling the words on his mouth, a string of saliva still connecting you two. You lick his upper lip with the tip of your tongue, teasing him, circling his head with your arms when he plops down on the worn-out cushions. He squints at you, but his lips still twitch to kiss you again, unable to resist the pull you have on him. His teeth graze your cheek, biting you softly, while his palms drag up and down your exposed legs.

His tanned, calloused fingertips nip your skin, but it’s a pleasurable feeling. A feeling you’re used to. He smirks, groping one buttcheek hard, and forces you closer to his chest. The action makes you keen and sigh, your smile falling from your face to leave space for a trapped moan inside your mouth.

“Dunno, I feel like ya missed me more,” he murmurs between both rough and delicate kisses along your neck. Despite looking like that, all broad and menacing, the soft press of his lips on your skin is the most him thing he’s ever showed you.

“I didn’t miss you-“ you half laugh, stopping briefly to caress his face. His smirk deepens and he kisses your ring finger right on your golden wedding band. “-didn’t miss you at all.”

His large palm moves under your frilly dress, coming down rather harshly on the glob of your ass, before soothing the sting with two little pats. You yelp, your head falling on his shoulder, trying to get even closer to his body heat. You feel his index finger moving along your panties, and he twirls the cotton around the digit before pulling it tight against the spot he knows you want him to pay attention to.

You hear him chuckle while you complain, already dizzy with wanting him all over you. Even though you're on top, you're still being engulfed by him.

“I know she missed me,” he rasps, forcing you to keep your head in the crook of his neck by putting one sprawled hand on your hair.

“Give it to her, then,” you whine, rolling your already damp underwear on the crotch of his jeans. His zip catches delightfully on your clit, and you softly moan in his neck.

“Sure thang, ma. Whatev’r my pretty wife wants,” he snickers, quickly discarding his pants. He barely gets his boxers under his ass, swiping the head of his cock on the front of the panties he still has in a twist around his finger. You try lifting your head to give him a mean glare, but he forces you back against him. Then, he rips the cotton band, getting your whole weight in his free hand without straining at all, lifting you up.

“Let me kiss your other lips too, mh?” He grunts, his lips brushing the side of your face.

“Just put it in, Sukuna,” you talk back, frowning, getting your mouth wide open ready to bite him. Your teeth come down on his skin at the same time his dick starts sinking into you, the feeling of your bodies finally connecting making you clamp down on his throat.

“Eaaasy, tiger,” he chuckles mid whimper, patting your hair. “Relax that jaw, vampire.”

“You can leave a handprint on my ass and I can’t suck your blood?” You pant, the perspiration from your breaths making the air you inhale so much hotter, his hand still deeply rooted on your scalp.

“I’d let you mark my fuckin’ heart, babe,” he mumbles near your ear, his hand tightening on your hip. He lowers you down slowly, letting your wetness drip all over his length. Usually he’d be a little rougher, and he loves how you love it, but since he also loves how tight and perfect you always feel, the fact he hasn’t fucked you in what feels like forever heightens his soft side.

“Shit, relax down here too,” he grumbles, his hand finally leaving your hair just to come rub little circles on your clit. You drop down lower by the second, and when he’s buried to the hilt, he slams his lips on yours. He grips both your hips, surely leaving marks, gyrating them at the same rhythm his tongue tangles with yours.

“Fuck yes. Missed this. Missed you,” he grits out, fucked out expression on his face, cheeks tinted pink and eyes rolled back.

For the next thirty minutes he swallows your moans just like you devour his curses, a cacophony of what’s simply just you. Three days might be little for someone else, but not for you two, so used to spending each waking moment together that you were on the verge of calling him to come back to you at least 34 times today.

You ride him slow but desperate nonetheless, and he lets you jump up and down his cock to your heart’s desire. He likes how you manage to have him wrapped around your pinky, even though he's double your size, and how your thighs are trembling since your pride won't let you ask him for help: it makes it all more fun when he drags you to the bathroom to clean you up. Maybe he'll sneak a little eating out session on the sink if he redeems you're still too sane.

Your dress is still on, just like his chest is still clad in his worn out t-shirt.

“Missed you so much. Wan’ you to cum inside,” you moan, baby hairs all over the place, and right now he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. He smiles lazily, his hand coming up to your face to lower your head just enough to drag out a sentence between your lips.

“Want me to put a bun in the oven?”

#A BUN IN THE OVEN BECAUSE SHE BAKES BREAD #get it???#farmer au #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna smut

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downbadf0rficppl · 1 year ago

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love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing.

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun.

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha…” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different.

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.”

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female reader

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riddlesrizzler · 29 days ago

Text

Honey and Venom

summary: your twang, makes mattheo develop a thang for you. characters: southern! reader. down bad! matty. mentions of slytherin boys warnings: none! just sweet! word count: 1.4k

It was a typical day at Hogwarts, or at least, that’s how it was supposed to be. Mattheo had been looking forward to the rare moment of peace when his schedule was free of detentions and irritating professors. But no, of course, life at Hogwarts never went as planned.

Instead of being tucked away in the dungeons with his friends, Mattheo found himself begrudgingly walking down the corridor with an unexpected new responsibility. He had been “volunteered” by Professor McGonagall to show around the new transfer student.

"Mate, it won’t be so bad. Just walk her around, show her the ropes," Theo had said earlier, a smirk plastered on his face, knowing full well that Mattheo hated babysitting anyone.

"I don’t babysit," Mattheo had growled in response.

"You’ll be fine," Draco added, adjusting the collar of his robes as he walked beside them. "Think of it as a chance to make a good impression on the new girl."

"A good impression? Why do I have to make a good impression? I'm not interested in being her tour guide." Mattheo couldn’t help but sigh as he glanced at the clock. The afternoon had barely begun, and he was already regretting this.

But his friends’ words stuck with him, and reluctantly, Mattheo dragged his feet toward the entrance hall where the new student was waiting. He turned the corner, his mind preoccupied with how much he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You stood there in your black robes, nervously twisting the end of your sleeve. Your boots were a little scuffed, your uniform skirt a little too short for the dress code. And your eyes-bright, curious, framed by lashes that could kill a man - flicked up to his.

“Oh, hell,” Mattheo muttered under his breath.

She was pretty.

Like, too pretty.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to fade. The chatter, the footsteps, the hum of the castle-all of it disappeared. It was just her, and her eyes were locked on his. His chest tightened, and for the first time in ages, Mattheo felt something stir inside of him-something that had nothing to do with his usual dark thoughts or aloof indifference.

She was beautiful.

He hadn’t expected it, and that’s what made it worse. He never allowed himself to think of girls in those terms-especially not in this place, not with everything else on his mind. But there she was, and everything he had told himself about being too detached, too cynical, seemed to vanish in the wake of that first glance.

She smiled softly, a slow, warm curve of her lips that made him feel like an idiot for standing there, staring. His mouth went dry as he forced himself to take a step forward.

"Hey, you must be the new transfer student, right?" he asked, a bit too sharp. He mentally cursed himself for sounding so curt.

And when she spoke, Mattheo felt his entire world shift.

“Well, I reckon that would be me," she said with a gentle smile, her southern drawl lilting through her words like honey dripping from a jar. "Name’s Y/N. Nice to meet ya.”

He blinked.

Your voice.

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat. He was certain he'd heard accents before, but nothing like this. There was something intoxicating about it, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The way her words flowed... it was like music to his ears.

It was like sweet tea and slow Sundays. Like porch swings in the heat and lightning bugs in jars. Mattheo wasn’t used to soft. He wasn’t used to voices that lilted like that.

“Where are you from?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was genuinely curious, but more than that, he wanted to hear her talk again.

"Georgia," she replied, twirling a lock of her hair absently. “It’s a southern state in the states. We’re known for our peaches.”

"Peaches?" Mattheo’s lips curled into a slight smile. He couldn’t help it. Her voice was too mesmerizing, and he wanted to hear it again. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like you before."

Her laugh was soft, a melodic sound that only made him more captivated. “That’s 'cause most folks up here don’t know much 'bout the South. But trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.”

"Peaches," he muttered under his breath, the word feeling warm and comforting. “I think that suits you. I’ll call you... Peaches."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Peaches, huh? Alright, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. It felt right, the way her name sounded in his mouth, and something inside of him clicked. He was already drawn to her, to her voice, to the way she made even the simplest words seem enchanting.

Throughout the tour, Mattheo couldn’t help but ask her more questions—anything to keep her talking. Her voice was like an addiction he couldn’t shake. They passed the Great Hall, the dungeons, and the greenhouses, but all he could focus on was her voice.

“So... do you always say things like 'reckon'?” Mattheo asked, his voice casual, though there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Well, reckon is pretty common where I’m from. It’s like a way of saying 'I think' or ‘I suppose.’”

"Reckon,” Mattheo repeated to himself, savoring the sound. “I like that.” He paused for a moment, looking around the hall as if searching for his next question. His eyes caught on a few banners hanging in the corridor. “What about... ‘y’all’? Do you say that a lot?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Of course. It’s the plural form of ‘you,’” she explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We use it when we’re talking to a group of people, like ‘How are y’all doing?’”

“Y’all,” Mattheo repeated, tasting the word like it was something sweet on his tongue. “It’s... it’s charming.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his fixation on her accent. “You sure like how I pronounce things.”

“I do,” Mattheo confessed. “It’s... it’s different. But in a way that makes me want to hear it more.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” The soft blush that spread across her cheeks made Mattheo’s heart flutter. She didn’t seem bothered by his words, but rather intrigued, a little amused.

That night, in the dim green light of the Slytherin common room, Mattheo collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Theo was already half-asleep with a book on his chest, Blaise was flipping through a Quidditch magazine, and Draco was polishing his wand.

“She’s got the voice of a goddess,” Mattheo said, staring at the ceiling.

“Already?” Blaise drawled. “You fall in love every Thursday.”

“No, no, listen,” Mattheo sat up, animated now. “She talks like… like butter melting on toast. Like bourbon on the rocks.”

Draco snorted. “You sound insane.”

Theo peeked open one eye. “Didn’t you say she was from America?”

“The South,” Mattheo said dreamily. “She said,‘Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” Do you understand what that did to me?”

“Turned your brain into soup, apparently,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo ignored him. “I swear, she could be reading potion ingredients and I’d still be hanging onto every damn word.”

“She cute?” Theo asked.

Mattheo glared. “Don’t even look at her.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, he’s whipped. Already got dibs.”

Mattheo slumped back into the couch, a dazed grin on his face. “I’m gonna make her say my name. Just once. Mattheo. Like Mat-thay-oh, in that voice…”

Blaise threw a cushion at him.

“She’s from Georgia,” he announced.

Theo looked up. “Is that a real place?”

Blaise nodded. “I think it’s in America.”

“No,” Mattheo said, pointing a finger in the air like he was making a grand proclamation. “It’s the Peach State.”

Draco looked bewildered. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes wide and intense. “It means it’s hot, sticky, there are bugs that sing at night, and-get this-everyone’s got porches and eats fruit off trees like they live in some kind of fairy tale.”

“She told you all that?” Blaise asked.

He nodded. “With that voice. That accent. I swear, I’d listen to her read me my own death sentence and thank her for it.”

Theo threw a pillow at him again. “Get a grip.”

“Too late,” Mattheo said, already leaning back into the cushions. “She’s mine. I’ve already named her.”

“You named her?” Draco asked.

“Peaches.”

There was a moment of silence.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Theo muttered.

And still, Mattheo just grinned.

#slytherin boys #slytherin #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin aesthetic #my works #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #matheo riddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo x oc #southern! reader

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 11 months ago

Text

BNHA Boys: 1st Time Noncon

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Dabi + Bakugo

Warnings at each part (but the title is quite explicit, right?) + NSFW Link (be careful + on twitter (you need a account to see)

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback + Gimme ideas

–

Hawks

-> Manipulation

Keigo is a cunning guy, always looking out for a way to get things done his way. He’s used to tricking people, using his tactics to reach his desired goals. But honestly? You have to be the biggest chump he’s ever met in his life.

Did you actually believe when he deeply sighed and pretended to relent to your begging, just before meekly offering you to walk away from him?

Did your ingenuous self really trust him when Keigo swore on his hero honor - what honor really? - that he’d let you go home, safe and sound?

But the reality is that you fell for it, like a bee attracted to honey. It’s moments like those that Keigo acknowledges how naive and kind-hearted you are. Too cute and good for this twisted, cruel world.

So that’s why a minor part of him is almost satisfied at the reluctance and doubt that shades your pretty face when he tells you the inflated price for your freedom.

You clearly don’t want to sleep with him. Your attempts to bargain are immediately turned down and it takes less than five minutes for you to crumble down.

Keigo almost feels bad at your distressed teary face. But hey, a win is a win.

You try to relax when he starts kissing and touching you. To be calm when he slowly starts making love to you.

But it feels so dead wrong and the overwhelming realization that Hawks was lying about letting you go finally hits you like a brick and you try to push him away, pointlessly make him get off from you.

But no point in that cause Keigo isn’t gonna let you go anywhere.

“Deal’s off, babe. I mean, I was willing to let you go and all, but since you ruined the whole mood…there was no need to fight me, ya know? I wasn’t forcing you into anything, was I? But since you broke your promise, I suppose I’m gonna have to keep you here with me.”

(VISUAL)

Dabi

-> Noncon

Dabi isn’t one to shy away from what he wants.

He takes what he wants, when he wants and how he wants and you don’t get any say in it.

So, if for a moment you actually believed you could argue or convince the black-haired villain to leave you alone, then you’re not up for a great start with him.

Dabi doesn’t care when you start crying, spirit battered over the small burns he gives you for trying to fight back. He doesn’t care for your wails of pain when he fucks you in the way he wants to.

Dabi is sadistic like that, he actually enjoys the terror that floods your entire face when he explains in extensive detail all the scary lustful needs he wants to fulfill by using you.

He’s definitely one to use tight ropes to bend you in uncomfortable positions when fucking you - just because they allow him better access and less struggle from you.

Doesn’t give a crap about your wellbeing or if you get to cum, those are unnecessary thoughts for him.

As long as Dabi gets to end his night with a few orgasms, he’s good.

“Oh sweetheart, there’s no point in begging. That’s not gonna change my mind. And can you even blame me? Just look at you, such a pretty body you have. You’re just too tempting to let go and trust me, I’m not planning to.”

(VISUAL)

Bakugo

-> Forced Oral - (male receiving)

Bakugo has mild-anger issues and everyone knows that so, if anything, it was entirely your fault for provoking the anger out of him.

You saw an opportunity to try an escape and you took it, even though it was meant to fail miserably.

Bakugo ends up wrestling you back inside the house, tightly clutching your hair as he angrily shouts at how much of an ungrateful brat you are.

He’s so damn pissed that you almost got away that he can’t control himself. All the adrenaline and anger mixing up in his blood and all he wants is to teach you a proper lesson. Scare you into submission. Make sure that you’ll never act up again.

His hands are cruel as he roughs you up a bit, ignoring your scared shrieks.

But the real punishment is the way he fucks your mouth.

His pace is so insanely fast, demanding and brutal, and he carries on without caring for the numerous times you gag and choke around his length, unable to pull away because of the vice grip he has on your scalp.

The way he facefucks you is humiliating and brutal, and the cherry on top of the cake is when Bakugo shoots his sticky cum all over your face before leaving you bruised up and with a hurting throat.

Afterwards, Bakugo might feel a bit bad because that’s definitely not how he planned your first time doing something intimate together, but on the bright side - you get much more obedient and calm towards him.

“The hell you giving me that pathetic look for, huh. You fuckin’ deserved that and you know that. Had you not acted all lunatic and none of this would’ve happened.”

(VISUAL)

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gracie-eilish · 3 months ago

Note

Heyyy I have a fic request. I know you said you're done with the baby fics but tbh you could never be done with them.(plus its not rlly a baby fic)

Reader is pregnant and she gets into a fight with billie about something and later reader needs help doing things but she's too afraid to ask billie. Luckily, billie knows her wife well. (VERY FLUFFY)

sweet baby💗

baby i could never NEVER be done with the baby fics. OF COURSE I’ll write another one!!!!! here ya go sweet thang!!☺️

HAHA this request is from the last time i said was done with the baby fics for the week lol!

The day had started off perfectly fine. A slow morning, Billie pressing lazy kisses along your shoulder as you stayed curled up together in bed, your hand resting over your growing belly while she traced absentminded patterns over your skin. She had murmured something about making you breakfast, and you had hummed in agreement, feeling warm and content.

And then later in the day, somehow, things went downhill.

You weren’t even sure how it started—just that one moment everything was fine, and the next, you and Billie were snapping at each other.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe Billie was just being annoying (she was), but it had escalated fast.

“I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal about this,” Billie said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

You huffed, arms mirroring hers. “Because it is a big deal, Billie!”

She scoffed. “No, it’s really not.”

“To me it is!”

Billie groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Babe, you’re seriously mad over this?”

You glared at her. “You’re the one making it worse!”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “I’m making it worse?! You’re the one who—ugh! You know what? Forget it.” She threw up her hands, shaking her head. “I’m going to the studio.”

You scoffed. “Of course you are.”

She turned to leave but hesitated, glancing back at you. “You need anything before I go?”

The question was soft, almost like an olive branch, but you were still too irritated to take it.

“Nope.”

Billie pressed her lips together, exhaled through her nose, then nodded sharply. “Fine.”

And with that, she walked off, shutting the studio door behind her.

You stood there, arms still crossed, fuming.

It wasn’t even that big of a deal. Just a stupid argument over something trivial—maybe she had brushed off a concern of yours, or maybe you had snapped at her first. Either way, it left you feeling irritated and on edge, needing something to do to distract yourself.

So you decided to make dinner.

You pulled out ingredients, chopped vegetables, and set a pot of water to boil, throwing yourself into the motions to burn off the frustration still simmering under your skin. You were fine. You didn’t need Billie’s help.

Until you reached for the jar of marinara sauce.

You twisted the lid. It didn’t budge.

You tried again, using more force.

Nothing.

Your irritation flared. “Oh, come on.”

You adjusted your grip, twisting as hard as you could.

Still nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” you grumbled, your voice rising in frustration.

You tried once more, gritting your teeth.

The lid didn’t move an inch.

“For the love of—” You slammed the jar down onto the counter with a frustrated huff. “This is so stupid! I swear to God—”

From the other room, Billie’s voice drifted in. “You okay in there?”

You froze, debating whether to answer.

A second later, you heard the studio door creak open, followed by the sound of Billie’s footsteps approaching.

And then she was there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Are you losing a fight with a jar of sauce?”

You scowled. “I got it.”

Billie smirked, strolling over casually. “Oh yeah? ‘Cause it sounded like you were about to throw hands with it.”

You huffed, gripping the jar again and twisting with all your might.

It still didn’t move.

Billie snorted. “Babe.”

You ignored her.

She took another step forward. “Come on, let me help.”

You hesitated, still feeling stubborn.

“I got it,” you muttered, trying one last time.

The lid remained firmly shut.

Billie sighed, reaching out. “Baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You clenched your jaw but relented, handing over the jar without meeting her eyes.

With one swift motion, Billie popped the lid open effortlessly.

You gaped at her. “Are you serious?”

She wiggled her fingers. “Strong hands, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the jar, but Billie didn’t let go just yet. Instead, she looked at you carefully, her teasing smile fading into something softer.

“You know you can ask me for help, right?” she said gently.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling silly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Billie frowned. “Bother me? Babe, you never bother me.” She tilted her head. “Is this about our argument?”

You hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “I just… we both needed space, and I didn’t wanna—I don’t know, break the truce?”

Billie’s face softened. “Baby,” she murmured, setting the jar down before wrapping her arms around you. “There’s no truce to break. Just because we got a little irritated with each other doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop taking care of you.”

Your body melted against hers, the fight fully fading now.

“I hate arguing with you,” you admitted quietly.

Billie pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Me too.”

You sighed against her, your fingers gripping the fabric of her hoodie. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes warm. “I’m sorry, too.”

She nudged her nose against yours, smiling. “Truce?”

You nodded, looping your arms around her neck. “Truce.”

Billie grinned, swaying you slightly. “Wanna finish dinner together?”

You exhaled, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

So you did.

Billie stayed close, helping you stir the sauce, sneaking little kisses to your cheek whenever you weren’t looking. Every so often, she whispered something dumb just to make you laugh, and by the time you sat down to eat, it was like the fight had never happened.

And when Billie reached across the table to lace her fingers with yours, her thumb gently rubbing over your skin, you knew that no matter how many little arguments you might have, you’d always come back to this—to each other.

#billie eilish #wlw #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x reader #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x you #billie x reader #billie x fem reader #gracie eilish

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kooyeux · 1 year ago

Text

SQUIRTLE.

“If you were a pokèmon, you would be Squirtle.”

CW: squirting, overstimulation, pūssy eating, edging, fingering, clit play.

Boyfriend discovers that he can make you squirt and he becomes obsessed with it.

When your boyfriend once discovered that you could squirt, he couldn’t get it out of his mind, finding himself thinking about it almost everyday.

Repeatedly trying to persuade you into doing it again but failing as you keep telling him how that time was absolutely embarrassing for you.

Yet, tonight Jungkook is between your squishy thighs, knuckles deep into your soaked cunt. Murmuring sweet nothings against your clit.

“So good, aren’t ya?”

He spits on your cunt, smearing it with the pad of his thumb between your folds. Lewd sounds of your soppy hole being screwed by his middle and ring fingers.

Whimpers and soft moans are the only sounds that pass past your lips, reaching his ears like god’s angel’s prayers. You’re preaching to him.

Jungkook’s goal of the night is to make you squirt, hard— all over his face. He won’t give up, atleast not until you’ll give it to him, nice and wet.

Tip of his tongue teasingly flickering on your clit, giving the stimulation needed for you to grab she sheets and roll your hips on his face. “Good girl, grind on my face like that..”

Jungkook’s voice would’ve sent you on the fine line of coming, if only he hadn’t removed his fingers from your pussy making you whine his name with pure annoyance.

You cover your flushed face, still twisted in a now fading pleasure expression, “Why would you do that?” gentle voice of yours scolding Jungkook’s evil actions.

“M’sorry baby,” He is not and you know. “Gonna make an angel like you feel good, mh?” He purs, displaying a sweet grin as he pierces your eyes with his.

“You deserve it.”

Jungkook dips his head back into your pussy, ready to taste you again. Flatting his long tongue before dragging it up to your bud, tightly wrapping it with his lips— sucking it and swiping around it.

“Kook, your fingers..please.” You gasp, tightly holding his hair. Feeling full as he gently and sloppily pumps two digits into you, obeying your need straight away.

The steady movements makes a hot pool linger in the pit of your stomach. Your cunt tightens around his fingers, sending him a warning of your coming orgasm.

Your cries are getting a little louder and thighs threaten to tightly close around Jungkook’s neck. “I know, I know baby. Hold it f’me..” He pleads, fingers curling up to your cervix.

“I, I can’t— too much!” He knows, coos at you and works in you faster which you respond to by creaming on his fingers and shrieking.

But Jungkook is not done, not even near it: the grip around your thigh feels more forceful as he violently keeps on abusing your cunt with all the power he can muster. He messily makes-out with your folds, never forgetting to give attention at your already molested clit.

Little hiccups get trapped in your throat as the feeling of another orgasm is chasing you, this time more and more intensely— almost sensing it rushing out of you.

And suddenly you snap, glisten juices covering Jungkook’s face as he stares up at you with a grin of a winner. His hair are stuck on his sweaty forehead, beaten lips and red cheeks; he swirls his tongue around the tip of his fingers, popping ’em inside his warm mouth.

Your insides flip, the sight in front of you is erotic. “Shit, think i’m gonna cum just by licking your juices..” Jungkook throws is head back, chuckling.

“Nasty.” You mumble, closing your legs. He hovers over you, leaving a sweet peck on your forehead. “Maybe, but you did very good, cumming so much for me—”

“If you were a pokèmon, you would be Squirtle.” Jungkook licks your lips, as you close your eyes.

“You and your stupid word game!”

do not plagiarize: if you enjoy my work limit yourself on re-blogging. do not copy, steal or translate.

— © KOOYEUX 2024.

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #smut jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jjk smut

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urdreamydoodles · 6 months ago

Text

Bat-Villains x Reader

One of the underlings hit you and your partner finds out

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- You entered your shared bedroom cautiously, hoping to go unnoticed, but the Joker’s eyes were sharp even in the dim light. He noticed the bruise on your cheek and the busted lip instantly, his grin freezing into something far more sinister. “Well, well, what have we here?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

- When you hesitated to answer, his patience snapped like a frayed wire. He grabbed your chin, tilting your face to inspect the damage. “Who?” he growled, his voice now devoid of its usual playful lilt. “Tell me who dared to mark my favorite little masterpiece.”

- You confessed reluctantly, explaining that one of the underlings had attacked you out of jealousy. The Joker’s laugh started low, bubbling up into a maniacal crescendo. “Jealousy!” he howled, clapping his hands together. “Oh, how precious! They thought they could touch what’s mine and walk away unscathed?”

- Without another word, he stormed out of the room, dragging you along by the wrist. His carnival of chaos always followed him, and tonight, you were part of the show. He found the culprit lounging smugly in the lounge, and his grin returned, wide and predatory. “Congratulations!” he declared, clapping the underling on the back. “You’ve just earned a starring role… in pain!”

- The Joker’s retribution was theatrical and brutal. He pulled out his knife, twirling it playfully as he toyed with the terrified underling. “You know,” he mused, “I always say jealousy is such an ugly emotion. Let’s see how you feel with no emotions at all!” His laughter filled the room as the blade gleamed.

- When it was over, he returned to you, his suit now spattered with blood. He wiped your lip with surprising tenderness, his head tilting as he studied you. “All better now, sugarplum,” he crooned, his mood swinging back to twisted affection. “No one gets to hurt you except me.”

- He spent the rest of the night doting on you in his own chaotic way, cracking jokes and reenacting the “punishment” for your amusement. Beneath the madness, though, his possessiveness was clear. “You’re mine, dollface,” he murmured, running a hand through your hair. “Anyone who forgets that ends up as a punchline.”

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley’s bubbly energy was unmistakable as you entered the room, but her expression quickly soured when she noticed your injuries. “Oh, puddin’, who did this to ya?” she asked, her voice filled with concern and a dangerous edge.

- When you told her about the jealous underling, Harley’s smile twisted into something sharp and feral. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, gently cupping your face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care’a this little problem for ya.” Her tone was deceptively sweet, but her eyes burned with fury.

- She marched straight out, her mallet slung over her shoulder, humming a jaunty tune. You followed hesitantly, watching as she cornered the offender. “Hey there, sugar,” she said with faux friendliness, her mallet swinging lazily in her hand. “I hear you’ve been pickin’ fights with my honeybun.”

- The underling stammered excuses, but Harley was already circling like a predator. “Aww, don’t be shy!” she chirped. “Let’s play a game. It’s called Whack-a-Traitor!” With a gleeful laugh, she brought the mallet down with terrifying force.

- The scene was as brutal as it was efficient. Harley danced around her victim with chaotic grace, each swing of her mallet punctuated by a giggle. “Nobody messes with my baby!” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction.

- When it was over, she bounced back to you, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek. “All done!” she announced cheerfully, throwing her arms around you. “Nobody’s ever gonna mess with ya again, puddin’. Not while I’m around.”

- That night, she pampered you like royalty, insisting on patching up your lip herself. Between stolen kisses and her playful jokes, you couldn’t help but feel safe despite the carnage. “You an’ me against the world, sweetie,” she said softly, her blue eyes sparkling. “And don’t you forget it.”

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy was lounging gracefully among her plants when you entered, but her serene expression darkened the moment she saw your injuries. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice low and venomous, like the hiss of a cobra.

- You hesitated, but her sharp green eyes left no room for evasion. When you finally explained, Ivy’s composure cracked, revealing a wrath that felt as ancient as the earth itself. “They dared to harm you?” she murmured, her voice trembling with fury. “They’ll regret ever drawing breath.”

- Rising gracefully, Ivy summoned her vines with a flick of her wrist. “Come,” she said, her tone commanding. “We have work to do.” You followed as the plants parted for her, their movements strangely menacing. Her connection to nature seemed almost alive with her anger.

- She confronted the underling in her usual calm yet intimidating way, her vines coiling menacingly around them. “You thought you could harm my partner and get away with it?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Foolish. Very foolish.”

- Ivy’s punishment was swift and merciless. The vines tightened around the underling, their cries muffled as the plants did her bidding. She stood over them, her expression cold. “The earth will reclaim you,” she said simply, turning away as the vines dragged them into the shadows.

- When she returned to you, her anger softened into tenderness. She cupped your face gently, her fingers cool against your skin. “No one will hurt you again,” she promised, her voice like a soothing lullaby. “Not while I have the power to protect you.”

- That night, she surrounded you with the comforting scent of her plants, their soothing presence lulling you to sleep. “You’re mine, my love,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “And anyone who dares harm you will answer to the wrath of Mother Nature herself.”

Bane

- Bane’s sharp eyes immediately noticed your injuries when you stepped into the room. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched as he asked, “Who dared to harm you?” His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable undercurrent of rage.

- When you told him it was one of his own men, his composure shattered. “One of mine?” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief and anger. “They will pay for this insult.” He rose to his full, imposing height, his presence radiating fury and power.

- Without hesitation, Bane marched out to find the offender. His movements were purposeful, each step echoing with the promise of retribution. You followed at a safe distance, knowing better than to intervene when he was like this.

- He confronted the underling with cold precision, his voice like a growl. “You struck someone under my protection,” he said, towering over them. “That is a grave mistake.” The underling tried to plead, but Bane was unmoved.

- The punishment was swift and brutal. Bane’s strength was terrifying, and he used it to devastating effect. Each blow was delivered with calculated precision, his fury controlled but unrelenting. When it was over, he stood over the lifeless body, his breathing steady. “Let this be a warning to anyone who dares to harm what is mine,” he declared.

- Returning to you, Bane’s demeanor shifted. He knelt before you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he inspected your injuries. “I have dealt with the matter,” he said simply, his voice softening. “No one will harm you again.”

- That night, he stayed close to you, his protective nature evident in every gesture. “You are precious to me,” he murmured, his deep voice filled with sincerity. “And I will always ensure your safety, no matter the cost.”

- Jonathan was engrossed in his latest experiment when you entered the room, your face bruised and lip split. His sharp gaze immediately noticed, and his expression hardened. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice cold and clinical but with a hint of concern beneath.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- You hesitated under his calculating stare, but there was no avoiding his interrogation. When you explained it was one of his underlings acting out of jealousy, his lips curled into a dark smile. “Jealousy. Such a fascinating emotion,” he mused. “I’ll ensure they experience fear instead—true fear.”

- He stood, his movements deliberate as he grabbed his iconic mask and canisters of fear toxin. “Wait here,” he instructed, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll deal with this… interruption to my work.” Though his voice was calm, his anger simmered beneath the surface.

- Finding the culprit, Jonathan wasted no time in delivering his unique brand of justice. The room filled with his chilling laughter as he released the fear toxin, watching as the underling crumbled into terror. “You dared to touch them?” he hissed. “Let’s see how brave you feel when your worst nightmares come to life.”

- He took his time, ensuring the punishment was both psychological and physical. Each scream seemed to satisfy him more, his clinical fascination mingling with his wrath. When he returned to you, he looked calmer, almost serene, as if purging his anger through their suffering.

- Jonathan knelt before you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wiped a trickle of blood from your lip. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re mine to protect, and I’ll make sure everyone knows the consequences of crossing that line.”

- That night, he stayed close, his rare displays of affection manifesting in small ways—checking on your injuries, brewing you tea, and offering you a book from his collection. “You ground me,” he murmured as you drifted off. “And I won’t let anyone take you away.”

- Harvey noticed your injuries the moment you entered the room. His dual nature became evident as one side of him looked worried while the other seemed immediately enraged. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice a mix of care and fury.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- You hesitated, but under his intense gaze, you confessed it was one of his underlings who had attacked you. “They thought I didn’t belong,” you admitted. Harvey’s good side frowned deeply, but his scarred side twisted into a snarl. “They thought they could hurt you and get away with it?”

- Reaching into his pocket, Harvey pulled out his coin, flipping it with a practiced motion. “Heads, I scare them. Tails…” His scarred side grinned maliciously. “I get creative.” When it landed tails, he stood abruptly. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

- Harvey confronted the underling with all the unpredictability of his dual nature. His voice oscillated between cold reason and raw anger. “You dared lay a hand on them?” he growled. “Let’s see how you like answering to me.” His punishment was brutal, his scarred side reveling in it while his good side rationalized it as necessary.

- The room was eerily silent when he returned, his hands still shaking with residual anger. He pulled you into his arms carefully, his good side apologizing softly while his scarred side muttered curses against the world. “No one touches what’s mine,” he said, his voice firm.

- That night, he remained close, torn between his need to protect you and the guilt over his violent reaction. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Not while I’m still standing.”

- His duality showed in his care—one side tender, ensuring your comfort, while the other vowed vengeance against anyone who dared cross you again. “You’re the only thing keeping me balanced,” he admitted. “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take that away.”

- Edward’s sharp intellect didn’t miss a thing, so the moment you walked in with a bruised cheek and busted lip, he froze. His smirk vanished, replaced with a calculating frown. “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- You explained reluctantly, telling him one of his underlings had lashed out in jealousy. Edward’s eyes darkened, and a dangerous grin spread across his face. “Jealousy,” he repeated, tapping his temple. “What an irrational emotion. Let’s see how rational they feel after I’m done with them.”

- His mind was already working overtime as he led you to his chair. “Sit,” he ordered, placing a blanket over your shoulders. “I’ll handle this.” He left the room with his signature cane in hand, his steps brisk and purposeful.

- Edward confronted the underling with all the flair and intellect he was known for. “Riddle me this,” he began, his tone venomous. “What happens to someone foolish enough to harm the one person I care about?” When the underling stammered, Edward struck with his cane. “Wrong answer!”

- He played with his victim like a cat with a mouse, his riddles cruel and his strikes precise. “Your jealousy was misplaced,” he sneered, leaning in close. “They’re mine, and you? You’re just another irrelevant piece on my board.”

- Returning to you, Edward’s mood shifted. He knelt by your side, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he inspected your injuries. “You’re far too brilliant to be dealing with idiots like that,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

- That night, he pampered you with little puzzles and brainteasers, his way of distracting you from the pain. “You’re my equal,” he murmured, his voice unusually tender. “And I won’t let anyone disrupt the perfection we’ve built.”

- Oswald’s beady eyes immediately honed in on your injuries when you walked in. He set down his glass of brandy with deliberate care, his voice deceptively calm as he asked, “Who did this to you, darling?”

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- When you told him it was one of his own men, Oswald’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “One of my employees?” he hissed, gripping his umbrella tightly. “I’ll make an example of them they won’t forget—assuming they live to remember it.”

- Oswald marched out of the room, his umbrella clicking against the floor with each step. His subordinates scattered like rats at the sight of his fury, knowing better than to cross him when he was in such a mood.

- Finding the culprit, Oswald wasted no time. “You dared to harm someone under my protection?” he snarled, his voice carrying through the room. He used his umbrella with precision, the concealed blade flashing as he delivered his ruthless punishment.

- When it was over, he returned to you, smoothing his suit and regaining his composure. “It’s done,” he said simply, pouring you a glass of your favorite drink. “No one will ever harm you again, not while I have the power to stop it.”

- That night, he lavished you with attention, his usually cold demeanor melting into rare warmth. “You mean more to me than all the wealth in Gotham,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”

- Oswald’s actions spoke louder than words as he ensured you were comfortable and safe. “You’re my diamond,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “And anyone foolish enough to harm you will be crushed under the weight of my wrath.”

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

Note

What If 141 sweet moment (or sexy or both!)

First I Love You

Honey bug, if you give me the option to be sweet, sexy, or both...you know I'm choosing both. When given the option, I will always write smut. ALWAYS! It's mostly because I'm constantly horny and thinking about these men but, ya know. I did my best to give a little variety in the level of sweetness and sexiness. Some of it is really soft and some of it is straight up feral. So. Do with that what you will, friend.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, mentions of parenthood, breeding, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, possessiveness, admission of feelings, swearing, fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You laugh, a bit startled.

Kyle freezes, his lips slightly parted as his brain catches up with the words that have just fallen from his mouth. “Did I?” he asks slowly.

“You did,” you affirm, your stomach now in knots.

There is no sickness festering in your tummy, and there is no fear there either. You are floating. Cloud-like. But all twisted up without an end to the tangle. For months now, you’ve been waiting to hear those three little words from Kyle.

This thing between the two of you started easy. Late night fucks to overnight stays to grabbing breakfast the morning after. From there came Sunday afternoon naps and small dates to a café or coffeeshop.

Small, but evolving. Morphing. Transforming from caterpillar to fluttering butterfly.

All this time, you believed you would be the one to say those three little words first. That they might accidentally slip from your lips unexpectedly and chase Kyle away. You have held the desire between your heart and ribcage as if the feeling were a physical organ.

But the words have been said. By Kyle.

Which means you can say them, too.

“I did,” he says, agreeing with the statement. Kyle’s shoulders relax as if all the tension has gone out of them.

A risk of an idea blooms in your mind. It’s a chance, and maybe asking might sabotage everything, but you want to push the boundary a bit—figure out where the two of you will go from here.

“Could you say it again?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you demurely.

“Yeah,” chuckles Kyle. “I can do that.”

Guiding his arm to your back, Kyle pulls you close, hand resting against your hip. His brow softens, and his head tilts forward, the tip of his nose lightly brushing along your own. Lingering, Kyle’s lips part, and his tongue teases the underside of his top lip as if he’s thinking about your mouth.

He leans closer.

“I love you.”

It is a whisper. Wispy like thin paper. A few seconds of air that feel like an infinite expanse of stars.

You inhale from the repeated words. Kyle takes that inhalation to closes the distance. It is utterly sweet—like a cherry sucker that stains your teeth and tongue.

You meet him with equal need, only seeking closeness, to feel his warmth everywhere. These kisses are slow and languid and effortless. They come easy, as if the two of you have always done this. As if your lips were made for each other’s.

You reach up to cradle the side of his face. The moment your skin makes contact with Kyle’s, he lets out a little groan of sweetness. There is only heat under your palm. It flows outward and into you until you’re burning like him.

This small sound spurs you to further again. Your hand slides to the back of his neck for a better grip. With fingers digging into his nape, you urge the kisses to deepen, switching from a languid caress to a desperate need that has Kyle’s hand tightening against your hip.

All the kisses that come next are passion-laced. Kyle’s lips part and you tentatively tease him with the tip of your tongue. A low groan comes from somewhere deep in his throat, and then Kyle is forcing your head back, consuming you completely until the two of you finally break apart to breathe.

It is momentary. A brief pause.

Because Kyle’s lips return to your skin with lips, teeth, and tongue. It is not just your mouth that is worshipped but the edge of your jaw and the curve of your ear. His hands roam everywhere, squeezing and grasping until they’re full of you.

“Love you so much,” he breathes where your neck meets your shoulder.

He nips there, and then he is pulling back your top to lick at the top of your breast.

“Kyle,” you groan.

“I want to hear you say it back,” he growls, tugging more of your shirt down. “Say it back, love.”

Kyle gives your shirt a final tug, revealing a nipple. He teases it. Brings it into his mouth. Your back arches, pressing your hips against his. Head falling back, you run your fingers up his neck to grasp the back of his head.

The only response you receive is a quick shift of Kyle’s body. Taking you with him, Kyle draws you to the bed, guiding you to your back.

With the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thigh, Kyle drapes himself over your body, his other hand pressing into the bed next to your head.

“Say it back.”

There is desperation in his tone, and you indulge him completely.

“I love you too, Kyle.”

He is pleased. Electric. There is nothing that will separate him from you. Every article of clothing is removed and tossed aside. Legs spreading wide to accommodate him, Kyle slides home, sinking into your warmth, moaning loudly when he’s fully inside.

John Price

“I know what I want.”

“Do you, John?”

John steps out from around the kitchen island, striding toward you with purpose in every step. “I know you doubt sometimes,” he begins, and you scoff, glancing away.

John grasps the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. The touch is dominating but it isn’t painful. There just isn’t anywhere to go but to move into his embrace.

“I’m not that young recruit anymore that enjoyed fucking you at my convenience.” John’s hold on your neck tightens a bit, drawing you even closer against his chest. “I’m older now. I want to settle down. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

The two of you have been together forever, but you’ve never heard Price utter the words “I love you.” You don’t know why but you have your suspicions. There were times when you thought there might be someone else, but now that John’s moved up in the ranks, you believe it might come from a place of uncertainty.

You never know when he’s going to come home. But oftentimes John doesn’t know either.

“I want you. No one else.”

“John,” you breathe, attempting to shake out of his grasp.

“No,” he growls. “Listen to me.”

“I am,” you snap, slightly irritated.

You’ve heard this all before. And maybe you should go. Pack yourself up along with your daughter you share with him. It would hurt—especially her, but you need something concrete. Solid.

“I love you.”

It’s almost a growl at it comes out of him. He sounds more animal than human, as if the words need to be said before he transforms into anything other than himself. Then, John’s grip on your neck softens, becoming a caress. You lean into it, eyelids closing slightly as his thumb runs over the front of your throat.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time much softer. A sweet song—or wine that goes down easy.

“I love you,” he says again, lips brushing against yours.

You’re melting like butter spread across warm bread. His voice is husky now. Needy. Heat pools in your core and your pussy slickens in anticipation.

“I don’t say it enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it,” you reply immediately.

You expect hurt in his gaze, but there is none.

“Then I need to remedy that,” he murmurs.

John’s hand drops away from your throat and then he’s placing you on the kitchen island. Forcing up your shirt and removing your shorts, John makes quick work of removing your underwear, giving him full access to your body.

“How much time do we have?” he rasps, dragging you to the edge, his fingers sliding over your pussy to part you wider.

You fall back onto your elbows and glance at the clock. “She’ll be home from school in fifteen.”

“Good,” growls John just as he sinks a finger inside.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, head tipping back as his thumb brushes soft circles around your clit. He’s not touching it directly, but the tease of the indirect contact causes your walls to clench around him.

“I love you,” says John, pumping steadily, inserting a second finger as his thumb drags over your clit.

“I love you,” he repeats as the first orgasm crests.

It’s all he says, repeating the words until his voice is a mantra in your mind, and his fingers are gone, replaced by his cock that has your back arching. You’re thankful for the marble beneath you, and its strength as you grip the edge.

John grunts over you, his “I love you” becoming slurred and wispy.

At some point you repeat it back, clinging onto those three little words as much as John does. Even after he’s come inside you, John has you back on your feet, dragging you into the bedroom for another round before both of you have to fall into parental duty.

But even that is a distant thought in your head.

You’re only thinking of John, and the worship of his love as he devours the altar that is your body.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re taking my cock like this or not at all.”

You whimper, popping your hips, presenting your pussy to Simon. You’re reward with a quick, light slap. Skin meets skin, your wetness apparent and loud in the room when Simon makes contact. You jerk slightly from shock, and then the bed is sinking beneath you as Simon settles between your legs.

With arms crossed, you rest your head on your forearms, awaiting Simon’s claiming. His hands roam everywhere. Touching everything until your skin is alight with need and your pussy is so fucking slick you know he’s going to slide right in.

“Please,” you whimper.

“So needy. I love you like this.”

Simon’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and settle on your ass. His hands are full of you, and then he’s squeezing. Striking. Slapping. The skin smarting under each blow.

“Your body is fucking mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to pleasure.”

One hand roams upward, curling around the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, fingers digging into bone. The head of Simon’s cock rubs back and forth through your slickness and then he’s notching himself at your entrance, plunging inside without pretense.

There is nothing sweet about this. Simon is all roughness, fucking you into the bed until you feel an ache in your bones.

You cling to the bedding, hands fisting the sheet as Simon uses you for himself. It’s not like you don’t like this. You enjoy it. You enjoy his need for ownership and possession.

You are lost to it, but then Simon yanks your right out.

He drapes himself over your back, one hand planted just above your head for support while the other wraps around your throat. Simon pauses in his thrusts for only a moment before he’s at it again. This angle is deeper, and it rips strained moan after strained moan from you.

“All mine,” he growls. “This pussy is all mine. Gonna fucking breed you, yeah? Fill you with my cum.”

Simon whispers these words into your ear like his relentless thrusting doesn’t faze him at all.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this. My good slut. My perfect girl.”

Simon presses his face to the side of your head. Your brain is lifting. Floating away.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Love you so much.”

That last part—that last little bit—reshapes you. The orgasm grows hot and fast and then you’re squeezing hard around Simon’s cock.

His groan is chocked, hips stuttering, and then you feel the warmth of his cum flooding your pussy.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Every muscle is languid and loose.

Your pussy aches—but not from pain. Johnny is needy, and he’s been ravenous, fucking you all over his flat. You’ve lost count of the orgasms. Each one moving into the other until it feels like a continuous waterfall of pleasure.

Every touch of Johnny’s is overly sensitive. Your body twitches underneath him, crackling with an electric energy that brings tears to yours. Sweat clings to your skin and his. Each thrust and slap of skin is slick.

“Fuck, Johnny. I—I can’t. No more. Please.”

Johnny’s chest heaves a bit. He’s clearly inching toward exhaustion. But when has that ever stopped him.

“One more, love. Come here.”

Johnny’s arms go around you, pulling you into his lap.

Even though every limb is screaming in protest, your senses spark again when his hard cock rubs against your pussy, the head brushing along the edge of your clit. You clench around nothing, and a little shiver travels up your spine.

Johnny’s mouth trails over the skin of your throat, his tongue taking up a bit of the moisture.

“Wrap your legs around me. Best you can.”

You do as Johnny instructs, and then his hands slide under your ass, lifting enough that the head of his cock finds your pussy. Slowly, Johnny brings you down on him inch by inch until you’re perfectly stretched again.

Once you’re completely seated on his cock, Johnny adjusts his grip, grasping your hips. With gentle guidance, Johnny urges your hips to rock slightly. His own imitate the same motion. The two of you meet repeatedly.

Each rock of your hips forces Johnny deeper. You moan, head tilting back, but Johnny grasps the nape of your neck.

“Look at me,” he croons, fingers digging into your skin, the small hairs there catching under his touch.

Your eyelids are heavy with lust but you manage, seeking that gorgeous gaze you know so well. Johnny’s arms adjust, supporting more of your back as the two of you rock. It’s languid, but nice. Different from the earlier rounds when Johnny just needed to be inside you in whatever way you’d allow it.

Johnny’s arm tightens as you drape yours around his neck.

It’s easier to lean forward, resting your forehead against his. Breaths are exchanged. Lips brushing but not really kissing.

With the next set of thrusts, Johnny shivers. “I love you,” he murmurs. “Fucking love you.”

At first, you don’t hear him clearly, the haze of pleasure sitting heavy. But your mind begins to clear as it processes what he just said.

“Johnny—”

“Love you so much,” he groans softly, stealing your lips before you can protest.

It’s the first time. The very first, and yet you don’t completely believe it.

“Oh, fuck. Hell,” gasps Johnny, giving in to whatever he’s after by tipping you toward the bed, putting you on your back.

Your legs automatically spread wider and then Johnny is fucking you completely, draped over you like a protective cocoon.

Love you,” he murmurs into your ear.

It repeats with each thrust.

And then you’re saying it, too.

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moonlight-prose · 7 days ago

Text

through teeth and tongue

a/n: thinking about him has got me in a dreamy state of mind. which is probably why this is so filthy. it is also late and i genuinely can’t stop myself from writing this. or actually typing it insanely right into the app cause drafting this is a no go. i wanted to finish it and drop it in the morning, but something told me to just shove it into the open tonight.

summary: a man of such might, such strength, made your heart sing a tune only he could recognize. who were you to deny the power he held over your stuttering heart? OR giving tommy head until he passes out.

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, lewdly giving this man head, spit play, ball worship, cum eating, cumplay, dirty talk, sorta sub tommy vibes, fluff.

He can feel it in the grip he had on the chair, blunt nails digging into torn leather, a gasping moan bubbling past his tightly stricken throat. Tommy couldn’t say he was a man of few words—they flowed rather easily for a man of his character—but tonight he couldn’t find them. Thoughts leaving his mind the longer he sat there, on display for the keeper of his heart.

“Gonna make me wait?” he gasped, eyes rolling back hard enough to make his head hurt.

Your response is deafening. The twist of your palm, tongue flicking at the head of his leaking cock, was all he got. All he deserved after the night he had.

Long hours kept him from you, Jackson taking precedence in your relationship. But who were you to complain? You couldn't.

He kept this place afloat—fighting tooth and nail to maintain balance in the council, dragging himself through hell to watch this community bloom. Time spent away made your heart grow fonder, sightings of him putting blood and sweat into something he cherished had need clamping a fist around your throat.

“I’d like to see you beg.” Hot breath washed over his tingling skin, the jump in his hips involuntary. “But we both know you’re not there yet.”

Tommy knew he was messy. Years of needing towels to clean himself up after quick handjobs proved that he dripped like a fucking faucet. He smeared down your forearm, staining the edge of your shirt where you rolled the sleeves up. It still didn’t stop you from drooling spit down his twitching cock, smearing it with your palm—a smile stretched across your swollen lips.

“Just let me-” A soft lick rendered his body pliant—a melted man in the chair large enough for two. “Fuck darlin’”

You smiled. “Good?”

The stifled groan had your stomach fluttering, spit gathering along your tongue at the sight. Pumping your wrist you dipped low enough to feel his coarse hair brush your nose—his balls heavy and full and coated in the familiar taste of him. It would be so fucking easy to drag him over the edge—the sight of his mouth open and eyes rolled pushed to the forefront of your hazy mind.

Any other night you’d splay him beneath you, straddling his stomach as he gripped you close. Mouth running in an attempt to convince you to sit on his face. It’ll be the ride of your life. I need ya baby. You’re too fuckin’ sweet to keep that pussy away from me.

Tonight called for something different. He collapsed in the chair, exhaustion bleeding into the air and stress weighing on dropped shoulders. He remained strong in spite of the horrors beyond a heavily armored gate. The pinnacle of capability.

Your lips closed around the base of his cock, sucking gentle enough to feel his thigh twitch under your cheek. He dragged in breath—hand finding purchase on the back of your head, fingers digging into whatever part of you he could reach. Salt and the heady musk of him enveloped your senses. Blinding you to his incoherent mumbles.

“Fuckin’ killin’ me-”

Smiling, you slid lower curling your tongue around his ball. His knee jerked, a ragged gasp ripping through the air—hand tugging sharply at the back of your neck. You forced yourself forward with a laugh, sucking it into your mouth with a moan, spit drooling past your lips and gathering in down your chin. Something about tending to every part of him—watching him shut away the snarling wolf for someone docile—fed a piece of your aching soul.

“G-Gonna—shit—I’m gonna cum baby.”

“That’s okay,” you cooed, licking a line up to the leaking tip you sucked with a moan.

Releasing him with a soft pop you fixed your attention on the other side, rolling your tongue over the sticky skin—slick pooling between your thighs. His chest heaved and back arched, the mess pouring over your rapidly moving hand now finding it’s way down your wrist.

You felt them draw up in your mouth, saliva shiny and wet on your chin, before he came with a strained cry. His spend spurting along your face, gathering along your cheek, dribbling into the corner of your full mouth. Tommy mumbled familiar cuss words, bleary eyes finding yours between his thighs—back arched and knees screaming in pain. But it was all worth the fucking effort to have him look at you like that.

As if you stole the moon for his fluttering heart.

“‘S too much baby.”

You could get him to come again. One twist of your wrist and suck of your mouth and he’d push past the overstimulation to add even more to your face. He’d suffer the pain with bared teeth and sore stomach muscles. As long as you kept your mouth right where he knew you wanted it.

Licking up what you could, you swiped along your cheek, stuffing your sticky fingers into an open and waiting mouth. He groaned at the taste, hand tight around your wrist to keep you set in place—eyes burning a hole along your cheek. He’d lick it up with a pleased sigh, clean what he caused without question. And you just might let him if you weren’t gasping for your own air.

He stole it from your lungs, swallowing whatever you’d give him—thighs spread and cock soft against his stomach. What an irresistible sight. What a delectable meal.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging at your arm.

“To do what?”

He grinned, teeth flashing in the darkened space. “Whatever I want.”

#tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller x y/n #tommy miller smut #tommy miller #the last of us fic #my writing

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vienssunshine · 3 months ago

Text

Pay Up

pairing: Sevika x fem!reader nsfw: dom!Sevika, bondage/rope, noncon elements wc: 4k author's note: happy i finally got this posted yay! description: oh no, you don't have the money, however will you pay sevika back~?

“Rotten luck, boys,” Sevika gloats, tossing her cards down on the table. An ace and a king. Royal fucking flush.

The cards twist in your grip. You were watching her so carefully, entirely certain she was bluffing. Damn it, the booze must’ve gotten to your head. Or maybe it was her. You last remember admiring the shimmer-infused scars that crackle up her dark skin rather than searching for tells.

With pressed lips, you reveal your hand to the table. Only a jack and a nine.

The other men who had folded look pleased with their decision, frustratingly so. The only other player dumb enough to bet against Sevika splays out his cards and brings his cup up to his rat-like snout to soothe the pain of losing.

Sevika’s mechanical hand sweeps your mountain of chips to her side of the table. What were you thinking, going all in for a jack and a nine?

One of the men who folded uses his metal cane to stand up and hobble over to the liquor cabinet. It was tradition that after every night of gambling, the final game would be rounded off with a shot of abergin, a mix of Zaun’s best hard liquor and a drop of shimmer. It tastes like battery acid.

The other loser pulls a brown pouch from his coat pocket and counts out ten golden coins. He slides them over the table.

Sevika recounts the payment as the rest of the group cheer at the arrival of a bottle and complimentary shot glasses.

Sevika takes the abergin and messily pours all the drinks full. Together, you clink glasses and take the shot down. The hot liquid pours down your throat, burning it, but does little to distract from the anxiety tightening up in your chest.

“Let’s hit The Last Drop,” one of the players calls out.

“Or just down the street,” the rat-man slurs, “I could use some special company after tonight.”

“Hah!” The other one pushes the drunken loser’s shoulder. “And how will you pay with all your money gone?”

“I suppose I’ll have to ask nicely.”

The group erupts into drunken laughter, smacking each other hard on the back as the abergin floods their system with good feelings.

It doesn’t do the same for you, however. You’re sweating, fingernails digging into your knees as you force a grin to keep up appearances. Maybe if you sit here smiling like everything's fine, Sevika will forget you’re yet to pay her.

What a naive thought. She chuckles along with everyone else, but her gaze soon settles back on you. It’s predatory, like an alligator watching its meal from an inch above the waterline. “Still waiting on you, pretty,” she says, “How else am I going to treat us to a round at The Last Drop?”

The group whoops at the idea, glasses in the air.

“Right,” you agree, awkwardly laughing.

You pull out your pouch from your bag and shudder at its light weight. Not bothering to open it, you slide it over to Sevika. “I’m…I’m sorry, but I’ll have the rest later.”

The laughter dies down immediately.

“You don’t have the money?”

“No, I do, I do have the money. I get paid tomorrow, really.”

Sevika’s mouth twists into a scowl.

You try again to placate, “I’ll have it all to you by next week. I promise, you have my word.”

“Next week?” she snarls. She turns to the rest of the table, “Have I not beaten it into you all yet?”

The other players are all looking down at their drinks.

“Debts are always repaid the night of,” she states, her mouth in a hard line.

“I know, Sevika, I know…and I’m sorry.”

Sevika pushes her chair back away from the table. “Everyone, out.” She walks around the table to your chair, placing a heavy hand on the back of it. Your fingers tightly grip the bottom of the wooden seat.

The rat-like man grins, tilting his head. “Aww, c'mon Sevika, you’ll let us watch, won't ya?”

Sadistic freak.

Though, it was typical that Sevika beats the shit out of anyone who owes her money right then and there. It’s meant to make an example out of those who tried to fuck over Silco’s people.

Yet, Sevika denies his request. “Go get a table at The Last Drop. I’ll be there soon.” She leans down next to you, her face close to yours, “Depending on how stubborn this one will be.”

The men file out, and as they pass, you don’t fail to notice how each one has a scar, wound, or bruise staining their skin, all from gambling, betting, and promising money they didn’t have. Those marks are supposed to be a lesson, and it’s clear you’re about to learn it.

Sevika drags you out of the room, down a hallway, and through a door you’ve never been past before. It’s a bedroom, evidenced by the cot with unmade sheets piled atop of it sitting in the corner of the room. There’s an armchair with a side table and a light in the other corner, and right by the entrance, next to a coat rack, is a wooden desk filled with paperwork. Sevika pulls off her red cloak, revealing a tight black tank that hugs her upper body, and drapes the fabric over the coat rack. It’s Sevika’s bedroom.

One step and she’s reaching for the chair under the desk, spinning it around, and pushing you down into it. The door slams behind you.

“Sevika–” you start, but then she’s rummaging around in one of the desk drawers and pulling out rope. “What are you–”

She gets behind your chair and pulls your arms back, bonding your wrists together with the coil of rope.

“Hey! Not so tight,” you complain, but she finishes the second knot anyway. Then, she begins going through the drawers again.

“Sevika, I really think we can talk this out, okay? This isn’t necessary.”

Sevika finds what’s she’s looking for and sits down in the arm chair diagonal to you. It’s a small case, and from it she pulls out a stone and a knife.

A knife? Sure, you can take a few punches, but what the fuck was she planning for with a knife? She’s really that mad?

Sevika runs the knife along the whetstone in slow, rhythmic movements, sharpening it to a finer point. Each grind of the knife sinks your heart deeper into your stomach.

“Come on, Sevika. You don’t need to do this.”

She doesn’t look up.

“I thought we were friends,” you try. That’s one way to describe it, though it leaves out the crush you’ve developed since you started running in Silco’s circles.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sevika responds, “You know the rules.”

Her uncloaked bicep flexes as she moves the knife over the stone. It’s almost fully sharpened. Crush or not, you’re not letting this woman slice you up.

“Yes, I know, but I will pay you! I just need more time.”

She brings the knife up off the stone and runs her finger along its edge. Satisfied with her work, she puts the whetstone back in the case and closes it.

“I need to be repaid tonight.”

Sevika walks to the desk and opens the drawer. The knife remains in her mechanical hand.

Fuck, you’re so fucked. You got caught up in the drinks, the gambling, your idea of a night out on the town with Sevika. You should be partying with the rest of the group at The Last Drop, not strapped to a chair and cut til you bleed out all over Sevika's floor.

She places the case in the drawer.

That’s if they even made it to The Last Drop, usually the snouted drunk and Sevika get side-tracked at the brothel.

The drawer slams shut.

An idea pops into your head. There’s another angle you could try.

“I can pay you tonight,” you blurt out.

“Yeah? With what money?”

“I’d be paying you…in another way.”

With her back to you, she stills. Then, she scoffs.

“You’re really desperate, aren’t you?” She turns around and leans back onto her desk, palms flat on its surface, fingertips brushing the handle of the knife. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I’m saying,” you respond, looking up at her. You don’t let your eye contact waver, you can’t.

“No, you don’t. You’re—you’re not like that, sweetheart.”

“What, you don’t think I would be good?” You frown. “Am I not pretty enough?”

“No, no, you’re plenty pretty. I just don’t think you know what you’re doing, offering your body up like this. To me.”

“I know what sex is, Sevika.” You roll your eyes.

Sevika crosses her arms, leaning back on the desk. “Sure, but you don’t know what sex with me is like.”

“Well, I’ve thought about it before,” you quip.

That might’ve tipped your hand too much; this deal doesn't work if you get something out of it too. You shut your mouth and wait. Maybe she won’t realize your mistake.

Sevika smirks. “You’re bolder than I thought, pretty. Should’ve realized that when you went all in on a jack and a nine.”

“Fuck off,” you say, eyes dropping down to the ground.

Sevika takes a step forward and crouches down in front of the chair. Blade in hand, she brings the point to the bottom of your chin, forcing it up so you’re back to looking at her. “Tell me what you thought about.”

Her mouth snarling curses into your neck, biting and sucking on the tender skin. Her hand on your back, pushing your face into the mattress as she fucks you. Crying out her name as she greedily laps at your dripping cunt.

“Well?” she asks. You take a breath, face hot. It’s disorienting, how the same person in your fantasies is waiting to hear about them in real life.

The knife presses up into your skin.

‘Bold’ she called you. You can be bold.

You open your legs and wrap them around Sevika’s waist, pulling her into your lap so her face is level with your rising and falling chest. “One thing I’ve thought about is…”—your eyes flick down to hers—“how it would feel to…have you kiss me here,” you say.

Sevika holds your gaze, her eyes darker than they normally are. They look dangerous, similar to when she found out you didn’t have the money. Though there’s a difference this time, but you need to be watching closely to notice it—the undercurrent coursing beneath her gaze, something fierce, something that wants.

Sevika’s eyes break from yours to wander back down to your chest. Her right hand releases the blade—it clatters to the floor—so her fingers can find your waist. She runs them up your side, past your ribs and breasts, to find the neckline of your shirt. She pulls it down slightly, exposing a few centimeters underneath your collarbone. “Right here?” she asks, running her thumb over the skin in slow circles.

“Yes,” you whisper back, body stiff and hot. Your chest is tight like the rope around your wrists. It’s hard to breathe, to speak.

She moves closer and you can only squirm—away or towards her you don’t know. God, you do really want her to kiss you, want to know what it’s like to have her lips on your skin.

Then she laughs, a dark, slow chuckle. “You really are desperate, aren’t you? Either to get out of your punishment, or to fuck me.”

“Sevika,” you say.

“Which is it?” she drawls, playing with your neckline.

Brain fogged by desire, you’re in no condition for mind games. So, rather than trying to figure out what the right answer is, you respond truthfully.

“Both. I want both.”

“Honest girl,” she coos, “I have to reward that, don’t I?”

“Mhmm,” you get out, “Please.”

Sevika leans forward, hot breath ghosting your chest, and kisses her lips to your skin. It’s a light touch, but the effect is significant, a warm tingle spreading through your entire body. Your legs slacken, releasing her waist, and your feet return back to the floor.

She retreats and looks up to your face, her lips curling when she sees you looking back down at her, mouth slightly ajar, panting.

“Was it like you fantasized?” she asks. Her voice is lower and deeper than before, the sound coated with desire.

“Sevika–fuck–that was–”

“I only kissed you,” Sevika says, chuckling softly as she runs her hands along your thighs. The touch makes your skin buzz.

“I know, I know just, please, Sevika,” you say, “Untie me.”

Her eyelids lower. “You’re the one who owes me, right? So we’ll play by my rules.”

Sadistic freak, she’s enjoying this.

Yet, you are too. It’s hot that she’s getting off to your struggle, even if it is, at the end of the day, still a struggle. You groan, shoulders falling. “Right…okay,” you respond. “Your rules.”

“I’m curious now, how you’ll react to other things.” She leans down and presses a gentle kiss right underneath the end of your shorts. You gasp quietly, leg tensing up.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” you goad, shifting your weight from one hip to the other, desperate to have some agency in this interaction. You want to touch her, feel her skin on yours, run your fingers through her hair. But there’s nothing you can do with your hands behind your back.

She returns to your chest, pressing wet kisses along your collarbone and down to your neckline. The lower she goes, the more your hands strain against their bindings, desperate to break free and wrap around Sevika’s broad shoulders and pull her further into you.

Her human hand finds your waist as she kisses you, running up and down your side, while her mechanical hand grips the back of the chair, its mechanisms whirring in your ear.

Sharp breaths leave her mouth every time she pulls back from her sloppy kisses, a small groan as well as her fingers squeeze your waist.

“Sevika, please…this is—fuck—”

“Damn it,” she mutters, and then her hand pulls down one of your sleeves, and then the other, so your top pools around your midsection. Instantly her face is buried into your chest again, kissing the exposed space between your bra. Her hand falls from your shoulder to your right breast, squeezing and massaging it.

You groan, eyes fluttering as she sucks a mark onto your chest. Each press of her lips does more to soften to core in your stomach. Then she’s kissing along the border of your bra, which doesn't remain an obstacle for much longer, her fingers lifting the straps over your shoulders. Her right hand reaches behind your back and unclasps the garment from your torso.

The bra falls from your breasts, and Sevika sits back to look at them, eyes roaming over your panting chest in admiration.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” she breathes. Her right hand travels over your breast, thumb circling your peaked nipple.

You moan, pushing your chest into her hand. You just want to keep touching her, to keep ‘paying her back.’

“Can’t believe you were hiding such a pretty body all these nights,” she comments, hand running down your ribs, making you shiver.

“It was always yours for the taking,” you respond, “Like it is tonight.”

A strangled noise comes from Sevika’s throat, and her hand tightens on your side. “Wish I'd known that.” She kisses your nipple. “Would’ve done this ages ago.”

Sevika makes her way down your torso, touching and kissing as low on your belly as your folded-down top allows. Then her hand is on your shorts, unbuttoning and tugging them off by your waistband. You raise your hips so she can pull the shorts and underwear off, leaving you bare on the seat.

Sevika brings your knees up so they rest on her shoulders. The metal of her left shoulder is a cold underneath your leg, though the small air vents of the mechanism ghost your leg with puffs of warm air. Her hands cradle your ass, protecting you from the discomfort of sitting on the wooden chair—the metal of her mechanical fingers somehow the preferred alternative.

With you in her hands, Sevika’s able to lean down and press a kiss to the top of your hip, bringing out a gentle roll of your lower body. You’re enjoying how much closer her attention has gotten to where it needs to be.

She licks down the V-line of your pelvis, lighting up your skin with her wet tongue.

“Shit–ah,” you groan out, “Please go lower.”

“Fuck,” she swears back, “You’re so—” she doesn't finish the sentence, instead inhaling through her nose, indulging in the scent of your dripping cunt. “Fuck,” she repeats.

She kisses the bottom of your mound, just above where your lips split to encircle your pulsing cunt. Only a few more centimeters south and–

Sevika turns her head, instead kissing your quivering inner thigh.

“Sevika,” you whine, fingers curling into fists behind you. How you wish you could do something about this.

She smiles against your flesh.

“Who’s paying?” she reminds you and your pleas fall silent.

She returns to your inner thigh, using her big, calloused hand to push your legs open. Then she presses a few more messy kisses to the skin, her eyebrows furrowed and her dark eyes closed. Her hot breath and wet lips are encroaching on your warm center.

A few more kisses and she’s at the part where your leg meets your body. You hold your breath.

Then, her eyelids flutter open and she looks over your glistening folds. Her mechanical hand moves to your lower back, taking on your weight, so she can draw her human hand from beneath you to right in front of your cunt.

Please. Please please please pleasepleaseplease—

The pad of her thumb runs over your folds. You gasp. “So needy,” she says, eyes connecting with yours while she gives you a crooked smile.

“You’re making me like this,” you say. Your hips grind into the contact her hand provides until she suddenly pulls away. You bite your complaints back and watch her with desperate eyes. She’s testing you again.

Her eyes roam over your poor, squirming body. She notices the sheen of sweat covering your half-clothed torso, the gentle pants leaving your lips, and the way your hips continue to roll into a phantom hand. You’re a pathetic mess for her.

“This isn’t even for the money anymore, is it?” she observes.

“No,” you get out, voice cracking. “If I had the money, I would pay you to continue.”

“Hmm.” She moves her face to your cunt, pressing a gentle kiss to your folds. “You don’t need to worry about money with me anymore.”

Silco’s right hand, sweet on you. This changes everything.

Your tightened mouth opens and a breathy moan comes out. “T-thank you.”

Sevika pushes her face deeper into you, bringing her tongue out from her plush lips to lick a line up your warm center. You throw your head back, letting out a strangled moan of her name.

Her mouth is warm and wet, and her tongue rolls over all parts of your vulva, stimulating every nerve. Tingly pleasure seeps into your lower body, spreading up through your stomach and down into your legs.

Sevika’s human hand wraps around your right thigh, fingers pressing into the flesh, ensuring your legs stay open for her.

Her hold proves helpful as the stimulation becomes more intense, hindering your inclinations to push the growing pleasure away. It’s like a fierce vine rapidly growing up a ladder, tangling within every organ and bone, tying itself up into you. You writhe around, trying to shake it free, but its grip only grows stronger, tendrils thicker and more twisted.

Sevika tilts her chin up and licks and sucks on your clit. Your whole body tightens in response to the shock wave it sends through you.

“God, Sevika…feels so…ah, fuck…”

How does she know how to make you feel this way? It's never been like this before. Not with yourself, or any of your past hook-ups. Her mouth is superhuman.

“Right there, please, yeah right there,” you moan, gyrating against her grasp on your lower body. Heat clouds your head, burning away your thoughts.

She groans into your folds. She’s too good at this, fuck.

“Taste so fucking good,” she says into you. She feels so fucking good.

You wish you could knot your fingers into her hair, be the one pulling it back out of the way instead of the hair tie. But all you can move is your lower half, so you focus on it, grinding your hips against her mouth, pushing your center into her lips and tongue. It smears your wetness all over her chin and nose, but she doesn’t care, keeping her face buried into you, fucking you with her mouth.

The vines threading through you tighten and throb, and with each lick of her tongue and jolt of your hips, brick by brick you’re being built to your peak.

“Fuck, Sevika, oh my god,” you moan her name out sweetly, begging for what you need her to give you. “I’m gonna–”

You rut into her mouth, chasing that building feeling that’s pressing forcefully up into your insides.

“Give it to me, baby,” Sevika commands.

It hits you in fierce, undulating waves. Your arms lock up behind the chair as your hips thrust up into the warmth of Sevika’s mouth.

You cry out, cursing her name, eyes pressed shut. The pleasure is hot and violent, taking over your body in a way you didn’t know possible. It flows through your muscles, flexing and releasing them as your body endures the storm of pleasure.

Sevika moans into your cunt, the vibrations only adding to the intense sensation. “God-fu-how my-” you moan nonsensically.

Your hole throbs, pushing the pleasure out through our body until the fierce wave retreats back into the ocean. It leaves you buzzing. Your jaw hangs, hot breaths rushing out. The world around you doesn’t feel real.

Sevika lowers your legs back to the ground. They’re entirely limp and fall open. You don’t have the energy to bring them back together.

“You okay, sweetheart?” She pulls up her black tank to wipe her mouth, flashing her hardened abdomen.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “yeah…yeah I guess so.” You throw your head back, chest heaving.

Sevika puts her hands on her knees and stands up. Then she walks behind you, fingers running over your shoulder as she passes by. You go to lean into it before it’s gone, and the ropes around your wrists slacken, falling to the floor.

You bring your hands into your lap, slowly rubbing the angry indentations left on your wrists. They’re uncomfortable, but the pleasure has faded the pain.

Sevika’s eyes watch your face. “Still up for The Last Drop?” She grins.

With effort, you sit back up in the chair. “Yeah, okay,” you say, attempting to pull your top back over your breasts, “Just gimme a sec—”

“Don’t know how you’ve made it this far,” she says, scooping you up in her big arms, “believing everything someone says.” She walks you over to the cot in the corner of her room and lays you down on it. “We’re staying here.”

You crack a smile. “But they’re probably losing a bar fight right now without you.” Sevika joins you on the mattress, and you turn onto your side to face her.

“They’ll have to figure it out,” Sevika says, “‘Cause I wanna be right here.” Her hand hovers over your face, hesitant for a moment, but then she runs her knuckle down your cheek. “With you.”

You place your hand on her waist, dipping underneath the fabric of her tank. “What if it costs you?” you tease.

She smirks. “I would’ve paid triple what you owed me.” She brings your hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers. “Just for this.”

“Stop it,” you say with a smile, pulling your hand away and giving her a playful push. “I will pay you back.”

“You already did,” she says, drawing you into her arms.

“Okay,” you snuggle into her chest, “Then, next time I’m actually going to.”

“I look forward to it.”

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #sevika smut #arcane smut #arcane x reader #arcane wlw #arcane lesbians

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smokesandsonatas · 24 days ago

Text

A Food sequel commissioned by @angelcorecult, thank you so much for your patience and support!

Warnings: Implied rivalry, anxious reader. Others. 5,000+ word count.

Not beta read.

Characters: Rook, Leona, Jade, Floyd, Malleus, Lillia, Idia. Others.

Food II.

- Cravings deeper than hunger. A dinner of devotion.

The morning after the feast—it can't be called as such because you swore you were running on three hours of sleep at most. The sheets clung damp to your skin, the fabric oppressive, suffocating. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of plants—

They do not smell like the earth, rather they're too thick, too sweet, like perfume rotting in the heat. Your hands trembled as they pushed against the mattress, forcing yourself upright.

You heaved a sigh, a sound so heavy it felt like the air had rested on your nostrils far too long for a normal intake of breath. Rolling your shoulders and head, hearing a joint or two popping.

Grim jumped toward you, his tail swishing side to side behind him. He tilted his head, "Is something wrong?"

Yes. Yes, there is.

Yet you shook your head and gave your companion a tiny smile. Maybe you could dismiss what happened as a dream. A hyperaware dream. There are studies on the human mind playing tricks on its owner; perhaps this was your brain's way of grounding you in reality, convincing you that none of what you saw last night was real.

The carcass-shaped roasted meat, the finger on whoever's plate, the iron scent of their drinks, the way their shapes seems to untangle in their true forms—

Stop.

None of it is real.

You couldn’t put it into words. A weight settled in your chest, thick and suffocating, but you forced yourself to move. To dress. To ignore the way the air felt too heavy, too charged with something you couldn’t name. The morning routine should have been simple yet every movement, every glance in the mirror, felt foreign, like watching someone else go through the motions of your life.

The halls of Night Raven College were a solace, at least for now. Students bustled about, their chatter a comforting backdrop. Normal. This was normal. You just needed to act like nothing was wrong.

The first class was potions with Divus Crewel. It had gone as smooth as it can be. You don't know how you can act nor face the headmaster after he bribed you, the heavy cling of mora tucked away under the covers of your bed. You're not sure if you could take the blood money and spend it. Heck, just holding it feels morally wrong.

Lunch arrived without much fanfare. Ace and Deuce had been bickering over something trivial, Grim stuffing his face with whatever he could get his paws on. It was routine, familiar, grounding.

Hmph!

You bumped into someone.

A student, who looks normal, a Diasomnia student perhaps—one whose name you couldn’t recall, but who clearly recognized you. His eyes locked onto yours, their expression twisting into something unreadable. "Watch where you're going," he muttered, voice oddly low, too controlled.

You mumbled an apology, but the way he lingered, the way his gaze stayed fixed on you just a second too long, sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine.

You forced yourself to keep walking. It was fine. It had to be fine. The cafeteria. A perfect place to gather your thoughts. In the company of many, your worries can be buried under the guise of the public.

Grim frowned as he looked at you, his mouth half-full of pasta and pastries. "You’ve been actin’ weird ever since you woke up. Did something happen that I, the mighty Grim, don’t know about?"

You hesitated. "Nothing. Just tired."

Grim huffed. “Eh? You just got out of bed and left me! But ya smelled really good when you came back! Like you went to a fancy restaurant.”

Your breath hitched.

Fancy restaurant.

Sweat trickle down your nape. Could it be that Grim does know? Can you even tell him?

Memories slithered into your mind—fingers gripping silverware too tightly, Rook’s teeth tearing into something fibrous, Leona, Malleus, Lilia, and hell forbid even Idia drinking something goey red and metallic from their glass, the way Jade and Floyd had provoked you into taking a bite of what seems to be a carcass of some sort, the cloying scent of iron and roasted meat thick in the air. The meal. The feast.

What was it?

What had they been eating?

Your stomach twisted violently.

“You didn’t smell the food? I mean, you didn't smell it coming from the cafeteria?” you asked carefully, voice thinner than intended.

Grim’s ears twitched. “Huh? What food?”

You swallowed. “From last night. Did you smell anything… different?”

Grim chewed on a piece of meat before shaking his head. “Nah. If there was somethin’ good cookin’, I’d have woken up! You know me, I never miss a good meal.” He paused, then added, “You’re out for like, five minutes this mornin’ when I woke up lookin’ for ya, but you’re back real quick. So nothin’ exciting happened.”

"Are you sure?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. It came out wrong—too frantic, too desperate. You were already standing before you realized you’d moved, your fingers tangled in Grim’s fur, gripping him too tightly. His ears folded back, startled.

Ace paused mid-chew. Deuce’s spoon hovered just above his bowl. Their expressions shifted into concern. They were watching you now.

"Is everything alright?" Deuce asked carefully.

"Did something happen?" Ace added, squinting.

But you couldn’t answer. You were spiraling. Because now the questions were forming too fast. There was no feast in the cafeteria. There was no scent. Grim didn’t wake up.

Grim always wakes up. Especially when there’s food involved.

Last night—what had woken you up? The smell of food. Delicious, roasted meat. Mouthwatering in its pursuit to awaken you.

Your breath caught. The blood in your veins felt like ice, and yet your skin burned.

Your knees nearly buckled. The walls of the cafeteria shifted—no, not physically, but perceptually. Like something behind your eyes had clicked out of place. The light above flickered once, and it made you flinch.

None of this is right.

"Are you sure Grim?" you snapped, louder than intended. Grim scrunched his eyebrows. You had never raised your voice at him like that before.

"I'm tellin' ya, there was nothin’!" Grim barked, voice tinged with rising fear. "I was asleep all night! You were beside me—I even snuck under the covers ‘cause you were shiverin’ like crazy! And you’re back so fast, nothin’ coulda happened!"

The breath left your lungs.

You were cold. You were shivering. You remember running, escaping into ramshackle where Crowley waits for you at your door—

Huh?

He's waiting. He knew. They knew you knew. Had they been watching you?

Then a hand clapped down onto your shoulder.

Your vision blurred, ears rang, your pulse exploded in your ears. Every muscle in your body seized. You were already turning—slowly, too slowly—before your mind could even form the thought.

You let out a shaky exhale. The familiar cut of blonde hair, and his hat obscuring your vision.

Rook Hunt, smiling that too-perfect smile. That predator’s glint. His hand on your shoulder was warm.

“Ah, trickster,” he greeted you, voice low and unhurried, “you seem troubled. Did something unnerve you?”

His grip was gentle, but it felt like a shackle.

He was standing too straight. His posture, like a marionette held upright by unseen strings. The skin on his cheeks was pale and tight, and in the flickering cafeteria light, it looked almost translucent.

You swore you saw something twitch beneath it.

A vein? A muscle? A worm?

“Your heart,” he said suddenly, tilting his head with the grace of a falcon mid-dive. “It beats quite loudly even now. How beautiful! How human, oui!”

Your breath caught in your lungs, your heart thrumming in your ears.

Grim looked up at you, confused and scared. “What’s goin’ on?” he whispered.

You looked down at him.

You should’ve seen reassurance in his eyes. Instead, you saw your own panic reflected back at you.

Your gaze darted around the bustling cafeteria, the once comforting sounds now grating on your frayed nerves. Ace and Deuce were still staring, their earlier concern morphing into something akin to alarm at your sudden outburst. You could feel their eyes on you, questioning, perhaps even wary.

Somewhere in the cafeteria, you saw Malleus Draconia, nodding at you, words coming off from his mouth and yet you ignored him in favor of the hunter, now intensely staring at you. Eyes boring holes in your skull.

Rook’s smile didn’t waver, but the light in his eyes seemed to sharpen, like a hawk focusing on its prey. His grip on your shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent warning. The air around him felt different, the cloying sweetness you’d noticed earlier intensified, overlaid with something else, something entirely unsettling.

You had to get away. You had to think. This place, filled with them, was suffocating you. Every smile felt like a mask, every casual touch a potential threat.

Without a word, you pulled away from Rook’s grasp. The movement was jerky, fueled by a sudden surge of adrenaline. You ignored his soft, questioning “Trickster?” and the bewildered looks of your friends.

Run, run. And you did run, not even bothering to apologize to a few students you bumped into on your way outside. Your legs felt heavy, but the primal urge to flee propelled you forward. Think? Where can you go? The library. It’s vast, quiet, a place of knowledge and, you hoped, relative safety. The towering shelves, filled with magic books, offered the illusion of anonymity, a place to disappear amongst the pages.

You pushed through the heavy oak doors, the scent of aged paper and dust filling your lungs, a welcome change from the cafeteria’s oppressive aroma. The silence within was a stark contrast to the clamor you’d just escaped, though it felt heavy.

Your breath hitched as you scanned the rows of shelves, the shadows between them seeming to writhe with unseen eyes. You told yourself it was just your paranoia, the lingering residue of the nightmarish feast. Slowly, you tried to inch yourself to a shelf that you could feel can hide your form.

The rhythmic thud of your own heart echoed in the stillness, each beat a frantic drum against your ribs. You risked a glance back towards the entrance, half-expecting to see Rook’s silhouette framed in the doorway, his unnerving smile cutting through the dim light.

But the entrance remained empty. A sigh of relief, left you. Perhaps you ought to thank the Sevens for not abandoning you.

Still, the feeling of being watched persisted, a prickling sensation on the back of your neck. You ducked behind a particularly tall shelf, the musty scent of decaying parchment filling your nostrils. You pressed your back against the cool wood, trying to regulate your ragged breathing.

Think. What did you see? What did Grim say? The feast. The lack of smell. Grim’s insistence that you were shivering in bed after being gone for quick. Crowley waiting at your door. The blood money.

It didn't make sense. It was all disjointed, terrifying fragments that refused to coalesce into a coherent whole.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the images that flashed behind your eyelids: the glistening meat, the too-red drinks, the unsettling smiles.

A soft footstep echoed from the next aisle over.

Your eyes snapped open.

You held your breath, straining to hear over the frantic pounding of your own heart.

Another step.

Closer.

You pressed yourself further against the shelf, your fingers digging into the worn leather of a nearby book. Was it one of them? Had he followed you?

The footsteps stopped just around the corner of the shelf. You could almost feel their presence, an unseen weight in the silent air.

A low, melodic hum drifted from the other side of the shelf. It was a familiar tune, one you’d often heard in Pomefiore.

Rook.

Your blood ran cold. He had followed you. Of course, he did. The hunter always tracks his prey.

You remained frozen, every muscle tense, waiting for him to round the corner, for that unnerving smile to fill your vision once more. The humming continued, closer now, laced with a disconcerting cheerfulness.

Fuck, should punch him? Can you even punch a seasoned hunter like himself? Perhaps you ought to go for his eyes and gouge it as means of protecting yourself because—

You had nowhere left to run.

The shadows in the library seemed to deepen, to coalesce into indistinct shapes. The scent of old paper no longer felt comforting, but suffocating, like the air in your dorm room that morning.

The humming stopped.

Silence descended once more, heavy and expectant.

Then, a soft voice, just inches away, whispered your name.

“Trickster where have you gone?”

Your breath hitched. You remained frozen behind the towering shelf, the scent of aged paper doing little to mask the rising tide of panic. You knew that smile, that voice. Rook’s pursuit was relentless, his fascination bordering on obsession. Escape felt impossible, the library suddenly less a sanctuary and more a gilded cage.

But even as fear constricted your chest, a flicker of something else ignited – a desperate need to understand. What was happening? What did they see you as?

Before Rook could round the corner, a sudden, heavy presence filled the aisle, cutting off the soft sound of his humming. You couldn't see what was happening, but the air thickened.

You slowed your breathing, it sounds like Leona. The usual cloying sweetness of Rook's presence was abruptly overshadowed by Leona's musky, feral scent. There was a low, almost imperceptible growl, a sound that vibrated through the bookshelves.

Then, the humming stopped altogether. After a moment of strained silence, you heard Rook’s voice, tight and uncharacteristically subdued. "Ah, Roi des Lions. Fancy meeting you here."

Leona's reply was a low, dismissive grunt, a sound that conveyed both disinterest and a clear warning. You could hear them talking, yet you can’t understand a word they’re saying. There was a brief pause, and then the distinct sound of retreating footsteps. Rook was gone.

You remained frozen, your heart hammering against your ribs. Leona, he had intercepted Rook. But why? A shiver, not entirely from fear, ran down your spine.

Then, a shadow fell over your hiding place. The familiar, oppressive scent of Leona intensified. He was there.

A large hand reached around the edge of the bookshelf, the fingers long and calloused against his glove. Your breath caught in your throat. It hovered for a moment, as if considering, before gently but firmly closing around your arm.

A low rumble vibrated from his chest, a sound that seemed to resonate deep within you. "There you are, little herbivore." His voice was a low purr, possessive and undeniably dangerous.

He pulled you from behind the shelf. His amber eyes, narrowed and intense, locked onto yours. Raw hunger in their depths.

He reached out with his other hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You flinched. Fuck, first it’s Rook now its Leona. His touch sent a strange mix of fear and a bewildering sense of nervousness through you.

"You're trembling," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. His breath was warm against your skin. "Calm down herbivore, anyone can smell how scared you are."

Before you could speak or even fully process his nearness, a voice, smooth and deceptively calm, echoed from the library entrance.

"Leona-senpai," Jade began, his voice carrying clearly through the silent space, "how refreshing to see you out of your den. Have you finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Leona’s grip on your arm tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze flickered towards the entrance, his expression shifting from possessive intensity to a simmering territorial snarl. He didn't release you, but his attention was momentarily divided.

Floyd’s more chaotic presence followed Jade’s voice. "Yeah, sea lion-senpai! What'cha doin'? Did you find some tasty shrimp?"

Leona’s eyes flicked back to you, coldness in his stare before he turned slightly to address the approaching twins, still keeping you close.

"Spare me your insincere pleasantries, Leech," Leona growled, his voice low and dangerous, addressing both with their surname. "I'm here on more pressing matters." His amber eyes flicked back to you, a clear claim in their depths.

"Pressing matters?" Jade's smile widened, revealing the unsettling rows of teeth within. Eyebrows scrunched in amusement, "Or perhaps you're simply ensuring our little Prefect doesn't get lost in the stacks? How considerate."

Floyd chuckled, a low, gurgling sound that made your skin crawl. "Lost Shrimpy? Maybe they were lookin' for a snack!"

Leona’s grip on your arm tightened further. "Watch your tongue, Leech. Or you'll find it missing." His hold was a tangible thing, a protective barrier he was erecting around you.

Jade’s smile didn’t waver. "Such territorial behavior, Leona-senpai. Almost endearing. For a land-dweller, I suppose. But the Prefect is quite capable, I'm sure. Not easily swayed by the dry heat of the savanna." His gaze flicked to you, lingering for a moment too long, a silent challenge in his eyes.

"Capable of getting into trouble," Leona retorted, his voice calm and oddly deep, his grip tightening around your waist. "Unlike slippery eels who can't keep their fins to themselves in open air."

Floyd took a step closer, his mismatched eyes fixed on you with an unsettling curiosity. "Shrimpy looks scared, sea lion-senpai. Is all that dry fur makin' 'em nervous? They probably prefer the nice, cool deep."

Leona smirked as he pulled you closer, only did you notice that Floyd looks… irritated. The beastman clearly enjoys taunting the merman. "Back off, Leech."

"Not your food?" Floyd tilted his head, his voice deceptively innocent. His mismatched eyes, gleaming, one gold the other teal, "Thought land-beasts only liked dusty bones."

"Perhaps, unlike the soggy fishes you call food," Leona retorted, the composure in his voice leaving no room for argument. He tightened his hold on you, his gaze daring the Leech twins to challenge him. The air crackled with unspoken threats, a silent battle for possession being waged right over your head.

Your breath caught when Leona suddenly leaned in—his nose brushed the nape of your neck.

You froze.

Is he—What the fuck—is he sniffing you??

His gaze not leaving the twins, especially Floyd, whose jaw is clenched. Wait, is that a vein popping in his neck?

"This is getting us nowhere," Jade said, his voice smooth but firm, though a hint of irritation flickered in his mismatched eyes. "We are both distracting the Prefect. Unlike certain sun-baked simpletons, we understand the value of time."

"Simpleton?" Leona's smirk deepened. "Heh, coming from a glorified barnacle scraper. At least I don't smell like low tide and dead fish."

Floyd’s eyes narrowed. His grin twitched wider, too wide. “Hehehehe…” Then his voice dropped, low and sharp. “Bet your blood tastes all gritty.”

His fist clenched. Shoulders rolled. Jaw slacked and ready to bite. He was about to move—fast.

Before Floyd could do, Jade’s hand shot out, his grip surprisingly strong as he clamped down on Floyd’s arm. "Floyd. Control yourself." His smile remained, but there was a steel in his voice that even Floyd seemed to heed, though his mismatched eyes still burned with animosity towards Leona.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You’re going to die as a casualty between the land and sea montsters. Sevens damned it.

"We wouldn't want to keep you, Prefect," Jade continued, his unsettling smile now directed solely at you. "We know you have important things to do. Unlike some beasts who just like to mark their territory." His gaze flicked pointedly at Leona’s arm around your waist.

His words were a dismissal, but the intensity of the possessive energy radiating from both Leona and the twins left you with a chilling certainty, as if you were caught in the middle of something far more dangerous than a simple rivalry, a primal clash between land and sea, and you were the contested prize.

"Get off me!"

You try to push Leona off of you, knees weak from the lack of sleep and… what was that tension? It was so thick you could slice it cleanly with a knife.

Besides, Why are they so territorial with you?

The hallway, once a place of peace, now felt like a cage, the air thick with simmering threats. You needed to escape, to find somewhere, anywhere, that felt safe.

The image of Ramshackle, however dilapidated, flickered in your mind. At least there, the dangers were somewhat predictable. Here, surrounded by these powerful, unnerving figures, you felt like a fragile insect pinned beneath their gazes.

With a subtle shift, you tried to disengage from Leona’s hold, a small, almost imperceptible movement. His grip tightened fractionally in response, a silent reminder of his claim. The casual dominance sent a fresh wave of panic through you. You had to get away.

As if sensing your distress, a familiar, lilting voice echoed down the hallway, cutting through the tense atmosphere. "Ah, there you are, my little nightingale! And what a lively gathering we have here!"

Lilia Vanrouge approached, his movements as graceful as a bat. His red eyes, however, held a curious, almost knowing glint as he took in the tableau: Leona’s possessive grip, the Leech twins’ simmering animosity, and your own palpable discomfort.

"My, my," Lilia continued, his gaze now settling on you with a gentle concern that somehow felt just as unnerving as the others. "You seem a tad flustered, Prefect. Is everything alright?"

Before you could stammer out a reply, Lilia’s gaze flickered past you, a hint of a sigh escaping his lips. "Oh dear. It seems our young master is in a bit of a mood."

His words were casual, but you could sense a shift in the air, a subtle drop in temperature, a prickling sensation on your skin. It was as if an unseen weight had settled upon the hallway.

"Malleus-senpai," Jade’s usual smooth tone held a hint of apprehension. Even Leona seemed to stiffen slightly, his grip on you remaining firm but his attention clearly diverted.

Following Lilia’s gaze, you saw him. Malleus Draconia stood at the end of the hallway, a figure of imposing grace and barely contained displeasure. His serpentine green eyes, usually alight with a quiet curiosity, were now narrowed, a storm gathering within their depths.

He wasn’t yelling, wasn’t making a scene. In fact, he was perfectly still. But the silence emanating from him was more deafening than any shout. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and accusatory, and it was directed squarely at you.

You remembered your hurried departure that morning, the gnawing anxiety that had prevented you from seeking him out. You had been so consumed by the lingering horrors that you had inadvertently slighted him.

And now, witnessing the scene before him – you in Leona’s possessive grip, conversing with the Leech twins – his silent fury was palpable. It was the fury of a powerful being who felt overlooked, perhaps even betrayed.

A low, almost mournful sigh escaped Malleus’ lips, a sound that somehow amplified the oppressive silence. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but the sheer intensity of his displeasure was enough to make your blood run cold.

Lilia chuckled nervously. "Now, now, Malleus, my dear boy. There's no need for such theatrics. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this little gathering."

But Malleus’ gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering and accusatory. It felt like an invisible weight pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. The possessiveness of Leona and the unsettling interest of the twins suddenly seemed almost manageable compared to the silent, wounded power radiating from Malleus.

Your instincts screamed at you.

You need to get away.

This hallway, this school, was a pressure cooker of unspoken desires and grudges, and you were trapped dead center. The urge to flee, which had momentarily subsided in the library, surged back like a tidal wave. You needed to disappear—to find a place where you weren’t the object of such intense attention.

Before anyone could react, you moved. With a surge of adrenaline, you twisted out of Leona’s grasp. The unexpectedness of it caught him off guard for a second. You didn’t look back at his surprised snarl, or the Leech twins’ curious gazes, or even at Lilia’s astonished expression.

You fled, the echoes of your frantic footsteps chasing you down the long, silent hallway. Each turn led you further into the labyrinthine depths of Night Raven College, away from the immediate tension, but not, you suspected, from the underlying danger. The oppressive atmosphere of the school clung to you like a shadow, a constant reminder of the powerful forces at play.

Finally, you reached a quieter section of the corridor, the ornate portraits on the walls your only silent observers. You leaned against the cool stone, catching your breath, your mind racing.

Truthfully, you were on the edge of a breakdown.

A subtle hum vibrated through the stone beneath your hand, the same low thrum you sometimes felt near Idia's tablet. The temperature in the hallway dropped, sending shivers down you. A heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock. You straightened, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your neck. The air crackled with unseen energy.

Suddenly, there ia a ringing in your ears and a flash of green light.

Malleus appeared at the end of the hallway, his figure imposing even in his stillness. His jade eyes glowed with an intensity that bordered on otherworldly, and the very air around him seemed to vibrate with restrained power. He began to walk towards you, his movements deliberate and inexorable, like a force of nature that could not be stopped.

You backed away, your heart pounding against your ribs. Fuckfuckfuckfuck, you thought. There was nowhere to go. To your left and right, the walls were solid stone. Behind you, the way you had come was now blocked by Malleus, his presence filling the corridor, cutting off any hope of escape.

He didn't speak, didn't utter a single word, but his intent was clear. He was cornering you, herding you, like a predator closing in on its prey. The wounded pride, had coalesced into a raw display of power, a silent demand for your undivided attention.

You stumbled backward, your hand reaching out to find purchase on the cold stone wall. Oh my god, I'm gonna die, you thought, the panic rising in your throat. Malleus continued his advance, his gaze never leaving yours. You could feel the ancient magic radiating from him, a force that seemed to warp the very fabric of the hallway.

You flinched. Damn it. You’re not going to be breakfast for lions and leeches; perhaps a fae will eat you out.

Just as you felt the cold stone press against your back, and Malleus loomed before you, his shadow engulfing you entirely, a wave of blue energy washed over the hallway.

The ornate portraits flickered, their painted eyes widening as spectral code flickered across their surfaces. The temperature plummeted further. A low, distorted hum filled the air, the sound of arcane technology pushed to its limits.

You gasped, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Idia? Why are you here?"

Idia Shroud materialized beside you, his form shimmering and glitching, his blue flames casting an eerie glow. His expression, usually hidden behind a veil of detachment, was tight with a strange intensity. He positioned himself between you and Malleus, his spectral body crackling with dark energy.

"Malleus Draconia," Idia's voice, usually a soft murmur, echoed with an unnatural resonance, distorted and amplified by his magic. “I... uh... strongly advise you to cease your... pursuit,” he said, the words coming in a rush, almost as if he regretted saying them. “The Prefect is clearly distressed. I've, uh, been monitoring the... situation... and your current course of action is... suboptimal. It's, like, totally uncool, fr,” he finished, his tone shifting back to his more familiar, awkward cadence.

Malleus halted, his eyes narrowing as he took in Idia's defensive stance. The raw power emanating from him clashed against Idia's technomancy, creating a visible distortion in the air, a shimmering wave of conflicting energies.

"Shroud," Malleus said, his voice a low growl, the ancient power in his tone barely contained, yet laced with the regal displeasure he usually reserved for those who dared to question him.

"This is between me and the Prefect. Your interference is unwarranted." A flicker of genuine, dragon-like irritation crossed his face. "You were monitoring?" He paused, the word heavy with implication. "Were you observing my every move, Shroud? That is hardly behavior befitting a fellow student." His tone remained calm and measured, but there was an underlying edge that promised retribution.

Idia's shoulders tensed, his blue flames flaring slightly. "I am merely ensuring the safety of the Prefect," he retorted, his voice gaining an uncharacteristic edge, though still laced with his inherent awkwardness. "Unlike some, I do not express my affections through, uh intimidation and coercion. My methods are more efficient, and less barbaric." He subtly adjusted his position, his spectral form solidifying, becoming more present, more real, but his gaze darted between Malleus and you.

"Barbaric?" Malleus's lips curled into a mocking smirk, a hint of ancient amusement in his eyes. "You, who hide behind screens and manipulate the world through cold calculations? You dare to speak of barbarism, Shroud? You wouldn't recognize passion if it burned down your precious server room." His voice was still smooth, but the underlying threat was unmistakable.

"Passion is a destructive force," Idia countered, his voice a low hiss, you blinked. Perhaps you're only releasing this now but Idia is almost as tall as Malleus.

He cleared his throat, "Ahem, it clouds judgment, leads to rash actions. I prefer... logic. The Prefect requires a more stable influence, not the volatile whims of a dragon." His gaze flicked to you, a flicker of something that might have been concern in his usually distant eyes, before quickly averting back to Malleus.

The air crackled violently as Malleus took a step forward. The force of his magic sent a shockwave through the hallway, and the ancient portraits rattled on the walls. "You dare insult my heritage, Shroud? You, who are tethered to machines, a prisoner of your own making? You cling to your technology like a child to a security blanket." His voice was rising, the carefully maintained composure beginning to fray.

"My technology is an extension of my will," Idia hissed, blue flames dancing wildly around him. "It allows me to interact with the world in ways you cannot comprehend. I am not limited by flesh and bone, by primitive instincts. I am connected, networked, transcendent." He seemed to be arguing as much with himself as with Malleus, his usual mumbling gaining a feverish, defensive quality.

"This is hardly your concern," Malleus repeated, his voice dangerously soft, the ancient power thrumming beneath the surface. He took another step, and the clashing energies in the hallway intensified, the air growing thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. It was a silent battle of wills, a confrontation between ancient magic and cutting-edge technomancy, with you caught in the crossfire.

As the two powerhouses clashed, their words laced with barely restrained animosity, you saw your chance. The hallway is awash in a storm of conflicting energies, their attention completely focused on each other.

Gotta go, gotta go, gotta GO, you thought, seizing the opportunity, turning and sprinting in the opposite direction, putting as much distance as possible between yourself and the escalating confrontation.

You heard both of them calling your name, yet you didn't turn back.

Fucking hell, you can never get a break.

You didn't stop running until you were far from the sound of their voices, the echoes of their magical clash fading behind you.

You sniffed, gosh what did you do to deserve this? There’s a mix of emotions within you. You bite your lip as you try to control your emotions.

And then a gasp left you.

Rook Hunt stood in the shadows, his smile impossibly wide, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. He seemed to be waiting for you, his presence radiating a hunter's focused anticipation. The relief of escaping Malleus and Idia was immediately replaced by a fresh wave of unease.

You are trapped again.

He stepped forward, his movements fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking its prey. But unlike Leona's raw possessiveness or Malleus's overwhelming power, Rook's felt different.

It is more... intimate, more focused, a burning obsession directed solely at you, masked by his theatrical charm.

A human's obsession.

"Ah, mon petit trickster," he purred, his voice a melodious caress that sent shivers down your spine, but now those shivers were icy, laced with dread. "Have you finally tired of our little chasse? Such a delightful game of cat and mouse, but the hunt is nearing its exquisite consummation. The rarest of ingredients is finally within reach."

You backed away, your hand instinctively reaching behind you for the cold stone wall.

Sevens damned it.

The coldness seeped into your skin, mirroring the chill that had settled in your bones. "Rook, what do you want?" you croaked, your voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, a sound that was both charming and deeply unsettling, like a perfectly tuned instrument playing a dissonant chord. It scraped against your sanity.

His gaze intensified, his eyes tracing the contours of your face, your neck, your form, as if committing every detail to memory, preparing for a feast he alone was invited to. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he remembered the others. The beastly hunger of them, Rook frowns.

They had no right.

He is the hunter here. He found you first. You were his prey. And the thought of being prey, of being his, sent a fresh wave of nausea through you.

"Your essence," he whispered, his voice thick with a strange longing, "it is an intoxicating bouquet, a symphony of flavors. A tantalizing gout that promises a taste unlike any other. A truly magnifique composition, a culinary masterpiece crafted by the gods themselves."

You felt a wave of dizziness wash over you. His words, his gaze suffocating. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring. You were no longer in a school hallway; you were in the crosshairs of a predator who saw you not as a person, but as something to be consumed.

The ultimate delicacy, and he was the only one worthy of the meal. The implications of his words, the hunger in his eyes... It is too much. Your mind struggled to process the sheer wrongness of it all.

"You speak of me like...like food," you managed to stammer, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

Rook's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a feverish intensity. A possessive fire burned within them. "Food? Oui, in a manner of speaking. But not crude sustenance to sate a common hunger. You are the rarest of delicacies, And you, my darling, are a dish worthy of gods. The plat de résistance.”

He took another step closer. Shit. Your heart is beating wildly, perhaps this is what animals being hunted felt.

Immeasurable dread.

Rook chuckled as he reached out, gloves finger tracing the contours of your face, cupping your cheeks and caressing your lips as you gasp. “A complex creation, a multi-layered experience to be savored, to be experienced in totality. Every nuance, every subtle note, every hidden spice... before the final, exquisite taste. The culmination of the hunt." He was close now. Too close. His presence filled your senses, crowding out everything else.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, a deceptive caress that sent a jolt of pure terror through you. It is a violation, an intimacy you hadn't offered and couldn't comprehend. You flinched, trying to pull away, but he held you captive with his intense gaze, his other hand moving to your waist, preventing any escape. His jealousy was a tangible thing, a suffocating pressure in the air between you, thick with unspoken desire and a desperate need to possess.

"I have been watching you, Trickster," he murmured, his voice a hypnotic drone, laced with an unsettling undercurrent of possession.

"Observed your every move, every reaction. I know the precise shade your cheeks become when you are flustered, the delicate tremor in your hands when you are afraid. I have cataloged the subtle notes of your being. And I find myself...utterly consumed by this grand performance, this exquisite hunt, this... irresistible dish. Mine." The last word was a low, possessive growl, a promise and a threat all in one. It resonated deep within you, a primal fear you'd never known existed.

And then, before you could process his words, before you could react, he moved with lightning speed. His hand, which had been caressing your cheek, moved to your neck—gripping it. You cry a choke out.

His other hand tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly close, eliminating any distance. A desperate, needy, human need, a craving that transcended simple attraction and delved into something darker, more primal. You were trapped, a cornered animal, and the hunter was closing in for the kill.

His lips, soft yet demanding, descended upon yours. It wasn't a tentative exploration, but a claiming. A taking. The first touch was gentle, a mere brush, a prelude. Then, the pressure intensified, his mouth molding against yours, demanding a response you were too stunned to give.

His lips parted slightly, inviting you in, but also trapping you, making escape impossible. You were drowning in him, in the scent of old spices and something else, something wild and untamed.

The kiss was not gentle, not tender. It was a claiming, a devouring, a desperate expression of possession that left you breathless and utterly bewildered. It is a violation of everything you thought you understood about this strange, twisted world.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. You could only feel the terrifying intimacy of his desires.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, then slipped inside, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that sent shivers down your spine. He savored you, as if committing your very essence to memory. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding, stealing your breath and leaving you disoriented and trembling, your senses reeling. Tongue caressing yours and even the sides of your mouth. You cried out when he bit your lower lip as you tasted iron.

Rook is eating your face.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes glittered with a triumphant gleam, a predator sated, for now, yet already anticipating the next hunt. He brushed his lips against your ear, his voice a low whisper. "Your saveur is even more intoxicating than I imagined, mon magnifique trickster. A taste I shall never forget and one I intend to repeat. Soon. Only I..."

You stood there, frozen, your mind reeling, utterly disoriented. What... just happened? The hallway seemed to spin, the ornate portraits on the walls mocking your helplessness. You had escaped Leona, the twins Jade and Floyd, and even Malleus and Idia, only to fall into the trap of someone even more... unfathomable.

Your legs trembled, threatening to give way beneath you. You were alone, utterly alone, in this nightmare.

Rook’s obsession was human, uncomfortably so. Intimate. Focused. Dangerous.

When he pulled away, his breath trembled against your skin. “Delicious,” he whispered. “More.”

You couldn’t breathe.

And somewhere in the echo of your mind, you finally understood. Rook hadn’t just been watching you from the shadows.

He’d been here all along.

Waiting.

A terrified scream bubbles in your throat.

Only then with the proximity did you notice that Rook's smile stretches too wide, like skin pulled over something that doesn’t know how to be human.

You barely get a breath in before something flashes—a pressure, sudden and blunt. You can’t even process where it hit. Head? Ribs? Shoulder? You don’t know. You just know it hurts.

Fuck, fuck, it hurts so much.

A cold ache spreads through you, and you stagger, knees buckling. The world spins sideways.

Colors bloom behind your eyes, nausea coiling in your gut. And then—

Darkness claimed you.

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