#maiden from black water

[brighteyesredfire]

Fatal Frame: Maiden of Black Water (2014) - Bride from Black Water

"I'll let the dark current take me, your glance has saved my soul. I leave my last thoughts with you. I'm so glad it was you."

[rotteddolly]

the drowned woman

[dreadbornesaint]

tag dump - char

[keeryhours]

nothing else matters - eddie munson

Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Older! Eddie Munson x female reader

Summary:

Eddie is bummed about turning 40 - you help him feel better.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints?, age gap

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N:

This is my entry for the @corrodedcoffinfest Birthday pop up! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for your help as usual, ily bestie

Prompts: Birthday, 40, 25, “Seriously? Age is just a number” and gift | Word Count: 2818 | Rating: E | POV: Reader | Relationships: Eddie x Reader

The delicious smell from the cake you were baking filled your apartment. It made your mouth water - you always had a sweet tooth, and you wished you could take a bite now. You put the oven mitts on your hands and opened the oven, carefully pulling the pan out and sitting it on top of the stove.

Things had to be perfect for Eddie’s birthday. It was a big one - 40. And he was kind of freaking out about it. He had never minded your age gap - 25 and 39 - but turning 40 was making him really self conscious about it. You wanted to show him age was just a number and turning 40 had no effect on how much you loved him.

The cake looked perfect, and you had the icing and sprinkles set out on the counter ready for when it cooled. You were determined to make this his best birthday ever, despite his existential crisis.

While the cake cooled, you decorated the rest of the apartment with streamers, confetti, and a Happy Birthday banner. By the time the decorations were perfect, the cake was cool enough to decorate. You covered it in white icing, adding sprinkles to the side. You used the bag filled with black icing to write Happy Birthday Eddie! on top.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

You heard the front door opening right on time, his keys jingling in his hand as he walked into the apartment. “Babe,” he said, a laugh in his voice, “what’s all this?”

You popped out of the kitchen, a big smile on your face. “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

Eddie smiled as he approached you, blue coveralls dirtied with smudges of oil from work. He reached you and placed a lingering kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby. How about I go take a quick shower and we’ll have some cake together?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, kissing him one more time. He reluctantly left you, heading into the bedroom down the hall.

While he was showering, you arranged the candles just right on top of the cake. You poured yourself a glass of wine, possibly downing it and pouring another before Eddie sauntered out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and an Iron Maiden tee. You were already wearing his favorite Metallica one, oversized on you and nearly covering the shorts you were wearing. You handed him a beer as he walked over to the cake.

He was smiling, but you could see something else swimming behind those brown eyes. You grabbed the lighter and lit the candles, then smiled up at your boyfriend. “Ready to make a wish?”

“I already have everything I could wish for,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you giggle.

“Stop being so cheesy and make a wish!” You said, giving his butt a slap. He laughed and moved towards the cake.

“Okay, okay.” He thought for a minute. “Okay, I’ve got one.”

“Haaaappy birthday to you,” you began to sing, Eddie letting out a playful groan. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, my dear Eddie…happy birthday to you!”

Eddie laughed, then leaned in and blew out his candles. Once they were all out you lifted them from the cake and cut each of you a slice to bring into the living room.

Eddie collapsed onto the couch with a huff. He looked tired, and you could tell he’d had a long day at work. You had suggested he try to get the day off to celebrate his birthday, but he insisted it was just another day and he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it. You didn’t know the definition of “not making a fuss” out of things.

You cuddled up next to him on the couch and he immediately put an arm around you, his plate sitting on his lap. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, finding a rerun of Day of the Dead, a favorite of you both.

As you ate your cake together, you noticed your normally high-spirited Eddie seemed…dejected. You knew he had been stressing about his birthday, but you hoped the little celebration might make him feel better.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked him, sitting your empty plate down on the coffee table in front of you. You reached up to hold his hand on your shoulder as he took his final bites before pushing his own plate onto the table.

“Ah, it’s nothing, baby girl,” he said, giving you a smile with no heart behind it. You weren’t buying it for a second.

“Ed, you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you? Your birthday?”

He sighed, a hand running through his wild curls, still damp from his shower. “It’s just…40 is a big deal. And sometimes I feel like a real creep for having a young little thing like you as my girlfriend.”

Your heart ached for him. “Eddie, baby, you know age is just a number. I don’t care how much older you are. We’re both adults, we can make our own decisions. I love you for you. I love you because you’re fun, and you make me laugh, we have similar interests, you’re handsome…I could go on.” You poke him in the side with a small smile that he returns.

Eddie held out his arm, showing the faded bat tattoo that’s been touched up a few times over the years. “You know I got this tattoo when I was 18, right? I was out getting drunk and high while you were still crawling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Eddie, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s okay that you’re older than me, believe me. I certainly don’t mind.” You trailed a hand up his thigh, and he raised his eyebrows at you. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

Eddie placed a large hand on your thigh and pulled you onto his lap, facing him. His hands rubbed up and down your bare thighs. “You’re too good for me. I don’t know how I landed such a hot little thing like you. You know they used to call me Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I was not popular.”

“Well, they were idiots,” you said, placing a kiss on his lips. “Because you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

Eddie pulled you back into a kiss, deeper this time as your lips work together. Butterflies went wild in your stomach like it was the first time, even though you’d been with Eddie for 2 years now. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you moaned into the kiss, pressing back against his tongue with your own.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbled against your lips, hands sliding around to grab your ass and squeeze. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You grinded down against his lap, feeling his hardness beneath his jeans. He gripped your hips and guided your movements, a low groan coming from his lips. “Want you so bad, Ed,” you whispered, leaning forward to place kisses on his neck.

“Fuck, I want you too, baby,” he groaned, his eyes half lidded as he looked at you. “Is this my birthday present?” He teased. “Because I’m okay with that.”

“One of them,” you said with a playful smirk. You kissed him again, hungrier this time, gently biting his bottom lip and making him moan. His fingertips dug tighter into your hips, his head tilting back as you moved back down to suck at the sensitive spot on his neck.

Eddie’s breathing grew heavier, soft moans spilling from his lips as you left a mark closer to his shoulder, where his coveralls would hide it. He didn’t need the guys at work teasing him about it.

He reached around to squeeze at your ass again, hands slipping underneath your shorts. “Need you right now, baby,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life.”

You moved off his lap with a smirk, Eddie watching you intently as you moved to your knees between his legs. He groaned, watching you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, lifting his hips for you to pull them down.

His cock sprung up against his stomach, already rock hard and leaking for you. You licked your lips at the sight, desperate to get him in your mouth. Eddie caressed the side of your face with his hand, looking down at you affectionately.

“Gonna take it in your mouth, baby?” He asked sweetly. “You’re so good at it. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

You smiled up at him. “I do?” You grabbed his cock, wrapping your hand around it and stroking slowly as you stuck your tongue out to lick a bead of precum from his tip.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed, watching every movement you made. “The best. So why don’t you go ahead and suck it, baby?”

Anything he wanted for his birthday. You wrapped your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. He groaned, cock twitching in your hand. “Fuck babe, take it deeper, please.”

You lowered your head, taking him deeper down your throat as you held eye contact with him. He pushed your hair out of your face and held it behind your head to see you better, to see the way your lips stretched around his thick girth, the way your eyes watered as you took him deeper and deeper. He fought the urge to thrust up into your mouth, forcing the remaining inches down your throat. He was trying his best to have some self control here, but it was hard when you looked that good.

When you took all of him, his head dropped back against the couch cushions for only a moment before he remembered he didn’t want to miss a second of this. As you lifted up he slowly began thrusting into your mouth, and you let him, let him use you for his own pleasure.

“Fuuuuck, that’s it. Lettin’ me use you like that? Such a good little slut for me.” His voice was strained, the pleasure almost too much for him. He didn’t want this to be over fast, he had to fuck you first, feel you wrapped around him and fill you with his cum. That’s what he wanted for his birthday.

But he could enjoy this for a little longer.

He fucked your face slowly, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still and did all the work. You looked up at him with wide watery eyes and it nearly undid him right then.

“Fuck, you’re doin’ so good baby. Letting me fuck your face. You’re just a good little cockwhore aren’t you? You like letting a real man use you. Guys your age wouldn’t do it for you, huh?”

You moaned around his cock, sending vibrations through him and making him moan louder. He thrusted his hips up into your mouth a few more times before he was pulling you off of him, gasping moans spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself and not cum right that second.

“Shit. Take those clothes off and get back on my lap baby,” he begged, fisting his own cock. You obeyed, sliding your shorts and panties down your legs and throwing your shirt off. You climbed onto his lap, lining yourself up with his help before sinking down onto him. You both moaned together at the feeling, and Eddie’s hands quickly moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you down as he thrusted up, cock buried in you to the hilt as you cried out from the sudden feeling.

“Oh my god, Eds,” you moaned, starting to bounce on him, your head tilted back as he helped you keep your rhythm, his thrusts meeting you with every downward motion of your hips.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, each time sinking into your tight, wet walls undoing him more and more. You leaned back, placing your hands on his knees as you bounced on his cock, giving him the perfect view of your bouncing tits. His eyes locked on them, drinking in how hot you looked. “God, you are perfect. Such a sexy little thing bouncing on my dick for me. You like that? Do you like taking my cock like that?”

“Fuck, yes,” you moaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. “Feels so good, Eddie. Jesus, you’re just so fucking big, so deep.”

“Why don’t you bend over the side of the couch for me?” Eddie asked, breathless. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You lifted off of his lap and moved to the arm of the couch, leaning over it as Eddie stood and moved behind you. You felt him dragging his cockhead through your folds, seeing just how soaking wet you were for him.

“Hands behind your back.”

You moved your arms behind you, and Eddie grabbed both wrists in his large hand just before he sunk inside you, filling you even deeper than before. He hissed as you moaned loudly, and began thrusting deep into you at a brutal pace.

“God, look at you,” he grunted out as he pounded you hard from behind. “So helpless. Desperate for cock and taking everything I give you. Little slut.” He slapped your ass hard with his free hand, making you jump and cry out, and leaving a bright red handprint he smoothed his hand over. “So fucking hot.”

“More, Eddie,” you whined. “Fuck me harder, want you to fill me up.”

“Aww, baby,” he cooed, “that’s all you had to say.” He sped up his hips, leaning over you as his pace became ruthless, much more intense than before. It was exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna cum for me?” He asked, reaching around to rub circles on your clit. “I think you are, baby. I can feel you tightening around me.”

You were close. Your eyes began rolling back in your head, the combined pleasure of his cock and his hand pushing you to the edge fast. “Eddie, Eddie-“

“Come on baby, cum for me. Cum around my dick, make a mess all over me, let me feel you,” he encouraged, cock pressing against that perfect spot with every thrust. “Go ahead and let go for me.”

Stars exploded behind your eyes at that moment, and you let out loud, whiney moans as he fucked you through your high. “Oh my god, Eddie, fuck yes, fuck yes, ohmygod-“

He thought you looked so fucking hot like this, falling apart on him, because of him. His own orgasm hit him unexpectedly and he bent over your body as he came inside, pumping his cum into your tight walls with every shallow thrust. “Fuck! Yes baby, take it all, take my fucking cum. God, I’m filling you up so fucking good, keep taking it just like that, fuck yes.”

When he was done he pulled out of you, calloused hands caressing the skin of your perfect ass, enjoying the view. “You’re so perfect,” he remarked, nearly to himself.

He pulled his jeans back up and collapsed down onto the couch, pulling your naked body down onto him as you giggled. He held you close, placing kisses all over your face and body.

“I love you so much,” he said. “This might have been the best birthday present ever.”

“Oh!” You said, jumping up and pulling your shirt and panties back on. “I almost forgot your actual present!”

Eddie laughed as you ran out of the room and into the bedroom. You poked your head around the corner, a mischievous smile on your face. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, a grin on his face at whatever you were up to.

You came around the corner holding a gorgeous black electric guitar, a bow around the neck. Eddie’s eyes widened as you brought it over and he took it from your hands.

“I know this will never replace your sweetheart, but…”

“Baby, this is incredible,” he said, taking it from you and removing the ribbon before strumming it. “I can’t believe you got me a fucking guitar. You’re my dream girl.”

You were beaming, pleased that he liked your gift. “You really like it? I wasn’t sure which one to pick out, but I thought you’d like this one…”

“It’s perfect, baby,” he assured you. “Now sit down so I can play you a song.”

He plugged the guitar into his amp, keeping it down not to annoy the neighbors. He tuned it, then began strumming the opening chords of Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. You smiled up at him as he sang for you, still in disbelief that this was your boyfriend, your dream man, your heart.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[thesimline]

This is part two of the 1800s female lookbook, you can find part one here.

While white and other light colour clothing was the mode in the early 19th century, there was one important social occasion where wearing black was the expectation. Public display of mourning was very important in social circles and there were associated expectations when is came to what women wore. For the first six weeks of mourning outfits should be all black, with toned down jewellery and other accessories. After this period of full mourning came half mourning, which allowed the introduction of white, grey and lavender into ensembles.

Thanks to the growth in textile manufacturing the fashion industry flourished, which led to an emerging occupation never seen before - that of the fashion designer or modiste. Up to this point a woman went to the dressmaker for her gowns, the milliner for her hats, gloves and other accessories were purchased from other shops. The modiste, on the other hand, offered the whole package. There were a few entrepreneurial women who built brands synonymous with high fashion and they became the taste makers of the era. Their designs featured in popular publications of the time such as the Ackermann’s Repository of Arts and The Lady’s Magazine.

Seaside promenading and bathing was a popular leisure activity, in fact doctors even prescribed a dip in cold sea water as a health tonic! It wasn't until the Victorian period that dedicated swimwear came into women's wear, so early 19th century women protected their modesty when publicly bathing by wearing a shift of muslin or flannel. CC links under the cut.

You can find more of my historical content here:

1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s ✺ 1700s ✺ 1800s

CARRIAGE

Hat | Hair | Earrings (TSR) | Coat | Dress (TSR) | Gloves (My Wedding Stories)

MOURNING

Bonnet | Hair (TSR) | Earrings | Fichu | Dress (TSR) | Gloves (My Wedding Stories)

HALF MOURNING

Hairband | Hair | Earrings (TSR) | Necklace (TSR) | Dress | Fan | Gloves | Bracelet (Curseforge) | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes (TSR)

BRIDAL

Hair | Tiara | Veil | Earrings | Necklace (Base Game) | Dress | Gloves

MODISTE

Hat | Hair | Earrings (TSR) | Collar | Fichu (TSR) | Dress | Gloves | Shawl (Sims Finds)

GOVERNESS

Bonnet | Hair | Necklace | Dress | Gloves | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes

BARMAID

Hair | Earrings | Dress | Apron

COOK

Cap | Hair | Outfit | Hose (Base Game) | Shoes

RIDING

Hat | Hair (Get Famous) | Earrings | Scarf | Outfit | Gloves (Get to Work) | Shoes (TSR)

UNDERGARMENTS

Hair | Outfit | Hose (Base Game)

SLEEPWEAR

Hair | Gown

BATHING

Cap | Hair | Shift

With thanks to some amazing creators: @glitterberrysims @livixo @waxesnostalgic @simcelebrity00 @gilded-ghosts @madlensims @dancemachinetrait @inlovewithregencyera @simverses @the-melancholy-maiden @dissiasims @sentate @lilchamomil @citrontart @bluecravingcc @historicalsimslife @chere-indolente @revolution-sims @simstrouble @lilis-palace @batsfromwesteros @okruee @peebsplays @cringeborg @notsooldmadcatlady @dzifasims @oydis @threethousandplumbobs @plazasims

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Based on this amazing ask.

Dark Thraller - Part 1

Azriel x HewnCity!Reader, Arranged Marriage

Something darker than the night itself lurks within the Hewn City. Something dark and lovely and his. Azriel suddenly finds himself with a bride that he never wanted but when their marriage may be the one thing that saves their world as they know it, duty trumps all.

The female watched from shadows behind the archway connecting a granite corridor to the throne room of the Hewn City, peering into the busy room. She could smell the fear simmering within the room, it stoked at her own power, building as it fueled her senses. She shouldn’t be here, to be caught could mean death, perhaps worse, but this was her only chance to find the Seer.

Azriel stood cross-armed, hazel eyes honed in on Elain Archeron as she gracefully meandered through the throne room of the Hewn City. Its lecherous denizens ogling her as if she were nothing more than a whore in a pleasure house. Her dress was modest, a whispy train of tulle falling from her shoulders and trailing behind her, the perfect decoy for hiding his shadows as they listened in for tonight’s intended target. The gown hugged her slim figure just enough to give a tease of the lithe female form beneath.

He rolled his eyes as he took her in, reminded of Cassian’s insistence that black wasn’t her color but he was wrong - she was the ethereal moon to the Night Court’s midnight skies.

———

Elain knew she did not belong here. Not within the stone walls of this forsaken city. Not because she was too fragile. No, despite the fact that her sisters coddled her and the rest of the Inner Circle treated her like a delicate flower that would wither at the slightest touch, it was often overlooked that she had slain the King of Hybern. Sure, Nesta received credit for the final blow, but it was Elain who had been vital that day.

She didn’t belong here because of its own inherent darkness that mingled so well with the darkness within her own soul. She’d always tried to make the best of life, but years of poverty, being forced into the cauldron, losing Graysen, an unrequited mating bond, their fathers death, being held captive in Hybern’s camp, nearly losing Feyre during Nyx’s birth, the strife didn’t hold a candle to the pain she felt from being granted the so-called “gift” of sight and having no way to decipher it. Her visions were not light and airy, they were dark and inky, ominous at best.

The few times she’d visited this sect of the Night Court, her visions plagued her. Glimpses of gods and shadows, sacrificed maidens, life and death. And then, there was last time. The collision of an outside force greeting her own power, something fearsome and yet- gentle.

Azriel’s shadows gave a tug on the cape of Elain’s gown, working of their own accord. To Azriel’s chagrin, the last time they’d been here his shadows pushed boundaries, ignoring commands to stand down as they searched the space. They’d trailed Elain who had a particularly concerning vision of shadows upon water and whispers of death.

With the concerns of Koschei following the events with the Queens on the continent, it was enough to garner another visit. So, here they were. Azriel watching Elain like a hawk as she and his shadows searched the place.

Eyes diverted away from Elain as the main act arrived, Rhys and Feyre loosening the grip on their power as the doors flew open- their steps echoing throughout the now silent chamber as the High Lord and High Lady approached the dais. The crowd, having learned from previous reprimand, fell to their knees before their rulers.

It was then that Azriel’s shadows completely shrouded Elain, granting her cover as she dipped down a corridor that Azriel had very clearly lectured them NOT to go down. He wasn’t about to risk Elain’s safety, even if it meant failing the mission at hand of garnering more sight into these possible Koschei visions.

Elain took no more than ten steps down the corridor when a voice startled her from the shadows. “You.”

Elain gasped as Azriel’s shadows created a wall of shadow before her.

Not to protect her - but to conceal the source of the voice.

How very strange.

A lump formed in Elain’s throat as she mustered her courage for a moment, composing herself before squaring her shoulders and holding her head high.

“Yes?” She asked.

“You’re the Seer.” The voice spoke again. Feminine. Young, likely twenty or thirty but it was hard to tell with the fae.

“I am.” Elain spoke firmly. “And you are?”

The voice started before turning into a strangled gasp. The shadows cleared for Elain to find Azriel, holding the female from behind with Truth-Teller against her throat.

“I know what you are.” His deep voice spoke into her ear, his heated breath sending chills through the female.

“Azriel.” Elain spoke. “She was only curious. She didn’t harm me.”

Azriel didn’t move a muscle, only lifting his hazel eyes from behind the female to meet Elain’s gaze. “You don’t know what she is. The danger you were in.”

The cool blade pressed against the female’s throat and if it wasn’t for the obvious threat she posed, Azriel would have had a hard time missing the way her body fit so enticingly against his, the way her ass-

He growled. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?” The female puzzled.

Through gritted teeth, Azriel warned, “Your powers will not affect me, Dark Thraller.”

Elain kept quiet but she didn’t miss the smirk that rose on the female’s face at that. There was something about this female that resonated with her. She had a gentle presence, soft in all the right places to enhance her feminine appearance in a way that would leave most underestimating her, yet Elain knew there was more to this female, something deeper, something darker than her bright eyes let on.

Someone who could understand her.

———————————

Keir burst through the dungeon door first, followed by the general of his Dark Bringer forces and his second in command, Lord Thanatos.

“Keir, how nice of you to join us.” Rhys mused. Arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Rhys and Azriel had spent the past two hours with the female, named Y/N, in the dungeons of the Hewn City. She was a Dark Thraller. An incredibly rare power of ancient fae, until today, it had been thought of as myth. She could not only wield darkness and shadow on her own accord but she could steal it, borrowing directly from the source, hence Azriel‘s shadows obscuring her from Elain. It was fortunate that he’d taken her by surprise when he’d snuck up on her, able to pull his shadows from her thrall and regain them as his own. Though they weren’t particularly eager to return to his side. He was still pissed about that.

The fact that Keir had kept this female a secret was enough to chap Azriel’s ass too. Mor’s father should have reported the female the moment her powers manifested, yet, he’d hoarded her. And much like with Mor, Keir and Lord Thanatos planned to breed her, using her as a bargaining chip in an arranged marriage to some noble on the continent that she had never laid eyes on.

“Release my daughter, immediately.” Lord Thanatos boomed.

The female remained silent, still, but Azriel didn’t miss the way her skin paled at his command. Rhys let out a dangerous laugh, not the warm laugh of the brother Azriel knew so well, but the bitter laugh of a High Lord about to put a subordinate into his place, or the ground, depending on how generous he was feeling.

Both males froze in place, faces turning cherry red as they fought against invisible restraints. Rhys placed an errant hand into his left pocket, a cruel smirk plastered across his face. “It seems I have not given enough attention to the seat of my court in recent years if this is how its people choose to greet their High Lord.”

His violet eyes narrowed as he took a tone befitting of the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. “Kneel”

And before they had a chance to do so on their own accord, Rhys forced them into a submission. A gentle - considering the force he was capable of - reminder that they were indeed the lesser males in the room.

Rhys released his hold on the males as they gasped for air, remaining knelt until their High Lord dismissed the formal stance.

“It seems, Keir, that you and Lord Thanatos have been keeping this little gem a secret.” Nodding his head toward the restrained female, who easily could have broken the shadows to her submission. A test, then. To see how impulsive she was with her power, what manner of control she practiced over it.

Azriel didn’t trust her. Thralling? Yes, a Dark Thraller typically attracted darkness and shadow with their thralling abilities but how far did her capabilities go? Could she work on the minds of those wielding darkness as well?

Azriel broke from his inner thoughts to find the female staring at him with wide eyes. She was nervous. He stepped closer to her, keeping his gaze firm and narrowed but to his surprise, the nervous energy surrounding her did not increase. In fact, she seemed to relax slightly.

That was certainly a first for him in these dungeons.

Azriel had been so focused on her that he missed the last bit of groveling from Keir and Lord Thanatos. His attention once again fixed on the males and his High Lord as Rhys summoned a large table and five chairs.

Keir scoffed. “This is a conversation for males, she-“ he spoke the pronoun with venom, “has no business in these affairs.”

Rhys waved a dismissive hand at the male. “I always forget what antiquated views you harbor. At this table, she has a place. In fact, she has more of a place here than you do, since you so rudely interrupted our-” interrogation “conversation.”

“Azriel.” Rhys nodded toward the bound female.

Begrudgingly, Azriel released his restraints on the female. She stood, slowly, maintaining eye contact with him as she smoothed her satin gown, the fabric clung deliciously to her curves but Azriel was most taken by those mesmerizing eyes of hers as they held his cold stare. No malice, or hatred lay in her own eyes, the emotion was something that made his heart lurch. The same look a snared creature would give a hunter that held its fate in their hands, the same look a young boy once gave his cruel half-brothers as fuel soaked his hands while they held the flaming match.

Y/N broke her eye contact and approached the table, holding her head high. To her- and everyone in the room not named Rhysand’s - shock, he pulled the chair at the table’s head out and motioned for her to sit. He kept the arrogant mask plastered on and waited until she accepted that he was serious, shifting uncomfortably for a moment, before seating herself. That nervousness once again returning as she looked to the two Court of Nightmares males to her right.

Truly, Azriel didn’t trust her but he couldn’t bear to see that look on her face. He’d met her two hours ago and already knew she was too good to be intimidated by these pricks.

Azriel stepped to Keir, seated directly to next to her, Rhys seated to her left - and flatly commanded “move.”

Keir huffed an insidious laugh. “I don’t take orders from dogs.”

Azriel remained stoic, refusing to deign the pompous male with even a breath of irritation. He’d been called far worse

Rhys didn’t bat an eye at the command from his Spymaster, knowing Mor’s history, of course he would feel inclined to keep him distanced from a female stuck in a nearly identical situation as the one she was faced with all those centuries ago. “Keir, you truly are going out of your way to play the fool today. Keep it up and maybe we can reenact what happened to your arm the last time you disregarded the station of one of my Inner Circle?”

Keir bristled slightly before tucking his shoulders in a show of submission, pushing himself up, and swapping places with the Shadowsinger.

Azriel didn’t miss the slight ease of tension in Y/N’s jaw as he sat, though her heartbeat remained racing as indicated by the visible thrumming of her pulse in her neck and quickened breathing. His shadows gravitated toward her, intertwining with her ankles and then scurried away when she looked to them in a reprimanding manner.

By the rather adorable scowl furrowing across her brow, he had a feeling she hadn’t used her thralling abilities on them either. Interesting.

For all that they were excellent for spying, the things were incurably nosey to a fault.

Clearing his throat, Rhys began “It has been brought to my attention that lady Y/N is to be married to a male on the continent, not as a marriage of love but as one of title. Given her unique powers I propose that we arrange a marriage within our own court that will be both advantageous to the Night Court and to her in terms of power. Do you wish to elaborate on who you intend to marry her off to?”

Azriel noted the bead of sweat on Lord Thanatos’ brow as he glanced to Keir, vaguely-concealed concern flitting between the two.

Keir cleared his throat. “The male is simply a lesser-noble from a wealthy family on the continent. She is not worth the attention, your grace. Her power will be of no use to your court. They’re nothing more than an amusing party trick.”

Leaning back in his chair, Rhys held his chin between his thumb and forefinger in a show of consideration, before giving a grin. “I do enjoy parties. And it seems as if I could find a suitor that would be far more advantageous considering this unnamed lesser-noble is not even worth noting. Don’t you agree?”

Y/N seemed to shrink in her seat but what Azriel read on her face looked almost like “hope.”

What had she been put through for her future to be discussed as if she were nothing more than loose marks to be spent frivolously and still feel hope? He grit his teeth at the way Rhys carried on with the act, though he knew it was simply that- an act.

Silence filled the space and Azriel didn’t miss the way his High Lord’s gaze went vacant, communicating with someone. A small hitch in the breath of Y/N clued him in to exactly who he was communicating with.

“I’ve decided.” Rhys purred. “Lord Thanatos, your lovely daughter will wed my Shadowsinger.”

Outrage filled the room as the males let out shouts of disapproval before Rhys let his darkness fill the room. “Am I not High Lord? Do I not have final say in the affairs of my denizens?”

The males were silent. Rhys loosened his power further, a rumble sending loose dirt falling from the ceiling of the room onto the table before them. “I expect an answer.”

Lowering their gazes in submission, it was Keir who spoke first, “Yes, High Lord.”

Lord Thanatos let out a growl, shooting a violent glare in Keir’s direction.

“I expect an answer, Lord Thanatos.” Rhysand challenged.

After another moment, he finally caved in to the show of power. “Yes, High Lord.” The male growled.

The darkness faded as Rhys clapped his hands together. “Excellent. This evening just became far more interesting. We shall wed the two tonight!”

To his credit, Azriel said nothing, not one single show of disapproval or questioning.

“You two may be dismissed. We will coordinate the details of the wedding.”

As the two males, completely dumbfounded, exited the cell. The female looked to the floor, avoiding Azriel’s stony gaze- the gaze of her soon-to-be husband. Which was for the best as Azriel sent her a glare reserved for the worst of traitors. He did not want this, he wanted nothing to do with the female. His heart was destined to belong to the middle Archeron sister. He was to share his life with HER, not this strange enigma from the Hewn City.

Moments later, Elain and Feyre entered the room. Elain’s expression unreadable as they retrieved the female, Cassian and Nesta flanking them protectively as they led her off to prepare for the ceremony.

————

Rhysand knew he was a bastard. He took the corresponding show of rage from Azriel in stride, unable to disagree with the cold words and show of opposition to his order to marry the female.

What Azriel hadn’t seen was the terror Rhysand had gleaned in her mind. Her power was not a party trick, in fact she’d been hidden away beneath the Hewn City and put through rigorous training from the first moment her powers emerged. This female was trained to be used as a weapon and treated as such, there was nothing humane or loving about the environment she’d grown up in. But far more concerning than even the abhorrent conditions she had been brought up in was the undiluted panic regarding her impending nuptials. She indeed did not know who she was to be married to but she had suspicions.

Not to be wed to an unknown lord from the continent, not even to the highest ranking of nobility, but to a supreme being of death and decay, to Koschei himself.

And if her suspicions were correct, a power like hers in his hands would bring immeasurable suffering, an end to the world as they knew it. She was the token Keir needed to barter for his own rise to power. Ruling just the Court of Nightmares was never enough for a greedy bastard like him.

“The only way we can get her out of here is by wedding her to you tonight. If she’s wed, they have no contest to-” Rhys bristled as he spoke of the female as anything less than her own entity “They cannot claim ownership of her if she is wed. We cannot risk another moment of her being in their hands, Az. This marriage does not have to last forever, just long enough to ensure she is out of their hands and that we are in her good graces. Your duty is to keep her happy and protect her, if she ends up in the wrong hands, Azriel- more than just our own rule is at stake, Prythian, the world, could be doomed.

Guilt pressed in on the High Lord. If there were any other way, he would take it, but for now this was the most humane route.

And as Rhys shared the female’s suspicions of Koschei with Azriel, he understood. He hated every moment of this but he understood. He didn’t have to love her, he didn’t have to like her even, but he could stomach her as he did with any other undesirable duty.

_________

Azriel stood on the dais before a crowd of sneering Hewn City denizens. For this, his leathers would do. He was to send a message of power to the Court of Nightmares and removing his siphons would not do. Rhys and Feyre remained seated on their thrones appearing bored as they took in the quickly thrown together wedding, little more than wine and night-blooming jasmine marked the occasion. Though Rhys would have loved watching Lord Thanatos have to hand his daughter over to the Shadowsinger, he didn’t want him anywhere near her. She had dealt with enough coldness from the male in her twenty-five years of life, never again would she have to suffer through her father’s unkind hands upon her.

So, Azriel waited, his eyes focused solely on Elain as the doors opened and music began to play. Cassian would escort her to the dais. Azriel spared no glance to his bride as the audience turned in her direction. Even Elain who had caught his gaze briefly, and Lord Thanatos and his equally hateful wife who stood behind her, turned to marvel at the bride striding up the aisle. Azriel’s heart raced. He wanted Elain. His shadows pulled on him. Coaxing him to divert his gaze from the Archeron sister. No. He wanted Elain. His heart beat wildly as a tug pulled at him. He would not look. This female was not who his heart belonged to. He belonged to Elain. Azriel’s shadows hissed in his ears to look as his heart urged him to spare a glance in her direction.

Finally, he shifted his gaze and time stood still. Before him was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. No longer did she appear meek, or nervous- she stood taller with her head held high. A cobalt blue gown hugged her curves, dipping down to reveal her ample cleavage, the fabric clung to the curve of her hips, caressing her upper thighs before flaring out toward the bottom. Her knuckles tightly gripped a bouquet of morningstar flowers and delphinium. Where the dress had been conjured from, Azriel had no idea. The flowers were likely Elain’s doing. He tried to turn his head back to Elain but he couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze away from the beauty before him.

His shadows left his side, flowing down the aisle and swirling around the bottom of her gown, giving the appearance that they were carrying her to him. The crowd gasped at the illusion and Azriel noticed the surprise on her face. Either she was an excellent actress or she truly didn’t have the control over her powers.

But Rhys had said that she’d been trained from the time they manifested. Surely they weren’t going to her on their own accord. Was her thrall that powerful?

Azriel nearly felt his shoulders slump in disappointment as her gaze shifted to Elain who awaited at the foot of the dais to retrieve the bouquet.

As Elain stepped forward, a tear was heard followed by a gasp. Azriel looked to see that the bottom half of Elain’s dress had torn. Her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with shock. Before Azriel could react, he felt loss of control over his shadows as Y/N flung her arms out commanding them in Elain’s direction. Azriel’s heart lurched, fury clouding him at this attack on Elain, he stepped forward only to halt in his tracks as two shadows darted out to restrain Y/N’s mother, and the remaining shadows shrouded Elain completely.

Y/N hurried toward Elain, stepping into the confines of the shadows, now shrouding the both of them. Azriel almost smirked as Y/N’s voice loudly echoed from the shadows “Don’t mind her. She’s even uglier inside than that sneer she wears on her face, which says a lot.” A soft giggle from Elain reached Azriel’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you something else to wear. Can your sister bring some wine?”

The crowd parted as the shadowed females made their way out of the crowd, Nesta and Cassian following suit.

This female stopped her own wedding to come to the aid of a female she didn’t even know. Azriel didn’t know what to think of that but he did know that he couldn’t let himself fall for her. He wouldn’t let himself fall for her.

——————————————————

A/N: this will be a 2 or 3 part series! I am too tired to proofread so if there were a bunch of typos, no there weren’t.

Tags:

ACOTAR general: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Requested tags based on previous excerpt posted: @erikan809 @thalia-as-blog

[thedemoninme141]

The Maiden Of Death Part 4.

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Wordcount: 8.2K-ish

Part 1 -- Part 2-- Part 3- Part 4--Part 5

Summary: Wednesday knew you were a monster of an entirely different kind. Not the kind that hides in shadows, but the kind that stood right in front of her, fully visible, fully real, and yet more dangerous than them all.

A/n: Sorry for taking so long! But I was focusing on another requested one-shot. And life was keeping me busy too I guess, but I'm back now!

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader. Warnings: Nothing really? Jealous Wednesday? Nah Just first step into emotionally whipped Wednesday!

Enid wasn’t speaking.

She should have been celebrating, should have been bouncing in her seat with a grin splitting her face, gushing about how they actually did it, how they won, how she and Yoko needed to plan some kind of victory celebration.

But she wasn't.

She wasn't cheering loudly like last year when Wednesday had been tempted to shove her overboard just for some peace.

Now, Enid was quiet. She paddled with mechanical motions. Yoko wasn’t much better. She had barely spoken since the moment you reappeared in your seat. The vampire wasn’t as easy to shake as Enid, but her usual smugness, her usual cocky remarks, had evaporated.

Wednesday didn’t feel the triumph she thought she would.

It was all because of you.

Wednesday could still hear their screams. Not from pain. Not from injury. But from something far worse. Something they had seen. Something only you had shown them. Something you had made them feel.

When they docked their boat, cheers exploded from the crowd, but Wednesday barely registered them, Enid barely moved, hesitating before finally stepping out of the boat. Yoko followed, adjusting her sunglasses, but even she looked shaken.

Wednesday turned her head slightly, watching as you stepped onto the dock, silent as always, your gaze unreadable. You didn’t react to the celebration, didn’t acknowledge the crowd pressing in around you, didn’t even flinch as students and teachers alike cheered. You weren’t even pretending to care.

Your eyes were somewhere else… Wednesday followed them.. on Bianca's team.

They had just pulled themselves out of the water, dripping, shaking.

They didn’t look angry. They didn’t even look humiliated. They looked… haunted.

One of them was still rubbing at his arms as if trying to rid himself of something that wasn’t there. Another refused to meet anyone’s gaze, her hands clenched at her sides. And Bianca— Bianca wasn’t looking at anyone but you. She had never looked this furious before. Not last year, not when she lost to Wednesday.

This was worse.

Weems was waiting in the quad when they returned, the Poe Cup gleaming in her hands. A small smile curved her lips as she looked at Enid, Yoko, and Wednesday, nodding approvingly before extending the trophy to them.

“A well-earned victory,” she said, “Congratulations to the Black Cats for their impressive performance.”

Enid finally perked up at that, if only slightly, taking the cup with a hesitant smile as the crowd cheered again, students gathering around to celebrate.

You didn’t move. You stood there, silent, your posture straight, your expression unreadable. You didn’t look at the cup. You didn’t acknowledge the victory.

Wednesday felt something stir in her chest, something sharp and unresolved. She had questions. Many questions. And she would get her answers.

She waited as the crowd pulled Enid away, the werewolf grinning as others clapped her on the back, already forgetting the unease that had gripped her just moments ago. Yoko followed, disappearing into the sea of students, leaving only you, Wednesday, and Weems standing behind.

Weems turned toward you “Miss L/N.”

You looked up at her, expression impassive.

“I’m glad to see you and Wednesday getting along.” Her tone was measured, but there was something in her gaze, something knowing.

“She was the first person I thought of when you joined us this year.”

You didn’t respond. Weems didn’t seem to expect you to instead she offered a final, “Congratulations on the win,” before stepping away, leaving the quad.

And now Wednesday stood beside you, awkward in a way she wasn’t used to. She wasn’t one for small talk, wasn’t one for idle conversation, and yet she felt something pressing against her throat, words that she wasn’t sure how to form.

You, as always, said nothing.

But before Wednesday could decide whether she was going to demand answers now or wait until she had you alone, Bianca was there.

She pushed through the remnants of the crowd, her eyes sharp, burning with frustration as she came to a stop in front of you.

“That wasn’t fair.” Her voice was low, bitter. “You used your freak powers.”

Wednesday watched, waiting for you to smirk, waiting for the usual cold amusement you seemed to take in these kinds of confrontations.

But you didn’t.

“You used yours first,” you said, voice steady, almost emotionless. “Your team’s mistake was tapping into my mind.”

Bianca’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard for half a second before her expression hardened again.

“You didn’t just block them out,” she accused. “You did something to them. What the hell did you do?”

“I let them in.” The words were slow, deliberate.

Something about the way you said it made Bianca stiffen.

Wednesday saw it—the way she had to resist the urge to step back.

You turned, walking away without another word, leaving Bianca fuming, fists clenched, shoulders tense.

As Wednesday watched you go, Bianca let out a sharp breath before glaring at her. “What the hell is she?”

Wednesday didn't answer. Because she didn’t know.

Enid was practically glowing, her energy endless, even after the race, even after everything that had happened.

Wednesday had expected her to come down from the adrenaline by now, to stop bouncing on her feet and smiling at everyone like she hadn’t just experienced something utterly terrifying on that lake. But that was Enid—she coped with fear and uncertainty by throwing herself headfirst into joy.

Wednesday didn’t share that particular trait.

She preferred to sit in the unsettling aftermath, to dissect every little moment, every look, every choice.

You always arrive in silence and leave in silence.

And for someone who preferred silence over pointless chatter, Wednesday found herself deeply irritated by that fact.

"Hey, Wens?"

Enid’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see her friend approaching, still clutching her Poe Cup victory sash like a prized possession.

"What?"

Enid hesitated, glancing around the crowd before stepping closer. "Where did Y/N go?"

"She left."

"Oh." Enid frowned, "I wanted to thank her. We never would’ve won without her."

Wednesday nodded. "Then go to her room."

Enid blinked, then grinned. "Okay, yeah, you’re right." She started to turn, then paused, shifting on her feet. "But, uh, before I do… I was thinking about going to the Jericho fair to celebrate."

Wednesday’s expression immediately soured.

"No."

Enid pouted. "Come on, Wens! It’ll be fun!"

"It will be loud. It will be filled with obnoxious people. And worst of all, it will be socializing"

"Okay, yes, but it’s a celebration," Enid pressed, her voice taking on that familiar wheedling tone. "And you need to do more things with your friends!"

Wednesday simply stared at her, unimpressed.

"Please?"

"No."

Enid groaned. And then—

She did it.

The puppy eyes.

Wednesday felt her resolve immediately waver.

It was a cheap trick. Manipulative. Undignified.

And yet… infuriatingly effective.

Before she could say anything, Enid added, "I can make Y/N join too, and you can get your chance to get to know more about her."

That got Wednesday thinking.

There were far too many unknowns when it came to you.

The questions had been stacking up, pressing down, demanding answers that you refused to give.

If there was even the slightest chance that an outing to the fair would provide her with some insight into you, then—

"Fine."

Enid’s face immediately lit up. Wednesday sighed.

She was already regretting it.

Wednesday had intended to use this time productively. The story she had been working on was unfinished, and the words should have come easily. She had spent countless hours constructing narratives, twisting plots, crafting endings that felt sharp enough to cut.

And yet, her fingers hovered over the keys, unmoving.

There was a tension in her chest—an unfamiliar, unwelcome tightness that made it impossible to concentrate.

She ignored it at first. Or at least, she tried to.

Her eyes drifted over the blank paper once more, as if the words would magically appear without her effort. The air in the room felt heavier than before. She adjusted her posture. Rolled her shoulders. Set her fingers back onto the keys with force, willing herself to push past the strange discomfort.

Still, the unease remained.

It took her all of two seconds to pinpoint the source.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, fingers curling as she stared down at the blank page in her typewriter.

Had Enid asked you yet?

And more importantly—what had you said?

No?

Or yes?

She doubted you would go willingly. You seemed the type to avoid crowds just as much as she did. But Enid was Enid.

It wasn’t that she cared. Not in the way people like Enid would assume. She simply wanted to know.

She needed to know.

Because even if you had said yes to going to the fair, Would you have given the same answer if Wednesday had been the one to ask?

It wasn’t surprising that you might say yes to Enid but would you have done the same if it had been Wednesday standing in front of you, asking for your company?

You seemed… biased on Enid’s side.

It was logical. She couldn’t blame you.

Enid had her ways of persuasion.

Her wide, pleading eyes, the way she spoke with those eyes, how she somehow made it impossible to say no without feeling as if you had kicked a puppy.

Even Wednesday had fallen victim to it.

But still.

Wednesday scowled, pressing down on the keys before she even realized she had moved, the sharp clack of metal against paper breaking the silence of the room.

She quickly glanced down at what she had written.

Nothing coherent. Just a mess of letters, fragmented thoughts that meant nothing, just—

Useless.

With an irritated exhale, she yanked the page from the typewriter and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it aside just as the door swung open.

“Hey, Wens.”

Wednesday stood immediately, her fingers twitching at her sides.

But Enid didn’t say anything.

She was already moving to her side of the room, rummaging through her drawers, gathering fresh clothes to change into.

Wednesday inhaled sharply.

She wasn’t going to ask.

She was not going to ask.

But the longer Enid moved around the room, chatting to herself about what outfit she should wear, the tighter Wednesday’s patience coiled.

Enid paused, finally glancing in her direction.

"You wanna say something, Wens?"

Wednesday stiffened.

Enid tilted her head, studying her for a moment before realization dawned on her face.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips.

"Oooooh…" Enid’s voice was a mixture of amusement and mischief. "Yeah, don’t worry. Y/N said—"

She suddenly straightened, throwing her shoulders back, putting on an exaggeratedly serious expression.

"‘I have nothing better to do… for now.’"

The imitation was terrible.

Wednesday rolled her eyes and turned back toward her typewriter.

"Good."

"Well, if you wanna get to know her more, my advice from before still stands!" Enid said gathering her clothes.

Wednesday frowned. "Your advice was idiotic."

Enid rolled her eyes. "Hey! It wasn’t idiotic."

Wednesday’s gaze darkened slightly. "That was ridiculous then, and it’s ridiculous now."

Enid shrugged. "I don’t know… it worked for the Poe Cup, didn’t it? We got to know about her "powers" or whatever she did in the race, because I asked her to join! If you wanna know more about her, court her!"

Wednesday’s frown deepened.

Because Enid wasn’t entirely wrong. Spending time with you was leading to finding out more about you... leading to some... adventures in this boring year.

The thought of courting someone had never crossed her mind. The idea of actively pursuing someone, of learning about them for the sake of interest rather than necessity…

It was foreign. Unfamiliar.

And yet—

She found herself considering it.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough for Enid to smirk again and say, “See? You’re thinking about it.”

Wednesday turned sharply. Enid yelped before running towards the bathroom.

And now she stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve, the fabric crisp against her fingers. It was the same as always—pristine, black, unimposing. There was no reason to hesitate. No reason to stand here longer than necessary.

And yet—

She was standing in front of the mirror longer than she ever had, staring at her reflection as if it would offer her some kind of clarity.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake the discomfort.

It was ridiculous.

She didn’t feel discomfort.

This was your fault.

Your presence had already started worming its way into her routine, invading her thoughts like an unrelenting parasite. And worst of all, she hadn’t even had the chance to properly analyze you yet. Not enough data. Not enough information.

She had no reason to be thinking about you.

And yet—

“I don’t think you need to worry too much about how you look,” Enid's voice broke her reverie “Y/N probably won’t even notice your clothing.”

Wednesday’s glare was immediate.

Enid just giggled. “Kidding! I’m sure she’ll notice… eventually.... I guess?”

Wednesday tried to ignore her.

Tried to push away the absurd thoughts creeping into her mind.

Like Enid’s ridiculous tip about courting you.

The fact that it was even lingering in her thoughts was a sign of madness.

She was not courting you.

“Oh, by the way,” she chirped, as if she hadn’t been the most aggravating person in existence just a moment ago. “I kind of invited competition too.”

Wednesday frowned. She turned slightly, fixing Enid with a sharp gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you know, I thought the more the merrier.”

“Why would Bianca join us after her humiliating loss?”

Enid blinked, then giggled, shaking her head. “No, not Bianca! I was talking about Xavier.”

That gave Wednesday pause.

Her frown shifted, brow furrowing in confusion. “Why would that buffoon be my competition?”

Enid grinned, as if she had been waiting for that exact response.

“Because, Wens,” she said, voice dripping with amusement, “Xavier is so obviously hard crushing on Y/N.”

Wednesday’s entire body stilled.

That was— Ridiculous. Completely absurd.

And yet.

The idea of Xavier looking at you like that, speaking to you in that way, trying to win your attention—

Wednesday’s grip on her sleeve tightened.

Pathetic.

That fool was too weak to be her competition.

He had no chance.

You would never—

No.

It didn’t matter. Xavier was irrelevant. You wouldn’t look at him like that.

…Would you?

Wednesday’s fingers curled into fists.

No. Of course not.

But why did she care?

She didn’t.

Obviously.

Wednesday turned away, heading straight for the door. “I’m leaving.”

Enid scrambled to grab her things before following after her. “Don’t worry, Wens,” she teased. “If you need help, I can totally be your or wingwoman.”

Wednesday sighed, This was going to be a long night.

As they walked Enid was too occupied with her phone to contribute any conversation—fortunately. The werewolf was typing at a near-blinding speed, fingers moving like she was trying to hack into a government database.

"Are you planning to break the sound barrier?" Wednesday muttered.

Enid barely looked up. "Huh? Oh—just confirming our ride situation. Ajax says he's already got the car ready."

"Hmph."

Not that Wednesday particularly cared about the ride itself.

She was already regretting this outing.

And yet.

Her dark gaze shifted ahead, and there you were.

Leaning against the iron gate, arms crossed, looking as if you were already regretting every decision that had led you to this moment.

Wednesday’s fingers twitched at her sides.

Somehow, you looked even more corpse-like than Wednesday herself.

Expression flat, eyes sharp but devoid of any real interest. Already bored. Already annoyed.

Because beside you—

Xavier.

Still there.

Still talking.

Still failing to take the obvious hint that you wanted nothing to do with him.

You barely spared him a glance.

Wednesday smirked.

She admired your ability to drain the joy out of someone’s social battery with nothing but silence.

“Yoko! Ajax!” Enid chirped, finally looking up from her phone as they approached the small group.

Ajax grinned. “We’re all set. Car’s ready to go.”

Wednesday paid little attention to him.

Even as the group started moving, her eyes kept drifting in your direction.

It was subtle.

Unintentional.

She told herself it was just…observation.

Nothing more.

And yet.

She noticed everything.

The way your shoulders remained tense.

The way your fingers twitched slightly every time Xavier spoke.

The way your boots barely made a sound against the pavement.

And then, the way you looked at Ajax’s car.

Disgust.

Absolute, unfiltered disgust.

Wednesday almost smirked again.

“How are we supposed to fit in that?” you deadpanned.

Ajax chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m taking Xavier up front with me, away from you.”

“Hey!” Xavier protested.

Enid giggled. “Half the fun of going out is squeezing into a car.”

“I would rather walk.” you said.

Before you could escape, she grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the car with surprising strength.

“Nope! Not happening. Also, Wednesday is tiny, so she and I can manage,” Enid said with a teasing grin.

Wednesday shot her a glare.

One by one, everyone piled in.

Yoko took the window seat first.

Then Enid.

Then you.

And finally—

Wednesday.

She slid in last, the door clicking shut beside her, and immediately, she stilled.

She was close.

Too close.

Her shoulder barely brushed against yours, and yet she could feel it.

The heat of your presence.

The faintest shift of your breathing.

She could smell your perfume.

Faint, barely noticeable.

And yet.

Something sharp, dark, something that only meant... you.

This was making her feel something, Not fear. Not apprehension.

Something else. Something unknown. Something she didn’t particularly like. It was far too distracting.

Wednesday inhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus.

You, on the other hand, looked thoroughly unbothered.

Your expression was unreadable.

Deadly.

And yet—

Enid giggled.

“Wow. This is cozy,” she teased, wiggling in her seat.

Wednesday clenched her jaw.

This was going to be an excruciating ride.

And it was, uncomfortably so.

Not that Wednesday was unaccustomed to discomfort—she thrived in it, bathed in it, felt most at home wrapped in the unpleasantness of the world. But this—this was different.

The car jostled slightly over a bump in the road, forcing your shoulder to brush against hers. The contact was brief, fleeting, but Wednesday still caught the way your muscles tensed—just as hers did.

Her fingers curled tighter around her arms.

She would not acknowledge it.

Instead, she stole a glance at you.

And found—

The abyss.

Dark eyes, empty and endless

If Wednesday didn’t know better, she would think you were a statue—perfectly still, breathing so subtly it was barely noticeable, existing in the space beside her like a shadow.

And yet, Wednesday’s gaze lingered.

She told herself it was out of caution. Out of wariness.

You were unpredictable.

A threat.

She was merely keeping an eye on you.

That was all.

Another glance.

The abyss.

Another glance.

The abyss

Another glance.

The abyss looked back.

You turned your head slightly, meeting her gaze, as expressionless as ever.

Wednesday blinked.

She froze, her breath hitched, just for a second, before she shifted her eyes forward.

The car felt impossibly small.

Enid’s voice filled the air, chattering away about carnival snacks and Ferris wheels and some stupid horror house she wanted to try.

Wednesday barely processed any of it.

She exhaled slowly, steadying her heartbeat, hating the way it had betrayed her so easily.

She told herself she would not look at you again.

She lasted all of two minutes.

By the time they finally pulled into the fairgrounds, Wednesday was the first to move, her hand already on the door handle before Ajax had even fully parked.

She stepped out and focused on the ugly lights of the fair. Glad to get the distance from you, only for her eyes to find you again.

You were already standing outside the car, arms crossed, looking at the fair with an expression bordering on distaste.

Xavier was beside you again, trying to get your attention.

Enid tugged on Ajax’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s get tickets.”

Ajax nodded, already digging into his pockets for cash. “Alright, you guys wait here.”

As they left, the rest of the group lingered near the entrance.

Xavier turned to you. “Have you ever tried carnival games?”

You didn’t answer.

Xavier, undeterred, chuckled. “Man, you really are a tough crowd.”

Silence.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “C’mon, you’ve got to at least like something here. The rides? The food?”

Wednesday watched. Her grip on her own wrist tightened.

You weren’t even sparing him a glance.

Good.

Xavier rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Uh—what about—”

“Stop talking.”

Wednesday spoke before she even realized it.

Xavier turned toward her, blinking. “What?”

“I said stop talking.” Wednesday’s tone was sharp, cutting. “Unless you want to almost lose your head again.”

Xavier frowned. “Why do you care?”

Wednesday did not have an answer for that.

But she felt your gaze on her.

She turned her head just slightly.

You were looking at her now, expression as unreadable as ever.

But your eyes—

Questions.

Questions you didn’t ask.

A small mercy.

“Alright, got ‘em!” Enid’s voice cut through the air, breaking the tension.

Wednesday exhaled quietly.

She looked forward.

You walked ahead, your gaze already fixed on the entrance, already moving as if this was nothing, as if Wednesday’s outburst, meant nothing.

And maybe it didn’t.

But Wednesday’s fingers curled behind her back.

And that damn necessity in her chest was still beating.

Enid was loving every second of it. “Oh my gosh, where do we even start?!” she squealed, practically vibrating as she tugged on Ajax’s arm. “The Ferris wheel? The haunted house? No, wait—the food! Ooooh, but I really wanna play some games first!”

“Enid,” Yoko drawled, adjusting her sunglasses despite the fact that it was nighttime, “you sound like a hyperactive golden retriever.”

Enid huffed. “And you sound like an overgrown housecat, but I don’t judge. Oooh, we have to play games first!” Enid declared, grabbing Yoko’s arm. “I need to win something cute!”

“You never win anything,” Yoko deadpanned.

Enid pouted. “That is so not true.”

“It is though,” Ajax added.

“Shhh! This time will be different!” Enid huffed before her eyes landed on you. “Come on, Y/N, play something with me.”

You barely even looked at her before replying, tone flat, “I would rather choke on razor blades than play any more of your stupid games. One Poe Cup was enough.”

Enid groaned. “Ugh, you and Wednesday are such killjoys."

Xavier chuckled. “Speaking of the Poe Cup,” he said, crossing his arms, “I heard you took down Bianca’s boat after she took down mine. Was that avenging me?"

You finally turned to him—just enough to shoot him a look so cold it could freeze hell itself. “More like avenging my chance to take you down myself,” you deadpanned.

“Chill… I’m down, though,” Xavier replied with an easy grin. Ajax smacked his arm. “Dude. Stop talking before you get killed."

Wednesday noticed the way your eyes flickered over the carnival, taking in every detail with quiet calculation. Always on guard, yet somehow effortlessly graceful. She understood that feeling well.

“Come on, come on, I see one I like!” Enid suddenly shouted, grabbing Yoko and dragging her toward a row of booths.

The group followed, stopping at a shooting game where a variety of stuffed animals hung in display.

Enid’s eyes locked onto one—a large, floppy-eared werewolf plush with big cartoonish eyes. She gasped. “Oh my God. That’s it. That’s my child. I must have it.”

“You’re gonna miss all your shots again,” Yoko muttered.

“I will not!”

Enid handed over her ticket and grabbed the plastic rifle. She lined up her shot, squinted—then fired.

And missed.

“…I got this,” she mumbled, reloading.

Another shot. Another miss. And another. And another.

By the time she was on her last attempt, Ajax was actively wincing every time she pulled the trigger.

She let out a strangled noise of frustration, shoving the rifle back at the booth attendant. “This game is rigged.”

“Sure,” Yoko muttered.

Enid turned on her heel, fixing Wednesday with a hopeful stare. “Wends, help me.”

Wednesday scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“No.”

Enid let out a whimper, looking positively devastated. “Fine. Y/N, you probably can aim well too. Help me?”

Your expression didn’t change. You didn’t even bother answering. You simply turned away and walked off without looking back.

Enid let out an exaggerated gasp. "Traitors, both of you."

Ajax patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll buy you one like that.”

Enid sighed dramatically. “But I want that ‘that.’”

Wednesday had heard enough. Without another word, she turned and started walking. Not toward the next game. Not toward the food stands. But toward you.

Wednesday walked. And you walked ahead of her. There was no reason for it. No logic behind her steps, no thought-out conclusion as to why she was trailing behind you like some lost ghost. But she did.

You didn’t seem to have a destination in mind. Just walking, silent, the neon lights of the fair fading behind you, the noise dimming with each step.

She was closing the distance, slowly, when you suddenly stopped. The abruptness nearly made her halt in an uncharacteristically awkward manner, but she steadied herself before the misstep could happen.

Then you turned, looking at her with unreadable eyes.

“Why are you following me?” Your voice was flat, just as always. A simple question, but one that made something unpleasant stir in Wednesday’s chest.

Her arms folded neatly behind her back. "I am simply walking away from the hyperactive group of puppies and you just happen to be doing the same."

Your stare was unreadable, searching. Then you exhaled, an almost-scoff, before turning away again, walking to the railing by the pond. Wednesday hesitated. Then she followed, slower this time, stopping beside you at the railing.

"What did you do?"

Your head tilted slightly, but your eyes did not leave the water.

"What did I do?" you echoed.

"To Bianca's team. In the Poe Cup," she clarified. "Why were they clawing at their own skin?"

A pause. Then, calmly—

“They were burning.”

Wednesday's brows furrowed. “There was no fire.”

You said nothing.

Wednesday turned, fully facing you now. "Explain."

Nothing.

A flicker of irritation sparked in her chest. "Did you use an ability?" she pressed. "A trick? A hallucination?"

You continued staring at the water, impassive, detached in a way that grated against Wednesday's patience. The need for answers curled inside her, twisting, gnawing.

Her fingers twitched. "Tell me."

You blinked. Slowly. Then—

"No."

Wednesday’s jaw tensed.

She hated this.

She hated not knowing. Hated the way you spoke in fragments, revealing nothing while saying just enough to keep her hooked. It was infuriating.

You weren’t normal. She had known that from the first moment she crossed blades with you. But this… this was something different.

Something deeper.

Something dangerous.

And so she asked—

The question she hadn’t meant to ask.

The question that had been gnawing at her, tightening like a noose around her thoughts.

“Whose side are you on?”

She didn’t even know what she meant by them. Didn’t even know what she was asking. But she knew—she knew—that there was a right answer and a wrong one.

You finally looked at her again, but this time, there was something different in your eyes. Something unsettling.

“Death’s.”

"There you guys are!" Enid beamed, holding up the plush. "Okay, so it’s not the exact one I wanted, but close enough! Anyway, come on, I already got tickets for the Ferris wheel, so you can’t say no."

You barely reacted. Just a slow, almost exhausted roll of your eyes before you pushed off the railing, walking past her toward the others.

Enid grinned after you. Then she turned to Wednesday.

And the grin got worse.

"So," she sing-songed, shifting on her heels, "did she say, ‘Yes, I would love to go on a brooding date with you?’"

Wednesday stared at Enid, at her sickeningly pleased expression, and thought— If she kills her now and throws her body into the pond, will anyone notice?

Enid had been whispering with Ajax for the last two minutes, occasionally glancing back at her with an expression that made Wednesday want to commit violence. The type of expression that meant Enid was up to something. And sure enough, the second they reached the loading zone, Enid gasped dramatically, clutching her pockets.

"Oh no!" she said, much too loudly. "Ajax, I think I dropped my phone!"

Ajax blinked. "Uh, I don’t think—"

"Go help me look for it!" Enid cut him off, gripping his arm with enough force to make him stumble.

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but one glare from Enid shut him up.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes.

Before Wednesday could demand what she was planning, she suddenly pushed Wednesday.

"Oops," Enid chirped as she shoved Wednesday forward—right into the open Ferris wheel compartment.

Wednesday barely caught herself, boots skidding slightly against the metal floor. The door slammed shut behind her with a sharp click.

And then she realized—

You were sitting inside.

You blinked at her. Slowly.

Enid grinned through the small window, wiggling her fingers. "Enjoy!" she called before sprinting off to another compartment with Ajax.

Wednesday’s fingers curled into a fist.

That insufferable little—

She took a slow breath, forcing her expression into something colder, more composed, as she turned to you.

You were still staring at her, expression unreadable.

Then, with a sigh, you leaned back against the seat and turned your gaze outward, looking at the fairgrounds below.

The Ferris wheel jerked slightly as it began to move.

Wednesday hesitated before sitting opposite you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The Ferris wheel carried you higher, lifting the compartment above the flashing lights and noise, where the air was quieter, thinner.

Wednesday's eyes drifted to you.

You were always quiet. That was nothing new. The way you looked out at the night—the way your expression barely shifted, the way your blue eyes reflected nothing but the dim glow of distant carnival lights—it was something else entirely.

But your eyes—your eyes were strange things. Sometimes, when she looked at them long enough, she could catch flickers of emotion beneath all that emptiness.

Annoyance. At her constant questioning. At Enid’s relentless attempts to befriend you.

But sometimes, just sometimes—

Sadness.

A flicker. A ghost of something before it vanished again, replaced by the abyss you so often carried.

Wednesday felt something press against her ribs, unfamiliar and uninvited.

She ignored it.

Instead, she broke the silence.

"Death?" Her voice was quieter than usual, measured. "What had you meant by that?"

And just as she expected, there was no answer. You wouldn't open up to her. She thought when she once opened up.

About the day she told Enid about Nero.

The day she admitted that losing him hurt. That she once mourned something. That she felt something.

That she could feel.

Could you?

Could you ever speak of something so personal the way she had? Could you ever sit beside her and share something real, unfiltered, the way she once had with Enid?

Could you open up to her like that?

Would you?

The thought made something uncomfortable settle in her chest.

She pressed it down.

Instead, she asked, "Have you ever cried?"

You frowned, finally looking at her again. "What kind of question is that?"

"A straight one," she said, meeting your gaze evenly.

"I don't remember how to cry."

Wednesday blinked.

Your voice wasn’t heavy with sorrow. It wasn’t anything. Just empty. Stating a fact. The words settled inside her, unsettling in a way she couldn't define.

She almost asked—almost pressed further—but the wheel shifted slightly, and her mind, to her horror, slipped back to something else.

Enid’s words.

Try courting her.

Wednesday’s entire body tensed at the thought.

Why had that even surfaced in her mind? It was ridiculous. She had no interest in such trivial matters, no need for sentimental nonsense.

And yet—

The idea of knowing more about you. The idea of unraveling you in a way no one else could. The thought of being the one to break past whatever walls you had built...

She would just ask something simple. Something natural.

Nothing strange about it.

Just a question.

Her mouth opened.

"If I were to—"

Then she stopped.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at her, waiting.

Wednesday’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

Abort.

She shifted, straightening her spine. "Forget it."

You stared at her.

But you didn’t press.

For some reason, Wednesday wasn’t sure why she wasn’t relieved.

As soon as the Ferris wheel compartment touched the ground and the door swung open, you stepped out without a word as if.. distancing yourself from Wednesday...

A familiar irritation stirred in Wednesday’s chest, but she swallowed it down before she could make sense of it.

“Did you ask her?”

Wednesday barely had a second to react before Enid was beside her, practically bouncing in excitement.

Wednesday shot her a deadpan look. “No.”

Enid groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Ugh! Why not? Do you know how hard I worked to set that up?”

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “You shoved me into a compartment with her and ran away.”

“Exactly! And you wasted the opportunity.”

“There was no opportunity to waste,” Wednesday said flatly, “I fail to see why you persist with this nonsense.”

Enid gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Nonsense?! Wednesday Addams! This is literally the best ship I’ve ever sailed, and you’re just letting it sink.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw. “I will personally ensure that you do not make it back to shore.”

“Ooooh, I know! What if you ask her to the Raven?”

Wednesday nearly missed a step.

Her eyes snapped to Enid, but her best friend was simply grinning, her hands clasped together like she had just solved some grand mystery.

The Raven.

The words echoed in Wednesday’s mind, conjuring unwanted memories.

Last year.

Tyler.

His lies.

Wednesday had been blind. Foolish. She had let herself be deceived, let herself ignore the signs, the warnings, the pieces that never quite fit.

She had danced with a monster.

Now—

She exhaled slowly, pushing away the weight in her chest.

Now, there was you.

And the difference—

The difference was that you were a monster of an entirely different kind.

Not the kind that lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike.

But the kind that stood right in front of her, fully visible, fully real, and yet more unreadable than anything she had ever faced before.

She had fought off murderers, unmasked killers, faced death itself—

But there was no greater danger than the thing that pulls you in the most.

No.

You did not pull her in.

That would be absurd.

Wouldn’t it?

“Wednesday.”

Enid’s voice snapped her back to reality.

“What?”

“I asked if you’re gonna do it.”

Wednesday turned away, the words stiff on her tongue. “No.”

Enid groaned again, dramatically stomping her foot. “Why are you like this?”

Wednesday ignored her.

Instead, she focused on the group ahead, where Ajax, Xavier, and Yoko were already making their way toward the food stalls.

“Come on, let’s get food,” Enid huffed, grabbing Wednesday’s sleeve and dragging her along. “You can mope about your feelings later.”

“I do not mope.”

Enid snickered. “Sure, sure. And I don’t own way too many sweaters.”

“Alright, my treat!” Enid declared, clapping her hands together.

Yoko perked up instantly. “Sweet! I was totally gonna pretend I forgot my wallet.”

Enid rolled her eyes, nudging her aside as she stepped up to order.

And when she returned—

“Come on, I got you something too.”

You blinked at Enid. Then at the food she was holding out.

You didn’t reach for it immediately.

Your eyes flickered, just for a second.

A flicker of something Wednesday had seen before.

That same ghost of sadness.

But before Wednesday could analyze it further, it was gone, replaced once again by that impenetrable void.

The group settled at a nearby table, the conversation naturally spiraling into idle chatter as they ate.

“Okay, but why are carnival portions so tiny?” Ajax grumbled, eyeing his food with betrayal.

“You literally got two servings,” Yoko pointed out.

“Yeah, but I could eat three.”

“That’s your fault.”

Across the table, Enid nudged you lightly. “Hey, at least tell me I made a good choice.”

You looked at the food in your hands, then at her. “I don’t care.”

Enid pouted. “Rude.”

Xavier chuckled. “That’s just her way of saying ‘thank you.’”

Your gaze slowly slid toward him. Xavier coughed. “Or not.”

Ajax chuckled, plopping down onto a nearby bench with his own food. “I don’t know what you’re so excited about, Enid.”

“She’s eating! That’s a win!”

Xavier leaned back against the table, smirking. “You act like she’s a stray cat that just let you pet her for the first time.”

Enid gasped. “Oh my god. She totally is.”

“I will gut you all,” you said, voice completely monotone.

Wednesday smirked slightly. That, at least, was amusing.

Conversations carried on around her, the group falling into easy chatter about classes, Nevermore drama, and general nonsense.

But Wednesday—

Wednesday wasn’t listening.

Her thoughts were still elsewhere.

Still trapped in the earlier suggestion.

The Raven.

Could she ask you?

Should she ask you?

Would you even say yes?

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly at the uncertainty.

It was infuriating.

She would not let this consume her thoughts.

And yet—

She knew she was already losing that battle.

The boys were the first to break off, Ajax clapping Xavier on the back as they headed toward their respective dorms.

“Later, guys,” Ajax called.

“Duh.” Enid grinned

Ajax chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets before strolling off. Xavier gave the group one last nod before following, disappearing down the path toward his hall.

That left just the girls.

Enid and Yoko fell into step behind you and Wednesday as they all walked toward Ophelia Hall. Wednesday had initially taken her usual place at Enid’s side, but somehow, without realizing it, she had ended up beside you. The realization struck her like a blade slipping between her ribs.

She did not correct it.

She did not pull back, did not slow her pace to fall into step with Enid instead.

From behind, she could feel Enid’s grin boring into the back of her skull.

She did not acknowledge it.

But she could imagine it perfectly—the way Enid was probably exchanging looks with Yoko, the silent but obnoxiously obvious glee in her expression.

Wednesday resisted the urge to sigh.

Instead, she glanced at you.

Your expression was the same as always—cool, unreadable. But your posture was slightly different now, your shoulders less rigid than before, your steps more relaxed.

Wednesday was unsure what to make of that.

But there was something else clawing at the back of her mind.

That dream.

No.

Not a dream.

A vision.

“I know what I have to do now.”

She could feel it in her bones, the same way she had felt all her other visions creeping at the edges of her consciousness.

It had been real.

It had been real, and it meant something.

You stopped at your door, fingers brushing the handle before finally opening it. But before stepping inside, you paused—just for a fraction of a second—turning slightly to glance at them.

A glance.

Nothing more.

Then the door shut behind you.

Enid groaned, slumping dramatically. “Ughhh. She has her own single room? She’s so lucky! No offense, Wednesday.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “Your existence is offensive enough.”

Enid simply grinned. “Aw, you do care.”

Yoko snorted, stretching lazily. “Welp, I’m heading in. Night, girls.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She turned on her heel, heading toward their dorm, Enid falling into step behind her.

The moment they entered, Enid flopped onto her bed with an exaggerated sigh. “That was fun. We should do it more often.”

Wednesday hummed in vague agreement.

She hardly cared about the carnival itself. But there was something to be gained from the night.

Information.

Observations.

Patterns.

And most importantly—

You.

She needed more information.

Perhaps she would start with Weems.

As much as she detested the thought of seeking help from the headmistress, Weems would likely have records. Files. Anything that could give her insight.

If there was something to know about you—she would find it.

She would figure you out.

And when Wednesday laid down on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts tangled in a web of calculations and uncertainties, sleep was taking her. She narrowed her eyes, as if glaring at the darkness itself might reveal answers.

And they did.

Her eyes snapped open.

But she was not in her bed.

She was lying on cold, damp grass.

A dream.

No. A vision.

She knew the difference by now.

Wednesday pushed herself up. A strange sensation prickled at the back of her neck, the kind that sent warning bells ringing in her mind.

She was not alone.

She turned, and there she was.

Standing just a few feet away, half illuminated by some unseen light.

“Goody?”

“Wednesday.”

Goody’s voice was calm, but there was something different this time.

“You said I would never see you again,” Wednesday stated.

Goody’s expression darkened. “You have no idea what I did to come back to warn you of what I found in the afterlife. The rules I broke. The forces I angered.”

Wednesday felt the ground beneath her tremble.

Goody did not flinch.

“The maiden of death will bring this world’s end.”

Fire erupted in every direction, wild and consuming, turning the darkness into a blazing inferno. The heat was immediate, suffocating. Flames licked at the air, curling and twisting, reaching, hungering.

Wednesday turned sharply toward her, eyes narrowing. “Who?”

But Goody did not answer. She only watched as the fire reached them.

Wednesday could not breathe. The flames roared, consuming everything, consuming her— She jolted awake.

Wednesday clenched her fists.

Something was coming.

And she had the sickening suspicion that she already knew who the maiden of death was.

The sun had barely risen, but she was already fully awake, her mind a razor-sharp blade slicing through the haze of uncertainty.

When she reached Principal Weems’ office, she didn’t bother knocking. With a firm push, she stepped inside.

Weems barely lifted her gaze from the paperwork before her. A sigh left her lips before she spoke.

“Miss Addams,” she greeted, setting her pen down carefully. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this very early morning intrusion?”

Wednesday didn’t waste time. “I need information.”

Weems arched an eyebrow. “Information?”

“On a student.”

That made Weems pause.

Wednesday caught the subtle way the older woman’s posture stiffened, her expression carefully neutral. A reaction was expected, but this was… interesting.

Weems leaned back slightly. “And which student, pray tell, has caught your interest?”

Wednesday’s voice remained even. “Y/N L/N.”

This time, there was no mistaking the reaction.

It lasted no more than a second, but Wednesday saw it. The flicker of hesitation in her eyes, the way her fingers flexed minutely before clasping together on the desk.

It was confirmation enough.

“That type of information is highly confidential,” Weems said at last, her tone measured. “Even for you.”

Wednesday didn’t blink. “I assumed as much.”

“Then you understand that I cannot grant your request.”

Wednesday stepped closer. “Cannot or will not?”

Weems met her gaze steadily. “Both.”

A lesser person might have faltered under Wednesday’s unyielding stare, but Weems had dealt with her long enough to know how to hold her ground.

Wednesday didn’t relent. “Why?”

“There are rules in place to protect student privacy,” Weems replied smoothly. “That is not something I can simply overlook, even for you, Wednesday.”

Wednesday remained still, studying the principal’s face for any hint of weakness. “You know something about her.”

Weems sighed. “Miss Addams—”

“You reacted when I said her name. You know something,” Wednesday pressed. “Something you don’t want me to find out.”

Weems’ lips pressed into a thin line. “This conversation is over.”

Wednesday didn’t move.

Principal Weems had all but confirmed that you were far from just another student. Wednesday just turned sharply on her heel and strode toward the door without another word.

As she stepped into the hallway, she barely needed to glance down before seeing it.

A thin folder.

Held up by a familiar disembodied hand.

“Efficient as always,” she murmured, reaching down to take the folder.

Thing wiggled his fingers smugly.

Now, she would have her answers...

The file was thin.

Unreasonably so.

Wednesday sat at her desk, fingers tightening slightly around the folder as she flipped through the pages once more.

But no matter how many times she read them, the conclusion remained the same.

There was nothing.

Nothing beyond the barest essentials—your name, your outcast abilities which she had already witnessed. There were no details about your past, no disciplinary records, no personal history. No explanation for why you had been sent to Nevermore.

It was practically blank.

That was impossible.

Every student at Nevermore had a file containing at least a fragment of their past, a glimpse into their lives before arriving at the academy. But yours? Yours was empty.

Fabricated? Or erased?

This wasn’t what she had expected.

She had thought she would uncover something, evidence that you were dangerous, a clue about what you were hiding, something that would explain why you unsettled her so much.

Instead, she had more questions than before.

The warning still echoed in her mind.

The maiden of death will bring this world’s end.

And if Goody had gone through the effort of returning from the afterlife—something she had explicitly said she would never do—then the danger must be worse than Wednesday can ever imagine.

And now Wednesday was certain—there was no way to uncover the truth about you without being close to you.

Try courting her.

Enid’s voice echoed in her mind, as exasperated and teasing as it had been when she first suggested it.

And yet, here she was, sitting at her desk before sunrise, actually considering it.

No. Not considering. Planning.

The realization sent a sharp twist through her stomach, something foreign and entirely unwelcome.

Wednesday Addams did not court people.

The very idea was absurd.

And yet, it seemed the only viable course of action.

She needed to know more about you.

She needed to understand what Goody had meant.

She needed to solve you.

The word courtship made her grimace, but she could not deny that a more direct approach was required.

She clenched her fists on the desk.

A loud, groggy grunt cut through her thoughts.

“Morning,” Enid mumbled, voice thick with sleep. She cracked one eye open, barely registering Wednesday’s presence at her desk before shutting it again. “Ugh… isn't it illegal to be up this early?”

Wednesday remained silent.

Enid, still half-asleep, didn’t seem to mind the lack of response. She simply groaned again and curled back into her pillow, muttering something unintelligible.

Wednesday exhaled slowly.

She had faced death, deception, and monsters lurking in the shadows. And yet, the thought of this made her feel like she was walking into something far more dangerous.

She sighed.

There was no point in delaying it any longer.

“…Enid.”

Enid made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “Mmhhwhat?”

Wednesday hesitated.

The words felt wrong in her mouth, like an unfamiliar language she had never spoken before.

But she forced them out.

“…How does one court Y/N?”

There was a long, long silence.

Then—

“I SUMMON ONE MILLION OREOS!”

Wednesday blinked. “…What?”

Enid shot upright so fast she nearly fell out of bed, eyes wide and wild with disbelief.

“I was checking if I was dreaming or not,” Enid explained rapidly. “Wait a minute—” She gasped dramatically. “WAIT A MINUTE—”

Wednesday braced herself.

“YOU WANT TO COURT Y/N?!”

Wednesday clenched her jaw. “Keep your voice down.”

“Oh my GOD.” Enid looked like she was about to combust. “Oh my GOD. Oh my—”

“Enid.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. AM I STILL DREAMING?”

“Enid.”

“You—Wednesday Addams—want to—”

“Enid.”

“Court Y/N?”

Wednesday regretted this already.

[End note: I am loving writing Enid, this fic is mainly a Wednesday ship but it would definitely have Enid-friendship too! Comment on term's of 1-10, how down bad Wednesday is gonna be?]

Part 5

taglist: @rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr @casbrawel @jinxslapdog @just-zy @gray-cheese @hellenheaven @cheerlanader@pikachooo3 @jennaswifey @thyhooligans @caffeine-pup @gayerthanmylittleponys

[irmawrites]

Sleeping with the enemy | One-Shot

Summary: your father, Gwayne Hightower, had always told you to beware of Davos Blackwood, son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters. But when you meet him at a party years after graduating college, you can't help but think he's not so bad after all.

Rating: Explicit [18+], MDNI.

Pairing: modern!Davos Blackwood x Hightower!Reader (appearance isn’t specified, everyone is 18+ in this)

TW: smut with a tiny bit of plot, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, praising kink, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, afab reader, not proofread.

Words count: 4393

Author’s note: Hi, everyone! This is my first time posting here, and I have to admit I'm a bit intimidated ahaha like a lot of people, I fell in love with Davos Blackwood's in episode three and ABSOLUTELY had to write this idea that's been on my mind for a while now.

I should probably mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my grammar mistakes!

Davos Blackwood had a bad reputation in your neighborhood, that much was true.

The rumors about him had started when you were still in college, something about red liquid smeared on the mirror in the boys' bathroom. A silly prank involving fake blood and strange theatrics to scare off a younger classmate that had perhaps gone too far. It was your own cousin Aemond who had found the fake crime scene just after the culprit had left, still licking his red-stained fingers. It caused quite a stir at the time, and he hadn't been seen on campus for at least two weeks. It may have been fake blood or just a tasteless joke, it was still inevitable that action would have to be taken.

It was Aeron Bracken in particular who had helped make these bizarre stories popular. He told anyone who would listen that Davos Blackwood was a deranged, violent madman. It was no secret that the two young men didn't get along. But no one expected things to get as bad as they did. There had been rumors in the hallways and whispers in the cafeteria, but that wasn't all. His car had been vandalized and marked with insults on several occasions. Even Gwayne Hightower, your father, had warned you.

A real witch hunt.

As far as you knew, however, the main target had remained unaffected by the situation, even toying with those who provoked him. In a way, he almost seemed to enjoy the wild, mysterious aura that all this fuss gave him.

You, for one, had never really believed it. After all, he didn't look like a bad guy, with his big, green eyes and permanently disheveled black hair. He seemed a little strange to you, a little off, but not enough to be considered a clear danger. But your opinion didn't matter much.

Nothing had ever destined the two of you to spend time together. His parents' company only did business with Rhaenyra's, refusing any ties and especially any agreements with the Hightowers. His father seemed to harbor a fierce hatred and boundless distrust of your family, apparently fearing that Otto's overweening ambition would lead him to overturn the order of succession established by Viserys himself and install his own grandson as sole ruler of the company.

And in your world, your parents had a bit more say in who you dated than they did for other people. You couldn't just go out with a guy because he seemed interesting, especially if he was the son of one of your grandfather's most ardent haters.

So you'd never spoken to each other in college, let alone at the lavish charity galas your family hosted.

Never, until that day.

"You like Iron Maiden?" a hoarse, unfamiliar voice said from behind you as you wrung the water out of your hair, "or is that your boyfriend's shirt?". The sun was high in the sky and you could feel the heat of its rays burning your exposed neck. The clear waters of the Targaryen family pool sparkled, and the garden echoed with the bursts of voices of those Aegon had invited to what should have been a casual gathering of the younger generation with ties to the Targaryen business.

You didn't think he'd invite Davos Blackwood, though.

"It's mine," you replied, giving the young man a mischievous smile, your fingers playing absentmindedly with the string that held the bottom of your swimsuit to your hip, "and yeah, it's one of my favorite bands actually." He seemed to take a moment to assess the situation, his eyes roaming up and down your body, an unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Never pegged you as a little rebel," he crossed his arms over his chest before continuing, "more of a model daughter." You knew he was toying with you, trying to tease you, but you were more than happy to play along.

Besides, you understood where the thought came from, you who were usually more used to short skirts and high heels than band shirts.

Mentally, you thanked Aegon for thinking of him. "Be careful, Blackwood," your voice sounded like a playful threat, "you might be surprised."

You were about to leave to return to the deck chairs, but it seemed that Davos wasn't quite finished with the conversation. "Wait," he ordered, taking your wrist between his broad fingers. Mechanically, you glanced around to make sure no one was watching. After all, the last thing you wanted was for someone to spy on your conversation with someone who still belonged to your grandfather's enemy side. "What is it?" it was your turn to cross your arms over your chest, your eyebrows furrowing as you waited for some kind of justification from him. It was clear he had something on his mind, but you just couldn't figure out what. "Do you want to come over to my place sometime?" he finally said, and you felt your breath catch somewhere between your throat and your lungs. "Why?" the question crossed your lips before you could even think about it.

You didn't know each other, had never spoken before, not to mention the fact that your families didn't approve of each other. You were tempted to agree, of course, because whether you liked it or not, you felt this kind of almost magnetic attraction pulling you together.

You'd have liked to think it was fate, but you knew it was just your love of danger and the forbidden.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. "You seem like a pretty nice girl, and we obviously have the same taste in music," he replied, finally loosening his grip on your wrist, "we could watch a movie, get to know each other, something like that." The offer was tempting, the prospect of spending a little more time with him appealing, but even though you desperately wanted to say yes, you knew you couldn't. You had to be reasonable and listen to that little voice in your head that told you it all sounded like a terrible idea. But he seemed to sense your reluctance because he quickly added, "Don't worry, no one will know."

***

Davos’ room wasn't exactly what you'd call tidy. You noticed a half-full ashtray on the windowsill and a few empty cans on his desk. It was the opposite of your own bedroom, neatly decorated and perfectly organized. Your wardrobe drawers were a bit of an exception, but that didn't really matter.

Even so, you couldn't help but find it a little charming. The smell of his cologne in the air, the half-unraveled sheets, this was unmistakably him. It tasted risky and illicit, and it stirred something unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach. A reaction that no boy had ever managed to provoke in you.

"There's no denying it, vampires really are the best supernatural creatures," you muttered, sinking your teeth into the last slice of the half-cold pizza you'd ordered earlier. You were especially comfortable sitting cross-legged on his bed as the rain pounded against the windows and the end of the movie drew near on his computer screen. His parents were out of town for the week, on a business trip or something, providing you with an opportunity to finally meet away from prying eyes. He seemed quite comfortable too, with his leg pressed against yours and his hand wrapped around his soda cup, which he sipped absentmindedly. "I have to say, I never thought you'd be into movies like this," he told you after a few long seconds, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "given your looks, I thought you'd be more into romantic comedies or something." You held back an annoyed sigh.

"Like I said..." you finally replied, "you should beware of appearances."

They can be misleading sometimes, you kept to yourself.

It was true that you were usually a sweet, sensible girl, the ideal daughter who always smiled and never caused trouble. The pride and joy of your parents. But lately you had grown tired. Tired of following orders, of doing everything you were told without ever being able to listen to your heart. You were eager to get rid of this constant fear of disappointing your loved ones if you didn't live up to their expectations, and it seemed that life had given you the perfect opportunity to free yourself from all that. 

"Is there something I should know?" the young man’s hand came to rest on the top of your thigh, his thumb delicately stroking the soft skin there, "some dark secret of yours, princess?". His almost mocking tone and the annoying nickname were enough to bring back that scorching heat in the pit of your stomach. The way he looked at you, at your breasts, made you think that he was affected by this sudden closeness, too. His gaze burned, almost as much as his fingers, which were now creeping dangerously up the hem of your shorts. And when you felt them graze the lace of your underwear in the hollow where your leg and hip met, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd bitten off more than you could chew.

But even though you were entering unfamiliar territory, something foreign to you, you refused to lose control and let him take what he wanted without saying a word. This wasn't your style. You always had a witty comeback ready to go. And you were going to show him.

Slowly, you moved forward a few inches on the bed to sit astride his very inviting lap, never taking your eyes off his lips. Your hands found his shoulders, and you could feel the hardness of his desire beneath your thighs. Gods, the sensation was divine. This was your doing. You and no one else’s. The sudden surge of power and dominance made your head spin. "Be very careful what you do now," his fingers settled on your hips to bring your chests a little closer together, his grip tight and bruising. "Or what?" you replied in an almost insolent, even provocative tone.

"Or we could end up doing something you might regret."

This was all a very bad idea, that much was true. Davos Blackwood was a very bad idea. But you didn't want to dwell on what the future might hold, let alone the potential consequences of your actions. All you knew was that you wanted more. More of his hands on your skin, more of his lips on yours, and more of him.  

And it seemed that he, too, was eager to take it further.

His fingers made their way up from your waist to your chest, slipping under your tank top to brush his thumbs over the two little hardened buds. The ghost of a touch, really, but it was enough to make you moan. Your mouths were now just a few inches apart, your breaths mingling, but you didn't want to kiss him yet, choosing to prolong this delicious, exhilarating tension for a few minutes longer.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. "Do you feel it?". He backed up his words with action, rolling his hips and planting a kiss right at the corner of your jaw. "You know what this is?" he added, rolling one of your nipples between his index finger and thumb, "what happens to a man when a woman behaves the way you do?". Of course I know, you wanted to say but the words stuck in your throat and only a moan managed to break through the barrier of your lips. You weren't stupid, you were perfectly aware of what happened in this kind of situation. But you'd never seen it, let alone touched it, and the theory was very different from the actual reality.

"Shut up," you replied at last, before planting a kiss on his lips. You didn't mean it, though. To be honest, you wished he would talk to you like that all night long, sending a wave of heat straight to your core with words alone. His tongue found yours, silencing your thoughts, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep from losing your footing. "Such a foul mouth," he said, smiling against your lips as he gave you time to breathe, "we'll see if you're still so talkative once I'm done with you."

The young man's hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, and soon it was your shorts that suffered the same fate, leaving you in nothing but your black lace panties. You suddenly felt exposed, lying there under that hungry gaze that regarded you like a precious gift, a prized possession. You waited eagerly for his next move.

Where was the bold young woman who had taken the lead just a few minutes earlier, the one so determined not to lose control? It seemed like she'd already vanished, replaced by some shy creature beneath his crude words and inappropriate touch.

"What are you going to do to me?" you tilted your head to the side to give him better access to the skin of your neck, which he was kissing with increasing fervor. "Nothing you won't like," he replied as he stood up to get rid of his t-shirt, which joined the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Your eyes couldn't help but wander over his toned torso dotted with dark hairs, your hands itching to touch him.

Soon enough, his lips found your jaw, then your neck, then the top of your chest, and you immediately shivered. The weight of his body lying on yours was delightful, comforting. "Please..." you whimpered as your hands settled on his shoulders, urging him to give you what you were so desperate for. You felt his fingers slide slowly against the skin of your belly, then lower, much lower, to play with the lace of your underwear, and your back arched almost reflexively. You wanted more, you needed more, and you were getting tired of waiting.

"Be patient, princess," he said, nibbling on the soft skin of your breast, his mouth soon wrapping around your hardened nipple. A grunt escaped you, and you weren't quite sure if it was from your frustration or the dominant tone he had just used. His hand slipped under the fabric of your panties to tease the top of your slit before brushing over your already soaked folds. It was annoying, really, the effect he was having on you with such a light touch. But it was heavenly, and you had decided to ignore the voice of reason for the night.

His index finger found the little pearl nestled at the apex of your center, and the contact felt like a delicious electric shock. You threw your head back, eyes closing, lips parting in a silent cry as he drew little circles around your most sensitive area. "Have you ever had anyone here?" he asked after a few seconds. When you didn't answer, he added: "I asked you a question, and I want you to answer me." There it was again, his commanding, almost controlling tone.

"N... no," you stammered as you opened your eyes again to meet his, "nobody." You suddenly felt like prey under his hungry gaze that devoured your trembling body. "Perfect," you heard, just before his fingers found your entrance, which was already clenching around nothing, "and here?".

The idea of being the first to enter you seemed to obsess him.

You nodded, this time from left to right, signifying that no, you had saved your virginity for the right man, the one who would know how to make you tremble under his ministrations, the one who would know how to make you beg for more, always more.

"Perfect," he repeated again, as the first knuckle of his index finger sank agonizingly slowly into you, teasing your inner walls. It was barely there, nothing really, and yet you already felt incredibly full. "You're so tight," he growled against the skin of your throat, "so warm too, you're going to feel amazing around me." He added a second knuckle and soon his finger was completely buried inside you. It felt good, and it felt right, but it didn't feel like enough. You wiggled your hips and it seemed as if Davos had understood your silent request immediately. "I need you to take another," he straightened on his left elbow to look at you with lust-blown pupils, "do you think you can do that for me?". Once again, you nodded your head in agreement, but this time it didn't seem to be enough for him. "Use your words, princess." You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "I... I can take more," you murmured right against his lips as you looked down between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said, his voice low and rough as you felt his middle finger pressing into you. He curled them both, brushing that spongy spot against your inner wall, and you threw your head back.

You dug your nails into his pale skin to stay anchored in the present as his thumb found your clit. But you knew you wouldn't last long. You could already feel tingles of pleasure buzzing through your body, and in the pit of your belly, the fires of delight burned a little more fiercely. You wanted to warn him, to tell him you were close, but he was quicker than you: "Come for me."

He didn't need to tell you a second time.

Soon, the wave of your orgasm washed over you.

It made your whole body shake with spasms, your climax exploding like fireworks behind your eyelids. Your lips crashed against his neck to stifle your final moan as your back arched under the intense sensation. The young man was merciful enough to give you a few seconds to recover before withdrawing his fingers, leaving you empty and frustrated. "Look at the mess you made," you heard him groan, "clean it up." His index and middle fingers brushed across your lips, which parted eagerly to welcome them into your warm mouth.

You timidly wrapped your tongue around them under his predatory gaze. The mere thought that you could taste yourself on your taste buds set your body on fire once again. It was indecent, inappropriate, and you probably should have been ashamed to be used like this, but you couldn't care less.

Maybe it was his fault, or maybe you'd just found each other despite everything that kept you apart.

His fingers left your mouth to wrap around your neck. But as he lay back on the mattress and guided you towards his lips, you resisted. Once again, you straddled his hips, only this time completely naked. He looked at you for a few seconds, a little confused, until you reached under the elastic of his underwear to slide it down his legs. This seemed to make him realize the extent of your intentions. His hard member jumped free and caught your eye. Standing proud with a mass of dark curls adorning its base, the sight alone made you salivate. "Let me thank you," you said, as your fingers gently traced its length. "I want to make you feel good too." You slowly moved between his legs to kiss his inner thighs.

You reached out tentatively and wrapped your fingers around his manhood. It felt heavy in your hand, massive and your index finger couldn't quite touch your thumb because it was so wide. You brought your lips to his crotch and, watching Davos from beneath your long lashes, planted a quick kiss on the head where it was already weeping for you. Your tongue traced a vein on the underside without ever breaking eye contact. He threw his head back, his lips parted to let out a muffled curse.

The rush of power you felt when you saw him so vulnerable under your touch was sinfully delicious.

You tilted your head to the side to plant a series of kisses all along his hardened manhood, your big innocent eyes still locked with his. There was a pause, a few tense seconds, before finally, finally, you moved your head forward to take him fully into your mouth. His big hand found refuge at the back of your skull, and you let him guide you completely.

The grip on your hair tightened, almost to the point of pain. "Breathe, through your nose," the young man ordered, but his voice was more urgent than before, his breathing becoming ragged from the growing pleasure. "You can do better than that." The fingers buried in your locks soon forced you to swallow him whole, your nose pressed against his pelvis, the unruly hair tickling your face. You could feel yourself drooling around him, the action messy. "Such a filthy girl," he said as his thumb came to caress the corner of your mouth, right where his member disappeared between your lips, "sucking my cock like a real whore." You let out an audible moan around his length in response to the foulness of his words.

But instead of disgusting you, it only served to encourage you.

You hollowed out your cheeks, still following the rhythm of his hand, which had resumed its place at the back of your head. He was big, and he filled your mouth in a way you hadn't experienced before, but you wanted to prove to him that you could satisfy him, that you could make him proud. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, which he hastily wiped away with the tip of his free thumb. "Shh... you're doing so well," he praised you in a reassuring tone. You knew he was close to reaching his climax. His breathing had become labored, his movements erratic, and it was evident that you were causing him to lose his balance. But it seemed he didn't want to end it that quickly.

"Wait, not yet," he straightened into a sitting position, placing his hand on your cheek to force you back a few inches, "I'd hate to waste it." The implication made your cheeks flush, but you couldn't help but look forward to what would come next.

His hands came to rest on your waist, encouraging you to sit on his hips again, this time making his still impossibly hard manhood brush against your soaked cunt. The contact alone was enough to elicit a moan from you. His own fingers wrapped around his member as he guided it towards your narrow entrance.

And after what felt like an eternity, he finally thrust into you.

He stretched you to perfection, the foreign sensation a mixture of delicious pain and aching pleasure. "Fuck princess, you're tight," your head found refuge in the hollow of his neck, but you could hear that annoying smirk in his voice, "I'm going to ruin you." And oh how you couldn't wait for him to make good on his threats. "Move," you pleaded against the skin of his throat as you hesitantly moved your hips up and down to get that delicious friction you craved. He seemed hell-bent on teaching you self-restraint, even though you desperately wanted to see him lose control. He grabbed your waist in a firm grip, keeping you pressed against his hips and making you whine. "Did I say you could move?" he asked, kissing the side of your jaw. Once again that night, you'd annoyed him by not answering, and he repeated, "did I say you could move?".  

It seems he was also trying to make you learn obedience, in addition to patience.

You didn't even have a chance to react before the young man used his grip on your waist to pull back almost completely, revealing his member glistening with your sticky juices before thrusting himself into you once more. His head was rubbing against that most delicious spot inside you, making your legs tremble with pure bliss. "Please, I..." You didn't even know what you were asking for as he moved back and forth continuously. You thought he'd ask you to speak again, but he was too caught up in pleasure and close to his release to be bothered by your pleas.

But even if he'd lost his rhythm, it was clear he was still determined to satisfy you. His thumb was back on your little pearl, tracing small circles around it, while inside you his length relentlessly pounded against your inner wall. You could feel yourself clenching around him, and the heat between your thighs was back with a fiercer intensity than ever. “I’m going to fill you up,” his teeth nibbled at the soft skin of your neck, marking it possessively, “I’m going to fill you up and you’re going to take everything I’m going to give you, feel me for days.” The moans that came out of your mouth were now completely incoherent, a confused jumble of yes and please.

Your climax hit hard and fast—stronger than the one Davos had offered you earlier that night. You dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red half-moons as evidence of your forbidden actions. Your back arched off the mattress, pressing his body against yours as reality slipped through your fingers and a myriad of stars danced behind your eyelids. He followed you just a few seconds later, pouring into you with white ropes.

He stayed inside you for a few more moments, his length softening. But neither of you felt like moving, not when you were so comfortable, lying against each other, your limbs tangled. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead that made your heart clench. You still refused to think about the future and the problems that might arise from such a strong connection between the two of you. All that mattered for the moment was his skin against yours and your fingers in his hair.

"We should do that again," you murmured as you kissed his cheeks, his chin, his nose, "someday."

He smiled.

"We will," he said with confidence, "I'll make sure of that, princess."

The nickname made your stomach flutter with excitement.

[the-mortuary-witch]

THE MORRIGAN

WHO IS SHE?

The Morrigan is a triple goddess from Irish mythology who is associated with war, fate, and sovereignty. According to myth, she is often depicted as a crow or raven, and is said to appear in both a positive and negative guise, sometimes as a nurturing mother and other times as a destructive force. She is said to be the phantom queen of the Danaan People, the ancestral spirits of Ireland, and is sometimes depicted as a powerful seer or prophetic figure.

BASIC INFO: 

Appearance: the Morrigan is often depicted as a fierce and powerful woman wearing a long, flowing black cloak or gown, and sometimes with feathers or a crown of feathers. She is also commonly associated with a black crow, which is said to be her messenger and the vessel of her power. Her appearance is usually associated with darkness and mystery, embodying the enigma and unpredictability of war and fate.

Personality: she has a complex and multi-faceted personality, often embodying multiple aspects of femininity. She is said to encompass aspects of the traditional maiden, mother, and crone archetypes, representing youthful zeal, maternal nurturing, and wise counsel, respectively. She is also known for her vengeful and bloodthirsty streak, embodying the brutal and ruthless nature of war and the chaos of fate. Despite her fierce and sometimes fearsome reputation, she is also viewed as a powerful protector and defender of the Irish people.

Symbols: cloak, spear, chariot, sword, and shield

Goddess of: magic, war, battle, life, death, sovereignty, fresh water, destiny, prophecy, and fate

Culture: Celtic

Plants: willow, aspen, rowan, snapdragon, hawthorn, yew, belladonna, mugwort, rose, and nightshade (do not consume, handle with care!)

Crystals: ravenite, yeomanite, schorl, arsenopyrite, harlequin opal, black opal, skye marble, pyrolusite, biotite, feldspar, black agate, hematite, smoky quartz, bloodstone, onyx, charoite, black obsidian, labradorite, shungite, and black tourmaline

Animals: crow, raven, horse, eel, rook, serpent, and wolf

Incense: frankincense, myrrh, sandalwood, rose, cedar, juniper, and dragon’s blood 

Practices: death witchcraft, spirit work, divination, shadow work, ancestor worship, psychic abilities, and necromancy

Colours: red, black, white, blue, and green

Numbers: 3 and 6

Zodiac: Scorpio 

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Tower, Queen of Swords, The Devil, Justice, and Death

Planet: Moon

Days: Monday, Imbolc, Lammas, Mabon, Samhain, Halloween, and full moons

Parents: Cailitin and Ernmas

Siblings: Ériu, Banba, Fódla, Gnim, Coscar, Fiacha, and Oll

Partner: The Dagda and an unnamed shapeshifting goddess

Children: Mechi

MISC:

Crows and ravens: the Morrigan is often associated with crows or ravens due to her nature as a deity of death, fate, and transformation. In Irish mythology, crows or ravens were often seen as messengers between the worlds of the living and the dead, and could be seen as omens of impending change or transformation. For the Morrigan, these birds served as her messengers and helped her carry out her duties as a deity of war, fate, and the supernatural. Additionally, the Morrigan herself was sometimes depicted as a crow or raven in the form of a woman.

Death: she is often associated with death because she is seen as a deity of fate and transformation, which can include death and rebirth. In Irish mythology, she is often depicted as a battle goddess who wields a spear or sword, and is seen as a bringer of violence and change. She is also associated with the concept of death as a natural and inevitable part of life, and is sometimes seen as a guide for the souls of the dead as they cross over to the afterlife.

War: in Irish mythology, she was often seen as a fierce and powerful warrior, who would appear in the form of a crow or raven to guide and aid the soldiers of the Tuatha de Danann, a group of gods and mythological beings. She was often invoked by soldiers in order to bring them victory in battle and could also be seen as a symbol of the chaos and destruction that can occur during war.

Triple goddess: she is often associated with the triple goddess archetype due to her connection with the number three and her role as a goddess of transformation and female empowerment. In Celtic mythology, the number three was often seen as sacred and powerful, and the Morrigan is sometimes depicted as embodying these three aspects of femininity: maiden, mother, and crone. This association reflects her nature as a powerful and multifaceted deity who encompasses the different phases of a woman's life, from youth and fertility to wisdom and maturity.

Samhain: in Celtic mythology, Samhain is believed to be a time when the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead becomes thin, allowing the spirits of the deceased to return to the world of the living. The Morrigan, as a goddess of death and transformation, is seen as playing an important role during this time, guiding and assisting the souls of the dead on their journey to the afterlife.

Magic: was seen as a powerful force that could wield the energy and power of these natural forces, and the Morrigan was often invoked as a source of magical power and insight during certain rituals and spells. Additionally, the Morrigan is sometimes depicted as a sorcerous figure in some myths, casting spells or curses and using her supernatural abilities to influence events on the mortal plane.

FACTS ABOUT THE MORRIGAN:

She owns a herd of enchanted and magical cattle. 

Contrary to some interpretations, the Morrigan is not necessarily seen as an evil or destructive deity. In many myths, she is depicted as a protective and wise figure who aids and guides heroes on their journeys.

She is sometimes portrayed as a shape-shifter, able to take on the form of a crow or other animals.

The Morrigan is often associated with the number three, representing the three aspects of maiden, mother, and crone.

She is also associated with the Fae and the Banshee—a creature that generally takes on the form of an old woman who wails in mourning to announce the coming death of someone in the family.

The name "Morrigan" comes from Old Irish and means "phantom queen" or "great queen."

She is often associated with ravens or crows, which were seen as her messengers between the worlds of the living and the dead.

The Morrigan is known for appearing in the form of a woman with long, flowing hair, sometimes carrying a spear and/or a shield.

HOW TO INVOKE THE MORRIGAN:

Working with the Morrigan often involves building a relationship of mutual respect and trust with her. You can approach working with her in the following ways:

Research and study her mythology, folklore, and symbology to gain a deeper understanding of her nature and characteristics.

Set up an altar or sacred space dedicated to the Morrigan, and make regular offerings to her.

Perform rituals or spells in her honor to seek her guidance and power.

Meditate or visualize her presence in your life, and work on developing a direct channel of communication with her.

PRAYER FOR THE MORRIGAN:

Hail Morrigan, maiden, mother, and crone.  We call upon you, great and powerful deity, to guide us on our path, and protect us from harm. Teach us to be strong and fearless in the face of adversity and help us to find balance in our lives.

Bless our endeavors, and grant us success in all we do. In your name, I give thanks for your presence in our lives. Hail to you, the Morrigan.

SIGNS THAT THE MORRIGAN IS CALLING YOU:

Repeatedly seeing signs of crows or ravens, which are associated with the Morrigan.

Feeling a strong connection to the themes of war, fate, and sovereignty.

Having vivid dreams or visions of the Morrigan or her symbols (e.g. a raven, a battle flag, etc).

Feeling drawn to read or learn about the Morrigan or Celtic mythology.

Experiencing strong emotions or changes in behavior that feel linked to the energy of the Morrigan.

Feeling the urge to explore or embrace warlike or competitive activities (e.g. sports, martial arts, strategy games).

Finding yourself drawn to stories of powerful women, goddesses, or wanting to honour and empower yourself.

Having a sudden urge to explore your own shadow or unconscious and to confront and transform it.

A sudden urge to create or engage in art, poetry, or music that connects to the Morrigan’s energy and symbolism.

OFFERINGS:

Red meat.

Mead. 

Red wine poured into the ground. 

Apples. 

Milk. 

Whiskey. 

Storm water

Crow or raven feathers. 

Knives and daggers. 

Scrying. 

Artwork and poetry. 

Red foods. 

Deep green, black and red stones/crystals. 

Honey. 

Dark chocolate. 

Coins. 

Studying Celtic mythology. 

Blood (especially menstrual blood). 

Traditional Irish foods. 

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

Creating sigils or magickal symbols associated with the Morrigan and her aspects (such as battle, war, death, etc) and charging them with your intention and energy.

Performing war dances, warrior rites, and ceremonies of protection and victory.

Paint your nails black or red while thinking of her. 

Shadow work. 

Exploring magic and divination related to the Morrigan, including the use of rune stones, scrying, and spirit communication.

Draw or paint her. 

Participating in activities where you are willing to take risks and venture into the unknown, as the Morrigan is known for pushing individuals to embrace their destiny and seize control of their life.

Respecting the dead. 

Working to protect and uphold your own personal sovereignty and destiny, and resisting outside influence or control.

Make a playlist that is dedicated to her, or listen to music that reminds you of her. 

Lighting a black candle. 

Feeding your local murder (crows). 

Celebrating the changing of the seasons and honoring the cycles of life and death.

Praying and making offerings to the Morrigan, seeking her guidance and power for your magical and spiritual practice.

Screaming your heart out when alone in the woods. 

Performing blessings and healing rituals for fresh water bodies, such as lakes, rivers, and streams, to honor the Morrigan’s association with water.

Standing up for yourself. 

Exercising (especially if it’s challenging). 

Celebrate Samhain. 

[serensho]

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

wonder boy

au in which mark is hercules in ancient greece! and he saves a sassy damsel who changes everything.

warnings: fem!reader, a smidge of angst, fluff, not canon compliant to invincible or hercules tbh...

inspired by disney's hercules & greek mythology in general

a continuation of this thought!

hercules!Mark Grayson who’s waited his entire life to get his powers and to join his father Nolan, on Mount Olympus, but has been nurtured by his mother Debbie which has given him something other demigods lack: humanity.

hercules!Mark Grayson who finally gets his powers only to realize that being a hero is going to take a lot more than just good intentions. He has to train and hone his strength, and leaves home only to come across a satyr named Cecil who sends him on numerous quests to do so. 

hercules!Mark Grayson who begins gaining notoriety for slaying monsters big and small, the muses singing his praises but it’s still not enough. He’s a hero among humans but he feels like he’s missing something.

hercules!Mark Grayson who goes on a quest one day and hears the cries of a fair maiden – but it seems as though you’re actually holding your own against the giant – until he scoops you up in one large hand and then Mark rushes in to save you.

“Agh! Let go of me you–” you cry out as a blur of black hair and yellow punches the giant in the face, and you’re falling until that same blur catches you in his arms and places you on the ground safely. 

You look around to see that your savior has knocked the giant out cold. Your hair whips around you as he suddenly lands from his flight and you blow a stray strand out of your face as you take in his appearance.

A yellow and blue toga adorns his muscular frame as he looks you up and down, presumably assessing you for any injuries. He runs a hand through his hair and is he…flexing?

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks and you scoff.

You offer him your name and say, “I had it handled, you know.”

“O-oh! I really don’t know about that. But I’m Mark. Mark Grayson,” he offers a hand out to you and you decline, walking past him to the nearby stream.

You wash your hands, splashing some of the water on your face, bending to brush some water through your hair which has become messy from the earlier skirmish. You feel Mark’s eyes on you as he eyes the curve of your spine, your figure visible through your toga in the setting sun’s light and turn suddenly, as Mark looks away quickly, a blush visible on his face. 

Cute.

“Should I know who you are, wonder boy?” You walk past him again, hips swaying.

He follows and says, “Well–I mean–maybe you’ve heard of me? I-I have done a lot of quests and stuff.” You stop suddenly and he bumps into you, cheeks especially red as you look up at him.

“Look not that I’m not grateful for you saving me, but I really should get going. I’m sure another damsel needs your services. Maybe I’ll see you around…Mark.” You continue walking away as Mark stares at you, warmth filling his chest. There’s just something about you that’s calling out to him, a siren’s call as you look behind you to see him standing there in a daze. He shakes his head and jogs to catch up with you.

“Hey, I just thought of something you could do to repay me for saving you and all. Spend the rest of the night with me.”

Your eyes widen and you smirk playfully. “Woah, a little forward, don’t you think, hero?”

His face flushes once more as he stutters, “T-That’s not what I meant! I mean, let’s just spend some time together. Get to know one another a little more.”

“Alright, Mark. Show me a good time then,” you say, gesturing for him to lead you toward the path nearby.

Mark spends much of the night trying to impress you, which is sweet. He’s sweet. He leads you through the city telling you stories of the monsters he’s slain and his plans to reach Mount Olympus. His drive, determination, and dreams are admirable. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think of ever since making that deal… 

He sweeps you off your feet and he’s so kind and caring, so unlike anyone you’ve met before. When the laces of your sandals come untied he immediately gets down on his knee to tie them, looking up at you and smiling, paying for every drink and meal you eat, and before you know it you’re sitting on a marble bench in the most beautiful garden, surrounded by statues of other heroes and gods. 

“I had a great time tonight,” Mark says as he gazes at you intently.

You shift under his gaze before staring ahead at the moon. “I did too. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would’ve,” and you turn to him as your eyes meet. You move to sit closer to him, placing a hand on his thigh. “So Mark, what’s your Achilles’ heel? All great heroes have a weakness after all.”

He gulps under your touch, gingerly removing your hand and placing it back in your lap. “I haven’t really found it out. As far as I know I’m–”

You cut him off, placing a hand on his chest looking up at him seductively. “What? Invulnerable? There must be something that makes you like the rest of us regular old people, huh wonder boy?”

Once again Mark removes your hand from his chest, fixing the strap of your toga that’s fallen before moving a bit further from you. You’ve only just met after all and he wants to be respectful, doesn’t want to rush things especially when that strange feeling from deep within begins to stir with your touch. 

“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t tried finding out? Maybe I should…” He trails off as he becomes fixated on the statue of Hades ahead. 

“I’m sorry, Mark. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. With the touching, or about your weakness. I just…normally when someone takes me out they’re more…they normally expect something at the end of it,” you say as you sigh deeply. 

Mark grabs your hands, studying your face as he does so. His eyes land on your lips before looking into your eyes as his face softens. “I don’t want to be like any of those people. I want to get to know you, before all of that stuff. Or at least get to know as much as you’ll show me.”

His sincerity shocks you as you relax under his touch. 

O-okay, Mark. I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot,” and you feel your cheeks becoming warm as you shift to rest your head on his shoulder, one hand remaining intertwined with his.

The eyes of the Hades statue before you both begin to glow, Mark not noticing as he melts into you, eyes closed. Your pulse quickens as you glare at it, your stomach filling with dread, replacing the butterflies that had been fluttering so rampantly when Mark spoke.

a/n: guysss, if you made it this far, i hope you liked this! i wanted to keep it somewhat short and sweet but would be open to maybe making this a series of drabbles. i also want to thank you for all the love on angel!reader, it means so much to me that anyone even likes or reads my content. thank you so much again for reading and don't be afraid to like, reblog, and comment! and send in requests!!! more mark/invincible content coming soon!!

[saphiccarma]

Desperately need a Rio x reader fic with Rio using her strap with the reader the first time 😩

- Casually, fuck you.

Relationships - Rio x Reader

Summary - Rio Vidal was your stepmom and you absolutely loathed her with every fiber of your being. But at the same time you can't deny the spark in your stomach at the sight of her

Warnings: smut (duh), strap-on sex (reader receiving), slight neck biting, lil' bit of fingering (reader recieving).

A/N: I combined this with another request because i felt the two went togther well. anywhoooo guess whos out of writers block? Me! But now I'm sick :(. anyways, enjoy

Your father had gotten married just a year and a half after your mother died. You despised him for it, still do, unable to accept that he had moved on so swiftly. And worst of all, you absolutely hated his new spouse. Detested her with your whole heart. She was replacing your mother in a cruel way you could never forgive.

Only serving to add salt to the wound, she never seemed bothered by your sharp, cold attitude, instead taking it in stride. Her smiles were sweet but tinged with a certain edge of desire you missed, and her wide brown eyes sparkled whenever she looked at you. Her name was Rio - Rio Vidal. She kept her maiden name even after she married your father.

College kept you away from the house most of the time, you were grateful for the dorms, but on the rare occasions you visited home you absolutely hated it. Hate wasn't even enough to describe it. Home was no longer home, it was a place where your father and...Rio lived. You refused to call her your stepmom. She would never be your mom. She would never compare to your mom. Even if your father tried to force you to get along by taking you both on trips, you refused.

Rio would never be a woman you had a connection with, not now and not even in death. All you could see her as is a woman that your father used to replace your mother. The very thought filled you with a fiery hot rage that had you clenching your fists and scowling to yourself as you busied yourself in the backseat of the car.

Now he'd taken the two of you on a beach trip, the summer weather lasting long into the autumn for some odd reason. You'd chosen to wear a one piece, showing some cleavage (maybe someone would ask for your number if you got lucky), and exposing your thighs. And that was typical swimsuit attire, plus the dress you threw over it, a nice floral one, just so that you weren't in only a swimsuit.

Rio wore a skimpy bikini, the top just barely hiding her breasts, and the lower half leaving little to the imagination. Her skin was milky revealed in it's full glory, thighs perfectly toned with each step she took and abs slightly showing. Every time she moved it was with a quiet confidence, as if she knew just how attractive she was. With her brown hair that fell loosely down her shoulders and dark eyes that sparkled in the sun, you couldn't help but stare, although you tried to hide it. You had to admit, she was surprisingly in shape for a woman in her forties. Not that you would ever say that to her face.

The three of you settled on the beach, chairs laid out and some towels, an umbrella propped up to block the sun. Your father immediately took to a chair, not caring for the water. Scoffing, you roll your eyes, wondering why he even took you to the beach. Probably just to see his new wife in a skimpy bikini.

Cautiously, you waded into the water, acutely aware of your father's eyes on your back as he lounged on a beach chair, black glasses thrown atop his head as he sat in nothing but swim shorts. Rio was probably somewhere nearby, possibly showing off her perfectly toned body to other men. You had no idea why she got with your father when she could probably pull anyone she wanted. Shaking your head at the thought, you focus on stepping into the cool water, letting the waves splash around your skin.

The sun was a soft, gentle reminder of the warm weather, not overbearing but keeping you nice and toasty. It was a stark contrast to the chill of the water that surrounded you. You hardly noticed the water swirling behind you as someone approached, too immersed in the feeling of the sand shifting beneath your feet and children screaming in joy off to the side. A pair of arms draped themselves over your shoulders, looping in front of your chest.

"Hey sweetheart," Rio's voice was a low purr in your ear, "Your father is being a bore so I figured I would come check up on you."

Goosebumps dance along your skin and you know it's not from the water. Rio's front presses against your back, only the thin fabric of your swimsuit separating the two of you, a position that is way too intimate for your relationship. Breath hitching, you grit your teeth and ignore the way your body reacts to her touch, the brand-new shiver that runs down your spine. She smells of salt, although that may be the ocean, and flowers.

"Rio," you say slowly, voice strained, "What are you doing?"

One of her hands slides down to your hip, squeezing slightly, the other still slung over your shoulder, "Like I said, checking on you." Her nails scrapped against your suit before she took a step back, gracefully gliding through the water to stand in front of you. One hand lingers on your waist as she circles you with a sharp smile. It almost reminds you of a shark, with her sharp smile, curved at the edges in a way that was almost tender, and the way she rounded you like a predator.

"I'm not a child," you snap, eyes narrowing into slits as you study her. But you can't deny the way your eyes trail over her form. The way the water drips down her skin and makes her swimsuit cling to her body tightly. She folds her arms in front of her body, hands looping together as she leans back with a fake shocked look and pursed lips.

"Aww no need to be so defensive," she coos, brown eyes trailing over your body slowly. Shivering under her gaze you glare at her taking a step back. Annoyed and unwilling to deal with her shenanigans you turn around with a huff and wade back to shore, ignoring her stare on you the entire time.

^__________________^

For some stupid ass reason, your father decided that hosting a New Years party would be an awesome idea, a costume party. As you wandered around, drink in hand, the stem clutched between your fingers, you spotted Rio. Your own costume was something you’d thrown together hastily, not really caring much.

You would have preferred to never show up, but as much as you despised your father for marrying Rio, you still loved him. He was still your dad.

Rio wore a costume vastly different to her swimsuit a few months ago. It was a black tux that shone under the dangling lanterns, with a fluffy white blouse underneath. Her heeled boots clicked with every step she took. Eyes meeting yours, the woman smiled sharply, revealing the red around her lips and dripping down her neck. Your breath hitched as she skipped over to you, leaning against the wall next to you.

"Hey sweetie," she cooed, taking you in, "Nice costume." Despite yourself, you find your cheeks heating up at her compliment. The way her eyes trail over you, pausing at your chest and lips, before slowly meeting your eyes again, sends shivers down your spine.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, "What do you want Rio?"

"I'm just being a good host, checking in on everyone," She batted her eyelashes coyly as she dipped her head down, looking up at you through hooded eyes, "Is there anything wrong with that?" Lips curling into a sweet smile, one that betrayed her costume, she trailed her fingers up your arm, leaning in closer, "Are you enjoying the party?"

"More or less," you shrug, cheeks heating slightly as her hand comes to rest on your bicep, squeezing lightly. Your composure is quickly slipping as her warm breath fans on your face, smelling of slight alcohol and something that was so distinctly Rio. Her smile widened as she noticed your breath hitch and the slight tint of pink to your cheeks.

Rio takes a step closer so that the two of you are nearly pressed together and your heart stutters in your chest, and her tone lowers to a husky whisper, "Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

Your eyes flicker to her lips and your breath catches in your throat. Her lips have a deep plum lipstick painted on them to contrast the red makeup staining her skin. Almost tauntingly, her tongue pokes at the corner of her mouth, stretching her cheek out. The sight sends an unwanted heat straight to your core. You hate her. You hate Rio so much. She was replacing your mom, and you could never bring yourself to forgive her or your father for that.

"Cat got your tongue?" she reached up, twirling a lock of your hair between her fingers, "C'mon smart girl, I know you have an answer."

Goosebumps dance along your skin and your thighs squeeze together subconsciously, something you don't even notice. But Rio does, and she glances down at your legs, eyes sparkling in amusement and something almost akin to approval.

"I'm fine," you manage to stammer out, trying (yet failing) to keep your tone curt.

"Alright, if you say so." Her hand slid from your hair to your waist, and she tugged you close abruptly. Her breath fanned against your ear, the warm sensation keeping you frozen in place, "I'm here if you need anything sweetie, anything at all." With a final possessive squeeze to your waist and a suggestive wink, Rio disappears into the crowd, plucking a glass of red wine off a table.

Your stomach tingles and you scowl at yourself, but you can’t your eyes off her swaying hips and tempting form.

^____________^

You hated Rio. Absolutely loathed her with your entire being. Especially hated the fact you were being forced to go out to dinner with her. Were you grown? Yes. But was your father also promising you half a year of free college tuition if you tried to get along with her? Also, yes.

Standing in front of the mirror, you felt oddly annoyed with your appearance. Nothing you tried on seemed to fit right - it all felt inappropriate, not good enough for the occasion. You weren't sure why you wanted to impress Rio; she meant nothing to you. But there was a strange tingle in your stomach and your hands shook slightly when you slipped different outfits on and off. Finally, you settled on something that would work out and you smoothed it over with slightly shaky fingers.

Huffing in annoyance, you decided this outfit was good enough, and it would have to do. You slipped on a pair of shoes. A mix of dread and anticipation swirls in your stomach as you make your way down the stairs. Rio's waiting for you. She wears a sleek-fitting black top, one that had long sleeves. A green flower necklace shines out against the dark fabric. Her curves were perfectly outlined with the way it stuck to her skin and you could see her toned thighs through the sleek pants she wore.

Dark lipstick adorned her lips, and if it was any other person, they would've looked emo. However, Rio, she pulled it off with a distinct elegance. For some odd reason, the lack of vibrance in her outfit made her brown eyes stand out all the more prominently.

"Hi sweetheart," she snatched a purse off the shelf by the door, "You ready to go?"

Suddenly, your throat is dry, but you nod your agreement. Grinning happily, Rio snatched your hand, and she dragged you out the door. Faintly you heard your father shout a goodbye, but all you feel was Rio's hand in yours, her slender, cold fingers.

"M'lady," Rio held the car door open for you, gesturing like a child for you to hop in. You slide into the passenger seat, muscles tense, and nerves fluttering beneath your skin. Rio slips into the driver’s side, long fingers, nails painted a dark green, wrapping around the steering wheel. She drives with reckless abandon and you end up clutching the seat tightly as she speeds through the streets, hardly caring for the safety of others.

She pulls into the parking lot of a fancy restaurant, people dressed in suits and elegant dresses streamed in and out, drunkenly laughing and dangling off their partners arms. Rio slinked out of her side of the car, opening your door before you had a chance to.

"M'lady," she repeated, opening your door once again. A small smile graces your face against your will and you take her hand, letting her guide you out of the car and into the restaurant. Bright lights flash in your face and then there's the constant stream of chatter that flows around.

Subconsciously, maybe despite yourself, you shuffle closer to Rio, "It's crowded in here. Are we even going to get a table?" Rio laughs at your question, and loops her arm through yours, dragging you to the front.

She leans against it, her shirt dipping to show some cleavage as she grins at the young waitress, "Reservation for a Rio Vidal."

For some reason you feel a spark of annoyance, a tight coiling in your chest as the woman glances down at Rio’s breasts, her cheeks tinting a soft shade of red.

The young woman nods, grabbing two menus and wraps of silverware, "Right this way," she chirps, tone bright and happy for someone working in such a busy atmosphere. Rio drags you along, arm looped through yours, and at a fleeting glance the two of you might look like partners. You wipe the thought away as quickly as it had come, cheeks tinting a faint pink. A booth was what the waitress settled on, and you and Rio slid into it.

At first you tried to maintain your distance, but the older woman sat right next to you, her thighs touching yours. For a moment, it was innocent, just a friendly touch. But as the night wore on, both of you were sipping a glass of wine, you couldn't deny the way heat pooled in your stomach.

You didn't notice it, but Rio's hand had landed on your thigh, thumb tracing soft circles as she ate her food, keeping a steady stream of conversation. Her touch sent a jolt of fireworks through you. It set your veins on fire in the best way possible. You were naive and ignored it, thinking you were just actually coming to like her.

Leaning in close, Rio's breath was warm against your ear, "How's the food sweetie?"

"It's good," you mumble, spooning some more into your mouth and trying to forget the way her fingers danced up and down your thigh.

The night wears on and the older woman grows bolder, her hand dipping closer to your aching sex before retreating back out when you opened your mouth to speak. Her arm ended up looped around your shoulder as the two of you laughed and drunk, tracing soft patterns into your shoulder, nails scraping against your skin. Soft lips hover above your ear, nearly touching but not quite.

"All done?" Rio whispers, her lips moving against your skin slowly, tauntingly. Her fingers tip toe along your shoulders, trailing over your back and along your neck before she retreats her hand back to her side.

"Yeah," you manage to breathe out. Your breath caught in your throat, lips suddenly dry and mind spinning. It wasn't from the alcohol, you knew that much, it was something different, something you weren't willing to place.

Smiling happily, plum-colored lips curving into a small smirk, dimples flashing slightly, Rio drags out of the booth. You let her take you out willingly, not a single bone in your body protesting. A few months ago you would rather drown in a pile of bees than spend quality time with your father's wife, but now, she didn't seem so bad. And once again, Rio holds the door open for you, eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Thanks," you mumble once she starts driving, "For making tonight like actually fun."

A small laugh bursts from her throat, the sound melodic and soft - a honeyed tune to your ears.

"Of course, sweetie," she coos, glancing at you. One of her hands comes to stroke your thigh. Her touch sends a fresh shiver through you, a full body shudder wracking you. Rio glances at you, raising an eyebrow, "Cold?"

Her fingers curl tighter around your skin, nails pressing against it through the skin of your fabric, "Uh- yeah." All you can manage is the singular word, her touch affecting you more than you were willing to admit. Shivering once again as her fingers dip higher, lower, your hands grip the seat tightly.

"How far are we from home?" you ask through clenched teeth, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you and not on her wandering fingers.

"Eager for something?" Rio tuts, her grip tightening, "Have some patience."

A heat pools in your stomach at the phrase, and you squeeze your thighs together, only prevented by her hand between them. If you looked at her, you would be able to see the small smirk playing on her lips. The way her hand clutched the steering wheel in impatience. She drove with speed, subtly more than before, tires leaving marks with every turn. She continues to tease you throughout the ride, splaying her finger across your inner leg,

When you pull into the driveway, you're frozen in place, staring straight ahead.

"Look at me," her words are soft, yet commanding, and one hand comes to turn your face towards her. She leans in close, breath fanning against yours, "I'm gonna kiss you," she murmurs, her lips hovering inches above yours, "I'm gonna kiss these pretty little lips."

You don't have time to say anything before she is pressing her lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss. It started out as slow, but it quickly turned into more, her hands tangling in your hair and tugging you closer. Her tongue explored your mouth, tracing every part of the wet cavern with precise movements.

Just when you thought you were going to pass out from lack of breath, Rio pulls away, "You taste divine," she murmurs against your lips. A large part of you wants her to stop, wants her pull away, but it's pushed aside by the flaming desire in your core.

Her hand comes to tug your head back, exposing the column of your throat to her. She places featherlight kisses along the length of it, lips sucking and teeth occasionally biting.

"My father," you whisper, pupils blown and words breathy, "He-"

"Shhh," Rio cuts you off, pulling back to meet your eyes, "He's out of town, left right after us. Which means I get you all to myself." Teeth nipping at your bottom lip, Rio soothes the sting with her tongue, "Inside, now. I want you stripped and on the bed with your legs spread." Her words leave no room for argument, practically demanding you obey her. You hesitate for the slightest of moments, mind blanking and heart pounding in your ribcage. All you have to do is look at her smudged lipstick before you’re slamming the car door open and rushing into the house.

Hesitantly, you creep up to her bedroom and you take it in. It's been forever since you'd seen your father’s room, and it looked different now that Rio slept there. Teeth biting down on your lip harshly, you tug off your clothes, slowly, one by one. Your hands tremble with each movement and you have to force them to still multiple times. It's a miracle you get your clothes off, but once you finally do, you climb onto the bed. It smells faintly of Rio and that musky scent your father had, but you didn't care much. All you could focus on was the pounding of your heart as you waited for Rio.

It seemed like an eternity before she finally sauntered in, hips swaying with each step and lips curled into a teasing smirk.

"Good girl," she cooed, pausing at the edge of the bed, "Following every instruction I gave you." The praise sends another spark of heat straight to your aching cunt, and you can feel the wetness pooling there. Slowly, almost as if she was mocking you, Rio pulls her pants down, revealing a part of herself.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch sight of the strap around her waist. It's a long, girthy, green strap that sticks straight out, attached to her hips by a harness. It bounces once released from the confines of her pants. Now you realize what took her so long. Rio climbs onto the bed on all fours, making her way up to you with small movements, pausing right between your spread legs. Hands landing on your thighs, she looks down at you, smile wide and eyes hooded with desire.

"Tell me you want this," she whispers, staring deep into your eyes.

Biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, you manage to force out, "I want this. Please."

Smile widening, Rio drags the tip of the strap up your soaking wet slit, groaning when she realizes how wet you are, "God damn baby girl, this worked up and we've barely started." You whimper and buck your hips, silently begging for more.

Her hands shoot out to pin your hips to the bed, and she lines up the strap to your entrance, but not before tracing a few teasing circles around your clit. She dips it in slowly at first, letting you adjust to the stretch before thrusting her hips.

You gasp at the feeling of her filling you up with a strap. At first, she starts slow, pumping in and out of you at a pace that's almost gentle - almost. She adores the small whimpers and whines you make, little moans leaving your mouth as you grasp at the bedsheets. When she finally decides you've adjusted enough, Rio snaps forward, burying herself all the way in you. You inhale sharply, eyes fluttering at the sudden, harsh, intrusion. The feeling of her stretching you out, her fake cock straining against your walls is a new sensation, but one you love none the less.

"Good girl," she praised, fingers kneading your waist. Rio sets a brutal pace, pounding in and out of you, wet sounds filling the room. She groans, throwing her head back in pleasure. Hands slipping down to your knees, she hooks your legs over her shoulders, nearly bending you in half as she positions you better.

A loud whimper escapes you at the new position, but you don't have time to question it before Rio's fingers find your clit. Swirling the sensitive nub with precise, practiced movements, Rio brings you closer and closer to the peak of ecstasy. You can feel it building inside you like a raging fire, every snap of Rio's hips only fueling it. She pinches and twirls your thumb between her finger with skilled ease.

"Rio," you whimper, "I'm gonna-" you cut yourself off with a loud whine, "I'm gonna come."

She leans down, capturing your lips in hers in a dominating kiss, "Come for me," she murmurs when she pulls back slightly. With a final sharp piston of her hips and rough twist of her fingers, you come undone. Her name is a choked cry on your lips as your back arches, legs curling around her shoulders.

The orgasm rips through you like none other, waves of pleasure flooding your senses over and over again. Rio works you through your orgasm, gently fingering your clit and leisurely pumping in and out of you. Panting, you look up at her with hooded lashes, taking in the sight of her bright smile and husky eyes. Your chest heaves as you relax into the sheets.

Carefully, Rio's pulls out of you, silencing your whine with a quiet murmur. She deftly unhooks the strap, tossing it carelessly to the side, before laying down next to you. In an unexpected move, she bundled you into her arms, holding you close. Her lips trail delicate, yet open mouthed, kisses all over your face. Across your forehead, down your nose, over your flushed cheeks, following the sharp curve of your jawline.

"Still hate me?" she murmurs, looking down at you in a way that can only be called lustful.

You laugh a little at her question, faking indifference with a shrug, "Eh, my opinion of you has gone up."

Scoffing, Rio tugs you closer, and you bury your face into her chest, savoring the smell of her and the touch of her skin.

"Your father actually wasn't gone," she whispers in your ear, "He's passed out on the couch."

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 1

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Fuck me, that's what I get for not wearing my helmet tonight. Jason came to with numb hands and legs, burning shoulders, a gag tight in his mouth, and a pounding headache. His ears rang and a groan escaped his throat before he could keep quiet. He slowly cracked an eye open and when he wasn't blinded took stock of the situation he was in. He was kneeling, tied to a post behind him and in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle of some kind. At the edges of the circle there were candles, a bright Lazarus green, and beyond that were robed figures.

Great, cultists. Perfect. The ringing in his ears started to fade as chanting filled the room. After the first repetition of unfamiliar words the flames of each candle one by one turned black, and once it came around, the edges of the circle started to glow bright green. The glow followed the path written in what Jason assumed was blood until the entire thing was glowing bright enough that Jason had to squint to try and make out any of the symbols and commit them to memory, any little thing could be a clue after all.

As the chanting got louder and louder, the glow shone brighter and brighter. He could feel a build up of energy and his hair began to stand on end like lightning was about to strike. The light became blinding and the pressure in the air built up until he felt he couldn't breathe, he could smell ozone in the air and suddenly the light returned to normal, he collapsed forward and his cheek hit carpet.

"Oh my Ancients! Are you alright?" He heard a feminine voice say and let out a pitiful groan. "That's probably a dumb question, one second let me grab something to cut those ropes and I'll help you up."

He heard shuffling and opened his eyes to a purple shag carpet with the magic circled burned into it and registered the ozone scent shifted to a burning smell. He tried moving his arms and yelped in response. He heard a thud and a quiet curse as his apparent savior stopped rifling through their drawers with a quiet "Aha!" He turned his head towards the sound and his mind stuttered to a halt for a moment.

Stood there, with a sword at least as long as the Demon Spawn is tall, was a woman Jason would expect to find in Themyscira. She stood almost seven feet tall with long red hair pulled back into a high ponytail braid, a helm-like crown adorning her head. Muscled shoulders had a black capelet from one and a pauldron on the other. She wore golden bracers like Wonder Woman on her forearms and armor similar in shape, but black with a symbol blazoned across the chest, under the armor she wore a teal toga. He turned his attention to her face and found a sheepish expression in those teal eyes.

"I absolutely forgot I had my sword with me today because of the council meeting. Let me just-" she quickly strode forward and cut first his feet and then his hands free, and after giving up on the knot, carefully cut the gag from his mouth. She knelt down and helped him to sit more comfortably. "Do you think you can make it to the couch? it's very comfy, I use it when I need a break between council meetings."

Jason tried standing and his legs protested feeling like pins and needles and tv static. He shook his head and she nodded thinking to herself. "Okay then, here."

Jason blue-screened as he realized he was suddenly being held in a bridal carry by this woman like it was nothing. He blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears as she carried him to her honest to god fainting couch and placed him upon it like a swooning maiden.

"So, um, hi, my name is Jasmine, please just call me Jazz regardless of whatever you hear anyone else here call me. Do you need some water? I'm gonna order some water, and some painkillers maybe? Honestly, I'm just gonna ask them to send one of the yeti healers to take a look at you and I'll need to ask someone who can read ghost speak to translate whatever brought you here." She rambled and made her way to one of the doors and spoke with someone just outside.

Jason laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself focused on the situation at hand. So facts so far: he was just used as a sacrifice of some kind, he was teleported somewhere unknown to him at this moment, and whoever he was sacrificed to seems to be some form of royalty and was arguably the most attractive and so far kind woman he's ever met. He nodded to himself and carefully pealed the red domino mask from his face.

"Jason." He said to her as she turned back to him after closing the door. She stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "My name, it's Jason."

She blushed a moment. "Right, yes, nice to meet you Jason, I wish it was under literally any other circumstances." She said walking forward to shake his hand.

"So, uh, where are we?" He asked, gesturing to what Jason assumed was a window, but wasn't certain because the sky was green and purple and had floating doors and islands in it.

She closed her eyes and seemed to take a fortifying breath. "Right. What do you know about the supernatural, besides the obvious that apparently magic circles work?"

Jason thought about what he could say here. Should he bring up his time in the All Caste? Should he bring up the Lazarus pits? I don't know enough about the situation yet. "I know that magic is real, kinda hard not to what with heroes like Zattana and Raven making headlines and the fact the city I live in is hella cursed."

He watched some tension leave her shoulders, but not all the way. "Good, I won't have to go over that particular world-shattering revelation, though I'll probably ask you more about those heroes you were talking about, I haven't heard of them." Jason was stunned for a moment, but she continued. "We are in a sort of, Between. We are in the Infinite Realms, the existence between existences. The Infinite Realms is the space between the dimensions of the multiverse. We are currently in the castle of the ruler of the Infinite Realms, more specifically my office." She hesitated before continuing. " I'm, sort of, the Queen Regent actually." She said embarrassed.

Jason processed that for a moment, and she let him. So, the multiverse is real, and he was apparently just sacrificed to the ruler of the dimension between dimensions. She let him sit with that information, letting him come up with his own questions, when there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me your majesty, you called for a healer and scholar? I had not left yet from the earlier council meeting and figured I could be of assistance." A tall yeti with ice for one of his arms and frozen horns atop his head appeared in the doorway. What also appeared seemed to be a literal skeleton that pushed a tea cart with a pitcher of water and little finger sandwiches on it into the room and left again.

"Frostbite! Perfect, first, can you take a look at Jason, he was apparently sacrificed and judging from the blood in his hair he at least has a head injury. Then the circle he appeared in burned itself into the carpet, I'm still not great at reading ghost speak, especially in an older dialect, I can't figure out what it says." Jazz spoke in a rush as she walked toward the cart to get some water for Jason.

Frostbite had a kind smile as he turned to Jason and pulled out a first aid kit from seemingly nowhere. "Yes, hello, you must be Jason. How are you feeling? What hurts in particular?" Jason went along with the examination, and gladly accepted the glass of water from Jazz as she handed it to him. "Well it looks to me like you mostly just need to rest and maybe take some painkillers. Here," The yeti carefully handed him a small cup with two over-the-counter pain pills in it. "Alright, now let's take a look at this circle!" He stood to his full height, carefully ducking to avoid knocking his horns on the chandelier. He observed it for a moment, humming to himself from time to time. "Right, so this appears to be a binding ritual, somehow tied to the Solstice celebrations. Typically it entwines the soul of the sacrifice to the being they were sacrificed to. Somewhere in the archives there is likely more information about it, but you'll probably have to spend quite some time searching."

Jazz looked pained for a moment. "Okay, do you think it can be broken?" Her face showed hope, but with an underlay of resignation.

Frostbite thought for a moment. "There are some, though most are permanent. I can send over some of my scholars to help locate the correct ritual, I would suggest asking the Master of Time as he would know for certain, but you know how they can be." He straightened before bowing to both Jazz and Jason. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Queen Regent and Lord Jason, I must make my way back to the Far Frozen to gather those to help your search. Good day." With that, the yeti left the two of them alone.

Jazz sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. She growled, frustrated, before she straightened after having made a decision. "Okay, so you're probably going to be staying her for a little while while we figure all this out. Let me show you to a room so you can rest a bit, and I'll have one of my aides bring you some clothes so yours can get washed too."

She led him through the passageways of the gothic castle, it's black stone bricks and tapestries of silver seeming to glow. They stopped at the third of a row of doors and went inside. The room was large, twenty-foot ceilings and a bay window with a sitting nook framed by two large bookcases stood across the room. A massive bed with an intricate quilt portraying what seemed to be a battle between supernatural entities was braced against one wall with a grand fireplace on the opposite wall.

"The door to the left of the fireplace leads to the bathroom, the first thing I did when I took over was make sure there was hot water and large soaking tubs in all the bedrooms here. There should be bathrobes of varying sizes in the closet that offshoots the bathroom. If you need anything, I'm probably going to be in my office for the next few hours and there is always the bell by the door for stuff like, food or whatever. Um, I guess I'll leave you to it?" She shuffled nervously out the door, leaving him standing there, hand half raised in an awkward wave goodbye.

He chuckled to himself for a moment before striding over to the bed and sitting down to start unstrapping his body armor and boots. Once stripped to his boxers, he made his way to the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to find not only a large soaking tub, but also a shower with a bench to sit. He quickly showered all the grime from the last few hours from his body, careful to get the matted blood in his hair untangled. Once finished, he started filling the tub before walking towards the closet where he found not only bathrobes, but also bath salts and bath bombs. Deciding to indulge, he grabbed one of each in similar enough scents and dropped both into the bath tub before easing himself into the hot water. He hissed at the temperature before it started easing the aches across all his muscles. He shut off the faucet and then leaned back and allowed himself to think.

So, he thought, I am in an alternate dimension, in the castle of the extremely attractive Queen Regent of said dimension, and my soul is apparently bound to her for the foreseeable future. He thunked his head on the walls of the tub contemplating the facts laid before him. He startled, shooting forward with his back straight.

"Wait a minute!" He said to himself. "Wait a god damned minute!" He smacked his forehead with his hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm in a romance novel plotline! Bound to an entity of unknown power against my will, but the entity is actually a kind and beautiful woman! Holy shit! I can't screw this up!"

Decision made, Jason Peter Todd, closeted romance novel enthusiast, began to plan.

[faeriesandfolklore]

A Sea God who lurks in the waters off of the cliffs of your home village. To appease his hunger, you each decade a maiden is tossed to the waves for him to feast. This year, it is you. You are dressed in ritual garb, your hair sprinkled with honey, lips painted red. You struggle as they carry you past the rice fields and to the coast. 

The water burns your skin as you sink to the bottom. You never knew how deep the water went, endless and blue. There are no fish, no whales. Just you, and the salt, and the sand drifting up from the bottom. Tears leak from your eyes. 

And then you see him. A flash of dark scales, sharp teeth. The brush of something against your foot, and then your back. You can see his eyes- pure black, his massive head the size of your entire body. You let out a low moan. He is truly a serpent, a beast, coming to devour you. 

Then you feel a hand on your waist, firm and calloused. A touch to your chin. When your eyes open, you are staring into those inky eyes- but on the face of the most handsome man you have ever seen, with endless green hair and a heavily freckled face, his lips drawn into a frown. Where his legs should be, an endless train of green fades into the sea. 

“You are the maiden,” he says simply. He moves around you, examining.

You do not speak. How can you? You would perish, the air slipping from your lungs. 

He touches his lips to yours, soft and unmoving. It is shocking at first, but then the warmth rushes through you. The sensation is like the faintest breath, and you inhale, taking in the water. And it is like the sweetest poison. But when you do not drown you know that you have worked some magic. 

“You are pretty,” he continues. He quirks his head. “Come.” Another hand on your waist, pulling you to his chest. You shiver a bit and he strokes your hair softly. “Relax, little one. You will not be harmed by my touch. Let us go.”

[narcissarina]

His Serenade˚⊱🪷⊰˚

Tw: mermaid breeding, threat, idk if leon keeping reader for himself count as kidnapping but idk, excuse my mermaid thingy explanation:3

Pirate!Leon × Mermaid!Reader

Word count: 2,569

(I used his romantic outfit since I couldn't finy anymore pirate-y but it suits this outfit for a pirate too!:])

“Captain!” The pirate member called, knocking to his office door as the one whom they call Captain stood and open the door, he cock a brow as they spoke: “we captured something big, will definitely be rich with gold!” they exclaimed and ran off to the net.

The Captain sigh, stepping out from his office as the sea breeze hit his face—the blonde captain turn his head to his crew and see what’s the fuss is all about, “what do we have here, fellas?” He asked. The heel of his boot clicking as he steps down the stairs and look over the net.

“Captain Leon.”

Leon Kennedy, their captain. Even though he did some good things in his pirate life but no one knew that he’s involved in the black market where he sells valuable ‘things’ he sees in the sea, you’d be lucky if he doesn’t want to share you with anyone else.

“I swear I did no harm!” voice squeak out, you were trapped in the net they set—it was only for luring other living things in the sea, but you; you are a mermaid, the most valuable thing and could cost up to millions and make them rich.

You were holding shiny things, silver spoon, gold plate, pearl necklaces and other things that catches your eye. As they say, mermaids like you have a knack for shiny and pretty things. Just like how when the captain they have called came to see the most precious thing they’ve caught came to see what’s happening. Your eyes shine like you have caught something more pretty and shiny, more than the accessories you have in your arms.

He has a pretty face, his eyes glows like the sea. You were mesmerized by his look as you felt breathless for a second.

His voice break your trail of thoughts as he snicker at the sight, “well, well. Didn’t think we’d get a fine maiden in a tight situation.” You hear most of his crew chuckle, probably a bad joke but you smiled at the man awkwardly and try you way of escape.

“W-Will you perhaps let me go?” you plead, the man name Leon, kneels in front of your vulnerable form, he saw your fin flinch as you curled your lower body and feel yourself shrinking under his cold gaze. He spoke, “what will benefit me and my crew once we let you go?” he scoff.

Racking your brains out, trying to find something to make them let you go. And as if on cue, a light bulb lights up in your mermaid brain, “I could find you lost relics and treasures deep within the ocean water.” You beam, Leon swears that your smile is part of the radiation of the sun. It was bright and he thought he had gone blind.

But his interest was piqued, he listens in and pulls the net up to your head to have it not block your face. “and, what kind of treasures are we talking about here, sweetheart?” he chuckles, snatching one of your shiny accessories from you and took a closer look of it.

“Pretty thing like you likes pretty and shiny little things huh.” He remarks, giving it back to you as you yelp and mutter a hush, “thank you.” His eyes still bore into yours, waiting for you to answer his question.

You start to stammer but eventually found your words, “I remember I saw a chest lying deep beneath the sand, the lock looks rusty and it could break easily when forced open.” You mutter, eyes glistening to let him know that you’re telling the truth, “you don’t know, probably a hundred or other things could be worth selling.” You try to tempt them to give in.

Leon turn his head and see his crew mumbling, piqued and tempted by the offer. “Are you true to your words? If not, we might do something worse.” You squeak at his threat and quickly nod, “I swear.” You swore, blinking your pretty lashes at the man—pleading to be let go.

The captain snap his fingers to his men and have you untangled and free from the net, “I’ll be giving you twenty-four hours to get us that so-called treasure, if not. We’ll have you sold to the black market.” Leon threatens, he picks you up and put you on the edge of the ship.

“See ya.”

He drops you off like you were nothing, back at the ocean as the things you collected were now forgotten—you got a new objective to finish, you don’t want to lose your fins and scales now, do you?

But first, you need to get home and show your presence to your father and sisters. They must’ve been worried sick that they couldn’t find you anywhere, “dear heavens! Where have you been?” mother asked, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face and angle your head to see any bruises or wound if you might’ve potentially hurt yourself.

You went to your sisters and father to let them know you’re safe and unharmed, “I told you not to go far from home.” You father sigh, stroking your hair as his eyes speaks with worry “I’m fine,” you mumbled as you assured, “are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and left, back to his throne—you guess. After assuring everyone and blessing them with your presence, you get back to work and ask some sea friends to help you lift the heavy chest. You know you still remember the path on the way there. It was a bit dark, but the way that the gold shines makes it easier for you to spot and tell your friends to take to the surface.

The ocean was wide as it sends waves, you turn to spot his ship and swim over there. “Knock, knock!” you yelled, knocking on the wood of the ship since it was stop to a halt, “c’mere.” You gesture to the dolphins as they help you lift the heavy treasure chest, “just as I promise!”

Leon look over and smiled at the sight, “lift her up.” You heard him yelled, little did you know—you swim right to their net. Your sea friends panicked and left you with the treasure, you can’t blame them as they don’t want to be harmed.

You let out a yelp, flopping over in the net as the treasure was lift with you. “You have one strong net, captain.” You praised, swaying your fin as the net was put down in the ship, he smiled and mutter to his crew and lift the chest to his office. He’s the one handling golds.

“so uh…” you start, “I did my part, kept my word and brought it back to you and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet…” you mumble, fidgeting your finger and your fin flops to the side of the net. The crew looked at each other funny but didn’t utter one word.

Silence was all the answer they could give you.

You look over the blue water of the ocean as the waves crashes, lost in your thoughts as you felt hands around your body—lifting you up like a bride, you shudder at his touch as you snap your eyes to him. It’s Leon, and he was walking towards to the door of his office.

“No,” he says firmly with a grin, his hold to your tail tightens, “I’ll be keeping you as my trophy.”

Living in his ship was not that bad, you thought. He put you inside his office, build a tub for you to swim in even though it’ll be cramped—his office is wide and a little too spacious for him so he didn’t object about constructing a tub inside his office for you to swim in.

Plus, it’ll be good for your scales. Don’t want the beauty to fade away because of the surface air.

Truth is, if you stay in the surface too long—the air will dry you up and make you look like a dehydrated fish and Leon doesn’t like that thought, he had a book in stored that came in pretty handy.

A book about the legends of Merfolk.

It has saved his ass and saved yours, building a tub inside was a dumb idea—thought by the crew but Leon doesn’t give two shits about it. As long as he could keep you to himself, that is all that matters to him, keeping you as his little valuable trophy mermaid.

You didn’t mind that the pretty man took you in though, his eyes shines like the blue sky and sea—how could you also say no to the face he has?

Father, Mother and your sisters would kill you if they knew that you left them for this ‘evil’ pirate that they so-called evil pirates that hunt their beings down so they could make profit or food.

Would it be twisted that you had to agree on that but had to object about the idea of Leon being an evil pirate?

The blonde Captain gives you whatever shiny pieces of trash that you desires and you store them at the bottom of your tub that you now call your second home.

In return, you give him your scales that’s been falling off. Shredding is what they say call it as you grew a new shiny one. Leon was intrigued and once wore it as a necklace to show his appreciation for the gift. It was a beautiful color and a vibrant fade on it. You were one beautiful mermaid, after all.

It once shocked Leon that most people wanted to buy his “jewelry” as they say it captivated their eyes and would pay a ridiculous amount of gold, he didn’t refuse the offer though and experimented what they’ll do with it. One merchant asked a stock or a jar of those scales.

Only fuels Leon’s idea.

You only lie low in your tub and flick your fin out of boredom and blew bubbles on the water, your eyes darted to the male who’s sitting in his chair—reading a book about Merfolks. Your hand scratches at the almost end of your fin as one scale fell off, “Leon!” you called, he never grew tired of that voice that sounds like melodies of a song.

“yes?” he put down his book and focus on you as you held your scale and stretch your hand to give it to him, “another one fell off..!” you beam. He reach out and took it in his hand, placed it in the jar with your other scales; he has been collecting them ever since, “I’m glad I can help you with profits.” You mumble, squishing your cheek to the wooden floor as you bow your head down.

He nodded and got down with you, soaking his clothes as he pulls you into his arms. His hand on the lower back of your waist, his face buried on the crook of your neck. “Just want you to know, you don’t have to force yourself to shred.” He mumbles, kissing your neck as you shudder at his affection.

It feels nice to be held in his arms once in a while, making you to take your mind off with your worries about your family in the ocean. You feel warm.

But this is bad, mermaid goes in heat every after three months and you’ve been craving—desperately wanting to breed, that is the reason why you have your own room and lock yourself in there until it calms down, or you calm yourself down.

You hear him groan with content, your back pressing against him real close. His hand travels down to your tail and feel every each of your pretty gradient scale, “so pretty for me.” You hear him mumble and bury himself to the crook of your neck, heat rising from your cheeks and ears—squirming to his touches.

“You know, I read something interesting…” he mumbles, kissing your skin and resting his chin on to your shoulder. Shifting his position, he got to his knee and push your body to the edge—bending you over, your fin tap his leg lightly as your body grew excited.

“I read that mermaid goes into heat after every three months.”

His statement made you embarrassed, you look away to avoid his gaze—he chuckle as he trail down to your hip and your tail, finding if there was an entrance to pry open. “Is that true, princess?” he asked, his fingers massaging where your rear is. Leon felt something off and move the scales aside that’s been covering something.

You felt his fingers enter you, gasping and tensing up at the stretch.

Leon chuckled and leaned back to look, “found it, I assume.” He pulls and plunge in slowly, making you mewl as your face was planted onto the floorboards and your lower body still in water. He could feel your gummy walls pulse around him, “you're so wet.” He coos and speed the pace of his fingers, you gasp—desperate for air as you whine at the stretch.

“You’re too tight for me, let me help you hm?” Leon coos, while he busy his fingers stretching and curling inside of you—he’s also taking some of your scales that’s been falling and tossing it to the side.

He found your sweet spot.

“oh my—!” you screamed, eyes widen as tears drops, feeling your orgasm when he pressed hard on to your sweet spot. “Can’t have you too loud, you’re gonna distract the guys.” You nodded at his words, twitching as he pulled out—belt buckling and zippers unzip, he positioned himself and slammed himself at ease with one thrust.

You screamed, your gummy walls clenching around him as he groans at the tightness, “fuck, that’s some mermaid pussy.” He hisses, pulling and plunging in—building his pace as he ravages you. Your moans loud and tears couldn’t stop from falling.

“please, I—” you cried, you sing so beautifully as the pirate fucks you to oblivion, “damn, you sing so fucking pretty for me.” His thrust becoming harsh and hard, the familiar warm sensation approaching. Eyes rolling back, Leon grip on to your hips, his fingers digging to your flesh as he chases his high.

Not long until he finally painted your insides white, “fuck!” he curses under his breath, fucking his orgasm inside and being sure to not spill a drop. He pulled out and see the masterpiece he created, your hole twitches as his seeds ooze out from you.

To his surprise, your scales move to finally cover up your used pussy. He laughs at the knowledge he just gained and help himself up, don’t worry—he didn’t forget you and your marvelous singing ability, your ocean friends and family probably heard you.

He stayed inside the tub with you, you snuggling close to him—clinging as if your life depends on it—he drew circles around your abdomen and pepper kisses to your temple.

“I wonder if it’s possible to have a mermaid pregnant with my child.”

“If it is, I want to carry yours and have a family together.”

He smiled and finally lets your rest.

Both of you slept on the tub, being in each others warm and embrace.

How lovely.

◇ asks are open for request!

[shxuga]

Whispers of the Deep I | Twisted Wonderland

Jade × Floyd Leech x Female!Reader | Pirate AU | TW: Drowning attempts, unhealthy relationships, mentions of death, alcohol and acts of piracy.

This serie is based on a comic, click here to find it!

The salt in the air stung your skin.

The night was cold, a clear sign that you and the proud Rosehearts fleet had ventured too close to the poles. The icy wind that seemed to seep beneath your very skin reminded you of the night when the imposing and chaotic ship first found you. Drifting on a piece of wood, lost at sea in the dense, dangerous waters. With the promise of making you someone useful, not just another mouth to feed, Captain Rosehearts allowed you to join his crew.

And six months later, you had become a true pirate.

You couldn’t boast, like Ace, about losing a hand in a fierce pirate battle (though that was a lie; the first mate, Mr. Trey Clover, had told you Ace actually lost it after being caught stealing in a town, where they cut it off as punishment). Or like Deuce, who, after a few too many drinks, tearfully confessed how he lost his foot due to a miscalculation during a cannon test. But hey, you looked the part now, with a snug black heart-shaped eyepatch covering your right eye. You didn’t wear it for fun; underneath was a nasty scar and a useless eye. So, when Captain Rosehearts offered you the leather accessory, you didn’t refuse. In hindsight, you would’ve had to accept it regardless.

You bit down on a splinter of wood between your teeth, lazily rubbing your arms against your sides to fight off the chill as your gaze remained fixed on the sea from your lookout perch. Waves crashed wildly against the ship, but that didn’t stop Cater’s slippery tongue. He was animatedly telling one of those old sailor tales that always captivated the younger—or dumber—members of the crew.

“Can you imagine it? Beings beneath the waves, looking like angels!” Cater sighed, gesturing with his hands as though the entity he described could be touched. You weren’t interested in his drunken ramblings, but with nothing better to listen to, you resigned yourself to eavesdrop from your position atop the crow’s nest. “I’m talking about mermaids! Those extraordinary creatures, almost as deadly as they are beautiful.” You took a moment to glance at the crowd of crewmates, enraptured by their superior’s words. It didn’t surprise you to see Ace and Deuce’s mesmerized faces in the middle of the group. “They say their song is like a gentle caress, a deadly trap! Something that turns even the smartest or cruelest sailor into putty in their hands. Once they’ve marked you as prey, there’s no escape.” He concluded with a leap onto the bow, eliciting gasps of surprise from some. You grimaced from your high vantage point.

Between the flickering oil lamp lights, you spotted a flash of red you recognized immediately. You stifled a laugh as you watched that furious red blur make its way toward the drunken group on the bow, entirely unnoticed. Cater brought a finger to his face, his eyes darkened by alcohol and his cheeks flushed despite the biting wind.

“Legend has it, if you manage to get one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!” To your surprise, he continued, drawing even more interest from the others—and more ire from their lurking captain. Cater sighed, like a lovestruck maiden. “Personally, if I could choose how I’d die, I’d want it to be at the hands of one of those beauties...”

His statement shocked no one. His reputation as a ladies’ man was well-known. Rumor had it that, during a stop at a port, several courtesans he’d scorned banded together to get revenge. They supposedly drugged him and... well, the whispers said they castrated him. You had no idea if it was true, but given his nymphomaniac tendencies, it wouldn’t have surprised you.

“If you’re so eager to die, let me be the one to throw you overboard,” growled Riddle, snapping everyone out of their drunken stupor. His stern voice and sharp glare forced Cater to stand straight and regain composure. The others followed suit, fleeing in fear of their temperamental captain’s icy gaze.

The laughter and idle chatter faded. The moon reached its peak in the sky, and everything fell into a deep silence, broken only by the sound of waves, the constant creak of worn wood, and the snores of your crewmates, who had abandoned their posts to huddle on the cold deck. Everything was so peaceful you hesitated when you noticed a distant silhouette on the horizon. You extended your spyglass—practically an extension of your arm at this point—and directed it to the point in the sea that seemed to be approaching rapidly.

The emblem on the flag sent a chill down your spine: an apple dripping with poison smiled at you. If not for the light color of the flag and the ship’s golden detailing, anyone would’ve mistaken the naval guard insignia for a pirate’s Jolly Roger. You yanked the bell rope hard, alerting your crewmates to take their positions.

“Ship sighted!” you announced. To your dismay, the elegant Pomefiore reached you with alarming speed. You were about to jump down from the crow’s nest, rope in hand, when the sound of a cannonball firing echoed in your ears, and the ship shook violently. Everything around you blurred. You heard shouts, the wild splashing of the sea, and before you realized it, you were falling.

The freezing water welcomed you with open arms.

• • •

You have no idea how many days have passed since then. While you frantically fought against the raging sea, someone noticed your absence and dropped a lifeboat in your direction. Somehow, you managed to climb aboard, but as temperamental and vain as the ocean is, a fierce storm broke loose, carrying you far from the fight. And far, far away from your crew.

Despite the cold winds, the sun blazed proudly in the sky. The skin not covered by your wrinkled clothes burned as you sprawled languidly in the small boat, feeling your lips crack and your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. Your eyes stung, yet another sign of your dehydration. The lifeboat was equipped with a few emergency rations, but you weren’t foolish enough to consume them all at once. Experience had taught you it could take weeks to be found. Deep down, buried in the darkest corners of your mind, you recognized the possibility that you might never be. But you refused to dwell on that thought.

The real battle now was with your own mind.

You were hallucinating—or so you believed. At night, you would wake up in a panic, gripped by the eerie sensation that something, or someone, was watching you. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt like hundreds of eyes emerged from the depths of the sea, silently stalking you. It was morbid. Unsettling. Since then, you hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few fleeting moments. Paranoia gnawed at your sanity; you could only close your eyes when sheer exhaustion forced you to. But even then, rest was elusive.

You had nothing except your clothes and an old tarp, which you used to wrap yourself during the frigid nights. You were surprised by your own stubbornness—how, despite the bone-chilling cold and the relentless growling of your empty stomach, you refused to give up.

Because you trusted your captain.

He might have been a small and temperamental man, obsessed with his rules, but he was a man of his word. And he’d given his word to you and every other misfit on the ship:

"I will never abandon any of my men. So don’t you dare die."

Clinging to that promise, you wrapped yourself tighter in the stiff tarp, keeping your eyes wide open, watchful, as that disturbing sensation lingered in the dark of the night.

• • •

It's been a month.

You know because the moon, which had been absent for some time, finally showed itself again, bringing with it an unsettling sense of hope. Yet, its absence left you uneasy in the dark, shivering from the cold and the fear that at any moment, something might emerge from the water and drag you into the icy depths of the sea.

But it never happened.

By now, you didn’t know whether to see it as a blessing or a curse.

Your rations were gone. Somehow, you made them last until that morning when you devoured the remnants of stale bread and drained the final bitter drops from your leather canteen. Now, you simply waited for the inevitable. Staring into the water with the moon behind you, you saw your gaunt reflection, thinking about how pitiful and miserable your death would be.

Completely alone. Isolated. Perhaps you would have preferred being arrested, accused of piracy, and hanged in the town square. That death would have been kinder than dying of starvation and dehydration, your body covered in blisters.

Resigned and delirious, you found yourself remembering your first nights aboard the Rosehearts fleet. Nostalgia struck as you softly hummed that song Cater always loved to sing at any opportunity:

"There is nothing... that console me... but my jolly sailor bold."

You sighed, closing your eyes. Slowly, humming until sleep began to take over.

"Is it dead?"

You jerked awake at the sound of a splash and an unfamiliar voice close by. You scrambled backward, drawing the pistol hidden at your side and pointing it without hesitation toward the source of the voice.

Your face drained of color.

An olive glow painted the dark sea. At first, you thought it was a star. But soon, you realized it wasn’t. A star wouldn’t have such a human face—yet also something not entirely human.

The blue-green scales on the masculine body leaning against your boat shimmered like tiny jewels. Like a fish’s—but this being staring at you with a curious, almost morbid amusement was definitely not a fish. Its uneven, dual-colored eyes lingered on your pistol, tilting its head slightly. The moment you fell into the water with it, the gun had turned into dead weight among your clothes, but you had kept it as a precaution. Still, the creature before you didn’t seem to recognize the threat it posed.

It was a mermaid… no, a merman.

A sharp-toothed smile greeted you after a moment of silent contemplation.

“Heh~, I guess I was wrong.”

You couldn’t decide what was more astonishing—that this creature spoke your language or that all those mermaid tales Cater had spouted were actually true. If you made it out of this alive (which, honestly, you doubted), you’d apologize to him and pay closer attention to most of what he had to say. Because even with Cater, half the things that came out of his mouth were lies… if you were lucky.

"I told you, Floyd. You shouldn’t have been so impatient," another voice chimed in, followed by a new splash. You tensed further, whipping your aim to this new direction. Panic gripped you. If you thought one was intimidating, you quickly realized two were the embodiment of pure terror.

Like an animal assessing its odds against a predator, your single eye darted between them. They were identical, equally menacing. Broad shoulders, sharp teeth, and piercing eyes. Where human ears should have been, fins jutted out. Their webbed hands, tipped with claws, scratched lazily at the sides of the boat.

Your chances of surviving this encounter dwindled with each passing second.

“But it was soooo boring...! We’ve never seen a human before—not a live one, anyway.” Floyd grinned widely, and your expression hardened. “Aren’t you curious, Jade?”

"Of course, but I’d rather not be reckless. You know, there could be more of her kind around," Jade said, his olive eye gleaming in a way that churned your stomach. "And that would be so unfortunate..."

"It’s been a month!" Floyd protested, shaking the boat in a fit of impatience. When his gaze shifted from his twin to you, it softened slightly. "I’m so curious… Hey, can you talk?"

"I have nothing to say to you," you spat, gripping the pistol painfully tight in your fingers. Floyd chuckled, leaning heavily on your boat. The wood groaned under his weight, and you wobbled from the shift.

"Heh~, look at her. Trembling like a little shrimp but acting like a shark."

"Humans are, as always, such fascinating creatures."

They started inching closer, their eyes seeming to glow more intensely against the absence of light.

“Stay back—don’t come any closer!”

“Poor thing, she’s so scared…” Jade sighed, placing a hand on his chest as if feigning sympathy. However, his eyes were sly crescents of amusement.

“Do you think a swim might help her relax?”

They shared a look of wicked complicity.

“Only one way to find out…”

“Wa-wait…!” Your protests died on your tongue as they overturned the boat, and the salty water enveloped you.

The sea consumed you, like dark, thick ink. The salt stung your eyes, but you refused to close them, knowing what lurked nearby. The cold clung to your skin, much like your soaked clothes. You swam upward toward the moonlit surface, barely catching a shallow breath before something yanked your ankle, dragging you back down.

You fought against the iron grip coiled around your body, your mind reeling in horror as you noticed the elongated appendage wrapping around your legs and most of your torso. The mermen were enormous, and their tail resembled that of a serpent. Your hands scrambled for the knife hidden in your boot when a faint glow emanating from the chest of your captor (Floyd, perhaps?) caught your blurred vision.

"Legend says if you claim one of their scales, they’ll become your eternal servants!"

You didn’t even think. You couldn’t, not when their clawed fingers were digging into your sides and the water had invaded your lungs. With the last of your strength, you tore the glowing scale from its chest. You caught a glimpse of its shock, but you kept fighting until the small, jagged piece was clutched tightly in your hand. You didn’t know if it would work, but you wished with all your might.

"Take me to the surface! Now!"

Your world flipped in seconds. You vomited the salty contents of your stomach, bile burning your throat as your lungs were granted a second chance. Trembling on your hands, you spat out every last drop of seawater stinging your insides. You didn’t even notice you were still gripping the small scale until your blood began to seep from your palm.

"You... What did you do to me?" the chattier merman hissed, his mismatched eyes glowing with hostility.

“Floyd… your chest.” Jade pointed out, his previously amused expression replaced with shock. You followed his clawed finger’s direction, spotting the faint trickle of blue blood dripping from where you had ripped the scale.

“Oh, looks like it actually worked... That charlatan was right.” You spat out the last salty remnants in your mouth before straightening up. Holding the scale firmly between your fingers, you glared at the two stunned mermen. “Now, would you kindly get your filthy hands off my boat, creature?”

Floyd seems to struggle against a force pulling at his neck the moment you finish speaking your command. It was a fact—with the scale in your possession, he was forced to obey you, much to his dismay.

“Don’t move” you warn Jade when you notice the gears of his mind turning behind his sharp gaze. You shake the scale. “Or I’ll have to use this thing and make your brother kill you.”

Floyd lets out a guttural growl, his eyes sparking with fury and disdain, but he can’t resist the invisible pressure of the scale trembling between your fingers. His body tenses, and an almost tangible force seems to wrap around him, making him falter for a moment, though not enough to fully yield.

“Damn it…” he mutters through clenched teeth, clearly struggling against the control now imposed on him. His hands, which had earlier tried to snatch the object from you, now remain rigid at his sides, as though he’s afraid to touch you.

Jade, on the other hand, appears calm, more surprised by your bold threat. His narrowed eyes and typically impassive face show only a hint of curiosity. The scale, with its lethal gleam, is a card he doesn’t yet fully understand but certainly respects.

“Don’t act tough, human.” Jade replies, his lips curving into a subtle smile. “Not now that you know you can kill me without laying a finger on me.”

It’s not a threat—it’s a certainty, and he says it so casually that it almost makes you doubt your own power. But you know what this scale represents now that it’s in your hands. The energy pulsing within it doesn’t just govern Floyd; it also connects to you in a way neither of them can yet comprehend.

“It’s true,” you respond, feeling the truth in his words. But there’s something else at play here—something that goes beyond mere threats or physical power. You know the scale grants you control, but you also feel how the connection to the merfolk consumes you, like a slow poison seeping into your skin, your mind. You can’t stop it. Not even if you wanted to.

A shiver runs through your body, and you glance at the water’s surface, fearful of what might be lurking beneath the dark waves.

“Listen to me” you say, gritting your teeth as the scale begins to vibrate more strongly, its power growing. Floyd stirs, his gaze no longer on you but fixed on something else, as if the scale’s invisible threads had bound him to an inescapable fate. You feel the pressure in your chest but remain firm. “I’m not going to use this thing to hurt you. That’s not what I want. But if you think you can take me by surprise, you’re wrong.”

Floyd doesn’t respond, but his expression speaks volumes. There’s something in his eyes now—a deep fear. Not of you, not of the direct threat, but of what the scale might do to him if he defies you. And that’s where you have him. You don’t need to harm him. You just need him to believe you will.

Jade approaches slowly, his movements stealthy and calculated, as if waiting for something… something more. But he can’t hide the slight tremor in his hand as the water shifts around him, forming invisible ripples.

“What do you want, then?” he asks, his tone shifting from a threat to something akin to acknowledgment, almost as if he were measuring you, testing you.

“I want your cooperation. Take me to the nearest port, and I’ll return this thing.”

“Why should we trust a human?!” Floyd’s fins bristle, and you frown, irritated by his behavior when you clearly have the upper hand.

Jade observes silently, assessing the conflict between you two. For a moment, everything seems to pause, the tension nearly palpable. Then, a faint glint in his eyes suggests he’s finally made a decision.

“Fine” he says, his tone now more calculated than aggressive. “We’ll take you to the port. But don’t get any ideas, human. You won’t manipulate us at will.”

As he says this, his hand extends toward you, and though you know he isn’t doing it out of kindness, the fact that he’s agreed to the proposal at all is a victory. Despite his reservations, Jade has relented. And that’s the opportunity you need.

“I know you can’t trust me” you reply, keeping calm despite the emotional weight at play. “But understand this—I’m not your enemy. And this deal is the only way we all come out ahead.”

And it’s true. Your only desire was to survive. You understood that these creatures acted according to their nature, but that didn’t absolve them of trying to drown you. You had no intention of becoming their master (as Cater’s tale suggested) or anything of the sort—you just wanted to go home. Because the Rosehearts, with its smell of cheap perfume and rum, had become that. Your home.

The wind whips your face as the sea begins to churn around the small boat. Jade and Floyd, working in silence, haul the ropes with tremendous strength, and the vessel speeds forward, leaping over the waves with the grace of sea creatures. The water bubbles around them as if the ocean itself is aiding their journey, propelled by the determination of the merfolk. Your heart races at the power of their effort, but you remain calm. You know there’s no turning back.

The horizon begins to clear as the port takes shape in the distance. In less than an hour, the water around you seems to calm, as if the sea recognizes the urgency of their mission. The sun’s light starts to ascend, bathing the landscape in golden hues that herald the start of a new day. Under the merfolk’s direction, the small boat nears solid ground.

Finally, the boat touches the first rocks of the port, and with one last push of their fins, Jade and Floyd gently ground it on the shore. The water settles, and the boat halts with a soft creak. The wind no longer blows as fiercely, but the ocean’s echo still lingers in the air. You take a moment to feel solid ground beneath your feet and allow yourself to breathe calmly for the first time in weeks.

Jade retreats, his expression etched with distrust and exhaustion, while Floyd can’t help but cast a withering glare your way. You notice their unease—this close to human territory must be unfamiliar to them, but at this point, that’s the least of your worries. Without a word, you toss the scale toward Floyd. The stone gleams briefly in the morning light before landing in his hands. There’s no gratitude, no farewells, just a cold and calculated exchange.

Without looking back, you step toward the dock, walking like someone who has finally finished what needed to be done. Your attitude is dismissive, as if all those days adrift at sea were just a nightmare you want to forget. As you leave, your footsteps echo against the empty pier in the early hours of dawn. The twins, on the other hand, watch from the water’s edge, their eyes fixed on your retreating figure. Their bodies slip beneath the sea’s surface, leaving behind an ephemeral trail in the water, like a sigh. No words. No promises. The tension between you all seems to dissolve with their disappearance.

You recognize the town as soon as you set foot in it. It was marked on the Rosehearts’ route, so with a bit of luck, you might reunite with your crew by the end of the day. You’re exhausted; fatigue clings to you as clearly as the salt and smell of the sea in your clothes. You trade the trinkets you kept from the lifeboat for some gold. It’s not much, but it’s enough to buy a cold drink and secure a place to sleep for the afternoon. Because, for heaven’s sake, you need some rest. And to think. Now that you’re no longer on the brink of death, you feel you have a lot to process. While your life as a pirate had been full of madness and fantastical experiences, this, by far, had been the most surreal.

The creaky bed in the rundown inn you found with your meager budget groans in protest as you collapse onto it. You’ve bathed, and your clothes have been replaced with something resembling what you wore before. At this point, all you want is to lie down and sleep until the harbor bell announcing incoming ships wakes you. But there’s a strange itch pricking at the skin of your palm. Annoyed, you open your hand in front of your eyes.

The greenish glow that greets you makes your guts churn.

The scale… the damn scale. How had it returned to your hand? You were sure you’d thrown it away!

You don’t even think before opening the window and hurling it out for the second time. Seconds pass, during which all you hear is the erratic pounding of your pulse in your ears. Just to be sure, you check your hand again, and…

The scale is back.

A knot tightens in your stomach. The harbor bell snaps you out of your stupor. You lift your eyes and recognize the Jolly Roger of roses and skulls painted on a menacing black flag. A new fear blooms in your gut, alongside a growing doubt forming in your head:

How are you going to explain this to your captain?