#only to have them stolen away from you by fate

[hisfavegirl]

Can you make a scene when aegon is crying in his room after b&c and the reader is his twins?? like angst but also comforting??

Silent Grief - King!Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader.

Summary : Jaehaerys—your precious boy—was stolen from you too soon. Taken from the world in a brutal twist of fate that left your family fractured, broken in ways you never thought possible. He was a promise of a future, a new beginning after the turmoil that had once gripped your bloodline. But now, that future is gone, lost in the cruel grasp of tragedy.

Aegon Masterlist.

You pause outside the door to your husband’s chambers, the soft murmur of his voice filtering through the crack in the door. It isn’t just the faint sound of a man grieving—it is the raw, broken sobs of a man whose heart has been shattered. Aegon’s cries hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’ve spent so long building to protect yourself from the pain. His sorrow is thick with the weight of a loss you both share, a loss that feels impossible to bear.

Jaehaerys. Your son. The child who had brought so much joy into your life, now gone. His laughter, his tiny hands reaching for you, gone in an instant. And now, it is Aegon’s sorrow that fills the room, the pain that has consumed him for days.

You’ve watched him retreat into himself, isolating himself from you, from the world. He has avoided you—his wife, his twin sister. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. He doesn’t want you to witness the vulnerability and despair that have overtaken him, the weight of grief that he can no longer hide.

But you are his wife. You are his twin sister. The bond between you is too strong, too deep for him to shut you out completely. You know him better than anyone. You know that behind the closed doors and the silence, he is breaking.

With a steady breath, you push the door open.

The room is dim, lit only by the flickering light of a candle that seems as fragile as the moment itself. Aegon sits at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. You’ve never seen him like this before—not even during the darkest days of their war for the throne. The powerful, often indomitable king, now reduced to a man wracked with sorrow.

He doesn’t look up when you enter. His voice is barely a whisper, lost in the rawness of his emotion.

“Please, don’t… don’t look at me like this,” Aegon’s voice cracks, and his words hang heavy in the air, as if the very act of speaking them causes him more pain. “I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save him.”

You feel your heart tighten, the weight of his grief pulling at you. You know this pain all too well—this unbearable ache of loss that consumes you from the inside out. But you refuse to let him suffer alone, even if he tries to push you away.

Slowly, you walk towards him, your presence a silent comfort in the midst of his storm. You sit beside him on the bed, your hands gently resting on his back. He stiffens at first, then gradually relaxes as he feels your touch. Your connection is undeniable, a bond forged from years of shared experiences, of love and loss. You were born together, lived through the chaos of the world together, and now, even in this moment of unbearable grief, you would face it together.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice soothing, “I’m here. I’m right here with you. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

He turns to you then, his tear-streaked face contorted with sorrow. His eyes are dark with exhaustion, haunted by the death of their son, and in that moment, he looks so fragile that it nearly breaks you. The strong, proud king you once knew, now just a broken man, clinging to the remains of his shattered heart.

“I couldn’t protect him,” he repeats, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t save Jaehaerys.”

You take his face in your hands, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. “You didn’t fail him,” you say softly. “There was nothing more you could have done. We both loved him. We both did everything we could, Aegon. But some things… they’re beyond our control.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than any words could express. The weight of the grief, the loss of their son, hangs between you, binding you in shared sorrow. And yet, as you sit there with him, holding him close, you realize that despite the pain, there is still something stronger than it all: your bond. Your love for him.

The sound of Aegon’s sobs pierces through the heavy silence of the room, each cry a reminder of the grief you both carry. The sorrow in his voice is raw, unfiltered, and it cuts through you like a blade. You had lost your son, your beloved Jaehaerys, to a brutal fate, but hearing Aegon, the man you had once looked up to as a rock, crumble before you, makes the ache in your heart swell with a new, unbearable pain.

His cries are not just for Jaehaerys. They are the cries of a father who feels like he failed, a king who couldn’t protect his own flesh and blood. And though you, too, are lost in your own grief, there’s a part of you that can’t help but feel the weight of his sorrow, the burden he’s placed on himself. He has always been your pillar—strong, unyielding. Yet now, in the wake of their son’s brutal death, you see him as you never have before: broken, fragile, and lost.

You want to hold him, comfort him, but you are equally as lost. You, too, are drowning in the loss of your child. Your son, your Jaehaerys, was taken from you in a way so cruel, so violent, it feels like the world itself has torn you apart. You wanted to protect him, to keep him safe in a world that has only ever been ruthless. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

Your heart aching, and without a word, you pull him into your arms. His body is trembling with grief, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, and it feels as if your tears have no end. The dam breaks, and you cry, not just for Jaehaerys, but for the man who has always stood beside you. You mourn for him, too. For the Aegon you once knew—so proud, so certain of everything—and now, reduced to a shell of himself, lost in the same pain you feel.

You both weep together, your cries a mirror of each other. You weep for the child stolen from you, for the cruel brutality that claimed him. You weep for the dreams of a future that will never be. You weep for the man you loved, who now is slipping away from you, consumed by guilt and sorrow.

His arms tighten around you, as though trying to hold onto something—anything—to anchor him in this world that has suddenly become too much to bear. Your fingers run through his hair, your hands trembling as you hold him close, wishing that somehow, in this moment, you could ease his suffering. But you can’t. Neither of you can escape the truth of what has happened.

“Jaehaerys,” you whisper, your voice barely audible through the tears. “Our son… he was taken so brutally. So violently.”

The words choke you, the reality of it too much to speak aloud. But you know Aegon hears it, feels it, because he clutches you tighter, as if your embrace is the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“He was everything,” Aegon mutters, his voice broken. “He was everything. And I couldn’t protect him. I failed him. I failed you.”

“No,” you say, your voice trembling with the effort to make him understand. “You didn’t fail us. You didn’t fail him. We both did everything we could. The world… the world is just cruel, Aegon. There was nothing we could do to stop it.”

But even as you say the words, you know they don’t bring comfort. Nothing can fix this. Nothing can heal the wound in your heart, nor his. You are both drowning in a grief that feels too heavy to bear, yet somehow, you hold onto each other as if your lives depend on it.

And in the midst of it all, as your bodies shake with sorrow, you both know that, for now, the only thing that can get you through this pain is the shared weight of your loss. Together, you mourn the life stolen from you both, sharing in the quiet understanding that while you have lost your son, you have not lost each other—at least not yet.

The night stretches on, and as the hours pass, the tears begin to subside, leaving behind a quiet, fragile silence. You and Aegon remain locked in each other’s arms, not saying a word, but knowing that the grief will never truly leave. It will live within you both, forever. But in this moment, as you hold him close, you find solace in the shared sorrow, in the unspoken promise that, together, you will face the darkness ahead.

The quiet sorrow in the room is almost suffocating as you and Aegon remain locked in each other’s embrace. Your tears have slowed, but the ache remains—a heavy, unyielding weight that neither of you can escape. In this moment, the world outside seems so distant, so far removed from the grief that binds you both together. It’s just the two of you, sharing in a silence that speaks more than words ever could.

And yet, unbeknownst to you, another presence lingers in the doorway.

Alicent stands there, her figure silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, watching her children in a way that is both loving and helpless. She stands frozen, unsure of how to act, torn between the instinct to rush to you both and the fear that her comfort will fall flat, that her words will be hollow against the rawness of your pain. She’s always been the Queen, the figure of authority, the protector of the family. But in this moment, all that seems to have failed her. She doesn’t know how to fix what is broken—how to fix you both.

Her heart aches as she watches you and Aegon, the children she has raised, the ones she has tried so hard to hold together. She wants to walk over, to wrap her arms around both of you and tell you everything will be alright. That the pain will fade, and time will heal the wounds. But she knows—deep down—that it isn’t true. Time will not heal this, not this wound, not this loss. The emptiness left by Jaehaerys’s death is something none of you will ever fully escape.

For a long moment, she stands there, unsure whether to enter or retreat. She hesitates, caught between her love for her children and her inability to bridge the growing gap between them. Alicent doesn’t know what to say, or if anything she says will even be heard. She has tried so hard to be the mother you both needed, to mend the fractures that have always been present in your family, but now, more than ever, she feels like a stranger to both of you.

Aegon shifts slightly, his face still buried in your shoulder, and you let out a shaky breath, holding him tighter, as though the very act of holding him could somehow stop the world from crumbling. You don’t notice Alicent’s presence at first. But after a few moments, she realizes that her hesitation has already caused the distance to grow.

With a quiet sigh, Alicent turns away from the door, her footsteps soft as she retreats into the shadows of the hallway. She doesn’t look back, afraid that if she does, it will break something that is already too fragile. The silence between you three is deafening, and though she’s tried for years to hold your family together, in this moment, she feels more distant than ever.

Alicent doesn’t know how to make you feel better. She doesn’t know how to ease the sorrow of losing a child. She doesn’t understand how to fix the bond between her children and herself, a bond that has been fraying for so long, so silently.

As she walks away, her own heart aches, not just for Jaehaerys, but for the two of you—the children she cannot seem to reach, no matter how hard she tries. She doesn’t realize that, in her silence, she has only deepened the divide, pushing you both further away without ever meaning to.

Alicent knows nothing of the quiet, unspoken resentment that has grown in the wake of everything that has happened. She doesn’t understand that, while she watches from the outside, you and Aegon have begun to forge your own bond, one that excludes her. A bond born not from love, but from shared pain and the deep understanding that only you two can truly know the weight of this loss.

And as she disappears down the hall, a quiet, invisible rift stretches between the three of you, one that will not easily be mended.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Tethered by Fate [pt. 1]

Yandere! superhero! childhood friend x civilian! fem reader

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent act of kindness from you sets off a chain of events that will irrevocably alter the course of your life. TW: bullying (not towards reader), obsessive & delusional behavior, murder (of a side char), descriptions of gore, stalking, mans is an unreliable narrator, eventual smut in pt.2 (18+, when both are adults ofc) A/N: pt.1 is mainly setting up the scene and tracing the root of his obsession through the years, so apologies if it's a little slow and long-winded. the juicier parts and climax will be featured in pt 2 (which i'm currently working on)!! Also in this universe, the red string that connects soulmates is a visible thread that everyone can see, so you'll know who is/isn't your soulmate.

You wonder if things could've gone differently.

If only you hadn't befriended him. If only you had spoken up and defended him when it mattered. If only you hadn't distanced yourself. If only you'd noticed the glaring signs, bold and bright as red ink. If only you'd been more vigilant. If only you'd skipped the shortcut route home. If only you hadn't been so trusting as to invite him inside. If only you'd been firmer with your no's and pushed back harder...

... a million iterations of what ifs circulate your mind. But none of them would've mattered.

Try as you might to conjure up fantasies to hide yourself away and find solace in, the wretched outcome remains: your invisible shackles will forever bind you to the man who tore apart and rewrote fate itself. The one who single-handedly destroyed your life.

Once he decided you were his—that you belonged together across every universe: past, present, future, alternate—no sacred verses etched in scripture, no divine prophecies, no eternal threads could ever stand in his way.

~

"Honey, don't cry. The kids will love you for you. You're bright, amazing, and such a good boy. Trust me, they'll open up to you, and you'll all be best buddies in no time!"

... was what your childhood friend's mom had softly cooed into his ear when he came home from school one afternoon, bawling, thick snot running down his nose.

For a middle schooler, things like reputation, fitting in, and having friends mattered a great deal. So for him to fail so miserably in all departments meant he was truly at the bottom of the food chain.

A head shorter than most of his peers, who were eagerly speculating about whose powers would manifest first, he became an easy target. His tiny, stick-thin stature made him the subject of ridicule, with some kids sneering that standing too close to him might infect them with some “powerless disease”. Ignoring him wasn’t enough—they made sure he knew exactly where he stood: nowhere.

He'd begged his mom to let him change schools (again), but she simply shooed him away, insisting that he just needed time to adjust to his new environment.

What he failed to mention were the key details—his lunch money being stolen every day, his gym uniform constantly soiled in dirty mop water, his desk decorated in insults scribbled in Sharpie, and the ugly yellow-and-purple bruises marring his skin. How could he possibly tell her? He knew his poor mother wouldn't be able to handle such distressing news or fathom that her precious baby boy was being bullied.

And so, he bided his time and suffered in silence, growing more isolated with each passing day—worn down bit by bit until he started to believe he truly was nothing more than a scrawny, useless, four-eyed freak.

That was until... you came along.

From the moment you enrolled at his school, you were loved by everyone. It was hard not to be, with your easygoing and friendly demeanor.

Imagine his surprise when you sat next to him in Math class. Never mind the fact that it was the only available seat, but does that really matter? To make it even sweeter, you said hi to him first. Him. Of all people!

Sure, maybe it was just a segue to ask to borrow a pen. But you didn't have to say hi to him, and there were plenty other classmates you could've asked. Didn't you know you were committing social suicide by talking to him?

Maybe you hadn't gotten the memo that he was the grade's biggest loser, the one everyone oscillated between taunting or ignoring. Maybe it was all part of some cruel joke he wasn't privy to.

Or maybe... you genuinely wanted to talk to him.

That latter possibility was confirmed when, for the rest of the year, you kept sitting next to him in class. Every. Single. Time. Willingly. A conscious choice you made. You began greeting him by name—wait, you actually knew his name?—and sharing whatever snack you brought that day.

He found himself looking forward to seeing you, to sharing brief moments of laughter, to basking in your comforting company. Piece by piece, his defenses chipped away. While he shrouded every room in a blanket of gloom, your presence was as radiant as the rising sun, your pretty smile blinding him with the warm, golden rays that eventually filtered through the broken walls he had built up.

Suddenly, the suffering he endured all those years didn't matter. None of it mattered, because it all led to this treasured moment of meeting you.

For once in his otherwise shitty childhood, he had someone to call a friend. A friend who made his heart race so fast it felt like it might leap out, his skin tingle with goosebumps, and his cheeks warm with a deep blush. As incoherent and messy as it was to make sense of his own feelings, one thing was certain to him—you were his destined soulmate.

But with that realization came the bitter truth: life didn't always have your best interests at heart. For this perfect happily-ever-after he dreamed of was shattered by the harsh reality he couldn't bear to face—

His red thread didn't connect to yours, and neither did yours to his.

He could see it, the string that should have bound you together. But it remained stubbornly absent, yours and his leading elsewhere—to other people—like a mocking, cruel reminder of what could never be.

~

By high school, he barely saw you anymore. Granted, you didn’t have any classes together, and with senior year meant more work and less spare time. But he’d hoped you’d at least make some effort to continue your after school hangouts or talk during the in-between moments. Wasn’t that what friends did?

Except, whenever he bumped into you—whether in the hallways, at the front gate, in the cafeteria, or by the convenient store both of you frequented—you didn’t even offer him a "hi" back when he called out your name. Nor did you flash that beaming smile you used to send his way.

In fact, save for the fleeting glance you’d graciously deign him every now and then—only to quickly retreat your eyes to safer territory—you acted as if he didn’t even exist.

Oh.

Somehow, that hurt more than—get out of the fucking way, freak—being haphazardly shoved into the lockers and kneed in the ribs ever could. From his crumpled position on the ground, he searched pitifully for your gaze in the sea of mindless students traversing the hall, hoping you’d cast him a lifeline. Any lifeline he can latch onto to prove he was still worth acknowledging.

It was so brief that anyone else would've glossed over it. But he knew that look; he wasn’t new to this. The message was so pathetically obvious you might as well have shouted it from the rooftops.

You looked at him like he was someone you didn’t want to be associated with, someone you were embarrassed by, someone you wanted to avoid—like he was some shit stain stuck to the bottom of your shoe, waiting to be scraped off.

It was a visceral image, seared into every ridge and groove of his mind, playing on an endless loop—each repetition feeling like you had wrenched a fist into his chest, squeezing his heart tighter and tighter until all blood flow ceased.

Slowly but surely, you were beginning to morph into the faceless monsters who’d made his life a living hell.

Nononono. Sweet, lovely you couldn’t possibly. Surely not.

Clutching his snapped-in-half glasses, fat tears brimming in his eyes, he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around your sudden change in behavior. What went wrong? Did he do something wrong? Was it because he’d finally confessed to having a crush on you?

If you were just going to reject him and toss him aside, why talk to him in the first place? Why string him along and give him false hope? Unless... unless you were playing hard to get.

Yes, that must be it. That seemed like the most plausible explanation.

After all, you secretly liked him too, didn’t you? You felt the same soulmate bond he felt so deeply in his bones too, right? Suffice it to say, once this thought took root—an all-consuming unease that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, born from his desperation to prove his belief true—it quickly spiraled into a cancerous obsession.

He shadowed you everywhere. Memorized your schedule and lingered in spots you were most likely to pass. It was no coincidence, then, that every time you rounded the corner, he was somehow there. Or when you lined up for food during lunch, he was always standing right behind you. At the library? You can bet he was at the same row, pretending to check out books he didn’t care about.

It was during one of these moments, in the midst of trying to catch another fleeting glimpse of you, that he overheard something that would cement his spiral further. You were laughing with your friends near the lockers, unaware that he was standing just far enough to hear every word.

"Sooooo, any thoughts on who your red thread connects to?" the whiniest of your girlfriends giggled.

Me. Who else would it be?

He’d expected you to say something casual, or even tease them, but instead, you spoke without hesitation. "Well, I'm hoping it's someone like Zenith."

His heart dropped into his stomach. That... up-and-coming superhero?

A chorus of "booooring", "you're literally like every other bitch," "can you get any more basic?" erupted from your posse. For once, he actually agreed with them.

You let out a carefree laugh—god, even your laugh sounded ethereal. "Nah, hear me out. He's strong, brave, and has a literal heart of gold. That's the holy trinity right there. Heard he stopped some major armed robbery last week. And he's only 24!"

"Yeah, and? So is Blaze."

"Why are you looking at me all crazy, like I just pitched your dad or something?" you playfully scoffed. "C'mon. I mean, have you seen those muscles on Zenith? And he's tall..."

It was stab after stab. Perhaps because Zenith was close in age to all of you that the jealousy in him amplified tenfold. The hero's popularity was unmatched, and it seemed like everyone couldn’t stop talking about how perfect he was.

The idea that you—you—might be thinking about him like that, the way others fawned over him, made him want to throw up.

He wasn’t like that. Not strong, not charming, not good enough.

Of course, that was it.

He was just... not what you wanted. He couldn’t measure up to someone like that. That was why you avoided him, why you wouldn’t acknowledge him anymore. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. Or that you didn’t believe he was your soulmate. No, it was that he didn’t fit the ideal you had in your head. He wasn’t the hero you were dreaming of.

The curiosity that had initially taken hold mutated exponentially, growing into a festering itch he couldn’t ignore. You were the itch, burrowing under his skin, making bile churn in his gut, his insides writhing like a breeding ground for parasites.

He staggered to the bathroom, barely able to keep himself upright as nausea clawed at his throat. Slamming the stall door behind him, he doubled over the sink, dry heaving into the basin. The bile didn’t come, but the suffocating pressure in his chest wouldn’t let up.

His breaths came in shallow, panicked bursts as his trembling hands tore at his neck, nails raking deeper and deeper into his skin until blood welled beneath his fingertips. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't—

When he finally forced himself to look up, his reflection in the mirror seemed almost unrecognizable.

The sink shook beneath his grip, a low, shuddering rattle that reverberated through the tiled walls.

And then, with a sharp, earsplitting crack, the mirror shattered into a thousand jagged fragments. Overhead, the light bulbs exploded in rapid succession, sending tiny shards of glass cascading down like rain.

Everything around him fell eerily still. The ringing noises in his head drained into silence, leaving only the sound of his own labored breaths.

In and out. In and out.

As he stared at his broken reflection, bloodied fingers trembling against the sink edge, his eyes flickered a deep, vivid red.

It was like a fog had lifted from his mind.

He knew exactly what he had to do.

~ Good evening. We bring you shocking and tragic news tonight. Beloved superhero Zenith, a symbol of hope and strength to many, was found dead late last night in an alleyway on Broad Street. At just 34 years old and at the peak of his career, his passing has sent shockwaves through the nation.

A passerby discovered his body, which authorities report was severely mutilated, with deep lacerations rendering him almost unrecognizable. Forensics have confirmed he was decapitated, though the full autopsy results are still pending. As investigators work to piece together the circumstances of his death, the burning question on everyone's mind remains: was this a case of suicide, or a brutal, targeted murder?

If it was murder, the world is left wondering—who could commit such a heinous act against one of our greatest heroes? We’ll continue to provide updates as more information comes to light. For now, our thoughts and prayers are with— "Jesus, that's fucking gruesome," your fiancé interrupts the TV broadcast, the sound of the news anchor’s voice muffling as he slides beside you on the couch. He balances a plate of heated lasagna in one hand and hands it to you.

"Thanks," you murmur, the warmth of the plate grounding you momentarily as you take it. Your gaze remains fixed on the TV, the harrowing details of Zenith's death replaying in your head.

"It's honestly so crazy, really," A pause, your voice quieter. "I mean, I can't believe it. He was so young."

"I'm more surprised he didn't survive the fight, for someone his caliber," he replies, taking a bite of his own lasagna. His nonchalance contrasts sharply with the knot of unease forming in your stomach.

"You think it’s a murder?" You glance at him sideways.

"And you don’t?"

"Well..." You hesitate, shifting the plate in your lap. "I do, I guess. With injuries that bad, it couldn’t have possibly been a suicide. It’s just... so sad. And I won’t lie, if someone like Zenith can die like that, meaning there’s someone out there more powerful, more dangerous, roaming our streets..." You trail off, absently twirling your fork in the pasta. "I don’t know how safe I feel."

Your fiancé hums thoughtfully, then leans back against the couch. "Well, there’s always that other hero our age. He’s quite popular now, isn’t he? I’ve seen him all over my feed. Twitter, TikTok, billboards, Youtube ads—fucking hell, it’s getting to be too much, honestly."

The mention of your old classmate's superhero alias pulls at something uncomfortable, buried deep. You tense slightly, fingers curling around the plate. "Can you blame them?" you manage, forcing a casual shrug. "The world loves to fixate on the next hot thing."

"Wait, didn’t you two go to school together? How was he like back then?"

Your stomach twists. "Oh yeah... we did," gaze suddenly focused on your lasagna as if it holds all the answers in the world. Your silence afterward feels louder than it should.

Thankfully, your fiancé doesn’t seem to notice your lack of response to his question. He mistakes your discomfort for grief over Zenith, not the weight of old memories—flashes of your classmate's persistent confession, of clinging to you everywhere—crawling their way to the surface.

He places a comforting hand on your knee. "Don’t worry, I’ll be here to protect you," he says with a wink.

At that, you snort, the tension breaking just slightly. "Pfft, you? And what can you do, huh?"

"Hey! I’m very strong, thank you very much," he protests, flexing his biceps dramatically. Before you can respond, he lunges forward, his fingers digging into your sides with an attack of tickles.

"H-hey! Ahaahaha! S-stop it!" you gasp, squirming beneath his playful attack.

You both tumble into a heap on the couch, breathless and laughing. You collapse onto his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall as his arms wrap loosely around your waist.

For a moment, the world feels lighter. Closing your eyes, you intertwine your fingers with his, the soft red string looped around your pinky tangling neatly with his. The faint connection hums warmly, a quiet reassurance against the discomfort tucked in the corners of your mind.

"I love you," you whisper, though something inside you feels unmoored.

He squeezes your hand gently. "I love you too."

As you lie there and the buzz of the TV fades into the background, the heaviness in your chest remains. Zenith's death. Your former classmate. The memories you try so hard to suppress. They linger, like shadows that no amount of warmth can fully dispel.

~ You're not sure why you decide to take a different route home from work this time, but you do.

Perhaps it's the paranoia creeping in. First, there's the unsettling fact that the killer responsible for Zenith's death is still at large, which is hardly reassuring for a normal civilian like you. Then there's the chilling sensation you've been experiencing for the past two weeks, a feeling you just can't shake, like someone's watching you.

Your fiancé was quick to rationalize it, insisting that the latter might simply be your fear projected from the former playing tricks on you. But that doesn’t change how real and invasive it feels. It's as if unseen eyes are salaciously snaking up and down your body, peeking under the gaps of your clothes, tracking your every move—from your apartment to work, the grocery store, and even the gym. It's unnerving.

Tonight, you're hoping the shorter route, dim as it is, will be your saving grace.

As you trek down the poorly lit street, you clutch your bag a little tighter. You glance back, just once, to make sure no one's there.

Your fiancé has your live location—a precaution you ensured before leaving the office. Just a few more meters, and you'll be home-sweet-home, ready to jump into a hot shower and unwind for the day.

But luck has never been your strong suit.

At first, you almost don’t hear it: the faintest scuff of a footstep behind you.

A chill pierces through your body. You freeze mid-step. Your heartbeat thunders, hammering against your chest so loud you swear the entire neighborhood can hear it.

You're just being paranoid. It's late and you're imagining things.

But then it happens again. A step. And another. You walk faster, and the sound mirrors your pace. When your pace turns to a sprint, so does theirs.

And fuck! Why the hell did you decide to wear these stupid heels today of all days? You're running as fast as you can, praying and praying you'll make it out alive, but that person is suddenly catching up to you because you can hear their breaths and it's scaring you and your legs are starting to feel like lead, anchoring you to the ground, but you can't stop now if you stop they'll catch up and god knows what they'll do to you oh god oh god oh god—

A sickening crunch.

"Woah," a deep, smooth voice cuts through the night. "That was close. Any second later, and things could've gotten... real messy."

You don't have to turn around to know who the voice belongs to.

He steps into view, and you meet eye-to-eye—or rather, after craning your neck to look up—with your former classmate.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" His smile is bright, almost boyish. For a split second, his laidback, easygoing demeanor disarms you, almost making you forget about being chased. But then your eyes drop to his hand. Crimson coats his open palm, shards of skull and smears of brain matter wedged between his fingers, the carnage dripping sluggishly down the back of his hand and pooling at his wrist.

Reality crashes down on you.

Your body moves to let out a bloodcurdling scream, but sensing that, he quickly interjects—

"Hey, hey, none of that, okay?" His hand—cleaned off in one swipe across his dark hoodie—comes up in a mock-placating gesture, palms open. "You don’t want to wake the whole neighborhood, do you?"

Your scream dies in your throat, lips trembling as you clamp your mouth shut.

“See, that’s better. No need for theatrics. You’re safe now. Though, with a reaction like that, you’d think I was the one chasing you. You wound me, you know?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock pain, as if your terror has genuinely hurt his feelings. “Here I am, your knight in shining armor, and all I get is fear.” It’s difficult to process exactly who you're talking to, owed simply to the fact that the man before you is so vastly different from the timid, nerdy boy he once was.

For one, he’s no longer the small, scrawny kid with limp arms. His once frail frame has been replaced with broad shoulders, lean muscle, and a big-boned sturdiness that makes it impossible to look away. And two, he exudes a confidence that feels almost foreign, his tone carrying a gravitas and assuredness that commands attention.

He’s grown into someone almost unrecognizable, eerily reminiscent of Zenith in both presence and charm. "Thank you," you eventually remember your manners, shaken from your reverie. "I—god, that was...that was fucking scary." A shudder of relief escapes you as your fingers brush through your hair, soothing yourself, trying to steady your racing heart.

But beneath the relief, a thread of confusion winds its way into your thoughts. You're surprised, but grateful. Grateful for his intervention, yes, but something about this situation doesn't sit right.

He's an elite, A-list superhero. Why the hell would he be dealing with petty street crime? Shouldn't that be left to the junior heroes, the ones still earning their medals? And how the hell did he end up in your neighborhood at exactly the right time and place? The timing alone feels too perfect, almost too convenient.

Your mind screams at you to drop it. To not pry. To avoid opening Pandora's box. But you can't help it. So against your better judgement, you ask, "Why... why are you here? This... doesn't seem like your usual type of scene. You know, with your—" you gesture vaguely toward him, the potent aura he's practically radiating, "—everything."

He chuckles, the sound light, carefree, as if he hasn't noticed the way you're trying to process it all. "Why not? You think I only deal with the big stuff?" He steps closer, teasing grin widening. "No, no. It's my job to save everyone. Doesn't matter if it's a suspicious guy lurking around the corner or a city-wide crisis. Every life counts."

"People have been reporting strange sightings around here," he continues. “Someone’s been poking around the area lately. Guess I was just in the right place at the right time. And I'm glad I was."

On any other given day—when you would be thinking straight, less frazzled, more like your logical self, and not on the verge of hyperventilating from a near-death experience, you might've exercised more caution, more discernment.

You might’ve pressed further, questioning whether it was truly necessary to kill the man in such a grotesque way. You can see the headless corpse left to rot in your periphery, blood pooling on the asphalt, and—shit—you’re gonna be sick. Isn’t it protocol to hand him over to authorities first for custody anyway? By now, alarm bells should’ve been blaring in your head.

But tonight? Tonight, your sense of self preservation is dimmed by the weight of what just happened, your nerves still rattled by the close call.

So, while your mind lingers on the oddity of it all, the warmth of his smile, the ease with which he carries himself, are enough to disarm your defenses, reassuring you more than you'd care to admit. Somehow, in a haze of confusion and adrenaline, you find yourself standing at the front of your apartment. How you got there, you're not sure. The walk from the street to the lobby, through the elevator, and up to your floor feels like a blur. You can barely recall the steps, yet here you are, staring at your door—unlocked and ajar. It almost doesn't make sense, yet your hand is already on the handle, pushing it open with a slight jerking motion as if on autopilot.

You don’t say goodbye, though. Instead, you look at him with a half cocked head, as if still questioning your own actions. A strange combination of guilt, relief, and the faintest sense of obligation rush through you.

Maybe it's the guilt for how you distanced yourself from him in high school, never standing up for him when he needed it most. Or perhaps it’s your gratitude for not dying tonight—you're still floating on that cathartic relief. Maybe it’s the lingering impulse to repay him, or simply a strange desire to reconnect with someone you once knew a decade ago. Besides, your mind rationalizes, your fiancé will be home soon, so it’s not like you can’t kick him out if things get uncomfortable. And he's an old classmate, right? Nothing to lose here.

"Do you want to come in?" The invitation tumbles out before you can even think to stop it.

Little do you know just how terrible of a mistake that is.

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚🥀₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 ♡₊˚🥀₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king x concubine 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 normal form sukuna (sorry yall but next time ill do his big boy one) 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his darling 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 breeding (!!!!) 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 8.8k

: ̗̀➛ notes: this took a whole WEEK to edit. im so obsessed with this story. it's my favourite thing ive written because i love period movies and dramas and really got to challenge my writing skills to give it more a fantasy-esque element. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

The diligent hands of Lord Sukuna Ryomen’s palace attendants scrubbed away the grime that clung to every inch of your weary form. There were no traces of tears in your eyes, despite the discomfort of the cleansing process.

Perhaps it was the residue of gratitude for an escape from a foster family who saw fit to barter you away for a pittance to fuel their vices.

The water surrounding you had transformed into a murky haze, carrying away the evidence of your former life's hardships.

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART THREE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, mentions of violence, blood, injury, 141 are still mean pirates, very brief mentions of death masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

The words of Captain Price weighed heavily on your mind. With little distractions to guide you away from them, they were all you were left with. They replayed on a consistent loop, like a broken record player. It was taunting, the way your own mind betrayed you after pleading with it not to think of the cold dose of reality the Captain had given you. It denied your requests for soothing calm and gifted you with roaring waves of chaos.

The Captain had been right. Every last word was coated in nothing but bitter truth, and you hated it.

Your village was nothing but unkind to you, and you knew it. You tried to defend them, tried to reason with why they could have been so cruel to you, but with only yourself and the sounds of the sea to fill the abyss in your head, your defense was bound to crumble.

It wasn’t your fault you were different, at least compared to the traditionalists you grew with. Being born in a secluded hamlet separated from the bustling mainland meant the people were just as isolated. Hermits, they were. They sought simplicity through actions shown by the book. Marriage, children, with women to remain in their place at home. It was a dream to some, and a nightmare to you.

You wanted more. There was a vast world out there for you to mark your claim on, yet your own people disregarded your desires. They turned on you, taunting you as the village outcast, one that many continued to torment well into adulthood. You were one against many, and you only had yourself in the long run.

You worked hard for what you had. Despite the consistent abuse your people had given you, you sought out adventure like a moth to a flame. It called out to you. Learning of medicines and practices to become more of the miniscule woman everybody saw you as was your safe haven. You wanted to explore the world and take your practices to a place where you’d be accepted as one’s own.

Then those pirates had taken that away from you. Not only had they stolen your dreams, but they had stolen your home, people, and passion. Everything was lost at the drop of a hat.

Being a medic for a scroungy group of thieving pirates was not in your cards. Before, you hadn’t even known pirates were existent. They were a simple folk tale, something to  share on quiet nights when the village had grown bored. Never did you think you would come across one, let alone four who had taken it upon themselves to make you their problem.

You feared that you would never achieve your dreams of being a proper medic. Of never escaping to the mainland where you could begin a tranquil life consisting of you and your studies. Now, it seemed that you would never experience peace or independence. Your dreams were embezzled, lost in the foamy waves that lapped against the side of the ship.

The grieving of your loss didn’t stop, even during Soap and Gaz’s visits. They kept it minimal, presumably under the Captain’s orders, or because they simply didn’t like you enough to further interaction. Not that you wanted them to, anyway, though it would’ve made the aching loneliness a bit more bearable.

They noticed, of course. The way your eyes began to sink in, casting a grim shadow across your face, or the way you no longer bared your teeth at them when they approached. Pirates like them didn’t care for people like you. You were a pawn in whatever game they were playing, and you didn’t know the rules.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the deck above you rattled you awake. The cot was fairly useless in providing you comfort, but you had succumbed to your eventual exhaustion over the course of your capture that you had grown used to it.

Unlike normal days, where their steps were more quiet and calculated, this time sounded like a frenzy. Uncoordinated, merging together in loud pitter patter. It was unsettling, lighting an icy chill in your bones. Even in the seclusion of the brig, the air felt thick with tension, as if the pirate’s suspense had crept through the crack under the door and spread throughout the ship.

The floorboards creaked menacingly from above. Your ears pricked at every stomp, every slam of the soles of their thick boots against the old wood. It was as if death was stalking you from the shadows, creeping in, jeering at you. You were in the dark, unaware.

You wondered if other pirates had invaded the ship. Perhaps this was your end. You’d be found by enemies and treated much more unkindly in the hands of men who only saw you as a mere woman and not the potential to be a medic.

Though your pirates were just as cruel, they hadn’t harmed you. They hurt your people, but salvaged you to make use of your knowledge. They weren’t as terrible as what may have lurked the waters. Maybe it was simply the fear talking, but if what you thought was true, then you prayed to whatever god was listening that you remain in the safe hands that had yet to pose a threat to you.

Your prayers were answered by the harsh sound of the door opening. It wrenched open, slamming up against the wall with a crack. Dim light poured through, down to your cell, illuminating a faint glow enough for you to see.

Atop the stairs, a large figure lurked, blocking out the light. It cocooned around him, casting an eerie shadow and successfully masking away his face.

Fear shot through your veins, burning like a raging fire, lighting you up from the inside. It threatened to combust, inching you towards a scorching agony. It clouded your mind, fogging over the logic and replacing it with racing thoughts of choking terror. You thought of death, torture, being swept away from this brig, only to be placed in a more torturous one with strangers out to harm you. To be used for pleasure and entertainment by a group of savage pirates unbeknownst to you.

“Get up,” a voice barked at you. It was rough and throaty, exuding pure authority. It was also familiar.

The sound of metal clanking on metal filled your eyes and once you had pieced together your mind enough, you realized it was the key unlocking your cell. The door opened, the figure stepping into your cell and closer to you, where you lay on the cot. It loomed over you, shielding you away from escape.

“Get up,” he ordered again. A hand reached out to you, cold, rough fingers wrapping around your bicep and lugging you off of the cot and on to your feet. There was no time for arguments. You recognized Ghost’s stony mask, and you knew fighting him would prove fruitless.

“What’s going on?” you asked, legs straining to keep up with his pace as he tugged you up the rickety stairs.

“Captain’s hurt,” Ghost gruffed, only the narrow of his eyes peeking through the eye holes of the skull mask, giving you a glimpse of his disgruntlement. “Need a medic. That’s you, birdie.”

Your heart sank to your stomach for numerous reasons.

For one, the smallest part of you worried for the Captain. No matter his actions thus far, he was hurt and required medical attention, enough of it that Ghost had prompted you out of your cell after residing there for the past month.

Then there was the fact that they were asking you for help. Sure, you technically were a medic. One in practice, but you knew the basics of medicines. However, the problem arose that you didn’t know much beyond that. If the Captain truly was injured to an extent beyond your skill, you feared they’d throw you over the ship and into the murky waters once they deemed you useless.

The misty air hit you the moment you stepped out of the brig and on to the upper deck. It was chilly despite it being summer, with the ocean breeze curling into your dingy hair and across your cheeks. The feeling was nothing short of relieving, to breathe in fresh air that filled your lungs, clearing them of the musty tang of brig air.

It was still midnight, but the moon was bright enough to have your eyes squinting, adjusting. Even the feel of it on your skin was like sweet kisses after a period of solitude.

That wasn’t what was important, though. Ghost had your arm in a chokehold, and he was urgently dragging you across the deck and towards the front of the ship. None of the other men were found, but you’d quickly find them when Ghost yanked open a door leading to the Captain’s quarters.

Inside, Captain Price was propped up lazily against the side of a large table, covered in maps and quills. A small pot of ink had been tipped over and spilled, tainting the papers with splotchy black. Drips of his blood had swirled into the mix, and the sight of it made you sick.

Price’s hand was smothering a gnarly gash on his side, fingers seeping over with crimson blood. Soap stood beside him with Gaz, the two of them seemingly anticipating your arrival. The moment they locked eyes with you, they stood up straight, expressions impatient.

“Took ye long enough, Ghost,” Soap boasted snarkily. Ghost huffed from beside you, pushing you by your arm and sending you towards Price.

“Fix him up,” Ghost commanded, stern. You blinked at him before switching to look at the Captain.

Price was a bit paled, skin clammy with sweat despite the chill in the air. He seemed more annoyed than pained, face pulled taut with a frown deepened beneath his beard. His eyes bore into yours threateningly.

“I don’t—“ you stared, stumbling over your words. “I don’t know how to stitch, I told you, I’m not a professional—“

“Surely you’ve had practice once or twice, haven’t you?” Price reckoned, cocking his head at you.

“Only on injured animals,” you defended. “I don’t know how to stitch on people.”

Price clicked his tongue, a hint of agitation gesred behind it. “Can’t be much different. Allow me to be your experiment, dove. You want to be a professional? Figure it out.”

You stared at him, bewildered. You knew there was no room for argument, nor was there any time. He was bleeding into the palm of his hand, wound sliced open from what you assumed was a sharp blade. You didn’t have the chance to think about how he possibly could’ve been injured in that way.

“Well? Go on, dove, it ain’t goin’ to heal itself,” Soap urged in annoyance, giving a light shove to your shoulder. Not enough to move you from your position, but enough to snap you into order.

“I need my supplies,” you explained. “Surely, you kept them.”

“Tch. Not stupid, dove,” Price snipped. With his free hand, he clumsily fumbled for one of the drawers of the table he leaned upon. Yanking it open, it was sent to the floor with a crash, sending its contents scattering.

The action was savvy and if you weren’t in a frenzied rush, you would’ve had the mind to be irritated. However, you remembered your place, as well as the people you were being forced to serve. It wouldn’t be wise to bark back at them for throwing around your work so carelessly.

You were quick to drop to the floor and begin retrieving what was necessary. Supplies were scarce, seeing as you weren’t fortunate enough to grow up on the mainland where demand was much more accessible.

Making a mental note to ask for them to collect more items for you, that is if this was really going to be your life, you clattered the items on the table Price rested on, making quick work of tugging stitching thread through the tiny needle.

The job would be sloppy, especially with the way your hands shook. You knew good and well that if anything were to happen to these pirate’s Captain, you’d be first one off the ship, sent to God knows where.

All eyes were on you. It was unnerving.

Soap remained next to Gaz, both watching you like a hawk. Their eyes studied every movement of your fingers as they worked through the threads, preparing to stitch up Price as requested.

Ghost stood near the door leading to the deck, arms crossed and eyes piercing into you like a warning threat. And really, you knew that’s what it was.

Price was awfully calm for a man who’d been stabbed, and you briefly wondered if this was something pirates were used to. Harming others was one thing. Gaining injury themselves was another.

Lucky for you, the Captain wasn’t wearing any fabrics. He must’ve taken his shirt off when he returned to his quarters, which made things easier for you.

“Remove your hand,” you said, before adding on, “please.”

Price huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh, though you highly doubted it. He carefully pulled his hand away from his wound, slippery with blood. The sight was quite gruesome, though you were sure it was just the blood making it so.

Taking a deep breath, you positioned yourself in front of the Captain. You dug deep in your memory of the times you’d operated on helpless animals you’d found in the outskirts of your village.

Animals were easier. They were more pliant and obedient. Some were squirmy, though being much smaller than you gave you advantage over them.

Price, though, was significantly bigger. And human. He was far from any animal you aided.

With his arm out of the way, you had a showcase of numerous scars scattering his torso. They were white, indicating they were much older, but some were still risen with pink tissue that revealed being more recent.

You had your hands full. Truly.

“I’m going to begin now,” you told Price.

“Don’t need to narrate the whole operation to me, medic. Just do it.”

Price’s tone was sarcastic and a tad bit mean. If he was aiming to offend you, he was doing a poor job. You’d taken ridicule all your life.

Brushing it off, you used nimble hands to make the first insertion of the needle, threading through the first stitch. Price showed no discomfort, though the eyes of the others didn’t help your unease. You felt like a lab rat and they were the ones operating on you.

The stitching became easier the more it went on. He needed quite a few, though the practice was appreciated. Your hands became more steady and your heart was no longer in your throat.

The room was at a standstill up until the very moment you tightened the stitches, tying them off and pulling yourself away from Price. Your work was far from perfect, but it was doable.

“Finished, are you?” Price hummed. You nodded in confirmation. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You bit your tongue to hold back mockery until the taste of metallic flooded your tastebuds.

“I’ve only worked on animals. It appears you are no different than one,” you bit back calmly, shiftingyour attention to organizing the supplies Price had so carelessly tossed to the floor.

Soap let out an obnoxious snort, while Price only cocked his head in faint amusement.

“You might want to watch your tongue there, dove. Ghost has taken out many,” Price informed.

That was enough to send shivers down your spine because you knew he was being truthful.

A quick glance to Ghost showed no indication of lies, so you quickly averted your eyes, opting to avoid him. You didn’t want to imagine the horrors Ghost had caused from his hands alone. He was a force not to be reckoned with, and you’d happily stay far, far away.

“I still need to apply an herbal balm and wrap it.” You changed the topic in hopes of forgetting your slip of tongue. You rather liked keeping it in your mouth.

“Very well,” Price sighed. With a gesture of his head, he signaled the other three men out of his quarters, leaving you alone in the room with him.

It was eerily quiet between the two of you while you worked a calming balm into the tender skin around his wound, careful not to touch the fresh stitches. The herbs were a mixed paste you had created back in your village from the supplies Mary had gifted you, and they proved futile now in a sensitive time.

You wished she were here to take you away from this nightmare fueled ship. Though, you couldn’t deny it any longer — you knew she was dead, just like the rest of the village. There was nothing you could do about it.

This was your life. This was your journey. Your opinion on the matter wasn’t valid.

“Quite the snippy one, aren’t you?” The Captain’s voice broke the tense silence, though it did nothing to calm you. “I heard from a little bird that some fortnights ago, you threw your porridge on to Gaz.”

Your shoulders pulled taut in a mix of embarrassment and shame. It was as if you were a child being scolded.

“I did,” you admitted quietly.

“And you do not feel bad?” Price questioned.

“No.”

“Hm.” A smile tilted on his face, lazy just as the other ones, as if he had no energy to display the true nature of a smile. “I will hand it to you, dove, he can be quite a brat sometimes. Perhaps he deserved it.”

You glanced up from his injury to look into his eyes. Your eyebrows tugged together in confusion.

You were fully expecting outrage, or perhaps the Captain to reprimand you for taking your anger out on his crew. Instead, he seemed almost like a jokester.

That couldn’t be. He was cruel and heartless, just as the others were. It didn’t matter how much Soap jested with you, or Gaz no longer glared at you. They were still pirates.

“I am all finished up here,” you explained, clearing your throat and taking a step back. “May I return to my cell?”

The cell was the last place you wanted to be in, but it was the only haven you’d found on the ship. You certainly didn’t want to stick around the other pirates for longer than necessary.

“Nonsense,” Price mused. “You have proven to have enough skill as a medic. You’re useful and resourceful. You won’t be able to work well in that dingy cell.”

You felt a pit of nervousness fill the void in your stomach. It did somersaults, making your mouth water with the need to be sick.

This was what you wanted, right? To be accepted into the crew so that you may plot your escape down the road when the time proved right. So why did it feel strange to be praised by the very man who had slaughtered your village?

“I will be staying in the upper decks, then?” you assumed, and he chuckled.

“We don’t quite have a cot set up yet, dove. We weren’t exactly expectin’ you to last, yet here you are.” He sounded almost prideful saying that, and you weren’t sure whether to feel comforted. “You’ll join me in my quarters for now. It only makes sense while I’m healin’ up, hm?”

That pit in your stomach turned into a canyon. To share a bed with the Captain of a malicious pirate crew, watching over him as his nurse? Perhaps this was your way out, or the start of your downfall.

Either way, you either ended up dead, imprisoned, or homeless on the mainland. Homeless, but free. You’d be an idiot not to play into the game.

You could do nothing but bow your head in silent agreement, unable to decide your fate once again. You were at the hands of the Captain and his crew, and those hands may be bloodied and mean if you said otherwise. hands may be bloodied and painful if you said otherwise.

[onmyyan]

Romantic DC yan, my time to shine (platonic is cute but I can't find any romantic ones this days T_T)

I bring to you a cliche, a new villain who uses her riches and ruthlesness in her quest to get a magical artifact in order to make her dream come true.

The bats have to stop her! But what is this! SHE’S TOO CHARMING?! (in a villain mean way, like comenting on Nightwing's as while they fight, or kissing Red Hood over the cowl before pushing him off a building)

Dangerous Woman

A/n: fem reader, yandere themes, canon typical violence, ft Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim

You're new to the villainous scene in Gotham but already kicking up quite the storm, you follow your own rules, killing corrupt men across the city, setting human trafficking rings on fire after freeing the victims, your crimes caught the gaze of Bruce and in turn the rest of the batfamily.

He saw a certain mercy in your actions, a quality of compassion he was certain he could pull out of you if he just got his hands on you.

But you're a slippery one, your teleportation abilities made you incredibly difficult to catch, and you seemed to relish in his growing frustration.

"You ever get tired of losing?" You ask sitting on a bank counter, money both burnt and unburnt scattered the floor around you, he hated to admit it but he was undeniably attracted to you, the way your suit hugged your form like a second skin, those long legs splayed out like a feast, heeled feet swinging as you toyed with a stack of bills.

"(Y/n) (L/n)." He states gruffly, his imposing form blending into the shadows. Of course he knows your name, you laugh to yourself before hopping off the counter and sauntering over, "ooh so scary." You snicker, "Your crimes warrant a trip to Arkham..but I'm willing to offer you something else. Rehabilitation."

Your smirk doesn't falter, "You can't save me." This only fuels his burning desire to do just that, those simple words seal your fate, he would have you under his care wether you liked it or not.

Tim is the second to become aware of your tantalizing presence, Bruce asked him to pull up anything and everything he could find on you, he couldn't help but become intrigued by your mysterious nature, any time you were caught on camera you had this knowing, mischievous grin on your lips, it was addicting, he found himself tracing the outline of your lips as he compiles a file on you.

Jason comes across you on his own, running into you after you successfully rob a museum.

Red Hood stared at you a gun pointed in your direction, "Stand down gorgeous." His voice was altered by the mask he wore, he was the latest of the bats to try and get in your way, to try and stop you from your goals, but he'd fall, just like the rest of them.

"You're not gonna shoot me Red." You speak coyly, hands up in surrender, your black domino mask hiding your pretty (e/c) eyes, your lips, painted red curl into a smirk at the sight of his hand wavering.

"Shooting you in the leg won't kill you." He chimes not lowering the weapon, "Yeah but I get the feeling you're not too trigger happy tonight."

"You've no idea what I'm capable of." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

You take a calculated step forward your red bottom heels clicking against the concrete rooftop, "C'mon big boy, you know there are actual bad guys who require your attention out there?" Your voice was like melted butter flowing into his ears and setting a warmth in his belly. "Robbing Gotham museum seems pretty criminal to me." He lowered his gun, holstering the weapon, "Can't you just slap a girl on the wrists?" You ask with a tilt of your head, the stolen goods in a satchel on your hip, "You know I can't just let you walk away." He responds, you close the distance making him take a step back, he wanted to reach out and touch you, claim you, and the closer he got to you the harder it was to resist.

You managed to back him on the edge of the roof, your hands trailing up his toned chest, landing on his shoulders, your claws digging into the leather of his jacket, "Just..stay outta my way." You whisper letting the tension build, pressing your plump lips to his mask you feel him shudder, without wasting another second you push him off the building. He falls for you harder than the garbage can he hit.

Dick is the next to come across you and the next to fall, and fuck does he fall hard.

He's got you corned in a dusty warehouse but damn if you aren't quick, darting around in him in blinks, teasingly touching him as you dance around, teasing him with every brush of your clawed fingers.

He's brought out of his inappropriate thoughts by a whistle from your pretty lips, "You're in that spandex boy!- nice ass." He feels himself flush, freezing on the spot as he sputtered for a response. You use his distracted moment to send a roundhouse kick to his head, one he just barely managed to block, "Don't lose focus now pretty." You chide smacking your teeth. Of course you manage to escape, which only fuels his budding obsession.

The trouble starts for you when they start working together, it's after a meeting Bruce calls one night, your file pulled up on the screen, they all have various reactions but one common thread is shared between the four men, burning desire.

Once they start coordinating it's only a matter of time before you come home, where they can tame you.

[moyazaika]

omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!

this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere

i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T

lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.

as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.

you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.

after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!

—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?

the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.

as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.

he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”

“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”

“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”

“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.

a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”

“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”

“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.

your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.

“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—

—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.

“fuck!”

you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.

“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”

“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?

he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”

“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”

“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”

“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”

—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—

“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”

you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.

“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”

“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”

“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”

“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.

“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”

“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”

“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Plot: You have a past with Agatha, one as old as your ages. Your roads often met, but more than once, she left you behind. Now, once again, your paths cross, but this time; it is intentional.

Taking place around Episode 2 of the series. Might continue it if it gets popular or leave it as a small one-shot. Give it a shot and let me know

You were a rare type of witch, one whose path not many chose to follow; but not you. The very same moon you observed and talked to as a child was the very same source of your power.

The very same moon shapes you as you grow, your moods and natures shifting like the never-ending phases. Both light and darkness resided within your soul, one path sometimes more tempting than the others and vice versa.

It was under that that you learnt to do your first spell, that you practised your Latin, and it was under the same moon that you met her...

Agatha Harkness

Under the full moon had you gathered with her and her coven, to praise the Godess around the fire; bodies void of any clothing as your magic grew wild and free.

After that, you met again and again; sometimes by mere coincidence.

Your ever shifting nature was what had kept others away, keeping you confined to a small neutral space between two covens but never able to truly join any of them. Your complex thoughts that guided your kindness and also led you down dangerous paths became a mystery for Agatha to explore... to study.

The meetings became intentional, the unique aspect of your mind was something she welcomed and encouraged; the very first sparkle between you.

Sometimes your sweet words and smiles seemed to melt whatever ice was threatening to form around her heart; seemed to bring light into days her thoughts were too dark.

And sometimes, your mischievous nature assisted her with crazy plans; noses buried behind stolen scrolls of forbidden magic.

During those moments, sparks always seemed to fly between the two of you. Sometimes, they were small, hiding behind brushing hands and contagious smiles. Other times, those sparks threatened to ignite an immortal fire; fueled by long touches, lustful looks, and forbidden secret kisses.

It never went too far, and it never became something permanent. You learnt to live with it, also unsure if this could ever work out or if it was a momentarily escape from the solitary life chosen for you.

You never judged her decisions but never tried to change her either, even when you could see the dark path she favoured was becoming too much.

You opened your door for her when she first fel like an outcast, and again after, she had taken down her coven. You offered her your house and a change of clothes, a warm tea and a shoulder to rant.

Yet when she told you of her plans, when she asked you to join her... you politely declined. This was not the path you wished to take, and whether she was hurt by your words or not, remained a mystery; true feelings hidden behind sarcastic words and fake smiles.

Eventually your paths parted and the years passed by. However, fate seemed to draw you back to one another like two halves of a whole; supernatural powers trying to keep you together.

It never lasted for long.

Your door was always open and sometimes, those old sparks seemed to reappear but by then, Agatha's mind had been taken by a need for power.

Once again, you did not follow, only watched her walk away from you for yet one more time. More than once, you thought to call her out, say you changed your opinion and join her; or even try to shift her goal... but you never did.

Like the silent moon watching over the earth, you did that... just watch. You became her light when she needed you but never dared to take the next step; your conflicted thoughts and emotions stood in the way.

Somewhere in the future, she stopped showing up, and you wondered if she had settled down at last or someone had taken her down. Both scenarios made your heart ache, and thus, you chose to forget; lock away any memories you had once created.

It worked and you continued your solitary life, never setting for a place too long and never looking at someone the same way you would look at Agatha.

Now, you had a small business right beneath your little apartment. It was not something fancy, simple crystals and tarot cards for those interested. You also offered star and even zodiac readings, being perhaps what truly ade you famous amongst your customers.

The moon always guided you, the stars spoke to you even when placed on a simple imaginary map. The houses dividing the sky exposed their secrets to you; both of past and future.

So it was no wonder all kinds of people walked through your door; some more believers than others but all with the same curiosity about their lives.

Yet you did not expect that one calm day, the bell above the door would ring and a familiar face would step into the shop.

"Hello, Hon" the husky female voice you had almost forgotten reached your ears like the sweetest melody.

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment, before your mask settled back into place. "Agatha" you greeted her back, offering her the courtesy of standing up from the wooden chair you occupied behind an old worn out desk.

Her blue eyes locked onto yours with the same intensity they had all those years, invisible flames dancing behind your irises; threatening to mix and burn everything to the ground.

As you stared into the face you often searched for amongst the stars, that little locked chest at the back of your mind was forced open. The memories you had suppressed all those years flooded your mind, making your heart beat twice as fast as both happiness and pain dominated you.

"It has been too long" Agatha said, her voice acting like a beacon that saved you from drawing in your emotions. "Missed me?"

Her signature smirk was still there, eyes flickering with mischief and tempting pink lips stretching faintly; yours for the taking, if you dared to step closer.

It was then you noticed that someone had one with her. A teenage boy, stood tall behind her; trying to observe some crystals but his eyes often lingered to you.

You didn't know whom this boy was but your mind rushed to scenarios, wondering if he was her son; the product of love with someone other than you. Even if not by blood, Agatha had chosen it; letting him take your place after she got tired of you turning down her offers.

You were not sure and did your best to remain calm, not let anything show and not lose control of yourself. Your mind was both your blessing and your curse, its mood as uncontrollable and unpredictable as the rising tide; controlled by an ethereal power far beyond your reach.

Agatha seemed to understand where your gaze lingered, the teenage boy feeling slightly uncomfortable under the vague expression casted in your eyes.

She rolled her eyes at the drama. "He is my pet, not much of an importance" she explained dryly and then sent a warning glare to the boy, ensuring he would not utter a word.

The situation was delicate, it needed proper handling. If it was up to her, she would have left him in the car, one window barely open for some air but she couldn't.

Well, she could try but the boy was persistent and at that moment; Agatha did not truly think him being there would change something.

Considering how welcoming you always had been over the course of centuries, how considerate you have been of her well-being and how willing you were to help; even when a part of you clearly wanted to stop her.

"What do you want?" You managed to ask, your voice sounding as cold as you wished it to be.

The moon was not yet full, the tide had not fully risen and there was still power to hold everything at bay.

Her timing could not have been better and something told you, that she knew it. Never having forgotten how unique your thoughts were and how they matched the white moon that offered its light when the two of you met in secret.

"I plan to walk down the road, you see. And I am in need of a coven" she said simply, making it hard for you to detect whether she was even slightly affected by your meeting after so long. "Are you in?" She asked next, not giving you much time to debate.

The clock at the wall was ticking in sync with your beating heart as you processed an answer.

Perhaps this one should be different from all the others... just this once.

.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[leftoverpages]

Beneath Weirwood's Shade

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood × Bracken!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, romance, angst

Notes: inspired by romeo and juliet

Wordcount 𓅪 1.2k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The ancient trees of the Riverlands whispered secrets to those who cared to listen. Their leaves, drenched in the gold of a setting sun, sighed with the weight of countless generations. In this land of ancient enmities and whispered feuds, House Blackwood and House Bracken stood opposed, their enmity as deep-rooted as the forests that surrounded them.

Beneath the sprawling branches of a towering weirwood, where the heart tree's face wept red sap, Benjicot Blackwood waited. His dark eyes, pools of sorrow and longing, flickered towards the distance. His heart, though hardened by the years of familial hatred, beat with an unyielding fervor for you, the light amidst his shadows.

You, a Bracken, the sworn enemy, the forbidden fruit. A love like yours was bound to secrecy, hidden beneath the shroud of night and the veil of danger. The thought of you filled his every waking moment, and his dreams were haunted by your touch, your smile, the gentle cadence of your voice.

From the shadows, you emerged, cloaked in the twilight, a figure of ethereal beauty and tragic grace. The world seemed to hold its breath as you approached, each step a defiance against the legacy of hate that threatened to tear you both apart.

"Ben," you whispered, your voice a soft symphony that danced through the air. He turned, and in his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own soul—tortured, yet unwavering in its love.

"My love," he murmured, closing the distance between you. His hand found yours, and in that touch, a silent promise was exchanged. "Every moment away from you is an eternity of pain."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his, the world around you dissolving into the backdrop of your shared sorrow and joy. "We cannot keep meeting like this, Benjicot. The risk grows with each passing day."

His grip tightened, desperation seeping into his voice. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live a single day without you. We are bound by more than blood and duty; our souls are entwined, and no force on earth can sever that bond."

"Then let us run away," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "To a place where Blackwood and Bracken are just names, where we can be free to love without fear."

Benjicot's heart ached with the weight of your words, the tantalizing dream of a life together pulling at his every resolve. But reality was a cruel mistress. "I fear there is no such place, my love. Our names, our histories, they follow us like shadows."

A shuddering breath escaped you, and you clung to him, seeking solace in his warmth. "Then let us cherish the moments we have, however fleeting. Let us defy the stars that conspire against us and carve our own fate, even if only for a night."

The weirwood watched over you, a silent sentinel to your stolen time. Beneath its ancient boughs, you and Benjicot found a sanctuary, a fragile haven in a world determined to tear you apart. You spoke in hushed tones, of dreams unfulfilled and love everlasting, your words a tapestry of hope and despair.

In the heart of the forest, time seemed to stand still. You and Benjicot lay on a blanket of fallen leaves, your hands intertwined, your hearts beating as one. The night sky above was a canopy of stars, each one a silent witness to your forbidden love.

"You remember the first time we met?" Benjicot's voice was a mere whisper, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hand.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget? It was at the harvest festival. I saw you across the field, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped."

He chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to your soul. "I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But when I found out you were a Bracken, my heart sank."

"And yet, here we are," you said, your voice tinged with wonder and sadness. "Despite everything, we found each other."

Benjicot turned to face you, his eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken promise. "No matter what happens, I will always find you. In this life and the next, we are meant to be together."

The hours slipped away, and dawn's light began to creep over the horizon. With a heavy heart, you knew your time together was drawing to a close. You stood, reluctant to break the fragile spell that had bound you both.

"Until we meet again," Benjicot whispered, pulling you into a final, lingering embrace. "Remember, my love, that you are my heart, my soul, my everything."

You held him close, memorizing the feel of his arms around you, the scent of his hair, the warmth of his breath against your skin. "And you, Ben, are my hope, my dream, my forever."

With one last, lingering kiss, you parted, each step away from each other a dagger to the heart. But even in the face of inevitable sorrow, you carried a piece of each other, a love that transcended the bounds of feuding houses and cruel fate.

In the days that followed, you returned to your separate lives, each day a painful reminder of the love you could not openly share. You exchanged secret letters, hidden within the folds of cloaks and beneath the roots of ancient trees, your words a lifeline that sustained you through the darkest of times.

But as the tensions between your houses escalated, the danger grew ever closer. Whispers of war and betrayal filled the air, and you knew that the time would come when you would have to make a choice—between duty and love, between loyalty to your family and the call of your heart.

One fateful night, the shadows deepened and the air grew heavy with foreboding. A message reached you, written in Benjicot's hand, its words a stark warning: "Meet me at the weirwood. Our time is running out."

Fear and desperation clutched at your heart as you made your way to the ancient tree, your every step a prayer for his safety. When you arrived, you found him waiting, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

"My love," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There is no time. Our families are on the brink of war. We must leave, now, before it is too late."

You nodded, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached. "Together, then. We will face whatever comes, as long as we are together."

With a final, desperate embrace, you turned and fled into the night, leaving behind the only world you had ever known. The forest closed in around you, its shadows a refuge and a promise.

As dawn broke over the Riverlands, the ancient weirwood stood silent, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. In its heartwood, the echoes of your love remained, a testament to the power of a love that dared to bloom amidst the thorns of hatred and the shadows of despair.

You and Benjicot, bound by love and fate, ventured into the unknown, your hearts beating as one. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and peril, but as long as you were together, you knew you could face anything.

In the annals of history, the names Blackwood and Bracken would be forever linked by strife. Yet, in the hidden corners of the Riverlands, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, the whispers of your love would linger, a testament to the power of a love that defied the stars and dared to reach for eternity.

[st4rpiece]

Hi, could you do like some fluffy headcanons with Crocodile. Like with a daughter!reader, he found her and raised her. She's been by his side throughout Baroque Works, jails separates them for a while, but then she makes her way back to him as the Cross Guild is former.

Just, fluffy crocodad headcannons with a daughter!reader. She could work alongside him to, like a secretary. Reader is just happy to be by their dad again^^

father figure

SFW

characters: sir crocodile x daughter!reader summary: crocodile takes in an orphaned child not expecting to grow fondly of her CW: just fluff, lowercase intended, not proofread

—————

crocodile had always been known as a figure of unyielding stoicism and calculated ruthlessness. as the leader of Baroque Works, this was the kind of man his associates and his enemies knew him to be. his lack of affection made dealing with his job much easier as it left no weak points. something he never planned on changing but, fate had a peculiar way of challenging those with the coldest hearts.

it all started when he stumbled upon a small, orphaned child during one of his operations. his sharp eyes started down your dirty and frail figure with initial disgust. your wide eyes, frightened with terror as you clutched the bread you had stolen from his crew.

"who are you?" his voice was gruff, but there was a hint of curiosity.

you looked up, the piece of bread tightly held against you. "i'm just trying to survive," you replied, your voice surprisingly steady despite the fear in your eyes.

crocodile studied you for a moment, something in your gaze stirred a long-buried part of him and for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. leading him to make a decision that surprised even himself. "come with me," he said, turning on his heel.

he wasn't sure why he took you in, but when asked, he justified it as "practical"—you needed protection, and he had the means to provide it. and for a while, his interactions with you matched his words. he was distant and formal, more akin to a business transaction than a familial bond. providing you with your basic needs, leaving the rest up to his crew.

you, however, was undeterred by his cold demeanor. you approached him with the fearless curiosity only a child could muster. you followed him around, your small hand often tugging at his coat, asking endless questions about everything you saw. you drew pictures, and even attempted to braid his hair one evening. despite himself, crocodile found his heart softening. he started to look forward to your chatter, you innocent laughter, and the way you clung to him whenever you were scared.

but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, something began to change. he found himself spending more time with you, teaching you about the world in his own gruff manner. he showed you how to read maps, how to defend herself, and even how to play chess. 

while he was going through his newest findings on the poneglyph's, you approached him with one of your textbooks. "dad, can you help me with this reading?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation. crocodile's heart skipped a beat at the word "dad." he didn't have it in him to correct you, and though he would never admit it, he cherished the title. he set aside his papers and spent the evening helping you with your book, his rough exterior melting away in your presence.

from then on he became your dad. a change his associates noticed almost immediately. exchanging knowing glances with each other whenever they saw him gently fixing your hair or reading you a bedtime story. Over time, they grew fondly of you, often bringing you small gifts or teaching you tricks of their trade. the once cold and fearsome headquarters of Baroque Works became a place of warmth and laughter whenever you were around.

after his defeat in Alabasta, crocodile was arrested. the charges against him were numerous, and the trial was swift. giving him no time to say goodbye or send you to a proper caretaker. a thought that consumed his thoughts daily as he sat in his cell. despite the harsh conditions of his confinement, crocodile's primary concern was always you. 

countless sleepless nights were spent wondering. wondering if you were being taken care of properly. wondering if you were happy and eating well. wondering if you missed him as much as he missed you. the uncertainty gnawed at him, making his imprisonment even more unbearable. but he held onto the hope of seeing his daughter again, the thought of your smile was his only solace.

once he was released, crocodile wasted no time, moving with the singular purpose of reuniting with you again. his heart pounding with fear and anticipation as he and his associates, who had also been released, searched for you. they scoured the streets of the last island they were on, asking everyone they met if they had seen a little girl with bright eyes and a fearless spirit. after days of searching, they found you. you were staying with one of crocodile's old associates, a retired assassin, who had taken you in and cared for you as best as she could.

when crocodile saw you, his heart swelled with relief and joy. his anxiety and worries vanish after confirming his daughter was safe during his absences. you immediately ran into his arms, your face lighting up as tears streamed down your face. "dad!" you cried, throwing your arms around him.

crocodile hugged you tightly, his usual stoic mask slipping away. "i'm here, princess. i'm here," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. he then lifts you up carrying you in his arms as he turns to look at his associate, gratitude shining in his eyes. "thank you for taking care of my daughter."

the associate nodded, a small smile on her lips. this was the first time her boss thanked her. "she’s a special girl."

crocodile nodded in agreement, his heart full. you had become his world, and he would do anything to keep his world safe. which meant getting locked up like that wasn't an option, but that was for later. making a mental note to call mihawk later, but right now he had some catching up to do.

—————

thank you so much for the request!!

i thought of a few ways to go about it, but this one just felt right, although it isn't really an hc.

and i loved the idea of the reader working with their crocodile, but i see crocodile as the kind of dad who would much rather preserve their innocence, by keeping them away from the dangers of his job as best as he could.

in the end, i hope i did your idea some justice and you (and everyone else) enjoyed !!

[solar-wing]

⚣ Badass 👊

⚣👊 A/N → @natef458 Last request from my previous account. Now, I can focus on one inbox (at least for now)! Shorter than what I've normally done, but I wanted to keep it simple. Hope you enjoy it! Tamaranean male image generated by AI. WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Tamaranean Male Reader | Dick Is Nightwing |

⚣👊 Summary → It's Y/N's first mission as a part of the team since he came to Earth. The Team and their leader Nightwing soon found out just how capable Tamaraneans are in a fight.

⚣👊 Words → 3.3K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

Under the harsh glow of the moonlight, the Young Justice team converged around the abandoned warehouse where Vandal Savage and his cronies were holed up. Nightwing was co-leading the mission with Aqualad, coming far in his leadership and skill since they had founded the team along with their friend and teammate Kid Flash, and new friends Superboy, Miss Martian, Artemis, and eventually Zatanna.

Many of the original members had grown much from their early days as a part of the team, moving away from their past titles as sidekicks and coming into their own identities as heroes.

One of them was the former sidekick to the Dark Knight, previously known as Robin, who’d realized he wanted to separate himself from Batman and forge his own path and identity. Thus, within a few years after the team’s founding, he left his position and title as Robin and took on the persona of Nightwing.

He’d come a long way from the kid he was before, becoming more of the leader his mentor, and friend Aqualad saw in him. So much so, that the Atlantean had decided to start letting him help co-lead missions, seeing that was their original deal during that first fateful mission on Santa Prisca. And it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Batman had alerted the Team about a new mission concerning Vandal Savage who had just stolen a prototype weapon from a top-secret government facility. This weapon, codenamed "Project Eclipse," was not only a formidable tool of destruction but was clearly another attempt at trying to make humans evolve as a race due to his crazy beliefs in Social Darwinism and survival of the fittest.

By now, the Team knew this could only be the minor puzzle piece to something bigger. But, a weapon of that capability was way too dangerous to be left in his hands. Thus, they were tasked with intercepting Savage and recovering the stolen weapon before he could carry out whatever twisted experiments he had planned.

Only now, their team had grown much larger, bringing in various new members. Some were sidekicks to other heroes a part of the League while others were just regular people who had developed powers and abilities, whether intentionally or not, and were recruited into the team so they could learn how to control them and use them for good.

They’d lost a few along the way, some choosing to leave the team on their own while others had met a different and more grave fate, one of them being the new Robin, Jason Todd, who’d taken Dick’s place after he’d given up the position of Batman’s sidekick. Of course, the team mourned the loss of their fallen teammates, but it didn’t take away from their strength, especially with the other new members who had joined.

One of them being Y/N, an alien refugee who’d made quite the entrance to Earth just two years prior. He’d escaped from the captivity of the Gordanians, an intergalactic race of slavers who’d attacked his home planet, Tamaran, and abducted him as a slave in the process.

But, the slavers were ignorant of the fact that Tamaraneans gained strength from sunlight. So, when traveling closer to Earth within view of the distant sun of the solar system and after encountering the inherent unpredictability of space travel, Y/N seized his opportunity for escape, breaking free from his confines and escaping the vessel.

They’d pursued after him, hot on his trail as he made his way onto Earth, landing in the unsuspecting municipality of Happy Harbor. Unknowingly, but thankful in the end, his arrival had caught the attention of the Young Justice team, whose base was located in the nearby mountain and had come to his rescue.

It’d definitely been an interesting first meeting, considering none of the Team could understand him since he was speaking an alien language they’d never heard of. That’s when Y/N took it upon himself to lock lips with the Boy Wonder, who had yet to give up his identity and position as Batman’s sidekick.

Apparently, Tamaraneans possessed the ability to learn language through skin contact. It didn’t have to be done explicitly through kissing, but they were also a very direct and forward race when it came to their feelings. Being a race ruled more by emotion than reason.

Simply put, Y/N found Dick attractive and planted one on him so he could learn English, much to the then Boy Wonder’s surprise, but also enjoyment. He didn’t know much about Tamaraneans, but, judging by YN’s appearance, it definitely had to be a planet full of attractive people. But, he only had his eyes on one at that moment.

Now, two years later, Y/N had become an integral member of the Young Justice team, his journey from alien refugee to valued ally a testament to his strength and resilience. Despite the initial language barrier and clear cultural differences that in the early stages separated him from his teammates, Y/N had quickly adapted to life on Earth, his determination to learn and grow matched only by his unwavering commitment to the team.

Y/N brought a unique blend of strengths and abilities to the Team, complementing and enhancing the skills of his fellow teammates in various ways. His Tamaranean heritage bestowed upon him powers and abilities that were on par, if not equal, with those of Superboy, making him a formidable force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

Like Superboy, Y/N possessed superhuman strength, allowing him to perform incredible feats of physical prowess and to go toe-to-toe with even the most powerful adversaries. His invulnerability made him virtually indestructible, able to withstand the most devastating attacks without so much as a scratch.

But what truly set Y/N apart was his extreme proficiency in hand-to-hand and weapon combat. Trained from a young age in the art of combat on his home planet of Tamaran, Y/N was a master of various fighting styles and techniques, able to hold his own against opponents of any size or skill level.

In addition to his formidable combat skills, Y/N possessed the ability to generate energy bolts and blasts from his hands and eyes, a power known as star bolts on Tamaran. These powerful energy blasts were capable of incapacitating even the most resilient foes, adding a deadly edge to Y/N's already impressive arsenal of abilities.

Together, Y/N's strength, combat prowess, and energy manipulation abilities made him a major asset to the Young Justice team, capable of turning the tide of battle in their favor with a single well-placed strike. Whether facing off against street-level criminals or cosmic threats, Y/N stood ready to defend his teammates and protect the innocent, his unwavering determination and indomitable spirit serving as a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

As the Team faced off against Vandal Savage and his henchmen in the abandoned warehouse, the air crackled with tension and anticipation. Nightwing and Aqualad led the charge, their years of experience and leadership guiding the team through the chaotic fray.

Superboy, Miss Martian, and Zatanna with a few of their other teammates had split off to retrieve the stolen weapon, leaving Nightwing, Artemis, Kid Flash, and Y/N to hold off Savage and his goons. The battle was fierce and relentless, with Savage's forces proving to be formidable adversaries.

As Nightwing faced off against Vandal Savage in the dimly lit warehouse, the villain was proving himself to be a most formidable foe. Savage's millennia of combat experience and immortality made him a threatening force, his strength and resilience far surpassing that of any ordinary adversary.

The two circled each other warily, each seeking to gain the upper hand in the deadly dance of combat. Nightwing moved with the grace and precision of a trained acrobat, his nimble movements a stark contrast to Savage's brute force and relentless determination.

With a calculated look, Savage launched himself at Nightwing, his fists crashing down with bone-crushing force. Nightwing barely managed to dodge the blow, rolling to the side and countering with a swift kick to Savage's midsection.

But, he shrugged off the attack as if it were nothing. With a savage grin, he came at Nightwing again delivering multiple strikes that drove the young hero further back towards the edge of defeat.

Even with his own experience and endurance in battle, Nightwing found himself struggling to keep up with the relentless assault. His movements grew sluggish and tired as his body began to succumb to the pain of the attacks, his mind racing as he searched for a way to turn the tide of battle in his favor.

As he staggered back from Vandal Savage's brutal onslaught, his muscles burning with exhaustion and his mind reeling from the relentless barrage of attacks, he knew that he was on the brink of defeat. With Savage bearing down on him, his fists raised for the final, devastating blow, Nightwing braced himself for the inevitable impact, steeling himself for the pain that was sure to follow.

But just as Savage's fist came crashing towards him, a streak of emerald energy shot through the air, intercepting the attack with pinpoint precision. Nightwing's eyes widened in astonishment as he watched Y/N swoop in, his Tamaranean abilities allowing him to move with speed and agility unmatched by any ordinary mortal.

With a powerful surge of energy, Y/N deflected Savage's blow, sending the immortal villain stumbling backward with a grunt of rage and frustration. Nightwing could hardly believe what he was seeing as Y/N stood before him, his expression determined and his eyes blazing with determination.

But the battle was far from over, and Savage wasted no time in launching another furious assault. As he lunged towards Y/N, his hands outstretched for the kill, Y/N met him head-on, his own strength and resilience proving to be more than a match for the immortal foe.

With a swift movement, Savage managed to grab Y/N mid-attack, his grip like iron as he sought to crush the life out of the young hero. As he tightened his grip around the Tamaranean’s midsection, he was despondent to see Y/N unfazed by his move, his expression calm and determined as he looked Savage straight in the eye.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am stronger than I look," Y/N declared, his words resonating with undeniable strength and conviction no matter how soft they were spoken.

As he spoke, a flicker of determination ignited in Y/N's eyes, the vibrant emerald glow intensifying until his eyes shone with a brilliant radiance. The Tamaranean brought his foot back before unleashing a devastating kick to Savage's chest, the force of the blow sending the mastermind staggering back. His expression contorted with pain and surprise despite his strength and healing as he struggled to maintain his footing against the onslaught.

As Savage stumbled backwards, Y/N seized the opportunity to press his advantage, launching a relentless barrage of attacks that left the immortal villain struggling to keep up. Meanwhile, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Zatanna had succeeded in securing and disabling the prototype weapon, turning the tide of battle in their favor.

As the battle raged on and the rest of the team rallied to their side, they watched in awe as the Tamaranean held his own against Savage and his goons, his strength and resilience shining through with every strike.

He was relentless, pressing his advantage with unwavering determination as he launched into a relentless barrage of attacks. Each strike fueled by an inner fire and a fierce determination to protect his teammates and emerge victorious against the forces of evil.

Also, no one was allowed to lay hands on his leader like that without repercussions. Vandal truly did not know who he was fucking with.

As Nightwing watched Y/N in the heat of battle, a wave of admiration washed over him, mingled with a sense of awe that bordered on reverence. His eyes traced the contours of his form, noting the fluid grace with which he moved and the unwavering determination etched upon his features.

In the flickering light of the warehouse, the Tamaranean seemed to glow with an inner fire, his emerald eyes ablaze with determination as he faced off against the immortal menace of Vandal Savage. Nightwing couldn't help but be captivated by the sight, drawn to the raw strength and resilience that seemed to emanate from Y/N's very being.

But it wasn't just his physical prowess that impressed Nightwing. It was the strength of his spirit, the unwavering resolve that burned brightly within him even in the face of overwhelming odds. There was something undeniably magnetic about Y/N, something that stirred a longing within Nightwing's heart that he couldn't quite put into words.

With a determined nod, he rose to his feet, his own resolve renewed as he prepared to join the fray once more.

Together, Nightwing and Y/N fought with a synchronicity that bordered on instinct, their movements fluid and coordinated as they launched a devastating assault on Savage and his forces. As they drove their adversaries back, the rest of the team rallied to their side, their collective strength and determination proving to be more than a match for the forces of evil.

As the battle raged on, Nightwing couldn't help but feel a stirring of something deeper than mere admiration. There was a connection between him and Y/N, a bond that transcended words and defied explanation. It was as if they were two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in ways that went beyond the battlefield.

In that moment, as they fought side by side against their foes, the acrobat couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to truly be with the Tamaranean, to share in the triumphs and trials of life as partners, as equals, as something more.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. There would be time to explore the depths of his feelings later. For now, he fought alongside Y/N with a renewed sense of purpose, his heart filled with admiration and longing for the alien hero who had captured his attention in more ways than one.

Y/N used his incredible strength and ability of flight to help launch Nightwing into the air, while Nightwing used his light and agile nature to deliver a series of lightning-fast blows against the villain. Together, they worked to bring the villain to his knees, their combined efforts finally proving to be too much for the immortal.

As Savage finally admitted defeat with a promise and retreated into the shadows, the Young Justice team stood victorious, proud and relieved smiles etched onto their faces from their hard-earned victory. They all surrounded their co-leader and teammate, making sure he was okay while praising Y/N for his prowess in his battle with Savage.

"Dude! That was like total badass moves out there!" Kid Flash exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe.

"Yeah, I know you've been on the team for a while now, but I haven't seen a more well-deserved ass whooping like that in a while," Artemis agreed, her lips curling into a smirk.

"It truly was a sight to behold. Well done, Y/N," Aqualad added, his voice tinged with pride.

"I'm so glad you're both safe," Miss Martian added, relief evident in her voice.

"Yeah, that was a close call," Superboy chimed in, his expression serious.

Nightwing couldn't help but chuckle at their enthusiastic praise, his gaze drifting to Y/N. The Tamaranean smiled, his eyes sparkling with appreciation and gratitude at the praise.

"Thank you. Though, I think my friend here is deserving of just as much credit," he replied, gesturing to the former Boy Wonder.

"Oh, no, you definitely did most of the heavy lifting," Nightwing insisted, shaking his head. "If it weren't for you, I would've been a goner."

"I do not know about that. You were holding your own quite well before I arrived. But, we make a good team, do we not?" Y/N mused, his smile widening.

"Yeah, we do," Nightwing agreed, his cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment.

"And now we know, the next time we need to save our butts, just throw Nightwing into mortal danger and Y/N goes into god mode," Kid Flash teased, breaking the mood.

"Dude!" Nightwing hissed, punching his best friend on the arm.

"Yeah, payback, Robby-Poo," Kid Flash, still using his old nickname for his friend despite his name change.

"Well, we should probably head back to headquarters. We need to get this weapon back to the cave," Aqualad interjected, ever the voice of reason.

"Sounds good to me," Superboy agreed, already heading for the exit.

As the Team made their way out of the warehouse, a warm feeling settled over Nightwing's chest, his gaze lingering on the Tamaranean. There was no doubt in his mind that they would continue to make a great team, both on and off the battlefield.

"Hold on a sec, Y/N. We'll be right behind you, guys!" Nightwing called out to his teammates.

The rest of the team shared a knowing glance, a few snickers, and suggestive grins exchanged between them. But they didn't say anything, opting instead to give their friends some privacy.

Except KF who was giving the vigilante a thumbs-up and a wink.

Nightwing rolled his eyes and shook his head, but the blush didn't fade.

Once they were alone, Y/N turned his attention to the former Boy Wonder, his expression curious.

"Is everything okay, Dick? Are you still hurt?" He asked, voice lilting with curiosity.

The acrobat tried not to blush at Y/N's use of his name, the way it rolled off his tongue like liquid gold. Even though they were technically still in the field and should be addressing each other by their alias names, he didn't mind it. Not one bit.

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. Just wanted to say thank you," Nightwing assured, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"For what? Defeating Vandal Savage?" Y/N questioned, confusion written across his features.

"Well, yeah, that, too. But, I meant, thank you for saving me," Nightwing explained, his tone growing soft.

"Oh," Heat growing under the Tamaranean's golden cheeks.

"I'm not gonna lie, I was worried for a second. But, then you came swooping in and turned the tables. I knew I was safe," the acrobat confessed, his gaze locking with the Tamaranean's.

"You are most welcome. It was an honor to fight alongside you. I would not have let any harm come to you, Dick," Y/N replied, his expression earnest, though he wanted to say more.

Ever since he came to Earth, he'd grown into the Earthling culture, which meant he was a lot less direct with his feelings, which proved to be much more frustrating than he thought. Especially when it came to expressing the lingering feelings he had for his leader.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks," the acrobat said, offering a small smile.

"Of course," the Tamaranean responded, returning the gesture.

"We should probably get going. The others are waiting for us," Nightwing pointed out, though he didn't want the moment to end.

"Yes, they are," Y/N agreed, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"Maybe after we're finished filing our reports and debriefing, we can hang out? Catch up on things, or whatever," the acrobat suggested, his heart racing in his chest.

"I would like that," the Tamaranean replied, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Cool," Nightwing nodded, trying his best not to grin like an idiot.

"Yes. Cool, indeed," Y/N echoed, his eyes sparkling with gleefulness.

"You two coming or what? Let's go," Kid Flash yelled from the warehouse entrance.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming!" Nightwing called back, rolling his eyes.

With a final shared smile, the two heroes made their way toward their teammates, the promise of a new beginning and a blossoming relationship hanging in the air.

☀️ | Dick Grayson/Nightwing | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Time Travellers Husband

Rhys x Cassians!Sister!Reader

Summary - The gift of time travel was unique to you and you alone, the only thing is that you can't control where you go or when, or for how long.

Warnings - ptsd, trauma, angsttttttt, fluff, mentions and depictions of SA, Under The Mountain trauma

Word Count - 6.8k (unedited, don't come at me)

Based on this ask x

It was an odd feeling, to travel through time. The sensation of it was like you were swimming toward a tide break, desperate for oxygen that felt an infinite number of lengths away whilst battling the currents of time like they were rips in the ocean waves.

Reaching the destination had never been the issue, it had always been the disappearance, the blinker of your essence as you faded into oblivion for what felt like minutes to only return to your husband hours, days, or even weeks later.

No one understood it. Prythian had never been graced with a traveller before you, even Helion and Thesan had researched endlessly but returned to Rhys empty handed. All he wanted was to help you to control it, he knew the mental toll it often took on you considering how you sometimes travelled to the darkest of places and memories, most of which were never your own.

Nights had come and gone where he would have to cradle you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear whilst you cried from the nightmares that plagued you; of bloody battlefields and torture, both of which you'd have to endure until the Mother decided to send you back to your mate who was waiting for you in Velaris.

Rhys had always been fated to be yours, you were certain of it.

The pair of you had grown up together thanks to Cassian being your older brother by only a couple of minutes, he had been gifted the strength and agility of the gods whilst the Mother had sealed your fate long before you were both even conceived.

It had snapped for Rhys first, on your birthday 300 years ago. Mor had insisted upon throwing you and Cassian a joint surprise birthday party at the House of Wind, though she had told you that she had planned an intimate dinner for you all to make sure that you dressed as best as you could. As a thank you for everything you had done for them, from your incessant teasing to your bounding wisdom, Rhys had delved into his mothers trousseau and had hand-picked the most spectacular dress he or you had ever seen; though, he hadn't told you where he had gotten it, you were led to believe that he had it commissioned.

Rhys had kept it a secret from everyone, he didn't want to upset Cassian or ruin anything for you, he wanted it to snap for you on its own.

It only took a year for the bond to snap for you.

It had been one of the more warmer afternoons in Velaris, and you had been tending to the garden at the River House, planting your favourite shade of peonies into the earth when you felt the sensation. Cassian had returned to the garden to find that you had disappeared, leaving your tools buried in the soil and your scent drifting away in the breeze.

You had been transported to a shared memory, but the projection of your present-day body found itself stood behind Rhys, staring inward at the room buzzing with anticipation. Nerves were pouring from him as he fidgeted in his spot, whisky in hand and swirling it every moment his attention wasn't stolen by a passer-by muttering a greeting to their High Lord.

It was a night you remembered very clearly, but you weren't there to live it again through your point of view, you had been taken there to see it through his.

Looking toward the large double doors of the House of Wind, you watched as they opened to reveal both you and Cassian arm in arm. Cassian was wearing his usual lax trousers and open collared shirt, hair styled into a low bun with strays falling over his face; and then there was you, and you watched Rhys inhale sharply as his eyes landed on your frame, scanning you from head to toe whilst joyous shock consumed your angelic features.

The dress he had gifted to you had certainly been the right choice, it accentuated each and every curve and line of your body, hugging your delicious hips and exposing just the right amount of skin. And your wings, gods, they had fluttered and rustled with every compliment directed at your from a room teeming with whispers. The garment was the shade of newly born starlight, a cascade of fine diamonds had been sewn into the skirt and they flowed downward like lazy ocean waves at sunset. Light bounced off of you, your skin held a certain shimmer to it and the warm faelight was making you glow.

The brightest star in a sea of darkness. Everything felt dim in comparison.

It felt as though you were on the first row at the theatre, enthralled in the emotions of the moment; you examined Rhys closely, how his eyes trailed down your body and then to your face, and then they widened, and he stumbled backward, his fingers floating over that particular spot on his chest whilst the past version of you was none the wiser from her spot on the other side of the room, laughing and thanking Mor for all of the effort she had put in to make your birthday as special as possible.

As though you could see the golden thread winding itself around you, Rhys muttered a singular word to himself, a word that made your heart clench in its cage

Mate.

That night was just over a year ago. Why hadn't he said anything?

Before you could fathom an answer, you felt your essence be pulled back to the present, and you landed in the main living area of the River House feeling confused and conflicted, and betrayed to a degree.

Within moments Rhys was on you, standing at your side whilst your gaze bore into the ground, he could see your mind reeling, replaying whatever you had seen from whichever moment you had been taken to. The sky had grown dark beyond the window, telling you that the day had scurried by whilst you had been kidnapped by your power.

"Hey, hey, hey," Rhys cooed to you, trying to gently pull your mind away from the memory or future, "Where did you go, darling?"

Your brows twitched with every thought that flew through you and Rhys turned your body to face his own, resting his large hands on your arms and rubbing his thumbs softly against the skin he found there, lowering his eyeline to yours to try and capture your gaze.

Then you peered up at him, eyes colliding with pools of violet serenity, and it snapped, your own thread dancing outward to meet the end that had longed for it for so long and you gasped when it found its marker, "When were you going to tell me?"

Knowing what you meant due to the opening of the bond, Rhys' expression faltered, but he held onto you tighter, "I wanted you to find out on your own. The bond is a beautiful thing. I just wanted it to snap for you when you were ready."

Rhys' fingers reached for an escaped strand of hair, delicately tucking it behind your rounded ear in a way that made your wings shiver, "You've lied to me for twelve months."

He cringed, his fingers retracting from the shell of your ear, "It was more like avoiding the truth," you gave him a pointed stare, "Which I know isn't good enough. I'm sorry, y/n."

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn't wondered what a life with Rhys would look like, the High Lord was the most stunning male you had ever seen, and the way he carried himself in front of you and others was so alluring to the point that you often thought of him when you were alone in the confinements of your bedroom. Rhys had always respected you, he had always held a certain tone of humour with you that neither Cassian or Azriel were privy to, and he had always been the one to look out for you the most.

Despite being very well aware of your tactical prowess, Rhys did all he could to avoid sending you on missions, and when he did send you away, it was often on his behalf to other courts, he knew they adored you just as much as he did so much so that you would never truly be in any real danger.

"Say something. Please."

Worry had infected his bones at the possibility that you may not want him, and the longer you stood saying nothing the more tense he became, "My head hurts," and it did, not just from the information, but from the anguish travelling brought upon your body; Rhys knew that little fact better than anyone considering he often tended to you afterward.

A hand rested on the side of your face, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, "Let me look after you," Rhys visibly relaxed when you nodded, exhaustion settling into you and coursing down the bond.

Sweeping you into his arms, Rhys rested his cheek atop your head, inhaling the lavender of your shampoo as he carried you through the house that he had permanently moved into to be closer to you; he paced up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you onto the pristine white sheets before finding his place beside you and pulling your body flush against his.

Lazily, you traced your fingers over his clothed chest, drawing small circles and tendrils over his heart, "What did you see?" Rhys asked you, his breath caressing your forehead and his digits curling into your hair in the way he knew brought you untold relief.

"Our birthday last year but from your point of view," your voice paused for a moment as you recounted the images in your mind, you craned your head upward to meet his nervous gaze like he knew that all it would take for his dreams to burn would be the mere action of you pulling away from him, "I saw how you looked at me from across the room when the bond snapped for you, I felt the air shift in a way. You were looking at me like I was the brightest star in the Prythian skies."

A ghosting smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, your voice was soft, void of any anger. Rhys dragged his thumb across your lips, resting it at the dimple in your cheek, "You are." Rhys' eyes drifted over your face, drinking in the fine lines of happiness that had embedded themselves at the corners of your eyes, "You are the star which points to home. You are my homeland, y/n. I think that you always have been."

Watching your gaze soften, he had to ask you, "Does the idea of me disgust you? The idea of us?"

A furrowed brow greeted him, but you shook your head softly, your cheek rubbing against the silk of his shirt, "How can I look away now that I have seen you?" Reaching to brush your fingers against his jaw, eye sparkling and brimming with the silent permission he had been waiting for.

In one swift but gentle motion, Rhys rolled you onto your back, cupping your face in his hands and hovering his lips a whisker away from your own. His breath fanned across your face, it was warm but heavy, he was overthinking it and what it would mean, but nothing would stop him from claiming you. Not even Cassian.

You pulled his eyes to meet yours, dragging him from the thoughts that plagued him, and like you were a spring in eons of desert, Rhys drank. Connecting his lips to yours was something he had only allowed himself to dream of, but nothing could have prepared him for how you tasted. Honeysuckle and sea salt, with the slightest hint of sweet spice. Rhys couldn't stop himself from deepening the embrace, running his tongue along your bottom lip and then darting it into your parted mouth, exploring every inch you would allow him to whilst curling the fingers of his free hand around your hip, his other resting at the back of your head.

Reluctantly, Rhys created a space between your lips, feeling himself losing control of his body the longer he was connected to you; he watched closely as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, the curve of your breasts grazing against his shirt and lips sinfully swollen from the onslaught of his adoration for you. He found his place beside you once more, pulling you to him so that your head rested on his chest, "Rest now. We can face the world tomorrow."

What you wouldn't give to go back to that moment. Everything had been so much simpler then. The new nerves and the oncoming anger from Cassian had been the only negativity in your world, though, your twin had taken the news much better than you had expected, he had only beaten Rhys once before the happiness for you had taken over.

If you were going to be mated to anyone, at least it was to the person who doted you and protected you at all costs.

It didn't take long until he was asking when the first babe would arrive.

It wasn't like you didn't want children with Rhys, it had been a topic that made you both excited, but you were also very happy with one another so had decided to not explicitly try for a babe, but if it happened then you would both be overjoyed. It took of mounds of pressure from your shoulders.

The mating ceremony itself had been beautiful, Rhys had truly spared no expense on the intimate ceremony where he had also sworn you in as High Lady of the Night Court in front of your family, and he had cried nearly as hard as Cassian when you saw you walking down the aisle in the dress that you knew belonged to his mother, the same one he had seen you in when the bond had snapped for him with some minor alterations, that being a lace veil that clipped into each loosely wound braid of your hair and matching gloves that kisses above your elbows.

The Inner Circle had succumb to the possibility that they wouldn't see you both for at least a month afterward. You were far too radiant for Rhys to allow from his sight, not only as his newly wedded wife, but also as his High Lady and the future mother of his children. You were exquisite.

Centuries passed and your love and devotion toward one another never waned, if anything it only grew, and you didn't think it possible that you could love anything else more than Rhys, and you were right.

There wasn't a single moment of the day where you didn't want to rip his clothes off and have him fuck you until you couldn't form coherent words, and he was always happy to oblige you. No matter what he was doing, whether working through stacks of paperwork in his office with hair messed from raking his fingers through it or relaxing in the living area after a long day, if you entered his space with that feline speck in your eye, he would be the one throwing everything aside to be pulling those mewls from your lips.

It was a love that Prythian would never see again, a love it would always search for and wither when it couldn't be found.

What you'd give to go back to that. Back to the time before Amarantha happened.

You remembered the feeling as though it happened only yesterday, the tidal wave of love and regret and sorrow, a pleading tsunami that you returned with your own, and you could almost see his sad smile, drowning in that feeling for a heartbeat longer before the bond went cold. Cassian and Azriel had burst into the room after hearing your screams all the way from the training ring at the House of Wind, finding you balled up atop the cold ground sobbing and clutching at the skin where your heart lay.

Azriel had moved to you first, his arms wrapping around your body and shadows peppering your tear-stained cheeks, he coaxed your ire from you, freezing as you told him that the bond had gone cold. It had only taken a few minutes for him to piece it together, of Amarantha no doubt trapping him below the mountain and him playing along in order to protect his court, his home, his y/n.

It had taken weeks for you to rise from the ashes of your bedroom, you had refused to move from the sheets that held his scent deep within them. But you were the High Lady of the Night Court, and Amren was struggling to lead the court on her own. Throwing yourself into your tripled duties was all that you could do, if Rhys ever came home, then that home had to be healthy and flourishing.

The citizens of Velaris pitied you more than they mourned the absence of their High Lord, you were the image of despair, pallid skin and a certain voidness to you usually bright eyes, though it didn't stop you from ruling over the court whatsoever. The only time when you would break would when you would be alone, and Cassian and Azriel couldn't allow you to wither away any longer so moved you into the House of Wind, leaving your once perfect home abandoned.

Before you knew it, 50 years had drawled by, 50 years without your mate and best friend. Life had tried to curl around you gracefully, to will you back into some form of enjoyment, and Azriel had coaxed you to accept the hand offered to you, so you did, but there wasn't a single moment that came and went that you didn't think of Rhys and what he was enduring Under The Mountain.

"Cassian, have you been to Windhaven lately? I need an update on the wing clipping laws we put in place." You entered the study, your pale blue dress dragging behind you from the pace of your steps, the crown growing heavy on your head.

It had always been something you and Rhys had spoken of, banning the archaically brutal practice of wing clipping in Illyria. Once upon a time you had almost been one of those young girls, pinned to the ashen soil with a blade a feathers touch away from taking the most sacred part of you. Luckily it never happened, and you had Cassian, Azriel and Rhys to thank for it.

Not looking up from the reports in your fingers, "Cass?" you gritted, too exhausted to deal with his silence. You had disappeared again that day, it had happened much more frequently over the last 50 years without Rhys by your side, but you weren't allowed to rest when you would return, there was always too much to do. "Cassian." Finally you looked up, finding your twin leaning against your desk with a shit-eating grin on his face and puffy eyes, "Are you going to answer me within the next two working minutes or shall I just go to Windhaven myself?"

"Oh how I have missed that voice."

Frozen in place, you felt your heartbeat rattle in your chest at that voice, the voice that haunted every moment you lived no matter if you were sleeping or walking the city aimlessly. Needing some form of confirmation you looked up to Cassian, your bottom lip wobbling when he nodded once at you and leaned back.

Then you felt him, his hands on your hips and nose grazing the curve of your shoulder, those two things alone making the reports in your fingers float to the floor. His chest met your back, his arms wound around your midsection, "Tell me that I'm not travelling right now."

A chuckle rumbled within the chest behind you, his lips pressed dainty kisses to your exposed skin, "I'm here. It's real."

A sob fell from your mouth and you turned in his arms, you buried your head into the nape of his neck and cried, and you felt bad for it, you weren't the one trapped in that place, but part of you had wished that you had been.

At some point during your crying and Rhys shushing you softly with his fingers running through your hair, Cassian had left the room, closing the door on his exit to give you both the privacy you so desperately needed. Another few moments passed and Rhys pulled away slightly, creating a small space between you so that he could hold your face in his hands and know that it was all real, that everything he had endured had been worth it just to have that moment.

"You look exhausted, my love," his thumbs caressed the skin of your slightly hallowed cheeks, his face lowering to level with your own. He didn't look much better than you did, his eyes were darkened with the things he had seen, his skin rough and pallid from the lack of sun, fine lines of worry and anguish ran along his forehead, "Cassian told me that you've been running this court on your own," he told you with a gentle smile, knowing how difficult it must have been for you to rule without him, to take on that load and also deal with your gift, "You've done so well, darling. I'm so lucky to have you."

Rhys pressed his lips to your forehead like a mother would a babe, loving and certain, and you couldn't help but sob again at the words and his touch, "I thought I wasn't going to see you again. I thought you had left me forever. When the bond went cold, and I couldn't feel you, I thought-"

"Hey. Don't think that. There is no reality where I wouldn't return to you, y/n," he rested his fingers at the base of your neck, relishing at the touch of your skin beneath his fingertips, "You are the only thing that kept me alive down there," his eyes glassed over, replaying memories he would soon rather forget, "I couldn't look into your eyes, but they were all I thought about. I memorised your face long ago, but it was a mirror for me there, or a prayer I had to recite nightly to make me remember who was waiting for me. I told you that you are my homeland, I will always come back to you."

Tears rolled down both of your cheeks when he kissed you, so full of need but also so hesitant, it was tender and light and warm, and you felt the floodgates of your bond crash open, your heart fighting against the tide of his relief and exhaustion, of his love and regret.

"But right now, I would like to bathe with my wife, and hold her until we both fall asleep. That's all I want, to hold you. Can we do that? Please?"

You had never been able to say no to Rhys and you weren't about to start, not when his eyes were weary and heavy with the turmoil of being away from you for so long, for witnessing and taking part in the acts that he had.

Carefully, you took his hand in yours, entwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles, "Of course we can," a gentle tug from you spurred him to move, and you led him through the House of Wind to your private chambers, mumbling to him that sleeping in your shared rooms had been too painful.

The tub was already steaming by the time you entered the bathroom, candles were lit and the window showed the golden valley you both adored so much as well as the snow-capped mountains. A once sultry act of undressing one another held a new meaning, you stripped one another bare with the upmost of care, taking time to touch one another as if you'd blink and it would all be gone.

Rhys lowered himself into the water first, almost groaning at the lavender soak that seeped into his muscles, and he held a hand out to you, positioning himself perfectly to accommodate you between his legs and running his fingers along the membrane of the wings you had done your best to tuck away.

"I love you so much," he kissed the glistening skin on your shoulder, trailing his lips from the spot up to the shell of your ear, and he smiled into your hair when you returned the sentiment, kissing his open palms and drowning in his power.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to settle within both of you, and once it had, Rhys lifted you from the tub and wasted no time in drying you and pulling one of his shirts over your head, pecking your nose once it was secured around your frame and nestling into bed with you for the most tranquil nights sleep he had gotten in 50 years.

It had taken Rhys a few weeks to feel comfortable enough to be intimate with you, he had never given you a reason, but you knew why. There had been many rumours of Amarantha's whore, and you could only imagine how he was feeling. Whether he didn't wish to admit it to you for fear of embarrassment or judgement, you weren't really sure, but you would never push him. Everything had to be done when he was ready and he alone.

You'd wait an eternity if that's what your mate needed.

Settling back into life in Velaris had been strange for him, he didn't know a single thing that had gone on in his court during his absence, but you walked him through it all. From your detailed reports, Rhys realised just how much love you had poured into his, your, city; orphanages had opened in the city offering education to the less fortunate, you had cracked down on the barbaric act of wing clipping so much so that there were very few cases reported in the last three years, and you had funded so many projects that would better the lives of all, from art galleries and theatres to community gardens, the Night Court was undeniably thriving.

"How have you accomplished all of this?" Rhys had asked you one morning as he scanned over all of the reports, flitting through the pages in wonder.

You had nervously picked at the skin around your nails at the question, "In all honesty I never really stopped working," his gaze met yours and he softened, opening his arms to you and pulling you into his lap, "I was scared that if I stopped doing all of this," you motioned to the papers littering the desk, "That the weight of your absence would consume me. I wanted to make you proud."

"I'll always be proud of you, my incredible mate and wife. You are amazing. Truly."

The darkness still gathered beneath his eyes, more nights than not you'd be awakened from slumber by his nightmares, and you would rise immediately to hold him, to remind him of where he was and that she was gone. It was clear that he didn't wish to burden you with the details, as usual, he was protecting you.

After a couple of months, Rhys felt like he was back to his old self, his usual banter with his brothers was rife and he was spending a lot more quality time with you whenever he had the opportunity. Everything had felt peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

The feeling you hadn't been consumed by since the day of his return had slowly settled in your gut, clawing and tearing at your essence, but it felt more sinister, like it wanted to ruin you. Crashing ceramic pulled Rhys from his book to see you in the doorway, your hands turning translucent and eyes full of terror as it travelled up your arms. Rhys was moving to you in an instant, trying to reach you before you disappeared entirely but he was too late, his fingers moving through you like you weren't even there.

It felt as though death itself had come to take you in that moment as you clawed your way to the surface.

You had landed in a place you didn't recognise, dark stone glistening with day old rain, hallways illuminated by lanterns and torches. The halls were wide, so tall that you felt tiny in comparison to them, and you knew where you were, where the Mother had decided to take you.

Under The Mountain.

A faint voice drifted through the air to you, pulling you toward it, and you followed the call, peaking into each room before you found the one where the sounds felt much more powerful. Though, nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to witness.

The room was dark, dressed in hues of black and wine red, faelight illuminated the walls lined with various dark artworks, a curved tub sat to the left, and in the centre was a large four poster bed, and on that bed was your husband and that creature of a woman you knew to be Amarantha.

Rhys' eyes were closed as he thrusted into her, his brow furrowed and face flashing with pain and remorse, you covered your mouth to conceal your gasp, forgetting that neither of them could see you. Amarantha lay beneath your husband, moaning and raking her talons down his spine, breaking the skin and grinning at the blood sweeping across her lips; her legs were wound around his waist, pushing him deeper into her with every rock of his hips.

"Tell me, Pet," she drawled, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on him, riding his cock and muffling her delight at the feeling, "How do you think your precious wife would feel if she knew what we did each night?" Rhys visibly tensed, "Do you think that she would still love you? Do you think that she would still want to be wed to you?"

Everything within you was telling you to look away, but you couldn't.

It was a question that Rhys couldn't answer, mostly because he didn't want to think about what you would do if you knew, which was the reason why he hadn't told you.

Tears streaked down your face, dripping onto the stone cold floor with every roll of her hips, "Who would want to be wedded to a cheating whore?" Amarantha's talon dragged down the column of his throat, "Do you not think that she deserves so much better than a male who would allow this?"

A moment of silence passed from Rhys, a silence that was filled with her moans as she neared her release, "Yes, I think that she does."

The words broke your heart, that your mate truly believed that you deserved better than what he had done, the things she had made him do. Each night she tormented him, made him submit to her against his will, and told him that you wouldn't want him when she was done.

With that soul-tearing admittance, Amarantha's movements jolted around him, her talons tugged at her hair as her moans climbed and she rode out her release, and once she had slowed, she wasted no time in removing herself from your mate and pulling a robe over her alabaster skin, smirking to him wordlessly before padding right past you on her exit.

It had all been to protect his home from her, and by extension, you. And that fact made you feel sick to your stomach, so sick that you felt the bile rising upward. Rhys had endured the unspeakable to protect his court and family, he knew what Amarantha would do if she got her hands on any of you, but it would be you who would suffer the most, and you knew that Rhys would stop at nothing to avoid that.

As soon as she was far enough away, you watched Rhys crumble; he perched on the edge of that large four poster bed with his head buried into his palms, loud, painful sobs causing his body to tremble and quake. His pain roared through him, "I love you," you rushed to him, you tried to reach for him but your fingers passed right through his body that was covered by a thin onyx sheet, "I love you," he repeated but more strained, he looked to the ceiling, his cheeks stained with his anguish and guilt, "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."

"Rhys, please," your broken voice pleaded, but he couldn't hear you, no one ever could when you travelled, you were a simple bystander in these types of memories, "I love you."

The loud sobs of your mate continued, he wrapped his arms around himself, it had been the only thing to bring him comfort, and it was clear that he was imagining that it was you holding him and not himself. Rhys carried on apologising to the skies, hoping that his sincerity would reach you, hoping that you knew just how much he loved you and how much he would endure to keep you safe from her.

You weren't sure how long you knelt before him on that cold stone floor, telling him that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened you would never stop loving him whilst your own sobs broke your heart at the sight of your mate looking so defeated and worthless.

Only when that memory began to fade did you realise that the Mother was done with you, that she deemed you enlightened enough to return you to your home.

You landed with a thud, your knees crumpling beneath the weight of your body making you a blubbering mess on the floor. Marred hands found you instantly, shaking your shoulder softly until you found their owner, hazel pools of worry sketched over your face, his shadows frantically weaving between one another with panic. Sound had become muffled, like you were in a daze, you faintly knew that Azriel had called out to someone, likely telling them to fetch your husband as your focus honed in on him, "Where did you go, y/n?" Azriel had never looked so distressed, "You've been gone for three weeks."

Three weeks.

Rhys must have been going insane.

All you could do is cry and fall into his arms, the vision of your mate causing your body to shake, and Azriel folded you into his embrace, rubbing circles into your back, "I was Under The Mountain," you told him between sobs and he froze, like he knew what you had seen, "I'm going to throw up."

Another presence entered the room and moved to the two of you, an angelic touch graced your lower back and a bowl appeared before you, her fingers tugged your hair from your face as you hunched over and emptied the contents of your stomach, "It's alright," Mor cooed to you, rubbing your back to ensure you had gotten out what you needed to, curtly telling Azriel to meet Rhys and Cassian before they entered and saw you in such a position.

Mor held you as you sobbed, your guilt eating you from the inside out from knowing that Rhys had endured all that pain and suffering and abuse to keep you all safe, to protect you from the devil incarnate.

It didn't take long for the doors to open once more, Rhys took one look at your coiled frame, and the bowl to your left, and strode over to you, sliding onto his knees and gathering you in his arms. Knowing you wouldn't be able to tell him what exactly it was that you saw, you felt him caress your mental shields, asking for permission to enter, and you allowed it, you allowed him to sift through the images and felt his grip tighten around you.

Rhys scooped you into his arms and didn't say a single word to anyone on your exit, he carried you to your shared bedroom at the House of Wind, the same place you had accepted the bond centuries prior, and settled you onto the edge of the bed, kneeling before you and kissing your knuckles.

"I'm sorry that she did that to you," tears flowed down your face, landing on the backs of his hands, "I'm sorry that you had to do that to protect us."

Surprise settled onto his face at your words, like he wasn't expecting anything of that nature to leave your lips, "I'm sorry that she made you believe that I wouldn't love you because of it. I do love you, more than you'll ever know. Nothing would ever be able to take me from you."

Rhys picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and perching on the space where you had been seated only moments before; he peered up at you, his eyes the lightest shade of violet you had ever seen them, "Don't apologise for something that wasn't your doing," he wiped your tears, "I would do it all again if it meant that you would be safe, I'd endure the most wicked of punishments to keep you healthy and alive."

"I don't want you to ever feel like that again."

"I won't. I'll never leave you, not until death finds me and even then I will cling onto life with everything I have left so that I'll be able to find you in the next. It's always been you, and it'll always be you. There is nothing that can take me from you, I would burn the world to ash if anyone ever tried it, do you hear me?"

Rhys knew how hard it had been for you even if you hadn't told him yourself. It had been Azriel who had confided in Rhys about your mental state over the years, how you struggled to sleep and that when you did you were haunted by his loss, how you had travelled more often and for longer periods of time than before and how you always returned to them exhausted and little more broken than the last time. Rhys had been told how hard the entire Inner Circle had to work to contain you, to make sure that you didn't journey to Under The Mountain yourself and get yourself tortured and killed right before his eyes.

Desperate to hear your voice, Rhys continued on, "You and I are entwined for eternity, my love. Our life is going to be full of wonder and joy, that is what we fight for. In 100 years when we have our own babe and a life of serenity, I'll know that everything we went through was worth it, to have a chance to create the life we always dreamed of, the life we spoke of before the bond snapped and we were just Rhys and y/n dreaming about the future."

Rhys' fingers ran through your hair, pulling all of the tension from your body in the exact way he knew that you needed, "Tell me how much you love me."

Your palms rested flat on his chest, his heartbeat thumping through the skin to feel you, and he smiled softly, "I love the way your skin feels beneath mine," his arms pulled you closer into his chest, his chin rested atop your breastbone and his eyes bore into yours, "I love the little noises you make in the night when you're getting comfortable, and the little content sighs when I wrap my arms around you. I love the sound of your voice and your laugh. I love your truth and wisdom, and how you've never been afraid to do what is right despite the consequences. The world bores me - it bores me and irritates me when I'm away from you. You're the only thing that makes this life worth living. I love you, I love you more than our insanely irritating family," a gentle laugh passed through your lips, and you sniffled, "I love you more than this court or my power, I love you more than life itself, because what is the meaning of life if you aren't in it?"

"Rhys?" He hummed in question, still staring deep into your soul, "Love me. Please." It was a whisper, one you weren't quite sure he had heard, but he nodded gentle and placed you onto your back, ensuring that there were enough pillows beneath your head before he lowered his lips to meet yours.

Rhys made sure that he showed you how much he adored you and everything that you had given him, his lips covering every inch of your skin in a night filled with passion and the purest or adoration. And, unbeknownst to either of you in that moment, it seemed that your collective dreams were going to come true a lot sooner than you thought.

Author's Note

Brb crying x

(Also happy 1k followers besties, my first Rhysie fic is here for the occasion)

[m0chisenpai]

temptress of pluto

˚｡⋆ emperor geta x black fem!reader x platonic!caracalla

in which the gods have sent their judgement to the twins of Rome in the form of a woman, too divine for even Rome to handle

Geta and Caracalla weren’t ones to waste hours with keeping with holy festivals and offerings. But Geta wonders if the gods have blessed him and his brother with your presence.

He witnessed your beauty the eve of a theatrical performance in honor of Rome’s recent campaign. Filled with gore, violent reenactment. But Geta and Caracalla relished in your role: death. How you plucked your fellow actors off one by one. Caracalla insisted his brother seek you out, and for once he agreed with his brother. A sorceress of some sorts, is what Geta calls you after having bedded him and sending him to the heavens.

From that day on you were theirs. And they were yours, though neither would outwardly admit it.

Drunk on your touch, the sweet words you filled their minds with.

The Emperor’s personal concubine. No man could lay finger or gaze upon you. You were devoted to the imperators, they were sure that the gods gifted you unto them. While you don’t bed Caracalla you indulge his more violent desires. He enjoys watching you feed upon the helpless ones they’ve stolen from their conquests.

Some nights you will enter his chambers in the guise of a whore only to pick them off one by one until Caracalla chortles in excitement as you stand before him, dressed in white stained by the blood of a few. Others you tell a poor girl to find her freedom and you would grant her freedom only to chase her straight into the emperor’s chamber where you would pounce and tear her apart.

You keep the twins in an odd sense of balance and who are the senate to complain.

With you in the room sat upon either of their laps any meeting would run far smoother than when your absence was present. And they can tell you are something otherworldly, something the gods must have sent. For judgement? A sign they are pleased with their feats? They know not, but what they hear are tales of the maiden of Pluto. A kiss from her seals your fate in the living, ushering you into the underworld.

Two marks lay upon the emperors, purple from bruising along the pale expanse of their collarbones. It only seals the rumors, the gods have marked the emperors of Rome. For death or praise is yet to be determined.

Even as you enter a room, your eyes gleaming bright as jade, they feel their breaths taken away. Your words are sweet as honey, yet your touch is ice cold. You’ve never tasted power such as this, why have your siblings chosen a life in the dark when these humans grovel and dote upon you like you are one of their silly little gods incarnated?

Today you are bathed in milk and roses, gleaming in the oils and perfumes from the recent campaign. Covered in jewels and fabrics that could surely feed the entire coliseum you enter. Your maidens stand among both your sides, your true protection you tell the emperors who doubt the young women could defend you from any assassin or rogue gladiator. They stop to stand with the guards as you enter where the emperors reside with their general and Marcinus who sings your name taking both your hands.

“Venus enters before us today, and oh how she shines,” he presses a kiss to your ring hands. He’s a snake. A clever one truly, you smile coyly as you playfully tap his chest.

“Macrinus! When shall I have the glory to see one of your best from the stables in the colosseum?”

“In due time my lady, a new conquest means more pieces for the board.” You hum slowly brushing pass him toward the general of celebration.

“We shall see dear Marcinus, I look forward to another wager with you.”

“General Acacius!” You hold your hands out for the man to take where he places a kiss upon your jade ring. A gift from your previous nameday from your loves. “We have much to speak of, your lovely wife was a presence to adore whilst you were away.”

“Thank you, my lady, for watching over her.” Once more he bows before you, bashful smile across his sun kissed scarred face.

Once the emerprors have made their presence known and Acacius warms the people of Rome your presence is called and you enter, gold glistening int he warm sun of summer.

“A fine choice for today’s event don’t you think, brother?” Geta purrs upon your entrance when you stand before both of them to bow.

They loved you in deep red with patters of gold. Your paella was secured by a newly gifted brooch, a gift from their general. Geta would proudly show off your beauty all to Rome, a symbol of the blessing from the gods yet Caracalla would prefer you veiled and hidden in the public eye. Hence you indulge both today.

“Indeed.” Caracalla sniggers as you flash him a toothy smile.

“Come my love,” Geta calls with a hand held and you slowly move to place your hand in his. He tugs you into his lap looking on in excitement. “I believe you will be particularly fond of today’s entertainment.”

You watch men atop rhinos tear prisoners into peace’s. Heads and arms scatter. The man is tall, he loves to do this. You hear it in his mind, see how his vision is blinded by blood. As he has his opponent kneel before you both, Caracalla stands silencing the roars of death. With his hand in fist and thumb pointed to the side he looks to you. “What say you, sister dearest?”

“The gods thirst for blood,” Geta’s chest rumbles with a growl as he moves forward to bite along the expanse of your skin, cold and hard as marble. You drink in the look of despair on the mans face, he is praying to the gods as the edge of the blade presses to his jugular which spills with his blood.

It smells divine from above though you just barely catch the wisps of it. But you are amused. For now, and Geta can tell as you fidget with the rings on your fingers.

“Macrinus,” the man stands now beside you head bowed. “Is that one not of your own stables?”

“He is, my lady,” you hum slowly standing as the man begins to take on three more from the stables.

“Yes, but do you see how slow he moves now? There is no more delight in him. He kills yes and does it well, but I am not amused.” And you smirk at how he damns you, how a woman meant to only warm a bed should keep her mouth shut or full rather than speak about the business of men.

“If my lady is not satisfied how might I rectify this?”

You look over at both men with boredom clear upon your face, “end him.”

Oh how he adored you like this. Geta feels the prickle of devotion as he stand with his eyes trained on yours as he moves to stand before you now. You step back and watch as his arms raise, forcing a hush across the colosseum as they watch the man shut his eyes and hold his fist out.

His thumb sharply turns down, “the gods are NOT satisfied!” The colosseum is in an uproar as the gates of the colosseum open revealing your own front he stables. Four large black panthers prowl slowly encircling the men who slowly back together into group until one by one your darlings tear them apart.

And Geta relishes in your laughter as you clap your hands together, your own laughter mixed with Caracalla’s childish ones create a mad melody

“What a lovely gift my, sweet imperator.”

[exhaslo]

Kinktober Day 30- Villain!Miguel x Hero!Reader

*Requested by so many of you that I had to incorporate so much in here. So- breeding, glove kink, fingering, dark thoughts, kidnap and so much more. Might make this a damn mini series because I fell in love with it!*

        This was not how you expected your day to go. Everything was going smoothly as you patrolled the city for any crimes. You stopped a few bad guys, retrieved a stolen purse and helped an elderly couple with directions. All the normal stuff. None of your big villains were out committing crimes, so you had a moment of peace. At least you were until you met him. A new villain who was a big threat, but not in the way you expected him to be.

        Before you even met this new threat, you were responding to an explosion at the Alchemax building. It was the last place you wanted to go since you worked there, but it was also where you received your powers. Swinging towards the tall building, you noticed people falling. Quickly, you scooped each person and brought them down to safety. They thanked you and begged you to stop the mad man who was tossing them like rag dolls.

        Whoever this person was had no care for human life. You huffed as you crawled your way up to the building. Entering through the broken glass, you coughed towards the smoke. You had to stop the fire from spreading. Webbing as much as you could, you continued inside the building, wondering where this new threat was.

"Ahí estás, mi hermoso nuevo sujeto de prueba. (There you are, my beautiful new test subject.)" A voice called out.

        You flinched, jumping away as you tried to locate the voice. It was strange, this person almost sounded like your extremely sexy, yet insane, coworker, Miguel O'Hara. Miguel was the son of your boss and CEO of Alchemax, Tyler Stone. Miguel was dangerous to say the least. He shared his father's beliefs and was determined to test the DNA of spiders on regular people, cue how you got your powers. You were lucky to have it been an accident. Everyone else did not share the same fate.

        Either way, you never saw Miguel turning fully evil. It was just a disappointment too, especially after fantasizing about him. Shaking the thought out of your head, you tried to look through the smoke. You gasped lowly, noticing a tall and buff figure before you. This was defiantly not Miguel. Miguel was a twig.

"¿Sorprendido por mi nuevo look? (Surprised by my new look?)" The man spoke as the smoke cleared, "I'm just like you now, but better." Miguel said with a fanged smirk.

        If your jaw could drop, it would. He really was insane! Miguel tested on himself and now had spider powers like you? This could only end in disaster. You went to web him in place, but Miguel was faster. He grabbed your wrists and pinned you against the floor. His body hovered over yours, causing your heart to race. This was bad, very bad.

"Don't look so scared, cariño (sweetheart). I'm not going to hurt you," You were so focused on his fangs,

"H-How am I supposed to believe that?!" You huffed, trying to kick him away. Miguel pinned your legs down,

"I would never harm the successful ones," He brought his head to your neck, inhaled deeply, "You smell so sweet, cariño. I'm going to take such good care of you."

"I don't think you mean that in a good way,"

        Miguel just chuckled darkly as his new red orbs stared directly at you. It was scary how strong he was. You didn't have fangs and you sure as shit were not this strong. You let out a small yelp as you felt Miguel inject something into you. You vision began to blur as your body weaken.

"Vamos a formar el equipo perfecto, cariño. (We're going to make the perfect team, sweetheart.)

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

        A soft grunt escaped your lips as you started to come back to your senses. You fluttered your eyes open, wincing at bright white walls. Trying to make sense of what happened, you shivered in response. Your eyes widen as you recalled Miguel. You raised your head, whimpering as you felt your naked body strapped to a soft table. You were confused and scared. Your mask was off too. Miguel really was insane and you had no idea what he was going to do to you.

"Ah, you're awake." Miguel said as he walked in with his lab coat over his bare chest, "I was surprised to see that it was you under that mask, (Y/N). How very naughty of you to hide right under my nose. Perhaps that is why I took an interest in you."

"A-As much as I would love to hear more...Please let me go," You begged, fear creeping into your system. Miguel walked over to you, his fingers stroking your body from your legs to your neck,

"Can't do that, cariño. Right now, I'm studying you." He hummed lowly, "Tienes un cuerpo bastante sensible. Perfecto para mi. (You have quite the sensative body. Perfect for me.)

"Miguel, please...I know I lied to you, but we've known each other for years. Please let me go,"

"You'll run away if I do." Miguel walked over, fixing his gloves, "I need you."

        You glanced around the lab, trembling in fear. This did not look like any of the labs back in Alchemax. It gave off a more homey atmosphere. Even the table you were on was soft. You knew that Miguel had some common sense in him. You just needed to find and exploits it so you can get free. You weren't lying when you had known him for years. Hell, you even had a crush on this mad scientist. Perhaps you could use that to your advantage.

"I-I won't run away. I....I'll corporates. I know you like things to be easy," You said with a whimper. Miguel's eyes sparkled for a moment as you saw his fangs poke out again,

"You'll be a good girl for me?" He asked.

        Oh, if it weren't for the situation you were in, you'd find that extremely sexy. You had to admit, you were a good girl which is why you became a hero. So much for avoiding the liking bad boys trope. You gave a hesitant nod towards Miguel, hoping that he would at least free your hands.

"Spread your legs out for me the," He demanded. You gulped, slowly doing as he said, "Que hermoso coño. Todo para mi. (What a beautiful pussy. All for me.) Did you have any major changes to your reproductive system when you got your abilities?" He asked.

        You trembled as Miguel started to touch your inner thighs. You replied to him with a 'no'. His fingers just stroked your legs as he loosen the binds on your feet. He kept your legs up, retying your feet. You could only twitch as the cold air hit your cunt. Miguel was watching your reaction. He fixed his glove one more time, spreading your folds. You squeaked, wanting to complain, but you knew that would only make him mad. You were his new test subject. You had to behave or he will hurt you.

"Don't be so scared, cariño. I'm not going to hurt my good girl," Miguel whispered as his finger entered your hole. You whined lowly as he explored your insides with his thick finger, "So tight, you've stayed single, yes?"

"Y-Yes." You replied, trembling as his finger alone stretched you out. You needed to change the topic, "M-Miguel, b-besides fangs...and your physic...w-what else affect you?" You stuttered as he pressed against you cunt.

"Tsk, tsk, don't change the topic. We're focusing on you."

        You bit your lower lip, almost afraid of where this was going. Almost. The deep dark part of you was getting horny at the thought of what Miguel might do to you. It was bad. You were tied up in his private lab with his finger inside you. Miguel was a villain now. You could not allow yourself to be swayed by him. Right as you were about to ask something else, Miguel entered another finger. You hit your head back, letting out a soft mewl in response.

"Good response. Flow is above average according to the data, but all the better for me." Miguel spoke to himself, pumping his fingers inside your dripping cunt, "Now for the length until burst."

        You whined as you tried to move your hips as Miguel's fingers pumped deep inside you. His two fingers alone were larger than some of your toys. This was the most pleasure you had ever felt. You gasped sharply as he curled his fingers. He kept curling as if he was searching for your weak spot. Once he found it, you broke down. A loud moan escaped your lips as your body shook in pleasure. You cam against his gloved hand, your pussy clenching against his fingers, wanting more.

"Qué rápido. Es más fácil para mí criar. (How quick. Easier for me to breed.)" He smirked, taking his glove off.

"Hah....hah....Miguel?" You panted softly, relaxing from your high. Miguel took off his lab coat, typing away on his computer.

"User experiencing intense thoughts of breeding, higher salivation, increase blood-"

"A-Are you okay?" You asked, wondering if he was now having side effects of experimenting on himself. Miguel stood straight and made his way over to you,

"I'm not, but luckily I have a hero here to save me. You will save me, right?" He leaned closer to you, his hot breathe against your neck.

"H-How can I?" You knew you shouldn't have asked.

        The look Miguel had was lustful and curious. He placed himself between you legs, revealing his large, harden cock. You could feel your heart about to leap from your chest. Miguel's breathing was irregular and his pupils were blown. This wasn't an experiment anymore. He was taken over by lust.

"My good girl," Miguel stole a kiss from you, the tip of his dick pressing against your folds, "I can't stay mad at you for hiding this little secret. Not when our offspring will be perfect."

"M-Mig-" You winced as you felt his cock stretch your walls, "Mhm...W-Wait-" You begged.

        You whimpered as Miguel kept pushing. His hands were stroking your body. You whined and lifted your hips slightly as his dick kept entering your tight walls. He was so big. It felt uncomfortable at first, but you started to get hotter and wetter. Miguel's tip kissed your cervix, threating to enter. Your pussy pulsed around his cock, taking in his large shape. Miguel grunted lowly, inhaling at the thought of finally being inside you,

"¡Un ajuste perfecto, estábamos hechos el uno para el otro! (A perfect fit, we were made for each other!)" He roared in laughter before slamming his hips into yours.

        Your body arched as you let out a breath taking moan. Miguel was bullying your poor pussy with his monster of a cock. Each time he filled you back up with his dick, you felt your vision blur. Your loud moans were overtaking the wet slapping noises of your bodies connecting with each thrust. Miguel's grunts getting sloppier as he rutted into you like the madman he was. He grazed his fangs over your shoulders, biting into your skin. You cried out, blood tingling down.

"M-Mig~" You cried out, begging for freedom. Miguel licked his lips as he felt you tighten against him, "G-Gon...na cum...p-please....M-Mig, please~!" You begged repeatedly.

        Miguel just smirked as he watched you fall apart. He freed your arms, allowing you to wrap them around his neck. He held your hips tighter as you cam against his dick. Miguel kept thrusting through your high. You whimpered his name as Miguel stopped to cum inside your womb. His chuckle echoing the room as he placed you back down on the table, putting you on your side.

"We're not done yet, cariño. I have the stamina to last for hours," He whispered harshly before pounding into your pussy again, "Oh? What's this scar? How did my little subject get hurt?" He actually sounded concerned.

"Ah...I-I g-got it...mhm...f-from...hah~ V-Vulture..." You finally said between moans. Miguel growled lowly as he lifted your leg over his shoulder, slapping his dick deeper inside you, "AH~ s'much....deep~" You cried out.

"How dare he." Miguel's tone got darker as he watched you fall victim to another orgasm, "As of today, you are officially retired as Spider-woman. I won't allow my perfect partner to get hurt again."

"B-But-"

"I'll take over the role," The look in his eyes turned wicked, "When I'm done with them there won't be anyone left to challenge us as the superior beings." Miguel chuckled as he gave you another load of his cum.

"Miguel," You whimpered lowly.

        Miguel noticed your body losing feeling. He placed you on your knees and noticed the area where he bit you. His tongue grazed over his fangs, realizing that he had paralyzing venom. A sinister chuckle escaped his lips as he continued his harsh charade of thrusts from behind now. You body twitching and shaking from the overstimulation. Your moans getting louder as your face grew more blissed out. Miguel pulled your hair, forcing you to arch your back,

"How does that sound? Are you going to be my good girl and stay here as my perfect subject?" He whispered in your ear as he pounded your drenched pussy.

"Y-Yes! Yes, yes!" You cried out, unable to think straight. Miguel stroked your back as you tighten around his dick again,

"I won't let you leave. I'm going to find out everything about you as you carry our perfect offspring. Qué hermosa eres, siendo contaminada por este villano. Me aseguraré de que todos sepan que fui yo quien te jodió hasta someterte. (How beautiful you are, being tainted by this villain. I'll make sure everyone knows that I'm the one who fucked you into submission.)" He chuckled.

"Mhm~ M-Miguel~" You moaned lowly, feeling yourself drift from the numbness. 

        Miguel hummed to himself as he gave you one last load. Pulling out, Miguel raised the table and fixed you on your back. He had your hips raised, wanting to make sure that his cum stayed inside you. Miguel stroked your hair as you fell asleep before making his way to his computer.

"Set reminder to not use fangs during breeding session. Subject will not last and it isn't as fun without her cries." 

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like… like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

[lizzy06]

Ushijima Wakatoshi Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Shiratorizawa Fic Rec Masterlist

Shoot the ball ✨✨💖by alkhale (enemies to friends to lovers, pinning, fluff) As captain of the dying Shiratorizawa Kyudo Club, you're sick and tired of the biased favoritism that goes to the showier sports. Especially the worst of them all—the boy's volleyball team. You're determined make the entire school a fan of your archery. You just didn't know that you had a fan from the start. [COMPLETED]

I Believe You’re My Soulmate✨✨  by @sleepybutwriting (oneshot, soulmate au, humor) Soulmate AU where the first thing your soulmate says to you is written on your wrist. With the phrase you got, you always pictured your soulmate as some nerdy guy, but boy are you wrong. [COMPLETED]

porphyra✨✨ by deltachye (fluff)Despite the uniform of regality, he wasn’t a King but rather an Ace; and he’d long since stolen the title of your Ace of Hearts. [COMPLETED]

Bitter/sweet ✨by krystallisert (oneshot, fake dating, smut )“You could just get a girlfriend, you know,” he continues, hands at his hips. “Or a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re into.” [COMPLETED]

habits of my heart ✨✨by heartcondemned (first love, fluff, heartbreak)In your second year at Shiratorizawa you form an unlikely friendship with the school's golden boy that takes your life in directions you never expected. Fate has a funny way of bringing together the most unlikely people. [ONGOING]

Prodigy by infinitely hopeful Being the daughter of a prodigy volleyball player from Shiratorizawa meant that the demon coach entrusted no one else but you to manage the boys' volleyball team but you need to prove yourself to the captain who feels your role is unnecessary. [COMPLETED]

Red Thread. ✨by deltachye (soulmate au, angst, domestic fluff, eventual smut, )What do you do when your soulmate loves volleyball more than he’ll ever love you? [COMPLETED]

Story Time ✨by @oreosmama (oneshot, fluff)When you are assigned a partner project with the intimidating Ushiwaka, you start to realize he’s not all that scary, and maybe, just maybe you could teach him a thing or two about Happily Ever Afters. [COMPLETED]

  Sober Thoughts✨ by @oreosmama (oneshot, angst to fluff, skippable smut scene!!)Drunk and full of bad decisions, you decide to walk to Tendou’s apartment to wallow in hopelessness over your feelings for Ushijima. But wait… why is Tendou taller and bulkier than usual? [COMPLETED]

you are jealous but you can't do anything because you're not dating him ✨✨by @screamin-abt-haikyuu (oneshot, childhood friends, angst to fluff) You think Ushijima isn't interested in dating.... even if the new student is a famous actress ...right? [COMPLETED]

Wine and Movie Pt 1| Pt 2 | Pt 3 by @seokiloquy [COMPLETED]

Impress Me Not  by @seokiloquy ()oneshot, fluff[COMPLETED]

in proximity✨ by @lcvemiyuki (oneshot, fluff)ushijima asking for help on English is one thing--him sitting just inches away from you is another [COMPLETED]

Love is pain ✨ by @lou-struck (oneshot, fluff, soulmate au) People who share the same heart are led to each other by their pain which gets more intense the closer the two of you get. Imagine how you feel going to a Schweden Adlers game only to feel a blinding pain in your fingers when their Ace makes a block. [COMPLETED]

I need a challenge by @liillyliilly (oneshot, journalist! reader) [COMPLETED]

baby fever by @noosayog (oneshot, implied smut) Ushijima gets baby fever after seeing you with Iwaizumi's kid. [COMPLETED]

from no one to someone by @ennoshitas-princess (oneshot, fluff)You and Ushi-kun have known each other since middle school but never interacted, until he was stuck on some of the problems on an assignment. Sharing lunches and walking together. [COMPLETED]

Morning Runs by @karasuno-chaos (oneshot, fluff) Morning runs with your fiance. [COMPLETED]

In Time ✨by kaientai (soulmate au, fluff)In which Ushijima Wakatoshi firmly disbelieves in the success rate of soulmate-based relationships and you're too devoted to them for your own good. [COMPLETED]

Page 304 by deltachye (fluff, angst)Love had never really had that much meaning to him. It was just a word on the 304th page of the dictionary and that was it. Until one day, he flipped to the 304th page and thought of you. [COMPLETED]

drowning in a dream✨ by ealynwrites (fluff, humor, idiots in love, jealousy)where ushijima wakatoshi assumes they are dating, when in fact she has no idea.

real by @somethinginthethunder (oneshot, fluff) Ushijima Wakatoshi wonders if what he’s bringing to the table in this relationship is enough. At least, for you. [COMPLETED]

Hot Springs by @t0wnspersonb (oneshot, smut, fluff) You couldn’t remember the last time you and Ushijima got to spend proper time together, so when he suggests going to the hot springs for a date how could you refuse? Although, you two are doing a bit more than just enjoying the hot water. [COMPLETED]

you and wakatoshi have a fight by @pies-writes-and-more (oneshot, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort) [COMPLETED]

Sunshine by yril (arranged marriage, fluff, angst) You found a good job with a high salary, but it turns out it was high for a reason. You were about to change your mind but they offer it to be doubled. [ONGOING]

soulmate au with professor by @setter-crush-central (oneshot, soulmate au) You both have matching tattoo lines. [COMPLETED]

jealous by @pies-writes-and-more (oneshot, fluff) [COMPLETED]

rumor has it | part two by @bokutosworld (fluff) among the things you imagined happening on a Friday, being the subject of rumors wasn’t one of them. [COMPLETED]

The Eagle and The Rabbit by @t0wnspersonb (onneshot)Your directional skills weren’t the best, but it never mattered as long as Ushijima was by your side. But what happens when he’s not? [COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq (fluff, oneshot) [COMPLETED]

Is Ushijima Wakatoshi a Domestic Deity or Dud?  by @jayeray-hq (fluff, oneshot) [COMPLETED]

oneshot by @omisu (oneshot, fluff, strangers to lovers)your long-time coworker turned friend, Kuroo, sets you up on a date with one of his finest clienteles. [COMPLETED]

[detectivesvu]

Flirtatious Fate

Rafael Barba x Fem! Detective! Reader Tags: Near smut. Lots of flirting. Barba and Reader almost get caught. Sonny being a great advice giver. Word Count: 6.5k "And what if we are? Would that be such a bad thing?"

It wasn't at all uncommon for the counselor to work overtime.

Rafael more than likely worked more overtime hours than any of the attorneys in the whole building. He lived for his work, so it was no shock that it was nearly 8:00 o'clock and he was still buried in his work with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. Most of the building had thinned out. All the people who were much better at maintaining a work-life balance had left hours ago - leaving Rafael as practically the only one left. Not that he minded, he could always work better alone.

But he didn't mind having some company. There were a few faces that he always was always welcome to and would always make time for...especially one in particular.

His attention was stolen away from his work when there was a knock on his open door, obviously indicating that someone was there to see him. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who pulled a lot of overtime hours.

He knew exactly who was at his door just by the specific sound of the knock. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did - and his heart fluttered at the knowledge of the person at his door.

Their relationship was complicated, although neither of them realized that the way they acted toward one another made things a gray area. They simply believe they were colleagues...friendly colleagues at best. Somehow, neither of them really realized that their dynamic came from a much more personal and emotional place.

Nonetheless, he was happy she was there...even though he didn't realize it.

"Come in, detective." He said, without even giving a glance up from what he was working on.

A genuine smile was on the detective's face at the sound of his invitation. She entered the room with a cup of coffee in each hand, her foot kicking the door closed behind her as she entered. She was alone in her entrance, and the fact that her partner wasn't with her let him know this wasn't a business visit.

“Counselor,” She greeted. “Do you have time for coffee and a chat?”

If there was any single person in the world who could outdrink Rafael Barba when it came to coffee - it was [Y/N]. She could drink coffee at any time of day and could put down at least four cups a day. That was one thing they shared - they worked a lot and ran on nothing much pure passion for their job and heavy amounts of caffeine.

Rafael looked at her then, curious and intrigued. He wondered where her partner was, considering she was still dressed in her work attire, which also let him know she wasn't done working for the day.

"Be my guest," He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, leaning back in his own seat knowing he was about to be distracted completely. "What brings you here?"

She approached him, handing him a hot latte that was fresh and just to his liking. As coffee connoisseurs, they had entertained plenty of coffee conversations in the past. He wasn't really at all shocked that she knew his preference in coffee. He watched her from over the rim of his cup as she sat down with her own drink, clearly very comfortable in his presence.

"Carisi is upstairs talking to someone, so I figured I'd stop by and say hello." She said casually, but the sparkle in her eye let him know she had come by for more than a quick greeting.

A small smirk appeared on his face when he caught that look in her eyes. He knew her too well. She was here for a bigger reason. They were always usually very to the point with each other. They saw no reason to waste time when she was here with a purpose.

"Is that so? You came all this way just to say 'hello' to me?" He asked, a hint of playfulness in his normally dry tone.

She shrugged, a knowing grin appearing on her face as she ran her finger absentmindedly around the lid of her cup.

"Well..." She began. "I might have something interesting to tell you."

Now this made more sense. The coffee, the late visit, the giddiness. She was here to gossip - a habit that she frequently and flat out denied that she ever took part in.

"Okay," He nodded, his smirk now turning more curious. "Don't keep me in suspense."

She set her coffee down on his desk, now sitting up completely straight as she used both her hands to talk. He knew she had something big if she was this focused.

"You know how I'm kind of friends with the secretary on the fifth floor of the precinct?" She asked, jogging his memory. "Remember how I was telling you she had been acting strange?"

Rafael's eyes darted around the room as he racked his brain. mentally sorting through hundreds, if not thousands, of conversations the two of them had shared until he placed it.

"Yeah, you said she was acting secretive or something like that." He remembered, albeit vaguely.

"Right! You know I'm not one to gossip," She said, and Rafael had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at that comment. "But she's pregnant!"

Let the records show, Rafael had never met this said secretary before. The only things he knew about her were things that [Y/N] had disclosed to him, but evidently she had shared just enough with him for him to be all in on this revelation.

"No way," He tilted his head. "How do you know?"

"She told me!" She remarked. "I really couldn't believe it. I knew something was different about her. I had to come tell you when I could because you were the only person who agreed with me that something was up."

His heart fluttered again at that. It was purely just convenience that had brought her to his office that night, but it still made him shudder to think she had reserved a conversation solely for him.

"It seems we were right then," He took another sip, his eyebrows knitting together when he realized something. "Didn't you tell me she was single?"

There was a brief silence as she only shared a certain look with him. Her silence answered his question completely.

"Ah, so that's the crux of it all," He said, figuring he might as well fully emerge himself in this gossip session. "So, I'm guessing you have information on who the father is?"

"No," She shook her head. "I'm still working on that one...but I have a few guesses."

"Let's hear them." He encouraged her.

Normally, it would've been so unusual for Rafael to engage in this kind of talk. He didn't rightly care what a stranger to him had going on in their personal life...but he didn't like them the way he liked the detective sitting pretty in front of him, genuinely enjoying conversing with him on any given day.

"The rumor on the fifth floor is that it's a cop over in narcotics..." She took a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "But that said cop has been gone for nearly six months. I don’t think the math adds up.”

Rafael considered her statement, nodding in agreement and urging her to continue.

"My other guess is a bit far-fetched, but not unreasonable," She said. "A few weeks ago she went home to Chicago to visit her family, and I remember her mentioning to me that she was thinking about paying an old flame of hers a visit..."

"Oh, that's interesting...and certainly a possibility, I suppose." He replied. "Is that all?"

"Yeah, that's all I got," She shrugged. "I am being unfair. I shouldn't be making a conversation out of her business."

Rafael chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well, we all indulge in a little nosy talk here and there." He said, feeling a pang of disappointment knowing this conversation was coming to an end.

“I know, I know. That’s really all I know," She reached for her coffee cup again. "But enough about me. How are things going here?”

He chuckled when she changed the subject, noticing her eyes lingering on his. He should've known she had something else locked and loaded.

"Things here are…as expected," he said, gesturing to the stacks of files on his desk. "Too many cases, too little time." He picked up his coffee, taking a sip before continuing. "But I always manage, one way or another."

“That you do, counselor.” She grinned. “This case has been a tough one…how are you holding up?”

He leaned back in his chair, a weary smile on his face.

"You know how it is." He said, and that was all he needed to say for her to completely understand.

"That I do," She sighed. "After all these years, I've never quite mastered dealing with everything we see."

"It's not easy, that's for sure," He said. "But I must say, you've handled yourself quite well in difficult situations, detective."

“I try my best,” She shrugged. “Some days I wonder if I should've stuck with my college job."

"Which was...?" He probed.

"Bartending," She confessed. "Also a stressful job, but nothing like doing police work."

This was new information to him. He actually didn't know that about her. He chuckled, imagining her in a bar apron, wiping down tables and listening to drunken rants.

"I could see that." He teased, a playful smile on his face. "But then we would be missing out on your skills as a detective."

She gave a small laugh, but didn't respond just yet. They sat in a comfortable silence, the conversation fizzling out before a new one blossomed.

"Maybe I need a vacation." She said in a way that seemed random, but this was usually how their conversations went. They would start on one topic and then end up somewhere completely different within minutes.

He took the opportunity to tease her, something that was also very common for their interactions.

"From SVU or from me?" He joked, the playful banter coming easy between them.

"Oh, never from you, Rafael." She matched his tone, his first name sliding off her tongue like it was something she said often.

He felt a brief flash of surprise when she used his first name, but he quickly recovered and played along with the banter.

"Careful, detective. That sounds almost affectionate." He teased.

She scoffed at that, an entertained smile on her face.

"We work for the law. We hardly have time to be affectionate in any regard." She said, and it was completely true.

"Yet here we are, two busy people making time for each other." He took a sip of his coffee, then looked at her with a more serious expression. "But you're right, it's not easy to balance work and personal life. Especially in our line of work."

“I can relate. Somehow you and my co-workers are the only people I really talk to,” She spoke, her voice soft. “Not…that I mind talking to you. Who else is going to tell you the neighborhood gossip?”

He smiled, genuinely flattered that she considered him one of her few friends.

"I must admit," he said, a hint of jest in his voice. "I do enjoy hearing your neighborhood gossip. It breaks up the monotony of the legal jargon."

“I imagine it does,” She returned a smile. “Maybe eventually we’ll figure out how to balance work and personal lives. Figure out how to do something other than work.”

Clearly they often toed the line between being professional, being casual, and being flirtatious. This was their norm. Everybody who knew them wouldn't even bat an eye at this conversation between them. But what Rafael said next would've raised a few brows. He wasn't sure what made him say it. Maybe it was the late hour or the moment just felt right, but he made a remark that couldn't have been confused as anything other than personal.

"Maybe we will. It's about time we started making time for ourselves." He paused, then said with a teasing smile. "And each other."

Her gaze fixed on him, her eyes slightly squinted as she smirked at him. She wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. Neither of them had ever crossed this line before. They were both aware that this was a new level of comfort with one another.

“Counselor, are you flirting with me?”

A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he held her gaze.

"And if I was, detective?" He retorted.

“Mark me as surprised,” She said. “But flattered.”

They were both confident people...stubborn at times too. There would be no backing down from this. He chuckled, enjoying the back and forth banter. He leaned a bit closer in his chair, his smile growing wider.

"Is that so? You're not going to accuse me of being unprofessional?"

“That would make me a hypocrite. Me waltzing in here and gossiping about my coworker is unprofessional,” She leaned forward. “I consider this a flirtatious and pleasant conversation.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her words. He leaned closer as well, his voice a little lower now.

"Just a pleasant conversation, hm? You're not going to tell your other coworkers about this little chat?"

This situation was turning and it was turning fast. It had gone from casual to playful, and now they were trodding in a territory they had never ventured to before. This was different, but neither were backing down.

“Not at all, Counselor, if the thought of someone knowing bothers you so much.” She stood from her chair, eyes locked on him.

His smirk grew wider as she stood up, his eyes never leaving hers.

"It doesn't bother me at all." He assured her, rising to his feet as well. He moved around the desk, closing the distance between them. "In fact, I quite enjoy these little chats of ours."

“If we aren’t careful, we might become the precinct gossip.” She looked up at him, eyes sparkling.

He chuckled, finding the idea of being the source of gossip in the precinct strangely amusing. He took a step closer, his voice a low murmur as he spoke.

"And what if we are? Would that be such a bad thing?"

“Well, I would be getting a taste of my own medicine I suppose,” She said, realizing their noses were nearly touching. “Amongst other things.”

He let out a soft exhale, feeling his heart rate quicken at her close proximity. The air between them felt electrified.

"And those other things would be?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever you suggest we do to ‘make time for each other’?” She said smoothly. “What did you have in mind?”

He chuckled, his gaze locked with hers. He reached out with a slow, tentative hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The feel of her skin under his fingers sent a shiver down his spine.

"I have plenty of ideas," he said, his voice low and filled with promise, "but we should probably discuss them somewhere more… private."

“Are you thinking private thoughts, Counselor?” She replied.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"What do you think, detective?" His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along her jawline. The proximity was intoxicating, and he couldn’t resist the urge to toy with her a bit more.

“I’m thinking a couple of drinks over dinner,” She said, her voice supple and sultry. “Dessert at my place.”

He chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire at her words. He lifted his other hand, gently cupping her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. He leaned even closer, his lips grazing against her ear as he whispered.

"Sounds like a perfect plan."

“Don’t you want to know what you’ll be having for dessert?” She asked, her control getting close to wobbling.

His lips curled into a sinful smile, the double meaning behind her words and the shiver in her voice were all the invitation he needed. He moved even closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice huskier than before.

"Show me, detective. I’m absolutely starving."

She smiled an awfully sultry grin, her teeth toying with her bottom lip as she whispered.

“You’re looking at it.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of restraint and desire, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He was losing control, his hands gripping her face a bit tighter now.

"Careful, detective. If you keep talking like that, I'll have you right now on this desk."

Fire was burning between them. Their minds were racing and hearts were pounding with the knowledge of where this was going. Neither cared to try and figure out how this was happening so fast. Neither of them needed to. They just knew something between them was mutual and it was coming out in full force.

He backed her into the desk, the backs of her thighs pressed against the edge of the desk. Her hands came to start working on getting his tie off, his hands planted high on her thighs underneath her skirt. Her lips brushed against his as her breathing became heavy, the two of them mere milliseconds from going at it when there was a knock on his office door and it creaked open.

Both Rafael and the detective froze, the moment shattered by the intrusion. Rafael took a moment to compose himself, his face flushing with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment as he attempted to conceal the fact that they had been just seconds away from being intimate on his desk.

He cleared his throat and took a few steps back, allowing some space between them. They both were quick to readjust themselves, totally coming back to reality of what just almost happened. Her heart was hammering away in her chest, her cheeks tinted pink as she adjusted her skirt. The intruder was none other than her detective partner, Sonny Carisi, who was blissfully unaware that he was just barely seconds away from walking in on his partner and his squad's counselor going at it.

Sonny stepped into the office, his expression serious. However, he hadn’t yet noticed the tense atmosphere in the room or the telltale signs of intimacy that were still evident on Rafael and the detective’s faces. He approached Rafael, his eyes fixed on the district attorney.

"Counselor...we have an issue with one of the witnesses in the case. Can I have a word?"

She was trying to hold her composure, acting like she wasn’t just about to get down and dirty with the counselor. Rafael took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. The interruption had cooled the heat between them a bit, but the tension in the room was still palpable. He cleared his throat and addressed Sonny, his voice slightly strained as he tried to keep it together.

"Yeah...w-what's the issue with the witness?"

She could hardly stand to be in the room anymore. She was having a hard time processing how an innocent conversation turned so hot so quickly. Rafael had never expressed that kind of feeling with her. They had never gotten that close before. Sure, they faintly flirted, but never so outright before. She was overwhelmed, and now she felt like she needed some air.

“Sonny, you finish up here,” She said, her voice a bit shaky from the adrenaline. “I’m…I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Sonny's eyes flicked between Barba and the detective, sensing that there was more going on than he was aware of. He was puzzled by her shaky voice, and something about the tension in the room felt odd, but he didn’t have time to question it. As the detective made her way out of the room, Rafael's gaze followed her, a mixture of disappointment and concern etched on his face as she left.

Rafael had never shared that kind of moment with her. To be honest, he wasn’t sure where it had come from. Sure, he liked her and favored her, but he had never made a move on her before. But in all fairness, she had never reciprocated quite like that.

Rafael couldn’t deny that the moment with her had been explosive, a spark igniting between them that he hadn’t expected. He had always liked her, but this was a whole different level of attraction. Her response to him had triggered a deep, intense desire that he couldn’t ignore. As Sonny continued to talk, Rafael struggled to focus on the conversation, his mind going back to the moment they had shared just moments before.

He just wanted to help Sonny and get him out of his office so he could handle this. But of course, Sonny always needed to know everything.

“Is…everything alright between you and her, Counselor?”

Rafael flinched, snapped out of his thoughts by Sonny's question. He blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat, trying to hide his preoccupation.

"Yeah, everything's just fine, Carisi," he said, his tone a little guarded. "Why do you ask?"

“I’ve never seen her run out like that. Especially when you’re around,” Sonny remarked.

Rafael shifted uneasily in his chair as he sat down, the observation not being lost on him. He tried to play it off as nonchalantly as possible.

"I suppose she just had something to take care of. She seemed… in a hurry." He said, his words sounding unconvincing even to him.

Sonny didn’t believe him. He knew his partner, and he could tell when someone was lying. Something had happened in this office before he came in.

Rafael realized that Sonny wasn’t buying his response, and he silently cursed himself for not being more convincing. The air in the room felt heavy, and he knew he had to change the subject or risk further questioning.

"Is there anything else you needed to discuss regarding the case, Detective Carisi?" Rafael asked, trying to sound as impassive as possible.

Sonny caught the way Rafael changed the subject. He wasn’t getting anything from Rafael, so he decided to try his partner, who was downstairs waiting for him.

“No...alright…” Sonny said. “We’ll…we’ll be in touch.”

Rafael nodded, a slight look of relief on his face as Sonny seemed to accept the change in topic. As Sonny turned to leave, Rafael couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry about what might happen once he spoke to the detective.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but his mind was still buzzing from the encounter that had just taken place, and the uncertainty of what would happen next gnawed at him. Sonny wasted no time getting to the elevator, taking it to the ground floor. Sure enough, she was standing just outside on the sidewalk, her hand resting over her chest as she took slow deep breaths of the cold New York air.

She let the cold air of New York City fill her lungs, the chill helping to clear her mind. She tried to steady her rapid heartbeat, still shaken by the intensity of the moment she and Rafael had shared. The thought of what might have happened if Sonny hadn’t walked in sent a shudder down her spine. What was she thinking?

She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn’t notice Sonny approaching until he was standing beside her.

“Sonny.” She nearly gasped, her heart lurching in surprise.

Sonny chuckled at her reaction and raised an eyebrow, a sly smile on his face.

"Whoa, easy there. You almost jumped out of your skin." he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m sorry, you scared me.” She sighed. “Are you ready to go?” She gestured toward the SVU car they had taken.

Sonny nodded, and as they headed toward the car, he shot her a sideways glance, curious about what had just transpired upstairs.

He wasn’t a detective for nothing, and he could sense that there was more to the story. Something was off, especially given her demeanor and the flushed look on her face.

She slid into the passenger seat, feeling a bit less shaky now that she had a few minutes to calm down. Her mind was still reeling, but she didn’t feel like she was going to pass out anymore.

Sonny walked around the car and got behind the wheel, his gaze flickering to her every now and then. As they started driving, he decided to go for it and ask the question that had been on his mind since he walked in on his partner and the Counselor.

"So, what was that all about? You left his office looking like you’d seen a ghost." He said.

She took a subtle deep breath, trying to center herself for a round of questioning that was no doubt coming.

“It was nothing really,” She responded as coolly as possible. “I’m just tired, I think. I just needed a second to gather myself.”

Sonny gave her a skeptical look, her response only adding to his suspicion. She was obviously trying to brush it off, but he was not convinced.

"Come on. You know I wasn’t born yesterday," he said, his tone laced with mild irritation. "Something happened up there."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” She said, reaching for her phone that vibrated in her pocket.

As she checked her phone, Sonny gave her a knowing look. He could sense that she was dodging the question, and it only fueled his suspicion further.

"Oh, really? Then why won’t you look me in the eye?" he asked, his voice a bit challenging now. "Who’s sending you text messages, huh? The Counselor?”

Her heart dropped, because despite the fact that Sonny’s question was a joke — he was right. She stared at the text message that had just come in from Rafael.

A sly smile crept onto Sonny's face as he spotted the change in her expression, a clear indication that he hit a sore spot.

"Bingo," he said, his tone dripping with smugness. "That’s what I thought. What did he say?"

Sonny glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. He could tell she was reading a text message, but he couldn’t see what it said.

"So, are you planning to share that text with me, or are you just going to keep me in suspense?" he said, his voice filled with playful annoyance.

She didn't even really mean to, but she read the text out loud for herself and Sonny to hear.

Call me when you can. Please.

Sonny raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face. He couldn’t help but feel a little amused by the situation.

"‘Please?’" he repeated, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Sounds like the counselor is desperate to talk to you."

Sonny had her cornered, and she knew it. There was no getting anything past Sonny, especially since they worked so closely every single day.

“Sonny..." She whined, knowing he was more on to her than she realized.

Sonny chuckled at her response, thoroughly enjoying the teasing. He knew he had her now.

"Come on," he said, feigning innocence. "Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think no one’s watching."

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” She huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sonny took his eyes off the road for a moment to shoot her a sidelong glance, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Oh, please. You really think you’re discreet?" he said. "The tension between you two is so thick, a blind man could see it."

She rubbed her eyes stressfully, unsure of how to respond to Sonny, and even more unsure of how to proceed with Rafael. Seeing her stressed out, Sonny’s playful tone softened slightly. While he enjoyed teasing her, he could see that the situation was weighing on her.

"Hey, relax," he said, throwing her a gentle smile. "It’s just me, alright? You can talk to me, you know?"

“No, I can’t…” She sighed. “Not about this.”

Sonny’s smile faded slightly at her response. He could tell that whatever had happened in Rafael’s office was more serious than he initially thought. It wasn’t just some harmless flirtation between her and the district attorney. He cleared his throat and spoke with a more serious tone now.

"Why not? Come on. You and I have been friends for a long time, haven’t we? You can trust me."

“I trust you,” She said. “It’s not that, it’s just…complicated.”

Sonny furrowed his brow, his interest piqued even further. The way she said ‘complicated’ made it clear that there was more to this than he initially thought. He knew there was something she was holding back, but he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

"Complicated, huh? In what way?" he asked, his voice calm but filled with genuine curiosity.

At this point, she knew Sonny wasn’t going to let this go. Sonny could keep a secret better than anyone, so she figured she might as well give it up. She told him the story, leaving out a few graphic details, but she told him enough for him to get the picture.

Sonny listened intently as she spoke, his expression stoic as he absorbed the details of what had transpired between her and Rafael. He didn’t say a word as she recounted the encounter, his gaze steady on the road ahead of them.

When she finished her story, he was silent for a moment, considering everything that had been said. Then, he spoke up, keeping his voice neutral.

"So, let me get this straight. You and the Counselor got hot and heavy in his office, but things got interrupted, and now you don’t know what to do next?"

“That about sums it up,” She sighed again. “If we had gone all the way…I don’t even know. I don’t know where to go from here and I don’t know if I can ever work with him again…”

Sonny exhaled softly, his jaw tensing slightly. He hadn’t been expecting it to be that serious. He could sense the internal struggle she was having and understood her confusion. He knew it wasn’t easy, juggling personal feelings and professional responsibilities.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold on," he said, trying to get a grip on the situation. "First of all, it didn’t go that far. Nothing…happened, right?"

“It was close,” She admitted. “But no. Sonny, Olivia will kill me if she finds out. She would flip if she found out I got cozy with the counselor…”

Sonny nodded slowly, processing her words. The fact that she was worried about Olivia’s reaction spoke volumes about how seriously she was taking this. He respected her devotion to the job, and he knew how highly her superiors thought of her.

"Okay, first of all, Olivia’s not going to ‘kill’ you. Besides, this isn’t exactly the first time a relationship has happened between coworkers."

“Yeah, but it’s different. It’s…me. You know how she is with me. I’m the youngest on the squad,” She took a deep breath. “If she knew Rafael made a move on me…”

Sonny could see the weight of the situation pressing heavily on her. He understood her concerns.

"I get that you don’t want to disappoint her," he said in a reassuring tone. "The thing is, this whole thing with Barba…you didn’t exactly pursue him, right? He’s the one who made a move. And as far as I can tell, it sounds like it was completely out of the blue for you."

“It…wasn’t really out of the blue,” She confessed. “I mean, I didn’t go in there expecting what happened but…like you said we’re pretty…flirtatious. And I didn’t push him away.”

Sonny chuckled slightly at her confirmation that she hadn’t exactly shut down whatever had been going on between her and the Counselor. He knew they’d had a spark.

“So, let me get this straight: you and Barba have been flirty with each other for a while, and eventually, things got heated in his office. Is that about right?”

Sonny nodded when she confirmed it, the situation starting to make more sense to him now.

"And now you don’t know what to do because you’re worried about your job, your relationship with Olivia, and whatever might happen next with Barba?”

“Right,” She replied. “It happened so fast…I don’t know how I got here.”

Sonny chuckled softly as he listened to her concerns.

"You got here, because you and Barba have chemistry," he said bluntly. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

“I don’t know what to do about it,” She read the text from Barba again. “How do you even move forward from something like this?”

Sonny shot her a sympathetic glance, understanding her anxiety.

"Hey, it sounds like you’re feeling a bit out of your comfort zone here, and that’s alright." He said reassuringly. "You’re usually more reserved, and this situation’s a bit more intense than you’re used to. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It could mean that something about Barba really does it for you."

“Yeah, I could’ve told you that. I guess I need to respond,” She stared at her phone. "He wants me to call him later. So he will probably reject me and tell me it was a mistake and it never should’ve happened and then things will be awkward and then I’ll have to leave SVU and then I’m back to making traffic stops-“

Sonny reached over and grabbed her arm firmly, stopping her mid-rant. He chuckled slightly at her panicked ramblings.

"Slow down there," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Take a deep breath. You're getting way ahead of yourself."

“Maybe…” A smile appeared on her face without realizing it. “I’ll just…tell him I’ll call him when I can.”

Sonny chuckled along with her, enjoying the lighter tone of the conversation. He was glad to see that his teasing had lifted her spirits, at least a little bit.

"Hey, you never know," He said with a shrug and a smirk. "Stranger things have happened. Maybe Barba’s completely smitten with you and can’t wait to see you again."

“Alright, alright…” She replied. “One step at a time. Let’s finish this workday.”

Sonny chuckled at her response, sensing her determination to get through the last couple hours of their long workday and not let the situation with Barba consume her. He nodded in agreement.

"You got it," he said, his tone back to business. "I've got your back, no matter what happens next."

___

They returned to the precinct, tying up their loose ends for the day so they could get the day finished. She tried to put Rafael in the back of her mind. She just needed to get through her shift and then go from there. She hoped she would feel better once she and Rafael talked, no matter what the outcome was.

Sonny shot a few glances at her, sensing her attempt to keep her mind off the situation with the Counselor. He knew she was struggling to focus on work when her mind was preoccupied.

As the day came to an end, Sonny casually looked down at his watch and spoke up.

"You know, we're just about done for the day. You…uh…have plans for the rest of the night?"

She gave him a look.

“I’m going to call him as soon as I leave,” She said. “If he’s still at his office, I might swing by.”

Sonny gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

"You're gonna handle this, one way or another." he said, his voice firm and steady.

“Okay,” She nodded. “I’ll text you when it’s over.”

Sonny waved her goodbye, and she didn't waste any time getting out of the precinct. She dialed Rafael's number on the way out of the building.

The phone rang a few times before the familiar voice of Rafael Barba answered on the other end.

“Hey.” His tone was calm and composed.

“Counselor.” She greeted as calmly as she could.

There was a hint of surprise and relief in Rafael's voice as he recognized her on the other end of the line. He had been hoping she would call.

"I wasn’t sure if you’d call." He said plainly.

“Of course I did,” She let out a silent sigh. “Are you…still at your office?”

There was a slight pause before Rafael responded, the anticipation heavy in his voice.

"Yes," he replied. "Do you…want to come by?"

Her heart fluttered, there really was no turning back.

“Yeah, I figured I would come by so…we could talk. I can be there in 20 minutes…”

They sorted out the details before the call ended, and she knew this was going to either be a pleasant or brutal talk. She knew she might be losing one of her best friends by the end of the night. She had never felt more unsure, but she couldn't even deny that maybe she was curious to see how this developed...if it developed at all.

Her mind raced as she made her way to Rafael's office. She thought of every possible outcome in this scenario...the best case, the worst case, and everything in between. She felt the knot of anxiety in her stomach getting heavier by the minute. She laid eyes on her destination and knew it was now or ever. She needed to compose herself and pull it together. She wanted to walk out of this situation with him still an important part of her life.

The building was closed down for the night, all the offices dark and closed...except for his. It was now or never. If there was ever a moment where she felt like she was about to seal her fate...it was right now.

She took the elevator to the floor of his office, her brain actively controlling her breathing to be as calm and slow as possible. Her heart was pounding away, and she wasn't sure if it was the nerves or the knowledge of seeing him again after what had happened.

His office door was closed, but a glow of light was shining from behind the closed blinds on his windows and under the door. She gave a light knock on the door, a slow exhale escaping her as she waited for him to answer.

She heard some shuffling from behind the door, knowing he was undoubtedly trying to quickly straighten up his desk before he allowed her inside. A few seconds passed before he opened the door -- his tired eyes meeting hers with the same look of anxiety and curiosity of what was about to happen. There was no turning back now, and they both felt like they were prepared.

But little did they know, their night was about to get far more interesting than they planned for.

—

Part 2 !