#preferably someone to help with the knife part

[ek300-theprototype]

I just bought the funniest thing, now I need a knife and a hot glue gun

[redtsundere-writes]

sukuna and servant!reader is so good!! looking forward to rescue more of them <33

Eyes On Me | Sukuna Ryomen

king!sukuna ryomen x femservant!reader

Sypnosis: Uraume can't play chess with the king right now, you must step up. Contents: Obsession, pining, kinda fluffy, mentions of blood and body parts. Uraume uses they/them pronouns. Word Count: 2404 words. Author's Note: I love writing this ship. People have been asking me to make this a series. I'll try my best lol I think you can still read them individually, but there's a preferred order.

Beginning. ← Previous |

AO3/WATTPAD VERSION

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on temporary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining. 

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it’s up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although… There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked about themselves, you never asked. 

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire. 

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef. 

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him. 

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence. 

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him. 

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture. 

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen the king playing. You knew from the other servants that he was a good player and only plays with Uraume or some brave guest. This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. 

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity. 

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and taking orders, but what else can you do? 

“Yes,” you answered with a smile. 

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that. 

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you. 

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down. 

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it. 

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be. 

Your father had taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn’t take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions. 

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple movement of his fingers. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. This was a good opportunity to do so. 

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square. 

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble. 

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king. 

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to concentrate on what he was doing. He smiled with satisfaction as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts. 

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up. 

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king. 

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king. 

“Well, well...” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started. 

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade. 

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.  

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology. 

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction. 

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them. 

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed. 

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room. 

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move. 

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle. 

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat. 

“She has potential.” 

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their eyebrow at the confusing statement. 

“She has the potential to become a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently. 

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that. 

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table. 

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful woman, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question. 

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

Author's Note: I poured my poor knowledge on chess for this lol I hope it makes sense.

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Masterlist.

[meliciousmel13]

̗̗̀̀➛ killer!billie headcannons

paring: killer!billie x bimbo!reader warnings: smut, obsessive behavior, face sitting, stalking? (kind of), billie kills someone here, grinding, i think thats it tell me if you find any more please!

wc: 1,487

SYNOPSIS: headcannons of killer!billie x bimbo!reader

taglist: @chrissv4mp, if your not a part of this list but want to be comment under my tag list post, which is on my masterlist.

an: i wrote this today 💀 IM ON MY PERIODDD and kind of horny ngl

at first, she didn’t think much of you. she thought you were just another co-worker at her boring office job that sometimes brought everyone coffee, like the angel you were.

until she saw her co-worker, oliver, flirt with you. she knew he was flirting with you because he was touching you. he was touching your shoulder, and touching your hair. and touching, and touching. he would stop fucking touching you.

she hated that it irritated her. hated the way you wore things that made people look, like that skimpy top you wore last week, everyone was looking.

the first time you talked to her, you smiled, gave her a tissue wrapped doughnut and black coffee with one sugar cube. said it was nice to meet her and that you were new here.

it’s either you knew her, or just guessed her coffee preference. but you were so thoughtful.

she unknowingly started to follow you to the empty parking lot and find you fumbling with your keys with papers stacked on one arm.

she imagined helping you, taking those papers from you and handing you her number, maybe you call her and invite her to diner or something, anything.

but she never did anything. only savored the way her hand brushes yours whenever you were handing her the breakfast she relied on.

sometimes she skips meals so she can talk to you.

she didn’t even have to ask. just subtly hint that she forgot her lunch at home—and, oh, whatever will she do?

“you can have some of mine.” you smiled softly, pushing half of your sandwich into her hands.

“oh, i can’t take your food. it’s fine, i can go a day without lunch.” billie said, shaking her head. knowing that you would deny her not eating.

“what? no. half already fills me up you can take it.”

“if you insist.” she smiled.

it wasn’t her fault she followed oliver home. it was his fault, for flirting with what was hers. you.

she imagined stabbing oliver in the neck. hiding the body, and comforting you when you run to her, talking about how awful it is for someone to stab such a nice person.

until she actually killed him.

billie prepared her rubber gloves, the sharpened knife and various things. she thought of her plan. would she just knock on his door and stab him? no. that was too dangerous. someone might see her.

so she decided to sneak in his backyard. he lived alone, with 2 cats and 2 woman constantly coming in and out. great, he was even a cheater. see? he deserved it.

and he even screamed like a pussy. wearing his stupid shark boxers and still had his work button up on.

the next day the police came to see the crime. one of the girls he was cheating on knocked on his door to find his dick severed and his throat slit.

and guess who you came to cry to? her. you cried over someone you barely knew.

“i can’t—” hic. “i can’t believe someone s—” hic.

“shh.” she rubbed your back, while you were crying into her shoulder, you were wearing a light pink skirt on and a pretty top that left nothing for the imagination, “maybe i can come over? bake everyone cookies?”

“mhmm,” you sniffle, wiping your tears and snot on her shirt, “m’ sorry bout' your shirt.” you breathe.

“it’s okay, you can make it up to me. give me two cookies instead of one.” billie said, smiling, hiding her satisfaction.

“i’ll give you four.” you giggle. angel.

so she came over. she walked into your house invited. and she didn’t even stalk you to find out where you live—she was being good.

you opened the door with smallest fucking shorts she’s ever seen, and a tiny pink top, with no bra. which means that your nipples were leaving a small print on the fabric.

she’s in heaven. the whole house was lathered in your perfume and natural scent. and the walls were decorated with paintings and little trinkets. she knew your house wouldn’t be boring, like olivers. she sat on your couch and it was so soft.

she thought of fucking you on it. how your moans would ricochet off the pretty walls and how her cock would pump in your pretty pussy. how you would be too afraid to touch her back in case your accidentally scratched at it and hurt her. you could never hurt her.

how she would convince you to sit on her lap, naked, and whine and whimper, begging her to just fuck you already, like you couldn’t wait any longer.

she imagined convincing you to sit on her face. how you’d be too cautious, afraid to break her nose or neck. you would still do it though, sitting on her pretty face that was filled with a satisfied smile.

she would have her head almost falling off the edge of your bed, offering you to just get off her face if it was too much, it would first start off slow, you hover over her face not even siting. holding and gripping her hands, how she would leave small kisses on your thighs before extending her tongue and tasting you.

you would ‘mhph’ at that, left breathless and feeling your knees go weak, she would take her other hand and guide you to fully sit, she would feel the weight of you on her mouth. how she would shove her long pink tongue into you.

you would moan, still holding her hand and gripping her hair, bucking your hips. actually riding her. how your pouty lips let out the prettiest noises. how would let go of her hand and hold her head with both your hands and squeeze her head between your thighs.

she didn’t do any of that, obviously. just helped you with making your cookies.

you were putting in the chocolate chips now, and billie was holding your waist and watching. in reality, she didn’t do shit to help. only preparing the ingredients and keeping you company.

“now we bake them forr, i think 20 minutes.” you said, pushing the tray into the oven and bending, to reveal your striped panties. she was behind you, could feel your ass pushing against her pelvis.

“your really good at baking.” she complemented.

“thank you.” you blush, and smile.

she realized you were an angel ages ago. but when you offered for her to sleep over? oh.

she entered your room and saw the mess, the thrown dirty underwear and your “work” clothes throw in the corner of the room.

your face was flushed and you apologized for the mess. billie didn’t mind though, even helped you clean, she always treated you well, your mom would love her.

you thought about billie meeting your parents, they would think she was the best person you’ve brought them to meet, since all your other boyfriends only wanted you for your body. their personality was horrible too, they all treated your mom awfully.

but billie would never, she’d probably help your mom in the kitchen when she’s preparing the dinner. and your dad would talk about how he needed a helping hand in his mechanic company. noticing how well she was with her hands.

you imagined how the sweat would roll off her forehead—and now that’s dangerous territory, let’s not think of that.

you let billie sleep in your bed, since you didn’t want her to sleep on the floor with a pillow. that would hurt her back.

you didn’t even think of why her knee was between your thighs, she didn’t mean to push herself behind you and do that

you woke up with billie’s knee between your thighs, she adjusted her position and unconsciously moved her knee upward, causing it to hit your pussy, and you sniffled a moan, putting a hand over her knee and grinding subtly.

you were dirty. even moved your shorts and panties to the side to feel the rough fabric of her sweatpants on your bare pussy, feeling her knee hitting your clit at the perfect angle. almost like she was awake.

you slid your hand under the pillow and gripped, digging your head into the pillow and sniffling your whines.

you felt billie shuffle, and stiffen.

“good morning, angel.” she whispered in your ear, putting your shorts and panties back to their designated spot, not before brushing your clit with her middle finger, “were you busy there? sorry, your whining woke me up.”

you apologized a million times, couldn’t stop thinking of her deep, raspy morning voice in your ears. and her knee.

billie left soon after. she didn’t leave empty handed though, she left your house with a box of chocolate chip cookies and two pairs of your dirty underwear stuffed in her pockets. and a little lip gloss stain on her cheek.

[yandere-sins]

Can I request a reluctant reader taking care of a very sick yandere? Yandere can be any character of ur choice >.< tyia

Thanks for requesting! ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"You're hurt..."

The stench of blood, dirt, and sulfur filled the air in the underground hideout as you climbed off your bed, the heavy metal around your ankles rattling when you moved. You watched as the silver-haired man collided with the wall before sinking to the floor, his body sparely illuminated but his hair shining brightly, giving away his position. Your gut churned with hesitance, with the instinctive need to avoid all evil—especially the one that had threatened and abducted you. But it had been so long since he left. So long that you've been stowed away in secret. You were, unfortunately, drawn to him like a moth to the light.

Even though you kept your distance from your captor, your words barely a whisper as if not to disturb the man sitting on the ground, holding the side of his stomach, Calcharo flinched at the sound of your voice, cranking his head back to look at you. His gaze was unreadable, his whole face a mask free of emotions. But judging by the pool of blood collecting next to him, the wound must have hurt, even if he showed no signs of it.

"I promised I'd be back—" he mumbled as a ripple of tension tightened his muscles, everything in him readying his body to get up from his spot. As if greeting you properly was needed at that moment. But with his teeth bared, the gaping wound stole all of his strength, making him sack back to the dusty ground with a muffled groan.

"Give me a moment. It'll heal."

Curiosity killed the cat as you stretched your neck, bile rising to the top of your throat at the nasty sight of the gash. Even Calcharo's big hands—that you remembered so vividly squeezing and pulling at your body—weren't enough to cover the wound completely, blood soaking all of his clothes and staining the floor. Wasn't there medicine for that kind of injury? Although, seeing a doctor would probably be more appropriate. If it wasn't for the awkward situation you were in, you'd have freaked out at even the thought of seeing someone so badly injured, yet all you could do was stand in one spot, a good five steps out of his reach.

Even when you fiddled with your hands, wrenching and holding them, you were less anxious, knowing he wasn't in the condition to harass you that day. He'd been gone for a while, leaving you to your own devices and the evergrowing boredom. But you were still undecided if you preferred him being back and constantly hovering over you, watching and testing your reactions, or the loneliness and isolation you experienced, chained up and hidden away who-knew-where when he was gone. Both were unideal; both were destructive behavior on his part. You didn't have much choice in it, but him coming back severely injured was a situation you hadn't grown accustomed to yet.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

His head jerked upwards, eyes narrowing at you suspiciously. Yeah... you surprised yourself, too. You weren't the type to offer help, especially not to him. You were his captive, nothing more, nothing less.

"Or not..." Hands falling to your side, you fiddled with the seam of your shirt instead, avoiding his gaze as always. To Calcharo, you were an object to be observed, one he owned now but still couldn't help but expect to be betrayed by. As if you were going to pull a knife out any second now and stab him, even after he immobilized you with the chains around your legs. He was that kind of man; that much you had learned about him, even if it barely seemed to graze the surface. You began hating the feeling of his eyes on you the moment he revealed himself to you in this shabby hideout, his gaze so incisive it hurt. As if his eyes were daggers that he dragged through your flesh, stabbing over and over in an attempt to rip out your soul for him to observe.

"There are some bandages behind the mirror in the bathroom."

Torn from your thoughts, you couldn't help but stare back at him, even as his head fell forward again, his gaze disappearing. You two didn't have that kind of relationship. You didn't help him when he was in need, so you felt surprised at the simple instructions. They held no weight as if he didn't care whether you followed them or not—as if he expected you not to, rightfully so. Glancing at the blood, you thought that a bandage might be useless, that he needed stitches at least. But Calcharo said nothing more, pressing his palm harder against the wound without making another sound. Your head turned towards the door leading to the bathroom, and although it felt wrong to consider helping him, a compassionate part of you recognized that he needed you, your feet slowly turning away, picking up the pace as you disappeared from his sight.

The mirror caught your reflection as you flicked on the light. You had seen better days that much was sure. You weren't famished, the bags under your eyes more from anxiety and stress than lack of sleep. However, the green glow of the light didn't do you any favors either, and although you didn't think of yourself as ugly, you could only wonder what your kidnapper saw in you that he had to take such drastic measures. You were just you. That seemed to have been enough for him, even if it was strange.

The chain around your ankle felt twice as heavy as you wondered how long you'd be in this situation. Would you ever be free? Would he let you go if you helped him? Calcharo had always been silent when you asked him for his reasons. He'd sit by your bedside and wipe away your tears if you cried, begging him to be reasonable, but he never gave you the answers to console you. That was the kind of man you had offered help to. Someone so cold and selfish.

Opening the cabinet, you realized you had never looked behind the mirror before. Why? you wondered, but you were surprised at the amount of medical equipment. There were a couple of first aid kits and a box of resonator-only medicine and tools. He had every shelf stocked fully, and although he only asked for a bandage, you took at least one of everything you could find.

Calcharo was eerily quiet when you returned to his side. It made your pulse rise momentarily as you feared he might have died in the minute you were gone. The chain you were strung to clattered as you ran over, dropping to your knees next to his, dropping some of the extra weight from your arms to the floor in a moment of panic. You realized your closeness too late, anxiety shivering down your spine with how little distance there was between you two. But your focus shifted instantly, relief filling you as Calcharo looked up at you again, his eyes dropping to the items crammed between your arms and body. He scanned over your haul, and you immediately felt silly for worrying about him at all. He was perfectly fine, it seemed.

But what would you have done if he died?

You didn't know how to get out of here in the first place. Calcharo had never shown you any keys to undo your chains or to open any doors. There were no windows, and if you got out, there was no guarantee you wouldn't be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Tacet Discords going for your throat. These thoughts made your heart sink with a sense of panic as if reality was finally hitting you over your head. Or perhaps it was the thought of living with a corpse until you found your demise here as well. Either way, you were glad when he reached for one of the packages, revealing some round pills that he slipped between his lips, glancing up at you for a moment as if to make sure you were watching him swallow them. You fiddled with the medical utensils until you found another package, wanting to give it to him, but he shook his head as you held it out.

"Just use the bandage."

"You want me to do it?" you asked, reluctant to simply act. Glancing at the first aid kit, you were sure you'd find some there, but so far, Calcharo had always handled himself around you. Even when you had an outburst, trying to hit him, he'd let you slap him across the face rather than stop you. You'd half-expected him to retaliate when you stumbled back, recognizing his strength as superior and bracing for the impact, but it never came. He had always remained calm and composed, even with the glowing red hand-mark across his cheek.

It was the same with food or bathing. Calcharo always had enough rations stocked, and if he was back at the hideout, he made you meals all the time, only eating your leftovers or getting something for himself after you had your share. And he never took a shower first, ensuring you had all the warm water that would eventually turn cold (sometimes you let it run out of protest). You thought it might have simply been resourcefulness, but you began overthinking your beliefs now that he wanted you to do something for him.

"Are you sure?" you asked him again. There was a sense of exhaustion when he looked up at you, and much to your own surprise once more, you quickly snatched the first aid kit when he reached for it. "I can do it! Just didn't think you'd want me to..."

Calcharo let out a short grunt before lowering his arm again, not fighting you on this, but his eyes followed every one of your movements as you fiddled with the first aid kit. Ridden with sudden determination, you almost dropped all the contents on the undoubtedly nonsterile floor, only catching the bandage midair while some of the tools clattered to the ground. Quick as lightning, Calcharo caught a small pair of scissors before they could graze your leg, his bloody fist wrapping around it so tightly, you could see his knuckles whiten through the red sheen.

You gulped, watching him drag the scissors and his arm back to his side, too afraid to straighten your gaze and see the wound in full glory. When you agreed that you could do it, you had temporarily forgotten about the truly gut-wrenching part of medical treatment, and suddenly, you were even less sure about all of this.

Calcharo grumbled under his breath, noticing your sudden stiffness. His free hand reached out to touch yours. "Open it," he muttered, and his words put your body into motion. Following his instructions was so much easier than working through the thoughts that made you hesitate. He grabbed the start of the bandage from your hands once you unwrapped it, waiting for you to get onto what he was doing as he placed it over his naval before pressing it down onto the wound.

There was some visible comfort in the way his shoulders rose tensely as he covered the wound, but he dragged the now bloody bandage over the gash with skilled precision. As if he had done this countless of times, and you were almost certain he had. You reckoned that his life must not have been easy if he got so used to hurting himself for the sake of simply healing. But you quickly reminded yourself not to sympathize with him. To not forget how he wronged you despite this moment of unusual humanity. Usually, he appeared to you more like a monster, but right then, he was but a wounded soldier, and perhaps your parents had been right; you were too good-hearted for your own good.

Dragging the bandage to his side, Calchero stopped, huffing as you had stopped unwrapping more of it. He pulled his legs in so he could push his torso off the wall before he looked up at you. Gulping, you knew what you had to do. It wasn't like he wouldn't do it himself, but it was honestly ridiculous that you sat there frozen in place now that you had come so far. Inching closer, you positioned yourself between his legs, hesitating for a split second more before you reached out your arms, wrapping them around his front to reach behind Calcharo.

Carefully, perhaps with less pressure than he would have liked, you wrapped and pulled the bandage from his back to his front again. Calchero released it once he noticed you taking action, but when you reached the blood-soaked gash again, it was his hand that did the dirty work, pressing the bandage down. There was about one more round that you could make, and you quickly guided the wrap around him once more before making an amateurish knot on his healthy side. It was far from perfect, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his blood coating your hands now, too. It didn't feel like you helped him, but it was what he had wanted.

Placing your hands on the ground, you wanted to get up again, get some healthy distance between you two, and clean your hands if you got the chance. But before you could even slip one leg out from underneath you, Calchero's whole body suddenly collapsed forward. In a spurt of a moment reaction, you grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing your own between his collarbones to brace against his weight that could have easily buried you underneath it.

"H-Hey!" you called out, unsure what was happening, when you suddenly felt him inhale deeply, his hot breath releasing against your chest, sending shivers down your spine. And then, he chuckled.

"I didn't think you would."

His voice vibrated against your skin as he spoke them directly into your body. You didn't know what to say nor what he meant, but you felt the goosebumps rise across your arms and neck.

Calchero lifted himself just enough to nuzzle his face between your neck and shoulder, his weight so heavy as it rested on top of you. All you could do was curl your fingers into his body, and you cursed yourself for not immediately pushing him away, a small part of you afraid you might agitate the wound.

"Didn't think you'd care about me."

"I don't," you clarified, sounding pouty rather than confident. It had been a mistake, after all. You should have just let him sort out his own mess and stop being a busybody and help. Then, you wouldn't be in this situation now, your pulse throbbing in your ears as your heart began to beat faster with the anxiety and discomfort.

"I'm glad," he muttered. "Glad you care."

"I don't!"

This time, you did push. At least you tried. Calcharo didn't move an inch away from you, his head resting on your shoulder, his body threatening to bury you underneath if you didn't stay solid in your spot. The thought of Calcharo trapping you on purpose crossed your mind, and you hated yourself for not seeing it coming, walking right into the trap. And even if not, he was clearly exploiting the situation for all it was worth!

Of course, he'd take advantage of your kindness. Of course, he'd use your naivety and kindness to exploit you for something he wanted. Even if you questioned why it had to be you, why he kidnapped you of all people, his intentions—albeit disciplined—had always been clear. Although he held himself back from doing something regrettable so far, you had caught him touching you often: touching your hand while passing you a plate with food, brushing away hair from your face right after waking up, and letting his fingers glide over your arms or legs while you had dozed off, just to name a few. You should have been more careful. Should have listened to your body telling you to stay away. It might have just been something akin to a hug, but you should have never allowed him to go this far.

What if he took your kindness for consent?

"Please stop," you mumbled, feeling the tears shoot into your eyes. You didn't need to turn your head to know his eyes had opened, probably after hearing the sob in your voice. You wished you were stronger, able to push him away. Wished you could have fought him and caused him to stop liking you—wanting you. Wished you never even thought of him as anything but a monster.

"Just a little bit longer," he mumbled, lips brushing against your skin. Even when hiccups shook your body, Calchero didn't move, didn't budge. It seemed he didn't care anymore, getting exactly what he wanted. All you could do was sit there and wait for it to end, just like always. You felt his gaze vanish, the closeness allowing him to observe you differently, without needing to see when he could instead feel you.

His arms wrapped around your body, and you felt more trapped than ever, the feeling only registering when he said two more words that day,

"Thank you."

[shadowkoo]

disgraceful dreams

→ Summary: After two years of lustful pining and disgraceful dreams about someone far out of your reach, you decide the only way to move past your hopeless crush on Onyx Academy's star student is by taking part in the Lupercalia festival for the very first time.

↠ wooyoung x f.reader (feat. yeosang) | 16.4k words | 18+ ↠ genre: witch/warlock au, smut, virgin!reader, inspired by s2e3 of caos, slowburn

→ Full Fic Warnings: little bit of social class discrimination, cult-ish behavior (mentions of blood, Y/N uses a knife to cut her hand for binding/ritual purposes), being ‘hunted’ like prey, explicit sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names, praise kink, biting, nipple play, breast play, begging, fingering, mutual masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), exhibitionism, voyeurism, partial agoraphilia & semi-public sex, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, deep dicking, size kink (wooyoung is HUNGGG), magical sex, fucking up against a tree, slight age gap (y/n is 20 and wooyoung is 25), slight corruption, choking, possessive!wooyoung, woo is ravenous for you (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @pirateeznet @cromernet

@illusionnet @othersideoutlawsnetwork @cultofdionysusnet

→ Author Note: edited by the lovely aeris @beomcoups whom i appreciate so SO much for tackling this beast of a fic ILY! And also to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for reading this over for me!!! this doesn’t follow the exact lupercalia process, i’ve twisted it to work for my fic and based it around halloween instead of valenbarf day lol, if you'd prefer to read on ao3, it's been crossposted here!! all likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated <3

‘This can’t be real.’

Jung Wooyoung casts a dark look upon you while taking in your ethereal, naked form before him. The flames of the common room’s fireplace dance in his eyes, reflecting his sinister and most impure thoughts. Thoughts of you, what he wants to do to you. With you.

‘I must be dreaming.’

He circles around you, hovering over your backside and letting his hands fall to your bare hips. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps across your skin.

“Mmm, can I touch you?” Wooyoung whispers as he leans in to kiss the dip between your shoulder and neck.

You nod, giving him permission to do whatever he pleases, and lean back against his broad chest.

His hands move from your side, one moving upward to cup your breast, the other heading down between your legs, gently tracing your silky skin until his fingers find their way home and sink into your sweet center.

The sensation awakens you from your sinful slumber, and you sigh, realizing it was only a dream—another delicious and depriving dream that left you wanting someone who would never consider you.

Groaning, you force yourself to roll out of bed and step toward your closet. Black Mass isn’t for another hour, but arriving early might help erase these recurring dreams from your memory.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hall as you exit the residential wing, making your way outside. It’s a beautiful gloomy day, the air is crisp and the sun is hidden by thick clouds that look as if they could open up at any moment and soak the woods with another harsh day of rain - something you wouldn’t mind.

The fog creeps through the forest, following your steps and trailing behind while you wait for your familiar to catch up. Besides your raven’s distant cry, it’s quiet. The hum of the earth’s magic is even more reserved than usual. It’s peacefully eerie.

“Ghoul Morning, Blair,” you say, extending your wrist out for her. She caws from above and slowly descends from the clouds, eagerly accepting your arm as the safe place to perch while you walk along the path to the Unholy Church.

Though she looks like a raven while masked, Blair wreaks havoc in her goblin form on anyone, and anything, that dares to disturb you. She’s one of the strongest familiars a witch could be cursed with, and you’ve been thankful for her services ever since you started training.

It’s your second year attending The Onyx Academy of Dark Casting, a magical finishing school that only the finest witches and warlocks between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five are given the unholiest privilege to attend.

Of these students, the Dark Stars of each class lead with their high values and spectacular spell casting. More often than not, they graduate with the highest dishonor and ascend to become High Priests and Priestesses of covens across the world.

Jung Wooyoung is a beloved Dark Star and stellar student, and it’s rumored that he’ll become the youngest Anti-Pope inducted into the Church of Night after his completion here at the academy.

Even with your unique gift, it’s not in the cards for a person of your status to ever equal his. Which you very well know and understand, despite the dark fantasies that haunt you most nights and your schoolgirl crush that hasn’t gone away since the very first day you met him.

Blair lets out a sharp caw, her wings cutting through the air as she ascends, perching gracefully on the steeple just as you arrive at the church. Her dark silhouette stands stark against the sky, watching over you like a silent sentinel.

The towering doors creak open as you approach them, welcoming you inside the dim space. You walk between the rows of pews, watching the candles that mark the aisle light up as you pass.

Once closer to the altar, you lift a hand and wave it across the front of the sanctuary. The room becomes brighter as the remaining unlit candles grow flames from your magic.

You have a way with the elements; you’re able to manipulate and control them as you wish without specific spells, conjuring them when you please. Your energy is unmatched compared to the other gifted students.

Yet, instead of improving your social status, being gifted has made you even more of an outcast. The professors are wary of your potential and what you could be capable of; the students keep their distance too, either jealous or frightened of your power.

Needless to say, you’re not Miss Popular, but that doesn’t bother you as much as it could. Only the luckiest of witches and warlocks are disgraced with gifts from the Dark Lord, and having chosen you out of everyone means something. And knowing the Dark Lord chose you is enough.

You settle into your usual pew, the familiar creak of the wooden bench under you blending into the background as your mind begins to churn. Thoughts swirl of today’s impending announcement during Father Blackmoor’s sermon cross your mind.

The excitement for Lupercalia is beginning to build. This ancient festival, celebrated by all magic wielders the week leading up to Halloween, is dedicated to the Goddess Peralia, who blesses covens with enhanced health, virility, and fertility in exchange for an indelicate offering. Participants must engage in a series of ritualistic events celebrating lust and sexuality, transforming the festival into a vibrant expression of desire and intimacy. Only then will she offer her unholiest blessing.

You sit there, not in prayer, but in a quiet storm of contemplation, unsure if you will sign up for the festival this year. Another downfall to being viewed as an outsider is that you have yet to experience, well, anything. Sure, you might have kissed a couple of warlocks in your intermediate years, you even had a boyfriend in prep school whom you were convinced you could have loved eventually, but your virtue has yet to be given away.

It’s common for witches and warlocks to lose their virginity during Lupercalia; typically when they are in prep school. In fact, it’s encouraged. Yet, by age twenty, you still haven't mustered the courage to join in the festivities.

This year might be different…

The sudden crash of books jolts you from your thoughts. You turn to see Yeosang, a fellow student, crouched beside a toppled stack of The Book of Blood, its pages splayed open.

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he scrambles to gather the scattered volumes. His cheeks flush slightly, and you can't help but smile softly.

He’s a sixth-year student, just like Wooyoung. Yet, where Wooyoung’s presence demands your attention with an almost suffocating charisma, Yeosang embodies a more reserved demeanor. He tends to stick to his tight-knit group of friends and immerses himself in his studies, radiating a quiet intensity that draws you in without overwhelming you.

You feel a wave of annoyance wash over you as soon you realize that even in the presence of another man, your thoughts keep drifting back to Wooyoung. It frustrates you to no end, pushing you to a spontaneous decision: this year will finally be the year you break free from this obsession. By participating in Lupercalia, you’re determined to finally move on from him once and for all.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, “The Dark Lord has already provided me with the clarity I came here for.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, carefully restacking the last book. He glances to his left, likely considering the seat he usually occupies, before turning back to you. “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asks, a hopeful note in his voice as he gestures toward the space beside you.

“Not at all, please do,” you smile.

He settles beside you with an effortless grace, and the air around you immediately fills with the warm, intoxicating blend of amber and musk from his cologne. The scent is rich, almost magnetic, pulling your attention in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You fidget with your hands, trying to focus on anything but how good he smells, as your mind races to keep pace with your quickening heartbeat.

Maybe... you could partner with Yeosang for the festival. The thought lingers as you steal a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s undeniably handsome—sharp features that give him a striking, confident look, but it’s his kindness that really stands out. There’s a warmth in the way he carries himself, a subtle softness behind those strong eyes that makes him more than just attractive. You wonder what it would be like to lose your virginity to someone like him, someone who seems both strong and thoughtful in all the right ways.

"Are you sure you are okay? You seem a little tense," he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern as his eyes search your face. You hesitate to answer, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks, and though you're trying to keep your composure, your breath has grown a little quicker, more shallow.

Thankfully, he’s kind enough not to mention it, but you catch the flicker of awareness in his gaze. His words are gentle, but there's an underlying curiosity there—like he's not just asking out of politeness but because he genuinely cares. You try to steady yourself, aware of the closeness between you, and suddenly the air feels heavier as if the moment itself is holding its breath, waiting for your next move.

"I didn’t mean to pry if it’s personal," he quickly adds, his voice softening as he notices your hesitation. His words have a touch of urgency, and he backtracks, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. His shifts slightly, giving you space while still holding onto the moment, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" The words escape your lips before you even realize what you’ve said. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by your sudden vulnerability. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but there’s no turning back now.

Yeosang nods and softly says, “Of course.”

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” you admit guardedly.

“Oh, um. That’s, uh…” He’s visibly taken aback when he hears your confession, stumbling over his words. “Wow, I… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, uh, that’s really something. I just, uh… I guess I never saw you as someone who hadn’t, you know, participated.” He draws out the last word, his tone heavy with the unspoken meaning.

You nod, trying to meet his eyes. “I know, it’s just… I never felt called to join in on the festivities in previous years. But lately, that feeling has… changed.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, I get it. So you’ll be signing up for the events this year?” He asks with a calm, collected voice, though he’s concerned that the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat betrays his calm facade.

Hearing your confession piques his interest. He’s always found you hauntingly beautiful and has enjoyed the casual conversations you’ve shared between classes and such, but today feels different.

He knew you didn’t actively participate last year, though he figured you were still doing something-someone-in private. Now that your secret is out, there's something undeniably more intriguing about you—an unexpected allure that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it.”

“I think you should,” he blurts out, then quickly adds, “What I mean is, the festival’s about self-expression and the intimacy you share along the way. If you’re looking for a wild introduction to Lupercalia, there will be plenty of opportunists who share that venereal vision. But if you want something more comforting…choose someone who makes you feel safe and respected for your first time.” Yeosang trails off, his gaze lingering a little too long, the implication unmistakable. He clears his throat, trying not to give himself and his intentions away.

“Thank you, Yeosang,” you say while resting a hand above his knee, genuinely appreciating his insight.

Before the conversation can continue, the sound of footsteps echoes through the Church as fellow students file in, taking their seats. Black Mass is about to begin.

Wooyoung hadn’t intended to listen in on your conversation. He was too busy waiting for the other Dark Stars to arrive at the closed-off sanctuary to finish preparing for Black Mass. As usual, they didn’t show up early despite his suggestions. That’s a lie; he knew his words were less like suggestions and more like demands.

He was well aware they’d be late today, especially since most of the fifth and sixth years had spent the night at an intimate pre-Lupercalia party that stretched into dawn.

The only reason he peeked through the shadows was due to a loud crash, which he soon realized came from Yeosang, who appeared entranced by someone sitting near the front of the Church. That’s when he noticed it was you.

He’ll admit to having observed you over the past year—not out of personal interest, but because he’s intrigued by your unique gift and curious as to why the Dark Lord chose you of all people. Yes, you’re undeniably attractive as most witches are, but your ability to manipulate pure power without relying on spellwork is, to him, the most compelling quality you possess. If you had the right social standing, you would likely ascend to the role of High Priestess in a very fortunate coven.

From his hidden vantage point, he watches as his friend settles down beside you; that’s when the conversation begins.

“I’ve…never participated in Lupercalia,” he hears you share your secret. Now that is quite a confession.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a smirk as he observes your flushed face from a distance, the rosy hue contrasting with the cold room that surrounds you. There’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he takes in the way you shift nervously, completely unaware of his gaze.

Knowing that you haven’t been touched stirs a mix of amusement and curiosity within him. He wonders what thoughts are racing through your mind, feeling a strange sensation rush through him when you place your hand on his classmate’s thigh.

He saw no reason to hold back from participating. The moment he came of age, he dove in—and he’s done so every year since, always finding ways to revel in the experience to the fullest. As he reflects on past encounters, a pleased smile crosses his face as he silently counts the number of popped cherries he’s collected over the last several seasons, each a vivid memory weaved into his mind.

‘What’s one more…’

As more students trickle in and take their seats, the soft murmur of conversation fills the air. Wooyoung senses the moment is right and slips out of the shadows just as Father Blackmoor begins to walk down the aisle, weaving between the pews filled with eager faces. The flickering candlelight dances on the stone walls, casting a warm glow that contrasts with the coolness of the sanctuary.

He moves to stand on the left of Father Blackmoor, joining the other Dark Stars who are trying to stifle their yawns. The collective fatigue from the previous night’s festivities hangs in the air, but a shared excitement simmers beneath the surface. He exchanges brief glances with his fellow Stars, a silent acknowledgment of their late-night revelry and the anticipation of what today’s ceremony will bring.

“Fiends and Friends, today marks the beginning of our annual Lupercalia Festival,” Father Blackmoor announces, his voice resonating through the crammed Church. “As you all know, Lupercalia is upon us. I can feel the excitement buzzing in the air. The Festival of Wolves is a cherished tradition within our coven, and we take immense pride in honoring Goddess Peralia through a series of exhilarating rituals, all in hopes of receiving her unholiest blessings. With that in mind, let’s review the week’s events for those of you who are new to our practices.”

Father Blackmoor pauses to take an envelope from Wooyoung. “Tomorrow marks the start of the Assessment Period, which will be held in the Grand Hall. Witches who sign up today will be quizzed by prospective partners in hopes of finding their ideal match.”

“Courting begins on Tuesday. Those interested in a specific witch will reserve time slots to spend more time together. By the end of the night, the warlocks must submit the names of the witches they wish to be paired with. This will be followed by the Matching Ceremony on Wednesday, where the pairs will be revealed to the entire coven. On Thursday, we’ll have the Moon Ritual, during which the paired couples will venture into the darkwood to complete the rite. More specific details will be shared on the day, but they are expected to spend the night together beneath the moon in unholy abstinence.”

Some students snicker, knowing very well they won’t be abstaining from anything that night.

Father Blackmoor waits for the room to settle down before continuing, “Friday ushers in the Insatiable Hunt at dusk, where wolf-masked warlocks will chase after their red-cloaked witches through the woods, culminating in divine pleasure once they’ve been caught. We’ll conclude the week of festivities on Saturday with the Final Feast, where we will express our gratitude to Goddess Peralia for her many blessings this season.”

Wooyoung steps forward once more, this time carrying an ancient, leather-bound tome. The worn edges and faded lettering hint at its age and significance.

It’s the Book of Blood; which contains hundreds of Witches and Warlock's printed names, signed with their crimson ink, as a binding commitment to their word. It’s like a contract between yourself, the entire coven, and the Dark Lord himself.

With a practiced hand, he carefully cracks it open, his eyes sweeping across the room. “Witches that dare to participate, please step forward, say your intent, and sign your name in the Book of Blood.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you push yourself to your feet, joining the line of participants ahead of you. A mix of excitement and nerves swirl in your stomach, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been both dreading and anticipating.

The weight of curious eyes fall on you as you move, but none more intense than Yeosang's. His gaze feels like a spotlight, cutting through the crowd around him.

With each passing second, your pulse quickens as the line inches forward at a deathly slow pace. Every breath feels shallow, as if the air is too thick for your lungs to handle. Despite the knot of nerves tightening in your belly, your feet move on their own, as if guided by some force beyond your control.

Before you even realize it, you’re standing before Wooyoung. His eyes pierce down onto you while he hands you a knife, “Do you hereby pledge your full participation and commitment to the forthcoming Lupercalia festival and all associated events?”

Taking a deep breath, you respond, “Yes, I pledge myself.”

You take the knife from him, feeling the cold steel as you press the sharp blade into your palm. With a swift motion, you slice a clean, precise line across your skin. Ruby-red blood wells up, pooling in your cupped hand. Without hesitation, Father Blackmoor raises his hand, his dark magic swirling in the air as he draws the blood from your palm. It twists and shapes into the form of a pen, glowing faintly with a sinister aura, ready to be used.

You reach up and grasp the hovering pen, its energy vibrating through your hand. As you sign your name in the book, a surge of adrenaline floods your veins, electrifying every nerve. The moment the ink dries, you feel an undeniable shift. Something deep within you has been awakened.

Wooyoung smirks, knowing the sensation very well. “There’s no backing out now,” he says to you, his gaze locking onto yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“So,” Jongho, a second-year student like yourself, pauses to clear his throat after pulling on his tie, “That was awful.”

You chuckle, relieved to see you're not the only one with frayed nerves. “Yeah, good luck with the rest of them.”

He smiles back before shuffling along to the next person.

It’s Assessment Day, and every witch who signed their name is being rigorously questioned by the participating warlocks. Friends who had gone through this in previous years warned you about what to expect, and they were right. It’s definitely a forced mingling period on steroids.

It’s only been an hour, and you’re already exhausted of the routine of answering questions filled with probing and uncomfortable inquiries that delve into personal preferences. Over and over again, you're forced to confront touchy subjects, as if each question is designed to peel away the layers of your desires, as if you know.

The process feels more like an interrogation than a mere assessment, testing not just your patience, but your lack of knowledge on the subject at hand—sex.

The situation would be far less awkward if you didn't have to sit directly across from someone to verbally review the list. After each question, it’s mandatory to respond in one of the following ways: Agree - you give consent to the matter being discussed with the current party; Acknowledge - it is a potential option, and you give partial consent or Decline - no consent is given.

You pick at your fingernails while you wait for the next warlock.

“Penny dreadful for your thoughts?” You glance up to see Yeosang sliding into the seat across from you, with a broad smile spread across his handsome face.

“Oh, hi!” you say, doing your best to not sound startled. “Just wondering when all of this will be over, you know?” you continue, waving your arms around.

“Yeah, this part of the process isn’t the most comfortable. But I understand why it’s necessary,” he comments while leaning forward on the table. “Have the others been respectful?”

“Oh, yes. Yeah, everyone has been nice. I’m learning how many students I’ve never spoken to before,” you reply lightheartedly.

"Shall we begin?" Yeosang asks with a playful glint in his eyes, nodding toward the paper resting between you on the table, waiting for your cue to dive in.

Just as he reaches to pick up the list of desires to discuss, his movement is halted by the sudden arrival of Wooyoung, whose presence instantly commands attention.

He strides up to your table with his usual confidence, a grin tugging at his lips. The conversation shifts before it even begins, as Wooyoung’s energy pulls both your attention toward him without saying a word.

Yeosang lowers the paper, his eyes flicking between you and Wooyoung, sensing the inevitable distraction.

“Father Blackmoor has requested your presence in the Anti-Sacristy,” Wooyoung announces, handing him a miniature scroll with a secret message.

Yeosang frowns while reading it over, “Please excuse me.”

"Of course, I hope everything's alright," you murmur, though your words go unheard as he's already on his feet, moving swiftly toward the door.

Watching Yeosang rush out, you suddenly realize Wooyoung is still standing there. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and he tilts his head, studying you with a curious intensity.

"Seems like you require a partner," he says with a smirk, sliding effortlessly into Yeosang’s chair without missing a beat.

You’re too stunned to respond and shift uncomfortably in your seat, completely unsure of what to do in this situation. He’s not offering to go through the questionnaire, is he?

Somehow, you forgot that you would, at some point, have to converse with Wooyoung today. It entirely slipped your mind up until this moment. And now he’s here without giving you time to prepare. You start to breathe a little heavier, and a slight sense of panic sets in.

“Why are you acting like that?” He says with a raised eyebrow, noticing your bouncing leg (a nervous habit of yours that annoyingly shows up at the worst possible moments.)

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Well, yes, you do but you won’t admit that. But your hyperventilating and antsy body might tell a different story.

“Yeah, right,” he rolls his eyes.

Your eyes lock on Wooyoung’s as he casually picks up the page. Without waiting for your reaction, he glances at the list and reads off the first item, his voice smooth and confident.

"How does each party feel about blood play; drawing blood by use of knives or other sharp weaponry, smearing blood, using blood as a lubricant, and/or tasting blood?" he reads off, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

"I acknowledge," you reply with hesitation in your voice, uncertain whether you’re truly opposed to it, yet not entirely sure if you fully consent either. “And you?”

Wooyoung tilts his head again, “Do you really need to ask?”

"You and I both know there are specific rules to follow here," you say, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of challenge and caution. And, if you’re being completely honest, there’s a hint of annoyance now too. The nervousness from earlier has vanished entirely.

“Fair enough,” "he replies with a nonchalant sigh, “I agree.”

It’s your turn to read off the next item. “Does each participating student consent to bringing in other parties to join and/or watch your sexual relations? And additionally, joining others.” You look up toward Wooyoung, already expecting him to agree to those terms.

“Decline,” he states firmly, his voice dropping an octave as he adds, “I don’t share.”

You try to mask your shock, but the expression slips through.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he huffs.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I also decline.”

He nods curtly, and you swear you hear him mutter "good" under his breath.

You breeze through the next set of questions surprisingly fast, both providing the appropriate answers as you work your way down the page.

At first, Wooyoung seemed a bit disinterested, but something caused his attitude to shift. Now, he’s more engaged, genuinely listening to your reasonings whenever you offer it.

“Last question, how many sexual partners have each participating party had?”

As he finishes speaking, you narrow your eyes at him, “That question isn’t on the list.” You’ve practically memorized them all by now. “You’re making that up.”

“So? Answer anyway,” he dares.

You glare at him, silently debating whether or not you should tell the truth. “Screw it,” you exhale, “None.”

Instead of the shock or teasing you expect, he simply blinks at you, as if he already knew what your answer would be.

But how…

When you wake the next morning, butterflies are already fluttering in your stomach. At this point, it’s hard to judge who will end up courting you, though you have a pretty good idea that Yeosang is interested. When he returned after visiting Father Blackmoor, you two had quite a connection while going through the assessment list.

You’ll find out for sure when you make it to the Dining Hall the courting schedule will be pinned on the announcement board for everyone to view.

You decide to grab a pastry and wait for the crowd around the schedule to thin out before checking how many dates you will have today. To keep things relatively fair, each witch is only allowed to have up to five courting suitors. A flicker of nerves sets in—what if no one reserved one of your time slots?

For the love of Lucifer, please let me have at least one warlock courting me.

You shove the last bite into your mouth and make your way to the board, eager to find out. Peeking around the remaining heads blocking your view, you spot that two of your time slots have already been reserved. Just as you’re trying to make out the names, someone taps you on the shoulder.

“Ghoul morning, Y/N,” Yeosang says with a smile, handing you a card. Your heartbeat picks up, recognizing the formality; courting warlocks are required to provide the witches with a card that essentially confirms their date.

“Hi, Yeosang!” You beam. Praise Satan.

He looks relieved when you accept his card. “I was hoping to see you this morning. Meet me at the Weeping Willow at three o’clock this afternoon. I have a special activity planned for us.”

You’re about to respond when you can feel his presence. Turning to look over your shoulder, you see Wooyoung standing closely behind. He towers over you, staring down Yeosang.

“Do you need something?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you while silently begging that he’s not here to send Yeosang away again, like yesterday.

“Yes,” he extends a hand, offering you a card. You stare at it in disbelief. He’s not here to steal Yeosang; he’s stealing you.

Wooyoung is your other suitor.

“I believe you’re meant to spend the morning with me.” Wooyoung’s eyes drift from yours and back to Yeosang’s, who tenses beside you. They seem to have a silent exchange of words.

“I see,” Yeosang says curtly, “Enjoy your time together.”

Before you have a chance to say anything Yeosang already disappears. Damn it.

“Come on, follow me,” Wooyoung demands while grabbing your wrist. He leads you down the dim, shadowy hallways of the school before picking up the pace as you leave the safety of the school, heading into the woods.

The thick trees close in around you, and the air feels heavier with each step. Fog swirls at your feet but mysteriously clears a path ahead of him like it knows exactly where he's going. You follow, feeling the cool, damp air cling to your skin. The deeper you go, the more unfamiliar the landscape becomes—you don’t recognize this part of the woods at all, and a strange sense of unease settles over you.

“Bloody heaven, where are you taking me?” you huff, doing your best to keep up with his long strides.

“You’ll see,” he grumbles, helping you up when you trip over an exposed tree root. “Can you stop tripping every five seconds? You’re slowing us down, and we’re on a time crunch.”

You glare at the back of his head as he speeds up. What a dick.

It’s not long before you arrive at the destination; it’s a stone table in the middle of the woods. You look around suspiciously. “Is this a ritual site? Are you planning on killing me for some weird sacrificial thing now that you know I’m a virgin, or…?”

Wooyoung bursts out laughing, “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, actually. This is a portal.”

“A portal? To where?” you ask, peering at the stone. It doesn’t look like any portal you’ve ever seen.

“Want to find out?” he offers a hand for you to take, and you grab it warily.

He places his other hand on the stone, and its magic instantly pulls you through the atmosphere, sending you spiraling toward an unknown destination.

When you land, your feet hit the damp cobblestone street with a soft thud. The air smells of rain and baked goods, and you take in the bustling scene around you—witches and warlocks are flowing in and out of quaint little shops that line both sides of the road, their chatter filling the air. The street is alive with energy, and everything looks both foreign and strangely charming.

Before you can fully absorb it all, Wooyoung tugs you along, his grip firm as your head swivels, trying to figure out exactly where you’ve been transported to. The unfamiliar cityscape seems like a dream, its details slipping through your grasp as you hurry to keep up.

Suddenly, you collide with his back, not realizing he has stopped. "Ouch," you mutter, rubbing your nose in surprise. You’re about to say more when something above catches your eye—the sign swinging in the breeze.

"Trahana’s Tomb!" you squeal, excitement bubbling up. For ages, you've wanted to visit this place, but something always got in the way. Now, here it is, right in front of you, and the thrill of finally arriving sends a rush through you.

Trahana is a renowned sorceress and writer known for her vast collection of grimoires, enchanted artifacts, and other rare occult items—many of which are now on display and for sale at her legendary store. You've been itching to get your hands on her coveted Book of Arcane Beasts, a tome filled with forbidden knowledge of magical creatures, their histories, and untold powers.

Wooyoung holds the door open for you, and without a second thought, you dash inside. Your eyes widen as you take in the towering shelves crammed with both ancient and new books. Every corner of the shop is overflowing with enchanted curiosities.

At the back of the shop, a narrow, spiraling staircase catches your eye. It likely leads to an upper level filled with even more treasures waiting to be explored. The thought of what might be hidden beyond tempts you, adding to the growing sense of wonder.

"Oh, my sweet, evil boy! How are you?"

You turn to see a tall, elegant woman pinching Wooyoung’s cheeks with an affectionate grin.

He swats her hands away, groaning, "Aunt Hana, you know I hate when you do that. I’m not five anymore."

She laughs, unbothered by his protest. "Oh, you'll always be the stubborn young warlock playing with the Acheron Configuration upstairs even when told it was off limits," she teases, her eyes twinkling with the memory. “Goddess knows how many hours you spent trying to crack that spell.”

She shifts her gaze to you, giving you a quick once-over before raising an eyebrow. "Don’t be rude, Wooyoung. Introduce me to your friend."

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, "Forgive me. This is Y/N, another student at Onyx Academy. Y/N, meet Trahana, the curator of this fine establishment and, unfortunately, my insufferable aunt."

Trahana smirks, ignoring his jab. "Charmed, I’m sure," she says, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she sizes you up.

"I need to get back to work, but it was a pleasure meeting you, darling," Trahana says with a warm smile, her voice dripping with a mix of elegance and mystery. She gives you one last appraising look before turning away, her long robes sweeping the floor as she glides effortlessly toward the front of the store. The air feels lighter without her presence, yet the sense of power she carries lingers, leaving you a little awestruck.

You gape at him once she’s out of earshot. "She’s your aunt?"

Wooyoung sighs, nodding with exaggerated patience. "Yes, I’m painfully aware."

"That’s so cool. So you spent a lot of time here growing up?" you ask, curious to learn more about him.

"Yeah," Wooyoung replies, glancing around the shop with a hint of nostalgia. "My parents traveled a lot for business when I was younger, so this place became like a second home. Now, I come back whenever I need a break from school. Plus, it’s a great place to study; there's something peaceful about the chaos here compared to the eerie silence of Onyx Academy’s library."

"That makes sense," you say, nodding as your fingers trail across the spines of the old books lining the tight aisle. The dust, the energy, and the soft hum of magic in the air make the shop feel alive, the perfect contrast to the academy’s cold, quiet halls. "I can see why you'd find this place comforting."

Wooyoung smiles, clearly more relaxed here than you've ever seen him. "It’s got a strange kind of charm, doesn’t it?" he says, his voice softer now as the two of you meander through the maze of shelves, discovering little pieces of history with every step.

He allows you to explore the shelves, letting you dive into the books that capture your interest. As you lean down to examine the aged pages, he watches as a loose strand of hair slips across your face, and you absently tuck it behind your ear.

"Can I show you something?" he asks, gently drawing you away from the book that’s captivated your attention.

You glance up at him, and to your surprise, he almost seems nervous. It’s a rare sight for someone who usually exudes such confidence. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, making you curious about what he wants to show you.

Nodding, you allow him to lead you toward another bookshelf two aisles away from where you were just standing. His gaze flicks across the titles, searching for something specific.

"Ah, here it is," he finally says, lifting his arm to reveal a book with a deep blue spine. You hear a soft click as he pulls it out slightly, followed by a faint unlocking sound. With a practiced motion, he shifts down to another shelf and pulls out a book with a green spine. To your astonishment, the entire bookcase creaks ominously before revealing a secret door.

"This whole day just keeps getting stranger by the minute. Is this another portal?" you ask, a mix of skepticism and humor in your voice.

Wooyoung grins playfully. "As entertaining as that would be, no. It’s not a portal. It’s my secret place."

You turn to look at him. "See, now that’s kind of worse. Now I really don’t want to go in." The idea of stepping into his hidden sanctuary feels more daunting than the prospect of another magical journey.

He gives you a look.

“Okay, fine. In I go,” you say, taking a step closer before reaching for the cold handle. As you turn it and push the door open, you peer into the darkness beyond, straining to gauge what lies within. And, if you have to be completely honest, wondering why it needs to be hidden away.

Wooyoung steps inside after you, snapping his fingers to conjure his magic. A bright orb of light flickers to life, glowing softly at first. As he guides it upward, it gradually brightens and rises to the center of the room, illuminating the hidden space with a warm, inviting glow. The walls are revealed and adorned with eclectic decorations and mysterious photographs, creating an enchanting and haunting atmosphere.

"What is this place?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you step closer to a nearby table and spot a stack of photographs. You pick up the first few, admiring the artistic shots of a plant you recognize from your walks through the Darkwood—it's a Moonset Fern, captured in full bloom. You remember learning about it in Herbology 101 last year; it’s renowned for its ability to protect against ill-will spells.

Intrigued, you skim through the rest of the stack. Each photo showcases different plants, all with potent herbal properties, their images so carefully composed they almost seem to pulse with hidden power.

“So,” Wooyoung says nervously, “What do you think?”

“Of the photographs? I think they’re beautiful. You took these?” He nods. “I didn’t know you had an interest in photography. Or Herbology, for that matter.”

"It’s a secret interest. Obviously," Wooyoung says, gesturing around the room to emphasize his point. "Unfortunately, Father Blackmoor thinks it’s a complete waste of time. To him, this is the work of a lesser warlock." The distaste is evident in his voice, like the words themselves leave a bitter taste in his mouth. "He’d rather I focus on proving my potential to become the youngest Anti-Pope."

"Do you believe him?" you ask, watching his reaction closely.

"Am I even allowed to believe any different?" he replies, his tone a mix of resignation and defiance. He picks up a different stack of photos and flips through them, each holding a distant memory of a time he felt genuine joy.

"Part of me wishes I wasn’t destined for this life—that I had the power to shape my own future," Wooyoung admits, his voice heavy with conflicted emotion. "But then the other half of me hates myself for even thinking like that, especially after everything my family has sacrificed to get me here." His gaze drops, the weight of expectation clearly pressing down on him, caught between desire and duty.

“No one in the history of The Church of Night has ever turned down a position of power once they've received the proper training and hold the necessary status,” he continues, his tone growing darker. "I can’t even imagine the consequences of rejecting something like that." The mere thought seems to weigh on him, defying centuries of tradition would unravel everything—not just for him, but for everyone tied to his legacy.

“That’s a frustrating position to be forced into. Though, I hate to admit I’m jealous.”

His head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours, confusion and a flicker of anger etched across his face.

"I’ve spent my whole life not knowing what my future will look like," you begin, your voice tight with emotion. “I have all this power, yet no one can explain why I have it or what I’m supposed to do with it. I don’t have even the slightest clue where I’ll end up in life, so yeah, from that standpoint, I am a bit jealous of your situation," you admit, a hint of envy creeping into your voice.

As you speak, the anger in his expression gradually fades, replaced by a quiet understanding. His features soften, and you can see him truly considering your words, letting them sink in.

"At least you have a clear path laid out for you, even if it’s not exactly what you want. I’m still stumbling around, trying to figure out what my purpose even is. But even then..." your tone softens slightly, "If I were you, I wouldn’t let my sense of duty smother the passion I feel for another study—even if it’s an uncommon path for someone in my position.”

You begin again, your voice steady with conviction, "The Dark Lord wouldn’t have put this path in front of you if there wasn’t something here worth discovering. I’d bet there’s a connection between each path, and maybe, just maybe, you’re meant to do something with both. Something no one else has thought of yet.”

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that.

“That’s just my two cents,” you sigh, setting the photos down and walking over to the next table with hundreds more to look through.

One photo in the middle of the pile catches your eye, standing out in a way the others don’t. You can’t quite place the plant; it’s unfamiliar, yet stirs a sense of deep nostalgia. It’s a rich olive green, with spiny stems and sharply pointed leaves giving it a menacing look. But what truly captivates you is the ethereal purple aura surrounding it, shimmering faintly, like the plant itself is alive with ancient magic. Something about it feels important, though you can’t recall ever seeing it before.

"It’s a Ghost Violaceae," Wooyoung murmurs softly, leaning in close over your shoulder. His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice slightly raspy. "It’s commonly used in the art of seduction." His words hang in the air, as mysterious as the plant itself, and the subtle intensity in his tone makes the air between you suddenly feel different.

Wooyoung would do unspeakable things to know the thoughts swirling in your mind right now. He’s desperate to unravel what it is that made you blush so fiercely, what’s causing your heart to race and your breath to quicken.

You turn slightly, looking up at him with your lips parted. Wooyoung tilts his head, his eyes sparkling as he tries to decipher the emotions playing across your face. There's a flicker of curiosity in your gaze, his focus sharpening as he leans in just a fraction closer…

The sudden ringing of a timer blares through the silence, startling you both. Your head snaps toward the sound and you see a stopwatch floating in midair, its rhythmic ticking a clear reminder that your time is almost up. It’s time to return to Onyx Academy to prepare for your next session with Yeosang.

Beside you, Wooyoung tenses, the atmosphere immediately changing. The warmth in his eyes vanishes as quickly as it has surfaced, replaced by the cold, guarded demeanor he typically fronts. His walls shoot back up, and just like that, the brief vulnerability between you disappears.

Blair eyes you curiously, her black feathers ruffled while she senses the secret you’re holding back. She’s perched on a low branch, watching as you wait beneath the cascading limbs of the Weeping Willow. You’ve arrived early, not finding any solace in the silence of your room after returning to campus. Yeosang should be here any minute, but the unease from earlier lingers.

Wooyoung had barely spoken after the stopwatch appeared, his mood darkening as he grudgingly led you back to the portal. He rushed you through without a word, his steps heavy with frustration, and stormed off toward the church once back on school grounds without so much as a goodbye.

You’ve been trying to clear your mind, focusing your energy on the upcoming session with Yeosang, but the tension from Wooyoung still simmers under the surface. You take a deep breath, determined to push it aside and give Yeosang your full attention. He deserves it.

Blair lets out a sharp caw before taking off into the sky, disappearing into the distance as soon as she senses his presence. She knows to give you your privacy, leaving you alone just as he approaches.

“Oh, you’re here already,” Yeosang says, a bit surprised to see you already by the willows. He steps forward, his happy expression growing as he extends a bouquet of dried wine-colored roses, elegantly tied with a black ribbon.

“These are for you.”

Your breath catches at the sight of them. "These are gorgeous. Thank you—wow," you say, smiling while gently taking the bouquet from his hands. The gesture feels intimate, the deep red petals catching the light as you admire them, warmth blooming in your chest at the unexpected kindness.

“You’re welcome. Do you want to apparate them to your room?” Yeosang suggests.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” you reply, lifting the bouquet in front of you. With a soft hum, you recite the incantation, watching as the flowers shimmer and disappear, transporting them to your bedside table in an instant.

“There,” you smile, “Now they’ll be waiting for me when I get back.”

“We have a short walk to our destination. If you’ll follow me?” Yeosang guides you up a path behind the willow grove, the incline leading to a breathtaking view of the Darkwood below. The forest stretches endlessly, its shadowy canopy glittering with ancient magic.

"Do you mind waiting here?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of nerves flickering across his face. "I thought I'd have a little more time to set things up."

You smile softly. "I don’t mind at all."

Relieved, he excuses himself, disappearing back down the trail to retrieve whatever surprise he has planned. The minutes pass in peaceful quiet, the cool air brushing against your skin. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment, until a faint rustling behind you interrupts the calm energy. You glance over your shoulder, seeing nothing, and shrug it off—probably just the wind.

But then, movement at the edge of the tree line catches your eye, a shadowy figure slipping between the trees.

You step cautiously toward the movement, your heart beating a little faster with each quiet footstep. The air seems to thicken as you approach, a soft rustling continuing just beyond the nearest tree. You steady yourself, taking a slow breath before rounding the massive trunk.

Face to face with the culprit, you freeze—a pair of wide, curious eyes staring back at you. It's a small, ethereal creature, almost like a fox but with wisps of glowing mist trailing from its fur. Its translucent body shimmers faintly under the dappled light filtering through the trees.

You exhale in relief, it’s just another familiar. The creature’s gentle gaze is more inquisitive than threatening; and she tilts her head, trying to decide whether to flee or come closer, her silver eyes studying you with an almost childlike curiosity. The creature soon takes off, before you have a chance to ask who they belong to.

As you turn around, a startled cry escapes your lips—Wooyoung is standing just inches from you, his presence completely unexpected.

"What are you doing here?" you snap, your hand instinctively flying to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

"I'm not really here. Just astral projecting. And who’s to say I wasn’t here first?"

You cross your arms, glaring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I wasn’t here first," he concedes with a shrug, his smirk faltering under your withering stare.

"Yeosang is going to be back any second," you warn, narrowing your eyes. "Are you here to spy on us?"

"Pfff... no..." he says, though the lack of conviction in his voice makes you roll your eyes.

"Lame," you mutter, watching his poorly veiled attempt at denial fall apart. He shifts awkwardly under your gaze, clearly caught.

“I don’t like that you’re alone with him.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. I. Don’t. Share.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Is this just some kind of game? Are you playing with me because you don’t want Yeosang to have me? What is it, Wooyoung? You haven’t given me a second thought until two days ago.”

“It’s not like that—" Wooyoung starts, but the sound of rustling interrupts him, cutting his sentence short. Both of you turn, startled, as Yeosang emerges from the trees. His eyes sweep the clearing, looking for you since you aren’t standing where he left you. When he spots you, he smiles and approaches, carrying a woven basket in one arm and a blanket in the other.

You glance back toward Wooyoung, but he’s already vanished. Typical, slipping away before finishing what he started. Maybe he’s glad for the escape before you can grill him any further.

“Looking for something?”

‘More like someone,’ you think to yourself. “Oh sorry, I thought I saw a familiar, but it ran off,” you explain, brushing off the awkward moment. “So, what’s all this?” You gesture to the basket, quickly shifting the conversation before Yeosang has a chance to ask anything.

He grins, glancing down at his hands, a bit shy. "I hope you like picnics. I thought we could enjoy some treats and maybe get to know each other better."

“That sounds lovely,” you reply warmly.

Yeosang carefully picks a spot, spreading the blanket and the two of you sit side by side, the breathtaking view of the Darkwood stretching out below. There’s something serene about the quiet between you, the moment brimming with peaceful anticipation.

He sets the basket in front of you, lifting the lid to reveal an array of colorful sweets, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun reflecting off the glass jars inside. You notice delicate pastries, chocolates, and sugared fruits arranged neatly.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought a little of everything,” Yeosang says, his voice low but sincere.

Your heart warms at the gesture. "You’ve really outdone yourself,” you praise, picking up one of the pastries for yourself and offering another to him.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to bring up the scroll from yesterday. "I didn’t want to pry, but you left in such a rush yesterday. Was everything alright?" you ask before taking a bite.

Yeosang chuckles softly, as if amused by the memory. "Funny you should ask. Turns out, when I arrived at Father Blackmoor’s office, he had no idea what I was talking about. No urgent scroll was sent for me. But he thought it was good timing and wanted to discuss my plans for after I complete my time at the academy."

Your curiosity piques further. "And those plans are...?" you press, hoping he’ll open up.

Yeosang hesitates briefly, but then, with a slight smile, he reveals, "I’d like to teach, maybe. My father was a teacher, and he always said I had the same qualities. Plus, I love kids. I think teaching them the basics of magic—the very foundation of what they'll need for the rest of their lives—would be important work."

A soft breeze ruffles the edges of the blanket, and you can’t help but smile at his answer. "That sounds perfect for you. I can already picture you as a great mentor."

The rest of your evening with Yeosang flies by in a blur of conversation and quiet moments spent enjoying the view. Before you know it, he's walking you back to the dormitories. He hesitates as you both stop outside the door to the girls' dorms, clearly lingering on something unsaid.

"I just want you to know," he starts, shifting nervously, "that regardless of what happens tomorrow at the Matching Ceremony, I had a lovely time tonight. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Before you can respond, he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your cheek. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You barely manage to mumble a “goodnight” back, still caught in the trance from the warmth of his lips against your skin. As you make your way up to your room, your heart feels light, and you can’t help but smile even wider when you notice the flowers he gave you earlier—now arranged beautifully in a vase on your nightstand.

But something else catches your eye—a small, glimmering box sitting on your bed, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. You walk over to it and find a note attached in handwriting you immediately recognize.

Not a game to me – W

Your breath hitches as you find the book you had been eyeing earlier—the one Wooyoung had distracted you from in Trahana’s shop—alongside the newest edition of The Book of Arcane Beasts. Tucked neatly between the pages are a few of the photographs from his secret room; the ones you had admired without realizing he noticed.

Your heart races as you hold the items in your hands, the meaning of his gesture sinking in. It’s not just a game. Whatever this is with Wooyoung, it’s something real. And now, you're more conflicted than ever.

Yeosang steps closer to the flames that surge in the iron vessel before him, casting flickering shadows across his face while he waits. If you look closely, shapes begin to form within the flames, dancing and twisting as though something is being forged in the heat. A sudden flare of sparks erupts from the fire—it's ready.

With a steady hand, he pulls an envelope from the fire. The edges of the paper are still smoldering while he opens it with precision, watching as the magic ink slowly manifests on the paper, revealing a name.

You notice a brief, almost imperceptible frown cross his face, but it vanishes just as quickly. “Polly Petrify,” he announces smoothly, his voice steady, betraying nothing as he steps back into place.

Father Blackmoor gives a solemn nod, signaling his approval of the pairing.

The Church is packed for the Matching Ceremony, and a mix of excitement and nervous energy ripples through the crowd. The warlocks stand in front of the filled pews, their postures rigid and unreadable, while the witches occupy the first two rows of seats, eyes flickering with anticipation.

You sit among them, your heart sinking as Yeosang’s name is paired with another witch. The knot in your chest tightens, but before you have time to register how you truly feel, Wooyoung steps forward.

It’s his turn.

Time stretches unbearably as his fingers hover over the glowing envelope that emerges from the flames. He grasps it carefully, tearing it open before pulling out the slip of paper, the suspense in the room thickening with every second.

At least a dozen witches sit in eager anticipation, each one hopeful, their eyes flicking toward the altar, silently praying that their name will be the one called.

You watch his face intently, almost holding your breath.

The moment he reads the name, a subtle smile curls at the corner of his lips, making him look effortlessly gorgeous. His inky black hair falls in perfect disarray, and the deep blue sweater he’s wearing brings out a distinctive glimmer in his eyes—it’s definitely his color.

As he steps back in line to let the next warlock take their turn, you realize that you completely missed whose name he just called. You’ve been too busy gawking to notice. Leaning toward the witch beside you, you whisper, “Whose name did he say?”

She shoots you a scowl and snaps, “Yours.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your gaze whips back up front. Wooyoung catches your eye and quickly winks, the gesture playful yet it’s enough to send a wave of heat rushing through you. Your pulse races and every nerve in your body is suddenly aware of his presence. The world around you fades for a second, the reality of the situation sinking in—he chose you.

It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Your chest tightens, and it’s taking every ounce of control not to claw at your neck in search of air. You can’t tell if your racing heart is a sign of excitement, fear, or a mixture of both.

The pairing results swirl through your mind as you try to process how you feel about Wooyoung having been paired with you. You know that the warlocks have some say in their pairing preference, but the decision is ultimately up to Father Blackmoor and The Dark Lord.

But there’s no time to dwell on it now—you have a performance to focus on. As the rest of the ceremony wraps up, the witches, including yourself, are expected to sing I Put A Spell On You.

You walk up to the front of the church with the other witches, your heart still hammering in your chest. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze searing into you from across the room, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You know that if you do, you’ll stumble over the lyrics or worse, completely forget your part.

With every note of the song, you force yourself to remain composed. Your voice blends with the others, the melody haunting, filling the ancient church with an enchanting resonance. The weight of his stare lingers, but you resist the pull until the very end. Only when the final note fades and you’re walking back to your seat do you glance his way. His eyes are still on you, but there’s something different about his expression now—intense, unreadable.

Father Blackmoor steps forward as the ceremony winds down, his voice ringing through the dimly lit room. “Remember, paired witches and warlocks are strictly forbidden from seeing each other until tomorrow evening when you’ll all meet in the Darkwood for the Moon Ritual. Ghoul evening to you all.”

The church stirs with hushed whispers and rustling bodies as everyone begins to disperse. But you remain in place for a moment, your mind tangled in the events that have unfolded. Tomorrow promises even more mystery, and the thought of it sends another shiver down your spine.

You follow the large group down the path toward the heart of the academy’s campus, their excited chatter buzzing in the crisp evening air. But as they veer toward the dining hall, you quietly part ways, taking steps in the opposite direction toward a different building.

The heavy wooden doors creak as you push them open, and the familiar scent of ancient tomes and aged parchment envelops you.

The sanctum, the private library for advanced students like yourself, is nearly deserted tonight, making it the perfect place to find peace in the aftermath of the ceremony. The usual hum of magic is calming and the near-silence offers a much-needed space to clear your mind.

You make your way to the Demonology section, where the dim light and towering shelves create a cocoon of solitude. Finding an empty seat, you settle in, snapping your fingers to summon your books. In an instant, they materialize on the table before you, pages full of dark knowledge waiting to be absorbed.

Despite it being Lupercalia season, the academic grind doesn’t stop. Your upcoming exams loom over you like a dark cloud, and no amount of supernatural matchmaking will change that.

You run your fingers over the spines of your books, mentally preparing yourself to dive into study mode. The familiar words of your Demonology texts are grounding, a reminder of the discipline and focus you need to maintain.

The sanctum is quiet tonight, only the soft sound of pages turning and the occasional whispered incantation breaking the silence. You try to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wooyoung—his voice, his gaze, the gift he left in your room. You shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside. There will be time for all that later. For now, you need to concentrate.

Time passes and after finishing a few chapters, you glance at your watch, eyes widening in surprise. Three hours have flown by. Blair is going to be furious that you’re late to feed her. Scribbling down a final note, you snap your fingers, sending your books back to your room before heading out of the sanctum.

As you step outside, you collide with someone. "Oh, I’m so sorry!" you stammer, glancing up to apologize, only to be met with familiar eyes twinkling beneath tousled black hair.

Wooyoung.

“You’re forgiven,” he says smoothly.

"We’re not supposed to see each other," you remind him, taking a cautious step back.

He tilts his head, smirking too, just like he always does. "I know, but you skipped dinner, and there’s something I’ve been dying to do since yesterday."

"What? Stalk me some more?" you quip, feeling a rare surge of confidence.

His smirk spreads into a full smile, and to your delight, he chuckles—a sound you’ve secretly grown to love. Your heart pounds faster.

"You wish," he shoots back, his eyes gleaming as he steps closer. The intensity in his gaze feels almost magnetic, as if he's looking right through you, straight into your soul. His nostrils flare with a sharp exhale, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as he takes yet another step closer.

He doesn't answer. Instead, with one smooth motion, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you toward him. His touch is firm, but there’s a softness to the way his fingers splay across your back. You feel your pulse quicken, your breath hitching in your throat.

“This is breaking the rules,” you whisper, trying to find an ounce of self-control to step out of his embrace.

His proximity overwhelms your senses—the warmth of his body, the way his breath tickles your skin, and the undeniable connection crackling between you two. He tilts his head slightly, the smirk on his lips fading into something more serious, more dangerous.

“I don’t break the rules, I just bend them,” he rasps, his voice low and teasing, right before he closes the space between you. The moment his lips brush against yours, you freeze, caught off guard by the softness, the tenderness as he coaxes you into responding. His mouth moves gently, skillfully, as if testing the waters, daring you to give in.

A frenzy stirs inside you, an electric current surging through your veins. Your hands instinctively move to frame his face, your fingers sliding along the sharp lines of his jaw before tangling in his soft, messy hair. The kiss deepens, the intensity building with every second as you press yourself closer to him, losing yourself in the heat of the moment.

You can’t get enough; the taste of him, the way his breath mingles with yours, and the undeniable pull that has your body responding before your mind can catch up. His other hand slides under your shirt and up your spine, anchoring you to him as if he never wants to let go.

Wooyoung mumbles an incantation against your lips before tickling the corners with his tongue. You’re too distracted to recall what he said, especially when you feel it.

Heat begins to radiate from his fingers, searing into your skin. It flows through your body until it hits your sweet spot, pooling dangerously between your legs.

You gasp against his mouth, and he uses the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, swallowing your moans as you let them slip out. Pressing your legs together, you try to find any sort of friction, aching for something to relieve the growing pressure.

A sinful sound vibrates from his chest when you bite down on his lower lip ever so gently. You have to admit, the thought of kissing him has crossed your mind more times than you can count. But now, standing here with the taste of him on your lips, you realize the reality is so much better than anything your imagination could have conjured.

He’s more intoxicating than any dream could ever be. Every touch sends a thrill through you that no fantasy could ever match. The way he knows exactly what you like leaves you yearning for more in a way that feels almost addictive.

Blair caws, cutting through the shadows of the night and announcing her arrival with impeccable timing. You both jolt, breaking apart as if the spell between you has been abruptly shattered.

“Ghoul evening, Blair,” Wooyoung mutters, his voice still thick with the lingering tension. He glances at the raven-like figure perched nearby, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. “It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” he adds, his tone teasing. He looks down at you, pleased with how dissolved your shirt looks, how pouty your wet lips are from your nefarious activities.

He takes a step back, quickly smoothing down his hair and adjusting his clothes, his fingers lingering at his collar as he regains his usual composure. You, on the other hand, are still catching your breath, feeling the flush in your cheeks and the electric hum of the moment that lingers in the space between you.

Give me a little privacy to say goodbye, and I’ll give you extra treats for your late dinner, you say telepathically to Blair. She tilts her head, considering the offer, before finally cawing in agreement and taking off into the night, clearly satisfied with the deal.

“I want you to try something tonight,” Wooyoung murmurs, his voice low and full of mischief. His eyes glint with something dark and thrilling, sending a shiver down your spine. “When you’re alone in bed and everyone else is asleep…”

Your heart races while he speaks.

“I want you to pretend that your hands are my own, and I want you to touch yourself where you felt my magic earlier.”

“E-excuse me?” you stammer, your heart racing as you try to find the right words.

He grins, leaning in just enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he teases, his voice like velvet. “I need you to warm yourself up for me, so you’re ready to learn more tomorrow night. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, a shiver running across your skin as his words linger in the air.

“Now, get out of here and go feed Blair before you wake up tomorrow missing your eyes,” he adds with a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Fine, see you later.”

“Yes, you will,” he says with a wink, watching as you turn to leave, his gaze heavy on you the entire way.

His words linger in your mind for the rest of the night.

It's now the witching hour, and your roommates are fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the potion you slipped into their bedtime tea. They never noticed the subtle, earthy undertones masking the spell’s effects, leaving them in a deep slumber for the next several hours.

It had to be done, the last thing you need is for one of them to wake and catch you in the act, especially while you're carrying out Wooyoung’s special request.

Under the safety of your blankets, you move quietly, as if any sudden movement could betray your secret. One hand begins to massage your breasts through your thin tank top, the other sliding down toward your pink panties.

Taking a deep breath, you open your legs, allowing your fingers to slip beneath the dampening fabric. After spreading your juices around, you rub your clit before slowly dipping your first finger into your slick entrance. The sensation is unfamiliar—neither bad nor uncomfortable, just something you're not used to. The pain of the stretch lingers, leaving a strange warmth that you can't quite place.

You close your eyes and pretend that Wooyoung is there with you. Swiftly, you begin to curl your fingers, simultaneously bucking into your hand. You picture him hovering over you, but the image clouds over, shifting into a different scene that becomes sharper.

Wooyoung is also in bed, with his hand wrapped around his exposed, thick cock, lazily pumping it. There’s something unsettlingly vivid about this image, as if it’s not just a product of your imagination. It feels real—too real. Gasping, you realize that he’s in your head, projecting himself, revealing his presence in a way that makes your heart race.

Then, as if he can sense that you've finally caught on to his wicked scheme, a dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, the kind that makes your body’s temperature spike. “Are you touching yourself, like I asked you to?”

You suck in a sharp breath and nod instinctively, even though you know he can’t physically see you. But somehow, you sense that he knows.

“I bet you are,” he hums, closing his eyes while running his thumb over his pink head. He tosses his head back as he strokes himself, “I bet that tight little virgin cunt of yours needs some good stretching before she’s ready for me.”

Feeling the heat rising to the tips of your ears, they’re red from the weight of his words, like they’re wrapping themselves around you, pulling you deeper into his influence. The knot in your lower belly grows as you match your little finger thrusts to the speed of his hand pumps.

“Add another finger, honey, I know you can,” Wooyoung groans, his hand moving a little faster. “Look at how my cock aches to be sunk inside your sweet folds.”

You do as he commands. You’re panting at this point; completely zeroed in on his throbbing length while you climb towards bliss. The silent room fills with a sinful pattern of squelches from each thrust into your lush heat, and a divine sensation washes over you.

“Goddess, I’m about to make a mess,” he whines, a sound that you’ll never be able to forget. He stills, letting out another beautiful noise while his seed shoots out across his abs, some even on his dark silk sheets.

“That’s just a preview,” he grins devilishly, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

"Many blessings," Father Blackmoor's voice rings out, reverberating through the towering trees of the Darkwood. "Tonight, we honor the Moon and her radiant beauty. Paired couples, please step forward to collect your basket."

You step forward cautiously, aware of Wooyoung’s presence close behind you. As your fingers brush the edge of the woven basket, Wooyoung’s arm reaches past you, his hand closing around it first. His body hovers briefly against yours, a faint smile curving his lips. Sucking in a sharp breath, you pull your hand back as your mind flashes back to last night, Wooyoung’s cock is still fresh in your mind.

"Each basket contains a ceremonial knife," Father Blackmoor continues, his tone solemn. "You will begin the rite by smearing your blood upon your partner's forehead. Then, you must drink the purification potion—the milky-colored vial—and consume the figs, symbolizing your unity. Under the moonlight, you will lie side by side until dawn, as a testament to your bond and in preparation for tomorrow’s Hunt."

His final words hang in the cool night air as the forest seems to hush in reverence for what’s to come. You glance up at Wooyoung, and his eyes are already on you, dark and unreadable, only reflecting the moonlight.

As the other couples start to spread out across the forest, Wooyoung’s hand finds yours, tugging you deeper into the woods. His steps are quiet, purposeful, as the towering trees close in around you both. Your attention snaps forward when you catch a glimpse of movement—there, not far ahead, the same fox-like creature you spotted by the willows. The realization dawns on you: it’s Wooyoung’s familiar.

The creature moves gracefully, leading the way through the underbrush, its magical fur shimmering under the pale moonlight. Wooyoung follows without hesitation, his gaze fixed on his familiar. You trail behind, curiosity building, as the creature guides you to a secluded clearing hidden deep in the Darkwood.

“Thank you, Vixen,” Wooyoung murmurs once you’ve arrived. The fox-like familiar halts briefly, then glimmers before fading into the air, leaving behind a trail of glowing embers that slowly dissipate into the night.

Your eyes scan the clearing, and you notice the scene in front of you—a circle of softly flickering candles arranged around a blanket spread across the forest floor. The air hums with quiet magic, thick with mystery and anticipation. Wooyoung turns to you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a mischievous yet unreadable expression crossing his face.

Wooyoung extends his hand to you, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you step onto the soft blanket. With a single snap of his fingers, your clothes transform—yours into a sheer white nightgown, his into simple black pants, with his chest left bare, the candlelight casting shadows over his defined muscles.

“Ready to begin?” he asks, voice low, eyes holding a flicker of something dangerous yet enticing.

You nod, your breath catching for a moment. Reaching into the basket set down beside him, your fingers curl around the cool metal of the ceremonial blade. Together, your voices join in a low, rhythmic chant, weaving through the night air. The ritual words hang heavy between you as you press the blade to your finger, feeling the sharp sting as blood wells up. Stepping closer, you bring your hand to his forehead, smearing an upside-down cross on his tanned skin, the blood vivid against his complexion.

Without a word, you hand the blade to Wooyoung, your fingers brushing his in the exchange. He mimics your actions, the cool sting of the knife barely registering as he pricks his finger, marking your forehead with the same crimson anti-cross. The flames around you leap higher, responding to the magic building in your chant.

The moonlight glistens against his skin, bathing him in an ethereal glow as he lifts the purification potion from the basket. He drinks deeply, eyes never leaving yours, and then hands the vial to you. You take it from him, your pulse quickening as you lift it to your lips, the magic binding you both growing stronger with each word, each action.

His eyes darken; trailing over your nearly naked body. They land on your peaked nipples, and he lets out a deep exhale while his eyes are glued in place.

“Um, figs,” Wooyoung clears his throat, momentarily dazed, shaking his head as if to regain focus. He grabs one from the basket, handing you the other. You sink your teeth into the fruit’s tender skin, its bright red flesh spilling a sweet, rich juice onto your lips. A single drop escapes and trails down your chin, and you catch Wooyoung watching, his gaze lingering longer than usual. But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

You quickly wipe away the juice, trying to ignore the flush creeping up your neck. “So… what now?” you ask, your voice more uncertain than you intended. You’ve both completed the ritual, but the tension between you is undeniable. Neither of you has acknowledged last night’s activities, though you’re certain it’ll come up eventually. It has to.

He shifts slightly, his eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to bring it up. His lips twitch into a half-smile, “I’ve got an idea or two.”

You’re not sure how it happened—one moment you’re standing, the next you’re lying beneath him. Wooyoung hovers above you, his arms on either side of your head, eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. His body is close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and your pulse quickens as his breath brushes against your skin.

Without notice, his lips crash down onto yours. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, moaning when your hands twist in his hair.

He presses his hips down into yours, letting you feel how worked up he’s already become.

“We're technically not supposed to do anything tonight,” Wooyoung says, his voice low and teasing once he pulls back. A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as he adds, “But a rule’s never stopped me before.”

You pull his head back down to yours, kissing him languishingly as he rolls his hips into yours again.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks, this time pressing his length right up against your covered heat.

Wooyoung’s lips curl into a devilish smile when you whine incoherently about wanting more.

“Answer me, honey. Do you want more?” He asks with a growl, but the intensity in his gaze makes it clear—he already knows the answer.

“Yes,” you beg, “More. Please!”

He grabs handfuls of the fabric at your sides, bunching it up around your waist before he descends below.

Your dewy center is covered in a heavy coating of your arousal. Spellbound by the sight, he instinctively brings his fingers to your heat, gathering some of your transparent essence and smearing it around your folds.

“Fucking hell, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Wooyoung mutters.

Incapable of waiting any longer, he dives in tongue first, licking a beautiful line from your slit’s opening up to your needy nub of nerves. Another growl resounds from his chest as he devours your sex, his cock involuntarily twitching when he sinks two fingers back to your opening. Wooyoung strokes his saturated fingers through your slit before sinking them inside your soft flesh, feeling your inner walls clench around them.

He pulls them out and admires how your hole instinctively sucks his digits back in where they belong.

“Such a tight little cunt. It’ll be ruined by tomorrow night,” Wooyoung groans; despite his words, there’s nothing but appraisal in his voice. He looks up at your body, meeting your eyes. His flash with a dark dominance, lust with a dash of something else flicker in them.

His devilish words only excite you further, and more of your sticky arousal coats his hand. Each curl of his fingers brings you closer and closer to writhing pleasure.

His head dips back down, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it between his teeth. Gasping, you buck your hips upward, needing more. So much more.

“I can’t wait to turn you into a nasty little whore. Would you like that?” he asks in between little licks.

“Y-yes” you mewl. “Wanna. Be your w-whore.”

He’s got you dancing along the edge of a very dangerous cliff, and you want nothing more than to jump off, face first, and dive into the waves of ecstasy that await.

He can tell that you’re close; your walls are beginning to tighten around him. Flattening his tongue against your sensitive nub, he applies the right amount of pressure you need to come all over his face.

When he sits up, his mouth is dribbling with your release; it’s a pretty sight to see.

“Not bad for a virgin,” he teases.

Your blissful smile turns coy, “Is it my turn to taste you? You’ll have to teach this virgin just how you like it.”

A deep, low growl vibrates in his chest and the corners of his jaw flex as he stands up, his silhouette outlined from the moonlight.

“On your knees then, slut.”

You twist your body until you’re sitting on your knees, your used cunt dripping onto the blanket below.

“Goddess, I’m so fucking hard for you,” Wooyoung grunts while pulling his pants down.

Freed from his pants, his cock springs out before bouncing momentarily, then stands erect in its full glory. You reflexively clench at the sight of him. It’s just as you remember it from last night.

Tightening his palm around his shaft, Wooyoung begins stroking himself before lining his tip up to your lips.

“Take just the head into your mouth,” he murmurs. “Just while you warm up to the feeling.”

You immediately wrap your mouth around him and a wave of precum leaks directly onto your tongue. Circling his thick tip, you get comfortable with the weight of him on your tongue, learning his taste.

“Such a good slut,” Wooyoung croons, causing your core to tremble from his praises.

One hand moves to hold your chin, angling your head to look up at him, “When you’re ready for more, take a deep breath and take in more of me.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you suckle on his head, letting more and more of him into your wet cave. You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, the tickling sensation causing him to jerk inside you.

Wooyoung tugs on your hair, softly at first, and then his fist wraps around the handful in his grasp. His impressive length fills your mouth, his immense girth cracking your jaw open with each gentle thrust.

Words of encouragement spill from his lips, giving you the confidence to suck in the final inch of his member.

Involuntarily, you gag around his cock when his thick head hits the back of your throat. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, falling soon after.

Without warning, his length surges into your throat and Wooyoung lets out a stream of colorful expletives as his release hits him. His hips jerk once more, and he tosses his head back underneath the moonlight.

You shudder, feeling his thick cum stick to the walls of your throat.

“Goddess,” he hums, “Sorry about that.” Wooyoung slips out of your mouth, admiring as you use the back of your hand, you wipe your soddened mouth.

“It’s okay. Now I know what to expect.”

Wooyoung pulls you into his embrace, and you both settle into the quiet rhythm of the night, staring up at the stars as they shimmer in the sky. His warmth surrounds you, grounding you amidst the cool breeze.

He shifts slightly, turning on the blanket to meet your gaze. “I need to warn you about tomorrow,” he begins, his voice lower, more serious. “The potion we warlocks take before the ceremony… it makes our animalistic instincts take over. It’s going to be rough. That’s why I’ve been preparing you, so to speak.”

A knot twists in your stomach at his words. You hadn’t realized the full extent of what tomorrow held, but now it makes sense. That’s why they call it the Hunt, you think, You’re basically their prey. The pieces finally click into place. His honesty, though jarring, makes you feel strangely grateful that he’s letting you in on something you weren’t aware of.

“I trust you,” you whisper softly. “You haven’t hurt me so far, so I’m not worried about tomorrow.”

Wooyoung’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He silently prays to Goddess Peralia that he won’t bring you any harm during the Hunt. The uncertainty flickers in his eyes for just a moment before he pulls you closer, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as you settle against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath your ear, and soon your breaths fall in sync, the sound of the wind rustling through the Darkwood easing you both into a peaceful silence.

As the stars twinkle above, the night’s calm surrounds you like a protective cocoon, lulling you into sleep. You drift into a deep, restful slumber, cocooned in his arms, feeling the peace before the inevitable storm of tomorrow.

“The Insatiable Hunt begins,” one of the warlocks grins darkly before tossing back the elixir, the liquid shimmering as it slides down his throat. Wooyoung raises his glass in silent agreement, his eyes flashing with excitement before he gulps it down, feeling the fiery potion race through his veins. The others follow suit, the room buzzing as they prepare for the night ahead.

They pull on their wolf masks, transforming from men into primal hunters, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat. The thrill of the chase hangs thick in the air as they line up, muscles tensed, waiting for the doors to open.

Wooyoung’s body hums with the effects of the potion, a burning heat spreading through his skin. His senses sharpen—your scent lingers, intoxicating and irresistible. His pupils dilate as your essence floods his nostrils, every fiber of his being urging him forward. The others grin beneath their masks, but his focus is single-minded: you.

The doors creak open with a loud thud, unleashing them into the night. With a guttural growl, Wooyoung sprints into the woods, his feet pounding the earth as he follows your trail, the scent drawing him deeper into the Darkwood. His heart races, blood pumping with one singular purpose: to find you. To claim his prize.

Wooyoung moves like a shadow, effortlessly twisting and turning through the woods, his heightened senses guiding him closer to your trail. Each subtle shift in the air tells him you're near. He slows as he approaches a dense thicket, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious. He can feel you hiding, watching, waiting.

His cock strains when he catches a whiff of your scent, his hardened member straining against the tightness of his pants as it begs to bury itself deep inside of you.

His eyes narrow, hyper-focused on the faintest rustle of leaves. You dart from the bushes, sprinting through the underbrush, your breath quickening as you distance yourself from him. He follows silently, his steps deliberately soundless as he stalks you.

You duck behind a tree, pressing your back against its trunk, heart pounding in your chest. Straining to listen, you hear... nothing. No footsteps, no rustling—nothing. A chill creeps up your spine. Slowly, you peek around the tree, scanning the shadows. There’s no sign of him.

Relief barely has time to settle in before you turn back and scream.

He’s right there, inches away.

"Gotcha," Wooyoung growls, his voice low and menacing, his breath hot against your skin. With a wicked grin, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze as he slams your back against the rough bark of the tree. The impact sends a jolt through your body, your heart racing even faster now. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

His eyes glint through the wolf mask with a dangerous mix of hunger and satisfaction, the thrill of the Hunt evident in every line of his expression.

Wooyoung's grip tightens, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, “I can’t wait to split you in half with my cock.”

Before you can react, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the rough bark of the tree. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as his hands slide down your sides, firm and unyielding.

He blames his newfound animalistic behavior for how fast he rips away your crimson cloak and the layers beneath it, leaving the shredded fabric scattered across the mossy forest floor.

In one swift movement, Wooyoung uses a knee to spread your legs and sinks into your inviting opening without warning. Tears sting your eyes from the sudden intrusion, but the pain quickly turns into mind-shattering pleasure.

“Taking it so well, aren’t you, slut?” he purrs, voice low and dripping with praise. The raw, commanding edge in his tone sends shivers through you, your insides tightening around him in response.

You hum an incoherent response, unable to form words when his cockhead is pressed against the swell of your cervix.

After ripping his mask off, Wooyoung’s fingers press into your hips. He holds you steady as he moves, each thrust punctuated by dark whispers of just how perfectly he fits inside you.

Wooyoung’s grin brushes against your neck as he drags his tongue up the curve of your skin, leaving a lingering lick before pressing a kiss just below your ear. His hips pull back slowly, his length retreating from your slick folds until only the tip remains, teasing you.

Then, with a low growl, he thrusts forward, filling you entirely in one fluid motion, claiming every inch as he sinks deep inside.

The sudden motion causes you to moan uncontrollably, his girth continuing to stretch out your soft walls. Your soaked cunt splitting open around Wooyoung’s enormous girth only causes him to swell more, if that’s even possible.

“M-more, please!” you whimper.

Wooyoung clenches his jaw, feeling your wetness ooze out where your bodies meet with each quick thrust.

One of his hands squeezes your side, the other falls to your round ass, and his claw-like nails scratch across your skin before he pulls his hand back to spank you. Your vision blurs from the impact, and you push your hips out, asking for more.

“Again,” you whine, your head digging further into the tree’s bark.

You bite down on your lower lip, anticipation building as you brace yourself. A sharp crack echoes through the air as his hand comes down against you, harder this time and sending another sting that radiates through your skin.

A moan slips past your lips, the sharpness transforming into pleasure that courses through your body. His fingers trace the spot he’s just marked, his low chuckle rumbling against your ear.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice rich with approval, each word sending shivers through you. “Turn around. I want to look at you," he demands next, his voice gritting through his teeth.

You obey, slowly turning to face him, your heart racing under his intense gaze. His eyes roam over you, filled with a mix of hunger and admiration that makes you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Wooyoung cups your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips as he drinks you in. "Look at you," he whispers, almost to himself, his thumb slipping inside your mouth. Instinctively, you wrap your lips around it, meeting his gaze as you lightly suck, earning a dark smile from him.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his free hand tracing down your body, grazing every curve and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "And you're all mine tonight." His words trail off as his length pounds into you again.

He watches as your lips part, head tilting back in pure bliss, and takes his chance. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue slipping between your lips with a raw desire, claiming every inch he can reach. The kiss is deep and possessive, leaving you breathless as his hand tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

His tongue strokes against yours, tasting every gasp and moan you release, as if he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath him. You melt into his kiss, losing yourself in the heat, the way he consumes you with each movement.

When he pulls back, Wooyoung drags his lips against the shell of your ear to whisper, “Is this what you want? Your little virgin cunt destroyed?”

“Yes,” you moan, voice low and thick with desire. Then, locking eyes with him, you let a wicked smirk curve your lips, meeting his heated gaze with a look as dangerous as his own. "Ruin me," you breathe, each word dripping with a challenge that sends a spark down his spine.

A growl escapes his lips, and his grip on you tightens. He pushes you against the rough bark, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as his eyes darken with pure, animalistic hunger. “You want to be ruined?” he whispers, his voice a low rasp against your ear as he pulls your hips even closer. “Careful what you ask for.”

His thrusts come harder, relentless, each one leaving you trembling and gasping as he takes you to the edge, only to pull you back before you can fall. His hand slides up your throat, a possessive touch that’s somehow both gentle and commanding as his thumb grazes your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You’re mine," he growls, eyes blazing, his body pressed against yours with no space left between you. He savors every inch of you, watching your face intently as he ravages you with a merciless rhythm, his fingers digging into your waist. “And I’m not stopping until you’re completely undone.”

Your moans grow louder, filling the night air and mingling with the rhythmic slap of your bodies moving in unison. The sounds echo through the Darkwood, a primal symphony that seems to resonate with the forest around you, intensifying with each frenzied thrust.

Wooyoung feels your walls clench tightly around him, a signal that you’re close to unraveling. “Cum around my cock, honey,” he rasps, his voice laced with possessiveness. “I know you’re close.”

He quickens his pace, pounding into you with a newfound urgency, while his fingers find their way to that sensitive spot between your legs. The moment his thumb and forefinger pinch your aching nub, pleasure spirals through you like wildfire.

You scream his name, your body seizing up as waves of ecstasy crash over you, each pulse flooding your veins with tingling heat.

He watches you intently, captivated as your face twists in bliss, feeling you squeeze around him, almost pulling him over the edge.

A low growl escapes his lips, and with two final, frenzied thrusts, he buries himself as deeply as he can, his abs contracting as he spills himself inside you. His teeth graze your bare shoulder, biting down as he rides out his release, filling you with a heat that leaves you both breathless.

“Oh, praise Satan,” he gasps, letting out a shaky laugh as he presses his forehead against yours. The two of you catch your breath together, heartbeats slowing, tangled in the afterglow.

You collapse entirely into his arms, utterly spent and trembling, every muscle deliciously exhausted as you sink into the darkness of sleep that lingers at the edge of your consciousness. A grin tugs at your lips, satisfaction mingling with exhaustion as you surrender to it, the night’s events replaying like a forbidden lullaby.

Nothing in your dreams could ever compare to the raw, disgraceful, dangerously addictive reality you’ve just experienced. Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you let go, falling into a slumber filled with echoes of his touch.

The room is loud with the sound of laughter, clinking goblets, and whispered gossip. Candles cast a warm glow over the grand hall as platters of food float between the seated bodies; you're barely listening though, too hyper-aware of Wooyoung sitting beside you.

You steal a glance at him from across the table. He’s watching you, his gaze steady and unwavering. A secret smirk plays at the corner of his lips, one that makes your cheeks burn under the soft glow of the chandeliers. It’s almost unbearable, this tension simmering between you, each stolen look as dangerous as a spark near dry wood.

His fingertips graze yours under the table, sending a rush through you each time. You both know the game you’re playing—pushing boundaries, daring each other, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Finally, he leans in, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Let’s get out of here.”

"We can’t just leave," you mumble, finally meeting his burning gaze. There's a warning in your eyes, but he ignores it, his grin only growing.

You bite your lip, glancing around at the oblivious faces around you. "It’s the middle of the feast," you continue, though your resolve is already faltering. "People will notice."

"Let them," he says, the mischief in his tone unmistakable.

He stands and takes your hand, his grip both gentle and possessive as he leads you out, weaving through the tables with a confidence that dares anyone to question him.

Whispers and side glances follow, and you try to ignore the burning stares—hungry warlocks with dark eyes, envious witches with guarded whispers.

Everything has changed.

Wooyoung’s presence grounds you, his thumb brushing reassuring circles against your skin. And when he glances back at you, tilting his head in that familiar way with a smirk tugging at his lips, you realize that somehow—despite all the chaos of this past week—some things aren’t so different after all.

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[grandline-fics]

Hi there! I hope u are doing well, can I request a strawhats crew reaction to a reader who can see ghosts or souls? It can be like their devil fruit power or just something that they're born with. It can be a short fic with all the strawhats or if it's too much it can just be the monster trio, i don't mind either way, do what you prefer! Thanks for letting me request!

DESCRIPTION:  You can see ghosts and spirits

WARNINGS: don’t think it’s too angsty but does mention dead characters. Luffy's is set just before a canon event.

CHARACTERS: Sanji, Zoro, Luffy

WORDS: 1,672

A/N:  Thank you for this request. For some reason I struggled a lot with how I wanted this to go and I hope you're happy with this outcome.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

You didn’t really know the rhyme or reason for your gift. It was just always something you had and having grown up being able to see and speak with spirits you’d never felt the need to investigate it. Besides even if you were to learn the reason for your unique talent, it wasn’t like you were ever going to seek out a way to get rid of it. As far as you were concerned it was a part of you and it brought comfort to a lot of people once they got over their shock and in some cases heavy skepticism that you were playing a cruel prank on them. 

When you first set foot on the Thousand Sunny you had to suppress the shiver that ran up your spine as you were hit with an intense feeling that those on the crew were connected to a lost one and the weight of their grief was still heavy on their shoulders even if they didn’t realise it themselves. So you decided to keep your ability to yourself for now and help when the occasion to do so arose. As you set yourself up in your quarters you smiled softly, seeing that you truly were brought onto the crew for a reason. Idly you wondered who in the crew would be the first you would help.

SANJI

Sanji turned out to be the first. You entered the kitchen and smiled in greeting to the ship’s cook only your gaze to drift behind his shoulder. Your smile fell slightly and you stepped further into the room, peering at Sanji with intent concern. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking the chef by surprise as his own smile faltered. 

“Nothing, now that you’re here.” He insisted, adopting his charming smile once more  but you firmly shook your head, refusing to be convinced by his outward demeanour. Sanji became nervous and let his gaze fall away from you stare, finding it easier to maintain his pretence. Quickly he turned back to his chopping board and continued to prepare food for the evening meal. “What on earth would make you think something was wrong?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Your mother only ever shows this clearly when you’re deeply upset about something.” Your voice was soft but it was enough to make Sanji drop his knife against the block with a dull thud. He felt like laughing at the ludicrous statement at the same time he felt like shouting at you for the weird joke. Yet he couldn’t do either. You didn’t know anything about him or his family and he knew it wasn’t in you to say something so heartless. Thankfully he didn’t need to demand you explain yourself because you proved your honesty immediately. “You have her eyes and smile, kind and comforting. She worries when you get like this, hiding how you truly feel.”

Sanji looked over his shoulder to see you smiling fondly at something or rather someone beside him. Desperately he wished he could see what you saw, to see her again but if this was as close as he could get then he would take it a hundred times over. “I don’t want anyone to worry, least of all her.” 

“Sanji we all have bad days and hiding that from the people we care about isn’t the way to do it.” You told him, finally looking at his face again, reaching out to lightly push some of the hair from his eyes. “We have emotions for a reason and no-one expects you to suppress them. I’m always here to listen, okay?” You weren’t surprised to be brought into a tight hug by Sanji and returned the embrace, letting him hold you for as long as he needed.

ZORO

It took some time for you to finally see the spirit attached to Zoro’s heart with enough clarity to take in her appearance and hear her. It didn’t surprise you that this one took longer, Zoro’s personality never came across as being someone who clung to the past and let it cloud his vision but on a day like this it was clear even Zoro wasn’t invulnerable to the deepest of connections that you could now see had been cut far too soon. 

You’d wandered up to the Crow’s Nest to both take a break from the chaotic noise of Luffy, Franky, Chopper and Usopp and also settle in for your evening watch. This wasn’t anything new so Zoro only gave you a brief glance in greeting before going back to training against one of the reinforced training dummies Franky had made to withstand his attacks enough for a worthwhile practice. However he wasn’t moving the way he wanted, something was wrong with his movements. “You’re forgetting the fundamentals.” 

Your voice came from the seating and Zoro looked over his shoulder to see you were casually leaning against the edge, looking out at the ocean. He cocked his head to the side and arched an eyebrow at you. You weren’t even watching him, how would you know what he was apparently doing wrong? As if feeling his stare, you turned your head to look at him. “You’re getting too stuck in your head, just take a breath and keep it simple.” 

Zoro had to scoff at the advice. Yes, you were a fighter but not a swordsman so to be told what was wrong stung his ego slightly. It’d be like if he tried to tell Franky how to fix the ship. You seemed to read the offence on his face and it surprised him to see you laugh and hold up your hands lightly in defence. “That’s not coming from me, it’s coming from Kuina.”

Kuina? Now Zoro found himself glaring and tensing out of a fear of his private life being pried into. Where had you heard that name? Who told you about her? Not that he confided in many about his childhood friend. You sighed sadly and got to your feet. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen this kind of reaction and it wasn’t surprising that Zoro fell back onto the defensive and become distrustful. You stopped in front of the swordsman and glanced briefly at the spirit at his side.

“She’s happy to see you’ve come so far but your name hasn’t quite reached the heavens yet. You still have a long way to go and she believes in you.” You smiled and lightly punched Zoro’s arm when you saw the belief and shock appear in his no longer skeptical gaze. “Keep getting stronger but don’t forget her father’s teachings okay?”

“I won’t let her down. I made a promise.” Zoro affirmed strongly and you grinned, turning to go back to your seat when he quickly caught your arm, surprising you. You turned and looked at him questioningly. “If she’s still here do you…do you think you can help me speak to her?” 

LUFFY

It wasn’t much of a surprise to you that Luffy was the one to seek you out. He’d caught some talk from the crew about the things you just seemed to know things about their past or about someone they knew that had passed away. His suspicions were confirmed when you’d all stopped on an island for supplies and you’d helped a grieving family in a way no-one else could. You’d managed to ease their pain and reassure them that their loved one was still with them and had no regrets. When you were back on the Sunny he appeared beside you on the railings, grinning widely and already bouncing with excitement. “You see ghosts right?”

“Yeah, I see them. Not at will though.” You clarified, with Luffy being well Luffy you didn’t want to disappoint him by making him think that what you could was as easily controlled as a Devil Fruit ability which this was not. Still though your statement didn’t deflate him, if anything he only got more excited and he leaned in closer and set his hands on your shoulders. 

“What about me? Is someone with me?” Despite how excited he was you could sense a faint desperation coming from Luffy and you wanted to be able to help but as you’d already told him this wasn’t something that you could manipulate and command freely whenever you wanted. You looked at Luffy carefully and then around him in search of a presence connected to him. Suddenly you felt a warmth and made out the outline of a man standing behind your Captain and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ace.” You felt like you were saying it in greeting. You’d known about Luffy’s brother but never had the pleasure of actually getting to meet him. It was almost eerie how both Luffy and Ace grinned so happily and in sync but it was also so infectious. Luffy seemed pleased but then seemed to be eager for more. 

“Is it just Ace? Is anyone else with him? Maybe younger?” He asked and you slowly shook your head with a small frown. 

“Sorry Luffy, just Ace.” You said, disappointed that you couldn’t give Luffy what he wanted and seeing him sigh slightly and lower his gaze briefly made you feel guilty even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. Still though you couldn’t help but look to Ace, silently pleading for assistance on his part. However the brother only smirked knowingly and you began to suspect that Ace knew something you and Luffy didn’t. Thankfully that was all you needed to cheer Luffy up. “Just because I don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not with you though Luffy. Maybe next time whoever it is you’re thinking about will be there instead?” 

“Yeah you’re right!” Luffy grinned while leaping up onto the railing, his previous excited energy returning instantly. Before you could speak any more, Law’s voice called for Luffy wanting to go over the plan for when you all would be reaching Dressrosa in just a couple days time. 

[witch-of-snow-and-stars]

How to Make a Charm Necklace Magic-Style

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩‧⁺⋆⁺‧₊☽✧☾₊‧⁺⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

So in a recent post I talked about having a set of charms that I wear whenever I leave the house. I thought it might be a fun tutorial to detail how someone could make a similar thing for themselves! The post is a long one, so the rest of the guide is under the cut!

Step 1: Lay out all of your perspective charms and see what speaks to you and what you might want to put together. When you're choosing pieces, try to think of your goal and intent while you're putting your charms together (i.e. mine is for general day-to-day so I mostly focus the charms around safety, ease of way, and good fortune. Tailor yours to what you need). You don't have to make a necklace, just make sure that whatever you're attaching your charms to and the jump ring(s) connecting everything are sturdy enough to hold the charms' weight.

I have a 'main' components and 'auxiliary' components with the main components being the anchor points and foundation of what I'm working towards (i.e. I have my locket with sigils and my key charms as main components and I'll switch out the other parts as desired). Listed below are some ideas for options that you can combine, but use whatever feels best to you:

Lockets- I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that a locket is part of your configuration. You can fit a slip of paper with spells/sigils written on it AND if it's a scent locket you can add a bit of fabric with a perfume oil or a spell oil that would be safe to wear (check the spell oil ingredients if you're going to use a spell oil).

Bottle/Vial Charm Pendants- these are really good for wearable spell jars (you'd just have to careful about breaking them). You can buy pre-made bottle spell charms (there are a lot of options available) OR you can buy a vial pendant and do a working of your own choosing depending on your preferences/needs (there are also many options for empty vial charms you can buy). You could also keep spell powders/dusts in a vial charm (also usable for on-the-go workings).

Crystal Pendants- If you are someone who utilizes crystals in your practice, having some complementary crystals or crystals that you tend to favor can really add a kick.

Religious pendants/charms- Pentacles/crosses/saint pendants/deity pendants/etc. are all good options for this sort of configuration if they're something that features in your practice or you have a specific figure you want to invoke.

Symbol/Icon charms- similarly to the option above, charms that have animals/flowers/symbols/ whatever else you may want to invoke the properties/help of can be a good addition as well

Bells- bells have traditionally been used in different cultures for sound cleansing and to ward off negative spirits/entities. If that's something you might want (and are ok with making some noise) adding a bell might be a nice touch.

Keys- keys are useful magically for unblocking roads, gaining access, and invoking magic/energy relating to crossroads. Keys/key charms can be pretty easy to get too, so it might be worth trying to have one in your configuration.

Other meaningful charms: as it says on the tin, if it's important to you or you want to keep it on you, try it out in your configuration see if it will work well with it. In the picture above of my own pendant collection alongside more standard pieces there's an antique pen knife that can be worn as a pendant. Put whatever you want on these configurations is my point.

Tip! Some pendants like the pendant on the right have a paste/textured back that you can write on. If that's something you'd want to do, aim for something that looks like the pendant on the right. It's a solid way to hide sigil magic in your jewelry.

Step 2: Prepare the individual charms that you're going to be putting together. Clean/cleanse* everything appropriately (use mundane and magical methods), get sigils written out, anoint anything that you want to anoint, charge/enchant anything that needs it- whatever workings you need to do to the individual components of your charm necklace, do them now.

*If you're using metal pieces (especially if they're old/antique) there's a decent chance you may need to clean those pieces periodically with a metal cleaner/polish. When you clean the metal, do maintenance work for the rest of the configuration by charging/re-enchanting the other charms.

Step 3: Put your charms together and test out your configuration. Sometimes things won't work together as well together or a different component will work better in your configuration.

Ending Notes & Tips

If you put something like this on an object, make sure you focus on how you need/want to effect the object. Like, I have another variation of this on a chain on my bag, and that working is more focused on security and being unobtrusive more than anything else.

Generally I would consider how fragile your individual charms/items are and how likely breakages are to occur. You don't want to be scattering any broken glass/sharp bits and you definitely don't want to cut yourself on anything in the event of any broken charms.

Other considerations should be if individual parts are safe to wear. As previously mentioned, select for spell oils that are safe to wear and for crystal pendants that won't interact with water/skin oils/body products (i.e. selenite melts in water and pyrite will create sulfuric acid when exposed to water). Basically make sure that having this on your skin isn't going to cause any problems for you.

It can be a a good idea to change up individual charms in your configuration to tweak things to your daily needs. Using my usual configuration as an example, I'll switch out my crystal pendants or other charms if I have specific needs/events for a day (like maybe if I'm traveling I'd add more protection/safe travel oriented charms or if I had a date on I'd choose one of my love/attraction charms).

I hope this gave you some ideas for your own practice, thanks for reading💜

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩‧⁺⋆⁺‧₊☽✧☾₊‧⁺⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[stellamancer]

flips and shit (katsuki bakugou + reader)

notes: more stuff inspired by things that happen in my kitchen. name me me attempting to flip scallion pancakes. it's been a while since i had one of these actually. part of the kitchen adventures series. mostly unedited.

wc: 1k

contains: gn!reader, pro-hero bkg (not actually mentioned) neighbor au.

You have never asked Bakugou to teach you anything before. 

Mostly because there’s never really been anything you’ve actually wanted to learn. Despite his griping, you think you're honestly a pretty decent cook. Sure, you may prefer taking convenient shortcuts over doing things the proper way, but it's not like it's the worst thing in the world. Still, Bakugou’s taken it upon himself to teach you in order to prevent you from committing what he considers to be kitchen atrocities. Admittedly, your knife skills have improved and you don’t hear your fire alarm going off as often (which you suspect is more due to Bakugou changing the whole thing himself in a fit when it dared to screech as he was broiling some fish during one lesson), but there are some things, like your instant miso soup, that Katsuki Bakugou can pry out of your cold dead hands. 

“Hah?” Bakugou whips his head around to face you, his expression twisted into his own special brand of confusion, eyes narrowed in an aggressive form of bewilderment. 

“Can you teach me how to flip things in a frying pan?” you repeat slowly.

His mouth twists, “Why? Usin’ a spatula not good enough for you?”

“It's not that,” you say. Bakugou shoots you an expectant look and you clear your throat as you elaborate. “It just looks cool is all.”

 “Y’got bigger things to worry about than lookin’ cool in the kitchen. Why’re y’worrying about that kinda crap anyway? Got someone to impress?” 

Grumbling, you say “Not really, but since you mention it, it would be nice if I were able to impress my smartass neighbor even just once.”

Bakugou snorts. “Maybe y’d impress me if you finally threw away those damn instant soup packets! I taught you how to make it yourself! Why do you still have them?”

You roll your eyes. What about cold dead hands does he not understand? You try to get the subject back on track. “Are you teaching me or not?”

He stares at you for a minute before shuffling past you into the kitchen proper. “Fine. Even an idiot like you should be able to do this much.” 

Feeling smug, despite his insult, you follow after him, watching as he pulls out your frying pan from a cabinet. He’s come over enough that he’s familiar with the layout of your kitchen, no longer needing to ask you where you keep this or that. It’s nice in a way, though you’re not entirely sure why. That said, you can’t help but be confused when he grabs one of your kitchen sponges and tosses it in the pan. Is he—

“Bakugou, I’ve got some frozen scall—”

“We’re using this first!” he barks at you. “No point in risking you flipping perfectly good food onto the kitchen floor!” 

You wince. It wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve tried flipping things before and the worst that’s happened is that the pancake flipped over on itself. 

Bakugou moves over to the stovetop, his arms gripping the frying pan’s handle. You stare at his arm— he’s in a black t-shirt today. The sleeves are loose, but you can see the defined shape of his arm muscles, from the near scandalous peek of his biceps down to the taut lines of his forearms. Maybe you’re staring a little too much, though, because you don’t quite catch what he says as he flicks his wrist. 

“What was that?” you ask. You could try to wing it and guess what his instructions were based on observation alone, but if you get it absolutely wrong he’ll scold you.

Though, since it’s Bakugou, he’s going to scold you either way. “Are you even listening?”

Now you are. “Yeah?” 

He eyes you suspiciously, but doesn’t mention if he noticed you oogling his arms. “So all you gotta do is just flick your wrist, but y’gotta do it like you’re shoveling dirt or some shit.” He does the motion a few times to show you, and you think you get it. It’s kind of like a flick and scoop. Watching him do it makes it seem easy, but you’ve learned that Bakugou makes a lot of things look effortless. 

He flips the sponge a few times before handing you the frying pan. The handle is still warm. Gruffly, he says, “Now you try.”

“Okay.” You try to mimic his motion, and the sponge goes up… but just falls back onto the pan without flipping over. 

“Weak,” Bakugou scoffs and you scowl at him, but he ignores you as he continues. “Try again, idiot, but put more force into it.” 

“Okay…” You do as he says and the sponge flies higher… before flopping onto the floor. Too much force.

“Not everything’s gonna weigh the same,” Bakugou says. “Y’gonna have to judge how much force to use for yourself.”

Right. You reach down and grab the sponge to put it back in the pan. It’s pretty light. You flick your wrist a couple times, not so much to flip but to get a feel of how much force you’ll need to flip it. When you think you’ve got an idea, you move your wrist and swoop your arm a little, sending the sponge up. It flips over and while it does catch the edge of the pan it still manages to land in it.

Grinning widely, you turn to Bakugou. “Look! I did it!” 

“Barely,” he says and while his mouth is curved down in a frown, there’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes it look like he’s trying to fight off a smile.. “Do it again! Make sure the flip is perfect this time!”

“Okay!” You try again and after a couple times you manage to flip the sponge perfectly. When you look at Bakugou for approval, he gives you the ghost of a smirk back, this time looking almost legitimately pleased.

But it only lasts for a moment before he switches out the sponge for a slightly heavier package of instant ramen. 

“Time for the next level, nerd,” he says, his eyes glinting dangerously. “We’re not stopping til every flip is perfect!” 

[rory-cakes]

A Buck and A Canary

What was she doing here?

Why was she smiling at him like nothing happened?

He left their child alone!

He let her die!

He lied to her!

It has been one week since the battle at the Habin Hotel. They were starting to finish the reconstruction of the hotel when something strange happened. An angel appeared. 

“Hello! My name is Y/n Altruist, and the higher-ups of heaven have sent me to oversee the progress of the hotel!” 

“THEY CHANGED THEIR MINDS!?” Charlie was practically vibrating with joy. 

“Why?” Vaggie asked skeptically. 

“Well, unlike before, we have proof that your hotel works! A certain serpent has shown up in heaven!”

“Sir Penitouse is alive!” everyone was filled with overwhelming joy. 

“Also”

Y/n bowed in respect. 

“I deeply apologize for the exterminations. They were never supposed to happen. Sera and Adam were working alone in that sense.” 

Charlie grabbed her hand and helped her back up. 

“So really, no one knew? How is that possible?”

“The seven virtues are the only defense against evil on Earth so they have their hands full with that, I’m afraid. I was at the meeting and I brought up the issue as soon as I could!”

“Why do you care so much about what happens to us? No offense, we’re really grateful you did what you did! But why?”

“Well, I'm afraid my answer is a little selfish. My husband is down here. He wasn’t a good man but he was a good husband and he would have been a good father hadn’t he died.”

How did an angel like her end up with someone down here?

Wait-

An angel like her?

“Im sorry, but what is your husband’s na-”

“Birdy?”

“Alastor?”

Alastor sat uncomfortably on the plush couch in his room. Y/n sat equally as uncomfortable in a chair of a similar design. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. 

Alastor avoided making eye contact with his wife. I mean she had to know who he truly was at this point. How could she not?

“Alastor.”

She breaks the silence. 

“I’ve missed you dearly, my darling.”

Why was she smiling?

“I know what you did, and while I can’t say I’m pleased, that doesn’t change the fact that you are my husband.”

What?

“You cherished and loved me for so many years. You took care of me and Eudora. You loved me with everything you had.”

This isn’t right.

“So, if you haven’t stopped loving me in the time we’ve been apart,”

No

“I’d like to be your wife still.”

Alastor finally looked at his ethereal wife. She was so good. She shouldn’t be corrupted by his darkness. 

“I left her alone.”

“So did I.”

Y/n smiled at the man in front of her. This was her Alastor. This was the man she fell in love with. Sure, there were blazing red flags and she should probably be running for the hills. However, she can’t deny the urge to be with him. 

“I’ve been watching over her.”

“You have? How is she?”

“She’s lived a long life. She’s been married to her wife for about 40 years now. She adopted three kids and has a bunch of grandkids. She had her own radio show, Al!”

“She did?”

“She did.”

Y/n moves to sit beside him and grabs his hand with both of hers. Alastor finally pulls her closer,

“You deserve so much more than I am. I cursed you in life I can’t let you get hurt again.”

“You are all that I want, and if I get cursed because of it, that will have been my decision.”

She places her hand on his face, and he leans into it. 

“My darling Alastor, there is nothing you can do for me to stop loving you.”

“Alright, Birdy, I’ll have you for as long as you wish to stay.”

And so the Buck was reunited with his Canary.  

A/N: Hi! I hope you liked the last part of Alastor's Birdy! If you have scenarios you would like me to write with this au, just send me an ask and ill get to it as soon as I can!

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[lunarw0rks]

Too Old For You // Part Two

Summary: You've been crushing on him for a while now, even going as far as taking a stab for him. But it isn't enough for him to notice you; you're too young, too nice for someone like him.

Warning(s): explicit content (18+), strong language, age gap [reader is early twenties, ghost is mid/late thirties], mild injury/blood, sexual harassment, hurt/comfort, smut, oral sex, face sitting, p in v sex, unsafe sex, oral fixation, medic!reader, fem!reader

Word Count: 5.5k ˖⁺‧₊˚ A/N: This took FOREVER, but I think it's worth it. Not Proofread! ₊‧⁺˖

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX | AO3 VER | PART ONE .ˎˊ˗

To be honest, you were making your best effort to forget about yesterday. Sure, it was a loss of your dignity to be rejected — but you hadn’t done anything truly wrong. What could he do to publicly embarrass you? Tell everyone he walked out on the person who took a knife wound for him? What a prick he would be, then.

Plus, Simon was never the type to air out his dramas. Especially involving you, who deserved to move on and find someone better. If only it were that simple.

There was little time to dwell — a trauma was coming in.

The second you were focused on a patient; any other life problem was pushed to the back burner. After the other day, that was a blessing. Sure enough, seconds after you got the comm, the infirmary doors swung open. It was a typical sight; the wounded soldier fighting the aid of the medics, on the verge of being sedated to ensure his care was given without mistake. You sterilized your hands briefly, finding the nearest box of disposable gloves and slipping them on. Whatever happened to the man, it sounded agonizing.

However, the grunting and complaining sounded familiar, too familiar. It was Simon.

That sentiment about forgetting about your problems when tending to a patient? It vanished at the speed of light when you peeled back the curtain, seeing that it indeed was him bleeding out on the table. He didn’t want the help, but he needed it.

Maybe he really didn’t want to see you — to the level of finding hemorrhaging more preferable than letting you tend to him, let alone speak to him. Though, it seemed more likely he could not show weakness, even when he had a bullet in him.

You peeled back the privacy curtain, greeted with a well-acquainted scowl of distaste. He didn’t want you here, to see him like this. Unlike him, you could separate personal feelings from your work. Simon should know how to do that by now, but it’s clear he doesn’t.

“You need to relax and let me help you.” He rejected you — doesn’t mean you’re going to take pleasure in watching him writhe. It was your sworn duty to treat everyone, unfortunately.

Simon wanted to argue. It was obvious with the way the fabric of his mask moved, failing to conceal the clench of his jaw. You sat across from him, wheeling one of the trauma case carts beside you, “I need you to relax.” His heavy breaths weren’t from pain, he was cursing himself for catching a bullet and ending up here. He was more enraged at himself for forcing you into tending to him. He was the last person you wanted to see right now… right?

Oh, how he despised being vulnerable, even when there was no other way. With a sigh, he removed the hand putting pressure on his shoulder. He was extremely fortunate — it had missed his arteries, and from what you could see, had an exit wound.

By the time you had your eyes on the hole, you had inserted a local anesthetic to keep the area numb. Strangely enough, Ghost flinched more when you leaned in to inject the needle than when you touched the tender area. He recoiled but wasn’t going to decline medicated relief.

“Can you feel that?” You asked, pressing the pad of your gloved fingers to the outer edge of the wound. It seemed that even if he did, you wouldn’t have gotten an answer. With a shake of your head, you merely began the routine of disinfecting the wound to start. Though you were careful, you wanted this ordeal to be over.

Once you moved on from dabbing at it with swabs, you met his gaze again, finally reciprocating the stare that hadn’t broken. “You’ll be fine.” You said, moving with haste as you got a suture kit ready. Any other day, the stare would send chills up your spine. Not today.

“Not why I was looking,” Simon grumbled, now instead watching the needle thread through his flesh. You didn’t even try to hide your eye roll at the sudden mood change. It wasn’t endearing anymore; it was irksome. Your sutures were about halfway done on the entrance wound, and you couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

The med bay went silent again, except for the occasional hiss from his clothed lips, or the creaking on the stool you were sitting on. The area around the wound was pinkish and inflamed, but not a tear, luckily. If he took his antibiotics, you wouldn’t have to see him much after this. You eventually found yourself behind him to examine the exit wound, a rinse and repeat of disinfecting and then stitching.

Only, this time, the infirmary wasn’t silent for long.

His words came after the last stitch when you placed a bandage over the now-healing wound, “look, ‘m sorry for yesterday, alright?”

Simon watched your scowl intently. It wasn’t one of distaste, not even irritation — it was loathing for yourself. You didn’t deserve to feel that way, especially at his expense. But no apologizing would make the initial sting of rejection go away. You weren’t a child, nor were you a fool; you wouldn’t have pursued him if you weren’t sure of what you wanted.

With a small ‘hm’ in response, you finished the last of his dressings, ripping the disposable gloves off your hands and tossing them into the trash. Your feet darted across the tile floors as you disposed of the contaminated linen and instruments, merely moving around the Lieutenant like he was an object. An inconvenience, for making you want him so badly. You voicelessly went over to the counter in the infirmary, resuming the charting you were occupied with before he was rushed into your care. Still, with your back turned to him, his eyes were boring holes into you. He didn’t need to be there; he was free to go. But he didn’t, and it was aggravating.

One minute you were beaming for the exit, the next his hand clamped around your arm, preventing you from making your exit. “Just… stop. For a minute.” He says, releasing the hand when you look down at how tightly he was gripping you.

“Hold this against me all you want, alright? Hate me, I don’t care.” Simon sighed, rolling his injured shoulder slightly from the strain of getting up too quickly. His feet dragged slightly as he made his way toward the door, standing by the exit of the med bay.

“One day you’ll wise up and realize I’m not what you need, Kid. Think about it, at least.” The door to the infirmary came to a slow close behind him, a disheartening contrast to the slam he left you with yesterday.

『♡』•『♡』•『♡』•『♡』

Weeks passed and the initial sting of the Simon situation had begun to dilute itself.

You spent most evenings passing up a night out; instead, you were working on the piles of charts that needed filling out, or something as mundane as taking inventory for the infirmary. Tasks that are mind-numbing enough to keep your mind on work, and only work. If your goal was to forget your feelings, you failed. If it was to spend enough time alone to truly know what you wanted, you won that one.

For the first time in a while, you were caught up on the workload. The bliss of free time wouldn’t last long, so perhaps that’s why you decided to go out for drinks. Maybe you just wanted to wallow in self-pity; the root explanation didn’t matter.

It was the least they could do — considering how often you’d kept an artery from spurting blood or the number of times you’d had to fight their squirming while attempting delicate sutures. Sergeant MacTavish especially, if you were being honest. He was the worst of your patients, except for the obvious masked brooding one.

Now, you found yourself perched on a bar stool, where you’d remained stoic for about two hours now. So deep in focus, you didn’t even recognize the drink in your hands. One of the guys had asked if you wanted one, you nodded, and now here you were. On your third one. The third time you merely took what was slid across the bar top and sipped on it, no matter how much the bitter taste made your taste buds cringe.

“Can I top you off?” The bartender made his rounds again, using a rag to wipe off the surrounding countertops. Your eyes looked off to the side, observing different levels of intoxication from both the 141 and the other rowdy patrons.

The night was coming to a close, another drink wouldn’t be wise. You weren’t here to get hammered; you were here to be somewhere other than a sterile room. “No, thank you,” you slid your empty glass in his direction, then a healthy tip for the good service. He didn’t once ask why you weren’t interacting with the party you came with, or why your eyes barely looked up from the varnish on the bar. To explain to him why would be downright mortifying, and you were never good at coming up with believable excuses. Therefore, he’d earned the cash tip and then some.

Price and Gaz were the first to leave, after neatly stacking all the empty glasses that covered their booth, of course. Next, the very drunk Sergeant stumbled out of there, making the short walk to his flat to sleep off the intoxication. Surely, he’s going to require a banana bag at the base tomorrow. Around them, the servers had begun stacking the chairs and collecting the tickets to finalize the rest of the unpaid tabs. The perfect time to slip away — right when the mob of drunks huddled around the front door. No questions, no awkward conversations about carpooling; no chance of being in a cab with him again.

The universe must’ve been on your side because there was no sign of Simon currently. Not that you two would have interacted, but it was much easier to walk by an empty seat rather than one occupied by him. The warm lighting dimmed slightly as the lights in the pub were shut off one by one, prompting you to scoot off your stool and get going finally.

Behind you, the door to the men’s room closed with a small squeak, and there he was. His frame cast a large shadow over the dim light the dated sconces produced, as the two of you made brief eye contact. It wasn’t a returned gaze of unnerve or upset, just… nothing. That’s what prompted your final exit from the bar, pushing open the glass door and starting down the pavement. You didn’t mind the walk, either, not after nearly an hour and a half of sitting motionless on an uncomfortable stool.

The streetlights were faulty and had a constant dim flicker. Your only guide was the lights of the few businesses still open and the cool-hued moonlight casting feeble rays on the damp streets.

Your coat was wrapped around you tightly, yet it did little against the chill in the air. So bitter, it felt like it was seeping into your bones. Paired with the unsavory anticipation of walking these streets at night, no amount of warmth could reduce the unease.

From the depths of the darkness, came an unwelcome sound — the crude whistle of a passing car. Your heart skipped a beat, the pace of your steps quickening involuntarily. The eyes on you were that of a malevolent force, one that quite literally came from the shadowy roads around you. As the car crept with wheels at a crawl to remain alongside you, you dared a glance.

A trio of jeering faces with smirks plastered across their lips like badges of dominance. One in the backseat with his upper body hanging out, the man in the passenger seat the worst of them all. Every remark, every innuendo reduces your already fragile sense of security. Your arms folded across your chest as you kept your head down, watching your legs carry you in any direction to get you out of this, no matter what road you ended up on by the end of it.

The harsh glare of the car’s headlights felt like a spotlight, illuminating your vulnerability. In a matter of seconds, you had been reduced to an object. Merely an unwilling participant in their twisted game.

Click—click.

The distinct sound of someone racking the slide of a pistol immediately behind you. “Piss off.”

His familiar voice rang stern and commanding. Your head turned to face Simon, seeing his gun indeed unholstered and held at his side, paired with his puffed chest and furrowed brows. The car's windows rolled up immediately, followed by the whiz of it speeding down the street. Simon watched until the headlights were no longer visible, yet you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

One minute, the echo of words and phrases you never wanted to be repeated. And now, nothing but the woosh of the wind and his heavy labored breathing against his balaclava. For just a moment, nothing that happened between the two of you mattered.

It was just you, astounded and allayed, and him — the savior who wouldn’t have hesitated to crack skulls against the pavement.

“You alright?” He asks, though his eyes remain glued to the sketchy streets around him, searching for any sign of threats. You merely nod, following the motion of his fingers as he flicks the safety back on, placing the piece back into his jacket holster. Nothing sobers you up like the sight of a loaded gun, that was obvious.

It wasn’t exactly your first ordeal with predatory men, but this instance was particularly bleak. Perhaps it was your buzz, perhaps it was the sight of Simon with his pistol at the ready, perhaps it was your adrenaline.

That was just a series of questions better left unanswered.

Silence was the best conversation for someone like Simon, especially given the circumstances. Neither of you was going to complain, nor were you going to force the clichés of fussing over the other. His hand found the small of your back, steering you in the direction of his hotel. He didn't have a flat in town, his only homes were the base or moderately priced suites.

Tonight, it was the latter — the room he booked in anticipation of a night of heavy drinking, even a hookup if the events of this evening were less grim. Though, he hadn’t drunk much of anything, which was rare for him.

The light buzz was the only component you two seemed to have in common, at least from what you could take note of.

His shadow was a looming one; large and overtaking yours as he took meaningful strides down each street, still a guiding hand either hovering or clamping down when you crossed the street. You could protest and insist that you stick to your original plan of walking back to the base. But it was a futile argument to have with Simon, not after the sickening degradation you made it through.

Those men were nothing but large shadows emitted from small men. They would’ve driven away, most likely. However… something happening to you while you’re in his sights? That’s not a gamble the Lieutenant had to consider for long. The only reason he hadn’t stepped in sooner was because you had made it so far down the street in an attempt to avoid him. But when he heard the engine slow to a hum, observing how it matched your speed, those were his brief moments of thought.

Seconds following, the echo of their voices dripping with violent, impure implications — he had unholstered his pistol and power-walked down the street before his mind could catch up. There wasn’t a moment of it he’d do differently.

Not even now, as he’s approaching the door to his room. Not as he’s ushering you inside, espying as you shiver from both the cold and the unease of it all. There wasn’t a chance in hell you were walking that distance.

“The bed’s yours,” Simon mutters, slipping his jacket off his broad shoulders. Though, you’ve made no effort to respond. You’re too lost in focus, palming the icy zipper of your coat and slowly splitting it open, until the weight of it is off you. It’s tossed onto the floor, a defeated crumble — as if even your wardrobe is mocking your numbness.

Your head finally perks up at the sound of Simon sliding the keycard along the oak entry table, followed by the sudden realization that he had said something to you. “I’m sorry, what did you say before?” You sigh, eyes squinted in forced attention.

His head nods in the direction of the bed; plush white sheets that were still fresh and untouched. “I can take the pull-out.” It wasn’t a suggestion, either. Though his tone is as blunt as ever, his gaze is uncharacteristically amicable.

“It’s your room, Ghost. I’m not taking the bed.” You let out a scoff, pulling off your shoes next. The pity wasn’t necessary, nor was it going to be accepted with eagerness.

He let out a lengthy sigh, cringing when you used his callsign. Mainly at himself for being so sharp with you weeks prior and insisting you refrain from using his name. “Don’t argue with me. Take the bed.” He shuffled over to the nightstand, collecting the few belongings that were resting there, then placing them on the entry table.

Well, you had your orders, and you knew by now it was easier to follow them.

Your eyes scanned the suite in front of you; beige walls throughout, a small kitchenette in the corner, one bed and couch, a dated box TV posed in front of the space, and of course, a bathroom. It was clean, which was good enough for both of you. Especially you, right now. “I’m gonna wash up first,” you set down your bag and trudged to the washroom, letting out a defeated exhale when you were finally faced with the reflection in the mirror.

Eyes glossy and foggy with melancholy, hair askew from the unforgiving breeze outside, fingers still shaking as they grip the faux-marble counter.

After wetting a cloth and running some cold tap water along your skin, it was the spark your senses needed to realign. With a deep inhale and exhale, you exited the bathroom, wearing the hotel robe as your nightwear.

“How’s the shoulder?” The question came suddenly, but there were very few topics to discuss with Simon. You stood in between the bed and the pullout couch, the one he had yet to make with the spare sheets. And he, who was in the kitchenette pouring himself a glass of whatever from the fridge's pitcher.

Within the time you were washing up, he had changed into his version of nightwear — sweatpants and a charcoal athletic tee. “Healed just fine. You did well.” Simon makes a show of it, rolling and stretching the shoulder that was once tender and inflamed.

His praises fell short when masked with his scowl. No matter his bluntness, you still felt like an intruder in his evening. He was never one for company, especially in his private space, but here the two of you were. It was a toss-up; should you mention the obvious? Could things get much worse between you and him, by this point?

You leaned against the closest wall. “I’m not a child, you know that right?” Though it sounded confrontational, it was merely a nonchalant utterance. All frustrations spilled out nearly as a defeated mutter.

Simon scoffed heavily; eyes hooded as he blinked a few times to ensure he would articulate himself properly. He lifts his mask and takes a sip of his water, shaking his head as you continue to stare him down. You were persistent, that was apparent.

“You’re right,” he set down his glass, taking a few steps closer. “But you’re a good person. A good doctor.” His hands cupped your cheeks tightly to shake some sense into you. His last-ditch effort to convince you to move on from your feelings. You felt a rush of emotions pumping through you at once, watching intently as he spoke with such vigor. A potent mix of tenderness and firmness — all embodied into one man.

“You can find so much better than me, than this place.” Your lips slumped into a frown as his words persisted as if letting them bounce right off of you. There were so many parts of you that he saw in himself, so violently he couldn’t stay frustrated. “Quit getting in your own way, and you might see it.” His thumbs gave a small caress, and then his eyes glanced you up and down with softness. The irony of it was striking, considering Simon was his own worst enemy, especially right now.

His calloused fingers were like your own personal rush, palpable enough to make your hair stand up. “There’s nobody else I want, Simon.” You replied with a match of firmness, yet your expression was anything but frustrated.

The close proximity was saccharine and keenly awaited by both of you, though only one party was making an effort to show it.

Simon shuddered slightly, his hands running from your cheeks to the base of your neck, then back up once more. “That want is going to be the death of both of us, love.” He said softly as if he was finally accepting the reality of his feelings.

The wise decision to break it off wasn’t weighing on him anymore, not even a little bit.

You stared at him through your lashes, a hint of a smile on your lips, “I’m used to death, Lieutenant, aren’t you?”

This generated a small snicker from him, this time one you could actually see. There had been plenty concealed by his mask over the months. Every bit of you was screaming to lean in, but the longer this banter went on, the better for him. There was no sense in rushing an act that didn’t need to be rushed, especially if it was doomed to happen at some point.

“I wouldn’t even know how to… You— you haven’t done half the things—” His fingers tightened around the base of your neck slightly, head tilted as he made his best attempt at retorting. For someone with such conviction every other time, he was noticeably beating around the bush. It was amusing, to say the least.

He mutters something under his breath, something of an expression of defeat, then leans in until his parted lips are an inch from yours.

“Then teach me.” You breathed, finally allowing your hands to hold onto his wrists as he cupped your face. Simon’s eyes blazed as they met yours — smoky with the intense burn of lust.

Within seconds, his lips found yours with brazen desire. It was everything you pictured it to be and more; every last bit of ego-driven pettiness fizzled out at once. The scent of his last cigarette, his aftershave from that morning, the faint stench of bourbon on his breath — all surrounding you like an enslaving cloud. His fingers roamed again, this time from your shoulders down to your waist until he could fumble with the tie of the robe.

Simon’s feet gave yours a nudge in the direction of the bed behind you, a silent guide until the backs of your knees finally found the edge of it. An arm snaked downward until he could lift one of your legs around his waist, settling his weight on the bed so you were on top of him. Every action was mended with a prolonged, calculated kiss on his end.

The robe had opened entirely, revealing you in nothing but your panties underneath. With more movement, it drooped down your arms until it was eventually thrown off in haste, the same quickness when you slid your undergarments down. But Simon was in no rush, at least not while he was savoring the foreplay. “Scoot up for me,” he mutters, nodding his head upwards subtly. His request is met with a look of confusion, but you do as he says, shifting upwards until you’re straddling his upper torso.

“No. Up.” Simon clamps a hand around your hip, maintaining eye contact as he readjusts you further until your bare cunt is hovering over his face. Now, the realization of his idea strikes you like a bolt of lightning.

There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but that didn’t make the request less daunting. “No one’s ever…” You whisper it as if attempting to admit it without him actually hearing you. But he did, and it made your face head up. Especially now, seeing the mouth to match his eyes — even the tip of his nose, squished slightly from the fold of the fabric.

“Ever what, sweetheart?” He bites down on his bottom lip lightly, rubbing circles on your thighs. Though his eyes are darting from yours to your heat, back and forth as you feel a desperate shiver consume you.

You gave up on answering him, which was only met with a playful scoff. “Relax, and sit.” Once again, instead of letting you move, he’s taken matters into his own hands. There would be no debate about his airflow or whether he could handle your weight on his head. Simon pushed you down until you had successfully straddled his face, slick pooling against his tongue.

Your breathing hitches as he so suddenly thrusts you upon him, wasting no time to lap at your sex. He begins by circling your clit slowly, eyes fluttering shut in focus so he can maintain a pattern. Second by second, you’ve produced more than enough slick for an audible squelch with every plunge of his skilled mouth. It’s a new feeling to get used to — plagued by pleasure and reliant on every flick, yet you’re in the position of power. Bucking your hips against his tongue, using the headboard to brace yourself the longer this goes on.

By the time your breaths have gotten heavier and the moans have escaped you, Simon began delving his tongue inside you for a few turns, before devouring your nub once more. It was methodical, every switch of his pace, every roaming digit heightening your pleasure. He cupped your breast, thumbing your hardened nipple with every grind. The other hand maintained its tight grip on your thigh, merely to keep your trembles under control — which were only increasing as your climax approached.

Your nails scraped against the wooden headboard, until your tensed fingers finally found his ashy blond locks, gripping his scalp for dear life. When he hummed against you, there was an involuntary spasm of your hips, unleashing the minutes of swirling in your abdomen.

His tongue bullied you through your climax, and then some. His slobbers turned into minute licks, merely playing with the wetness coating his chin and reddened lips. When you recuperated enough for the grinds of your hips to slow, you ascended your weight off his mouth — ogling a string of spit and arousal still connecting the two organs, until it eventually snapped and soaked into his shirt.

Simon pants for a moment as his lungs take in the air again, and then his fingers start circling your hips. “What did we learn, love?” He asks with a hint of bluster, both in his oral skills and his callback to you saying ‘teach me’ while eye-fucking him. Just like before, he wasted little time answering his own questions, only this time your excuse for lull was bouncing back from the orgasm of a lifetime.

“Next time I tell you to sit,” he flips the position so you’re flat on your stomach, “you’re going to sit, right?” Simon whispers into your ear wantonly, all while his fingers find the waistband of his sweats and briefs at once, rolling them down to his mid-thigh.

You turn your head to the side against the mattress, letting out a slight chuckle. “I’ll never make the same mistake twice.”

He chuckles dryly, taking note of your coy attempt at humor. “So you’re sayin’... we’ll be doing this again?” He’s leaned closer now, warm breath tickling your earlobe. In your blind spot, he’s lined up with your entrance and palming himself. The prospect of getting together again wasn’t one he was going to refuse, perhaps even after he was done thinking with his dick. It was apparent even this early on that it wouldn’t be a series of dispassionate hookups, not with you.

“Maybe,” you retorted, nibbling on your lip, “think I should be the judge of that?”

“You’re right,” Simon replies, slowly inching his way inside of you with little verbal warning. But, judging by your mouth agape in rapture, he has done something right so far. He lets out a guttural moan, bending one of your legs slightly to get better access. His whole weight is practically pressing on you, containing your urge to twitch as his thrusts become mindful and calculated.

His hands haven’t left you once; whether they’re gripping your hips, your shoulders, or the nape of your neck. “Oh, fuck.” He quakes, slowly rolling his head to the side as your walls tense around him with each deep grind. By now, he’s bottomed out inside you — a sinful, tight compress of your pussy that almost restricts him.

He’s not rushing now, either, but every rock of his hips does gain some intensity. They’re well-spaced enough to keep you on your toes, yet quick enough to make your eyes roll. By now, the sensitivity of the first orgasm is spilling over onto your second like a violent riptide jostling your senses around. Every urge to savor this moment, to let your body take its time, is utterly abandoned. 

Simon leans forward and begins nipping and licking along your shoulder blades, making a pattern of it. Jawline, to nape, to the blades — coated with a line of his saliva and teeth marks. It’s the only humane way he can keep himself contained.

Your walls are clenching around him rapidly now, once he’s teased that gratifying spot deep within you, “gonna cum for me again, sweetheart? Keep takin’ me so well?” His words are nearly more addicting than his cock; the British rasp that gets thicker the closer he is to finishing.

The nod you supply is pathetic, at best. It earns you a few fingers in your mouth; hollowing your cheeks and slobbering as you sob around them from your fast-approaching climax. The pace is agonizing, but enough when he uses his other hand to thrust your body onto his length, angling your cunt in a way that finally hits a bullseye on that spot.

Your throat clenches, as does the rest of your muscles when you dissolve into pleasure. What was once a tight coil of tension in your abdomen, was now waves of ecstasy coursing through you — prolonged by his now sloppy thrusts. You go limp against the mattress as he rides out the rest of his, your ears feasting on the curses Simon’s muttering.

With a halt, the fingers in your mouth are withdrawn. Both of his hands reside on your hips, holding you in place as he drains every last drop of his orgasm within you. For a few seconds, all you hear are his quivers and the shuffle of the skin-to-skin.

Then, every ounce of his restraint shatters once the climax passes. About half his weight lands on you as he slumps forward, pulling his length from you and wilting against the creased sheets. “Was that a yes?” He asks, snaking an arm around your shoulders until you roll over to face him.

“To what?” You huff a few times whilst running your fingertips along his arm scars. To say you were in shock, was an understatement. He was everything you were expecting—and more—in the sack. All the pandering, all the ‘getting in your own way’ on both sides erupted into a climax. Or multiple, for that matter.

“Doin’ this again?” Simon replies, pushing your head against his peck.

“Hm, I think I might need a few more test drives before I come to a final decision.” You say, raising your brows to match your playful tone. It was a stark contrast to the weeks prior, even if the events leading up to sharing a hotel room with him were less than pleasant.

And to him; he lost all sense of control when you took a stab for him. He just had a way of hiding it—the keyword being; had.

At the thought of it, his thumb finds the now healed scar where the knife penetrated, reflecting in his mind about all the events that led up to this. Two different bodies, two different ages, two different persons, yet both are thinking about history.

“I think that can be arranged, Doc.”

TAGLIST: @hyperfixationwhore @starlettemoony @sapientiia @igotmajordaddyissues @kyuupidwrites @ansaturn @bb-ss-ll @delilah-grimes @ajordan2020 @certified-lana-del-rey-lover (it won't let me tag some of you properly)

[a-killer-obsession]

i am here to ask about your kid pirate kink headcanons. SPILL THE BEANS!

Bless you 🙏 like a cursed genie, I have been freed

Now presenting:

☠️Kid Pirates ☠️

Kink Headcannons 😳

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Kid

Pretty even switch, openly acts like a top, but secretly prefers to be a bottom

When he's a top: spanking, hair pulling, deep throating, restraints, knife and bloodplay, spitting, forced orgasm, somnophilia, free use.

He'll convince you to keep a metal egg in your pussy, and he'll use his devil fruit to vibrate it at the worst possible times just to laugh at you. He loves to make you blush.

He has no trouble putting his hand down your pants in the middle of a bar, pulling you out to a alley and fucking you against the cold wall. Someone catches you? He ain't stoppin'

When he's on the recieving end: restrains (specifically seastone), shibari (but its gotta be red cord or he will SCREAM), being a fucking brat, pegging, praise, degradation, pain (but don't be a pussy about it, if you're gonna hit him then fucking hit him). He wants you to spit on him, call him a pig, beat the shit out of him and fuck his ass till hes screaming. Hell, you can even piss on him if you want, whatever you want as long as he feels like a used piece of meat by the end of it

He loves to show off when he's being a top, so he often invites Killer, whether to join or just to watch him fuck, especially if it's Killer's girl

Absolutely has a breeding kink, no cum is wasted with this man, he's putting it inside you raw and if it starts leaking out, he's pushing it back in

Killer

Top, but he doesn't mind being a bottom on occasion. Also enjoys just taking things in equals and going with the flow

Forced orgasm, hair pulling (giving and receiving), restraints, sense deprivation, brat taming (especially Kid). He knows a million different ways to tie beautiful shibari and he'll do it even just to see you wear it casually around the bedroom, or even under your clothes in public. He's got a box under his bed full of toys - blindfolds and cuffs and tools to inflict pleasurable pain

He wants to use tools to smack your ass till the skin breaks, if you can handle it. Your comfort and needs are the most important thing to him. His #1 priority is making you cum over and over till you pass out

He loves to force a orgasm from you in public, to test you, see if you can keep quiet and not get caught

Loves to watch other men fuck you, whether or not you even know he's there, quietly standing in the corner palming himself while you're getting railed. He also loves to play the part of a intruder taking you by force, always prediscussed and consenting of course

I mentioned in my other post that he cums a lot, and its got some spray and distance to it. He takes full advantage of that, you're not leaving his room without a shower unless you wanna walk around absolutely coated in cum

King of aftercare though, he's always gonna end the night bathing you so very softly, laying tender kisses over your body and attending to your every need

Late addition someone reminded me off and I don't know how I forgot cos AGREED, this man absolutely loves to eat pussy, its the most important meal of the day

Heat

Bottom, but he'll top if you reallllly want him to

Please call him a good boy, please call him a good boy, PLEASE CALL HIM A GOOD BOY

Seriously, this man eats up praise, but he does like being treated like a piece of meat on occasion

Facesitting, squirting right on his face or cock, watersports, roleplay, pegging, cock rings, edging (he's been such a good boy please let him cum), wax play, choking

Somnophilia, but he'll always be so apologetic afterwards. He just can't help himself when you're laying there looking so fucking sexy

He's gonna worship every inch of your body till you're absolutely begging him to just fucking put his dick in you already

If he's really, really good maybe you'll let him cum on your feet (yes I am a firm believer in the common headcannon that Heat likes Feet)

Wire

The toppest top to ever top, don't even THINK about making him your bottom. This man is a experienced dom through and through

In fact, he's the most experienced of all the Kid Pirates, so if you want a orgy he's the man to talk to, and he's gonna make sure everyone is safe and comfortable, and everyone knows the safeword or colour system. He's gonna make sure everyone gets the aftercare they need as well (and has absolutely chewed out Kid on more than one occasion about it, for both forgetting to give aftercare and refusing it himself)

He loves to inflict pain, he loves to see you bound and gagged, he loves to see you being thrown around between multiple partners. He won't fuck you though till you've cum at least five times, because as I mentioned in my previous post, the man is BIG, hes not going to inflict pain on you like that, never like that. You'll be too fucked out and gaping to notice any pain by the time he's gracing you with his fat cock

Truly he doesn't care that much about getting off, he prefers to help others get off. He likes being in control of your orgasms, and he'll edge you if you don't behave exactly how he orders you to. You'll cum when and if he allows it

He's willing to give anything a go as long as it's getting you off and everyone consents, but controlling multiple subs at once is his favourite. His go to is usually Heat and a girl, ordering them around like they themselves are tools to make each other cum till they're both a pile of jelly

Killer learned everything he knows about topping from Wire

Please tell me if you have a headcannon I missed, infect me with your sexy sexy brain worms, maybe they'll make it into a fic 👀

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 4: Eyes On Me

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 2571 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna hates humans. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue, roses are red and Sukuna hates the disgusting creatures that humans are. He has so many reasons to hate them that he doesn't even know where to begin. Humans are annoying, weak, clumsy, but most of all, stupid. They make decisions without thinking through the consequences. They prefer to spend their money on momentary pleasures and end up bankrupt by not prioritizing their survival. They worry about unimportant things such as social status, religion, and traditions. Sukuna hates humans, but boy, are they entertaining.

Sukuna tends to study his servants very carefully. Even though they only clean, cook and obey his orders to a tee, it was fun to watch them interact with each other. He finds it fascinating how the servants gossip in whispers, how the gardeners concentrate to prune the bushes well despite their hands shaking, or how the cooks taste the food several times so that it's up to their majesty's standards. It was like watching dozens of filthy lab rats in the middle of a social experiment. Although... There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what they were doing.

The annoying bell rang, letting the servants know it was time to wake up. You got dressed, washed your face and served yourself breakfast, preparing for another hectic workday. You almost did the same thing every single day. In the morning, you set the table for the king to eat breakfast and then wash the dishes. In the afternoon, you cleaned the common rooms such as the king's hall, the bathrooms and the dining room. At night, you sometimes had to guard the hallways in case an enemy dared to attack in the dark. You made sure everything was in its place and sparkling. You constantly polished the gold and silver wares until you could see your reflection, you washed the white sheets by hand until your knuckles hurt, and you didn't eat until you finished harvesting the carrots that were ready. Being a servant was tedious work, but rewarding at the end of the day. 

You had finished all the chores for the day and decided to help the cooks prepare dinner because you had nothing better to do. Your muscles were exhausted from having spent all morning cleaning the porcelain sculptures, the large frames of the paintings in the great hall, and the king's jewelry so they could sparkle in all their glory. You had been assigned the task of peeling potatoes, so there you were. Sitting at a table with a small knife, peeling potatoes while listening to the chaos going on in the kitchen. Uraume was busy preparing a special passion fruit tea for the king. The special coming from the water that was inked with human blood. Sometimes you wondered if Uraume had always agreed to cook with humans or was it something they got used to because of Sukuna's orders, but since they never talked much about themselves, you never asked.

“Fuck!” A cook yelled when the frying pan caught fire.

Your eyes widened at the flashy flare. Uraume put the tea set aside to attend to the emergency. With some ice from their magic hands, they put out the fire in a jiffy, but left the kitchen a mess. They began to berate the cook with smacks in the head and curses for his ineptitude. The cook just apologized over and over again, but that wasn't enough for the head chef.

“You!” Uraume called. You put your task aside to attend to their orders. “Take the tea to our king and tell him I will be with him when I settle this situation.” You nodded and took the tray carefully to go in search of him.

After Sukuna gave you permission, you entered the library with the golden tray in your hands. The library was the coziest room in the entire castle. Its high walls were covered with huge bookcases filled with books, maps, and ancient scrolls. There were long desks of works and hundreds of candleholders everywhere to enjoy reading during the evenings. He was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the game table, a small wooden table covered with a carpet with a chessboard on top. The king was surprised to see you there despite having specified Uraume's presence.

“I didn't ask you to come,” Sukuna said chidingly as you served him tea at a small table next to him.

“Uraume had to attend to an emergency in the kitchen. They'll be here once everything is under control,” you replied as you set down the fragile cup of blood tea, adorned with small pieces of eyeball floating on the red surface to give it texture.

Your gaze traveled to the chessboard, it had been a long time since you had seen one.  This was no ordinary board. You could see that each piece was handmade and had luxurious detail. The pieces were made of white quartz, the eyes of the horses were rubies and the crowns of the kings were made of jade. It was the most beautiful board game you ever saw. You knew from the other servants that the king was a good player and only played with Uraume or some brave guest.

“Do you know how to play?” Sukuna asked out of curiosity.

Being a servant, you surely had not received the same education as he did. Well, almost no one was on his level when it came to education. Sukuna was a master mathematician, a skilled debater and could threaten his enemies in 5 different languages. You hadn't been as lucky. You're good at cleaning, cooking and obeying orders, but what else can you do?

“Yes,” you answered with a smile.

That answer surprised him quite a bit. Although chess was a game that was rapidly gaining popularity among the middle class, it was not a game for women. It was a game that required intellect, always thinking two moves ahead and knowing how to read your opponent. You didn't look like a girl who could do all that.

“Sit down,” Sukuna ordered you.

“I warn you that it may be a short game. It's been a long time since I've played,” you warned him as you sat down.

Sukuna watched you with great attention. Your eyes scanned the board as if it was the first time you had ever seen one, your hands rested gently on your thighs and you smiled nervously. You may have known the rules of the game, but you didn't know how to play. The king took your word for it.

“Ladies first,” he asked you to start.

“My pleasure,” you said as your dominant hand moved over the pieces to decide what your first move would be.

Your father taught you how to play. He always wanted a son to inherit the family business, but your mother only kept giving birth to women, so he had to resign himself to you. Your mother taught you how to be a lady so you could get married as soon as possible and your father taught you about the business so that your future husband wouldn't take advantage of the family money. You used to sit in front of the wooden board and talk for hours after dinner. Your father may not have been the wisest or the most astute man, but he had left you a very important lesson: Always look people in the eye to know their true intentions.

This was one of the few times you came face to face with Sukuna. Because of his title as king and the great difference in height, you were always beneath him, physically and psychologically speaking. You were a simple human, while he was a king with the power to get rid of whomever he wanted with a simple finger movement. Although his presence made you feel vulnerable, you didn't resent him. You had a relatively comfortable life serving him, but sometimes there was a need for you to show him that you were more than a servant. You wanted him to see you. This was a good opportunity to do so.

Sukuna's eyes were not on you, they were on the board. His gaze denoted boredom. He was waiting patiently for you to make the first move. If you waited a little longer, maybe he would yawn. He overestimated you, you had to use that feeling against him. You moved a pawn to the C4 square, a common move among beginners.

“Finally…” He said in a monotone voice before quickly moving the knight to the F6 square.

Each of you took turns to move the pieces quietly as time went by. You took your time with each move, while the king only needed to look at the board from time to time to know what to do next. You could take all the time in the world, but he would still eat all your pieces. Even though it didn't seem to be an interesting game, you could at least keep up with him. Sukuna's queen advanced towards yours, standing face to face. One false move and your king was in trouble.

“Check,” you said as the queen retreated two squares diagonally, leaving her free to begin the attack on the king.

At that announcement, Sukuna woke up from the trance he was in to focus on what he was doing. He smiled satisfied as he noticed the change in your body. Your hands had relaxed, your back was straight, and your eyes were glued to his. You knew exactly what you were doing. You didn't need to tell him verbally that you would destroy him at his own game, your eyes told him clearly. It was as if you were dissecting his soul bit by bit until you left him completely naked.

Your hands were interleaved with each turn. You moved quickly as you realized that Sukuna had already noticed your active presence on the board. Sukuna returned the queen to his side. An interesting move. It was wise to know when to back away, but you noticed one thing in his eyes. He had no plan, he just acted based on his understanding of the game. He moved like in real life, using only his killer instincts.

“Check,” you announced again by moving a knight up.

“Not so fast,” Sukuna told you before taking the horse that was threatening his king using a queen. You smiled as you saw that his majesty had fallen into the trap. By moving his pieces like that, Sukuna had fully exposed his king.

“Checkmate,” you announced the end of the game as soon as you moved the white queen close to the black king. And only then, the poor maid defeated the almighty king.

“Well, well…” Sukuna sighed in awe as he looked at the board with extreme curiosity. He couldn't be mad at you. He had let his guard down. You were playing even before the game started.

There was someone special he loved to watch, no matter what you were doing. Sukuna would always hyper fixate on you whenever he noticed your presence around him. You could be cleaning, chatting with your companions or eating some dried fruit in the garden, and he would still only notice you as if nothing else in the world existed. You were the most interesting human he had ever seen. Sukuna tried to look for a logical reason for his obsession with you, but he couldn't do it. You looked like a simple being with clear goals, but he was sure you were hiding something behind your perfect facade.

Someone knocked at the door. Sukuna sighed, he wanted to be alone with you longer, but now was not the time. Uraume entered the room and was surprised to see you sitting with his majesty. Something strange had been going on between the two of you for months. They had even debated the idea of asking the king directly about you, but hadn't worked up the courage to do so.

“There was an inconvenience in the kitchen. Sorry to keep you waiting, your majesty,” Uraume bowed in apology.

“Lucky for you, you sent a good replacement,” Sukuna said before smiling at you in satisfaction.

Uraume instantly understood just by glancing at the board. You had beaten the king, something even they could not easily accomplish. They could tell that he was looking at you like no one else. It wasn't a look of disgust or boredom, it was a curious look. Like that of a child looking at a group of kids playing in the playground, wondering if he could come over to play with them.

“If you'll excuse me, I have to go,” you said as you got up to give the seat to Uraume. “Good game. It was a pleasure to play against you, my king,” you bowed.

“Good game,” Sukuna whispered so you could leave the room.

Sukuna and Uraume started a new game as soon as you returned to the kitchen to peel potatoes. They quickly noticed that something was occupying her majesty's mind. Their white pieces were eating his black pieces easily and his moves were slow compared to previous games. Uraume could tell that the game against you had changed the way he played.

“What do you see in her?” Uraume asked him after a move.

“Am I too obvious?” Sukuna asked them before getting up from his seat to start prowling around the library to clear his mind. “What do you think of her?” He asked her as he stopped in front of the window to admire the land. The large green lawn stretched all the way to the intimidating entrance of his wonderful castle.

“She is a dedicated servant and a perfectionist. She does all the chores in a timely manner. She is as good a servant as any other. The real question is: What do you think of her?” Uraume asked as they watched him from their seat.

“She has potential.”

“Potential? Potential for what?” Uraume arched their brow at the confusing statement.

“She has the same potential as a pawn turning into a queen,” Sukuna replied confidently.

Sukuna Ryomen was known among the kingdoms for being an unorthodox king. Not only because he took kingdoms left and right as if it were nothing, but because he has a strange way of ruling his people. He did not care about social classes, behavioral labels or unwritten codes of human coexistence. Everyone was inferior to him regardless of gender, race, or religion. He was the god of this new world and everyone had to obey him, just like that.

The fact that he wanted to have a queen went far beyond just following the established patterns of classical monarchy. Sukuna must have a reason why he wants to have a queen other than just because, but there was a more important question on the table.

“Your majesty, you can get any woman you want. You can get a beautiful princess, with more training and presence, why would you settle for a servant?” Uraume asked in confusion. Sukuna smiled. It was a good question.

“She has something much better than that,” he answered before continuing the game as if nothing happened. Uraume looked down to see that Sukuna had checkmated them.

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Masterlist.

[bumpkinspice0]

Know One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through 3/3

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6

Summary: He lied to you. They all lied to you. They didn't want you back. This was all some sick ploy to get you to dig up the past you worked so hard to bury. You've held it inside for so long… time to let it out. Thanks for all the comments! I love you! We made it babes, buckle up Warnings: canon typical violence, fighting to resolve feelings (cause that makes sense), S M U T, Logan: Pussy eating champion, knife play? (blink and you'll miss it), fingering, dirty talk, P in V sex, switches switches everywhere, praise kink, multiple orgasms, smut with feelings

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

Funny how perspective can change in an instant. A few words shared in confidence can be used against you. Someone you thought you could trust was just using you the whole time. Nothing but a means to an end.

Night was finally here. You stand on the opposite side of the fire, Logan on the other with his hands raised as if you were a spooked animal. 

Getting close to you, the drinks, the kiss— all to get to this. This is what he actually wanted from you— to know your past to help himself. 

“Weapon X isn’t a person.” you spit

“It’s what they called me. What I’m told they called me.” he pleads back, circling the fire.

“What do you mean you were told?”

“They put metal in me— adamantium. They gave me claws and made me a weapon—a monster. That’s all I know. I don’t remember anything. They took everything from me. My memories, my humanity, everything.”

You can’t see past your rage to fully process what he’s saying. Another person stolen and experimented on. In a different life, you’d pity him— but not tonight. 

“Is… is that why you’ve been talking to me? Is that what this is? You think I can help you find something?”

“No! Of course not, I never—”

“You grilled me about my life! Questioned me just to—“

“Listen! Would you please just listen!” 

You turn away, each step making the concrete around you rumble. You storm into the mansion, slamming the door behind you. Logan follows. You’re halfway through the living room before he reaches for you. 

“Darlin’, I didn’t know anything, I swear to God,” he pleads behind you.

“Don’t!” you whip around before he can grab your wrist, “Just don’t, you fucking liar.”

“He’s not lying.” you both turn to the sound of Charles’s voice. He sits at the edge of the room, Scott and Storm behind him. “He didn’t know anything.”

You feel cornered, all of them looking at you expectantly— like you have all the answers. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to be reminded of it all— and all for the benefit of someone else. 

Your anger has a new target. 

“But you knew, Charles.” You spit at your old mentor, “Is that why you really brought me here? To help tame your new stray?”

“Of course not.” His voice is so calm and level, it only infuriates you more. 

“We had a right to know about this, Charles.” Logan bites out behind you. 

“You don’t get to talk right now,” You point an accusatory finger at Logan. 

“You’re not the only one allowed to be mad right now,” he growls back. If this is all true, deep, deep down you know he’s right. Then you were both pawns, the game was just being played by Charles. 

“It would have been addressed in time.” The Professor simply replies. 

“Oh, bullshit.” you bark out a mocking laugh before making your way past Charles and your once friends.

“Dozer, please,” the pleading in Storm’s voice almost makes you pause. Almost. 

You’re at the front door now, hand resting at the knob. A million possible responses are at the tip of your tongue.

They knew—they all knew—and this was just some big dance to get you to dig up things you didn’t want dug up—for him, for their new pet. They didn’t want you back. They didn’t want you at all.

“Fuck you.” You hiss before slamming the door behind you. You think you hear Charles telling the others to let you go before you do. You don’t know. You don’t really care. 

Still, that doesn’t stop a hand from clamping down around your wrist when you're only just steps from your truck. 

“Don’t go. Please.” 

“Let go of me, Logan”

You don’t bother to face him. He doesn’t deserve anything from you. No one does. 

The truck is so close yet so far away.

“I can’t help you.” You bite out. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that. Just—” His grip tightens, “You said you wanted to stay. You wanted to come back. Please… stay.”

“Let go.”

“You’re angry, with every right to be. I am too.”

“You don’t know a damn thing.”

You’re tired. You’re so tired of being used. 

“I get it. They deserve it, darlin’. All that rage.” He dares to take a step closer, “Charles, me, Weapon X… your father.”

“Let. Go.”

You rip him off, a pillar of rock sending him flying across the lawn. You finally turn to look at him. He gets up as if nothing has happened. He holds his hands out— a challenge.

“Let it out, darlin’. You deserve to let it out. I can take it.”

Anger needed a target, and he was offering himself up to be yours. 

The fucking masochist. 

You should leave. You want to leave but it’s a shame how all rationality goes out the window when rage is at the wheel.

The ground quakes, rocks and dirt swirl in the wake of your thundering steps. You run towards him almost blind. You don’t know what you’re doing but you don’t want to stop either. 

Let it out, he said— fine. 

You’ll let it out.

Rocks of all sizes come crashing down around him— pebbles the size of quarters to boulders the size of people. You rip them all from the ground with no regard. There is only fury. There is only white, blinding rage. 

Logan is fast, dodging every new obstacle you throw at him in an instant. He runs, he pounces but still, the claws stay sheathled. What good is a knife against a stone, anyway? It doesn’t matter, you don’t really care. In its own fucked up way, it felt good the let loose— consequences be damned. 

You don’t notice when you start to pull dirt from the gardens. 

“Bastard!” It’s screamed at Logan but you’re not entirely sure who you’re thinking of when you say it. 

Logan doesn’t have a scratch. It’s not just because of the healing factor, nothing’s touched him. He’s playing cat and mouse with you, drawing you further and further away from the mansion. He wants you to fight, but he won’t do it himself. 

Coward.

You plunge your fists into the ground, massive cracks in the earth jutting out from the force. The ground around Logan breaks apart from the rest, a small platform of earth lifting him into the air.

Try running from this, you think as you slam it all back down in one thunderous motion. The small island breaks apart on impact but Logan breaks free, claws finally bared. 

“You ready to fight back now?!” you scream through wheezed breaths. It’d been so long since you’d exerted yourself this way. You do your best to hide the creeping exhaustion. 

“This isn’t a fight, darlin’,” still he holds his claws at the ready, “Never was.”

“Oh, shut up! J-just shut up!” you hurl a small rock at him. He deflects it easily, a metallic ping ringing out as it bounces off his claws. His expression remains blank— unreadable.

Cocky asshole.

You throw more, stone after stone, not one meeting its target. Gradually, they get bigger and bigger as you continue. He starts the move again when the rocks become too big for him to simply slice through. With a single stomp of your foot, the ground beneath him turns to sand. He sinks down to the ankles and before he can react you harden it to stone. He pulls at his legs uselessly and you can't help but scoff at his efforts.

Try to run away now.

With shaking arms and legs you raise the debris-field around you, thousands of pounds of shattered earth at your command. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

“Is this it? Is this what you wanted?!” You scream at him through ragged breaths.

Logan only stands there, feet trapped in the dirt and ready to accept whatever your blind rage would bring down on him.

But he’s not Logan. 

He is your father. He’s the faceless men that held you in a metal box. He’s every scientist that pricked you with needles. He’s everyone you killed on that boat. He’s Charles. He’s you.

You fall to your hands and knees, the ground cracking and crumbling under your palms. 

You wanted to run away from this. Forget Weapon X ever existed but proof of it has been standing in front of you the whole time. Logan, a man stolen and tortured by the same people who did the same to you. A living weapon. Weapon X incarnate. They wanted to turn you into something like him. You could have been him. 

You could have been him. 

No memories. A quiet rage only scarred people like you recognize. Running until someone like Charles takes pity on you. That’s all anyone ever had for you. Pity. 

In an instant, it’s all still. All that power you were exerting into the earth boils out and rips through your throat in a harrowing scream. Everything falls around you, dust engulfing you in an instant. Long-held-back tears sting at your eyes, finally escaping down your cheeks. You curl into yourself, the earth and your mind finally still.

You don’t register the sound of metal claws digging at the ground. You barely notice the strong arms pulling you in. You think comforting words are being whispered to you, but you can’t bring yourself to listen just yet. 

Slowly the dust settles and you see the destruction you’ve brought to the land you worked so hard to rebuild. It only makes it all hurt more.

You did what he said. Years of holding it down— you let it out. You let it out on him and now he’s holding you like a blubbering child. With the initial anger quelled, the shame finally has a chance to creep in.

You did it again. You destroyed something you love because something was already broken inside you a long time ago. 

Why do I do this? Why do I always do this?

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” Logan's quiet voice breaks through finally.

“Fuck… y-you,” you manage to gasp out between the sobs. They’re harsh words, but you have no strength left to fight him. 

You practically killed him and now he’s comforting you. Was he so desperate for any ounce of knowledge you had… or he was just someone who understood in a way no one else had? You’re not ready to face the implications of it all yet. You’re not sure you’ll ever be. For now, crying will have to do.

The dust has settled completely, covering both of you in a pail brown coat. Still, he doesn’t move, holding you as long as you need. Until the tears settle, until the remaining anger subsides, until your friends gather at the front door in the distance… waiting for you to come home. 

You look up from the crook of his neck, still surrounded by the results of your rage. You’d both sat in the center of a newly formed crater at the center of the yard. 

Sometimes, you forget how destructive you can be when you don’t hold yourself in check. Yet… somehow, you feel lighter. Maybe Logan was right. 

“Is the house still there?” you find yourself asking first. 

“Yeah, hon. She’s still standing just fine,” he answers.

“Told you I could t-take you.” 

“I didn’t doubt you, darlin’.”

A beat. A few wheezed, calming breaths.

“What do you want from me, Logan?” your voice is coming out horse, throat raw from dust and sobbing. 

“Nothin’ you don’t wanna give,” His voice is equally as ragged, “Just stay. Start with that.”

“I don’t think I can anymore.” 

“What… this? This ain’t nothin’. I’ll take the blame,” he nods his head to the side, gesturing back to the house where the X-Men stood silently, “They’re already waitin’ for you.”

And they always would, a hopeful voice echoes in the back of your mind. It’s small, but you still hear it. Maybe even believe it too. 

“Yeah, well, maybe all the self-destruction makes it even for lying to us.” you wipe your eyes, desperately trying to find a little composure again.

“Us, huh?”

“Yeah, us,” you push back against his chest, finally looking him in the eye, “The class fuck ups, remember?”

Part of you was broken, you know that. The same part of him was broken too.

A cauldron of emotions was boiling between you both. You’re not sure where to even begin to sort it out. Part of you is still angry with him. Another part of you pities him— but the biggest part of you just feels safe with him. 

Despite it all, knowing what you both know now, he still made you feel safe.

Your lips find his and he pulls you in close again. This kiss is different from your first. It’s a truce, in a way. Everything’s changed now. You don’t know what this is, you don’t know what you wanted it to be. You just know you still wanted him. Despite it all, you still wanted Logan.

He pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I…I don’t want anything from you,” his voice is just above a whisper. A quiet promise, “That shit hurts, I get it. I won’t make you dig it up. Just stay… please.”

“Logan… I—”

You both jump at the sound of a phone alarm, a melodic beeping coming from Logan’s pocket. You’d heard it before dozens of times— the alert system of the X-Men. Something was wrong. 

“Goddamn it,” Logan pulls out the phone, the yellow X emblem flashing rapidly on the front. You look over to the front door and see the rest of your friends do the same. 

It takes only a moment for Logan to read the message. You see his face drop as he does. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“The Trask rejects. They’re making a public attack.” He growls out through gritted teeth. 

Impeccable timing.

“Logan,” Scott stands on the edge of your little crater. The rest of the X-Men were already inside, surely preparing for deployment. “We have to go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, bub,” You feel Logan’s grip tighten. 

“It wasn’t a request,” Scott stands strong, “And we don’t have time to argue. We need the whole team.”

You think for a brief moment Scott means you too. Of course, he doesn’t. It would be a horrible idea. You're emotionally turbulent right now. It could be dangerous. The best thing for you to do is sit down and cool off. Scott was trying to separate you both.

Logan pulls you in tighter.

“I’m not–”

“Logan,” your voice finds strength again. You stand up from his grasp, hugging your arms into yourself. You already miss his warmth, “Go. Just go.”

There’s a flash of pain in his eyes but you think he understands what you’re really asking for. 

Space. I need a little space.

Logan stands, dusting himself off in the process. Scott, seemingly satisfied with Logan’s efforts, makes his way back to the house. 

Still, Logan pauses. 

“Will you be here when I get back?” There’s almost a pleading in his voice.

“Logan, I—”

“Let's go, Wolverine!” Scott’s voice cuts through the tension. You're almost thankful for it.  

Logan grimaces before stepping out of the crater. He pauses at the top, back to you and fists clenched at his sides. He storms up to the house without turning around. 

You collapse back down into the dirt, burying your face in your hands. You’re not sure how long you sit there until you find the strength to get back up.

__________

The mansion is eerily quiet. A house this big should never be this quiet. Rooms upon rooms that should be filled with children giggling. Gossip spreading like wildfire. Someone sharing a first kiss or first cigarette. Normal kid things that non-normal kids get to do in peace. 

You used to be one of them. 

It’s late. You stalk the dark halls of the mansion like a ghost. You heard Charles come up from Cerebro over an hour ago— a good sign the team was successful in their mission. He’s been sitting in his study ever since and you can’t seem to work up the courage to confront him. 

It’s only the two of you in this big house. Not a single thing is standing in your way except your pride. He’ll wait for you to make the first move. You’re not sure what you’re going to say to him, but you know you have to say something.

How dare you?

Sorry I re-wrecked the lawn?

I thought I wanted to be an X-Man again, but Logan has made this all vastly more complicated and I’m not sure I can forgive you for keeping such a big secret from me?

Decisions, decisions. 

You sit on the bench just down the hall from his study, the same place you’d sat so many times before waiting for a lecture. This time is no different, you suppose. 

Once a student, always a student. 

“I’m old, you know,” Charles’s baritone voice booms from his office, “I can’t do these late nights as well as I used to.”

It’s a gentle encouragement. He probably has a migraine from overhearing your raging stream of consciousness while managing an actual crisis. He wanted to discuss this like adults— You did too. Unfortunately, only one of you really knew how to be an adult. 

Mostly you just wanted to get it over with.

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself to your feet. You shuffle into his office, tail between your legs. He sat by his desk, his chair turned to face out the window behind the desk. You quietly take a seat next to him. The sense of betrayal was still there but it was now mixed with a healthy dose of regret.

You both silently look out over what was going to be a beautiful garden— now in ruins once more. 

“How are they doing?” you meekly ask. 

“The offenders are all finally apprehended and contained,” Charles answers bluntly. Neither of you turns to face the other. “Everyone is okay. They should be back within the hour.”

You simply nod, staring blankly out the window. You’re not sure how to start this. You didn’t really want to begin with. 

“You want to ask me why I didn’t tell you about Logan’s history right away.” His words cut through you. Charles wanted to get this over with too, you suppose. 

“Well… why didn’t you?”

“Would you have come if you’d have known?”

You don’t answer— not out loud at least. The silence is answer enough.

“Why didn’t you tell him about me, then?” You press forward. 

“That’s not mine to tell, now is it?” You can almost feel his eyebrows raising, “Logan has a long journey ahead of him. I will help him in whatever ways I can, but that is my burden to bear. Not yours,” you hear the pain in his voice. The sincerity. He’d seen what you’d been through. He’d likely seen what Logan had been through—parts of it at least. Charles always knew everyone's pain. Always carried it with him.

“Would you have ever told him about me?”

“Only if you wanted. Only if the situation presented itself. I must admit, I didn’t anticipate you two getting so close.”

“Making us kiss wasn’t part of your master plan?” You scoff. 

“I like to think of myself as a decent storyteller but I’ve never been much good at writing romance.” He lets out a small chuckle, “Though I should have known you’d be a bad influence on each other.”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. You can’t blame him, but there are still things you want to know. Things you need answers to. 

“When was he…there?”

You can’t say its name anymore. Not tonight at least.

“Years before you. I’m not entirely sure when. I believe he was the very beginning. You were the beginning of the end.”

The answer doesn’t bring you the comfort you thought it would. There may be some solace in knowing he wasn’t locked up in that boat with you. He was their first test, and he got out. You both got out. 

“Why am I here, Charles?”

He lets your question linger longer than you’d like. Jean could have likely done the work you’ve been doing. Hank would have been more than happy to plan the tunnels. You didn’t need to come back. Not really. He risked a lot bringing you here with Logan. 

Charles takes a deep breath.

“I won’t deny I could have handled this better, but I can be a selfish man sometimes. Every now and again I get reminded how fragile this little world I’ve built here is. How vulnerable we all can be. As a teacher, I always found it difficult to detach myself from my students completely. Checking up every now and again is a thing of habit for me. I hear all the things no one else can hear. I know it can be lonely out there. I know self-doubt is rampant. But I could help… If I could bring everyone home and remind them that they’re loved–”

“Charles,” you don’t mean to interrupt, but if you didn’t he’d ramble on forever and you wouldn’t ever get a straight answer. Even if he was just reminding you of things he’d already told you a million years ago.

“Something terrible happened here, and I got scared.” Charles admits with a heavy sigh, “I got scared and I wanted something. I wanted those closest to me to feel safe again. And, selfishly, I wanted to feel safe by having those I loved back home. I didn’t consider the larger consequences of those actions, and I am sorry. I just found an excuse to call a child home.”

You almost choke out a sob. Fortunately, your tear ducts seem to have had enough crying for one night. 

You hated that he could always do this. You came in here so ready to be furious with him. You were so ready to give him a piece of your mind and storm off. Tell him you’re never coming back to this godforsaken school again. 

“I’m not your child, Charles.” You coldly say instead. 

“No… No, you’re not.” He turns his chair slightly to face you. You finally look him in the eye. Despite it all, he still smiles warmly. “You’re my student. Always will be.”

You were wrong, a few stray tears still escape. 

He opens his arms without hesitation when you lean into him, muffled I’m sorry’s said into his suit’s lapels. This was a familiar scene. You’d been here so many times with Charles. God, he even smelled the same. Some old man cologne you could never place. He’d talked you down so many times in school and now he was still doing it into your adulthood. You never felt like you deserved his patience. Maybe you could try a little harder to earn it though.

You pull away, wiping your nose for hopefully the last time tonight. You both gaze back out over the decimated garden. Well, that was the hardest part done. Now there’s just the matter of Logan.

“You think I can help him?” You ask.

“I think you can help each other… if you want to.”

“What if I don’t want to help him?”

“Then don’t.”

You roll your eyes at his bluntness, “Say what you really mean, Charles.”

 “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He starts to move his chair around the desk.

“But?” You prod, following behind him.

He halts in the middle of the room, “But you might be denying helping yourself then. You’ve been fighting these demons too long, my dear. Face them. He can help you face them.”

You do believe it wasn’t Charles’s intent for all this to happen when you brought you here. He and the team respected both your and Logan’s privacy by not telling the other. You and Logan opened this book together unknowingly. It’s too late to close it, and it’s too big to just ignore. 

Charles makes his way to the door, but you still have one more thing to say. Or really, one more thing to ask.

“I was—I was going to ask to stay. Before…before everything.”

“Do you still want to stay?” He pauses at the door.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well of course I do… you need to fix the mess you’ve made of my gardens and finally plant those damned flowers.”

_________

You stand in front of the full mirror in your room, an ill-fitting navy blue shirt with a bright yellow X plastered across the chest hastily draped over your body. Jean always kept a few changes of school clothes in all the closets. All of your clothes were dirty, so this was the only option. Your regression back to a new student was complete now. If you were a more superstitious person, you take this as an omen— whether it was good or bad, you hadn’t decided yet.

You collapse face-first into the bed. It felt nice to be clean after everything today. You’d practically turned the floor of the shower black with all the dirt that was caked on your body. At least you finally got that shower.

You’re still here, after everything you’re still here… probably for the long run. You tell yourself you’re going to sleep on it tonight, but your mind is practically already made up. It would hurt, you’d be challenged, but you wanted to be here. You wanted to just fucking try again. The X-Men, your friends, they brought out the best and worst in you, but that’s what family does, isn’t it? That’s what you were always told, anyway.

You think you heard the team land while you were in the shower. They were home, and the mission successfully completed.

There was still one more thing you wanted before you made your final decision. One more thing you had to face to see if this would all be worth it. You sit up, face the door, and wait. You asked him to come to your room tonight, you hope he’d still come. 

Eventually, there’s a knock.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast you jump for the door. You pull it open and there he is, still fully suited up in lemon yellow with the fresh smell of smoke and sweat wafting off of him. To your surprise, it’s not entirely unpleasant. 

“You….You stayed.” He says first. 

“I did.”

“Finally got that shower too, huh?”

“I did.”

That’s the extent of the introduction. You both stand there awkwardly for a beat. Neither of you knows how to start this. You didn’t necessarily end on the best note. You didn’t start on the best note either.

You both decide to break the silence at the same time.

“How was—

“I’m sorry you—”

You both catch yourself before continuing. God, why was this so hard? Luckily, Logan is the first one to try again. 

“I uh— I wanted to say I’m sorry,” His gaze dropped to the floor, “I’m sorry you got roped into my shit.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

“I’d understand if you don’t want to see me again,” he looks back up at you, “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. If you’re gonna stay for the long run, I’ll leave.”

Unbelievable. This man was absolutely unbelievable. He gets back from saving the goddamn world and comes straight to your room to say you can kick him out of his house. How do you tell him that’s not an option? How do you tell him you want to start over with all this?

Actions were so much easier than words.

Your hands snake up his arms gently as you step closer. You think you feel him relax under your touch. His hands find your waist as yours loop around his neck. You pull each other into the kiss, sensual and slow. Everything you’d shared so far had been violent or painful in a way. This was… it was nice. A quiet embrace in the early hours of the morning. Two people seeking comfort in each other's arms. Simple. You liked simple.

He pushes you both further into the bedroom. Excitement pricks at your every nerve but you still have more to say. You need to get it out. You need to. He has to know before you forget to say it. 

I think you can help each other… if you want to.

“Logan—” you pull away, almost painfully. “Just… wait.”

He leans back, “We don’t have to—”

“No! God no, I want to! But—” you shake your head, desperately trying to gather yourself despite the aching that was building inside you, “I wanted to say— I wanted to tell you, I— I want to help. I want to help you— help both of us. I want to try at least.”

You feel him tense under your touch. Great, another moment ruined by your self-righteous big mouth. 

He looks you in the eye, expression almost pained. “Darlin’, I told you, you don’t—”

“I know,” your fists curl around his collar, “But I want to. I’ve been… I’ve been running from this a long time, Logan— ignoring it almost. I think you have too. They need to pay…For what they took from me. For what they took from you. I don’t remember much but… I know names. Locations. Places we can—”

His lips crash back into yours, hands squeezing your body flush with his. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks you both backward towards the bed.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” he growls, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Logan—” You moan, clawing your hands through his hair. 

You both collapse back onto the bed, the wooden frame creaking in protest. Your movements get more frenzied. You claw at the various zippers and latches of his suit while his hands drag down your body, pulling off your shorts in the process. Your quickly dampening underwear stays in place. You manage to get the upper half of the suit open. He leans back, pulling off the top of his suit the rest of the way. You peel off your own shirt as he does so. You look at him towering and bare-chested above you, his knees caging your hips in. Only one thought flashes through your mind. 

Holy fucking shit.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, rough hands finding your body again. He cups your breast, “Fucking look at you, sweet thing.”

His mouth comes down over a nipple, fingers rolling over the free one. You arch under him, hands clawing up and down his back. God, his body is so warm against yours. So heavy.

He grinds into you as his tongue moves to your other peaked breast, his hardening length rubbing against your pulsing cunt. These underwear are probably be ruined after this. 

His movements were rough, almost desperate. You loved it, you loved every fucking bit of it. 

His mouth comes off your breast with a small pop. He glides his nose over your heaving chest with a deep inhale, small kisses peppering your skin as he moves. Slowly, he moves down your torso, pausing at the hem of your panties. 

“Oh God, Logan—” You gasp, feeling his hot breath against your waiting pussy. He places a sloppy kiss over the already damp fabric, tongue rubbing against your clothed bud. An almost pained gasp escapes your lips. 

“I really do like the way you say my name,” his mouth moves to your inner thigh, fingers curling around the hem of your last scrap of clothing. “God, you’re so—”

A single claw unsheathes. The blunt side runs against your skin as he slides it under your panties at the apex of your thigh. The cool metal sends electric shivers up your body. He rips through the fabric with ease, the claw retracting as soon as you’re fully exposed before him. He takes his time pulling away the final scraps of your underwear, rough hands leaving goosebumps in their wake. Yep, definitely ruined.

His eyes come up to meet yours, his brow heavy over them, deep brown and almost animalistic. 

You all but scream when he comes down on you. His mouth engulfs your entire cunt, tongue running up your seam and circling around your clit. Your legs curl around his head, hands shooting out to grip his hair. A growl rumbles up from his throat when you pull and reverberates through your whole body. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. His movements are almost frenzied again. Stubble rubbing against your sensitive skin as his tongue attacks your pussy, hands squeezing your hips so hard to the point of bruising— pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Taste so good, baby,” he moans against your mound, “Knew you would. First time I saw you, I knew you—”

His tongue flattens against your seam, slowly dragging up and pausing at your bud. You gasp when you feel a finger breach you, curling against that delicious soft spot inside. His mouth and fingers work in unison, pulling heated breaths out of you almost rhythmically. 

He’s good at this. Fuck, he’s really good. 

That familiar heat starts to build in your stomach as he works you slowly, his rhythm getting rougher and rougher as he goes. Mouth sucking as his fingers curl, back and forth, back and forth. He’s fucking enjoying this, you think. The thought makes you even more excited. He wanted to take his time with you, selfishly milking sinful moan after sinful moan out of you as he did so. 

Too bad you’d been sexually pent up for god knows how long. 

The heat rises in your stomach. 

“L-Logan–I–I—” the words barely make it out. 

His heavy-lidded eyes shoot up to yours, “Give it to me.” He growls against you, “Let me feel you.”

His tongue circles your clit once— twice—

Your back arches off the bed with a pained moan ripping through your throat. You push him closer as liquid fire pulses through your veins. His mouth doesn’t leave you the whole time, tongue in a frenzy of movements as your orgasm rocks through you. He draws it out longer. Makes it stronger. 

Even when the initial wave subsides, his mouth doesn’t leave you. You squirm under him, hypersensitive and brain fogged over with pleasure you didn’t realize you’d desperately missed. 

“L-Logan… Please,” You pull at his hair. 

He stills, pulling off of you slowly. He leans back, chin dripping with your release. His hands stroke gently up and down your shaking legs. You look down and see the straining bulge in his pants, a faint wet mark forming against his thigh. 

You sit up, hands trailing up his heaving chest and looping back around his neck. You pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue. He grasps the back of your head and pulls at your hair just slightly. You push against him, he falls back on the bed. You hover over him, bringing your hands down to his belt. You undo the clasp and he pulls them off the rest of the way, his pulsing hard cock finally springing free.

Holy fucking shit— you think for the second time tonight. 

He gives himself a rough stroke, a bead of pre cum escaping his already wet head. You can’t resist the sight. You lean down and drag your tongue over the tip to lick it up. He hisses in a sharp breath as you do. 

“What do you want?” you whisper against him. You’d honestly be happy with any answer.

He moans at your words, hands coming up to cup your breasts again. 

“Wanna see you ride me, tough girl,” you swear his voice has dropped an entire octave. “Want you to take me. Wanna see that pretty pussy stretch around me.”

You feel his hips squirming ever so slightly. It felt so powerful to have a man like him underneath you, almost begging. 

You place your hands on his massive chest as you lean forward. You can’t help but touch him— Maybe even dreaming about touching these fucking muscles. You can’t resist giving his pecs a rough squeeze when you do. He hums in approval, his hands trailing down to your rising hips. 

You drag your sopping cunt along his cock a few times before lining up with him. Small gasps escape as you do. The motion was just as much for your pleasure as it was for ease. Logan was big, and with no lube, you’ll need a little extra help. 

His grip tightens when you start to take him, a low rumble starting in his throat and traveling through his chest. You feel it reverberate up your arms. Your legs are only a little shaky but you manage. You finally let out a heavy breath when you bottom out. You take a moment to savor the feeling. It’s a stretch, but not at all unpleasant. You’re so full. So fucking full. 

“Fuck.” Logan hisses underneath you, “F-fuck, you’re so—move, baby. You gotta move or—”

You immediately oblige, rolling your hips against his. You find a rhythm, slow and sensual. His head tilts back into the pillows, his jaw tensed to the point where you can see almost all the lines and veins in his neck. You rise, pulling him out just a little more with each thrust. He practically drools out the most delicious moan you’ve ever heard.

You love seeing him like this, see him falling apart for you. You made The Wolverine into this. 

The pain of being stretched so wide starts to subside, melting into your building pleasure. You shift, and your movements become more deliberate. Searching almost. You gasp out when you find it, that spot that makes your vision go blurry. You grind down against it again and again and again.

“God, that’s it, darlin’,” Logan chokes out, “T-take it. Take what you need.”

His hands shoot up to your breast again, giving them a rough squeeze. His fingers massage into the soft, sensitive flesh there, thumbs brushing over your peaked nipples. 

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he praises, the white of his teeth flashing in a grin. 

You’d probably blush at the compliment in any other situation. Instead, you lean down and kiss him. It’s messy, a bunch of feverish tongue and teeth but, god, it was perfect. You drink down each other's moans, gasping for breath in each other's air as you grind into him. 

Your hips start to betray you, the fatigue catching up the muscles in your legs. It’d been so long since you’d gone this hard with anyone. You weren’t out of practice by maybe a little out of shape. You lose your rhythm just a little, but Logan doesn’t seem to entirely mind, but he does seem to take notice.

His hips rise, giving you a few experiment thrusts before he sits up, pulling your chest flush with his. Your movements are subdued into small rolls against him, an entirely new pressure against your clit.

 His lips still haven’t left yours. They don’t leave as he pushes you further back. They don’t leave when you collapse into the sheets and he crawls on top of you. They don’t leave when he almost completely pulls out of you and slams back in. 

“Fuck!” You scream. You think you hear him chuckle as he pulls out again. His laugh is slowly overtaken by a moan as he slides back in. Gentler, slower this time. 

His mouth trails down to your neck again, nipping and suckling in ways that would surely show tomorrow. The thought of people seeing what he did to you excites you.

You hook your legs around his hips. He rises from you, just for a moment.

Seeing this massive man hover above you was a sight you wanted permanently burned into your brain. His massive arms caging you in, veins popping against the tense muscles. His chest is red with claw marks from your hands. Eyes glossed over with animalistic bliss.

This was fucking, hard and dirty fucking in almost every sense of the word000 sure. But there was something about it that made your mind go fuzzy. The deliberateness of it all. The roaming hands and heated eye contact. Not just pleasure for pleasure’s sake, but connection. Making love.

Neither of you wanted just a quick dirty fuck to get it out of your system. Something more. This all had the potential to be something more.

For now though, hard and dirty was still good. 

He bites at your lip with a growl and you moan at the prick of pain. All of you, Christ he wanted all of you. You’ll give it to him—gladly. 

You shift your hips and you feel it again— that perfect spot. He notices. 

“That’s it, huh?” he grunts, thrusting back into the exact same spot again. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” 

His mouth attacks you while his cock makes you go cross-eyed. This can’t be real. He can’t be real. You died. You’d crushed both of your bodies under the yard hours ago and this was some sadistic heaven your dying brain had cooked up. 

That’s the only explanation for something feeling this good. 

He licks his fingers, two of them finding your clit as soon as they leave his mouth. 

“Give it to me. You got one more don’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against you, “Give me another one. W-wanna… wanna feel you… Fuck.”

“Oh G-god, oh fuck, oh God—” You chant, seemingly unable to say or process anything else in the blinding pleasure.

Your hips raise, grinding into his palm while his cock continues to drill into you. The feeling comes on fast. It was building in you again. You become desperate for it, that sweet impending release. You claw at his neck for any sense of stability.

“N-need you, Lo-Logan,” you find yourself begging, “N-need to feel y-you—Wanna feel you—”

“C-christ, don’t say that,” he growls, “Give me one more. One more more and—and I—”

He trails off, losing himself in his sporadic thrusts. He was getting close, his movements getting more desperate— but you were close too.

He ruts into you, rolling his hips against yours and you’re done for.

“L-Logan! I– I’m–”, you can’t finish, your words melting into a silent scream. You arch and squirm under him. He continues to relentlessly pound into you, chasing his own high. 

“Oh— G-God— Y-you— You’re so—” his lips crash back down to yours, a growling moan reverberating down your throat. You drink him in selfishly. His hips still against yours, his cock pulsing and spilling into you. You grasp at him, pulling him close as you both lose yourselves in the waves of white-hot pleasure together.

You don’t know how long you both hold each other there, lost in the euphoria of it all. Eventually, your muscles start to loosen

His lips leave yours with a ragged gasp like he’s desperate for air. His sweat-slicked forehead lowers down to yours. You both hover there for a moment, choking on each other's air. His eyes bore into yours. 

You can still feel him pulsing inside you.

“Holy shit,” you break the silence with a small giggle.

He chuckles back, placing a kiss on your forehead.

He rises, pulling out of you with a moan and you gasp at the sudden emptiness. He collapses next to you, hand still lying heavy across your stomach. 

“So… you’re gonna stay?” he asks, thumb rubbing comforting circles on your sensitive skin. 

“Only if you keep that up every night,” you joke back.

He nips at your neck with a growl, “Don’t tempt me, honey.”

God, what have you unleashed. 

He curls around you, pulling the covers up over the both of you. The exhaustion was creeping in. It had been a long day. He pauses, looking at you almost for permission. He’s wondering if his assumptions about staying the night have maybe crossed the line. You simply smile and pull the covers up the rest of the way.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck as he pulls you in closer. Your hand finds his own, resting on top of his chest. You run your fingers between his knuckles. There weren’t even scars to show. To your surprise, he doesn’t flinch away. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” you assure him, “I… I want to help you. Help us.”

You feel his breath hitch just a little as his fingers close down around yours. 

“I know you will, darlin’.”

“I don’t know where we’ll start, but—”

“Don’t,” his nose nudges your head gently, “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I told you you don’t owe me anything. Just stay. Start with that.”

You don’t think you’ll ever understand how he can quell your anxieties with so few words. Maybe it was the reassurance in his voice. The confidence. You place a gentle kiss on his chest. 

Your scars are the same as mine.

It was the unspoken words between the two of you since the beginning, whether you knew it or not. Something inside the both of you knew the other— stripped away all the layers and saw what was underneath.

Someone who was just like them. What a rare thing to find.

“I’m happy I came home, Logan.”

“Me too, darlin’. Me too.”

____________

Hope you loved it! I loved writing these two. I might do a little one shot or two, not sure yet. Just not quite ready to let them go. Let me know if you want more of these idiots!

[latenightdaydreams]

Mafia! König X Enemy! Reader

The reader is a CEO at a corporation, a person who always destroys König's business deals, it's time to punish

Mafia!König x CEO!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2, Part 3

Master List

READ TRIGGERS

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, whipping, sodomy

1.7k word count

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When König received the news that his latest deal was intercepted due to you, again, he ordered his best to find you and bring you in. This was more than a hit; it was personal now. He had to be the one to do it. All he knew about you was your last name and the fact you’re the CEO. Imagine his surprise when he sees a woman tied to a chair and blindfolded. Not meaning to be sexist, but he was expecting a man.

As you sit with your arms bound behind your back and legs together, you struggle to break free. You stop once you hear heavy footsteps enter the room that you’re in. The sound of whispering followed by someone grabbing your chin tightly and tilting your head up.

“So, you’re the Kleine Maus that has been a thorn in my side,” König say’s in a low tone to you.

König pulls the blindfold from your eyes as he gazes down at you still. You only see icy blue eyes behind his black mask with bleach streaks. He studies your face closely; he can’t help but to find you attractive. The want to kill you changes, now he wants to own you. Such a pretty thing, it would be a waste to discard you.

“Do you know who I am?”

“König?” You try to steady your voice so your fear doesn’t show. In a cocky way, you felt untouchable. You never saw yourself in this position.

“Ja.” He grabs your jaw tightly and turns your face to the side to inspect you. “I wasn’t expecting a vixen.”

You try to jerk your face away from him, but his grip is tight. “What do you want?”

“I think you already know what I want.”

“Then just kill me already.”

“I don’t think I will.” König leans in closer to your face and looks deeply into your eyes. “It would be such a waste, don’t you think?”

“Do you want to do business with me? I can give you a 25% cut—”

“25%? That’s it? I think I’d prefer 100%.”

“50%.”

“Nien, Maus. I’m going to take it all, plus a little extra.”

König takes a few steps back from you, releasing your jaw. He grabs a pocket knife from its sheath, walking towards you. Fearful of being stabbed, you squirm in your restraints.

“Stop moving.” König mumbles as he grabs your shirt. He slides the knife through the fabric, splitting it in half and exposing your breasts sitting in your red bra.

“What are you doing?!”

“Showing you your place.” König looks at you as he pulls your shirt back to show more of your body to him. He pulls your bra down harshly, freeing your breasts. “Schön.”

“Stop!”

“You’re in no place to be making demands, Kleiner. Shut the fuck up and be thankful I’m letting you live,” He barks at you.

You sit with wide eyes and swallow hard as you can see the rage he’s suppressing. You’ve stolen millions from him, there is no denying the man hates you. His gaze only leaves yours to look down at your breasts, nipples harden from the cold air in the room.

“When I untie you, just know the door is locked from the outside and only the man on the other side can open it. Save your energy for what I’ve got planned.”

You shake your head, but don’t listen. König cuts the binds on your legs before going behind you and cutting your wrist free. In an instant you stand to run to the door. You’re unable to open it so you just bang on it and scream to be let out. Horangi on the other side just looks at the solid wood door before laughing at how desperate you are.

König wraps his muscular arm around your waist and pulls you back. “Pull your pants off.” You stand still, unmoving. “NOW!”

His loud demand causes you to jump, your fingers quickly pulling your slacks down. You stand in only your red panties now, gazing at König. He stands with his arms crossed, leaning against the door just taking in the sight before him.

“Legs apart.” He says, pushing himself off the door as he approaches you. “And if you try to hit me, you’ll only be making it worse for yourself Maus.”

There is no way you would even try. He stands at almost 7 feet with the build of a bull. You’re too small to take him on without a weapon. Instead, you swallow your pride and stand with your feet spread apart and your hands at your side. You look straight ahead and avoid looking at him as he approaches and walks behind you.

“Hands behind your back.”

You cross your arms behind your back, you can hear the rustling of fabric as König pulls his belt off of his waist. He folds the belt in half as he stares at your ass. First, he squeezes your soft fatty flesh with his large hand and taps it a few times. He then pulls his arm back before slamming his leather belt harshly against your delicate skin.

A pained cry leaves your lips, causing König to smile. He hits you so hard that you’re thrown off balance. His hand wraps around your arm pulling up back to your original stance.

“Come on, you’re stronger than that.” He mocks as he hits you again.

Another painful wail spills from your mouth, you are able to hold yourself firmer this time though. König loves hearing your pained cries. His cock getting hard in his cargo pants as he watches your ass ripple with every hit. Small welts already are starting to appear from the degree in which he is hitting you.

A few minutes of him whipping you pass as you stand with tears staining your cheeks until he stops. You wait for the next hit but it never comes. König just stands there rubbing his palm over his erection straining against the fabric needing set free.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it Maus?” He chuckles as he walks to grab the only chair in the empty room and brings it behind you. “Knees here. Lean over the back.” He says while pointing to the seat of the chair.

You turn and gaze up at him while moving yourself to the chair. Simply walking hurts, the skin on your ass is burning hot and feels tight. Once you’re situated on the chair, he walks up behind you and pulls down your underwear. His eyes gloss over your tight little asshole and those pretty, fat pussy lips between your legs.

He pulls your panties off all the way and brings them to his face to smell. “Are you ready for me?”

“Please, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He stops you.

König walks to be in front of you as he gazes down at you. Without breaking eye contact he unzips his pants, pulling at the button and letting his pants drop to his ankles. His cock springs free in your face. He walks closer and presses the leaky tip against your closed lips.

“Open.” König demands with his massive horse cock in your face.

You shake your head no. König laughs at your defiance.

“I said open. It’s for your benefit.” He mocks.

You still refuse to open.

“Okay, no lube it is.” He says as he walks away back behind you.

With your panties still in hand, he crouches down. He spreads your ass cheeks, causing you to flinch from the pain of where you were hit. He watches as your pussy lips spread slightly, exposing your pink folds.

“Here we go.” He whispers as he slowly shows your panties into your tight pussy. The feeling of the fabric being shoved into you is uncomfortable, but you try to stay still to not anger him more. He leaves a little bit hanging out of you, kissing your lips before standing up right again.

König moves closer, slapping your sore ass cheeks with his cock. One of his hands grabs the back of your neck to hold you still, the other still on the base of his cock. He begins to slap over your tight asshole with his heavy cock.

“Are you ready for me?”

You simply don’t respond, doing your best to stay in your head and not react. All of that goes out the window when you feel him shove the head of his cock into your virgin asshole. Your head whips around and you gaze up at König.

König meets your gaze as he shoves more of his cock into you. Your ass squeezes so hard around him he slips out for a second. It’s a small moment of relief until he pushes back into you. A loud painful groan is met with him shoving in more of his cock this time. You can feel a tearing sensation causing you to clench down on him, tucking your butt trying to get away.

“DON’T move…” He growls as he holds your hip, pulling you back to him.

König moves both hands to your hips to keep you steady, watching as his cock disappears into your tiny little hole. He lets out a loud moan once he is able to fit all of himself inside of you. The pain of his hips slamming into your torn up flesh is not even close to the pain of his monster cock inside of you.

He pulls out almost all of the way before slamming his cock into you once more. The wails that leave your mouth only adding to his arousal. His cock is being squeezed so tightly by your warm ass he gets lost in the sensation, just fucking you disregarding your pain.

König moves one hand to slap your ass, watching you jerk away like an abused animal. He smirks. You’re already breaking for him. As he shoves his cock all the way into your sore ass, he leans over your body to whisper in your ear.

“You’ve fucked me out of millions, and I’m going to fuck you for ever cent you took from me.” He promises you.

Part 2, Part 3

[happynowyo]

Stubbornness

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

Warnings: mentions of traumas and touch aversion, Reader being a Healer

A/n: so here's the thing I wanted something angsty and smutty but could come up only with the first part tonight so I'll do another hot part in a few days to finish this completely.

Word count: 2,1k

Part 2

— I don't need that, — the confident tone cut through the silence like a sharp knife, sending shivers down your spine for a second.

You might have believed it if you hadn't personally witnessed a couple of Dime Lions beating Kaz with such zeal that the crunch of his broken ribs was clearly audible in the empty valley.

So you continued to worry about him without listening to what was said. You paid far more attention to the quiet sighs Kaz let out with each step, leaning harder and harder on his bad leg, as you noticed the pained expression flickering in his eyes, though you had to hand it to him that he was using all his acting skills to pretend to be fine and make you leave.

— Stop being so stubborn! Even Matthias isn't afraid of my abilities anymore after I healed that bullet wound in his shoulder.

You determinedly followed Kaz into his room, letting the door slam menacingly. As a sign to Kaz that you wouldn't just give up and leave him to be alone with the pain. As a sign to everyone else in the Slat that no one was allowed to bother him anymore in the next couple of hours.

There was no relationship between the two of you. At least, that's what you both claimed when Jesper and Nina cast too many meaningful glances at you, and Inej carefully kept in a secret all those times she saw you leaving Kaz's bedroom before breakfast, knowing that you had spent the night with him. Saints, sometimes even you convinced yourself that you had nothing in common, even though certain details made it clear that your relationship had long gone beyond the professional.

If you didn't know Kaz personally, you'd think he was giving you conflicting signals. He was withdrawn and aloof, preferring to talk only about business. Even if he insisted and you spent the entire evening around him, he went about his deals as if he didn't notice your presence. His stern tone was used toward you as often as it was toward everyone else.

If you didn't know him, you'd be sure that Kaz Brekker was a cold, indifferent bastard who was only interested in kruge and the future death of Pekka Rollins. Calculating and cruel and completely incapable of basic affections. But in reality it was very different. The trick was not to take Kaz for an ordinary guy and not to see him as such. His difficult past had made him wear such armor that it had time to blend into his skin over the years.

In those moments when anyone else would have approached you with caring questions and a warm hug if you were suddenly hurt during the heist, Kaz would limit himself to a brief worried look, though later he would definitely comb down the person you were paired with. You once accused him of being incapable of showing any emotions, but you later realized that the Barrel had hardened him to show it in the most inconspicuous way possible, so as not to put you in any danger. Only the Saints know what Pekka or anyone else would have done to you if they had known about the secret feelings Kaz had for you.

When Wylan revealed that he knew a Healer, everyone took it with great enthusiasm. Even Kaz saw it as a good sign, and it made everyone feel a little more at ease about the tasks ahead, though you remembered to remind Crows to be careful. You could heal a lot, but it wasn't always instantaneous and serious wounds could take a couple of weeks to fully heal. The bigger problem was someone else's stubbornness - Jesper would drag himself to you almost every day with any simple cut, while Matthias or Kaz would literally have to be persuaded.

— I want to help. Let me, please.

Despite the soft shell, the authoritative tone was no deception to Kaz. He sighed heavily and, after a little hesitation, pulled off his jacket, ignoring the flash of pain around his shoulder. Who would have thought that Pekka's secretary was so good with knives?

— You're not supposed to be here, Y/n. He'll be looking for you. Did Pim let you in? — the curt speech was the proof of how much effort Brekker was making to hold back a painful groan and, God forbid, admit that he really needed some help.

You were bound to Anderson with an indenture and officially worked at one of his clubs along with the other Grishas. He was a part of the Merchant Council and was involved in key decisions regarding politics and trade in Ketterdam, which, however, did not stop him from accepting bribes, being under the wing of Pekka and running a real brothel in his club. Many men were really interested in spending the night with Grisha, though more often they ended up asking the girls to demonstrate their skills.

— Anderson is having a party tonight, along with a bunch of other great merchants. And you obviously knew that, since you'd snuck into Pekka's club, counting on the fact that he'd be among the other guests and his office would be empty. Why didn't Nina feel the heartbeat of the guards? — you were tired of the distance between you, so you approached first, gently helping to undo the buttons on Kaz's blood-soaked shirt. Your eyes tried desperately to catch his, but Brekker stubbornly looked away, trying to control the panic that was building up. Close bodily contact was still difficult for him, though his was making definite progress with your help.

— The Fabricator. Someone had worked on the office door, turning it into a veritable safe, through which it is impossible for Grisha to feel or hear anything. Someone from Dregs had told Pekka about our future attack.

Kaz looked angry, but you understood that he had already passed the stage of frustration with his subordinates and so was calculating his options as to who might had done it. His sharp mind was constantly at work, and it was clearly to his advantage now, since it distracted him from realizing how close your fingers were to his body. Phantom heat could already be felt, but it was nothing compared to what he was going to feel later.

You had tried some things before. Intimacy might have been expressed in different ways, but gradually you raised the degree higher and higher. Kaz was getting used to your presence more and more and it allowed him to push his boundaries a little further. Recently you were even able to spend the night in the same bed, separated only by the thin fabric of your pajamas. Before his trauma Kaz was a particularly tactile child, and you hoped to bring him back to that at least a little, showing him that physical touch didn't always have to be accompanied by pain and panic.

You remembered perfectly your first kiss. How timid and cautious it was at first. How desperate and greedy it became later, until a wave of anxiety swept over Kaz and made him pull away first. He focused on avoiding you for a whole week after that and was pretty sure that you were disappointed in his ability to control himself or that you were angry because of his attitude toward touching and the fact that he couldn't give you something normal. However, you managed to change his mind and you continued to take steps toward each other, guided by your growing feelings.

— None of that matters now. You took the papers you wanted, and I'll heal your wounds. We'll deal with everything else in the morning, okay? — you smiled encouragingly, and then you gently stepped closer, your fingers caressing Kaz's bare left side, trying to bind the broken ribs together. Your attentive gaze was fixed on Kaz's face the whole time, assessing and comparing, so that you could instantly catch the moment when the panic of too close contact would occupy his mind again.

— Will you stay? — Kaz finally stopped pretending that his brave solitude on that night was more appealing to him than your support.

— If you behave yourself, sweetheart.

You pulled his shirt aside and examined more closely many bruises and cuts that studded Kaz's torso. The open wound on his right shoulder demanded your attention first, so you gently nudged Kaz toward the bed so that he could sit on it and give you more space. As you worked, you couldn't stop gazing at him, admiring him openly, and your free palm lightly touched his hair, brushing back the strands that had fallen to his forehead. Tenderness filled your heart, and a wandering smile appeared on your lips that didn't escape Kaz's attention.

He liked these moments of comfort with you, and he expressed it in his own way, deciding to take the initiative and slowly run his fingertips from your knee up your thigh. You were standing almost between his legs and the height difference you created gave him an advantageous opportunity. Touching you was still new to Kaz, but the mind-fogging desire was too great and, at certain moments, overpowered any panic. And that's why he gently wrapped his arm around your wrist and pulled you toward him to make you sit on his lap, facing each other even closer.

— It's good you weren't there in his office. If Pekka finds out you're working with me, he'll definitely tell Anderson. They're great friends, it wouldn't cost him anything to get your indenture to himself, — Kaz' eyes were filled with pure hatred, and some part of you was glad it wasn't meant for you.

— You could buy me out. That way I would belong only to you.

— You already belong only to me, Y/n, — Kaz said confidently, in a wave of ghostly jealousy, not even paying attention to the fact that your palm moved to his face, healing his cheekbones from the horrible bruises.

— Only at night. You only claim me here, among these confined four walls, when no one can see or hear us, — you shrugged briefly, getting rid of the sadness in your voice. It would be foolish to expect a man like Kaz to drop everything and leave for a peaceful life. Ketterdam, power and the pursuit of money was everything to him. — Sometimes it takes an effort to remind myself of that during the day, when I don't know if I can see you again because people on streets are about to break the news of your death after another fight or because Anderson will sell me out to someone else.

It was harder to hear about it than to just know it and keep it in the back of his mind. You were the fairest and most beautiful girl for Kaz, the person he truly wanted to protect from everything and care about, and he was sickened by the thought that someone could take you away or hurt you somehow. The words swirled on his tongue, burning with its despair, and he needed to do something to hold on to that moment and cling to you, to prove that the only thing real now was you, your caressing touches erasing the painful sensation from his skin, and the heat of life itself that emanated from you.

The few times before all your kisses had come from you. Kaz had found it easier to accept touch than to touch himself, but now the need to be with you made him go with his urges, so his palm gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and his lips covered yours so hastily, as if he feared it was the last thing he would ever have time and ability to do in his life. But kissing him was still extremely satisfying.

So much that the desire instantly settled in your blood and made you more pliable. Your tongue slid playfully along his, and a convulsive, loud exhalation became yours in common. You unconsciously buried your fingers in his hair and pulled stronger, causing Kaz to moan briefly right into the kiss before he slowly pulled away with a completely shaken look and a bright smile and a glint in his eyes. And in that moment he looked a hell of a lot like his usual self, just a guy spending time with the girl he loved, and their only problem was not the prospect of death at the hands of rival gangs, but the question of whether they'd locked the door.

Although Kaz Brekker had another question stashed away — would you agree to wear that ring he bought for you so you could remember him and his feelings at all times?

Part 2

[audisive]

♪ LET THE LIGHT IN.

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the mixture of love and hate is a dangerous, but ghost is no stranger to danger.

tags: angst, little bit of comfort, enemies to lovers (?), ghost is a blind bastard as well as stupid, mention of being suicidal (but not really), hate is mistaken for love, mention of unconsented touching

     Hate is a familiar word, ever the old friend. Strong and heavy. It's what fuels him and keeps him going – his strength, both a blessing and a curse. Hate, hate, hate. Ghost hates you; you drive him to hell and back with your word until the thin line between hospitality and hostility blurs and he steps over the other.

There's an old red monster that constantly crawls under his skin, corrupting his brain and his heart. Hatred consumes him at the sight of you. Ghost hates you. At least that's what he thinks.

Fleeting gazes are mistaken for heated glares, tensed jaw an unbreakable habit. There's a fire in his loins when your eye catches his at the right time. Ghost's heart speeds up because you make his blood pressure rise. His guts are twisted and turned to your accommodation without knowing, you're in his thoughts constantly because you're so awful.

Love and hate is black and white, color him blind. There's a fine line between the opposites, and he's ambivalent about you.

Of course he respects you; you're his teammate, – a remarkable one, at that – and he will trust you with his life and his heart in your hands, but as much as possible, he would prefer not having to.

Maybe ye're just no' inta women, LT. It's not that he hasn't considered it; can't help that he stares a little too long at anyone with bright blue eyes as engrossing as— Fuckin' 'ell, Johnny. Or perhaps his own were too dull, too icy, too bland. He lacked his sergeant's passion for nearly everything. A'm just pullin' yer leg.

Oh, but how Simon loves you.

Simon is familiar to you the same way the desert is familiar with the scorching heat of the sun, and despite how it warms you, kisses and burns and scars you, you miss every bit of it – the way he hurts you comfortingly. Loving him feels like snow meeting sand, – unfamiliar and impossible – but if snow can fall on the hottest desert, then who are you to be exempt?

Acknowledging the difference between love and hate is one, admitting that he doesn't feel the other way for you is another. It's not love; you're just part of the team. He repeats the mantra when his fist collides with the face of a man who made the mistake of touching you despite your lack of consent.

Your knuckles are split, sir. He repeats it to himself again when he's forced to sit with his thigh pressed to yours and feels the warmth of your skin against his. I can take care of m'self next time, Ghost.

I know, kid. It's not love. Not when he hushes you instead of yelling and barking orders at you as you bleed out on the floor of the warehouse. "Ghost," you plead for your life, weeping and gasping for air. Your voice breaks. His heart does, too. "I know, lovie. I know." It's not love. Not when he carries you singlehandedly in and out of the chopper, rushing to the medical ward before you can even lose consciousness. Not when he tends to the knife on your side before the bullet in his.

"Sure, the lieutenant isn't much for words, but the way he looks at you..." The knowledgeable (or maybe she just likes gossip) nurse trails off, searching for the right words in the back of her mind. "It's like there's no one else in the world but you – no, actually, he looks at you as if you're the world itself – he looks at you like a god, his. In a way that guarantees anyone that he'd live and repeat the horrors of this life in his next, just for you. And I've never seen him look at anyone like.. that. But now, I see him looking at you. Everyday."

She smiles at you, kind enough to continue. "Don't you think you deserve that kind of dedication? The kind that makes you feel like you're the center of someone's universe?"

You find yourself stunned by her words, your lips parting in the slightest manner. Speechless. She finds more words in your silence. "'Cause I think you do. You do deserve that," she smiles at you knowingly, as if she'd read your fate – as if the stars had told her all there is to know, "and something tells me he could give you exactly that." She's sure of it. 

But Simon is only the ghost of a Ghost. He's fleeting, a glance, a graze, and a kiss.

Too early, too much, not enough, too late. He'd used up every excuse like a box of tissues until he had none, until he'd been left high and dry, until he had no choice but to admit it: he's in love with you in a way that is looked down upon. Desperately, longingly, and horribly so.

If your love was a noose, then Simon is a suicidal man. He wants your love to dig into the skin of his neck, and please take his breath away.

The image of you leaving was embedded into his brain, the same way he had burned the image of you into his mind long ago. His tongue dries with the words and pleads of love, but he thinks he doesn't. So he doesn't. He wants to call out to you – say something that might cause you to pause and turn around, maybe take him with you – but the words don't come, and you leave, taking his heart with you. 

There's a longing that aches beneath his chest, an empty space.

All of the words in the world will not change the reality that he pushed himself into. Life has moved on without the two of you. He has so many things to tell you, but now is not the time.

He calls for your name.

Your breath hitches at his voice before you speak, "good night, lieutenant." You open a barrier between you and him just as you open the door, taking a step out of the seemingly unlived small apartment. His chest is unmoving as an unfamiliar feeling shoots through his veins. He should say something, anything. Say something, bastard.

With lowered pride, his mouth opens just a second too late. He hears the door click shut.

It never will be.

  divider by @cafekitsune !