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badathumanemotions · 20 days ago

Note

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. m (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

#criminal minds #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #dominate spencer reid #mgg #mgg smut

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! So grateful you have opened up your requests 🥰

Could I get one of cregan showing his wife, targ!reader, the wall for the first time?

The Wall

- Summary: Cregan takes you to see the Wall, and Silverwing comes with you.

- Paring: (wife) targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is bonded with Silverwing.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

You feel the northern chill in your bones the moment you step foot beyond Winterfell. The air grows heavier, colder, as if the very breath of the Old Gods wraps around you, sinking its icy tendrils into your flesh. It is a different kind of cold—more relentless, more biting than you have ever known in the southern lands of your birth. But then again, you expected nothing less when you agreed to accompany Cregan Stark to the Wall.

Your husband rides at your side, his fur cloak draped over broad shoulders, a sight that fills you with warmth. His face is set with the solemnity that marks his heritage, but there’s a softness there for you—a softening of his eyes whenever they meet yours, a gentle squeeze of his hand on your arm when the wind howls too sharply. His presence beside you feels like a shelter, a warmth against the harshness of the North.

“I’ve waited long to show you this,” Cregan murmurs, his voice low but carrying over the wind. There’s a rare lightness to his words, a pride that makes you smile, despite the cold biting at your cheeks.

“You speak of it as if it’s something magical,” you reply, teasing him gently, though you feel a hint of excitement bubbling beneath your words. The Wall is something that has lingered in stories and songs, a place you’ve only heard about. Yet now, you are about to see it with your own eyes.

“Some might say it is.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending warmth down your spine. “It’s a sight unlike any other. Even your dragons have their limits when it comes to the Wall.”

Your heart gives a little tug at his words, reminding you of Silverwing, the great she-dragon bonded to you since your youth. You’ve heard the stories too—of how Silverwing, despite her strength and size, refused to cross the Wall during the reign of Queen Alysanne. The tales had puzzled you, and a part of you wondered whether the creature you shared a bond with would behave the same when you reached the ancient barrier.

As the hours stretch on and you grow closer to your destination, the Wall finally emerges on the horizon—a towering monument of ice and stone, glowing eerily under the weak northern sun. The sheer size of it takes your breath away. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, as though it will shield you from the awe that grips your chest.

“There it is,” Cregan says softly, his hand brushing against yours. His voice holds a note of reverence, as if the Wall itself is something holy. “The edge of the world.”

You stare up at it, the enormity of it humbling you in a way nothing ever has. The Wall stretches impossibly high, a barrier that seems to separate not only land but realms themselves—the living and the dead, the known and the unknown.

But what captures your attention more is the sound of wings cutting through the cold air. You turn your gaze upward just in time to see the massive shadow of Silverwing circling above. Her pale, silvery scales shimmer in the dull light, a contrast against the grim, grey sky. Yet, even as she soars closer to the Wall, you see the familiar hesitation in her flight. She slows, wings beating in slower arcs, her great head turning toward the ice as if sensing some invisible barrier.

“She remembers,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Cregan.

“Aye,” he agrees, watching with you. “The Wall holds a power older than all of us.”

You urge Silverwing with a thought, your connection with her as strong as ever. She flaps her wings harder, drawing closer to the Wall’s towering height, but just as before—just as the tales told—she stops short. Her massive body hovers in the air for a few moments, and despite your urging, she will not go any farther. The invisible force seems to push back, a resistance neither of you can break.

A quiet frustration stirs within you. “She won’t cross it,” you murmur, though you already knew this might happen. You watch her large, majestic form retreat just enough to hover out of reach.

Cregan, who has been observing quietly, steps closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his warmth. “Perhaps she knows something we don’t,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “The dragons have their wisdom, even if we don’t understand it.”

You nod, leaning into him. His presence calms you, as it always does, and you relax into his embrace. But then, something shifts.

A low, rumbling growl echoes through the air, and you turn your attention back to Silverwing. The dragon’s wings beat harder, her growl growing into a roar that vibrates through your chest. She lowers her body, as if preparing to charge, and you feel her agitation through your bond—a new determination, a will that wasn’t there before.

“What is she—” Cregan begins, but you hold up a hand, silencing him.

Silverwing surges forward, her massive wings flaring as she approaches the Wall once more. This time, there is no hesitation. The invisible force that once stopped her seems to buckle under her will, and you watch in astonishment as Silverwing pushes through the barrier. The cold air whips around you, stinging your face, as her great form crosses over the Wall, her wings carrying her higher into the northern sky.

“She did it,” you breathe, hardly able to believe what you’re seeing. You can feel her triumph, her exhilaration, as she soars over the frozen wasteland beyond. It is as if the Wall’s ancient magic has finally yielded to her strength—or perhaps to something deeper, something connected to you.

Cregan’s hand tightens on your waist, and when you look up at him, you see the awe in his eyes. “You’re the first Targaryen to make it past the Wall,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Silverwing wouldn’t have done that for anyone else.”

Your heart swells at his words, at the pride you feel through your bond with Silverwing and the warmth of Cregan’s affection. You turn in his arms, your fingers brushing against his cold cheek before you kiss him. His lips are warm, soft, a contrast to the sharp cold around you.

“Perhaps she knew it was time,” you whisper against his lips.

“Or perhaps she follows her rider,” Cregan replies, his voice low and tender as he pulls you closer.

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in his embrace, as the Wall looms behind you. Silverwing’s triumphant roars echo in the distance, and for the first time, you feel as though the North has truly welcomed you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x female reader #cregan x y/n #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark #silverwing

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grugruel · 11 months ago

Text

Let the Light in

Pairing: priest!Bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: On the day of your wedding, you excpect to love your husband, not fall for the priest.

You'd never been a believer. But when your marrige spiraled into darkness, you had to find light elsewere. So you asked the Lord for help, and He answered.

Ironically enough, He gave you a most devout follower, the priest.

Word count: ca 4k

Warnings: fluff, angst, blasphemy, soft!priest!bucky, pinv sex, oral sex (f receiving), passionate sex, fingering, thigh-riding, adultry, praise (m receiving), priest kink.

AN: its been proof read! I dont understand how yall read it before the fact, my misspellings were crazy. I also edited it a bit, gave yall about 200-300 words more.

I stod silently on the sidewalk, with my back to the road. Numbly observing the scene in front of me as I waited. Cars were rushing past behind me, slowing as they noticed the crowd.

The chilly autumn winds blew my coat off of my stocking clad legs, revealing them to the elements. I couldnt be bothered to care.

The cold did not affect me anymore, I was strung out on feeling.

I watched my husband struggle, and the guests scramble to help him. They got him on his feet, and his best man slung an arm around him to keep him from falling again. My eyes brimmed with tears, ready to fall any second now.

I felt a hand touch the small of my back in silent support. A palm pressed firmly into the arch below, fingertips curling, rouching the fabric of my dress. I closed my eyes and all my troubles were wisked away for but a second, until I heard the guests approach and the hand left me. I opened my eyes to a grim sight.

We met in college, my husband and I. He'd been lovely and attentive when we first met, he made me fall in love with him. He proposed to me on our graduation, and i'd never been happier.

Unfortunately though, it didnt last that long.

As we were fresh out of school, both with stellar scores and brand new degrees. We got our dream jobs, and bought ourselves our dream home.

Everything was perfect, until he got fired. Why? He wouldnt tell me, he left me in the dark, refusing to tell me himself.

Naturally, I grew suspicious.

So I called his former boss, who told me that they'd caught him with his secretary bent over his desk. They said he'd gotten a reputation within his business and would be experiencing difficulties in finding a new job for himself. My crying increased gradually through out the call, this was the first time hed let me down after all. His boss was very apologetic and so was my fiancé.

He found me sat on the floor with phone in hand, a complete mess of tears and running mascara. Immedietly showing worry, 'Whats going on, whats happened?' He asked, thinking somebody died. But when I glared at him, repaying his silence with my own, he understood. He stuttered an apology, his words a flurry of explanations and sorrys, sounding truly regretful.

So I forgave him, silly me.

With time, bitterness manifested within him. Resentment over the fact that I was well liked and did good work at my own job. It led him down a pityfull path, finding solace in alcohol, resentment turning into lousey drunkeness. I should've left him, but chose to forgive him. I loved him, despite all.

Eventually he found a new job, nowehere near the prestige of his old one. But it calmed his drinking.

When he sobered slightly, he apologized continously. Telling me he promised to get better and told me he wanted to have our ceremony, because I deserved it. Foolishly, I belived him. He stayed sober several weeks before the wedding, and I thought it could be a new start.

But here we are now.

I stood behind the doors of the nave, inhaling and exhaling big shaky breaths, trying to gather strength for what I was about to throw myself into.

The priest, father Barnes. The one who would be marrying us, came to me before I walked down the aisle.

'Miss.' He began, his eyes pleading as he took my hands into his, 'Its now my place, I know. But your betrothed-'

'Youre right, its not.' I cut him off, the idea of discussing my fiancés indiscretions with the priest was not appealing. 'I apologize father.' I sighed and met his eyes, 'Hes drunk isnt he?'

The priest tilted his head to the side, realising I was already well aquainted with the vice, 'Well, yes. . .' He said, sounding apologetic.

I nodded my head, deep in thought, 'Alright, lets not waste anymore time then.'

'You're still going ahead with the wedding?' He asked me, an incredulous expression shaping his face.

I looked down, studying the intricate details of my wedding dress. Id picked it myself, my favourite flowers covered it. That man of mine doesnt know my favourite in anything, nor would he notice them on my dress.

A melancholic smile covered my lips, 'You must think me foolish father.' I whispered under my breath, chuckling quietly.

He shook his head and moved one of his hands to my chin, tilting my face to meet his. The other grabbed my hands, and squeezed them, 'I think youre strong.' He told me, a reassuring smile on his lips.

'He promised me he would get better.' My voice was meak, a tear streaking my face.

'You're a good woman.' He breathed, letting go of my hands to cup my face. He leveled his head with mine, his tall stature forcing him to hunch as his eyes locked with mine, 'Too, good.' He whispered, 'And, Its not my business, thats true. . .' Another tear fell, and he gently stroked it away with his thumb, 'But he does not deserve your kindness.'

My cheeks burned hot, a blush crept up my face. I had not heard such kind words in a long time. I could not controll my crying any longer, unstoppable tears came rolling down my cheeks, 'I have to believe him, father, I have to try.' I told him quietly, hating how desperate my voice sounded.

'I love him.'

He cringed at the words, furrowing his brows 'I admire your devotion.' He said gently, 'Do you want more time? Im sure we can wait a little longer.' He tried, but I shook my head.

'No, I dont want to keep the guests waiting.' I took a deep breath, 'Do I look ok?' I asked him.

He nodded, but pulled the cuff over his hand and dabbed my cheeks dry.

His eyes flickered over my face, studying my features, my wet eyes and rosy cheeks. He leaned in, kissed my cheek and whispered 'Angelic.' His hands fell to my bare shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

He turned around and as he was about the leave I grabbed hold of his wrist, carefully tugging him back. He faced me and I let go of him realising that perhaps it wasnt appropriate of me. 'I just-' I began, but my voice broke. He met my eyes and pulled me into his embrace, 'Thank you, father.' I whispered against his chest.

He rested his head on your shoulder and rubbed your back gently, holding onto the fabric of your dress, rubbing it between his fingers. Studying the beautiful pattern. He slid his hands up your arms, feeling a sudden urge to kiss the bare skin beneath him. He pulled back hastily, clearing his throat as he silently rebuked himself.

'I must take my place dear.' He said, stroking a piece of hair behind my ear. He gave me a last smile, then left, taking his place by the altar.

I heard the music starting and the muffled sound of the crowd standing up. I sighed, steadied my breathing, and opened the doors to the nave. Everyone turned around, looking at me. Whispers rumbled through the crowd as I began walking, their stares were making me nervous.

Through the gloom of the church, light shone through the windows at the altar. I looked at him for comfort, handsome as he was, I met his eyes and found it within them.

He could not tear his eyes from you, you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, courageous and proud, you walked down the aisle. When your eyes met his, he smiled proudly. Hoping you would find some comfort in it, and you found it.

As I approached the altar, I tore my eyes from his and looked at my fiancé. His best man holding him upright, otherwise slumping over. He smiled sloppily at me, I gave him a strained smile back.

The ceremony was over quickly, my husband stumbled through his vows and his kiss tasted of smoke and whiskey. In fact, the entirety of him was drenched in the odor.

I smiled and thanked everyone as they congratulted us, and carefully, tiptoed around the subject of my husband.

I hurried to change into my reception dress, it was all black. Black coat, dress, heels and stockings. Fitting, I thought. As this felt more like a funeral than a wedding, burrying the woman I once was.

People were drinking, laughing and dancing. The reception was doing a wonderful job of keeping everyone cheery, everyone except me. I sat silently by our table, watching my husband as he kept drinking and his men trying to calm him down. He had barely spoken a word to me, he was to drunk to stand, to drunk to have our first dance. I felt myself sinking into oblivion as my polite smiles and thank yous were running out.

But someone approched me, snapping me out of the darkness. I looked up, and the light returned.

He reached his hand out to me, 'May I have this dance?' He asked, his white collar stark against his black shirt.

'You may.' I smiled, the first genuine smile I'd given anyone since the night begun.

I laid my hand in his and he led me to the edge of the dance floor, somewhere we could be at peace. In our dark colors we went unseen, tucked away from prying eyes.

I snaked my arms around his neck and his arms circled my waist, pulling me tightly against him. A bit unorthodox perhaps. But I didnt mind and neither did he, it seemed. I leaned my head against him as we swayed to the music, basking in eachothers prescence.

He sensed that you werent interested in talking, but rather needed a shoulder to lean on. Someone to hold you up, as your ungrateful husband couldnt even do that for himself.

For several songs, we just held eachother. Until the evening began winding down and we had to depart.

'I think this was a mistake.' He whispered.

'Which part?' I asked, and he sighed.

'Dont hesitate to come to me if you need anyhting.' He said quietly, 'Please.' he pleaded. I nodded, thinking id never take him up on his offer.

Now, I stood on the street. Still feeling the priests hand on my back although he'd already taken a few secure steps back.

I watched as my husband being carried to our car, as we were headed for our honeymoon. Two weeks in rome, I wish I could truthfully say I was excited. They shoved him into the back, and once again congratulated us with cheapish smiles. I walked around the car and opened the door, about to sit down when a hand slid into mine. I looked up and my eyes met his beautiful blues once again. He assisted me into the car, lending me his strong arm for support as I sat down. His hand slid out of mine, and a note was left in my palm, reflexicely I closed my hand around it. 'Anything.' He whispered and backed away, closing the door gently.

Our car drove off as the guests were waving us of, but all I could think about was the priest disappearing in the distance.

I opened the note, written down was his number and adress along with a few intricately drawn flowers.

I smiled to myself, quickly stashing it away in my pocket, afraid my husband would see. But as I looked at him, I realised. He was dead asleep, snoring even.

I opened my hand, tracing my fingertips along my palm. Trying to recreate the feeling of his hand in mine, his gentle, yet firm touch on my skin. I sighed, feeling my tears returning.

I cried silently, afraid to wake him. The driver looked at me through his rearview mirror, I met his eyes and quickly averted my gaze, crying even harder, but I couldnt even do that in peace. God, what had I done. I leaned my head against the seat, closing my eyes. When suddenly, I felt fingers on my knee. I shut my eyes harder, begging for it to be my imagination. But it wasnt.

'My, beautiful wife.' He drawled, tracing a finger along my jaw as his hand slid up my thigh. He sat forward, leaning towrd the drivers compartment and shut the hatch.

I opened my eyes and faced him, 'Aw, crying of joy sweetheart?' He asked, he was so delusional it was scary. I nodded, and feigned a smile which he returned lazily, then leaned in to kissed me.

I closed my eyes again, canceling out the taste and smell of liqour, shutting my ears to his voice.

And when his finger reached under my dress, It no longer felt like him. My husbands face was no longer my husbands, his voice and touch was someone elses.

All of a sudden my core was aching for more.

His kisses on my skin felt like heaven, his touch like fire and when he pulled me on top of him. I opened my eyes, and was met with blue, black and white.

Weeks went by and my thoughts never left father Barnes, whenever my husband made love to me, I made love to a priest.

Eventually his drinking subdued and he started taking care of himself, but grew more distant by the day.

It did actually make my existence bareable.

But there came a day, when I got home from work early and things were not as they should. The were heels in the doorway and clothes strewn on the floor. As I followed their trail, I found my husband and his secretary at the end of them. Naked, sweaty and monaing, in our bed, in our home. I was quiet, lost for words, but they mustve noticed my presence.

Because they stopped and threw the sheets over themselves, covering up. 'Sweetheart, its not what it seems.' He managed, struggling to clme up with an excuse. God, the stumache on that man. I felt like screaming, like cursing him and his entire bloodline. But he wasnt worth it.

I turned on my heel and he scrambled out of bed, dragging the sheet with him as he followed me out of the house, apologizing prefusely.

I shut him out, rage filling me as I got in my car and drove away. I drove to the only adress that came to mind.

I walked up to his house and knocked on the door, a few moments passed and he opened.

With wide eyes he looked at me, unable to hide his surpise. 'I uhm, I-' I stammered, my own surpise catching up to me. I hadnt had time to think this through, I acted on pure instinct. 'He cheated on me.' I got the words out, finally taking a breath as I finally understood their meaning. Misery overtook my rage, and my eyes welled as I tried to explain myself. 'I apologize for barging in on you father.' I started, 'Ive been thinking about you and I-' rambling, all my thoughts and feelings poured out of me. In the doorway of this poor mans home.

He reached out to me and pulled me into a hug, backing away from the door and let it fall shut behind me. He rested his head on top of mine as one of his hands held my head against his chest, stroking my hair. The warmth of his home embracing me.

'Can I confess something father?' I asked him as I laid my arms around him, much like our dance a few weeks ago.

'Anything.' He answered, kissing the top of my head.

'Ive sinned.'

He pulled back with a confused look on his face, but didnt let go. 'Lets hear it.' He ordered patiently.

'Ive. . . Been thinking of another man.' I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. 'During actions that should only take place between husband and wife.' I told him quietly, and his face grew pale. 'Ive had an emotional affair with this man, unbeknownst to him.' My breathing turned heavy, as my gaze switched to his lips, 'But, me and this man. Were both bound by vows you see.' I said and let go of him, understanding my words as I said them, and stepped back. Suddenly regretting coming here, as I felt rejection was imminent. 'Mine are already broken, but his are not and he cannot break them. He would not.'

'You should let the man speak for himself.' He said, serious in tone. His gaze locked in on me, as he stepped closer. 'I havent been able to stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I've tried.' He whispered, laying his hands on my hips. 'Ive never seen a woman so beautiful walking down the aisle, god himself mustve blessed you.' I snaked my hands around his shoulders, burrying them in his hair. 'Im hoping he would bless us, too.' Leaning in, his lips were a ghost over mine. 'I would care for you, in a way your husband never could. He does not deserve you.' He leaned his forehead agagaist mine, 'I'd work everyday to deserve your love, your kindness, your presence.' He said quietly against my lips, planting a gentle kiss on them and pulling back slightly to give me room. But I chased his lips, returning the kiss feverishly. Grabbing a fistful of his hair as I pulled him impossibly closer. His hands roamed my back, reaching under my shirt to undo my bra. It fell to the floor and he pulled my shirt over my head in one quick motion, making me gasp.

I removed the collar of his shirt with my teeth and ripped his black shirt open, burrying my head in the crook of his neck, 'Youre not a beginner, are you father? I asked, between kisses. Breathing heavily as I latched onto his skin, sucking at the sweet spot between his neck and collarbone.

He moaned, a smirk shaping his lips, 'Saints also sin from time to time.' he breathed, his hands falling to my ass and lifted me into his arms. I chuckled, letting go of his neck and circled my legs around his hips. I pushed my bare breasts against him and he burried his face in them, in turns taking them into his mouth. 'Where?' His voice came muffled by my skin.

'Everywhere.' I answered.

I could feel his grin against my skin, as he nipped my nipple with his teeth, making me yelp. He walked us toward his bedroom, and laid me down on his bed. He stood back, studying me as he took his shirt and pants off. I unbuttoned my own pants and shimmied out of them, raising myself onto my elbows, watching him as he took me in. His eyes roamed my body, thighs, hips, stumache, breasts. He loved all of me, 'Youre perfect.' He said, lust in his eyes as he climbed on top of me. 'I need you.' He whispered.

'You'll have me.' I told him and flipped him over. Positioning him against the headboard as I stradled his thigh, grinning wickedly and leaned forward, kissing his jaw. 'But first-' I whispered against his ear, 'I want to test your self control.' He looked confused, and I began grinding my clit against his thigh, a whimper escaping me. His hands flew to my hips to help me along, but I grabbed them and led them up to the headboard. I leveled my face with his, ghosting my lips over his as I had him hold onto the board, 'No touching.' I whispered and pecked his lips. I leaned back and my grinding resumed, I grabbed his thighs for support as the heat from the friction was making me swoon. I leaned my head back, biting my lip from the pleasure and when I looked back at him, he was holding onto the board for dear life. The muscles in his arms and jaw clenching as he fought himself to stay still, his eyes were running up and down my body.

The way your hips swayed and breasts bounced, it was sucking all the restraint out of him. His hands were itching to touch you, to just feel your skin under his fingertips for a moment. It would keep him fed for the rest of his life.

I hummed, 'Im- im gonna-' I stammered, my breaths frenzied as I was closing in on my orgasm. The crazy in his eyes made me smile devilishly, I felt evil, in the best way. My hips stuttered against his thigh, my ruts becoming faster and shorter as I was approaching my release. When I looked at him, his eyes were pleading, begging for permission, but it was to late. I rushed over the edge in a second, collapsing onto him, panting hard as I was catching my breath.

'May I?' He asked, his voice strained.

I kissed his chest and answered, 'Yes, please. You did so good.' He grunted at the praise, surprising me. He grabbed my ribs and threw me under him, hurridly kissing his way down my body until he reached my thighs. Spreading them, he kissed his way up the inside until he reached my panties. Without a second thought he ripped them apart and burried his face in my cunt. Tasting me, licking my juices, sliding his tongue through my folds and kissing my clit. A string of curses fell from my lips, as he pushed a finger inside of me, carefully sliding it in and out. Then adding another, and eventually a third, he thrusted them into me, my moaning telling him he was on the right track. He curled them into my spot and I nearly screamed.

'Just like that, good job.' I breathed and he moaned against my clit. What fun. He reached into his boxers and stroked himself, the sight made me mad. And for the second time, I came tumbling over the edge. He was not far behind, coming into his own hand, drenching himself in his seed. I grabbed his arm and pulled his hand closer to me, licking a stripe of his hand. He grunted at the sight, spurring me on as I took his fingers into my mouth. Sucking him clean as he watched, furrowing his brows, he became plagued by lust.

I pulled him closer to me, meeting his lips in another kiss as he pulled off his boxers. I reached down, stroking him as I lined him up with my entrance, 'You did such a good job, father.' His head perked at the praise, like a puppy being told hes a good boy. Gratefully pecking my face, cheek, chin and jaw, below my ear and neck. He put his weight on me, we couldnt possibly get any closer to one another. 'I need you in me father.' I told him bluntly, and leveled his head with mine, sliding inside. Kissing me mean while and I moaned into his mouth, sharing my breath with him. I laid my hands on his hips, telling him to move by pulling and pushing. Helping him set a gentle but firm pace, he lowered his head to the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. 'Let me hear you father, dont hold back.' I whispered and appreciatively he grunted against my skin, moaning in my ear. It was fiendish, it was fantastic. 'Deeper, please.' I asked, pulling on his hips to drive him deeper and using the weight of his entire body he thrusted into me, in rythm with his grunts as our bodiess moved together.

'Tell me im good, please.' He begged, nuzzling his face into my neck.

I smiled, 'Youre being so good for me father.' I whispered into his hair.

'Thank you.' He whimpered, putting even more force to his thrusts as he traced my collarbone with kisses, all the way to my shoulder, repeating "Thank you." Over and over again inbetween his kisses. His thrusts were coming faster as he was closing in on his orgasm, driving me over the edge with him. 'I- im- im close.' He stuttered faintly.

'So am I, almost there father.' His pace hastened as his hand slithered between our bodies, finding my clit and circled it. 'God' I moaned, spots specking my vision as the priests thrusts became frenzied. He pinched my skin in warning, reminding me not to take the lords name in vain. Then we came together, and he collapsed on top of me.

'Im sorry for swearing, father. You bring it out of me.' I whispered.

He chuckled, 'Youre forgiven.' Throughout the night, we made love on the couch, the floor, the kitchen table and shower.

Eventually, we got back into bed. Holding eachother tightly as we drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up late the next day, there was a vase of flowers on the bedside table with a note under it, the letter "-B" was written on it.

I unfolded it and he had written me a message, "I had to go to church, but didnt want to wake you. I hope on seeing you later, please stay if you want to. Id love to come home to you. -PS, Your favourites."

I smiled happily and smelled the bouqet of tulips, a soft, warm feeling spreading throughout my body.

For a long time love had felt dark to me, it had felt cold and lonely, but now. . .

I had let the light in, he was my light.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

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schoenpepper · 3 months ago

Text

All Sorts of Love

Intro: Kalim hasn't felt this kind of love before.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, yandere, one google translated arab word

A/N: For that one anon I hope you like this because I have spiralled into "what kind of yandere would Kalim be" and boyyyy I tried. I don't like the ending too much though. But honestly I feel like even if he was yandere he'd still turn to Jamil, right? They're like overly codependent. Also had way too much fun with the colors.

Masterlist

Kalim knows what love is.

Growing up, he'd been surrounded by a lot—maybe too much of it. From his parents to his siblings, he was spoiled, adored, and loved. He used all that love and poured it into himself like a valve, letting it flow right back to the world from within his body. He loves the sun, the sky, and his family; he loves his friends, the sea, and the wind as it ruffles his hair when he's on a magic carpet ride. He loves you.

Because you're his friend too.

He looks at the page in his notebook. One hour into Trein's lecture, and it's void of actual notes—only your name, little chibi doodles of you, and little hearts surrounding everything. He thinks you're so cute. He's glad that you two are friends and that you're so close with him. He has lots of friends, but you're different. Because you're best friends, like Jamil!

(Jamil denies it sometimes, but he doesn't mind. Jamil is still the closest person to him, even after the whole inky disaster.)

The bell rings, and he sweeps everything from his desk right into his bag. Jamil has basketball practice today, so hey, maybe he can hang out with you! You like hanging out with him, right? A happy tune is on his lips as he walks out of the classroom, his feet leading him towards the first years' classes. Your dismissal for this class was about thirty minutes later than his own, so he sits down on a bench and sways his feet, waiting patiently.

(He memorized your schedule so you guys can hang out more!)

He can't do much while waiting, except for playing on his phone. He sees a picture you'd posted on Magicam yesterday and clicks the like button—it's of the two of you, so he comments with a 'WE LOOK SO GOOODDDD' and saves the image, using it as his screen wallpaper. The background was the amusement park he'd begged you to go to with him, cotton candy swirls in your hands as you stood together with happy smiles. Jamil took the photo, which is great! Because for some reason, even though the two of you are his best friends, he doesn't like the thought of Jamil standing next to you or doing as he did in the picture and feeding you a piece of his cotton candy. Just thinking about it made him upset. He doesn't like feeling upset, so he doesn't want to think about it anymore.

The bell rings, and the freshmen pour out of their classrooms like a swarm of insects. Several Scarabia first-year students greet him, and he smiles in turn, while his ruby-red eyes scan the crowd for your figure.

Too short, too tall, wrong hair color, wrong hair texture—ah!

It's you.

"Y/N!" Kalim all but runs over to you with the widest smile on his face, almost bowling you over to the ground with his hug.

"Kalim!" You smile back just as happily, ignoring Grim, who'd fallen to the ground from your shoulder. Kalim beams brighter when he feels your arms wrap back around him, and he stays still until Ace speaks up.

"Uh, are you guys gonna keep hugging, or can we get going?"

"Right! Y/N, come with me, okay? I wanna show you something." He knows you'll fall for his wide, pleading eyes when he asks the question. As expected, you only nod and follow him, leaving Grim with the two Heartslabyul boys with promises of tuna when you pick him up later.

Kalim holds your hand the whole time as he pulls you back to Scarabia. He listens to how your day went with all 110% of his attention span, letting you finish your story before opening the storage room door. "Huh? What are we doing here, Kalim?" He giggles and runs with you over to one corner. He doesn't like that he has to let go of your hand, but he dives headfirst into the mountain of gold to try and find the thing he's looking for. He pulls a small box out of the pile and collapses to the floor, out of breath. "Uh, are you okay?" You ask, barely holding back your laughter.

"I'm okay!"

He loves seeing you laugh. He thinks you shouldn't hide it.

"So what did you want to show me?"

He stands back up and opens the box. Inside is a gold bracelet with little heart-shaped rubies, the same color as his eyes. "This! I just remembered that my parents sent it with me when I got into NRC. It was my jida's. Do you like it?"

You smile and admire the bracelet.

But you never touch it.

"It's gorgeous, Kalim."

"Great!" He fumbles a little bit as he takes it out of the box, gesturing for your hand. "I'll put it on for you!"

"What? No, I can't accept that, Kalim."

"Please! They told me to give it to an important person, and you're very important to me," he insists. You look at him hesitantly, but still refuse. "That's different, I don't think they mean that kind of important, Kalim."

"Y/N...am I not important to you?"

Finally, finally, you waver and fold. You let him put the bracelet on you. He can't help himself; he intertwines your fingers with his own as he admires the way it sits on your wrist. He can almost imagine the way his own grandmother had worn it in the past. She must've looked beautiful, but he thinks no one could ever compare to you. You two sit down on some random carpet in the store room as he continues to appreciate how it shines on your skin, his thumb subconsciously rubbing circles on your hand. When he looks back at your face to say something, he freezes for a few seconds.

You're looking at him so...adoringly.

Eyes soft and sweet, like honey is swirling within your irises. Your lips are slightly parted, as if you're hesitating to say something, and your grip on his hand is tightening. He watches you take a deep breath and speak.

"Kalim," you say his name like it's nothing he's ever heard before. "I like you, as more than a friend. No, Kalim, I love you."

And for once, he doesn't know how to respond to this love.

For all the love given to him by his parents, his ancestors, his siblings, his cousins, his human friends, his animal friends—none of it had prepared him to be loved by you, no, not like this. He loves you. But... as a friend.

Right.

Because loving you like that, what would it mean? Would it let you spend more time together or less? Would you smile at him or fight with him more? What does that kind of love entail?

He likes your friendship.

So, "Can't we just stay friends?"

He sees your heart crack from the way you look at him, how you pull away, and how you immediately unclasp the bracelet and put it back in his hands. There are tears streaming down your face and leaving trails down your cheeks as you speak, and your voice is so shaky that he feels so bad for what he said. But he can't take it back. "Okay, I'm, I'm so sorry." You stammer out through choked sobs as you stand up and start to walk away.

"Hey, Y/N!" He tries to go after you, but you break out into a full run before he can do anything.

Maybe he should leave you alone for a while. With all the thoughts in his mind that he can't make sense of at the moment, maybe he needs that alone time just as much as you do.

He sighs.

First Jamil, now you.

(Since when has friendship been so hard?)

The 'alone time' takes at least three days.

By the fourth day, Kalim is ready to be your friend again. He can't handle the awkward glances or seeing your teary eyes just the day after the incident, but he can't leave you forever! You're his best friend, and he wouldn't lose you over this. He'd thought that after giving you some space, you would bounce right back and maybe go on a magic carpet ride with him again.

So...why are you still avoiding him...?

He'd lost sleep over the past three days, lost focus. Jamil had been on his tail about homework and projects. But he's so distracted. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you okay now?

Do you still love him?

He walks over to your cafeteria table, where you're seated with your friends. "Y/N!" He's blocked by a very angry Grim, hissing and all fur standing on end. He's so confused when Ace and Deuce try to get him to leave, when Epel is glaring at him, when Jack is hiding you behind his muscled figure, when Ortho is just quietly scanning him, a strange red laser pointing to his forehead, or when Sebek is yelling at him that you don't want him around.

Do you really...not want him around?

He's pulled away by Jamil when Ortho's eyes start glowing red.

Why are you avoiding him why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why

He doesn't like it when you avoid him.

Don't avoid him, please.

You're taking longer, more inconvenient routes, if only to steer clear of the path he takes. Your friends guard around you in the cafeteria, and days turn to weeks, and Kalim is...okay.

He's okay.

(Jamil finds him sobbing in his sheets in the middle of the night, crying out your name.)

He's okay when he sees you gradually brightening up again. He's okay when he finds you're slowly talking to him again, but not treating him like a friend. He's super okay and totally fine when he sees you spending more and more of your time with Deuce alone, just the two of you. And he's great when he notices the boy's blushing, awkward movements, similar to what you used to do in Kalim's presence.

Come back to him please Y/N please please please come back why won't you come back he's your best friend right why won't you come back Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N

"Do you like Y/N?"

Kalim's feet are swinging off the edge of the balcony as he leans back on his arms. His gaze stays on the fountain in the middle of the dormitory, clearly lost in thought, before being brought back by Jamil's question. He doesn't need to think twice about his answer. "Of course! They're my best friend too, so it's a little upsetting that they're not hanging out with me anymore."

"No." Jamil rolls his eyes. "More than a friend."

"I don't think so."

"Really?"

Kalim nods.

(It's okay that he wants to be your best friend, your only friend, right?)

"Kalim, let's get this straight, okay? I don't want to see you sulking anymore. You're in love with Y/N." Jamil puts both hands on Kalim's shoulders, stooping a little lower to look him in the eye. "Do you want to be with Y/N all the time? Do you want to touch them? Kiss them, maybe? Do you feel annoyed when you see them with other people? Do you hate the thought of a future without them by your side, like you can't even stand it? Kalim, yes or no, are you in love with Y/N?"

Kalim feels like he's just been dunked in a vat of ice water.

"I love them that way?" he asks softly.

Jamil shakes him lightly. "Imagine you saw Deuce kissing the—"

Oh. Okay. So he loves you after all.

"Kalim!"

He never even noticed the heavy rain that suddenly started after Jamil said those words. It's his magic; he can feel it, but Oasis Maker is out of his control, and he doesn't feel like stopping it. "Sorry Jamil, I just, I can't imagine it." He's crying, why is he crying? Is it because he hates the thought so much that it makes him want to—

You wouldn't kiss Deuce no no you wouldn't you wouldn't why would you kiss him do you like him does he like you have you moved on do you not love Kalim anymore please love love love love love why would you do that don't abandon him he loves you too so please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

"Jamil?" Kalim holds onto his retainer's wrists. "Do you think...Y/N still loves me?"

"I don't know, Kalim."

"If they don't love me anymore," Kalim smiles, it's a little desperate, but mostly, it's pained. The corners of his lips twitch as his grip on Jamil's wrists tightens. "Will you help them remember how much they love me?”

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twst x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere kalim al asim #yandere kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x reader #kalim al asim

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mimimarvelingmarvel · 3 months ago

Text

time bound part ten

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Ten - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.3k

"Look at that, yeah. See them big old hands coming through? Is there not a one-hundred-nothing inside that?" Or at least that’s what I think he said. It’s hard to tell over the roar of the wind whipping through the open windows, his thick accent muddling the words, and the cramped space in the backseat where Logan and I are squeezed together. My focus is elsewhere, drawn to Logan, who stares out the window with that familiar, distant expression, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He always seems to have something on his mind, and I can’t help but wonder what it is this time.

The car ride to Cassandra’s lair is pure chaos. Elektra grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, her eyes sharp as she navigates the treacherous terrain. The engine growls in protest as we barrel down the uneven road, jostling everyone inside. Laura, Blade, and Gambit are crammed into the backseat with us, their bodies pressed against one another, while Wade rides shotgun, his usual irreverence barely contained.

Up ahead, Johnny flies through the sky, a streak of flame cutting across the clouds as he scouts for any signs of trouble. His flames cast flickering shadows on the ground below, illuminating the path as we race toward our destination.

Deadpool breaks the tense silence, his voice cutting through the wind. “What Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up with this.”

Blade doesn’t miss a beat. “Gun.”

Deadpool glances back, spotting the massive firearm Blade has in his hands. “Where do you get that little beauty?”

Elektra’s voice is cold and steady. “That’s the Punisher’s ’84.”

A split second later, the car jolts violently as Blade fires the gun out the window. The force of the shot nearly deafens me, and I flinch as the blast tears through the giant, skeletal hands of Ant-Man, shredding them into a shower of bone fragments. The car skids to a stop, screeching to a halt within the crook of his shattered arms, which now lay lifeless and splintered around us.

We all clamber out of the car, the scent of gunpowder and burnt metal lingering in the air. As we gather ourselves, my eyes are drawn upward to the horde of mutant variants that have gathered to protect Cassandra. They stand like an army ready to defend their queen. High above, Cassandra watches from the eye of a massive skull, her silhouette dark and menacing.

Blade’s grin is feral, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Gambit cracks his knuckles, a wild gleam in his purple eyes. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Whoo, I’m about to make a name for myself here.”

Logan’s expression darkens, and he looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his knuckles brushing against my elbow. I return his gaze with a sad smile.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” Logan mutters, his voice low and filled with a grim certainty.

Gambit grins, unperturbed. “You just make sure people know what happened here today. When you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

Blade steps forward, his tone commanding. “You guys stay on our six, get inside. We’ll make sure you get the package.”

Elektra nods, her gaze steely. “Then we’ll get our ending.”

As if on cue, Johnny lands beside me, his flames flickering out as he touches down. “They’re toast,” he says with a smirk.

I cringe at his words. “You did not just say that.”

He just laughs, but the laughter is cut short as the shouting begins. The battlefield erupts into chaos, a cacophony of clashing blades and explosive gunfire. I charge into the fray, my blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. I sweep my legs over an opponent, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone as I drive my blade into their chest. The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I move with deadly grace, each strike calculated, each move precise.

A vision flashes in my mind, warning me of an enemy approaching from behind. I pivot on my heel, spinning just in time to deflect their attack and drive my blade into their heart. The battle rages on for what feels like an eternity, my body moving on instinct as I cut down one foe after another. Azrael appears before me, his eyes burning with a malevolent fire. We clash again and again, the power of our strikes sending shockwaves through the ground. But I’m faster, and after a brutal exchange, I manage to land a few hits, weakening him just enough to create an opening.

Wade, Logan, and I sprint through the chaos, slipping past the front lines and into the mouth of the skull, where Cassandra awaits. The interior of the skull is dimly lit, the air thick with the stench of decay. Cassandra reclines in a chair, her posture relaxed, a delicate cup of tea in her hand. She looks every bit the picture of calm amid the storm raging outside.

“You three escaping I could live with,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with condescension. “But coming back, willingly. You’re so silly.”

Deadpool’s voice is strained, his usual bravado tempered by exhaustion. “I just need to get home.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold and devoid of warmth. “Well, that’s not on the menu, I’m afraid. It’s death or enslavement, a la carte, of course. Up!” With a flick of her wrist, Wade is flung into the air, his body slamming into the ceiling with a sickening crunch. He crashes to the floor, groaning in pain as Cassandra turns her gaze on me.

“I think you may be of use,” she muses, her eyes narrowing as she studies me.

Before I can react, she flicks her wrist again, sending a searing pain through my skull. I fall to my knees, clutching my head as the agony intensifies, my vision blurring to white. My mind feels like it’s being torn apart, but just as quickly as it started, the pain stops, leaving me gasping for breath.

“Stay,” Cassandra commands, and I feel my muscles lock into place, immobilizing me where I kneel. My head and neck the only thing I can move.

“It’s nice to give someone else a chance to talk,” she says, motioning towards Wade, who is still groaning in pain on the floor.

Logan’s eyes blaze with fury as he charges at her, claws extended. “Not my strong suit,” he growls.

But Cassandra is faster. With a wave of her hand, she redirects his attack, forcing him to stab his own legs. Logan collapses, blood seeping through his jeans as he gasps in pain. I flinch, unable to bear the sight, and turn away.

Cassandra circles Logan, her curiosity piqued. “You are an interesting one, aren’t you? I do feel like you get lost behind all of this,” she says, gesturing vaguely around her. “Deadpools are a dime a dozen here in The Void. But you, what’s going on in here?” She taps his forehead lightly, her fingers pressing into his skull.

Logan’s pained screams echo through the chamber as she delves into his mind. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sound, but it’s impossible. The anguish in his voice cuts through me, and I grit my teeth, fighting against the hold she has on me.

“Not what I expected back here,” Cassandra murmurs, her tone almost gentle. “You’re hiding from them, from all the ones you let down. So much pain. My little animal.”

Her words ignite a fury deep within me. Logan has spent his whole life being treated like an animal, caged and forced to fight for survival. The anger surges through me, and I struggle against the invisible bonds holding me in place.

I catch sight of Laura throwing down a bag, and Wade, now healed, slowly approaches it. My heart races as I realize what he’s about to do. I stop resisting, instead focusing on keeping Cassandra’s attention on Logan as Wade retrieves Juggernaut’s helmet. I hold my breath as he steps closer and slams the helmet onto her head, gripping her arms tightly as she screams in rage, recoiling from Logan.

Wade’s voice is a deadly whisper. “You’re gonna send us home, then I’m gonna twist your fucking head off.”

Cassandra laughs, the sound sharp and grating. “Why are you laughing?” I ask, a cold dread settling in my stomach.

“I can’t send you unless you get this thing off my head,” Cassandra explains, her voice dripping with malice. “And as soon as you do that, I’m going to boil your brains on an atomic level whilst flicking my bean. Either you kill me, or I kill you. Both wonderful options.”

Deadpool tightens his grip. “You want me to do it?”

Logan shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it.”

Deadpool scoffs. “I have her neck right here, it’s really no problem.”

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade, his words sharp and unyielding. “You’ll screw it up.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperation lacing his tone. “Oh, come on, Mr. PG-13, it’s the last one.” His usual bravado feels almost forced, like he’s trying to break through the thick atmosphere hanging over the group.

Suddenly, a gunshot rips through the air, loud and jarring. My heart lurches in my chest, skipping a beat as the sound reverberates around us.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice trembling with panic. The horror of what’s just happened begins to sink in.

Pyro stands there, his hand still clutching the smoking gun, his expression a mix of defiance and desperation. He’s shot Cassandra. The blood spreads quickly across her clothes, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Pyro stammers, his voice shaking as he tries to justify his actions. “Day after day, ‘shovel the shit,’ ‘fetch the meats.’ I have spent my entire exist—”

But Logan doesn’t let him finish. With a brutal efficiency, he silences Pyro with a single, powerful punch. The force of it sends Pyro crumpling to the ground, his words cut off as his body hits the floor.

Logan’s eyes are cold, almost detached, as he looks down at Pyro. “Not everyone gets a speech,” he says flatly, his tone devoid of any sympathy. “She’s gonna die.”

Deadpool, trying to diffuse the situation, steps forward, his voice taking on a slightly desperate edge. “Okay, hey, if I take this helmet off, you promise you won’t kill us?”

Cassandra, even as she bleeds out, doesn’t miss a beat. Her voice, though weaker, is still laced with that same venomous edge. “I promise I will kill her first.”

Logan’s growl is low, menacing, a sound that sends shivers down my spine.

Deadpool throws up his hands in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

Cassandra sighs, the sound almost wistful. “I wish I knew.”

“Take it off,” Logan orders, his voice brooking no argument.

Deadpool looks at him, confused. “What?”

My eyes dart between Cassandra and Logan, anxiety gnawing at my insides. “Logan, she said she’ll kill me. I don’t like that idea.”

But Logan remains calm, his gaze steady as he meets mine. “Trust me. Take it off.”

Deadpool presses, his voice tinged with doubt. “Why?”

I take a deep breath, the tension in the air almost suffocating. After a moment, I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Take it off.”

Deadpool hesitates, his usual confidence faltering. “This is our only chance to fix our shit.”

Logan snaps, his patience fraying. “Take it off! I am wearing this suit. And that means a lot of things, but most of all, it means I’m an X-Man. I am the X-Man. And I know your brother. As much as I want to fucking kill you—every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you—he would not let me stand here and watch you die. Take your hands off. This is for him. This is for Charles.”

With deliberate movements, Logan removes the helmet, the gesture heavy with significance.

Cassandra’s expression softens, her voice losing some of its harshness. “My brother loved you.”

Logan nods, his voice quiet, filled with a deep, unspoken emotion. “He loved all of us.”

Cassandra sighs, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “Hmm. Must be nice.”

Logan’s voice is steady, filled with quiet conviction. “He would have loved you too. If he knew about you, if he knew where you were, he would have torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.”

Cassandra’s smile turns bitter, her eyes darkening. “This is home.”

Logan’s gaze is intense, almost pleading. “Then at least let us save his.”

Cassandra’s eyes flicker with something almost like understanding. “You wanna hear something crazy?” she says, her tone shifting. “An amateur magician roamed through here a while back. I killed him, of course, wore his skin around for four days. But I found this little trinket on his lovely fingers.”

With a flourish, she begins to open a portal, the swirling energy forming a glowing circle.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in amazement. “Strange. Marvel’s sparkle circle.”

Logan eyes the portal warily. “What is that?”

Cassandra smirks, the glint of mischief returning to her gaze. “This is your way home. I do owe you for saving my life, but let’s keep things interesting. I’d say you have about four seconds before your life’s through.”

Wade grins. “Race you!”

Without hesitation, the three of us bolt toward the rapidly closing portal, the adrenaline surging through my veins. We leap through it just in time, the sensation of free-falling overwhelming as the portal closes behind me, leaving us to face whatever awaits on the other side.

Next Part

A/N: Boring chapter imo but i have big plans tehe

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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Country Rose 1

Warnings: age gap, power dynamics, creep behaviour, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

The train ride leaves you stiff and sleepy. You couldn’t sleep on the long trek, your eyes devouring the scenery as it shifted from urban to rural, from the grim hues of morning to the pale tones of a stolid afternoon. Time and distance skews together and you step onto the platform thoroughly disoriented. If you can call it that.

The country dust tickles your nose as the lazy winds stir. The station is old, its wooden panel outdated and crooked, and the slats beneath your feet are splintering. You’re the only passenger to depart at that outpost. You’re not surprised.

What surprises you is that you’re all alone. The station is empty and the landscape is flat and sprawling. The train chugs away without a care. You give a sheepish cringe and look back and forth aimlessly. Well, then.

You take out your phone and shield the screen from the sun. You’re a bit paranoid you got the wrong stop. You turn this way and that as the bars in the corner flicker. Great, no signal.

An engine rumbles from afar and you squint as you lower your cell. Down the grey road, rolls a large blue pickup truck. As it pulls up, you spot the scatter of dirt across the paint and the dents in the bumper. It’s a farm truck if you ever saw one.

You stare at it as the gears crank and the vehicle shakes as it idles. A man pokes his head out the window and calls your name. You bat your lashes as you perk up. His dark hair is neatly trimmed yet the lock at the front can’t help but spiral over his forehead. His blue eyes compete with the shining coat on the truck.

“That’s me,” you hitch up your pack and cross the dirt.

“Sorry, there was a cow in the road,” he snorts as he hops out and approaches, hand out, “I’m Clark.”

“Right, Clark,” you smile as you shake his hand. When your aunt said he was her friend, you expected someone older. Especially with that name.

“You’ll have to call Jeanette when we get to the farm,” he says as he stops before you, staring expectantly, “I’ll take your bag.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” you swing it off your arm and hand it over. He takes it effortlessly and carries it to the bed of the truck. You’ve heard that farmers are wellbuilt but damn, he’s huge. “So, how did you know my Aunt?”

“Funny, I bought a quilt off of her. She came down this way with a quilting show. You know, I have a bunch my ma made me,” he drops your bag over the side into the back of the truck, “but she’s got arthritis and can’t do much sewing anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say.

“Not your fault,” he rounds the hood and beckons you after him. He’s as old-fashioned as everything else around here as he opens the door at your approach, “she’s doing well otherwise.”

“Hm, well, thanks for... having me,” you grab onto the door and lift yourself into the cabin, “oof, uh,” you fall into the seat and look at him, “I know it’s kinda of... awkward.”

“Stars align is how I see it,” he shrugs. “My farmhand took off to get married to some gal in the city and you need a job.”

“Well, that’s a nice way of putting it,” you snicker.

He smiles and nods, “watch yourself.”

You tuck your limbs in as he shuts the door. He strides around to the driver’s side and gets in easily. He shifts into gear and spins the wheel to back away from the tracks, “well, what’s the not nice way of putting it?”

“Ah, uh, I... my parents told me I need to figure out what to do with myself and Aunt Jeanette overheard so... guess you got the call.”

“No school?” He wonders as he straightens the wheel and steers back to the road.

“Not anymore,” you exhale, “I liked it, really, but my grades weren’t... exceptional.”

“Don’t need school to make a living. Not if you can find a good skill,” he assures. “I got a journalism degree, you know? Lotta good it does me on the bookshelf.”

“Journalism?” You echo, “that’s... exciting. I was trying to do biology but think I may have done better as an arts student.”

“Biology, wow,” he comments. “Well, you know, you’re young, you got time to figure it out.”

“Yeah, I hope...” you murmur, “so, ahem, what exactly am I doing? I don’t know if I’m built to throw hay bales.”

He laughs, “you leave that to me. As long as you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, you’ll do just fine. I mean, if you came all the way down here, I take that as a good sign. That’s dedication. A step in the right direction.”

“That’s very optimistic of you,” you give a brittle chuckle.

“You city girls, you’re all so cynical,” he muses. “Take everything so serious. Things don’t move fast enough to be serious around here.”

“Mm, I guess not,” you sniff, “so, erm, your mom, she live with you?”

“She does,” he answers, “she needs a lot of help. I’m sorry, er, did Jeanette not explain--”

“Explain? She said I’d be helping out with your farm.”

He smiles, tight-lipped as he drives into the sunlight, “you will be, yeah. Mostly, with my mom, she needs company.”

“Makes sense,” you nod. “That’s fine. I mean, I’m kinda relieved. I don’t know about horses. They look like they bite.”

“They can,” he scoffs, “just keep your hands flat.”

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #summer rose #series #drabble #superman #dc #dcu

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cherriecove · 2 months ago

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Cregan Stark x Targ!Reader (Part 3)

Summary: As Rhaeynera Targaryen’s only daughter you always knew that your hand would be given to whomever aided your mother and her cause. It was something that you accepted but naturally you always dreaded the day your mother would send you to your future husband, fearing whoever it would be to be cruel and old. Fortunately your worries were unfounded as your twin brother Jacaerys suggests a potential union with the Lord of the North. Cherrie's note: Use of she/her and mention of Lucerys death Masterlist | Previous Part |

As you returned to the hall, a quiet understanding lingered between you and Cregan. The warmth of the North’s hospitality was beginning to feel familiar, but there was a solemnity in the air, knowing that peace would be fleeting. The tension between your mother’s claim and Aegon’s usurpation of the throne loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon.

Later that day, as you and Jace prepared to show Cregan and his sister Sara what it’s like to ride dragons, a raven arrived with grim news—Lucerys had been slain at Storm’s End. The message was a cruel blow, draining the warmth from the day. Jace froze as he read the letter, his hands trembling. His eyes, dark with fury and grief, met yours, and in that moment, you felt the overwhelming weight of the war pressing down on both of you.

Grabbing the letter from your brother’s hands, you quickly read its contents. Lucerys, your younger brother, was gone.

"No..." Jace’s voice was barely a whisper at first, then broke into a snarl of raw anger. "Aemond did this. That wretched—" His words turned into a snarl, his hands curling into fists. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm, your own heart heavy with sorrow.

"Jace..." Your voice was soft but firm, trying to pull him back from the edge. "We need to be strong now. For the boys. For mother."

But Jace couldn’t contain his rage. He turned away, pacing the room with wild, furious steps. “He will pay. I swear by the gods, Aemond will pay with his life!”

Cregan, watching from the side, approached cautiously. His usual calm was now replaced with a hard resolve. “I grieve with you,” he said steadily. “This is a grave offense, a violation of all honor.”

Jace nodded, doing his best to remain composed in front of company. “We leave for Dragonstone,” he announced, his voice sharp with decision. “Our mother will know how to respond. And when she calls for war, we will not hold back.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the knowledge of what was to come. Lucerys had been kind and innocent, and his death seemed senseless in the brutal game of thrones. The thought of your mother learning this news, already weighed down by grief, felt unbearable.

Cregan stepped closer to you, his expression serious but his voice gentle. “Princess Y/n, if you wish to remain here for your safety, you are welcome. I understand if—”

You interrupted, shaking your head. “I must return to Dragonstone with Jace. Our mother will need us both.”

Cregan’s eyes searched yours for a moment, and in that brief silence, there was an unspoken bond—a promise of support that went beyond politics. He nodded solemnly. “Then the North will stand with you. Whatever aid you need, Winterfell will be ready.”

Before long, you and Jace mounted your dragons. Vermax was restless, sensing the turmoil within Jace, while Mithrax remained steady, her presence a comfort amid the storm of emotions swirling around you. As you took to the skies, Winterfell’s snow-covered landscape faded into the distance.

The flight back to Dragonstone was fraught with silence, your thoughts consumed by what awaited you. The winds howled around you, reflecting the tempest inside your heart. When you landed on the blackened shores of Dragonstone, the weight of the news you carried settled heavily upon you. The castle loomed ahead, its towers dark and foreboding against the stormy skies.

Jace dismounted first, his face a mask of determination as he strode towards your mother’s chambers. You followed close behind, your heart pounding with dread. Inside, your mother was seated before the fire, but as you and Jace entered, her eyes turned toward you, and her face softened.

“Mother,” Jace began, his voice tight, “is it true?” His words hung heavily in the air.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, and for a moment, her grief was overshadowed by the sight of her children before her. She swiftly came to you both, her eyes glazing with unshed tears as she pulled you into a tight hug. "No..." he whispered, her voice breaking. "Not Luke. It's all my fault."

You shook your head at Jace’s words. “We share this blame, Jace. It is not all on you.”

Your mother stroked both of your faces, frowning at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “No, my sweets, it was not your fault.”

The three of you stood holding each other as you cried for your loss. Your heart felt heavy with the knowledge that there was no turning back now. The drums of war had begun to beat, and soon the realm would be consumed by fire and blood.

The air in Dragonstone crackled with tension and purpose as preparations for war escalated. Soldiers trained relentlessly, and ravens flew in every direction to gather allies. Yet amidst the looming conflict, one piece of business could not be ignored—your impending union with Lord Cregan Stark. After the devastating news of Lucerys’ death, celebrating anything felt out of place, but alliances were forged in both battle and marriage, and the bond between the Targaryens and Starks was crucial.

Queen Rhaenyra, though consumed with grief, recognized the importance of the wedding. It would solidify the North’s loyalty, and Cregan Stark was already proving to be a valuable ally. One afternoon, you and Jace were summoned to the hall. Your mother sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by councilors and key advisors. Cregan was there as well, standing tall and resolute, his northern attire a stark contrast to the more elaborate garb of the Dragonstone court.

“My children,” Rhaenyra began, her voice steady but marked by the strain of recent events, “we must continue planning for the war, but we cannot neglect the importance of this marriage. The alliance with Winterfell strengthens our position, and Lord Stark has been gracious enough to expedite the preparations despite the tumultuous times.”

You exchanged a glance with Jace, who gave you a small nod of encouragement. It wasn’t lost on you that your marriage to Cregan was not just a personal matter but a political necessity. Still, as you looked at Cregan, standing steadfast and serious, you felt that this union was more than a mere contract between houses.

“I understand, Mother,” you replied, your voice measured. “Lord Stark and I are prepared to proceed as soon as arrangements are made.”

Cregan’s voice cut through the room with a deep, respectful tone. “I know the timing is difficult, Your Grace, but I assure you that the North stands ready to honor this alliance and to aid in the coming war. The wedding will only solidify our loyalty to your cause.”

Rhaenyra regarded him with a measured look. Despite her loss, she remained sharp and resolute. “You’ve proven yourself a true ally, Lord Stark. Your father’s oath is strong, but your personal commitment has only strengthened it.”

Cregan nodded, his grey eyes meeting the queen’s. “The North does not forget its oaths, Your Grace. We will fight alongside you.”

The queen turned to her council. “We will organize the wedding as swiftly as possible. Winterfell must see their lord married before the battle begins, and our enemies must witness the unity between the North and the Targaryens.”

The decision to hold the wedding in Winterfell surprised many. Dragonstone had seemed the obvious choice, closer to the center of conflict, but Cregan insisted that the North needed to see the union firsthand, to feel the strength of their lord’s bond with House Targaryen. Rhaenyra agreed, though it meant sending you away, far from Dragonstone, just as the war was brewing.

Preparations for the journey north began at once. You had expected a grand procession, but the looming war meant the wedding would be swift and without the usual fanfare. A small retinue traveled ahead of you and Jace to Winterfell, alongside Cregan, who had gone ahead to prepare for the wedding. Meanwhile, your mother and the rest of her forces remained focused on preparing for the battles to come.

Winterfell loomed on the horizon, its towering grey walls shrouded in mist and snow. The journey had been long, but the sight of the Stark stronghold filled you with a strange sense of anticipation. This was the heart of the North, the seat of the man who would be your husband. As you entered the gates, the people of Winterfell gathered to greet their lord’s bride. There were no extravagant festivities—just the solemn acknowledgment of the importance of this union.

The cold winds bit at your skin as you dismounted, but the warmth of the great hall beckoned. Cregan was waiting inside, standing beside his sister, Lady Sara Snow, who had taken on the task of preparing Winterfell for the arrival of her brother’s bride. The hall was austere but grand in its simplicity, the smell of burning wood and pine filling the air.

When you saw Cregan, his eyes met yours with that same steady intensity you had come to rely on. There was no need for words—his presence was enough to reassure you. He approached, his fur-lined cloak brushing the stone floor, and took your hand.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Princess,” Cregan said, his voice a deep rumble that echoed in the hall.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, your voice softer but no less certain.

The wedding was held in the Godswood, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, its red leaves stark against the snow-covered ground. The ceremony was simple, as was the northern way, but powerful in its meaning. You and Cregan exchanged vows before the old gods, your hands bound together with a strip of cloth as a symbol of your union. The cold air bit at your skin, but the warmth of Cregan’s hand in yours kept you steady. This was not the grand spectacle expected in King’s Landing or Dragonstone, but it felt right, grounded in the traditions of the North.

As you spoke your vows, you felt the weight of the moment—not just the personal bond you were forging with Cregan, but the political alliance this marriage represented. The North and House Targaryen were now bound by blood and honor.

After the ceremony, you returned to the great hall for a modest feast. The lords of the North, gathered for the wedding, spoke of war and loyalty. Cregan, ever the leader, reassured them of his commitment to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause.

“The North will not forget its promises,” Cregan said, raising his cup. “We stand with the true queen, and with the strength of our alliance, we will see her seated upon the Iron Throne.”

The men cheered, their voices echoing through the stone walls of Winterfell. You felt a surge of pride as you looked at your husband, now bound to you in both marriage and war.

Later, as the fires burned low and the hall emptied, you stood with Cregan by one of the tall windows, gazing out at the snow-covered courtyard.

“The North is ready,” Cregan said quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. “When the time comes, we will march south.”

“And I will be by your side,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze.

Cregan’s hand tightened around yours, but he shook his head. “I need you to remain here.”

You scoffed and pulled your hand away, narrowing your eyes at him. “No, I will do no such thing.”

His voice softened as he reached for you again. “Princess, please—”

“I’ve been married to you for less than a day, and you’re already trying to order me around?” You glared at him, your voice sharp. “I am fire and blood. I have a dragon. I will help my mother defend her birthright.”

Cregan sighed, his expression conflicted, but after a pause, he nodded. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. “I do not mean to control you. I know you are capable, fierce, and brave. I only wish to protect you. As long as you allow me by your side, to fulfill my duty as your husband, then I will be content.”

Your face softened at his words. After a moment, you leaned in and kissed his cheek gently. “Very well, my lord. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Cregan’s relief was palpable as he pulled you into a warm embrace. Together, you would face the war ahead, united in fire and blood.

#hotd x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #targeryan reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon

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helionpegasus · 4 months ago

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loml

Cassian x Reader

summary: reader and Cassian had a happy marriage, 'till their love wasn't enough. inspired by loml by taylor swift.

warnings: angst.

words count: 3338

author's note: this is big and sad :)

Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames? If we know the steps anyway.

Me and Cassian have been riding on the line between acceptable and an official couple recognized by the priestess and The Mother for a long time.

I don’t know when exactly it started. It couldbe when we met for the first time on a Day Court Ball, and we both couldn’t hold our laughter after one of the courtiers slipped during the dance. It could be when i spent my first Starfall as a Night Court member, and he told me that he was gonna “Teach me how to properly drink”, but ended with the two of us drunk enough to sleep sitting side by side in the hall of the House of Wind. Or it could be when he arrived of the Illyrian Camps directly to my room and with tear in his eyes, saying that his heart could not handle seeing how children and females were treated there maintaining a stone face.

We embroidered the memories of the time I was away.

The first time we kissed was when I returned home hurt from a mission. Cassian stayed the whole night by my side, telling me things that happened when I was away, or tracing random shapes with his finger on my hand and arm.

“I was scared that we would lose you. I would lose you.” He said almost whispering, like he was telling me a secret.

“You’ll never lose me, Cass.” I said back to him.

I was staring at the window when I felt him pull his hand away. Once I turned my head back, our lips met. It was so gentle. The hands holding my face, and his lips silently asking if he could deepen the kiss or not.

I remember stopping to breath and giggle like two teenagers, just to look at each other with love eyes and start kissing again. And again, and again, the whole night.

I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed

“You’re not gonna officialize things?” Mor asked one day.

“What do you mean?” Was my answer.

“You and Cassian. Everyone sees the way you look at each other, and we also know that you crossed the “only starring” line. And if you want me to be honest, I think you two would make each other really happy.” The blonde said, bumping her shoulder onto mine. We were having tea while sitting on the House of Wind’s balcony.

“I don’t know… Cassian is a good male, Mor, and I’m not the only one that sees this. I think I’m just afraid, perhaps. Or just too insecure.”

“About what?”

“Maybe I will not be enough for him. He can find someone better, that maybe would match his soul, and I’ll not be able to endure that kind of heartbreak.”

“That sentence is full of maybes. Do you even know how he looks at you?” She asked. “There’s love in his eyes. There’s love in his body language when he’s next to you, and love in every single word he says toward or about you even though ‘love’ is not one of them.” Mor placed my tea cup on the table next to her to hold both my hands with hers. “Don’t waste a chance of happiness just because you’re afraid.”

I felt aglow like this. Never before, and never since

After that talk, it did not take a lot of time for me to build the courage to phrase my feelings to him. And it was a surprise - at least to me - that he felt exactly the same.

If you know it in one glimpse, it’s legendary

“Did I ever tell you?” Cassian asked me some weeks after we started dating.

“What?” I closed my book to give him my full attention. My legs are still resting in his lap while we are on the couch.

“That I fell in love with you the day we met?” He gave me one of those grims.

“Like those teenage romance books?” I asked, mirroring his smile.

“Yeah. I think it was when one of Beron’s sons asked to dance with you but you said no, and you put him in his place when he tried to talk shit about you.”

“That would have started a war.” He both laugh.

“You are the most incredible female that I know.” His hand squeezed my calf, like he was reassuring his words. “You are smart and so strong. I’m really lucky to have you.”

You and I go from one kiss to getting married

Nervous was too little to what I was feeling at the moment.

“Your entrance will be in 3 minutes.” Mor said before returning inside.

My hands were sweating, my stomach was hurting and I felt like throwing up. But I didn’t have time to overthink how anxious I was feeling, because within seconds the double doors opened.

It was a small wedding, only close friends invited. My eyes immediately searched for him, and he was beautiful as always.

In the middle of the entrance, my eyes met our friends, and I swear I saw Rhysand shed a tear but he will never admit it.

We both agreed to have a quick ceremony, not having enough patience for something too long or with too much bureaucracy. But the little time was enough for him to say things that will be marked in my heart to the rest of my life.

“People can say that the way that led us towards this moment roamed quite rapidly. But right here, on this day that will be remembered forever by both of us, even though we have hundreds of years after us, I promise to love you ‘till we are nothing more than dust traveling in the universe.”

I couldn’t control the river of tears that I cried hearing his vows. It didn’t take a long time for us to feel a burning sensation on our wrists. The image of a little firefly, so small that it could go unnoticed, but a forever sign to the biggest decision of our lives.

You said I’m the love of your life, about a million times

Our eternal happiness lasted the whole three years. Then Under the Mountain happened.

Who’s gonna tell me the truth when you blew in with the winds of fate?

“Cass, this is a lot for all of us. We’re all scared and worried, but I can’t help you ease your tension or worries if you don’t tell me how you’re feeling.”

We were twenty years into Under the Mountain.

“And could you even understand?” He stormed out.

“I can try.” I answered ignoring how his words felt in my heart.

“Rhysand is my family. And he’s in such a dangerous situation that he prohibited us from reaching him. How could I not feel worried and angry?”

“I know, because I am worried too. But I’m also your family, and you can share with me how you’re feeling, you don’t have to carry this all by yourself. We don’t have to carry this all by ourselves.”

“If we were mates we didn’t have to. We would just feel.”

I couldn’t hide my hurt expression this time. Of course I knew that we were not mates, even though we had a beautiful relationship that everyone claimed would be a Mate one, it’s been almost thirty years that we’ve been together and no bond clicked.

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” His expression softened once he realized what he said. “We don’t have to be mates. It’s really rare after all, and we have a perfect relationship.” He hugged me and I had to hold back tears. “And most importantly, we love each other.”

When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fake?

Thirty years later we met Feyre.

And everything seemed to be perfectly fine, like the sun before a storm. And I wish my heart was only warning me about the war coming.

And all at once the ink bleeds

Cassian returned from Archeron's house a little air-headed. So I was trying to be really careful on how to approach him with questions about how it went.

“So, everything worked well?” I asked massaging his shoulders trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah, yeah. It was fine I guess, we sent the letter. Why?” His eyes were closed, voice soft.

“Nothing. You just returned, seeming a bit unsettled, so I thought something may have happened.”

I could feel his shoulders tense up again.

“Attor showed up there. I guess that just took us by surprise, but everything ended up fine, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

His response made total sense, so I tried to forget about it. It was a surprising threat, and a long trip flying back home, I thought.

But when we went to the Queens meeting, my heart felt a bit uncertain again.

There was something about how he looked at Nesta, a look that I could not translate. And also how he uncomfortably kept switching his weight to one leg for another everytime she was next to him or even just spoke.

She was certainly capable of saying some hateful words, so I was just thinking that maybe they had a wrong start. At least that was what I was trying to convince myself.

But I felt a hole, like this. Never before and ever since

“She is his mate isn’t she?” I asked Mor when we were alone.

I felt terrible by putting her against the wall, even more after everything that just happened in Hybern. But my heart was hurting too much for an answer.

Mor looked at me with wide eyes, trying to wrap her mind whether to tell me the truth or not.

“What?...”

“I saw the way you looked at her and then between both of them. And I think Cassian also knows, for Mother’s sake, I think already felt. So, please, tell me.”

“Yes… I believe so.”

I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. The hot tears fell down my face. And I wondered if the King’s power also didn’t affect the middle of my chest from how much pain I was feeling at the moment.

I didn’t see Mor kneeling besides me, didn’t feel her arms wrapping around my shoulders, and didn’t hear her comforting words trying to console me at my worst moment. All I felt was pain.

If you know it in one glimpse, it’s legendary. What we thought was for all time, was momentary.

The conversation with Cassian was nothing close to easy.

He admitted that he felt the bond the first time he saw her. And once she turned fae it only got stronger.

“Do you want to end things to try to pursue something with her?” It took me a while to be able to ask this. Not only because it hurts, but also ‘cause I couldn’t stop crying.

“No. Definitely not. We’ve been married for fifty four years, I’m not gonna just throw it all in the air. It will be hard to endure the feeling, yes, but we’ll keep our relationship. I love you, and that’s a forever promise.” He grabbed my wrist to caress his finger on the ink that sealed his vows.

Still alive, killing time at the cemetery. Never quite buried.

The next two years were not easy ones.

The plans we had for our future never made out of paper and conversations, because the whole situation never seemed to get better.

When Rhysand and Feyre announced that Nesta was coming to live with us, I felt like all the blood in my body freezed. Mor tried to help with the situation, proposing other ways to deal with her, since she was the only one to know, but her efforts had no success.

And once she started living with us, Cassian’s feelings got harder and harder to hide.

“Did you lose a bet with one of your brothers?” I asked one night. A smile already pulling up my lips at the thought of it.

“No, why?” He seemed confused.

“This one is new.” I traced my finger at the new ink on the end of his spine.

His whole demeanor changed when I said that. And he was quick with putting a shirt to sleep, a thing that he never does.

“What is it for?” I asked, scared for the answer.

“Nothing important.” He said going to bed. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You shit-talked me under the table. Talking rings and talking cradles. I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all.

I quickly got up the couch in our room once Cassian opened the door.

“Hey, are you ok? Rhys told me that you three found a Kelpie, anyone got hurt?”

I rushed in his direction. My eyes scan his body for any scratch.

And then I felt the smell, like a slap in my face, making me stop in my tracks.

“No… No, you didn’t.” I started to go backwards. My vision started to get blurry with tears forming.

“I can explain.”

“Oh, yes.” I said with a sarcastic laugh. “Please explain to me why you had sex with another person while you’re married.”

“Don’t make this even harder for me.”

“Hard for you? Have you ever thought about how hard this situation is for me?” Tears were going down my face copiously. “I gave you an option, Cassian. Two years ago I asked if you would like to end things, for the sake of us both. And you said no, you said that we’ll keep going with our marriage, we had to try. But did you tried?

We had plans, Cass! It’s been fifty six years. We talked about buying our home, having kids! It’s been two years since you said for us to keep going but honestly we just stopped in our tracks.”

“Don’t do this to me. You know how much I wanted a family. You know how much I love you. But do you know how hard it is to fight this feeling? I feel like I’m going mad.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? I made myself so open for you to seek your happiness, whether it was with me or not. But today you chose to cheat on me, and that hurts more than if you called to end things.”

Are they second-hand embarrassed that I can’t get off the bed? ‘Cause something counterfeit’s dead

It’s been three weeks since Nyx borned.

With everything happening no one had time to process what happened properly. Rhys and Feyre immediately offered to let me stay in the River House with them. But I had to find my own way again, and after many days of not leaving my room, I was on my way towards the High Lord’s office.

“Hello, what a relief seeing your face again. How are you feeling?” He asked once I sat on the chair in front of his table.

“A bit better. Still a long way to go, though. How’s your almost a month of being a father?”

“It’s less tiring than doing this office work, I promise.” I laugh at his words, the first one in days. “But Feyre is definitely more tired than me, I try to help her all I can.”

“I came to say goodbye. It’s time for me to go to my own place, I’ll see Feyre after this.”

“Did you find a place in the city? We told you that you could have the Town House.”

“I actually decided to go back to Day Court. I already talked with Helion.” I said and a shocked expression appeared on Rhysand’s face.

“If you think we’ll pick a side and that you’re not welcome here, you’re completely wrong. You are part of this family.” He says with a serious face.

“It’s nothing of that. I just think that I need some space and time to clear my mind of everything. I’m so grateful for all of you, but I need to do this for myself. I’ll be available for any help you need, though.”

It was legendary. It was momentary. It was unnecessary. Should’ve let it stay buried

Mor wanted us to have our last drink at Rita’s together. So here we are, at one of the tables with our drink in our hands.

“It surprises me that the vows mark stay there.” She said looking at my wrist. I look at it too.

“Love can come in different ways, and he didn’t specify.” We both laugh.

“I don’t think he’ll ever stop loving you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving him either.”

“I’m sorry.” She said and I gave her a confused look. “You were right all those years ago, about him finding a soul match.”

“Unfortunately, I was.”

“Why a firefly?”

“I always asked myself this. But now with the outcome, I think it makes sense. Wanna know a fact about fireflies? They only live about 56 days. And our marriage lasted 56 years.”

Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye

“Hi.” I said when I saw Cassian make the corner of the living room. “I’ll be quick. Just didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

“Go?” His brows scrunched.

“I’ll go back to Day Court.”

“You don’t have to.” He says surprised. His body came closer like he was ready to stop me.

“I know. I want to. I’ll visit after some time, I have to see Nyx growing up afterall.”

“You have to see everyone. We’re your family.”

I’m combing through the braids of lies. I’ll never leave, nevermind

I was back in Velaris after a whole year. It wasn’t in my plans to stay away for this long. But I really needed the time.

It was Nyx’s birthday party, and I was slightly surprised that the High Lord made it only for the family. I was expecting for the most pampered baby in Prythian to have a whole festival for his first birthday, but his parents clearly had other plans.

“I loved your hair.” I heard someone beside me, and found Elain sitting on the chair next to me in the garden. “You fit the short hair really well.”

“Thanks, I had to cut it. Hair holds memories.” She only smiled at my answer and we kept observing everyone in silence.

“Did Cassian always have been good with kids?” She asked, looking at him playing with Nyx.

“Yeah, he always dreamed of having kids.”

“Well good thing his dreams are coming true, then.”

“I’m sorry?”

She looks at me wide eyed, like she just told the Night Court highest secret.

“You didn’t know? Nesta's pregnant.”

My world spinned for a moment. When I really thought I was over it. Will I ever get over it?

“If you excuse me.” I gave her a fake smile and got up to get inside.

Feyre and Mor must have seen me, because they walked behind me right after I entered the house.

“You didn’t tell me.” I turn to both of them.

“Would you come if we did?” Feyre asked and I couldn’t answer.

“I just… I thought it didn’t hurt anymore.” I started crying. And Mother, how I started hating seeming so vulnerable. “I really need to get over it.”

I felt them both hugging me. A warmth passing from their heart to mine.

“No one expects you to get over more than half a century of memories in such little time.” Mor says.

Our field of dreams engulfed in fire

“Do you think I’ll be able to find something like this again?” I ask but cut them in the middle of their thoughts. “Don’t answer, I’m scared of what it will be.”

The only thing they could do was hug me harder and stay there with me for the whole ten minutes that allowed me to have a weak mind.

And I still see it, until I die. You’re the loss of my life.

#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian imagine #rhysand x reader #mor x reader #feyre x reader

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anonsturniolo · 26 days ago

Text

after dusk — chris sturniolo

paring — vampire!chris x f!reader

genre — mentions of blood and drinking it, manipulation

word count — ???

"You can't be serious?" You quietly ask, a perplexed expression settling onto your face.

Your best friend rapidly nods her head, "I'm dead serious, Y/N. I think Chris is a vampire." She insists, the serious expression on her face sending goosebumps across your skin.

You stayed quiet, turning your gaze towards the window of the car. Are vampire's real? Are there more of them?

"I think I'm gonna go home." You state softly, lifting your hand for the car door.

"Oh, okay. Do you want a ride?" Your friend offers, to which you shake your head in response. "No, I just wanna clear my head." You decline, stepping out of the car. You only lived a 10 minute walk away, just long enough to settle your racing mind.

You wave goodbye to your friend before turning on your heal and beginning to walk home. The sun was barely set, the chilly wind of late October making you pull your cardigan tighter against your body.

The crunching of fallen leaves soothes you in a way you can't explain, and you finally can feel your thoughts start to melt away. You admire the scattered Halloween decorations as you walk past houses, something you loved to do.

As you walk past a house with a tall figure portraying as the Grim Reaper, you feel a sharp chill shoot down your back, making the hairs on your arm stand straight up. You suddenly felt the feeling of being watched, like something was lurking in the shadows preying on you.

You crane your head side to side, checking your surroundings, deeming it safe. You can't shake the feeling though, so your pace quickens, reaching into your pocket to grip onto your phone just in case.

"Hey, Y/N." A voice suddenly speaks behind you making you nearly jump out of your skin. You spin on your heels to face the voice, and your heart stutters in your chest when your eyes land on Chris Sturniolo.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, offering you a small smile.

"S'okay.." You trail off, trying to act like your heart wasn't pumping at a million miles per hour.

"What are you doing out?" He then asks, making you nervous. Why did he care? You guys knew of each other from High School, and that was nearly 2 years ago.

"Just going home." You calmly reply, turning to resume your walk, hoping he'd catch the hint. He didn't, he quickly fell into step with you, making your heart beat even faster.

"Mind if I walk with ya?" He asks, and with your nerves and anxiety you stupidly nodded your head yes. The two of you walk in silence, and you almost forget he's there with how lightly he walks. Your house was coming into view and relief flooded through you.

"Y/N?" Chris calls your name, his cold hand coming up to rest on your shoulder to get you to stop. You turn to look at him, and it feels like you got sucked into a trance.

His eyes hold yours hostage, and you can barely see the smirk creeping onto his lips, "You're going to come with me quietly, understand?" He speaks, his eyes searching yours intensely.

"I understand." The words tumbled through your mouth without permission, your body relaxing under his touch. You open your mouth to protest but nothing comes out, you look up at him fearfully, not understanding what's happening.

"It's okay, I'll explain everything." He grins down at you, swiftly picking you up and taking off in a run that was so fast your head was spinning when he stopped.

"I'm gonna puke!" You yell, trying to shove Chris away from you. He quickly grabs ahold of your chin, again looking deeply into your eyes.

"You're fine." Instantly your stomach stopped churning.

"Chris, what the fuck is going on?" You ask, your voice wavering with each word. Tears filled your waterline, thinking back to what your best friend had told you not even an hour ago.

"I'm dead serious, Y/N. I think Chris is a vampire."

Chris gently grabs you hand, guiding you towards a bench. You take in your surroundings, realizing you're deep into the woods behind the local park. Usually, it took a good hour of walking to find this bench, but with Chris' super speed it took a matter of seconds.

"What are you thinking right now?" Chris softly asks, his eyes scanning your face in curiosity.

"You're telling me you don't know what I'm thinking right now?" You incredulously ask, subconsciously thinking of him as Edward Cullen, your favorite vampire movie.

Chris offers you a slight smile with a shake of his head, "I know what you are." You whisper, letting your eyes fall to the ground. The grass was a darker shade of green, and slightly wet from the rain earlier in the day.

"Yeah?" He asks, urging you to continue.

"Would it be funny if I started to recite Twilight right now?" You half joke, letting a small smile slip onto your lips, but it was gone before it could fully form. Why the fuck are you joking with him about this?

You could be dead in mere seconds, and there was nothing funny about it.

"Say it." Chris speaks, his face inching closer to yours.

You bite your lip before taking in a deep breath, "You're a vampire." You whisper, and before you know it Chris' hand is gripping your jaw and tilting your head, giving him better access to your neck.

“Please..” You trail off, the tears cascading down your cheeks. You didn’t want to die, especially at the hands of a monster. Your family would never know the truth about your murder, or even your disappearance.

Chris hums, brushing his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply, “I can’t help it, baby.” He whispers, dropping open his mouth as he feels his fangs come forward from his gums.

“I don’t wanna die.” You cry pathetically, your silent tears now turning into sobs as you struggle in Chris’ tight grip. You can feel the wood beneath your thighs dig into your skin, but you don’t care.

Chris pulls back slightly to look you in the eye, “Who said anything about dyin’?” He asks, raising a questioning eyebrow at you, making your body freeze.

You look slightly up at him, “Y-You’re not gonna kill me?” You ask, to which he shakes his head. He leans closer, again deeply looking in your eyes, “You can’t leave this bench.” He speaks loudly and clearly, making you jump with his sudden tone.

Once he’s satisfied, he leans back, fully letting you go. Instantly you’re trying to stand up, but it’s like your legs had been super glued to the wooden planks.

“I compelled you.” He speaks, lifting a leg and bending it at the knee to rest on his other leg. Your eyes shoot to him, “Like in the vampire diaries?” You ask, watching the way a smirk forms on his face. It sends chills down your spine, the way he was looking at you.

He was looking at you like you were the perfect snack.

“You got yourself your very own Damon Salvatore.” He whispers darkly, sending goosebumps across your whole body.

“But-“

“No buts,” Chris cuts you off, his eyes trailing across your exposed neck in wonder. Almost in fascination. He reaches a hand out, using two fingers to trade the exposed area, humming in satisfaction as he feels your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

“I’ve been watching you.” He admits quietly, looking off into the distance.

Your eyes search his face, “What do you mean?” You question hesitantly, unsure how this dynamic was supposed to play out. Were you supposed to be scared, or were you supposed to act like nothing weird was happening?

“You mostly stick to yourself, you don’t let anyone stray you from what you like or believe in. You are 100% your true self, and I can’t lie and say that’s not incredibly attractive.” He explains, finally meeting your eyes.

He licks his lips as he shuffles closer, “And I can’t get enough of how good you smell.” He deeply sighs, his face nearing yours.

You frown at the statement, “So you like me and you enjoy the way my blood smells?” Chris nods, “Not just your blood, sweetheart.” With that being said, he leans in and places his lips onto yours. You freeze, extremely conflicted on the idea of kissing him back.

Chris’ hand finds its home on your waist, giving it a slight squeeze making you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You unconsciously begin to kiss him back, your tongues meeting in a sloppy manner.

He breaks the kiss, trailing down your jaw and to your neck, your eyes fluttering shut at the pleasant sensation.

“It’s gonna feel s’good,” he whispers against the base of your neck, “Gonna wish I did this sooner.” He mumbles, before his teeth extend into your flesh, your mouth dropping in a silent scream as sudden pleasure washes over you.

Chris tugs you into his body, his grip possessive. Your hands fly to his shoulders, unsure if you want to push him away or pull him closer. You opted for the latter, your fingers digging into Chris’ shoulders.

The tug and pull from Chris drinking from you was like nothing you had ever felt. It was as if every nerve ending were being caressed, your heart rate kicking up. Only it wasn’t due to fear, but to the intensity of the connection and intimacy you were sharing. With a vampire.

The world around you blurred, all you could focus on was the intoxicating blend of pain and pleasure, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Chris finally pulls back, your blown out eyes searches his face, almost admiring the way your blood drips down his chin.

“H-How,” You stammer, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Shh,” Chris gently shushes you, guiding you to lean your back against his chest, “Just rest awhile baby.” He softly coos at you, your brain swarming with too many thoughts to pull yourself together.

Chris has you exactly where he wants you.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo smut #vampire oc

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boxofbonesfic · 6 months ago

Text

Title: Brave [8 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve struggles to lead the pack after their losses.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: whew, two updates so quickly? maybe i’m getting back to my old ways (hopefully). i really hope you all enjoy, and as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

It is another four days ride before you see the sun again, briefly, the shimmering circle appearing for an instant between the black, roiling clouds. It is a pale shadow of its former self—much like the pack. You number so few now that even you are aware of the stark, bare place that has been left behind by the fallen. The thick cord of riders had once stretched back into the grass sea like a formidable chain, and now it is only frayed and fragile thread.

In the distance, the storm rumbles as if in reminder of what lies behind.

You can still pick out the outermost bands of it; dark spiraling arms set against an even darker sky, stretching back the way you had come for uncountable leagues until it fades into the horizon. The earth is still pitted with its fury.

Steve rides at the front. He presses forward with a persistence that leaves even the pack struggling to keep his pace. He has spoken little since the pass, regarding all but the most important of tasks with grim disinterest. You have not stopped riding since the first night, since the fire, and you wonder if he intends to allow the pack even a moment’s respite. A single rider breaks away from the loose formation, and you recognize Carol’s choppy braid from the back as she steers her horse away and forward, falling in line with Steve.

You do not quite know what possesses you to follow suit—you bear no rank, no true role in this pack—unless you count being the spoils of war, and you do not. But you follow suit, steering the horse with your knees until you’re close enough to catch snatches of their conversation over the wind.

“We’re off course. You know that. We haven’t seen the stars in days, brother.”

You watch the muscles in Steve’s back go rigid, and you imagine his hands tightening on the reins. This is the first time you have ever seen anyone come even mildly close to reproaching his decisions, and you can tell that Steve takes the incursion with as little kindness as he can manage.

“Kez fin tor tuzor ugani.” You don’t understand the harshly uttered, guttural syllables, but you do understand the way his lips curl back from his tusks, and the sharp points gleam white in the midday-gloom. Carol doesn’t back down, nor does she shrink away, regarding him as calmly as ever. Steve scoffs at her.

“We will find our way.”

“But will we find it before water runs out? Or food?” She gestures behind her at the pack, dutifully marching along behind them. “They need time to rest. Time to grieve.” She seems to hesitate. “You need time to grieve.” At this, Steve whips around to face her, his teeth bared.

“Tread carefully.”

“As should you.” Carol grimaces. Dry grass rustles and snaps beneath the hooves of your horse. You wince, staring down at the reins as you will the earth to open beneath you to save you the embarrassment of your eavesdropping. It does not, and your face warms as you shoulder the weight of their respective gazes.

“How kind of you to bend your ear, Sweetmeat.” Steve says dryly, his lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. His icy eyes fall to Carol, who looks no happier than he. “I suppose you, too, have words for me?” Suddenly, you are aware of how exhausted he looks, the way it lines his features, pressing down on him with almost physical weight. Carol is right, you cannot help but think it. He does need time to grieve. You flounder, your mouth opening and closing as your face heats.

“O-only that w-we—the pack, I mean. They’re tired, like Carol said—”

Steve looses an irritated growl, raking a hand through his sandy hair.

“Let me speak plainly, little human. There is law, here.” His blue eyes are dark, angry. He looms over you, even on horseback, and your skin prickles. In the weeks since you had been taken, you’d almost forgotten what it was to fear him, to see the predator wearing man’s clothes, speaking man’s language—almost.

“Should you choose to challenge my law again, Sweetmeat, you will know the price for doing so—and you will learn that it is dear.” He inhales deeply, licking his lips like he can taste the scent of your in the air, before digging his heels in below the saddle, and turning the horse sharply away.

“We ride until nightfall.” The command is so loud it carries out over the grass sea, vibrating in your bones like thunder. Steve narrows his eyes at Carol, and then you. “Then we wait for star-sign.”

—

The persistent ache in your legs and back from the days and nights spent in the saddle are enough to make you wince as you swing down from it and plant your feet firmly into the dirt. Your face still stings with heat from Steve’s admonishment, and as the rest of the pack begins unsaddling and setting up camp, you avoid him as best you can, setting up your bedroll on the far side of the fire. As you’re laying it down, Carol clears her throat behind you.

“I should thank you,” she says, sighing. “He mightn’t have stopped if I’d been the only one.”

You grimace, your expression souring. “You heard what he said. He sounded like—” You pause, biting your tongue.

“Bucky.” Carol finishes it for you, and you wonder if all orcs have such an innate sense of brazen impropriety or if you have been simply blessed to meet them all in this particular raiding party. “He… Steve was chosen. Dethak. To lead us, to lead this pack. He feels responsible.”

You scoff. “He couldn’t have known! The storm, the, the…Zhat?”

“Zhut.” Carol reaches out to press her fingers around your mouth as you attempt to imitate her, unyielding even when you flinch. “Yes.” She nods when you have repeated it satisfactorily, but then her face falls as she is reminded of the pass.

“And… yes.” Carol sighs. “He could not. But would you not feel responsible? Burying only the idea of your kin?” She pats your shoulder, and then tugs aside what remains of your sleeve to look at the wounds bandaged beneath. “Let’s get these cleaned, shall we?”

—

It’s past dark by the time you shoo Carol away, gritting your teeth as you reassure her that you know how to change the dressings on your own. She’s worse than mother. You shrug back into your dress’ single remaining tattered sleeve, regarding it with only a moment’s worth of regret. It is the last thing that remains of your home. It’s fallen into ragged disrepair, now, The bodice shredded down to the under-layers, your legs visible between the surviving strips of cloth that now form your skirt. Once, you would have been terrified to feel the grass trail against the skin of your calves for fear of being stoned for your wanton sin—but no one remains in the village to cast stones at you now.

You’re sitting down on your bedroll when you feel him, your skin prickling as Steve approaches you. You have never been quite so aware of anyone before, but Steve’s gaze always makes the hair at the back of your neck prick up. He clears his throat.

“I would speak with you, Little One.” You clamor back up to your feet, your cheeks stinging. You prepare yourself for more harsh words, staring hard down at your tightly clasped hands. “I would… apologize. For my words.” You can tell he does not enjoy humility. “You spoke against me out of desire to protect the pack, and for that I cannot fault you.” You peek up at him from between your lashes.

“I admit did not look forward to your punishment.” You reply, and he snorts.

“Ah, we come to the truth of it. Stubborn, aren’t you?” Steve chuckles deeply. “With an attitude like yours, Sweetmeat, I expect you knew the village stockade quite well.” Your cheeks flush with heat, but it doesn’t stop your lips from pressing into an irritated line as you glare at him.

“This is a rather poor apology,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you glare back toward the camp. A fire rages at the center, and the scent of cooking meat is carried over by the cool breeze. You turn back to him, and something akin to lightning zips up your spine as you find him staring at you.

“Then I am sorry for that, too.” Commotion draws both your attention.

“Look, sky!”

“I see sky!”

You look up. The air above still swirls with misty clouds, but it clears with each passing moment, starlight pricking through the black. In the village church they told you that those were Halith’s eyes—thousands and thousands of them, gleaming like diamonds in pitch. The eyes through which she looked down upon the world, through which she would cover it in her light. But you did not feel Halith’s presence in the church, and you do not feel it here in the grass sea.

Your mother had told you they were something else—other places, other worlds. Other lives, and when you died, you got to go up into the sky and see them, one by one forever if you wanted.

Your father called it heresy.

“What are they to you?” You ask, and he hums. “The stars.”

“The ones who came before.” It is the first time you’ve seen the sky clear in days, since before the pass.

“Like heroes?” You ask, and Steve shakes his head.

“Not quite. Those who have done right by the people, by the clan—they rest there.” He points. “That, there? It is the handle of an axe, is it not?” He asks, and you tilt your head, squinting.

“I suppose?”

“It is Molroch’s axe, the blade that split the sea so that the grass could grow.” It is as though the hard years melt from his face to reveal the boy beneath. “He led the people well.” There is a sour note you can taste in his praise.

“It’s not your fault. What happened in the pass—you must know that. It isn’t.” You do not realize you’re touching him until you are, your hand brushing the skin of his arm before you snap it back.

For uncountable seconds, the only sound is the shifting of the grass around you. Steve turns back toward the camp, his large hand warm on your shoulder.

“You should rest.”

“You should too.” He does not answer you, squaring his shoulders in a way that tells you that the conversation is finished, at least for now.

to be continued…

next chapter

#chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #cevans #chris evans #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fic #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #orc!steve rogers #marvel fic #dark fantasy #marvel au #boxofbonesfic #brave fic

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bunniandhoney · 4 months ago

Note

Angst | He doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone, fast-forward he sees her back at the premiere

P.s Just for fun , Idk how he is Irl he is a sweetheart tho

Dear Anon,

How did you know I love angst? 😏

xoxo,

Bunni

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Life’s a Marathon

Jacob takes his best friend for granted.

Y/N found herself in the most awkward predicaments. Never by her own design but certainly by the construction of her best friend Jacob.

“I think i might’ve fucked up” Jacob says looking down at Y/N as she ties her shoes. “I think I’m going to have to agree, neither one of us should be running a marathon this early or really at all.” YN replies with a grim look on her face.

She definitely shouldn’t have agreed to this. She hates sweating and gets her daily exercise from the 25 minute walk from her apartment to her office job. But since she has a burning crush on her best friend she has such a hard time telling Jacob no, actually she’s never fully told Jacob no.

Like that time in Year 10 when he’d ask her to help with his final paper. Even though she was behind on hers and working extra shifts at the cafe she still did his, resulting in her earning a C+ on her paper and an A on his. Or when she told him she just wanted a relaxing night in for her 18th, but Jacob insisted on hitting up every pub in the city. She then spent the last moments of her 18th birthday rubbing Jacob’s back as he emptied his guts in the toilet. This is what best friends do though, they sacrifice, they care, and apparently they run marathons with zero training.

Finally on her feet Jacob pulls her in by her shoulders. “ Quick let’s take a selfie to remember this moment”, with wide grins facing his phone Jacob takes the picture.

“Will all runners please make their way to the starting line” the announcer says.

YN is starting to feel sick. “ You know I can always wait for you at the checkpoints and cheer”

“Yeah but where would the fun be in that? Besides you can’t leave me now, we’re at the starting line.” Dragging her feet YN follows an excited Jacob to the starting line with the rest of the runners.

The sound of the gun signals the runners to start, and they’re off…well Jacob is. YN is already at the back of the pack within 60 seconds of the race starting and her best friend is nowhere to be found.

When she finally finishes the first mile, she’s slightly winded but not awful, the second clearly wears her down though because she’s practically walking. Huffing and puffing she tries to pick her pace back up as she sees the finish line. She sees Jacob at the end cheering for her, or at least that’s what she thinks because her vision seems a little blurry and black dots are spotting her vision. Yn is almost there, almost at the end when everything goes dark.

People are laughing at her. YN can hear it as she comes to; wait is that Jacob laughing at her? Blinking her eyes open she does see him laughing but it’s joined by a woman’s laugh, a very pretty woman now that her vision is clearing up.

“Jac—“ the rasp coming from her voice is unrecognizable, but does the trick because Jacob looks down at her.

“You’re awake!” says the pretty lady on her other side.

“I’m Dr. Sams, I was the medic on the scene when you passed out. Can you tell me your name?”

—

Sitting under a cooling tent with ice packs on most of her body and being forced to chug down gatorade is probably top 5 most embarrassing moments especially since the only other person under there is a 65 year old man who threw out his knee, and said he felt too hot under the medic tent. “It’s alright doll, my first race wasn’t sunshine and rainbows either, " he says with a grin.

“Dr. Sams said you’re clear if you’re ready to go. Should probably take you home to rest.” Jacob says helping YN up. The car ride back to her apartment is dead silent besides the loud tension between Jacob’s guilt and YN's embarrassment. When he pulls into her garage Jacob decides to break the ice. “Look i’m really sorry love, you were right the marathon was not a good idea. I’m sure dehydration was not in your weekend plans.”

A sympathetic smile, the same one she always gives when Jacob screws up, graces her face. “It’s not your fault I’m an adult, and should’ve known that I was feeling way too bad to continue.”

Walking up to YN’s apartment Jacob can’t help but to be apologetic still. Laying YN on the couch and getting her a bottle of water from the fridge Jacob, trying to ease any leftover tension yells, "Well at least something good came from today?”

And honestly nothing is coming to YN’s mind, in fact, today was about as horrible as it could get for her.

She was spontaneously woken up at the crack of dawn.

The “Big Suprise” her best friend/crush for her was a damn marathon

She had to run a marathon

And lastly, she passed out in front of hundreds of people including Jacob. Yeah, there couldn’t possibly be anything good.

“The cute medic that was helping you, well we were chatting so I’m taking her out tonight!”

Mentally adding this to the list of horrible things happening today YN groans, “My head is pounding, what did you say?”

“I’ve got a date with a hot doctor babe!” he yells back gleefully.

YM closes her eyes silently hoping that what’s happening is that she’s in a dream and when she wakes up it’ll be noon, she will just now be getting up, and planning to spend the whole day in a big Tshirt (no pants of course). But when she peeks open one of her eyes she sees her best friend walking back with a glass of orange juice and some painkillers. “ Here you go, Dr. Sams said this might help with any aches or fatigue.”

Nope, not a dream, but a terrible nightmare.

Jacob finally heads out, claiming he needs to prepare for his date, leaving YN alone and feeling incredibly achey. In the 15 years she’s known Jacob he has only had a girlfriend twice.

Once in Year 9, Elizabeth Brown, ended up being on the receiving end of Jacob’s turn of a horrid “Spin the Bottle” game. Elizabeth claimed Jacob was the best kisser in the world and deemed him her boyfriend. Which to her point was very true as YN and Jacob had been practicing for years at that point. Jacob beaming with pride accepted the title for approximately 17 days before he claimed she was way too clingy and broke it off.

The next was years later in university when he dated Sasha Davies for TWO whole years. YN just knew she’d lost him. But Sasha was quite rude and incredibly judgey, so when she found out that Jacob passed up a regular job for acting, she dumped him, leaving YN to pick up the pieces. Since then Jacob had sworn off dating until he was settled in his career as a full time actor, claiming that YN and his mum were the only women he needed in his life.

So why on earth are things changing now! She thought she was all he needed, even if nothing went further than friendship. YN is not near spiteful enough to ruin a relationship, so for now she’ll just sit back and see if anything comes of this one date.

—

Unfortunately, everything comes from one date, because it turns into two and three. Then eventually Yvanne (Dr. Sams) and Jacob are practicing living together in a matter of months. It’s not that Jacob ignores YN, no, he tries to include her in almost everything the couple does. He even tries to do a weekly coffee date with YN just to check in on her, but YN can’t do it. She can’t watch him kiss and hug another woman, buy her odd but sentimental gifts, or even open the bloody car door for someone else. She can’t watch him be in love with anyone else while her heart still craves him.

So she pulls away, just slightly so he doesn’t notice. Her plan is working beautifully since Jacob is enamored with Yvanne. It simply looks as if she wants him to spend more time with his girlfriend. Well, it was working beautifully until Jacob drops an absolute bomb on her during one of their coffee dates.

“You’re going to do what!?!?! “ she screeches in the corner booth, causing too many eyes to look their way.

“Woah calm down. Look I’m going off to shoot the movie and want Yvanne to know I’m serious; that I’m in this for the long haul, for forever.”

“I think there are other ways to show you’re serious than marrying her. For fucks sake J you all haven’t been together a whole year yet!” YN fumes.

“It’ll be a longish engagement, and honestly I thought you’d be happier for me. You’re my best friend in the whole world, I haven’t even told my mum this yet.” He replies diffendently.

Now YN sees it, she sees him slipping away. It’s clear that as always, Jacob has made up his mind and in turn has decided both of their fates for them.

“You’re right, it just caught me by suprise. I’m so happy for you”

“Really”

“Of course, J, you know I just want you to be happy, you’re my best friend.” YN rewards him with a suffering smile.

For three weeks after the news YN goes completely ghost. Every call and text Jacob attempts to make goes unanswered, but she can’t do it. She can’t watch this happen or pretend to be okay, even when she thought she could. Jacob stops by her apartment at the end of week three to check on her since she’d clearly been avoiding him. But when he reaches under the ficus pot outside her apartment door he realizes it’s gone. YN had taken the key and moved it. This officially sends Jacob into a rage because that key was reserved for him, now he’s banging on her door yelling for her to “Let me in because I know you’re in there!”

A puffy-eyed YN opens the door just as Jacob raises his fist again. She’s been crying, she can’t stop, not since the day she left that cafe. “Hey J, what’s going on?”

“You’ve been ignoring me!” he says stepping into her apartment, which is shockingly a mess. She’s always been a bit of a neat freak, cleaning up everyone’s mess all the time. “You’ve been ignoring me, and you’ve been crying.”

“Oh. I’m fin—“

“Please don’t do that shit with me. The pretending, because I know you better than anyone in this world so come off it!”

For some reason this pisses YN off to a degree she’s never known before.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Jacob Scipio! How dare you come banging on MY door expecting anything from me, you, you selfish bastard!”

Eyebrows raised in shock Jacob uses his silence as a reply.

With tears starting to roll down her face YN cries, “ I have spent years following behind you, trying to make sure nothing ever inconveniences you. Making sure that Jacob is happy, that he’s in perfect health, that he’s got his lines down packed, and not because I wanted something in return but because I cared for you. Hell, I loved you Jacob. Then you expect me to jump for joy when you want to propose to a girl you’ve known for 9 months! So, no Jacob, you don’t know me!”

“YN, I’m so—“

“Please don’t apologize, just leave, I want to be alone.”

His head hung low Jacob turns to walk back out of her apartment. “Umm, I wanted to give you this. I hope you can make it.” he says sitting an envelope on her coffee table. When Jacob walks out that door YN expects to never see her best friend again and she crumbles to the floor letting the tears wrack through her body.

1 ½ year later —

Jacob would like to say that he couldn’t be happier. At the premier of one of the biggest movies of his life, he should be overjoyed. And don’t get him wrong, he's extremely happy and grateful. He’s a trending topic, he has his amazing cast mates, and his extremely supportive family here with him. But the one person he’s hoped to see is nowhere to be found.

When he’d left that save the date on her coffee table a year and a half ago he knew that wouldn’t solve whatever issues they had, so he had his mother send her an official invitation through the mail three months ago. Even though YN wanted nothing to do with Jacob, their lives couldn’t help but to be intertwined, they’d known each other for over half their lives.

This separation had been hell for him, as he knew it would be as soon as he left her apartment that day. He cut things off with Yvanne two days later, unable to proceed with the engagement. He spent the rest of the time thinking about how right YN was, he was a selfish bastard. Almost her whole life has been spent accommodating him and so he vowed that if he ever got the chance he would do right by his best friend.

But he couldn’t do that because for the past 550 days he hasn’t so much as heard her voice let alone seen her, and while he hopes she would show up tonight for his premiere, he also knows that it’s a long shot; a consequence of hurting the people who love you.

Jacob takes one last look as he walks into the already packed theater. Sitting next to his mom Jacob relaxes into his seat and just before the lights go down he hears a breathless “Sorry I’m late, this LA traffic is awful!”

There she is, on day 551, the only person he cared to see, his very reason for being and she sits next to him filling his lungs with fresh air and her jasmine scented perfume. “You came.”

“Well of course, I couldn’t miss you on the big screen. Plus both of our mothers threatened me.” YN says with a bright smile.

She’s different, they both are, and they can only hope that fate hasn’t given up on them yet.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

thanks again for letting me write this for you, i had so much fun!

IDK, I’m kinda feeling a part 2 in my spirit, so lmk if that something y’all would be interested in!

also thanks for all the love on my other posts, i’m still taking requests so let them free!!!

#bad boys ride or die #jacob scipio #armando aretas #jacob scipio fic #jacob scipio x reader #jacob scipio imagine #armando aretas imagine #armando aretas x reader #bff!jacob scipio #light angst #jacob scipio smut #jacob scipio angst

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blackroserelina · 2 months ago

Text

Once Lost Now Found

I'm not much of a writer I had to use AI to even get this done, but this is basically the story for the lost one out line I did. I'm not fully happy with it but it's what I can do.

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"Pfft, what a bust," Marinette exclaimed as she stomped into the dimly lit coffee shop. The hotel's coffee pot had decided to brew its last cup of sludge that morning, leaving her desperate for a decent caffeine fix before the big tour of Wayne Enterprise. She was in Gotham for a class trip, and the thought of facing the day without her usual buzz was as appealing as a soggy croissant.

Her eyes landed on the menu, and she felt a glimmer of hope as she spotted the "Death by Espresso" option. "Perfect," she murmured, stepping up to the counter. "One of those, please."

The barista, a young man with a slightly worried look, asked "You're sure you can handle it?"

Marinette's determination didn't waver. "Trust me, I need it."

As she waited for her drink, she heard the door chime, and in walked a figure that was both familiar and foreign to her. Tim Drake, in his casual yet expensive attire, strode in with the confidence of someone who was used to the chaos of Gotham. His eyes scanned the room, and when they met hers, he paused for a fraction of a second before ordering the same lethal concoction.

Their drinks arrived simultaneously, and they both went to grab them, "Well, I guess we have similar tastes in coffee," Tim said, noticing her bewilderment.

Marinette couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."

Tim's eyes searched hers, and she felt a strange sense of comfort from his presence. "I'm Tim," he said, extending a hand. "Timothy Drake."

Marinette took his hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Tim's smile grew as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Marinette."

As they stepped out of the coffee shop, the harsh reality of Gotham's streets hit them like a cold wind. Marinette's eyes grew wide as she spotted the bus, her class's yellow beacon of safety, pulling away from the curb. Panic set in, and she looked around frantically for any sign of the teacher who was supposed to be looking out for her.

"You, okay?" Tim asked, his eyes narrowing at the bus's retreating figure.

Marinette nodded, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "Yeah, I just… I can't believe they left without me."

Tim's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and concern. "That's unacceptable. You're not from around here, are you?"

Marinette nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. "It's a class trip from Paris. I won the contest to come here."

Tim's eyes widened. "Paris? That's amazing! But it's also incredibly irresponsible of them to leave you behind."

Marinette felt a warmth spread through her chest at his genuine concern. "It's okay," she lied, trying to put on a brave face. "I'm sure they'll realize and come back for me."

Tim's expression was grim. "I wouldn't bet on it. Gotham's not the safest place to be stranded, especially if you're not from around here." He checked his watch. "Look, I'm heading to Wayne Enterprise myself for some work. You can come with me, and I'll make sure you get to the tour on time."

Marinette hesitated, eyeing him warily. Gotham was a city of shadows and secrets, and she wasn't about to trust a stranger, no matter how kind he seemed. But as she focused on his aura, she felt a gentle warmth, a sense of protection and sincerity that washed away her fears. "Okay," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Tim."

The ride to Wayne Enterprise was filled with nervous energy, their conversation bouncing between the mundane and the profound. Tim spoke of his love for Gotham, despite its dangers, and Marinette shared her excitement for the tour, her voice filled with hope and wonder. As they approached the towering building, Marinette's heart raced.

Upon their arrival, Dick Grayson was already waiting for them. His gaze swept over the group of students, and his eyes lingered on Marinette as she stepped into the lobby, clutching her purse tightly to herself. His stomach twisted in knots as he heard the whispers of her classmates, the cruel taunts that seemed to follow her wherever she went. He had been informed by Tim of the situation, and it was all he could do to keep from swooping in and putting an end to it right there.

As Marinette sees her class, she knows her time with him has ended so she waves goodbye to Tim.

"I'll be okay," she assured him with a forced smile. "Thank you again for the ride."

Tim nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned to leave. Dick stepped forward, a mask of professionalism sliding into place as he began the tour. Throughout the grand halls of Wayne Enterprise, Lila's voice echoed like a siren's call, weaving tall tales of her connections and the importance of her family name. The class hung on her every word, their eyes glazed over with adoration, while Dick felt his patience wearing thinner than a spider's web.

Marinette alone remained unshaken by Lila's deceitful charm, her eyes never leaving Dick as she listened to the real stories he shared about the company's history and its commitment to the city. Her gaze was a beacon of sanity in a sea of naivety. He found himself grateful for her silent support, her nods of understanding grounding him in the face of such blatant dishonesty.

As the tour dragged on, the rest of the class remained enraptured by Lila's fabrications, while Marinette discreetly sent glances Dick's way, her expressions a silent question. He returned her looks with a mix of exasperation and amusement, his respect for her growing with every step.

"Miss Bustier," Dick called out, his voice echoing in the vast lobby, "I think it's time we moved on."

Lila rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, come on, Mr. Grayson, we're having so much fun!"

The class giggled in unison, clearly on her side. Dick felt a headache coming on. "Miss Rossi," he said firmly, "let's not hold up the tour any longer."

Lila huffed, but complied, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Marinette couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for Dick. He had been trying so hard to give them a real insight into the company, and all they cared about were her classmates' petty gossip and exaggerated tales of wealth. She walked closer to him, her eyes scanning and hands fiddling with the locket that was her silent companion around her neck.

"Thank you for the tour," she said quietly, her voice sincere.

Dick nodded, his eyes scanning the locket around her neck. It was a subtle gesture, but Marinette caught it. "You're welcome, Marinette. It's not every day we get such an insightful visitor."

As the tour concluded, the students dispersed, eager to explore the rest of Gotham, but Marinette lingered, her eyes on the locket that had drawn Dick's attention. The rest of the class had ignored the actual tour, lost in Lila's fabricated tales of grandeur, but she had been the one to truly listen and appreciate the stories Dick had shared about the city and the company.

Dick noticed her lingering and approached her. "You seem like the only one who actually enjoyed the tour," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Marinette shrugged, her cheeks flushing. "I guess I just like to learn about new places."

Dick's smile grew, and he gave her a warm pat on the shoulder. "You're a breath of fresh air in this city," he said before turning to leave.

Marinette watched him go, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and excitement. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him than met the eye. She knew he wasn't just any employee at Wayne Enterprise; she could feel it.

The class trip continued, and that evening they all went to a fancy restaurant for dinner. The chatter was loud, a cacophony of French and English blending together. Lila, as usual, held court, spinning tales of her fabulous life in Paris that made the other students' eyes widen with envy. Marinette tried to ignore the noise, focusing instead on her meal. The food was delicious, but the company was… less than ideal.

As the meal ended and the students began to leave, Marinette told Miss Bustier that she had to use the restroom really quick.

"Don't take too long," Miss Bustier called out, already halfway out the door.

Marinette nodded and hurried to the bathroom. When she emerged, the restaurant was empty except for a few lingering staff. She felt a cold hand of fear grips her heart—she had been left behind again. Panic rising, she fumbled for her phone in her pocket, only to find it as lifeless as a forgotten souvenir. The battery was dead.

With no way to call for help, she stepped out into the darkening streets of Gotham. The once vibrant and bustling metropolis now seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and danger. She had been warned about the city's notorious reputation, but she never thought she would be alone in it. As she wandered, trying to remember the way back to the hotel, she heard the distant sound of laughter and footsteps growing louder. Two men turned the corner, leering at her.

"Looks like we found ourselves a little tourist," one of them sneered, his teeth glinting in the dim streetlight.

Marinette took a deep breath, her hand instinctively moving to the locket around her neck. It was all she had left of home, of her father, and she wasn't about to let anyone take that from her. She had been trained in martial arts, thanks to her adopted mother's insistence and with her experience as Ladybug, she wasn't going to let fear dictate her actions.

The alley grew quieter as their footsteps grew closer. The moon cast eerie shadows that danced on the damp pavement. The smell of rotting trash mixed with the scent of rain that hung in the air. She knew she had to end this quickly. With a swift move, she grabbed one man's arm and twisted it behind his back, causing him to cry out in pain. The second man lunged at her, but she was ready. She ducked under his arm and delivered a powerful kick to his midsection, sending him reeling into the wall.

As she spun around to face the first attacker, she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet gentle. "Easy there, kitten," a gruff voice said. She whipped around, ready to fight, only to find a man dressed in red and black, a hood shadowing his face.

Marinette's heart raced as she took in the newcomer. The two men she had just fought were groaning on the ground, but the new figure didn't seem concerned with them. "Who are you?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man in red and black, known as Red Hood, chuckled softly. "Someone who doesn't like to see a pretty girl like you fighting in the streets."

Marinette's eyes narrowed, and she took a step back, her instincts telling her to be wary. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Red Hood's grip on her shoulder tightened for a moment before he realized his mistake and let go. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said, his voice calmer now. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

Marinette eyed him warily, her heart pounding in her chest. The locket felt heavy around her neck, a silent reminder of her father's love and protection. "Thanks," she managed to say, her voice still shaking slightly. "I can handle myself."

Red Hood studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing through the shadows of his hood. "I can see that," he said with a hint of admiration. "But it's not every day you find a tourist who can take down two thugs without breaking a sweat. What's your secret?"

Marinette swallowed hard, her thoughts racing. She couldn't tell him the truth, not here, not now. "Just a little self-defense," she lied, trying to keep her voice steady. "My mom taught me."

Red Hood's eyes searched hers as if looking for a glimpse of the truth behind her words. After a moment, he nodded. "Good for you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of a Southern drawl. "But you shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe."

Marinette felt a shiver run down her spine, her earlier bravado fading in the face of his intense gaze. "I know," she murmured, her eyes darting to the unconscious men on the ground. "My class left me behind."

Red Hood's expression darkened. "Stay here," he instructed, his voice firm. He stepped over to the thugs and tied them up with a swiftness that spoke of experience. He pulled out a small communicator from his utility belt and spoke into it, arranging for their pickup.

Marinette watched him, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. She knew he was dangerous, a vigilante of some kind, but he didn't feel threatening to her. Her eyes wandered to the locket again, the warm metal pressing against her skin.

"You okay?" Red Hood asked, his voice softer now.

Marinette nodded, still trembling slightly. "I think so," she whispered. "I just want to go back to the hotel."

Red Hood looked at her for a long moment before nodding. "I'll take you there," he said. "But you have to stay close."

Marinette nodded, her eyes never leaving his. She could feel his concern, his protective aura wrapping around her like a warm blanket. As they walked through the streets of Gotham, she couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with him. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something comforting about the way he moved, the confidence in his steps.

"What's your name?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Red Hood," he replied, his eyes never leaving the shadows. "How about you?"

Marinette took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of rain. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Red Hood nodded. "Nice to meet you, Marinette," he said, his eyes scanning the street. "Now, let's get you out of here."

They moved swiftly through the alleyways, sticking to the shadows. Marinette could feel his eyes on her, checking if she was okay, if she needed help. She didn't. Her training as Ladybug had prepared her for moments like this, but she appreciated his concern.

As they neared the hotel, the streets grew quieter, the neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. The rain had started to fall, a soft patter that grew louder with each step. Red Hood pulled his hood up further, shielding his face from the downpour.

Marinette felt a twinge of sadness as they approached the hotel's glowing entrance. She didn't want to leave him, didn't want to return to the cold reality of her classmates' indifference. But she knew she had to.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rain. "For everything."

Red Hood nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're welcome," he said, his grip on her shoulder reassuring. "And remember, Gotham can be a tough place. Stick with your group and stay safe."

Marinette stepped into the light of the hotel lobby, the warmth enveloping her as the rain continued to fall outside. She watched as Red Hood melted back into the shadows, his figure disappearing as if he had never been there. The encounter left her with more questions than answers, but she knew she had to keep moving forward.

The elevator ride to her room felt like an eternity. Each floor that passed brought back the memory of her father's eyes." The locket felt like a burning ember against her skin, a constant reminder of her lost past.

When the doors finally opened, Marinette rushed into her room and collapsed onto the bed, the locket still clutched in her hand. She stared at it, the inscription blurring through her tears. "My most beloved daughter M.W.," she whispered, tracing the letters with her thumb. "Daddy loves you always." as she cried herself to sleep.

The next day, she was paired with Damian Wayne for the visit to Gotham Academy. His cold demeanor was intimidating, but Marinette felt a strange pull towards him. Throughout the day, she saw glimpses of kindness beneath his tough exterior, especially when he defended her from a sneering comment by one of the other students. His sharp gaze was assessing, and she couldn't help but feel that he was searching for something in her, something she wasn't even sure she knew existed.

As they walked the halls, Marinette found herself opening up to Damian, sharing her love for art and her dreams of becoming a fashion designer. His initial skepticism gradually gave way to something resembling respect, and by the end of the day, she had earned a rare smile from the young heir to the Wayne legacy.

In the bustling cafeteria, they sat side by side, surrounded by the cacophony of chatter and clanging trays. Marinette picked at her food, lost in thought about the events of the past few days.

"You know," Damian began, his voice low and contemplative, "you're not like the others."

Marinette looked up from her tray, surprised by his sudden openness. "What do you mean?" she asked a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

Damian's gaze was fixed on her, his dark eyes unreadable. "You're… different," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have… a strength about you."

Marinette felt her cheeks flush. "Thanks," she murmured, unsure of how to respond.

Damian's gaze remained steadfast. "You remind me of someone," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and something else she couldn't quite place.

Marinette's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Could he somehow know about her secret life as Ladybug? She quickly dismissed the thought. No, it wasn't possible. "Really?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. "Who?"

Damian leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "Someone important," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Someone who has faced darkness and come out stronger for it."

Marinette's heart raced. Could he be referring to Ladybug? Her mind raced with possibilities, but she kept her expression neutral. "That's a nice compliment," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

Damian nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's more than that," he said, his voice intense. "It's a recognition of something… extraordinary."

Marinette felt a jolt of adrenaline. She had never met anyone who seemed to see through her so easily. Her heart pounded in her chest as she wondered if he could be talking about her heroic alter ego. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Damian leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I've seen the way you handle yourself," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "The way you stand up to bullies, even when you're scared. It's… inspiring."

Marinette felt a warmth spread through her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. Someone was finally seeing her, not just her classmates' version of her. "Thank you," she said, genuinely touched by his words.

Damian's smirk grew. "You're welcome," he said. "You know, if you ever need anything while you're in Gotham, just let me know."

Marinette's eyes widened slightly. Was he offering to help her, not just as a fellow student but as something more? "Thanks," she said, her voice a bit shaky. "But I'm sure I'll be fine."

Damian's smirk didn't falter. "I'm sure you will," he said, his tone sincere. "But sometimes, even the strongest heroes need a hand."

Marinette's thoughts swirled as she took in his words. Was he hinting at something? Did he know her secret? Impossible, she thought, pushing the doubt aside. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that he saw more than he let on.

The rest of the day at Gotham Academy was a blur. The tension between her and Damian grew thicker with every shared glance and whispered conversation. She felt like she was walking on eggshells, not wanting to give anything away.

As the class boarded the bus back to the hotel, Marinette couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. She knew she had to keep her distance from the Wayne brothers, not just to protect her secret but also to protect them from the danger that followed her. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were somehow connected, that they were all part of something much larger than themselves.

That night, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was racing with the day's events. The way Red Hood had moved, the way Tim and Dick had looked at her during the tour, and now Damian's cryptic words. It was all too much to process. Her heart felt like it was going to burst with excitement and fear.

The next day, the class was scheduled to visit the Gotham Museum of Art.

Marinette walked through the grand halls, feeling a strange mix of awe and anxiety. She had always loved art, but in Gotham, it felt different, as if each painting held a secret of the city's dark soul. She found solace in the quiet whispers of the brushstrokes, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

As the tour group moved from one exhibit to the next, she noticed a peculiar painting that had been recently added. It was a portrait of a young girl with her mother, and the girl's eyes seemed to follow her, filled with a sense of longing that resonated deep within her. The plaque beside it read, "Marinette Wayne," and she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

The first name was the same as hers, and the resemblance in the eyes was uncanny. The more she stared, the more she felt like she was looking into a mirror reflecting a past she couldn't remember. The rest of the class had moved on, but she remained, lost in the haunting beauty of the portrait.

It was then that she heard a soft footstep behind her, and she spun around to see Bruce Wayne standing there, his eyes fixed on the painting as well.

"It's a beautiful piece, isn't it?" he said, his voice low and measured.

Marinette nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from the painting. "It's… haunting," she murmured.

Bruce stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the painting. "It reminds me of someone," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Someone very important to me."

Marinette felt her heart clench in her chest for some reason.

Bruce continued, "Marinette was my daughter," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "She was… she was everything to me."

Marinette's breath caught in her throat. The locket grew heavier on her neck. "Your…daughter?" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce nodded his gaze still on the painting. "Yes," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that seemed to echo through the museum. "She was taken from me when she was very young. I've been searching for her ever since."

Marinette's eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief. "What…what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Bruce took a deep breath, his eyes welling up with pain. "She was kidnapped," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I've devoted my life to finding her, and to making sure no one else has to go through what she did."

Marinette's hand flew to her locket, her heart racing for some reason. She felt a strange kinship with this man, a bond that she couldn't explain. "Di… did you ever find any leads?" she asked.

Bruce's eyes searched hers, the pain in his gaze was palpable. "No," he said, his voice strained. "Every trail went cold. I never gave up hope, but… it's been so long."

Marinette felt a tear slip down her cheek. The story was all too familiar, but she didn't know why. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

Bruce's gaze softened, and he reached out to gently wipe the tear away. "It's alright," he said, his voice filled with a warmth she hadn't heard in years. "Life is full of tragedies, but also moments of beauty, like this painting."

Marinette nodded, her eyes still glued to the portrait. "It's just… it's eerie how much she looks like me," she whispered.

Bruce's hand froze, and he leaned in closer, examining her features. "You do share a resemblance," he said, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "Perhaps it's the eyes."

Marinette's heart raced as he took a step back, composing himself. "It's just a coincidence," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "I'm sure lots of people have similar eyes."

Bruce nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the locket she unconsciously clutched. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken questions. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Marinette's hand tightened around the locket, the carving of 'M.W.' feeling like a brand on her skin. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle that was her life.

"Marinette," Bruce said gently, using her name for the first time. The sound of it on his lips sent a wave of longing through her. "Do you have a moment to talk in private?"

She nodded, and he led her to a secluded corner of the museum. The silence between them was deafening, filled with the weight of unspoken truths.

"I know this might sound strange," Bruce began, his voice gentle yet firm. "But I need to ask you something important." He took hold of the locket around her neck, the weight of its contents heavy. "Do you know what this means?"

Marinette's eyes grew wide with shock "It's… it's just a necklace," she lied, her voice trembling. "It's special to me, but I don't know what it means."

Bruce's eyes searched hers, and she could see the hope and fear mingling in the depths of his gaze. "Marinette," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look inside."

With trembling hands, she opened the locket. The same words she had read countless times stared back at her, "My most beloved daughter M.W. Daddy loves you always." But this time, something clicked. The initials matched the name from the painting. Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

Bruce's eyes searched hers, holding the locket between them. "Do you know who this is?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and fear.

Marinette felt the room spin as she stared at the locket, the reality of the situation crashing down upon her. "It… it's me," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "It's… I'm M.W."

Bruce's hand trembled as he cupped her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "Marinette," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it possible?"

Marinette's eyes filled with tears as she nodded slowly. "I… I think so," she choked out, the weight of the revelation too much to bear.

Bruce's own eyes glistened with unshed tears as he cradled her face in his hands. "Marinette," he breathed, her name like a prayer on his lips. "My baby girl."

The dam of emotions broke, and Marinette threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring her to this moment, to this place where she could finally find the love she had been searching for her entire life. Bruce held her tightly, his own eyes filled with tears as he whispered soothing words into her ear, the warmth of his embrace bringing a sense of belonging she had never felt before.

Marinette pulled away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Daddy," she whispered, testing the word she hadn't dared to speak in so long.

Their moment was interrupted by the concerned chatter of the approaching tour group. Bruce quickly composed himself, his eyes scanning the room. He knew they couldn't stay here, not like this. "Marinette," he said, urgency in his tone. "We need to talk. In private."

They found a quiet spot in the museum's garden, the chilly Gotham air a stark contrast to the warmth of their conversation. "What do we do now?" Marinette asked, her voice still shaking.

Bruce took a deep breath, the reality of the situation setting in. "First, we need to find out for sure," he said, his voice firm.

Marinette nodded, wiping her eyes. "How do we do that?" she asked, hope mingling with fear.

Bruce took a deep breath. "We need to get a DNA test," he said. "It's the only way to be certain."

Marinette's heart raced at the thought. "But…but what if it's true?" she stammered. "What if I am your daughter?"

Bruce's gaze softened as he took her hand in his. "Then we'll deal with it together," he assured her. "But we need to be certain."

Marinette nodded, her mind racing with the implications. "Okay," she said, her voice small. "But how do we explain this to everyone?"

Bruce's expression grew serious. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said. "For now, we need to keep this between us. The less people know, the better."

Marinette nodded, her mind reeling with the gravity of their situation. She knew that if it were true, it would change everything. Her life in Paris, her friends, her secret identity – all of it would be turned upside down.

"We'll figure this out together," he said, his voice a soothing balm to her racing thoughts. "But for now, we need to keep this between us. I'll arrange for a discreet DNA test tomorrow."

Marinette nodded, her mind racing with the implications of her potential lineage. Could she really be the lost daughter of Bruce Wayne? It was too much to comprehend.

The rest of the day was a blur as she went through the motions of the tour, her thoughts consumed by the revelation. She couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and dread intertwined. Her heart ached with the hope of finally finding her family, yet the fear of losing everything she knew was ever-present.

That night, she lay in her hotel bed, the locket clutched tightly in her hand. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, and she couldn't shake the feeling that her entire life was about to change. The DNA test loomed over her like a storm cloud, and she found it hard to sleep.

The next day, Bruce arranged for a private meeting in his office at Wayne Enterprise. Under the guise of meeting the winner that won the class this trip. The gleaming skyscraper stood tall against the gloomy Gotham skyline, a symbol of hope amidst the city's darkness. Marinette's heart hammered in her chest as she stepped into the elevator, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down on her.

When the elevator doors slid open, she was greeted by Alfred, Bruce's loyal butler. His kind eyes searched hers, and she wondered if he knew the truth they were about to uncover. He led her into a plush office, where Bruce was waiting, his expression a mask of calm she couldn't quite read.

The DNA test was quick and painless, but the wait was agonizing. They talked in hushed tones, avoiding the subject at hand, their eyes darting to the clock on the wall as the minutes ticked by. Marinette felt like she was in a dream, one that she didn't want to end but knew would bring a reality she wasn't prepared for.

Bruce excused himself to take a call, leaving Marinette alone with her thoughts. She gazed out the window at the sprawling cityscape, the stark contrast of the gleaming Wayne Tower against the grimy buildings of Gotham a stark reminder of the life she might have had.

When he returned, his eyes were heavy with a mix of anticipation and dread. "The results will be in tomorrow," he said, his voice tight.

Marinette nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling a knot form in her stomach.

The next 24 hours were the longest of her life. She walked through the streets of Gotham, the weight of the locket and the potential truth it held pressing down on her like a leaden cloak. She couldn't focus on anything else, her thoughts a tornado of what-ifs and maybes. Her interactions with her classmates were forced, her mind elsewhere.

The night brought no rest. She tossed and turned in her hotel bed, the locket lying like a hot coal on her chest. The whispers of the wind outside seemed to carry the secrets of the city, secrets that could soon be her own. The room felt too small, the air too thick to breathe.

The next day dragged on like a mournful symphony, each second a painful crescendo towards the truth. The class continued with their Gotham adventures, but Marinette was lost in her thoughts, unable to fully engage with the world around her. She found solace in the quiet moments, the gentle hum of the city's pulse a lullaby that sang of a past she had long ago forgotten.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Gotham in a cloak of twilight, Marinette waited anxiously in the hotel lobby. The grand clock ticked away the moments, each chime echoing through her soul like a countdown to destiny. And then, as if on cue, the elevator doors parted, and Bruce emerged, his eyes filled with a solemn intensity that told her the moment of truth had arrived.

He approached her, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. In his hand, he held a small envelope, the seal of the lab stark and official. Marinette's heart felt as if it were about to burst from her chest as he handed it to her, his own hand trembling slightly.

With trembling fingers, she took the envelope and slid out the single sheet of paper. The words she read sent a shockwave through her entire being. The DNA test results were conclusive: she was indeed Marinette Wayne, the long-lost daughter of Bruce Wayne. The truth hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt her legs give out beneath her.

Bruce caught her before she could fall, his strong arms wrapping around her as she sobbed into his chest. "It's okay," he murmured over and over, his voice a comforting rumble that she hadn't heard since she was a child. "You're home now."

Marinette looked up at him, her eyes blurred with tears. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice small and scared.

Bruce's gaze held hers, filled with a fierce determination. "We get to know each other," he said firmly. "You're not alone anymore."

Marinette nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of joy and fear. She had found her father, but what about her mother? The woman in the portrait, the woman she had never known?

Bruce seemed to read her thoughts. "Your mother was a wonderful person," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She was… she was taken from us when you were very young. But I promise you, she would be proud of the strong, brave woman you've become."

Marinette felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill over. "I don't know how to be a Wayne," she whispered. "I don't know anything about this life."

Bruce's grip on her tightened. "You don't have to be anyone but yourself," he assured her. "I'll be here to guide you, to help you navigate this new chapter."

Marinette took a shaky breath, trying to process the monumental revelation. "What about my life in Paris? I have responsibility there."

Bruce nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "We'll figure it out," he promised. "We'll take it one step at a time."

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