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studiopeached · 10 months ago

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THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

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peachedtvs · 11 months ago

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TIL' DEATH DON’T WE PART ft. Yandere!Alastor

⃝𖤐 VALENTINES DAY 2024 SPECIAL…

⃝𖤐 SUMMARY: After fleeing from your fiancé, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it—on Earth or not.

⃝𖤐 CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, fem!reader, yandere!ex-fiancé!alastor x reader, alastor being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick alastor—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, alastor uses his shadows,

⃝𖤐 WORD COUNT: 3.9k | 2k plot, 1.9k smut

⃝𖤐 STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER !😋i am IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN GUYS

⃝𖤐 MASTERLIST. Main blog @peachedtv

Alastor felt you were quite silly, even from when the two of you were small.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Alastor wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the radio he’d hum to silently during his auditory carnages. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth swing of jazz muffled through a radio’s buzz.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Alastor wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

He’s adapted that wish somewhat.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Alastor always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Alastor was always in control.

Control of his subordinates, control of his manipulation, his chaos around him. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over a century ago, on the Earth he no longer lived in.

The first day you two had met, Alastor was a clumsy boy. His two feet carrying him slower than the beat of his heart, tumbling him down onto his knee into the unforgiving concrete. It hurt. A sting and burn that tugged the corner of his lips into a frown, holding back tears as other children ran past him without any acknowledgement.

He never wanted mother to worry, and so, he always sucked it up. Tugging his knee into his chest, he blew onto the wound and hugged his leg—his lips wobbling.

And suddenly, there you were.

A small, petite child then. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, your hand extended to him as the other rested on your knee. Alastor was surprised. Enough so that for a split second, he had forgotten of his wounds, of the pain. Cautiously, he took your hand.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. Soon, your fingers were almost always intertwined with his. Alastor’s mother would coo at the two of you each time Alastor brought you over to dance, smiling happily as you stumbled over his feet in the living room—his favorite radio buzzing soft melodies in the background. Alastor moved gracefully, having danced with his mother in preparation. You were not the same. You couldn’t help but have your eyes stuck on the floor, eyebrows raised in concentration as you followed his steps.

One step,

two step,

three step,

four.

You weren’t a great dancer. And after a long afternoon of clumsily tapping your feet around, the sun began to retract past the skyline, and Alastor had offered to walk you home. It was bright, really bright. Your eyebrows furrowing at the light from Earth’s warming star, a small hand raised to your forehead to soothe your eyes from the bright light.

“Al, look!” You pointed to the sun. Orange hues trailing red as the two colors bleed together, warm tones mesmerizing your childish heart and sparking wonder into your eyes.

Meanwhile, Alastor was looking at a different star. His star.

“I want to make a deal.” Alastor spoke softly. And slowly, you turned to him, curiousity tilting your head as you met Alastor’s timid expression with a hum of acknowledgment. Alastor raised his pinky finger.

“I want to be with you forever.” Alastor tucked away into his body. For the first time, his eyes looked away from you—the warmth from the sky traveling down to blush his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features. To his surprise, your pinky hooked onto his in an instant.

“Forever.”

And there was Alastor’s first deal of souls. A deal that tied your essence to his until the end of time—for a promise between two whom are pure surpasses the strength of any other.

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and Alastor became your fiancé, set to tie your love together by law in a couple months. You both had your own jobs, despite his insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Alastor’s dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Cher.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, my Dear.” Alastor greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Alastor looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Alastor did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarry, having strangely lost empolyee after empolyee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your empolyer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Alastor.

Although, something felt off.

With Alastor home, it was always lively. The ambience of radio would hum an electronic swing of jazz, a low vibrato of your home’s ventilation system, and the comfort of your fiancé’s presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt presences of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creacking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Alastor, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring as the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your fiancé.

You were terrified.

“Dear, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even moreso with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and empolyer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Alastor served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly a century later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of a new, Hazbin Hotel. Advertised as a place for refemption, a gateway of return to Heaven—the place you swore you should have ended up in. And yet, nostaglia always played its role.

Just as a century ago, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice staticy, strange, and terrifyingly familisr beneath it’s vintaged filter. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in 1933. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your fiancé’s hand.

“I missed you, my Dear.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Alastor's hand off your shoulder when sharp, black tendrils gripped your wrists in an instant. By the next, it seemed you were melting into the floor, the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a sharp, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Alastor’s deep eyes lacked light. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Alastor still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into Hell. Sharp teeth, discolored skin, bloodshot eyes that contrasted against dark red sclera. He looked terrifying. His body was misshapen, large, his face framed with blood-colored hair and root-like antlers protruding from his head. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Al—“

"You recall the time when you'd say it back, don't you, my Dear?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A static like radio and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Alastor felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did nearly a century ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Alastor brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Alastor licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Alastor marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Alastor held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Alastor got from the sight of you.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Alastor that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Alastor was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Alastor pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"A-Alastor—!" He only smiled in response.

"Quite sensitive, hmm? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Alastor, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Alastor stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Alastor kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Alastor, the black tendrils appeared once more. Grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Alastor to slow down, to be more gentle.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Alastor, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"What was that?"

"A-Al, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You always were a quick learner.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, brusing your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Alastor smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Alastor continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitched and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Cher?" Alastor was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clencthed around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Alastor having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Al, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Alastor suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess a little force would be needed in the end." Before you could understand what Alastor meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Alastor pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Alastor pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Alastor only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Alastor where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-fiancé's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Cher."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Alastor swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him Cher once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Alastor laughed.

"You truly know me so well, my Dear." Alastor's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Alastor pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Alastor's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Alastor's shadow taking his place on your clit as it swrled the bud ruthlessly—his now free hand grabbing your face to squish your cheeks.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Alastor let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Alastor continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"C-Cher, Al—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since 1933, and for the first time together, in the new realm of Hell—Alastor kissed you.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Alastor's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Alastor's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Alastor allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, my Dear."

Alastor spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't leave me ever again."

You're watching...

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kiyomitakada · 3 months ago

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i know its a classic. possibly cliche already. but i do wonder about Tumblr In The Death Note Universe probably more than i should

2 notes

💅 toxicbff Follow

if i see one more post attributing kira's powers to ~supernatural powers~ instead of the obvious fact that the cia is doing a coup I'm going to start giving You the heart attacks

💅 toxicbff

of course i saw the news how does that not prove my point further

the idea that all the police around the world could be mobilized by one single person is ridiculous (just look at this list of how many civilian militia there are globally)

heart attack victims don't seize the way "lind l tailor" did

i don't know how to tell you that You Can't Kill People Just By Knowing Their Name And Face because this is Real Life and not the newest grimdark marvel villain

people need to stop being scared of the ~bogeyman in the closet~ and wake up to the fact that usamerica is trying to take over the goddamned world

💅 toxicbff

im going to kill you all and nuke this website

#sayonara you weeaboo shits

2,925 notes

👾 lets-go-geeks Follow

DO TRUMP NEXT

🕵🏾‍♀️ penny-penelope Follow

LIKES TO CHARGE REBLOGS TO CAST

16,375 notes

❤️‍🔥 lovesickened Follow

i know its stupid but im so fucking scared for my brother i heard that seven people died this week at the prison he's in and iinjust dont kenow what to do ihate him for ehat he did to mom but i never wanted him to die

#vent tw #delete later

0 notes

🏎 fastandyurious Follow

if i get a single more comment about why i don't tag "genderbend" on my kiratective fics i'm going to blow up the entire building. we don't know EITHER of their genders. why don't YOU tag your mediocre yaoi genderbend instead

🔆 sparkling-world Follow

…OP, you realize the news reports all consistently use "he," right?

🏎 fastandyurious

of course i do???? just because you see something on the news doesn't mean you have to believe it?????? they don't have any information on kira yet but i'm supposed to believe the fbi knows their gender already??????? also kira is literally a fucking girl's name my classmate in elementary school was called kira

🔆 sparkling-world

Kira comes from the Japanese romanization for "killer," it isn't gendered whatsoever.

Also, evidence shows the majority of serial killers are male, so I'd argue that the statistics favor the fujoshis here.

🏎 fastandyurious

well evidence shows that female serial killers are just more fun to write about and I'd argue that you're ignoring my fucking POINT which is that we DON'T KNOW KIRA'S GENDER and if people don't want to read lesbian kiratective they can FUCK OFF MY BLOG

🥚 i-offer-eggman Follow

I offer you an Eggman in these trying times.

🔮 I-stands-for-le-gay Follow

@lashitpostcalligrapher yo can i get "the statistics favor the fujoshis" on my tombstone

#fandom: kira rpf #ship: kiral #never heard it called kiratective before… #also uh. prayer circle for op's classmate lmaoooo

2,107 notes

💃🏻 modelingmadness Follow

BOYCOTT EIGHTEEN MAGAZINE

THEY ALLOW KIRA-SUPPORTING MODELS AND ARE COMPLICIT IN THIS MASSACRE

SOURCES HERE AND HERE (TRIGGER WARNING: KIRA DISCUSSION)

PUSH BACK AGAINST HEART ATTACKS

🧚🏽‍♂️ harubaru Follow

golly gee ^_^ suddenly i feel like taking to the high seas in a way that the eighteen company cant get profit from. oh no ! who left this link here

🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

thanks for the link but jesus fucking christ man what happened to free speech. misa-misa's parents were killed by a burglar who kira punished. did you all expect her to just sit there, look pretty, and say nothing about it?

you people only like models when they're nice pictures for you to consume. you only like them two-dimensional and smiling and hot. the second a woman actually speaks her mind she's thrown to the wolves

💃🏻 modelingmadness

DID YOU NOT SEE MY BANNER YOU PIECE OF SHIT

#BLOCKED

140 notes

🐦‍⬛ kuro--misa Follow

lol. lmao even

#they blocked me but whatever #official eighteen site just said misamisa wont be in the next issue #(eighteen sucks but i kind of want to use it more out of spite now) #so much for apologism huh? #god. i feel sick. #hasn't she been through enough.

1 note

🥷🏻 kira-imagines Follow

Imagine you're going home after a long day. Suddenly there's a sound. "Huh? Whose there" you ask, dropping your keys on the floor. Then you feel it. A knife pressing in your neck.

"Don't move kitten" Kira purrs behind you. "You're all mine now…"

#kiraxreader #kiraxoc #kira #kira rpf #kira investigation #kira fucker #kira fudger #kira lover #kira haters dont touch #kira haters please touch #kira supporters please touch #l

5,733 notes

asahi-the-student-deactivated201

Hello, everyone! My little sister told me about this microblogging platform (I admit, I'm a Twitter refugee) and that many of you are discussing the Kira investigation on here. I'm really interested in hearing what your thoughts are!

💋 sunny-sayu Follow

let the record show he lasted like. a day

#i think it was the imagines that did him in #bro is so sensitive :p

15 notes

kiyomitakada

the world could be beautiful

[ @deathnotetober day 14: trigger ]

#death note #light yagami #sayu yagami #misa amane #lawlight #by uh. technicality.#does 'trigger warning' fit the prompt i hope it does…#also there are two (2) rickrolls in this post #the other links are all to actual fun stuff :3 #good luck #deathnotetober #edit: fixed the FUCKIGN reblog dividers GOD DAMN IT #unreality #caps #edit 2: fixed the reblog dividers again theyre transparent now #…………wow i really just. spent four hours on this huh.#maybe i am experiencing slight mania #only slight #death note tumblr

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honeyshiddendesire · 6 months ago

Text

Barrel of Rum

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Plot with porn lol reader gets slapped like once but not by Kidd, Smut, praise and degradation kink,choking, overstimulation, big dick Kidd, he’s a hoe in this trying to fuck away his feelings for you, fingering, penetration (female receiving), dirty talk, d.f user reader, slight mentions of a dark past but nothing heinous, pet names (Kidd calls you Ruby) mean and soft Kidd smut,

Words: 6,500+ Pairing: Eustass Kidd x female reader Moodboard

Summary: Finding you chained in a barrel of rum wasn’t something Kidd expected after raiding an enemy ship but what was even crazier was that he fell for you- hard! You were more than a diamond in the rough, you were a red ruby in his simple scrap metal world and he didn’t know what to do about that.

Author’s Notes: There will be continuations of this story but not in the way you all think lol

Reader's Aesthetic

*banner*

Kidd took pity on you after raiding a random pirate crew, finding you sticky and chained up in a barrel of rum in tattered clothing. Not knowing what you were capable of he just made you clean up on the ship like some kind of maid but you didn’t care it’s not like you were gonna return to your home island any time soon anyways. You stayed silent never speaking unless spoken to, quiet like a little mouse sometimes he forgot you even existed. He gave you one of his shirts he never wore and a pair of sweatpants, you drowned in them but once again it never bothered you. You got free protection, no one harassed you, and you ate for free while sailing the sea.

The moment you caught his eye was when he left you after docking on some random island, rival pirates shooting out canons in an instance upon the sight of the Victoria Punk. He didn’t know you had powers, you never used them for anything since you were basically the maid and knew the crew could handle themselves well. But that day was different as all of Kidd’s usual muscle was out strolling the spoils that the island had to offer.

When they arrived the next morning they discovered the leftover crewmates unconscious from a sleeping gas that had no effect on you, meaning you were defending the ship single handedly. A cannon flying directly at you exploded causing a smoke screen that had Kidd’s heart nearly drop but when the smoke cleared he was astonished to see you unaffected. A wall of what looked like ruby was in front of you before encasing the entire ship like a brilliant shield as you fired back cannons. The enemy's ship finally sinks into the water after hours of you shooting at them, your clothes tattered and breath heaving from exhaustion. Killer and the others ran towards the ship while Kidd made a metal bridge right towards you, catching you as you finally collapsed from exertion.

“D-did I…Did I do good?” You barely breathed out as he caught you in his arms, your eyes drifting shut slightly making him blurry. “Yeah- yeah you did. I gotcha now.” Kidd mumbled as he picked you up and took you to his quarters, stopping to shout a command at the rest of his crew. “Whatever bastards you can fish out of the water leave them to me.”

After that day he gave you money and even brought you to the islands to buy whatever you wanted. He would try taking you to the bars but you always skipped on those adventures, not wanting to watch him suck face with whatever random woman he would find. You still didn’t fight and he never asked you to, instead you just kept cleaning as if that day never happened and no one spoke of it for some reason. You never realized though that it plagued Kidd’s brain every night. Seeing you up on the ship firing cannon after cannon while literally taking one to the face unharmed was haunting his dreams. Your expression of concentration as you took out the opposing crew made his blood rush south in a way he wasn’t used to from you.

It’s not like you were unattractive he just didn’t think there was much to you since you were always so quiet and kept to yourself but now he realized that there was a reason. Maybe your powers are why you were chained in that rum barrel in the first place. Come to think of it, that ship he found you on did resemble the usual slave trader ships but he barely noticed at the time. He couldn’t stop wondering what those people planned on using you for but after seeing you fight that day he thought maybe it was your abilities.

“Jeez can’t you clean any faster?” Kidd heard someone snap as he walked down the ship halls then what sounded like a hand hitting flesh followed by a thud. Kidd couldn’t help but scowl knowing there was only one person who cleaned up all the rooms and that was you. Taking longer strides he followed the angry yelling with clenched fists, his blood boiling as you picked up laundry on the floor. Noticing the bit of blood that was on your lip he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt to slam him into the wall.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing putting your hands on her huh?!” His raged voice made the walls almost rattle. A gasp leaving you once you heard him barge in to defend you, not that you needed it, the guys hit was nothing anyways he just caught you off guard to use your powers.

“I-I was just telling her to hurry up.” The guy choked out as Kidd only pushed a hand to his throat harder. “She ain’t your fucking maid. You- get outta here. From now on you only clean up my mess. I better not catch you cleaning up or pouring anyone's drinks but mine. Got it!” Kidd barked out as he looked at you and you only nodded as you dropped the man's laundry on the ground before casually strolling off.

Leaning close to the man he growled out another warning, “If I ever catch you putting your hands on her again I’ll fuckin kill you.” With that, he dropped him roughly to the ground before storming off in your direction. “Hey!” You heard him call to you once you entered his room to start cleaning up right away.

Looking up at him from where you made his bed you just raised a brow, “Oh thanks.” You simply said and he scowled as he marched toward you. “Thanks? Thanks? Are you fucking kidding me? The hell is wrong with you.” Frowning you couldn’t figure out his rage so you corrected yourself. “Thanks Captain.” You fixed thinking that was the issue and he only groaned.

“No dammit! Why that hell did you let him do that? I seen what you can do so why did you let him hit you!” Kidd shouted and you just gave an ‘oh’ with a head nod before continuing to make the bed, totally unphased by his rage. Shrugging your shoulders as you fluffed his pillows.

“He wasn’t a threat.” You stated as you went to the other side of the bed. Kidd practically growled in frustration at how nonchalant you were despite your pretty lips having a cut on them. “Wasn’t a threat! He knocked your ass to the ground.”

Looking at him simply you just sighed in boredom not understanding why he made it a big deal, “If i would’ve used my powers on him he probably would’ve died. I had already gauged his strength level compared to mine; it was nothing. The only one that could come close on the ship is you. That’s why I didn’t care. So if we’re done I’d like to clean up your mess before we dock. I’m sure whoever you bed tonight would like it clean.” You say the ending as you started to pick up trash and Kidd thought he was going to explode with how calm you were.

He didn’t even know why he was so upset if you were the one that was hit and fine with it. Should he keep shouting or were you really okay? He was at a loss of what to do and found himself huffing angrily as he walked off to his workshop. Stopping in the doorway he didn’t bother looking at you as he grumbled out. “Don’t let my men walk all over you. Make sure you handle yourself so I don’t have to keep saving you.”

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself shaking your head as you continued picking up trash. He was a strange man for sure but you kind of admired him. He was strong and fearless, capable and intelligent in the way that he crafted and built things around the ship. Also very attractive that you found him in your dreams more than you liked to admit. You couldn’t help but grow feelings for him in the year that you were on his ship but you liked to keep to yourself. It felt easier that way considering the last man that you trusted is the reason you found yourself on that slave ship in the first place.

Lusting after the man who saved you was so cliche though but it was hard not to considering your room was right next to his… well it was actually a storage room turned bedroom but that's besides the point. You heard everything! Literally everything. It was torture and it was like he picked the noisiest women on purpose just to fuck with you. They’d always scream their heads off whenever he would fuck them, the sound of the headboard rattling even your room making you hate that your bed was bolted against the joining wall. You would just groan as you shoved a pillow over your head hoping to get even a minute of rest. You wondered if he was actually good in bed or if they just faked it since he had money but there was no way you’d ask them. He always kicked them out after he was done, it almost made you thankful in a way.

Kidd never kept the same woman more than once but that all changed when he found a woman in the bar that resembled you more than most. He couldn’t help it, he wanted to have you but didn’t know how to deal with these new feelings so immediately he dragged the random lady on the ship to fuck her brains out. The whole time picturing you beneath him instead.

‘AH YES! YES! FUCK YES! SO BIG!’ The woman screamed through the walls making you groan in annoyance as you shoved your face further in the pillow. Ugh her voice was so squeaky you wondered how he could even focus with her bothersome tone. What you didn’t know was that he found it annoying too.

Kidd scowled at her extra high pitched voice, flipping her around to force her face into the pillows below. “Shut the fuck up you damn slut!” He bit out literally putting his foot on the back of her head to keep her down as he fucked her from behind. His girth digging deeper in her insides which only made her moan more into his velvety pillows. Kidd couldn’t help but wonder what you sounded like when you were lost in pleasure. Were you shy and bashful like always or were you hiding a hidden freak inside that begged to be fucked.

“Ugh fuck~” Kidd’s groan louder than usual at the thoughts that started to pool in his brain and he found himself fucking the woman below with more passion. He put the wannabe you in almost a hundred positions till she became silent from the pleasure, the whole time with you on his brain.

“Fuck fuck fuck~ that’s it~” Kidd growled out as he felt himself coming with her on his lap, back leaning against the headboard with her back to his chest. His thick calloused hand wrapped around her throat as she heaved and shook above him. He let out a sigh as his head fell back against the wall and he did something he usually never did with the woman he picked up. “Let’s go to sleep. I plan on repeating this in the morning.”

You knew you had a pillow over your head but there was no way you’d miss him saying that. With a gasp you moved the pillow away from your ears in horror. He couldn’t be serious! He was…letting her stay?! You were in complete shock. He never kept a woman more than once. It made your blood boil and you couldn’t understand why, it’s not like he belonged to you but you still felt an uncontrollable rage. What the hell was so good about her that he felt like she deserved to stay another night. She sounded like a dying animal. What the hell was so hot about that.

“Ugh!” You groaned as you turned on your side trying to get some sleep instead of thinking about how you’ll rudely get woken up.

And you definitely got woken up the next day…and the next - and the next day.

Four Fucking Nights! Literally! That’s all they did was fuck and fuck and fuck. The only time they left was for you to clean up the mess that they created everyday. You couldn’t stand the woman and how snooty she was. One morning they didn’t even get out of bed as you cleaned. He just laid with her cuddled up by his side watching as you picked up trash in his room.

“Whoa you even have a maid!” She giggled and he only grunted. You thought he would’ve said something in your defense but she was right that's practically what you were anyways to him. Kidd wanted you to say something to her, to put her in your place with that same strength he saw you use to defend his ship months back but instead you just kept cleaning. It made him scowl and he couldn’t help the hard on he got from watching you bend over in those damn dresses you wore. You looked like the stereotype female pirate that sailed the seas and he fucking loved it. Your heeled boots clicking along the floorboards as you walked around quietly, he wondered what they’d feel like scratching against his back.

Dammit he needed to fuck watching you clean up his room so calmly. It both pissed him off how passive you were but also turned him on. You both were polar opposites and he found himself lusting over the idea. He wanted to see you break underneath him, losing it as he fucked your dripping cunt until that voice you kept hidden released like a dam. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling the woman on top of him to ride his cock. She just giggled like a dumbass making him roll his eyes but he kept his gaze on you. He wanted to see you get flustered once you realized what he was doing.

Both him and the woman above wore a cocky smirk once she started moving and you turned to glance at them but his face dropped when he saw that same bored expression that you always wore. Rolling your eyes before you continued cleaning up again as if nothing was happening. Kidd practically lost it seeing your face look so unimpressed that he just flipped the girl over onto her back so he could fold her in half pounding into her harder. Taking all his frustrations out on her poor sore cunt that he wished was yours wrapped around his cock instead. “Fucking bitch.” Kidd mumbled under his breath but the lady only screamed out in ecstasy that had him scowl even more, beefy hand covering her mouth to silence her. “Dammit shut up!” Kidd hissed as he felt her pussy clench, his eyes closing as he pictured you instead. The sound of your heels moving around the room sounded like a loud speaker in his ears and it drove him wild.

You cleaned the fastest you ever had in your life so you could hurry the hell outta there. You could’ve walk out while he was having sex but you didn’t want him to win. You could tell by the smug grin on his face that he wanted a reaction but you’d be damned if you let him see you even remotely flustered. Carrying out a bag of trash and shutting the door behind you you finally let out a sigh of relief.

“Bastard.” You mumbled as you carried on with the rest of your day.

The next morning when you went into his room to clean neither of them were there thankfully. But your heart sank when you dusted off his end table noticing something missing. It was gone.

NO! There was no way.

Searching around his room and digging through every drawer you couldn’t find it and it made your blood boil in anger. The room went from being spotless to a total mess as you turned it upside down in search for Kidd’s prized possession. You didn’t know the significance but he kept it in a tiny red velvet box. Getting mad at you when you moved it to dust underneath it one day you knew it had to be special after that. Being curious after that incident you secretly opened the tiny box and found a metal locket with the engraved name ‘Victoria’ on it. You wondered if it was from his first love, maybe his mother or even a late loved one. You couldn’t figure out the mystery behind it but all you knew was that it was special to the man. So discovering it gone made you see red.

Marching to the deck you scowled as you heard her giggling away as she sat on his lap, her back to you completely oblivious to her impending doom. “You thieving snake!” You hissed out as you yanked her head back, literally tossing her off of Kidd’s lap like a sack of potatoes.

“What the hell is your problem, you dirty wench!” She shouted back holding her head in shock trying to stand up before your foot came swinging to connect with her stomach. “Where is it!” You shout before she can get back on her feet.

“CAT FIGHT!” Someone from the crew shouts and you don’t even spare them a glance, your only focus on the thief below.

“Hand it over. NOW!” You hiss as you pull her hair again till shes looking in your eyes. You see her swing her hand toward you but throw her down before she can connect with your face. Clicking your teeth as you stand up straight above her. “What are you even talking about! Kidd get your fucking maid out of here!” The woman shouts as she looks back at an amused Eustass Kidd.

“She fucking stole it!” You tell him and his grin falters for a second. “I didn’t steal anything your stupid maid is just jealous I keep fucking you instead of her!” The woman says finally standing up and you only roll your eyes. “As if.”

Kidd couldn’t help but laugh at the whole thing and he didn’t even know what was going on but it certainly was entertaining seeing you so worked up. “You know what I had enough of this! I’m leaving! You’re just a couple of dirty pirates anyways!” The woman said as she turned to storm off and that’s when Kidd started getting pissed.

Who the hell did that bitch think she was talking about him like that.

Before he could say or do anything you created a whip made of ruby that had his eyes widen. Almost a year since he had the privilege to witness you unleash your gemstone secret. The sparkling weapon going to wrap around the woman's neck, snapping it back so she went flying across the deck with a choking sound. “The fucking locket! You stole his fucking locket!” He heard you yell and that's when he felt himself shatter the mug that was in his hand.

A part of him was hoping you were just jealous and had enough of the woman and finally came to stake your claim but here you were again defending him when he least expected it. Showing your loyalty time and time again. As if on cue the tiny box fell from the woman’s pocket and you just shook your head in disbelief. “I fucking knew it. Fucking thief!” Instead of walking towards her you just pull the whip towards you, causing her to choke and gag. Her feet flailing as you drag her towards you, her hands trying to pull at the stone that wrap around her throat.

“You think you can sneak into my Captain’s lap and butter him up with your pussy so he wouldn't notice your little tricks? Well guess what- you forget about me! Anyone fucks with him- then you’re fucking with me! And I don’t take kindly to thieves.” You hiss out as you remove the whip from her throat causing her to gasp for air. Cracking it in the air with a loud sound that made her shiver, you grin menacingly down at her. “You got five seconds to run or I’ll hang you in the center of town for everyone to see what happens when you mess with my Captain. 5…4…” Quickly she goes running off the ship leaving Kidd’s locket on the deck long gone behind her.

Within seconds of her leaving shouts and cheers erupted behind you making you jump, not expecting the sound. “Hell yeah!” “Good fucking job!” Everyone yelled and you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly. It’s not like you were trying to make a scene, you just got so mad that she stole from Kidd then tried to lie about it. Shifting on your feet you felt your cheeks heat up as you heard Kidd’s heavy footsteps coming toward you. The unmistakable sound that he made with his massive size almost took your breath away.

“Sorry about your lady frien- mmph!” Your words caught off by him pulling you into a deep kiss, his hand tugging your head back by your hair. After the whole fight and you showing your loyalty he couldn’t control himself any longer. The cheers only got louder along with some whistles at the display from their captain finally kissing you.

You were stunned by his deep kiss but you found yourself quickly reciprocating as you threw your hands around his shoulders standing on your tippy toes. “MM~” You moan into the kiss as your eyes roll back and the sound makes the man grunt in turn. Not wasting a second to slip his hands down your back to lift you up in his arms by gripping your ass, your legs wrapping around his waist to hold yourself. “Grab that for me.” You hear Kidd mumble as he passes by Killer with you still in his arms. Kidd’s long legs carrying you both quickly to his quarters so he could unwrap you like he always wanted.

“Fuck you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted you.” Kidd mumbled into your neck as he kicked his door in, using his abilities to close it after. He didn’t drop you on the bed, instead he laid you down while still holding onto you, not wanting to disconnect even for a second as if this moment would suddenly end with the separation. Strong hips grinding into you making you throw your head back with a moan at the feel of him. “Oh fuck~” You moan out quietly as you felt him roll his hips into your cunt.

Kidd kissed your neck with a raging passion you didn’t know the man could possess but it made you melt. Your lip getting caught between your teeth to hold in any embarrassing sounds that threatened to spill out. Feeling his skillful tongue lick your pulse point before nipping your jaw gently had you sign out. You were sure that his lipstick was leaving a trail wherever he went but you couldn’t care. You wanted him to mark his territory once and for all.

“Captain~” You sighed out as you tugged his red hair, your own hips rolling up to meet him with a quiet whine. “Please~” Kidd cursed hearing your desperate plea for more and he felt the same way. Not wanting to waste anymore time he pushed your dress up to your hips before pushing his pants down. Your hands moving his coat to the floor below so you could run your nails down his back making him hiss. Your ruby red nails that drove him nuts scratching his pale skin as you moaned out.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” Kidd whispered in your ear and you only whined at the feeling of his fingers running over your pussy that was covered in lace. You couldn’t help but squirm underneath him as his other hand ran up your waist to pull down the top of your dress. Cold metal groped your tit making you shiver and whine at the sensation that he ripped from your body. His teeth nipping at your ear before sucking a spot underneath, “Come on ruby don’t be shy.” Kidd grinned at the moan that you released when he pushed your panties to the side.

His thick fingers running over your slick cunt before dipping one inside with a curse, “Fuck you’re so wet for me.” His teeth biting into your neck before kissing his way back up to your parted lips were he kissed you deeply again. Tongue darting out to dance with yours as you pulled him into you more with a whine. Your hips grinding into the palm of his hand as his thumb rubbed on your clit sending electricity coursing through your veins.

“Please Captain~ I need you so bad.” You whispered into his mouth before kissing him again swallowing the loud groan that he let out hearing you finally say the words that he dreamed of. Kissing you more as his hands worked to please you in every way. He felt like he was going to lose it any second and he hadn't even started the main event yet. Kidd moved his lips from yours back down your jaw till he reached your tits that he took in his mouth.

Your eyes rolled back as he swirled his tongue around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth making you moan and arch into him. Pushing another finger into your juicy hole he only groaned against your sweet tasting skin as he curled his fingers further inside of you.

If you felt this tight and wet wrapped around his fingers he couldn’t wait to see how your cunt felt around his cock. He wanted to feel your walls gush on the palm of his hand first though so he only thrust and curled them faster. Loving the loud moans that you started to let out when he hit that certain spot within you. “You’re so fucking sexy.” Kidd grumbled as he kissed his way to your other breast repeating the action as his hand gripped the sheets.

“Ca-Captain~!” You could barely recognize your own voice as you felt your legs tremble and pussy water even more around his fingers. He was making you feel so good you could barely hold in the sounds anymore it was so embarrassing but you couldn’t stop. “Ah~ ah fuck Kidd!” Hearing his name slip out from your stained lips almost had him bust everywhere. “You gonna cum for me?” Kidd smirked as he pulled away from your nipple with a ‘pop’.

You just nodded with a moan as you felt your walls clench on his rough fingers. “Talk to me.” Kidd commanded and you only whined pathetically. Kidd loved seeing you like this after waiting so long. “Yes! Yes please! Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Your eyes squeezing shut as you creamed around his fingers, pussy getting so tight he could barely move his hand but he fucking loved it.

“Fuck yeah baby that’s it~ Be a good girl and cum for your captain.” Kidd breathed out with a cocky smirk, the tip of his cock leaking onto the sheets below but he didn’t dare touch it in fear of cumming in a second. “KIDD~!” You moaned his name like a siren and it made his eyes roll back before he removed his fingers. Sucking them clean as you watched with lidded eyes, your chest heaving below him. You felt your face heat up as you watched him lick the cream that coated his scarred fingers, a deep groan leaving him at the taste of you. He wanted to eat you out but that would have to wait till after, right now he needed to fuck his little ruby or he was gonna die. Not literally but he honestly couldn’t right now.

Ripping your panties and tossing the shreds to the floor with a huff he pushed your legs against your chest with a wicked grin. “Ready for your captain to ruin this pussy you got?” You swallowed the lump in your throat but quickly nodded as you held onto the sheets beside your head. You were starting to see why all these women lost it when he had them in his grasp. The way he spoke was doing unspeakable things to you and he didn’t even penetrate you with his dick yet.

Glancing down your eyes widened as you looked at his thick veiny cock, the thing was huge making your mouth water. “Oh fuck! Yes!” Your head nodding faster at the delicious sight of him even more excited now that you got a glimpse of the dick that was about to split you pleasantly open. “Good cause I’m not letting you out of this room until you’re limping.”

You just laid there nodding pathetically with your dress pushed down with your tits exposed, thighs spread ridiculously wide. Your cunt was practically crying when you felt Kidd’s meaty cock rub along your slit coating it in your juices. “Damn you're so wet.” Kidd’s voice hissed as he grinded against you, his tip bumping into your clit with each press forward.

You reached out for the man with a face so expressive it made his heart race. That usual bored look long wiped off your pretty face, it was perfect. Leaning down so you could grab his shoulders you pulled him into you, “Please fuck me already.” Your voice called to him before locking your lips with his. Gripping his cock he tapped it against your clit making you whine into his greedy mouth. His tongue searched around in your wet cavern with a deep grunt before he took your breath away with a powerful thrust forward.

A shocked and slightly pained gasp left you at the feel of his girth slamming inside of your tight, wet cunt. He didn't waste time going slow inch by inch instead wanting to let you get through the hard part quickly. “Shit~” Kidd groaned into your mouth making you clench around his cock with a vice grip. His hands spread your thighs further apart till you opened up even more for his wide hips.

“K-Kidd please move.” Your voice strained and broken barely recognizable to your own ears. It made you embarrassed how flustered he got you. Hands trembling as you wrapped them around his sturdy shoulders, fingers tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck to prepare yourself for the wild ride. “Let's go Captain, I want to see what I've been missing.” You smile at him with a confidence he's not used to seeing trying to cover your flustered state and he returns it with a smirk.

“Oh yeah? Well I shouldn't keep my girl waiting.” That was all he said before pulling out to his fat tip, slamming forward with a force that made the headboard rock like an ocean wave.

“Ugh~!” You choked out as your eyes rolled back with your head falling back into the blankets. “Holy shit!” You whimpered as he set a brutal pace, the same one that kept you up for days on end. It was euphoric and now you understand why those woman never shut the fuck up.

“Oh fuck me! Yes!!” You screamed out and Kidd only laughed in response. The sound of his laugh husky but morphing into a deep groan feeling how your slippery walls sucked him in unbelievably tight. Kidd shook his head in disbelief feeling how good your pussy was, gripping his cock like he always dreamed. He only fucked into you harder and faster unable to control himself after lusting for you so long, all the other woman never comparing to your slippery walls as if you were made for him.

“This pussy belongs to me now, got that?” Kidd told you as his hand placed itself on your neck, not just choking, just holding you firmly in place. You let out a gasp at the feel of his calloused palm against your throat and couldn’t help but bit into your lip, “Choke me.” You commanded and Kidd thought his brain would melt at your quiet request and pleading eyes, a grin starting to ghost over his face. “Ha! I knew that bored look was all an act.”

Squeezing his palm over your throat as his metal hand pushed your legs further in the mattress you let out a choked moan, eyes rolling back as his cock started to bully your cunt till she was crying. “Fuck- nngh! Yes~” You hissed out as you clawed at his skin making the man groan. “C-cumming~” You whined brokenly, “Gonna cum~” You told him and Kidd only grinned more as he rocked his hips deep into that spongy spot in your pussy that made you drool like a whore.

“Shit you feel so good ~ Captainnn~” Your voice a whine that had the man’s chest swelling with pride that he finally got to see you like this, all broken and moaning underneath him. “Yeah does my lil slut like that?” Kidd grit out as he nipped at your jaw, thumb rubbing at your neck where he choked you. Changing the pressure he applied on your neck every once in a while leaving you in a whirlwind of intense pleasure. Your mouth hung open barely able to swallow the spit that was starting to pool out but Kidd loved how wrecked he had you and had to look away or he was gonna come to quickly. “Dammit how the hell did we go so long without doing this.”

It was rhetorical but you couldn’t help your choked out answer that you gave. “You’re stubborn.” You moaned and Kidd chuckled deeply before angling his hips further into you fucking you with hard shallow thrusts making you mewl and choke our moans. “Oh well cum for your stubborn captain then.”

Eyes watering and mouth hanging open you felt your body start to tremble and if it weren’t for Kidd’s hand keeping your legs pried open they would’ve closed by accident. The pleasure so great it’s like your body wanted to run away but you knew you needed this, you needed him, his cock fucking into you like his life depended on it. It was bliss in reality and you couldn’t wait for more.

You came so many times that night with Kidd fucking his cum into your swollen cunt so many times that night you couldn’t even count. The both of you breathing heavily side by side, your eyes barely able to stay open at this point with how long it’s been but you weren’t complaining even for a second. You gasped as you felt his hand run down your body to rub along your sore cunt, rough fingers dipping in to push his seed further inside your slick walls that twitched in painful pleasure. “AH! Kidd~”

“Oh hush ya baby cry.” Kidd groaned as he leaned over to suck a mark on your neck, while his fingers gently curled into your spent pussy. He wanted to keep going but his dick was done for the count, you milked him dry and it was incredible but he couldn’t stop the perverted need to finger his seed inside you one last time. “Just one more. Please babe.” You whined as your hand clawed at his forearm, his fingers massaging your g-spot sending shocks throughout your pussy. “Oh fuck fuckfuck!” It only took him stroking that sweet button for you to feel close to tipping over, his cum seeping out the sides making you shiver. Turning your face to look at him with dreamy eyes you caught his gaze, it was focused and intense as he watched your reaction.

His crazed demeanor changed to something intimate as he worried about your pleasure, thumb moving to rub circles on your puffy clit. “Did so good for me baby just give me one more. You can do that for me, yeah?” Kidd’s forehead coming to press against yours as he stared into your eyes tha rolled back, but he never looked away. His fingers picking up the pace only slightly and the slight change was enough to have you screaming his name for the last time that night. “That’s it ruby, give it to me baby.” Your pussy creamed his fingers which you didn’t think was possible since you came so much but still he managed to pull another from your tired body. Legs shaking wildly and body twitching, as your back arched like a bow off the mattress.

“There we go, I knew you had another in there for me.” Kidd said his voice oddly gentle as he kissed your neck up to your jaw. Licking the salty sweat that coated your skin before making it to your lips. Molding his lips with yours in a passionate kiss, swallowing the last of your whines as he gently moved his fingers from your cunt leaving his hand to rest on your hip, rubbing your skin tenderly. You didn’t think he could hold you like this, let alone fuck you how he did earlier. You saw multiple sides of him that night that you definitely couldn’t wait to see again, he couldn’t agree more. Your hands came to wrap around him to deepen the kiss with a sigh, it wasn’t a ‘fuck me kiss’ you could tell it was something more, something more sweet and intimate.

Pulling away you gave him a tired smile as you stroked his cheek, “I think I’m falling for you Captain.” You didn’t know if you were joking but you could tell by the flush on his cheeks that he felt the same way. “Good cause I’m not letting you leave any time soon.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You told the man who pulled you onto his chest as he laid on his back, a contentment washing over the two of you that you never thought was possible. You never knew what the next day would bring while being pirates but one thing was for sure- he had you by his side and nothing would change that.

Who would've thought one barrel of rum would change his life.

#one piece #barrel of rum eustass kidd #one piece smut #honeys works 🍯#one piece x female reader #eustass kid one piece #captain eustass kid #eustass captain kidd #one piece eustass #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustass x female reader #eustass kidd x female reader #captain eustass kid smut #eustass kid smut #eustass kidd smut

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cece693 · 1 month ago

Note

hello^^ i have a slightly odd request

would you be willing to do something with Hannibal where like the reader is just off-putting constantly? like always has a blank expression and is just really morbid to the point of weirding out other people- (also whether or not reader is another killer and their relationship is up to you :]) ((and if possible could reader have an obsession with rats? if not its fine!^^))

thank you and no pressure!!! :3

Birds of a Feather (Platonic! Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Thanks for the request. Since you gave me creative liberty with what relationship the reader has with Hannibal, I'm expanding my creativity and trying to write platonic fanfics. Due to this, and my heart belonging to Hannigram, Will makes an appearance (not Abigail though, never got into her character.) Hope you enjoy it!

Hannibal Lecter had long believed himself immune to the bonds of familial connection. His life was one of solitude by choice, his relationships shallow performances for an unknowing audience. Yet with them—the peculiar, morbid teenager now under his guardianship—something had shifted. He hadn’t planned for this. He had taken them in because he saw a reflection of himself, unpolished and raw, with the potential to be something extraordinary. What he hadn’t anticipated was how deeply he would come to care for them, not as a mentor or an observer, but as a father.

They had first come to Hannibal at their parents’ insistence, dragged into his office under a banner of concern that barely masked their parents’ disdain. They hadn’t even tried to soften the language of their complaint: “They’re morbid. Obsessed with disgusting things like rats and death. They don’t have friends, they don’t smile. They’re weird. Can you fix them?”

Hannibal had known immediately what kind of parents they were—shallow, image-obsessed individuals for whom their child’s uniqueness was an inconvenience to be smoothed over, rather than a gift to be celebrated. He despised them almost as much as they seemed to despise their child. The teenager, however, had been fascinating. When Hannibal asked why they were there, they answered with a flat, emotionless voice.

"Because my parents don’t like me. They think I’m broken."

"And are you?" Hannibal asked, his tone warm, though his eyes studied them sharply.

They had tilted their head slightly, their gaze piercing and calm. "I don’t know. I don’t care if I am."

That first session had been an exercise in subtlety. Hannibal, as always, sought to probe beneath the surface, to see the layers of a person’s mind unfold before him. But with them, there were no layers—no artifice, no carefully constructed mask. They were disarmingly blunt, their morbid interests laid bare without shame.

"I like rats," they said when Hannibal asked what brought them joy. "I have nine of them. Bubonic’s my favorite."

"And why rats?" Hannibal inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"They’re smart. Loyal. They don’t care if you’re weird. They’ll eat a corpse if you leave it there, but it’s not personal. It’s just what they do. Survival instincts."

Their answers were a study in pragmatism, unvarnished and unfiltered. Over time, Hannibal learned more about their life—how their parents had ridiculed their passions, belittled their intellect, and dismissed their feelings as irrelevant. How they had found solace in the company of creatures most would find repugnant, and how they had begun to retreat into themselves, building walls not out of fear but out of indifference.

"My parents said they’d throw them out if I didn’t stop," they admitted one day, their voice betraying the faintest tremor. "The rats. They don’t like them. They don’t like me."

"And how does that make you feel?" Hannibal asked.

They paused, their blank expression unchanging. "I’d kill them if they touched my rats."

Hannibal had smiled faintly at that, sensing not a hollow threat but a declaration of what they believed was justice. Hannibal saw his relationship with the teen as one purely beneficial to him—some form of entertainment during the stagnant moment his life had fallen into. But when the teen arrived one day in session visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, Hannibal felt immense anger.

"Tell me what happened." he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.

The teen sat down at the chair and looked at their hands, fingers trembling. "My dad killed Bubonic," they said quietly. "He was going on again about how weird it was for a person my age to be such a recluse, how disappointed he was in me for not being the child he envisioned. I didn't care, I screamed at him to leave me alone. That all I needed was my rats, he didn't listen," They sputtered, tears finally escaping their eyes.

Hannibal's hands rested lightly on the arm of his chair, though his grip tightened imperceptibly as the teen’s words sank in. Their voice, typically steady and detached, was cracking under the weight of their grief, and Hannibal found himself unprepared for the surge of emotion it evoked in him.

"What did he do?" Hannibal asked, his voice gentle, though his mind already painted the scene in vivid detail.

The teen sniffed, struggling to steady their voice. "He grabbed Bubonic. Said if I loved those 'vermin' so much, then I’d learn what happens when I waste my life on them. He threw him. Against the wall." Their hands trembled in their lap, and then clenched into fists. "I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but I couldn’t—"

Hannibal interrupted softly, his voice firm yet soothing. "It is not your fault. Bubonic’s death lies entirely with your father. You mustn’t take the blame for his cruelty."

They nodded, though their tears continued to fall. For a moment, the room was silent, save for their quiet sobs. Hannibal remained perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm, though inside, a storm brewed. He had long mastered the art of restraint, of hiding the depths of his emotions behind a practiced façade. But now, the threads of that mask were straining.

His anger was not the fiery, impulsive kind that consumed lesser men. It was cold, methodical, the kind that calculated every step of its revenge with precision. He had no doubt about what he needed to do. Bubonic’s death was an affront to the teen’s spirit, an insult to their resilience and individuality, and Hannibal would not allow such an act to go unpunished.

He rose from his chair, moving to kneel in front of them, a gesture of rare intimacy. Gently, he placed a hand on their shoulder, grounding them. His touch was firm yet comforting, like the anchor they so desperately needed.

"You loved him," Hannibal said quietly. "And that love was real. It is not diminished by what your father did. Bubonic mattered, and his memory will not be forgotten."

They looked at him, their tear-filled eyes meeting his calm, steady gaze. For the first time, Hannibal saw a flicker of something beyond their usual detachment—trust, fragile and hesitant, but there. He gave them a faint, reassuring smile, careful to keep the rage simmering inside him hidden from view.

That evening, as Hannibal sat alone in his study, the weight of his decision settled over him like a second skin. He had already made up his mind; there was no room for doubt. The teen’s father was an unworthy man, cruel and petty, whose actions had irreparably harmed his child. The wife was not better, for who would allow such affronts to happen to your child? Hannibal would ensure neither had the opportunity to inflict such pain again.

The deaths were orchestrated with Hannibal’s usual elegance. The scene was staged as a tragic home invasion, violent enough to mislead even the sharpest investigators. The teen’s parents were swept away as easily as pawns on a chessboard, leaving Hannibal free to step into the role of guardian.

It was an arrangement he presented to the authorities as a matter of practicality—after all, he was their trusted psychiatrist, a respected member of the community. And with no other family member willing to take in the 'troubled' youth, Hannibal was seen fit as a caregiver. But in truth, it was far more than that. It was an act of reclamation, a way to give the teen a life they needed and deserved.

Under Hannibal’s guidance, they began to flourish. What had once been a life of isolation and condemnation was replaced with warmth, curiosity, and purpose. Hannibal nurtured their sharp intellect, encouraging them to explore philosophy, art, and science. He fed their fascination with decay and life cycles, finding ways to weave their morbid interests into lessons that expanded their understanding of the world.

Their rats, once crammed into a small cage hidden away from disapproving eyes, now thrived in a custom-built enclosure—a miniature ecosystem of tunnels and habitats that Hannibal had crafted himself. The teenager spent hours tending to them, speaking softly to each one as though they were old friends. Slowly but surely, they grew more confident, their once-detached demeanor softened by the security of knowing they were finally, unquestionably accepted.

So, when Will Graham entered their lives, Hannibal saw an opportunity to complete the family he hadn't realized he was building. At first, Will’s presence unsettled the teen. He was different from Hannibal—more empathetic, less polished. But there was something grounding about Will’s quiet intensity, his ability to understand without needing words.

Their relationship began cautiously, with the teen watching Will from the corner of their eye during his visits, studying him as though he were one of the rats they loved so much. But Will, ever patient, allowed them to come to him on their terms. Over time, the cracks of their tentative bond filled with shared silences and soft-spoken observations.

"You remind me of my rats," the teen said one day, tilting their head at Will as they sat together in the study.

Will blinked, unsure if it was meant as an insult. "How so?"

"You’re always watching. Thinking one step ahead compared to everyone else."

Will glanced at the teenager, amused. "I don’t know if I should be flattered or mildly offended."

They shrugged, their gaze steady and calm. "It’s a compliment. Rats are survivors. They’re smart, and they don’t waste energy pretending to be something they’re not. You’re like that."

Will leaned back in his chair, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Smart and a survivor, huh? Could be worse."

"Definitely worse," they replied, their tone so matter-of-fact that it made Will laugh softly. "You’d be terrible at being fake, anyway."

SMALL TIME SKIP

Hannibal leaned back in his armchair, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest as he observed the scene before him. It was a tableau of quiet intimacy—his beloved Will Graham, seated cross-legged on the floor, and the teenager sprawled out beside him, their rats darting around like tiny, mischievous shadows.

Will had one hand resting lightly on the floor to keep himself steady while the other hovered hesitantly near one of the rats. "So, uh," he began, his tone unsure but willing, "what happens if I try to touch it? Am I going to lose a finger?"

The teen smirked faintly, their usual neutral demeanor softening just enough to give away their amusement. "Maybe. Cholera’s got a temper, but the others are fine. You just have to be calm."

Will huffed a quiet laugh, his tension easing slightly. "Calm, huh? Should be easy enough."

"You’re always tense," the teen said bluntly, tilting their head as they watched him. "The rats can tell. You should probably breathe or something."

Hannibal’s lips curved into an indulgent smile at their candor. He adored how effortlessly they spoke their mind—so different from the guarded subtleties most people employed. And Will, bless his complex mind, seemed entirely charmed by it.

"I am breathing," Will retorted, his tone carrying a note of mock indignation. "Maybe I’m just…different from rats."

"That’s debatable," the teen quipped, though their smirk grew into something warmer as one of the bolder rats sniffed at Will’s hand before scampering up his arm.

Will froze, his eyes wide, and Hannibal chuckled softly. "It seems you’ve been accepted," he remarked, his tone rich with amusement. "An honor not given lightly, I assure you."

The teen nodded solemnly, as though Hannibal’s words were gospel. "Yeah. If Cholera likes you, you’re okay."

Will glanced between them, his lips twitching into a bemused smile. "Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be rejected by…Cholera."

The rat in question perched on Will’s shoulder, chittering softly, and the teen gave a rare, genuine laugh—a sound that caught both Will and Hannibal off guard. Hannibal’s chest swelled with warmth at the sight of the two bonding, the sharp edges of their respective personalities softening as they found common ground.

For Hannibal, this was more than he could have hoped for. Watching Will, the man who had captured his heart with his brilliance and empathy, and his ward, the child who had become the unexpected center of his world, grow closer felt like the culmination of something profound. He had orchestrated many things in his life, but this—this was pure serendipity.

Will, still adapting to the chaos of rats scurrying across him, glanced up at Hannibal. "You’re awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice light but curious. "Enjoying the show?"

Hannibal’s smile deepened, his eyes warm as they met Will’s. "Immensely," he replied. "It is rare to witness such harmony. You’ve both surprised me."

The teen, still laughing softly, looked between them and said, "You’re both weird, but I think that’s why this works."

Will raised an eyebrow, glancing at Hannibal. "Weird, huh? I guess I’ll take that."

"As will I," Hannibal added smoothly, his tone affectionate. "Weirdness, after all, is simply a deviation from the ordinary. And I would have no other way for our family."

The word hung in the air—family—and for a moment, all three of them sat in a comfortable silence. The fire crackled, the rats chittered, and the connection between them felt solid, unshakable. Hannibal, watching the two people he cared for most in the world bond so effortlessly, allowed himself a rare moment of unguarded happiness. This was it. This was home.

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pseudowho · 10 months ago

Text

Calamus et Gladius

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Stolen from a foreign army to participate in the Culling Game, speaking little to no Japanese with just a rifle for self-defence, the reader partakes in a bittersweet dance of death and love, with Higuruma Hiromi.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lovers, murder, use of firearms, the desperate smut of two traumatised people who fall hopelessly in love.

This is long, but I make no apologies, because the payoff is worth it.

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You were used to violence. You were used to senseless bloodshed. Used to rains of bullets, flinging shrapnel, your ears ringing with explosions and screams.

Yet, it was your own screams that rang through you, as an enormous gavel split the earth where you had just stood.

Your entire unit was dead, almost fifty men and women lured into Tokyo Colony One, and you scrabbled back on grazed hands, kicking feet, as this ink-haired monster stepped slowly through the rubble and gore, black eyes fixed on you with the rage and fervour of a justified killer.

He appeared to hesitate only briefly as your face crumpled up at him in tearful rage and despair, desperation. You did not move to grab the rifle on your back; a threat of retaliation would be your downfall.

Despite being the only one of your unit who had had something new, something alien awakened within them, you had developed no fantastical technique. You had no mystical weapon. You had no roiling blue flames engulfing your fists. You had only the ability to sense others like you, and the horrifying stop-motion beasts that now sullied your sight. It was enough, at least, to hide.

"Please-- please--" you begged, the last attempt of a cornered woman. Your back pressed against the wall, the wide street around you a no-man's land of rubble, overturned cars and bloody splatters. The man's hand tightened on his gavel, his other raising to swipe flicks of black fringe off his forehead. He frowned, stopping. You noticed his distinctive hooked nose, crinkling in disgust.

"English," he offered, thickly accented, neither a question or a statement. You gulped, nodding with urgency, any dialogue an opportunity to re-establish his humanity.

"Innocent," you insisted, hands raised in front of you, disarming, "I'm innocent." That word, the man seemed to recognise, and he blew air through his nose, snorting in mirth.

"Innocent?" He asked, sarcastic.

He knelt down in front of you, his eyes still offering no mercy, but he spoke to you so conversationally. He reached one long finger out, tapping the rifle on your back, coming back round to stroke you teasingly along the side of your cheek, holding it so tenderly. His words washed over you, meaningless, until you caught one you could understand as he stood up.

"...sorry." His arm raised, the head of the gavel blocking out the sun, and you took your chance.

Your hand darted, and you flung a handful of brick dust into his eyes as he spat, staggered, cursing. You brought the butt of your rifle round to slam into the side of his head, and although he barely faltered, you ran for your life, darting down alleys, your heart bursting in your ears.

You heard no footsteps chasing you. He could have...but he didn't.

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Just one easy kill.

The others had all gone down so hard, Hiromi thought, stepping into his swing, barely missing the foreign woman, the gavel making a buckled crater in the tarmac instead. Hiromi tsked, annoyed, kissing his teeth. Watching her squirm on the floor to save her life, a worm from a bird, Hiromi's gut churned-- ugly.

Murder was so easy. The power to beat scum at their own game was intoxicating. Hiromi stepped after her, so far removed from his old self. His usual self? He wasn't sure.

His keen eyes built the woman's character, hawkish and unforgiving. Young...naive. Soldier...killer. No Japanese...lazy. Pleading...pathetic. Not fighting...coward. By the time she began to beg Hiromi, she was already barely human in his eyes. Swiping his hair upwards, and tightening his grip for the deathblow, he spat, "English."

She caught his eye, and Hiromi felt the barest seed of guilt in the back of his mind, an itch he could not scratch. She had nodded at him, tears brimming in her eyes, hands raised in placation.

"Innocent," the woman had insisted, "...innocent." Bile rose in Hiromi's throat at the familiar word, and the audacity she had to use it for herself, as if she wasn't rolling in the same pigshit as the rest of them. Hiromi's lip curled, smirking as he rubbed his nose with the side of one long finger.

"Innocent?" He stabbed. Hiromi knelt, talking at you as if you understood.

"What's that? You're the good guy, are you?" He mocked, reaching out to tap the rifle on your back, feeling you flinch beneath him, "Is it this, that makes you innocent, hmm?" He brought his hand to your cheek, stroking it with the blade of his finger, swiping away the tears that had cut a track through the dust and grime, "Or this pretty face, hmmm? Are those big, teary eyes what make you innocent? Don't make me laugh. You're scum, just like the rest of us. And natural law is at play here." He cupped your cheek once, squeezing it with the barest of sincerities in his apology as he stood.

"Sorry," Hiromi offered, lifting his gavel and feeling power churn through him, just and righteous as your executioner.

Hiromi cursed as he felt a spray of grit flung into his face, immediately disarmed by the sordid pain of sand in his eyes, further disorientated by the ear-ringing slam of something into the side of his head. He staggered, faltering.

"Oooh, you piece of shit," Hiromi cooed, vicious, spitting with venom, vision completely obscured as he tried in vain to clear his eyes. He felt you disappear, and he leaned against the wall, laughing despite himself at having been bested. He smiled, the barest tinge of admiration for your tenacity threading through him.

"Alright," Hiromi sniffed, rubbing his nose again as his vision began to clear, "catch you later, I suppose."

Hiromi tried to forget you. He tried to forget his humanity, but each life he took made him sicker, infected by this game.

Every time he closed his eyes, to sleep in some strange home-less, love-less bed, your eyes met his, impeaching him.

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Resources soon ran thin, for one who held no territory. You had your army pack, and rationed out your meagre foodstuffs, always hungry, always on-edge. You had never fought alone, in war.

You had managed to develop quite the skill at hiding, and concealed yourself, cloaked in plain sight, from even the most powerful of those left in the game. Every day that the stragglers were picked off, the stakes ran higher. Every explosive battle you ran from, dodging the falling debris thrown by titans, you felt your inherent value as an easy kill increasing.

You thought of the hook-nosed man who had let you go. Despite his willingness to kill you, you craved human contact, and found warmth in the memory of the heat of his gaze, his hand on your face, desperately trying to translate the words he had spoken to you as he caressed your cheek.

One dewy dawn, you had taken position on a sheltered rooftop, giving you equal measures concealment and oversight. With your rifle drawn, flat on your belly, you felt the ebbs and wanes of a familiar power draw closer. Curiously, it made your belly clench, eager to see the man who could have chased you, but didn't. You were itching to know why. Itching to behold him again.

Your heart leapt as he stepped into the street, at least four stories below you. Even from this distance, you could see the intensity of his furrowed brow, the noble bearing of his shoulders beneath a great black overcoat. His tie hung, dishevelled, loose-knotted. He was hunting.

He paused, tiptoed on a breath...before rolling, gracefully dodging as a knife of Cursed energy ricocheted through the street, splitting it. You gasped, your eye moving away from your rifle lens, watching in awe as he took to battle with another man. While he seemed to hold his own, he appeared distracted, and was buffeted, winded by an almighty hit, knocked onto his back, elbows on the ground.

A strange panic overtook you as your hook-nosed man's assailant bore down on him, power surging, preparing to murder--

-- a gunshot. A brittle, echoing bang. The assailant's head snapped forwards, and he fell, killed instantly, face first on the ground in front of your hook-nosed man.

He panted, his face sprayed with blood. With a few owlish blinks, his eyes tracked upwards. You held your breath, adrenaline coursing through you. As the man stood, eyes fixed on you (in rage? murderous intent? thanks?), you jolted to life and took aim on him.

He did not raise his hands. There was no standoff, as he made no move to save his own life. In the moment that he accepted his death for the attempt he had made on yours, something in you both softened, seeing each other as you saw no others. A gentle impasse. The intimacy of differentiation.

It took everything you had in you to break eye contact, and run.

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Hiromi mulled beneath the shaky warning of your rifle.

You were afraid, he thought as he gazed up at you, so sickeningly grateful for having been chosen by you. The mist of his opponent's blood drifting through the sunrise, picked Hiromi out as somehow preferable, in your mind.

And, why should you not be afraid? He saw you beneath him, again, your eyes soft and begging him for mercy. You had been defenceless and entirely in his palm. He had been relieved, he recalled, that he could kill someone easily. The begging made you passive. Hiromi could have vomitted, sickened by himself.

He stood, arms raised slightly to his sides, his profile illuminated by sweet morning sun, waiting for death to take his hand.

Hiromi felt embraced by your eyes. Wanted. Some companionship, in death...until you refused him his end. The red string between you both seemed to snap as you broke eye contact and ran.

Alone, as the sun broke above the skyline, Hiromi whispered; "Thank you."

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There was no way out. Starving and desperate, days had passed since you had saved your hook-nosed man, and you had crept through haunted streets to a convenience store, unusually well-stocked with food and drink.

You bit your tongue for your own stupidity at having walked into such an obvious trap. No amount of being able to hide one's Cursed energy could compensate for being seen walking into the shop. Crouching now, behind shelves of ramen, tears trembled on your lashes, an aching lump in your throat.

You heard a mocking voice, cooing at you, laughing at you, and you blushed with indignant tearful injustice, not needing language to know when you were being assaulted for your sex. You were afraid of death. You were more afraid of being used beforehand.

With nowhere to hide, and no grit to throw, you tipped your head back and thought of those black embering eyes, holding you in his gaze.

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"Are you hungry?" The voice chirped, teasing, mean, "Come out, baby. I've got something here in my pocket you can taste." A filthy laugh. Slow, easy footsteps. Willing to rape you before he killed you. Hiromi felt himself burn with fury, ready to wring this man's neck with his own two hands.

Hiromi walked the streets easily, now. His power had come on in leaps and bounds, and he both trusted in his own abilities, and feared nothing of death. Not since you had held his life in your hands, and thrown it straight back in his face.

He was a disordered eater at the best of times, but, a sudden faintness from hunger sent him seeking food. Hiromi knew some dirty little spider had built a web at an abandoned store, and did not fear a man who sought to ensnare the desperate.

Let him try me, thought Hiromi as he approached, lit by the sickly orange glow of streetlights, and see where it gets him.

Just a few steps from the entrance, Hiromi paused mid-step, his heart hiccuping in his chest. It was you. Inside the store, your Cursed energy faltering and so overwhelmed by that of the spider. Hiromi's lips parted, to call for you, a hand in the dark. He stopped, gritting his teeth. No-- this would not do, he thought, as he began a hunt of his own.

The spider was so obviously distracted by excitement, thrilled to find a woman in his dirty little trap. He had found you, by the time Hiromi reached you, in time to see you flung, body smashing against the counter, curling and coughing. Hiromi stepped behind the spider, seething, overburdened with terrible strength.

You had looked up in time to see your hook-nosed man wind an arm round your assailant's neck, throttling him, dragging him backwards out of the store. The hook-nosed man's face was twisted, ugly with rage...and for what? For you?

If your Cursed-energy had been no match for that of your assailant, his was dwarfed by that of your rescuer. Still coughing, doubled over on your hands and knees, you crawled to the entrance, watching the streetlights flicker above your hook-nosed man as he choked the life out of your assailant, merciless in his conviction.

You knelt there, drinking in his profile, in that sickly orange glow. His sharply squared jaw. His black overcoat, shrouding him like Death itself. Panting and cursing as his arms shook, your assailant fighting weakly beneath him. Choking the life out of a man, a murder most intimate. For you. Killing, with his bare hands-- for you.

Time hung in suspended animation in these small hours. Your rescuer sighed, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he knelt back on his haunches. He appeared devoid of guilt, at having carried out his sentencing. Slowly, as if fearful of what he would see in your eyes, he turned to you, kneeling in the doorway of the shop.

Your eyes met. You studied each other in silence. He had a way of making you transparent. You had a way of making him exposed. His panting slowed, palms flush to his thighs, offering you a cautious smile, as your eyes glimmered in the dark.

"English," he spoke, by way of greeting.

"Nose," you returned. He frowned, uncertain.

"N..?"

You reached up to stroke your nose, and repeated, with a smile; "Nose."

His hand reached up to mirror yours, realising, and he burst into laughter, rich and genuine. You blushed, burying your face in your hands as he continued to laugh. He wiped his eyes, fingering the hook in his nose again, looking at you with those deep embering eyes that wholly undressed you.

"Nose," he repeated, chuckling, "Subarashī." Your bit your lip in mirth, looking anywhere but at him as he tried to catch your eye again, mischief twinkling in his.

Hiromi stood, stretching his shoulders back with a husky groan, tipping his neck from side to side. He stepped over to you, and you felt, ridiculously, so teenagerish as the odd duality of your hook-nosed man made your belly twist. You saw a long-fingered hand enter your line of sight. You looked at it questioningly. The fingers wiggled in invitation.

With a shaking hand, you took his. He pulled you up and smiled at you, swinging your hand briefly in his before releasing it, waiting for you to step into the shop before he followed. You browsed for food, as if Saturday-Night-Snack-Hunting as a couple, in safe silence.

Shivering as the adrenaline wore off, your stomach clenched with terrified nausea to hear explosions, shouts, drawing ever nearer in the street outside. Your hook-nosed man looked up, hangdog eyes wide, flicking from you, to the street, and back again. He gritted his teeth, bundling packets of food into the pockets of his overcoat.

You found yourself manhandled, his heavy coat suddenly on you. Your rescuer's hands moved deftly, smoothing the coat across your shoulders, searching for words, irritated by his intelligence in one language and his stupidity in another.

"Cold-- hungry-- go," Hiromi pressed in broken English, spinning you as you protested, urging you through the back door. You turned in the doorway, your eyes begging him to...what? To go with you? There was no time, no time--

Hiromi materialised his gavel, and crouched, snarling at you: "GO!" He roared, steeped in regret as you sprinted away, guarding your life like a child.

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Your hook-nosed man began to leave you breadcrumbs; tickets to safe havens, food, shelter, beds. You felt the vestiges of his Cursed-energy wherever you followed his trail, haunted by the path of devastation he left to build you sanctuaries.

Your dialogue budded, and combined with his notes and signs, you began to learn more about him. His notes, secreted away in scrawled English, street signs flipped to point in alternate directions, and crude maps drawn on dust-caked windows, all added colour and life to him.

Hiromi took a little joy, his cold heart popping to life, at the little hearts you drew in the dust; signs of acknowledgement, a tiny thrill.

You found yourself drawn to a bookstore, and scoured the shelves, looking for a particular something, a matching pair. You found hints of him in the pockets of the hook-nosed man's overcoat; a business card, in Japanese. A handkerchief, curiously embroidered with two gold initials-- H.H. A set of housekeys with a key-finder fob. A pair of chewed pens. You still thought of him as "Nose".

Hiromi still thought of you as "English", as he caught himself differentiating you from the others. Still steeped in this depression, this black-dog-misery and ugliness, he saw you, a light in the dark, who hid yourself to protect yourself as well as others, from needless violence.

They were all ugly...except, perhaps, for you.

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You sighed as you slipped into the hot bath, water up to your chin in the great, deep basin of this luxury hotel. You were impressed there was still a hot water supply, and you felt a gleeful coil of naughtiness, knowing you would never usually be able to afford to stay in such opulence, all marble tiles and gold taps.

Fighting for survival did not negate the fundamental craving for little joys, and you took advantage of the selection of complimentary soaps, scouring yourself free of grime with happy hums. You sang to yourself, quiet in the evening hush, just you and your languid splishing--

-- oh. A cautious approach. A familiar power. You clasped the lip of the bath, sinking your body under the water.

"...hello? Nose?" You called out. You heard the click of a lock, quick feet stepping in, locking the door behind him. A single held breath.

"...English?"

You blushed, pressing your lips to your knuckles, white from how tightly you gripped the bath. Hiromi's cheeks prickled faintly, hearing soft splashes from the bathroom, seeing your clothes discarded over the bed, your rifle leaning against it. You cleared your throat, wanting to talk, not knowing where to start.

"Mhm." Hiromi smiled at your little squeak, sitting with a groan and creaking knees, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. Separated by this thin wall, he reached a hand around the doorway behind him. You giggled to see his long fingered hand offer you a jaunty wave.

"Konbanwa, English," he offered. He jolted to feel your little hand, warm and wet, squeeze his. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, smooth, examining, probing in a way that made your belly tight. You reluctantly released his fingers, humming in thought as you reached out of the bath into your backpack, searching for something.

Momentarily, Hiromi felt something gently tap the side of his head around the bathroom door, and he giggled, a noise which made you paddle your feet in delight. He reached up, taking a Japanese-English dictionary and phrasebook from your hand.

"Ahhhhh!" Hiromi hummed, genuinely thrilled, "Yoi aidea." He skimmed through the book, hunting again, and you paused, listening.

"Good idea!" He stated, confident, and he squirmed to hear you laugh at his janky pronunciation. Hiromi wanted so dearly to see you, to know you were uninjured, and instead scoured his little book again.

"Hurt?" He asked you. You softened, responding automatically.

"Ah...no, I'm...hmm," you flipped through your own book, "...uhm...daijōbu desu?"

Hiromi hummed, satisfied. You talked this way, for some time, gently brushing the outskirts of each others' language and personality. Hiromi corrected you. You corrected him. The bath grew cold. The light began to die behind the windows, casting you both in deep shadow and amber glow.

At some point, in the conversation, your hands had trailed together again. Hiromi now leaned sideways against the wall, his cheek pressed against it, eyes closed as his fingertips grazed the inside of your wrist.

You lay in the bath, shivering, feeling your heartbeat between your legs from such an innocent, intimate touch-- except, it did not feel innocent in intent. Perhaps, that was what made you squirm.

"Stay safe," Hiromi whispered to you, his fingers drawing circles on your palm, his next word crumpling your face with barely restrained tears, "Afraid."

Hiromi bit his lip in anguish, eyes squeezed shut to see you in his mind's eye, so desperately touch-starved as you pressed a kiss to his palm. He felt your lips remain, nose ghosting against his pulse. He imagined those lips on his own, and he was filled with an anxious need to taste you, to lift you from the bath, wrap you up in the bed and his arms, safe.

Fully distracted by thoughts of you and your sweet cries beneath his body, Hiromi almost missed you holding out your book to him, pressed open at the start-- and a name, your name, written neatly on the page. You offered this, all the while wanting to step to him from the bath, and offer him the feel of those clever fingers, examining the rest of your body.

"Oh..." Hiromi whispered, reverent, squeezing your hand as he swiped his thumb over the faint imprint of your written name, repeating it aloud slowly. Hearing him speak your name, almost had you climbing out of the bath and into his lap. You closed your eyes, imagining him crying it out as he peaked, buried deeply inside you. You burned with the urgent need to know him.

Just a few seconds later, Hiromi's hand reached round the corner, offering his own book back to you, with his own name written in your own alphabet, jolted and square.

"Higuruma...Hiromi?" He hummed, happily.

"Hiromi," you repeated, and he hummed again, delighted by your name on his lips. You tucked your dictionary away, thrilled, reaching for a towel.

"It suits you. I love it." Hiromi understood just one word you had uttered, and it sent joy creeping down his spine. He pressed his forehead against the wall.

Pull yourself together, Hiromi, he thought, it's just loneliness and desperation. Nothing else. No amount of logic and self-chastisement stopped his mouth from moving independently of his mind, as he flicked through your dictionary, imbued with your name.

"Bed. Stay. Please." Silence. Hiromi pressed the corner of the dictionary to his head, cursing himself under his breath. Idiot, pathetic little moron, stupid--

"Yes."

Hiromi's stomach swooped, missing a step, hearing you climb out of the bath. You steeled yourself, blushing furiously, to wrap a towel around yourself and pad out to the bedroom. Hiromi turned his back to you, but not before seeing the graceful curve of your leg, the wet cleavage of your breasts, the towel barely skimming the tops of your thighs. He breathed slowly, clawing back his self-control as you dressed behind him.

A long, slow whistle, belonging to neither of you, broke the silence, and your blood ran with ice water.

Voices spoke, Hiromi spitting threats, in this language that still gatekept against your understanding.

You jacked sideways, still topless, seizing your rifle as Hiromi demolished the doorway with a single wide swing of his gavel. You heard laughter from the corridor, and you hurriedly pulled your top and Hiromi's overcoat on, fixing your rifle on your shoulder to take aim.

Hiromi backed up to you, wrapping one arm behind himself and around you, fingers splayed against the small of your back. You understood none of the venom spat between Hiromi and this hidden assailant.

Your nerves on a knife-edge, you sensed movement behind the shattered brickwork of the doorway, and fired, a deafening blow in this enclosed space. A spray of blood and an enraged shout through the drifting plaster-cloud saw you hit your mark, and Hiromi exclaimed, shocked and delighted, squeezing your waist.

"I've seen better shots than that from her, bastard" Hiromi warned, "and if you think she's easy prey, you've got both of us to take down."

"Hiromi," you gasped, hyperventilating, "Hiromi-- Hiromi--"

Silence through the room; Hiromi's ears rang. He pocketed your dictionary, and grasped your cheeks, eyes fixed to yours and wordlessly reassuring you as he turned you towards him from the doorway. You felt your heart bounding in your chest, hands loosening on your rifle as you drank him in, breathed the same air, panting, together--

--it was all too fast. Hiromi's eyes fixing behind you. His panicked shout. Being thrown sideways onto the bed, a glassy smash, a scream that may have been your own--

Hiromi and your hunter plummeted in an outward spray of glass, two inky blots fading into the night.

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You had searched so desperately. Nothing could assure you Hiromi was still alive. There were no breadcrumbs left in the dust; nil but blood, and so much of it, beneath the shattered hotel window, so many stories up.

You had run your hands through it, clotted with the rubble, needing to feel him within the grisly spill-- alas. Too many residuals passed over this land. Too many battles fought, too many lives spent and saved, for clairvoyance to be what repaired your fractured heart.

You steeled yourself. Adversity goaded you to try harder. To do better. You took to the hunt yourself. You amassed points from potshots, hidden in curious places to execute nasty little opportunists who sought dominion over the weak.

While you had had no experience of the Kogane-- the odd, winged shikigami which acted as an interface between the players and the game-- in your passive state, they now became regular visitors, updating you of your points total. You had assumed they could not speak your language-- you were wrong.

Witnessing, from afar, one day, another player asking Kogane a question, your stomach rolled with nausea and hope as you called the black-tailed beast to you.

"Kogane?" The creature appeared with a pop. Your mouth opened, and closed, faltering over your words.

"Kogane, is-- is Hiromi Higuruma a player in the game?"

Silence-- and an answer; "Higuruma Hiromi is a player in the game--"

All of the air left your lungs in an enormous gasp, a heaving cry of relief as you doubled over, your hands cupped over your mouth and nose, tears streaming down around your fingers, before the Kogane had even finished giving its report.

"Thank you-- th--thank you, Kogane," you sobbed, blinded by your own tears. This tiny demon, to whom manners meant nothing, hung impassively. It disappeared with a pop as you spun away, cloaked with conviction.

You turned on a pinhead, cocking your rifle ready, and stalked off through the ruins; all of your steeling wisped away like ashes, your heart on the battlefield, knowing your vulnerability was out there, alive.

You decided now, with a smile at the thought of those beetle-black eyes, to hunt not for business, but for pleasure.

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Hiromi felt the damp all the way to his bones, in these heavy, wet clothes, made heavier still by the excruciating weight of his crimes. The theatre door swung closed behind him, and he leaned his back against the wall, crouching, the palms of his heels pressing so hard into his eyes that he was blinded by lights.

He had fallen beyond salvation, and it gnawed at the rotten wood of him, eating him alive. Feeling his brain judder, his tie too tight, the walls too close, the silence too deafening, Hiromi tried to collect himself. He pressed his palms to his thighs and breathed; in through his nose one two three four five and out through his mouth one two three four five.

Feeling his heart rate slow, full of equal parts light and dark, Hiromi called out into the gloom, straightening slowly.

"Kogane." The creature appeared with a pop, waiting, patient. Hiromi spoke your name, and then, hesitant--

"...is she a player in the game?" A heartbeat. Two. Three.

"Confirmed--"

Hiromi did not hear the rest, buckling to his haunches with a primal cry of gratitude, and a few moments of dry sobs as his fingers raked through his hair. Chest heaving, he breathed again, one two three four five, one two three four five.

In the space taken for one breath, Hiromi decided not to find you. You, who had always chosen not to fight. You, whose pleading eyes still haunted him. You could not be sullied by his rot.

Hiromi stepped out into the night, a porcelain man checkered with cracks, seeking only to rebuild a world worthy of you.

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He's here.

Climbing the stairs, fine piano music rang distant, its notes bittersweet, cherries in kirsch. Your feet carried you unbidden and you ascended, the notes becoming sweeter, feeling him, closer, playing this Siren's song.

Stepping into the doorway of the skyline bar, he must have felt your approach. The lights were low, refracted through a hundred hanging glasses, a hundred under-lit bottles of vim and vigour. The room sprawled out in an expansive, long C-shape, and your heart stuttered to see Hiromi at the end, pale fingers moving across the piano, white-shirt-shoulders burdened by the weight of his song.

You felt him build in the music as you approached, each note demanding more of him, and more and more and more and more--

There was only the briefest hitch in the music, barely perceptible, as you slid onto the bench beside Hiromi. He did not look up, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes pressed tightly shut.

Consumed by the need to feel his skin on yours, you reached out, your hand ghosting over his. In a flash, Hiromi's hand darted up to grab yours, fingers tangled, as his other hand continued to move, playing this bisected song. A few moments passed, this way, with Hiromi pressing his lips and nose to your knuckles, his face contorted, conflicted-- pained.

"Go," he whispered, breath fanning over your hand, "bad."

"I...I don't--...bad?" You turned towards him, to hold him, and he jerked, twitching away from you, and you felt your heart tug along with him.

"No. Me. I...am bad." You shook your head, more and more fervent as Hiromi twisted away from you, quietly cursing, husky, tortured. He tried to release your hand, and you refused, plaiting your fingers in his, steadfast in a way that filled him with an animalistic urge to appreciate you.

You turned from him, your other hand resting upon the high keys, pressing gentle, uncertain notes. Overwhelmed by your closeness, and your insistent faith in him, Hiromi softened to watch your profile, backlit from the liquid glow of the bar. Your small hand, moving softly over the keys. Your heart beating like butterfly wings in your throat.

"No. Not bad. Lost. Lonely. Sabishī."

Every moment of belief you handed him, pulled Hiromi closer to the light. Swallowing thickly, he brought your joined hands to the keys, laying his palm over the back of yours, overlaying your fingers with his own. He pressed, soft insistent touches, on your fingers, guiding them to play. You felt your belly coil with odd pleasure, captivated by Hiromi's hands, all at once gentle and rough, smart and instinctual--

"Hiromi--"

"No. Stop." Hiromi tensed, his voice rough, fraying alongside his self-control. His hand shook over your own, the notes stopping now. Heat burst through you, certain he felt it too, this dangerous need, and his name forced its way out of you again, a challenge.

"Hiro--"

Hiromi spat venom again, growling and cursing as he stood, lifting you by the waist, sitting you upon the keys with a spray of notes, his arms shaking as they pressed beside you, trapping you in. Nose to nose, his breath on your lips, his face twisted with fury and need, Hiromi whispered to you.

"Stop. My name--" Hiromi shook, on his last thread, half a step away from using you--

When your hand snaked to his tie, tugging him closer, your other hand sinking into the back of his hair, Hiromi snapped.

His lips pressed to yours, hot and hungry, his body closing the rest of the distance to be flush between your thighs. Your mouth opened to him, feeling his urgency as he drank down your stolen breath, one hand tilting your head back to consume you, the other dragging through the plush rolls of your belly and hips.

Every kiss was hot and anguished, punctuated by Hiromi's low rolling voice, not needing language to feel the fervour and vice on his lips-- "--won't be gentle-- I'm sorry I-- I can't--"

You insisted your understanding on him the only way you knew how; fingers working his tie off and draping it round your own neck, locking your legs around him to press his aching cock against your core, undoing his shirt in a desperate flurry, all notes and fingers and tongues and moans.

You tasted rum in his mouth, all spice and brown sugar, and his hand wandered to your throat, feeling your pulse there before tilting you backwards, arched against the hood of the piano. With your head rested back, he spoke to you, shirt now unbuttoned to his navel, cock straining against the material below a trail of black hair.

"--making a mistake to let a monster put his mouth on you, English-- let's see what sounds you can make." Your khaki t-shirt was pulled off over your head, where Hiromi let it catch around your hands, twisting it to bind you. Hiromi kept you gripped this way, leaning over you, caging you in as he gripped the cups of your bra between his teeth, yanking them down to free your breasts.

Hiromi shuddered and moaned, feeling a drop of pre-cum soak into his boxers, as he flattened his tongue over your nipple, rolling, tasting, pulling you between his lips, nuzzling from side to side like an animal. You mewled, jutting your hips involuntarily, and Hiromi pressed back, pleasuring you with rough, sharp thrusts against your clothed pussy.

Hiromi leaned back, releasing your nipple with a hard suck, gazing down at where he fucked himself against you, mesmerised by the way you shivered and humped against his cock. Unabashed, his words falling over you like strange-eyed constellations, Hiromi fucked you with his voice--

"--cum like this, and I'll give you my fingers...cum like that, and I'll give you my tongue-- fuck, I'll eat you alive, you fucking goddess--"

As Hiromi spoke, all twisted rage and growls, his hips slammed into you, spurred on by your squeaks and whimpers, gripping the fat of your hips to ram your core against him. The pleasure was brutal, all harsh fabric friction and Hiromi's unrestrained adoration, and you tried to hold yourself together as you were dragged to orgasm, your frantic hands pressing disjointed chords on the keys beneath you.

Hiromi wanted to, needed to cum like this, with you, knowing he'd be able to continue fucking you after until he collapsed in your arms from exhaustion. Pausing only briefly to reach into his boxers, and angle his angry, throbbing cock upwards so the bulbous tip pressed between his waistband and belly, Hiromi's eyes rolled back in unadulterated ecstasy as he continued to fuck you against him.

You were both close, having been unfinished even by yourselves for weeks, and Hiromi's eyes burned into yours, feral with the need for you to finish with him, feeling your thighs tense around him as you babbled, fully understanding your meaning behind the nonsense--

"--gonna cum-- please-- Hiromi-- harder--"

You pressed back against the piano, arching with a high-pitched cry as hot pleasure burst through you, from your deeply aching clit outwards, crackling through your fingers, all white-hot sparks and embers. Watching you convulse against him, angling his hips to rut his trapped cock tip, feeling his thighs and belly set alight with the force of his orgasm, his hands planted either side of you, back twitching as he came with a bark.

Still riding the last waves of your orgasm, you watched him in fascination. The sight of Hiromi's cum spurting in long, white ropes onto his navel and yours, his agonised, fractured gasps, had you humping against the underside of his cock again, dragging out your peak to hear him whimper, cock twitching against your core. Your hand drifted to his belly, stroking the cum between your fingertips in a blissful haze, squeezing a thumb under the foreskin of his exposed cockhead, stroking his slit with his own lubrication.

Hiromi convulsed and growled at you, clasping your hand against him, dopey and shaking as you drank his reaction from his eyes, thumb still circling his cockhead, slippery with his seed.

"St--st--aaaaahhh..." You shushed Hiromi's weak cries, grazing your tongue over his lips, delighted as he twitched in your hand, weak little spurts of cum oozing onto your fingers. Hiromi let you continue like this, for a few seconds, before wrenching your hand away, plaiting your fingers into his own and nuzzling into you furiously. His heart leapt to hear you giggle as he bit into you, still to desperate, everything still not enough to take away this pain and this filth and this misery--

His other hand wandered down, stroking down the rolls of your belly, pinching, nails grazing, digging in all the way to your belt, undoing it with military efficiency. Not bothering to undo the button, he yanked down the zip instead, giving him enough room to manoeuvre his hand between your skin and the fabric, shucking your underwear aside to cup the wet heat of your pussy in one long hand.

Dipping his hand out to collect the cum off your belly, he thrust his hand back inside against your pussy again, teeth gritted and bared as he drank down your reactions now. He was satisfied to see the playful glint in your eyes flicker, your eyebrows raised in shock and overstimulation, teeth sinking into your lip as he rubbed your clit roughly, cum-sticky fingers rubbing broad strokes side to side across it.

"--two can play at that game, sweetheart...feels good? More? Harder?" Hiromi pressed you, in these words you didn't understand, and laughed, darkly satisfied as you wiggled beneath his hands, one hand resting lightly on your throat as you tried in vain to scoot away from him, your breath releasing in airy whimpers.

"No answer?" Hiromi moved his fingers faster, harder, your pussy squelching with your mixed cum inside your trousers, feeling you writhe beneath them, "I'll decide for you then."

Hiromi urged your orgasm to build, faster and harder this time, teeth gritted as he dragged you to the edge, growling into you as his tongue flicked roughly over your nipple--

"--come on-- know you can do it-- I'll go as hard as you like, come on, good girl--ah, there-- good girrrrllll..." Hiromi softened his movements, fingers undulating against your pussy as he pulled another orgasm from you, moving one finger from your throat to dip into your mouth, shuddering as you sucked it around your cries and whimpers.

Hiromi felt his cock beginning to stir to life again, and he committed you to memory like this, draped over the piano, wet breasts heaving, his seed dripping down your belly, eyes glazed, body supple.

Another word, that he did know in English, slipped from him, as he dropped to his knees before you, worshiping at this otherworldly alter in the moonlight; "Beautiful."

You blushed, voice catching in your throat as Hiromi smiled up at you, soft and captive in his sincerity as he unbuttoned your trousers, easing them, with your underwear, gently to your ankles, and off. Feeling suddenly so exposed, so flawed, you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt Hiromi grip your ankle with such tenderness, pressing a long, languid kiss to the delicate bones on the inside.

"English," Hiromi called, beckoning you back to him. You shook your head, blushing, eyes still closed, and he insisted. "English, please--" your eyes opened, uncertain, and Hiromi hummed in satisfaction as he began to kiss his way up your inner legs, "--beautiful."

Sighing and leaning back, one arm over your eyes, your heart bursting with the oddity of having fallen in love like this, you felt safe behind your language barrier as you spoke without a filter; "Oh, Nose. I love you. I really do."

Hiromi paused, stunned and ecstatic, his lips still on your inner thigh. He shocked you both, at how quickly his grasp of your language had come along; "And I love you, English." Hiromi chuckled with genuine glee as you clapped your hands over your face, mortified. Hiromi nuzzled into you, wickedly playful, but soon overtaken by this violent urge again--

"And...I love--" you squealed as you felt Hiromi force your thighs apart, sinking his tongue and nose quickly between your folds, groaning as he tasted the heady mix of his and your cum around your clit. His cock, almost fully hard again, throbbed, tightening his waistband as the blood rushed to it again. Hiromi reached down, releasing his cock with a sigh.

He took his time, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he lapped at you, dipping his tongue into your entrance, tasting you, teasing you. You leaned, watching him again, and he looked up at you, hooded eyes burning as he nuzzled his nose against your clit, and held his own cock in his hand, stroking slowly. You felt jolts of voyeuristic pleasure, watching him masturbate himself to the taste of you.

"I...I like that," you whispered to him, your hand moving down to graze your nails against his scalp. You watched Hiromi like pornography as he shuddered, his cock leaping in his hand, your eyes fixed intently on his hand gliding up and down his length as you felt your pleasure beginning to crescendo yet again.

"More, I--" you moved your hand in the air as if you were the one stroking Hiromi's cock, mimicking faster movements, "--faster, Hiromi." Hiromi hummed in understanding, groaning sandy little groans into your pussy now as his hand sped up, jacking himself off harder, feeling your pussy clench around nothing beneath his tongue as you watched him, your keening cries getting higher and higher until--

-- you came again, trembling with the fluttering soft pleasure of your third orgasm, thighs clamping around Hiromi's head as he sucked your clit gently between his lips. Hiromi panted, gripping the base of his cock, delaying his high, fingers wet with more pre-cum, desperate to drag you to the floor and finish using you.

Pulling his mouth away, his hands trembling on your thighs, Hiromi's face was unreadable as he looked at the floor. Standing, dishevelled and sweating, looking up at you with feral hunger, his cock still twitching in his hand, you could see the barest vestiges of Hiromi pleading you for permission, with those exquisite dark eyes--

All it took from you was a nod. Hiromi pounced, wiry arms deceptively strong as he lifted you, legs locked around his waist, nose nuzzling against yours, teeth nipping your lips with a rumble. Hiromi whispered his mother tongue against your mouth, reaching out one hand for his overcoat, and tossing it into the floor, before laying you on your front, sinking his teeth into your shoulder blade with bruising force.

"--you're beautiful, and you're good, and I don't deserve you-- fuck, I need you now, I--I need--"

Hiromi panted above you, barely restraining himself from slamming into you immediately as he looped an arm round your neck and chest, pulling you up and forcing your back to arch. Ghosting his nose over your ear, he whispered your name, making you shiver and squirm, certain you'd break unless you felt him inside you soon.

"Ready, English?" You trembled, nodding, head tipped back as his cock grazed against your slippery folds. One hand cupped your arse, stroking softly, before slapping, Hiromi captivated by its plush jiggle against his fingers, how you cried out, how your skin flushed so deliciously.

Not holding back, Hiromi slammed into you, one forearm planted to the floor while the other restrained you against him, cupping your breasts in one squeezing hand. He shook, cursing, his teeth in your shoulder, as he felt the tip of his cock kiss your gummy walls, feeling your pussy clench around him in shock.

Prone, hands clawing at his overcoat, Hiromi felt enormous inside you, so swollen and plush after waiting to be filled for so long. You whimpered, resting your head sideways against his clutching bicep, feeling the muscle tense and jump as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, still speaking husky reassurances to you in his native tongue.

"--rest, just-- keep still and let me hold you, I-- I can't slow down anymore--"

Feeling simultaneously used and protected, caged in like this for him to chase his own pleasure, your breath came in ragged gasps, both hands now clutching the forearm across your neck and chest, head swimming with the instinctively blissful fullness of his cock, tightly sleeved within you. You felt your belly jolt from the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and pressed up towards him, proud to hear him moan in response.

Hiromi fucked you with abandon, needing this release, needing to shed his sin and worthlessness, his heart leaping to feel you fall apart beneath him. His hips began to stutter, strength abandoning him as his orgasm approached, moaning deep breaking moans in your ear, nipping, holding your neck in his teeth.

His legs buckling beneath him, Hiromi cried out in bliss, his arm shaking around you, hips flush against your arse, cock twitching long, hot spurts of cum inside your walls, feeling you pulse around him, sucking him in. You revelled in the glorious feeling of him twitching deep inside you, your belly hot and clenching as his seed seeped out between your clenched thighs. Hiromi lay above you, panting, pressing soft kisses into your hair, using his arm to roll you sideways with him, covering you both with his overcoat.

With his arm beneath your head, the other lazily stroking the curve of your waist and hips, Hiromi laughed lazily behind you.

"You love me, English, hmm?" Hiromi laughed again as you clapped your hands to your face.

"Stop, Hiromi, stop--" you cried, blushing all the way to your toes as he squeezed you closer, "-- or I will shoot you." Hiromi lifted his head, peering mulishly at you, one eyebrow raised. You scowled, pointing to your gun, and then at him, and he gasped in mock horror.

"Ara ara," he rumbled, teasing you in alien words, "so violent when you're meant to be happy."

You remembered these sweet small hours the most, after the horrors that came. You remembered lying in each others' arms, sticky and teasing. You remembered sneaking to the bathrooms, splashing each other at the sinks as you cleaned up as best as you could. You remembered laughing as Hiromi cursed, trying to clean the residual cum off your clothes. You remembered Hiromi calling for you, afraid, anxious, before you ducked back up from behind the bar, your arms full of snacks and drinks. You remembered lying beneath the piano, gazing out across the city, flicking peanuts at each other, sharing slow, lazy kisses. You remembered naively seeing a future between you, a happy life with none of this unthinkable chaos.

It was your fault, you cursed yourself, vomiting and wracked with sobs, staggering away from the devastation. If you had been able to develop your power, and pose a real threat, Hiromi wouldn't have been burdened with such a liability.

Lost in each other again, nose to nose beneath the piano, your instincts had kicked in just fast enough to kick Hiromi away, saving his life as the floor between you both split with dreadful electricity. A strange-haired, wild-eyed boy burst through the room on a voltage, bottles smashing, the floor splitting, your rifle disappearing into the chasm as Hiromi shouted for you, urging you, ordering you-- you were sure, to move, to run, to save yourself and leave him.

You could do none of them, your military training meaning nothing to this god. You could do nothing when Hiromi stepped into his path, defending you, fighting tooth and nail. You could do nothing as the floors split beneath him, dragging them down in lightning flashes, horrifying rumbles. You had fled from the collapse, leaping flights of stairs one at a time, possessed by some strange force. You had not felt Hiromi again. Powerful though he was, you could not see how he could walk out of such a fight alive.

Putting all the dregs of your energy into hiding, refusing to let Hiromi's sacrifice be in vain, you cried yourself to sleep, nose in Hiromi's overcoat, his cum still cooling between your thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Each day merged into the next. Time had lost meaning. While you had the urge to fight before loving Hiromi, to have loved and lost him broke you and the future you may have had. The battleground was no place for someone such as yourself now. You cursed the injustice of it all.

Cold, dirty and exhausted, your head rested sideways against an industrial bin, praying the rain would wipe your soul clean.

You had translated his business card, with your little dictionary--

Lawyer. Higuruma Hiromi, Criminal Defence Lawyer.

Knowing this detail of his life, a sweet overlay of understanding dawned upon you, his character suddenly so understandable, his anguish shooting through you like knives, and all too late, too late--

"...English?"

Your head jerked up, to the end of the alleyway. Silhouetted, dripping in the rain, bleeding and bruised but impossibly alive--

Your face crumpled, pressed into your wet sleeves, shaking. Slow splashing footsteps approached you, Hiromi kneeling in front of you, a hand coming out to graze through your hair.

He opened your dictionary, dusty and bloodstained, before flicking to a dog-eared page;

"Found you."

#jjk #higuruma hiromi #higuruma smut #higuruma angst #higuruma fluff #higuruma hiromi x reader #jjk hiromi #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma fanart

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chibinasuu · 1 month ago

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Kid x Reader ― first snow; regret

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― @gothmommie tags: sfw, angst with happy ending, GN!reader, no use of y/n

First snow used to excite you.

It used to bring you joy, and wonder, and peace. You used to love how magical it looked when the landscapes around you were gradually blanketed in white as the snow piled up.

But that was before. Now, first snow only brought guilt, and bitterness, and regret, along with the memory of the unforgiving stare of the love of your life. The coldness of his normally fiery eyes rivaled the freshly fallen snow as he abandoned you, mere minutes after his defeat at the hands of the Red Hair Pirates.

You had sobbed on the ground as the green grass around you turned white – a sight no longer magical – but you didn’t blame him. It was entirely your fault that you kept the fact that you used to be an apprentice on the ship of your Captain’s biggest foe a secret.

When you heard about Kid’s plan to confront Red-haired Shanks, you had warned him not to go through with it. Of course, Kid being Kid, he did it anyway. When things had predictably escalated, you had gotten down on your knees in front of your old mentor and begged him to spare your crew.

The Emperor had let you all go with the cost of your Captain’s left arm.

The memory of that day a year ago haunted your mind as you trudged across the snowy terrain along the coast of Ringo.

You were in Wano because you had heard a rumor that a Poneglyph may be hidden in this country somewhere. You were under no banner now, but it didn’t mean that you were giving up on finding the One Piece.

Well, call it chance, fate, or just mere coincidence – you couldn’t explain how you ended up coming across the Victoria Punk, docked at a small cove near the border of Hakumai.

And there he stood. Your Captain. Your former Captain, you had to remind yourself. Your former best friend, your former… lover.

Before you could feign ignorance and run away, the metal of your belt buckle vibrated and you felt yourself being pulled by a magnetic force that was all too familiar. Kid set you down in front of him, on the deck of your former home.

The two of you could only stare at each other, neither knowing what to say after a year of not seeing each other.

“I could recognize you from miles away.” He finally said.

“What the hell are you doing here, Kid?” You asked.

“It’s none of your business, isn’t it?” He scowled and retorted defensively, “You’re not part of my crew anymore, I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“Ouch, Kid.” You could feel hot tears pricking your eyes at his sharp words, “You didn’t need to drag me up here just to tell me that.”

You turned away, intending to get off the ship as fast as you could. You were about five steps away when Kid’s gruff voice stopped you in your tracks.

“No, wait!”

You had never heard such desperation in his voice before.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” His voice was low when he continued, barely audible, “I didn’t mean what I said – and did – a year ago either.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, second-guessing if this really was the same man you knew. Kid had never once apologized for anything for as long as you had known him.

As you faced him again, you studied his beautiful scarred face. His brows were furrowed, red-stained lips pressed into a thin line. You waited patiently as he hesitated, opening and closing his mouth indecisively. His next words were like an arrow to your heart.

“Kicking you off the crew was the biggest regret of my life.”

He looked away, face tinged red from the cold and embarrassment, “I… wasn’t in my right mind at that time. I was blinded by rage, and I did the stupidest thing I could possibly do.”

“I was a mess for weeks after that – you can ask Killer.” He chuckled humorlessly, “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I was angry all the time.” At your raised eyebrows, he added, “Well, I mean, even more so than usual.”

“Fuck. You drive me crazy, y’know?” He ran his hand through his messy hair as he breathed out your name, the sound like music to your ears, “I just… couldn’t stop loving you. And believe me, I tried. This whole damn year, I tried to forget you, but I just couldn't.”

You knew it couldn’t have been easy for a man like Kid to admit everything he just said.

Your feet moved on their own accord, carrying you towards him. You threw your arms around his neck, no longer able to fight back the urge to be close to him.

“I've missed you, Kid.” You confessed softly into his ears.

His grip around you tightened. His metal hand was frigid even through the clothing on your back, but you didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about my past with Shanks.” You said. It was your turn to apologize now.

“It wasn’t my intention to keep that from you – it just never came up. And when you decided to target him, I tried to tell you, I swear, but you just… wouldn’t stop and listen.” You sighed exasperatedly, “You and your one-track mind really vex me sometimes.”

In the quiet that followed, you leaned back and gazed into his amber eyes.

“I may have regretted not telling you about Shanks, but know that I never regretted asking him to spare your life, Kid.” You firmly said, “His crew would’ve annihilated us back then. I only did what I did because I love you and I didn’t want to see you get hurt. And even then, you still lost an arm, so…”

Your words trailed off, suddenly nervous of how he would react to your audacious remark. You knew that deep down, he knew that your words rang true – he was just too damn proud to admit it.

But instead, Kid stayed silent. He just leaned forward and touched his forehead to yours, basking in the closeness he had craved since the day he thoughtlessly made you step off his ship.

After a while, he finally answered your earlier question about what the hell he was doing here, “We’re raiding Onigashima tomorrow to take down Kaido. There's no way in hell I'm letting Straw Hat and Trafalgar take all the glory.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. Another stupid, reckless plan. And yet, when he asked if you would fight by his side, the word naturally fell out of your mouth,

“Always.”

Snowflakes dropped from the clouds above as you held each other in a warm embrace. Despite wandering around Ringo for days, it was your first snowfall in Wano.

You breathed in the cold air and the familiar scent of Kid that you’ve missed oh-so-much.

The first snow that landed on your entwined bodies, blanketing the wooden deck in white, felt like forgiveness, and reconciliation, and new beginnings.

a/n: i know i said this is a drabble event but i've never written for kid before so i got too excited, got carried away, and this ended up being around 1k words 😅

anyway, it’s december and officially the start of my holiday event!! thanks to everyone who have requested so far, i’m really excited to write all of them! i'm still accepting submissions so please send in your requests if you're interested <3

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

↳ main masterlist ↳ taglist

#eustass kid #eustass kidd #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x you #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kidd x you #eustass x reader #eustass x you #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #op fanfic #chibinasuu fics

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dominantslasherking · 4 months ago

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The Butcher aka Cooper With Dominant Male S/o

Authors note: This Dilf is so fine...from the new movie "Trap".

Backstory: Seems like the serial killer the butcher is a big fan of you, a famous horror and thriller writer, who just so happens to be at the concert he was attending...He can't take his eyes off of you.

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

The thumping beat of the concert reverberated through the venue as Cooper Adams walked alongside his daughter, Riley, navigating through the crowds and masses of overly loud fans. The flashing lights and excited murmurs of the fans around them only made his steps quicken as he held his daughters hand giving Riley a small smile as he rushed through. He wasn’t particularly interested in the music, but this concert meant the world to Riley.

Still, something more exhilarating had caught his attention tonight—something far more important than the performer they had come to see, Riley had some fun, it was his turn, finally something that was worth while.

As they neared the merchandise stands, Cooper’s heart skipped a beat when he spotted the familiar logo of his favorite author—your logo.

A large banner of your name, [Your Name], hung proudly over a stand dedicated entirely to limited-edition merch from your latest horror novels. A wave of excitement surged through him. You were his obsession, his secret desire. Not only were you a celebrated horror and thriller writer, but you embodied everything that twisted his mind into dangerous knots.

Every dark corner of his soul came alive when he thought of you, admired you, studied you, his smile suddenly widened, Riley just akwardly looked at her father, giving a tilt to her head as she observed her father, not thinking much of it.

Cooper's stomach tightened with frustration when he noticed that the signing event had already ended. A young woman at the front of the stand, practically bouncing on her feet, was showing off her signed copy of your latest release to anyone who would listen. "I can’t believe I got his autograph! He’s even more handsome in person," she squealed, the fan was dripped in head to toe of yor merch, as she just gushed, showed off, what she had got.

Cooper’s fingers twitched, clenching into fists in his jacket pockets. His jaw set tight as jealousy simmered under his skin. That woman had your attention—even for a fleeting moment. He hated the idea of anyone having a piece of you that wasn’t his.

With a nonchalant glance toward his daughter; who was now scrolling mindlessly on her phone, Cooper let his foot slide out just enough for the gushing fan to trip.

The fan-girl stumbled, her body crashing into the merch stand. She hit the edge with a sickening thud, her head knocking against the hard surface, and a thin stream of blood began to trickle down her forehead.

People gasped and rushed to her aid some yelling out for help while others urgent to fingure out what happened. but Cooper’s expression remained impassive. He leaned down toward Riley, his voice soft and controlled. "We should go," he said calmly his hand suddenly snatching a keychain of one of the killers in one of your most famous novels. "The singer’s about to start."

Riley nodded, oblivious to the chaos Cooper her father had just caused. They left the scene behind, and Cooper took a steadying breath. Hurting the girl had been easy—too easy—but the satisfaction of it didn’t last long.

His thoughts were already spiraling back to you. He couldn’t stop wondering where you might be right now. Were you still here at the concert? Were you watching the performance like any other fan? Would you even notice him? The chances of that were unlikely, you probably left already. "You okay dad?" Riley piped up finally looking up from her phone, "Yeah kiddo, just your dad being a fan..." Cooper said giving his daughter a fake smile,she just nodded. "Yeah, I'm so excited to hear 'The Crow' singing, obviously he's not as good as Lady Raven but, he's my second fav." Riley had gushed with a big smile on her face. --- --- Meanwhile, seated in the far rows of the concert hall, you leaned back in your chair, trying to stay out of sight. A few fans had already recognized you and asked for autographs, but now your focus was on the performance. The lights on stage dimmed, and the crowd roared in excitement as The Crow was about to appear. You had come here as a brief escape from your writing, but a part of you enjoyed watching the excitement build, the way the energy of a crowd swelled in anticipation.

As the first chords of the music played, you felt the eyes of onlookers on you. Some discreet, others more obvious, but nothing that grabbed your attention for long—

Cooper Adams, accompanied by his daughter, found his seat a few rows away from you. But something in the way he carried himself caught your attention. You had no idea that this unassuming suburban dad, who appeared so attentive to his daughter, was secretly one of your biggest fans and a very famous murderer. Or that beneath that calm, composed exterior, Cooper’s mind was swirling with fantasies—dangerous, obsessive fantasies.

As his gaze swept the crowd, his eyes landed on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The flashing lights, the noise of the concert, even his daughter—it all faded as Cooper’s breath caught in his throat. You were still here. He hadn’t missed his chance after all.

His chest tightened, his heart pounding as thoughts of submission briefly flickered in his mind. Cooper clenched his jaw, pushing those thoughts away. No, he thought, mentally berating himself. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some needy fool, desperate for your attention—except he was ready to kneel down open his mouth and!!---. His hands trembled as he tried to keep his composure, but every part of him ached to be noticed by you. He wanted you to see him, to acknowledge him, maybe even more than that.

'Control yourself', Cooper, he chastised in his mind. 'You’re not the kind of man to submit. You're the one in charge, the one who dominates.' Yet no matter how much he tried to convince himself, the thoughts of giving in to you—of letting you have power over him—kept creeping in, no matter how much he hated it. He stood next to his daughter, Riley, who was singing, jumping, dancing along to the music, lost in the excitement of the moment.

But Cooper’s mind wasn’t on the singer or the performance. It was on you—the man sitting just a few rows away, your sharp, smoky eyes fixed on the stage, oblivious to the man obsessing over you, a few feet from you. Cooper couldn’t help but stare. His heart hammered in his chest, and a thrill coursed through his veins as he took you in. The famous horror and thriller writer, [Your Name], in the flesh—right there. Every twisted story you’d ever written had fueled his darkest desires fuck he even jerked off to a few, and now you were close enough that he could almost reach out and touch you. He drank in every detail of you: the way you sat, the confident set of your jaw, the subtle intensity in your expression as you watched the concert.

And then, it happened. Your eyes shifted, tilting just slightly in his direction, as though you could feel his gaze drilling into you. Cooper’s breath hitched in his throat when your sharp eyes locked with his. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze around him. You were staring right back at him.

His pulse quickened, a hot surge of excitement coursing through him as a tightening sensation began to build in his pants. There was something primal, predatory, about the way your gaze lingered on him, as if you were sizing him up. It sent a shiver down his spine, a thrill he hadn’t felt in ages (Course he would feel some type of feeling with his kills but none like this). He could barely contain the flood of emotions rushing through him—admiration, obsession, lust.

He shifted his attention briefly to Riley, who was still lost in the performance, her attention fully on the stage. Cooper cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain casual. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart,” he said, a little too quickly.

Riley waved him off without a second glance, too absorbed in the music to care as she went back to dancing and jumpin.

This was the opening Cooper had been waiting for. He smoothed his jacket, trying to appear composed, but the surge of adrenaline racing through him told a different story. 'This is it,' he thought, 'I’m going to meet him.' Stretching lips into a smile. As Cooper made his way through the crowd, each step felt heavier, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. A part of him felt ridiculous—'What am I doing?'—but the other part, the darker side, was elated. This was his chance. His fantasies about you had been building for years, and now, finally, he was going to be face to face with the man who consumed his every waking thought.

When he finally stood before you, his breath hitched again. Up close, you were even more striking—confident, aloof, as if you were completely aware of the effect you had on others but didn’t care.

You looked at him, amusement flickering across your face, your sharp gaze studying him like you were dissecting a character in one of your novels.

“Big fan, huh?” Your voice was smooth, low, teasing. It sent a jolt through Cooper, making him feel exposed, vulnerable, and that made him hate the feeling. But at the same time, he wanted more of it. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to suppress the sudden urge to submit—to give in to the pull you had over him.

“I—yeah,” Cooper stammered, feeling heat creep up his neck as he spoke. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “I’ve been following your work for years.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh? For years?” You leaned back in your seat, eyeing him up and down, your gaze lingering on his well-built frame. Cooper could feel your eyes raking over him, and for a moment, he felt like he was one of your characters—trapped under the scrutiny of a killer, waiting for his fate. He shifted on his feet, the thrill mixing with a tinge of nervousness.

“You don’t strike me as a horror fan,” you continued, your tone teasing, like you were already playing a game Cooper didn’t fully understand yet. “Most dads like you are into, I don’t know, football or action movies.” Your gaze lingered a little too long on his broad chest and strong arms, making it clear you noticed his physique. “But you… you’re different, aren’t you?” The husky voice of your whispered into his ear, as it was really hard to hear over all the fans screaming.

Cooper swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. The way you spoke, the way you looked at him—it was making it difficult for him to think straight. His mind flashed with images of giving in, of submitting to you, of being at your mercy, but he quickly shoved those thoughts away. 'No,' he told himself. 'You’re in control, Cooper.'

But that didn’t stop his pulse from quickening, or the heat spreading through his body as he stood before you, trying to come up with something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete fool.

“I’ve always appreciated the darker side of things,” Cooper finally managed, his voice steadier now. “Your work—it resonates with me.” He said his body slightly leaning to also whisper into your ear. His eyes flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, the primal intensity in your gaze still making his heart race.

You chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. “Is that so? Well, let’s hope you don’t resonate too much with the killers in my stories.” The teasing edge in your voice was unmistakable, but there was something more behind it—something intrigued. You could tell this wasn’t just another fan. There was something off about Cooper, something familiar, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it yet.

Cooper felt a surge of both excitement and unease. He was standing in front of the man who had unknowingly shaped his darkest fantasies, and now he was being teased by him. It was everything Cooper had ever wanted, and yet it was terrifying. His thoughts began to spiral again—submissive urges flickering at the edges of his mind—but he quickly shoved them aside. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t here to submit.

But the way you looked at him… God, it made him question everything. fuck, he's getting hard again.

#cooper adams trap #cooper adams #cooper adams smut #cooper adams x you #cooper adams x reader #cooper adams x male reader #slasher x reader #bottom slasher x top male reader #slasher x male reader #josh hartnett trap #trap movie #obsession #obsessed cooper adams

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deliciousangelfestival · 11 months ago

Text

Underworld Insomnia || 1 - B.Barnes

Character : Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his pshychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

In the world of secret societies for underground criminals, there's a secret place for criminals to stay, a shop for criminals to buy their weapons, basically, criminals live like normal people but they can only go to places that are built for criminals.

That's the rule.

There's also a particular psychiatrist for criminals only. Since many of the criminals have demons in their minds.

For this job, Dr. Ben is the only person the criminals could go to and ask for advice and medicine so they could go to sleep. Most of them can sleep.

But the only person who has trouble is Bucky Barnes.

His name is enough to make everyone in the underworld shiver. His eyes are enough to make his opponents freeze.

Bucky is their answer if anyone wants a job done without any mistakes.

With the money from the job he finished, he could have a comfortable life for generations. But he doesn't need it because all he wants right now is to sleep.

"I tried what you told me. Work out until I'm tired, learn something new, clean all my weapons, upgrade my car, renovate my house with bulletproofing, sex," Bucky said while he lay on the couch, looking at the ceiling.

Dr. Ben kept writing while listening to his patient.

"I even went to pottery class, baking class, painting class, and sex," Bucky counted on his fingers.

"Still. Nothing works. I still can't sleep. It's been 7 years," Bucky said.

Dr. Ben, who kept writing, replied, "Yeah, you have mentioned sex multiple times."

"White noise, pink noise. In the end, I smashed the Bluetooth speaker. None of your methods work," Bucky said as he sat up and glared at Dr. Ben.

Dr. Ben adjusted his reading glasses. He remained calm, probably one of the few people not afraid even though Bucky was angry.

He clicked his pen and put the report on the table.

"Do you want to try reading fairy tale books?" Dr. Ben asked.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you joking with me?"

Dr. Ben replied, "Most of you people have a shitty childhood. Have shitty parents. Perhaps deep down, your kind wants something related to fulfilling your inner child."

Bucky exclaimed, "Woah, doctor, calm down. You're brutally honest here." He sighed, because he knew this method will failed like the rest. "Fine. I'll try." Then he lay back on the couch and closed his eyes.

Dr. Ben picked a children's book and started to read, he flipped through the pages, and began to read aloud, "Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a brave little mouse named Timothy."

"Timothy was no ordinary mouse," Dr. Ben continued, "for he possessed a heart as courageous as a lion and a determination that could move mountains."

"Stop. Stop. It's so weird listening to you. Get someone else," Bucky interrupted, feeling uncomfortable.

Dr. Ben closed the book. "I'll get my apprentice."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You've got a new one?" He knew that none of Dr. Ben's employees stayed that long, given the fear of criminals who kept coming for therapy.

Dr. Ben adjusted his glasses. "She could tame Bruce Banner; I think she could do the same to you."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Dr. Ben got up from his seat and opened his office door. "Y/N, help me for a bit," he called out.

Bucky heard a melodious voice respond, "Yes?"

The door swung open, revealing a woman with a confident stride and a calm demeanor. She had striking eyes that seemed to hold a depth of understanding, framed by a cascade of dark hair that fell gracefully around her shoulders.

Her posture exuded poise and assurance, hinting at a quiet strength within. She carried herself in professional attire with an air of authority, yet there was warmth in her expression as she met Bucky's gaze.

As you approach your boss, he suddenly puts a children's book in your hand.

You look at him, puzzled. "Huh?"

Dr. Ben pointed at Bucky and explained, "This person can't sleep for years. So I want to see if reading a children's story could make him fall asleep."

Bucky huffs in frustration. As a top assassin in the underworld, it's humiliating if he can only fall asleep with a children's book. "Just do it."

You flinch, knowing the man in front of you is dangerous.

Dr. Ben pats your shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, he's just cranky. I'll be here too. I need to see if it's working or not."

"Okay," you respond, then sit in the chair near Bucky's couch.

Before opening the book, you can't help but notice the tattoos on his neck and hands.

"Are you done staring?" Bucky asks, irritation evident in his voice.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," you apologize quickly. "I'll start reading. Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a brave little mouse named Timothy. Timothy was no ordinary mouse, for he possessed a heart as courageous as a lion and a determination that could move mountains."

As you continue reading, Bucky listens intently, his eyes focused on the ceiling as he tries to relax.

"Despite his small size," you continue, "Timothy dreamed of embarking on great adventures and proving himself to be the bravest mouse in all the land."

Bucky's tense expression begins to soften slightly as he listens to the soothing cadence of your voice.

"One day," you narrate, "a fierce dragon threatened the kingdom, causing panic among the inhabitants. But Timothy, undeterred by the danger, volunteered to confront the dragon and save his home."

Bucky's breathing starts to slow down as he gets engrossed in the tale, his earlier restlessness fading away.

"With unwavering courage," you go on, "Timothy faced the dragon, armed only with his wits and determination. And through his bravery and quick thinking, he managed to outsmart the fearsome beast and bring peace back to the kingdom."

As you reach the end of the story, Bucky's eyes grow heavy, and he finally begins to drift off to sleep, a sense of calm settling over him.

Dr. Ben watches silently, nodding in approval as he sees the story's effect on Bucky. It seems that, perhaps, there is power in the simplest of tales to soothe even the most troubled minds.

Bucky's eyes felt heavy. The childish story and your calm voice made him feel relaxed. Your voice seemed more effective than white noise in soothing his troubled mind. As he listened, the tension in his muscles gradually melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility.

Then Bucky opened his eyes, only to realize he wasn't in the same place in Dr. Ben's office anymore. He found himself on a bed inside an unknown room. Panic surged through him.

Had he been kidnapped?

It would bring shame to his name as the feared killer if true.

As he processed his surroundings, Bucky's hand instinctively went for his knife, ready to defend himself. But soon, he recognized the familiar surroundings of Dr. Ben's building. Relief washed over him, though he remained on edge.

A door creaked open, causing Bucky to tense, his grip tightening on the knife. But to his surprise, it was just Dr. Ben.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Dr. Ben asked calmly.

Bucky clicked his tongue in annoyance and massaged his shoulder. "No. Your methods didn't work. I'm still tired."

"Well, that's natural since you've been asleep for three days," Dr. Ben replied matter-of-factly.

Three days?!

He can't believe it, since he has only been able to sleep for one hour each night for the past seven years. Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief as he checked his phone, seeing the date and numerous missed calls and unread messages.

"It worked?" he muttered, incredulous. He had been able to sleep and hadn't even realized it.

Bucky's amazement lingered as he realized that he had slept for three whole days without even being aware of it. It was a stark contrast to the years of insomnia he had endured, struggling to find even a moment of rest.

The tension that had plagued his body for so long began to ebb away, replaced by a newfound sense of calmness and clarity. He couldn't deny the relief that washed over him, knowing that perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope for him yet.

Then, there was a knock on the door. It was you.

"How is he, doctor? Is he still asleep?" you asked, but you gasped when Bucky's intense gaze met yours.

Was he angry? Did he blame you for making him sleep for three days?

"Y/N, is it?" Bucky inquired.

You responded groggily, "Yes?"

Bucky got on his knees, his right hand resting on his left chest and his left hand reaching for you. He looked at you earnestly and asked, "Will you work for me?"

You were taken aback, as was Dr. Ben. Bucky's unexpected gesture felt like it could lead to a significant misunderstanding, resembling a proposal rather than a job offer.

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thought--bubble · 2 months ago

Text

Surprise Sweetheart

Will (Salad Days) X Reader (Scream AU)

Word Count: 3,140

This is my submission for @fandomeventcenter 's FanFrankentober Event.

Thank you for reading my rough draft @schniiipsel and @anjelicawrites

Beautiful Header by @vhagar-balerion-meraxes

Will (Salad Days) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Dividers and Banners by @arcielee

Warnings: Violence, Death, Threats, Fear, Smut (P in V unprotected), Emo Angsty Boy Activities

The night was heavy with an unsettling mix of fear and festivity. While you were typically a big fan of the Halloween season, even you felt that having this party, after what had just happened mere weeks ago, was macabre.

Tom's house was filled with the smell of beer and the sound of drunk people laughing and yelling, but Leah couldn't join in on the revelry.

Just a week ago, she had been with Matt, planning this very party when they received a call that would forever change her life.

“What's your favorite scary movie?” A question that seemed innocuous but was the catalyst that set her world hurtling into chaos.

Both you and Leah had tried to convince Tom and Will that the party should be canceled out of respect for Matt, who had recently been eviscerated by the Ghostface killer while Leah helplessly watched from her sliding glass doors.

Yet they both claimed it would be more disrespectful to Matt if they were to cancel the party, citing how much it meant to him and how “This is what he would have wanted.”

Thus, you both acquiesced, and with that reasoning, neither of you felt that you could skip the party without it being seen as disrespectful to Matt's memory.

When you entered the house, pushing through those you recognized from your area, Leah stood in the corner of the living room, her eyes glossed over as she watched their friends dance and drink. You noticed her disassociated demeanor and walked over to her, quickly wrapping your arm around her shoulder.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice softer than usual. You wanted to handle her as if she were made of glass because you were terrified she could shatter at any moment.

Leah forced a smile. “I’m trying. It’s just... everything feels so different without him. He should be here.” Her eyes flitted around the room, passing over each party guest before she softly repeated, “He should be here.”

You nodded, trying to be understanding of her grief. “Let’s get some fresh air, yeah? We can have a chat.”

The two of you stepped outside; the cool October air chilled your skin, freeing you to breathe after the stifling feeling of being inside. You could still hear the music and voices carry through the air. It sounded and smelled just like every other party, yet felt so different.

“I miss him so much,” Leah whispered, her eyes beginning to water as she valiantly attempted to blink the tears away. You pulled her into a comforting hug, wishing you knew how to help her, yet having no idea how. What does one do to help someone who watched their boyfriend die in such a gruesome way?

Eventually, you got her inside and sitting next to you on the sofa. It was actually nice as you sat in the living room with friends telling stories about Matt and all the wonderful and silly memories people had of him.

Tom and Will talked the most; it didn't surprise you. The three of them were as close as three friends could be, always taking off into the night together and somehow coming back with money, jewelry, and electronics. You learned quickly not to ask where it came from when Will randomly gifted you an MP3 player filled with classical music.

Leah listened for as long as she could, her heart breaking with every story and memory. So when Tom got up and said they were out of beer, Leah jumped at the opportunity to get some air.

“I'll get it!” she said quickly, jumping up from her place beside you. “It's just in the garage, yeah?”

“Yeah, just in the fridge,” Tom gestured toward the garage door.

“Well, while she does that, I’m gonna pop to the toilet,” Will stood and stretched, the blonde curls from below his gray joggers slightly peeking out.

Your cheeks heated up, and you looked away, hoping beyond hope that Tom didn't catch you staring. Yet as soon as Will walked off, Tom called you out.

“Get a good view, did ya?” he teased. “Only a sliver of stomach, and you're tripping over yourself!”

“Shut it, Tom!” You whacked his chest and laughed. “It was… slightly distracting.”

You chatted and laughed with Tom for quite some time before realizing that Leah hadn't returned.

“She's taking ages, isn't she?” You turned around on the sofa, looking toward the garage door.

“Uhh… yeah… I'll go see if she's alright. I'll be right back.” He jumps up off the sofa and heads toward the door.

“Don't say that! Remember Matt's rule!” You chuckled, recalling Matt's rules for surviving a scary movie.

Tom put his hands up, wiggling his fingers and trying his best to make eerie ghost moans. “I'll be right back!”

You chuckle to yourself as the garage door closes behind him. Tom's a goofball and if Leah is in there crying, you know he will be able to provide her at least some sort of comfort.

Yet, as the party begins to clear out the sky outside growing dark you once again turn toward the closed garage door.

“What is taking them so long?” You think out loud. Then you heard a thump upstairs and felt relieved. That must be Leah. She probably went off to cry by herself or just get away from the overwhelming atmosphere.

Annoyed, that Tom couldn't have been bothered to come and tell you Leah wasn't in the garage, you slowly walked upstairs and peeked your head around the bannister once you reached the landing. “Leah?” you whispered.

“Nah, just me, love,” Will walked over to you. “What are you sneaking around for?”

Your cheeks flushed again, as they always did when Will spoke to you. “I'm looking for Leah. I think she's wandered off somewhere to cry or something. Tom was supposed to find her but hasn't come back yet.”

“Trusting Tom when he's off his face?” Will chuckles “We are gonna have to find her then.” Will's hand slipped into yours as he led you down the dark hallway.

You followed him with a goofy grin on your face. You knew you should be worrying about Leah and her current emotional state, but with Will's hand in yours, you couldn't help but lose focus. Leah would understand; she's your best friend, after all.

Will pulled you into a bedroom and flicked on the light. “Not in here…” he said softly, closing the door behind him with a deafening click.

With your heart racing, you turned and looked at Will. “This is Tom's room, isn't it?”

“Aye, that it is.” He nodded slowly, his eyes raking over you as he takes a slow step forward.

You quickly turned your back to him, attempting to distract yourself by looking at the things Tom had on his shelves: a few dusty books, a silver chain, a mug that should be brought to the kitchen.

Will slowly walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder. “Are you aware I'm a bit mental over you?” His warm breath skated across the sensitive skin of your neck, and your chest constricted.

It took you nearly a full minute before you could respond.

“M-me?”

“No, the other bird in this room,” he chuckled lightly into your ear. “Yes, you.”

He turned you around in his arms, brushing his nose up the side of your face. “So pretty, so sweet.”

You preened at his praise, so caught up in the moment that you forgot what you even came up here for.

Will kissed along your jaw, cupping the back of your head in his large hand.

“Been wanting this for a long time.” He mumbled against the skin of your neck as he walked you back toward Tom's bed, and you let him, melting like putty in his hands.

When your legs hit the bed, he gently pushed you down, lifting your thighs around his hips.

“Tom… this is his bed…” you protested weakly as Will continued to pepper kisses along the side of your neck.

“Tom's a mate; he won't mind.” He slid his hand up the bare skin of your thigh and under your skirt. “Trust me, he won't care.”

You lay back, succumbing to his charm. He smirked, knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

“So fucking pretty,” he grunted, pressing his clothed cock against your core. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me,” he demanded, sliding his hand up between your thighs.

“I want it… I want you,” you whimpered pathetically.

“They always act like they do,” he smirked, bringing his mouth back to the crook of your neck.

Your brows crumpled in confusion, but before you could say anything, he thrust two fingers into your hot core.

“Ahh oh fuck, Will!” You panted as he started to thrust his fingers in and out, biting and sucking on your neck.

“You like that, sweetheart? Feel good?”

You whimper and manage to get out a weak “Yes” Your head fell back against the bed as he continued with his hand, bringing his thumb to your clit and rubbing circles on the swollen nub.

“Let's get these off, yeah?” He pulled his fingers out of you and slid your thong down your legs, tossing it out of sight.

“Hey!” You reached after it, and he grabbed your wrists, placing them above your head. His long, thin fingers wrapped around your two wrists with ease, locking you in place.

“We'll find them after. Right now… I'm gonna take what I've been after.” He nipped at your earlobe before reaching down with his free hand to hastily shove down his gray joggers.

You didn't even get a chance to see his manhood in all of its glory before he was sweeping the leaking head through your wet folds.

“We need a con—ahh oh fuck!” Your call for protection was quickly cut off as Will thrust into you to the hilt.

“What was that, love?” He panted above you, his silver chain dangling just over your chin. “I didn't hear you.”

As soon as you went to speak, he thrust into you harshly again. “Speak louder, love. Or… I'll have to make you louder.”

“Ah ah ah fuck, Will!” Your head fell back, and your eyes closed as he increased his pace, the headboard of Tom's bed rhythmically smacking the wall.

“Louder,” he growled, his tempo continuing to increase. Your skin grew hot all over your body, a pressure building between your legs unlike anything you had experienced before.

“Come on, love, give it to me.” He bit into the cove between your neck and shoulder. “Be mine.” He reached between your bodies, searching for your nub, the magic button he could use to send you soaring. He made quick work of rubbing you in harsh circles.

“Say it again” he growled directly into your ear. “Say you want me, you would choose me”

Your brain has turned to mush but you tried your best to get the words out. “I want you! Fuuckkkk oh god!” Your back arches as pleasure shoots through your body. Crackling like an electric snap through every limb, vein, every inch of skin heated and charged with and overwhelming pleasure.

“YOU WOULD CHOOSE ME! SAY IT!” he yelled and gripped your thighs pushing them forward changing his angle.

With a hint of desperation you whimper “I would choose you! Everytime! Oh god yes every fucking time!” Your legs clamp around him involuntarily and you dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

It's hot, It's explosive, it's electric and god damn it's good.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as Will gripped your hips harshly, battering your insides, his narrow-minded focus on reaching his end taking over.

“Fuck, pet, you look so pretty when you cum,” he gasped out between hard thrusts.

“You have to pull out,” you whimpered as his eyes rolled back and he dug his fingernails into the fat of your hips.

He pulled out at the very last second, his warm seed splashing onto your lower belly.

“Fucking brilliant,” he panted above you, his hips still jerking slightly. “Wait here; I'll get you cleaned up.” He kissed your forehead and pulled his sweatpants and boxers back up.

You lay on Tom's bed looking up at the ceiling, panting, willing the harsh thrumming in your chest to slow.

He returned with a warm, wet handcloth, gently wiping away the aftermath of your encounter from your skin.

He helped you redress, his hands moving slowly and gingerly as he lifted each scrap of material back over your skin.

The soft gentleness of his touch now, was in stark contrast with the rough grip he had handled you with before.

Just as you went to wrap your arms around him and revel in your newfound closeness, there was a knock on the bedroom door. You rolled your eyes and let out a huff. Of course Tom would come to his room now.

“Go away, Tom,” Will stated curtly, with a small smile curling at the side of his mouth. He pressed his forehead to yours and moved in for a kiss before the knocking resumed at the door.

Will growled under his breath. “Hold that thought, darlin.” He disentangled himself from you and went to the door, whipping it open quickly. “WHA—” his word was cut short when he saw Ghostface in the doorway.

“Run, sweetheart!” Ghostface drove his knife down into Will's chest. The scene was too horrific for you to comprehend.

You brought your hand to your mouth and gasped. This can't be happening.

As Will fell to the floor, Ghostface ascended upon you, and your fight-or-flight response kicked in. As he rushed you, you turned, grabbed the empty mug on the shelf behind you, and smashed it on his head before jumping over the bed.

You cringed as you jumped over Will's motionless body and flung yourself into the hallway.

“HELP!!! SOMEONE HELP!” you screamed through the hallway as you flew down the stairs to find the front door blocked by the wooden TV stand from the living room.

Your eyes quickly landed on the garage door, and you rushed towards it. You could hardly get the door open fast enough before sprinting inside, only to come to a screeching halt.

There before you, crushed under the refrigerator, was blonde hair and copious amounts of blood.

“Leah?” Your voice cracked in agony as you took a tentative step toward the gruesome scene. “Leah, please get up… please… PLEASE!”

Your heart nearly stopped as the garage door started to slowly lift, the clanking of the aluminum material feeling like a fatal chime.

As soon as you saw boots with a slight covering of flimsy black material across the front, you bolted back inside.

The hair stood on the back of your neck as you tried to think of a way to escape. You couldn't go through the blocked front door or the garage. The only option left would be the back door through the kitchen.

You scurried down the hallway with such speed that your feet hardly touched the ground.

As soon as you reached the kitchen, you screamed—a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream—when you felt Ghostface’s cold, clammy hand wrap around your arm.

“GET OFF!!!!” you screamed in sheer terror. You had to get away. Ghostface turned you around to face him, and you were staring directly into that mask. That horrid mask.

“Who… who are you?” You didn't bother trying to hide the trembling in your voice, basically succumbing to the idea that you were going to die right here, right now.

When he pulled his mask off, your jaw dropped to the floor. Tom was staring back at you, a smile on his face. He was smiling. How was he smiling?

“You?” You stopped fighting, suddenly overcome with confusion. “But why? Matt… Matt was your friend! Will was your friend!”

“He needed me to,” the eerie response chilled you to the bone.

“Who?” Your voice came out as a broken whisper.

Tom's face changed from one of deep thought to one of deep rage as he lifted the knife over your chest. “He needed me to be a fucking man! I let him down before, but I won't this time!” He plunged the knife down toward you, and you pushed away with all your might.

As you broke free, the knife swung past you, with a movement so strong you could hear it cutting through the air, you turned to run again, towards the back door, but instead ran directly into a hard chest.

You looked up to see Will looking down at you, a soft look on his face.

“Hey” His voice is soft and he strokes your hair gently. Its completely out of place for this moment.

“Oh thank god! Will! It's Tom! Tom's the killer!” The words tumbled out of your mouth as relief flooded your veins. Surely, Will was going to keep you safe after all you shared earlier.

You felt the sticky wetness of his shirt and looked at your fingers. The blood. There was so much blood.

“How… how are you… how are you standing right now?” You looked up at him, your bodies still pressed tightly together.

Will looked right back down at you, but instead of that cute crooked smile you're used to, there was a smile that set your nerves on edge. There is no love of care in this smile. Just pure mania. You felt his hand slide up the side of your body as he brought a white plastic box to his mouth.

“Surprise, sweetheart.” His voice came out garbled and distorted, and your heart sank down to the bottom of your stomach.

“No… no… this can't… no…” Your voice cracked as your world seemed to cave in around you from all directions.

“But why?” Hot tears streamed down your face as you looked up at him. “Leah? Matt? How… how could you!” You smacked and punched at his chest in frustration.

“Leah chose him over me. Rejected me like it was nothing, like they all do, LIKE EVERYONE DOES!” His voice boomed throughout the room, a sound so foreign.

At a loss for words, you simply stared up at him.

He gripped your chin and tugged your head towards him. “Like you would have done.” He rubbed his thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

“I wouldn't… Will, I swear I wouldn't.” You brought your hands up and held onto his biceps, willing him to believe you. “Please.”

Will chuckled and let go of your chin before reaching into his back pocket and raising his knife above you.

“I know, love. You'll never get the chance.”

To be added to taglist click here

#will salad days #will salad days fic #ewanverse #my emo angsty bf #ewan mitchell verse #ewan mitchell fanfic #jess fics #fan frankentober 2024

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clownyclaushoe · 8 days ago

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art the clown x reader | bringing in the new year with a bang 🔞

spontaneously started writing this earlier after taking a nap 😄 unfortunately it's pretty short compared to my other works 😒 new year's eve with boyfriend art, with some fluff and romantic missionary fucking 😏😫 really the only warning is minor knifeplay and brief blood and death mentions

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

it was the last day of the year, the clichéd time when everyone wants to change everything about themselves, to evolve to someone different, better. it's a introspective time, when one looks back at the past year and ahead to the next year with hope and anticipation that only ends up lasting about a week or two, at most. you didn't bother making any resolutions for the coming year, you just knew you wanted to keep enjoying your life along side your boyfriend, art.

you'd met him this year, and it was the best thing that's happened to you - not only this year, but in the last few years.

when you'd returned home to his lair from the store earlier, art had surprised you with a little celebratory set up: a bottle of expensive champagne, two crystal champagne flutes, two paper party hats, and a "happy new year" banner taped to the wall that art wrote "let's have a killer year" over top with something that suspiciously looked like blood.

you wondered fleetingly what unfortunate soul had to die for him to acquire this haul of items.

as midnight soon approached you'd turned on art's tv to play new year's coverage, the staticky reception and low volume so it's like white noise in the background.

you walked back to where art was waiting for you, having filled both glasses with bubbly. though champagne wasn't your usual drink of choice, you would partake if the occasion called for it, like spending a romantic night in with your boyfriend.

you clinked glasses with him, both of you drinking, you watched him, giving his body a glance up and down over the rim of your glass. no doubt art had noticed, a knowing twinkle coming to his eye, a sexy smirk spreading across his mouth.

your attention is drawn to the television as the countdown to midnight begins. art gives a surprised gaping expression, taking both your glasses and placing them on his work bench table.

when it reached midnight, art slapped his hands excitedly and grinned, knowing it means you'd share a midnight kiss.

you smile at him, so endeared your heart aches, and when he leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, 'auld lang syne' playing softly in the background, the moment is so tender and perfect, you nearly swoon in his embrace when his arms wrap around you.

the kisses get more passionate, your hands wandering over his clown costume, and soon he carries you to the bed in the corner, stripping you both of your clothes.

he winds up lying on the bed, with you on top of him, kissing down his beautiful slender, pale body. you pause at his tummy, sitting up and grabbing your pocket knife from the bedside table.

you nick a small cut to your upper chest, squeezing the flesh together so that the blood will appear. art's eyes widen while he leans up to lick and suck the blood away, his hands gripping your hips to gently push you off him and onto the bed. he gets on top of you, the full weight of him making you feel safe underneath him.

he grabs his fully hardened cock, stroking quickly a few times before he pushes inside you, the familiar nearly painful stretch of your pussy around his fat girth sending sparks throughout you already. art was the best fuck you'd ever had, his demon clown cock satisfying you like nothing ever could.

"yes, baby, come on," your hands on his shoulder and back, pressing kisses to the base of his throat and up his neck.

he keeps his face close to yours as he thrusts quickly, the wet slap of skin-on-skin almost as loud as your moans and whines for art. your legs wrap tighter around his waist, the slight change to the angle of his thrusts making motion of his cock in and out of you all the more sweeter, the drag of his shaft pulling against your swollen clit, the piston of his hips pushing so deep inside you, his upward curved cock hitting your g-spot each time.

you are both so close to unraveling, you can feel it in the way his thrusts start to become less coordinated, and you clench around him helplessly wanting to come, desperately wanting to milk every drop of cum from him, to make him feel as fucking good as he's making you feel.

when he comes, mouth dropping with a silent moan you watch for as long as you can before your own orgasm grips you moments later. everything turns black, your mind going blank as your whole body shakes in glorious awe, like fireworks being set alight and rocketing up to illuminate the night sky. when you come back to yourself, you stare up at art and he smiles back at you, the type of smile you know is reserved for you alone. if this was the best thing that happened to you all year, it still would be one of the greatest nights of your life - just like every night you've spent with art.

you hold his face and lean up to kiss him. "happy new year, baby."

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

please like, reblog and/or comment, i'd really appreciate it. thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

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gingerkunoichii · 26 days ago

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FANART 1 2 3 (i love you) After leaving your old university under a cloud of scandal, you arrive at Konoha University, ready for a fresh start.

Once queen of the party scene, your killer smile and sharp edge left a trail of broken hearts. The drug fuelled nights, bad decisions, and neon-lit chaos follows you. Alpha Kappa Blossom, a sorority with varying characters welcomes you and you feel like you've known these people for a lifetime very quickly—but nothing comes without strings.

Your past still lingers. No matter how loud the music and whatever you take to sedate yourself from reality, you can’t outrun the fallout.

// WARNINGS // Recreational Drug Use, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Alcohol, Drinking to Cope, Partying, Greek Life, Fraternities & Sororities, Modern AU, Drunk Sex, Bad Decisions, Fratboy Akatsuki, Fratboy Konoha 11, Most Men Being Fuckboys, Sisterhood, Casual Sex, Drug-Induced Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Toxic, Abusive Relationships, Blackmail, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Huge General Trigger Warning

PLEASE READ TAGS ON AO3 FOR MORE INFO

Chapter 1 You had anticipated your first day at Konoha University would be awkward, but reality surpassed expectation in the worst way. The air outside the dorms was thick with the stale scent of overcooked cafeteria food, cigarette smoke, and restless energy. Faded banners proclaiming "Welcome New Students!" hung askew from upper windows, their colours washed out by time and indifference. You adjusted the strap of your worn duffel bag, its weight biting into your shoulder, and wondered—for the hundredth time—if transferring there had been a mistake. This was supposed to be a fresh start, but now it felt like stepping into a world you were never meant to enter.

The dormitory loomed ahead, stark and institutional, its white paint peeling in long strips and identical windows staring blankly into the distance. Swallowing the knot of unease tightening in your chest, you forced yourself through the entrance. The lobby was bedlam—students wandering aimlessly, parents arguing with stressed-out staff, and someone half-heartedly strumming an acoustic guitar in the corner like they were auditioning for a coming-of-age film. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.

Your dorm assignment paper read: Room 314B - Nara Hall. You climbed a narrow, groaning staircase, your heart pounding for no good reason except that everything about this place felt like it was closing in on you. The third-floor hallway smelled faintly of musty carpet and a failing attempt at floral air freshener. After passing a series of identical, chipped doors, you found your room at the very end of the hall.

Taking a steadying breath, you pushed the door open.

The room was... cramped. Two twin beds flanked opposite walls, accompanied by mismatched furniture that looked like it had been salvaged from a thrift-store clearance bin. A single window offered a grim view of the cracked, sun-bleached dorm parking lot. One side of the room was starkly empty—but the other side assaulted the senses.

Posters of conspiracy theories and what you assumed to be arcane symbols smothered the walls, tangled with string lights and Polaroid photos of abandoned playgrounds and distorted forest landscapes. A life-sized cardboard cut out of a low-budget sci-fi character stood vigil by the window, holding a sign that read “WELCOME TO THE VOID.”

And there she was—your roommate.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, clad in striped knee-high socks and a worn T-shirt reading “I Talk to Ghosts” in dripping, horror-themed font. Her choppy, dark hair was pinned back with mismatched coffin-shaped clips. As she meticulously painted her nails with toxic-black polish, she hummed an off-key tune.

Her heavily lined eyes snapped up as you entered, widening theatrically.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, dropping the nail polish onto a precariously stacked pile of books labeled Paranormal Phenomena: Volumes 1-6. “You must be the new girl, I was told by the TA that you’d transferred here into second year! I knew you’d show up.”

You blinked. “Uh… yeah. I’m Y/N.”

She leapt from her bed with unsettling enthusiasm. “I’m Izumi! But my coven calls me ‘Nightshade.’ Well, it’s not officially a coven… yet. But it will be. Eventually.”

You just… stared.

“I manifested you,” she continued proudly, gesturing toward a battered Ouija board displayed prominently on her desk. “I did a summoning ritual for a ‘kindred spirit,’ and—” she pointed emphatically at you—“here you are!” Her grin was disturbingly earnest.

For a moment, you seriously considered turning around, walking out, and requesting a new room assignment. But something in the way her expression softened—like she was genuinely hoping you’d stay—gave you pause.

Against all better judgment, you stepped further into the room, dropping your bag onto the empty bed.

“Cool,” you said flatly, masking uncertainty with indifference. “Just… no goat sacrifices or anything.”

Izumi clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is going to be so much fun! ”

You already regretted everything.

Before you could even unzip your duffel bag, Izumi— or Nightshade—sprang from her bed like a coiled spring, crossing the room in three long, almost theatrical strides. Her combat boots thudded softly against the scuffed linoleum floor as her long, striped socks scrunched with each step.

“So! What’s your major?” she asked eagerly, tilting her head like a curious raven inspecting something shiny.

“Uh...” you replied cautiously, still adjusting to her overwhelming energy. “I’m majoring in arts.”

Her eyes widened, practically glowing with excitement. “Arts! That’s perfect. You’re probably one of those tortured-artist types who creates things that make people feel uncomfortable... or haunted.” She gestured wildly as if envisioning some dark, twisted masterpiece. “I knew the universe wouldn’t stick me with some boring business major.”

You let out a faint, exasperated sigh and turned back to unzip your duffel bag, already dreading the rest of this bizarre conversation.

“What’s your zodiac sign?” she pressed, undeterred.

“Scorpio,” you answered flatly, figuring it was easier to cooperate than resist.

She let out a delighted, almost sinister laugh, spinning on her heel as if energized by your answer. “ Of course you’re a Scorpio. I could feel the dark, brooding energy when you walked in.” She nodded to herself as though confirming a long-held suspicion.

You sighed inwardly. “What’s yours?” you asked without looking up, folding a well-worn hoodie and stuffing it into the tiny dresser.

“Capricorn sun, Pisces moon, Scorpio rising,” she declared proudly, her hand placed reverently over her chest. “I’m basically a cosmic enigma.”

You paused, glancing at her from the corner of your eye, you had no idea whatever the fuck those words meant. Her expression was deadly serious, as though she truly believed she was some otherworldly being.

Not knowing how to respond, you continued methodically unpacking your clothes, your fingers brushing against a familiar worn book tucked among your things— The Collected Works of Sylvia Plath . You hesitated, then shoved it deeper into the drawer.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” she continued, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper.

“Not really,” you admitted, still bent over the drawer.

“Oh, you will, ” she said with a knowing smirk, leaning in slightly like she was sharing a forbidden secret.

You shot her a wary glance. “Right.”

Izumi dramatically leaned against her bedpost, crossing one leg over the other as her combat boot bounced rhythmically against the frame. Her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement, practically devouring every word you spoke.

“Any exes I need to know about? Stalkers? Cursed objects you brought with you?” she asked, her voice equal parts nosy and fascinated.

“Just... normal stuff,” you muttered not wanting to let her know a single thing about you, shutting the drawer a little harder than necessary and wondering how long this interrogation would last.

“Normal is boring, ” she sighed dramatically, tossing her hair over her shoulder with practiced flair. “But don’t worry— I’ll fix that.”

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment too long, glittering with something between amusement and intent.

You couldn’t tell if she was joking—or making a promise.

Suddenly, Izumi clapped her hands together with a sharp smack . “Oh! There’s going to be a university fair tomorrow for all the new students. They’ll have sororities— bleh .” She stuck her finger dramatically to her mouth and made an exaggerated gagging sound, rolling her eyes with theatrical disdain.

You bit back a smirk despite yourself.

“Clubs... and my club.” Her expression lit up like she had just revealed the meaning of life.

You raised an eyebrow. “Your club?”

“The Supernatural Society!” she declared proudly, throwing her arms wide like she was summoning the spirits themselves. Her combat boots scuffed the linoleum as she took a commanding stance, practically glowing with excitement. “I’m the president, obviously. ”

Of course she fucking is, you thought dryly, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s only the most important club on campus,” she continued, pacing dramatically as though delivering a speech to an unseen audience. “We investigate the unknown, explore the unexplained, and seek truths that others are too afraid to uncover.”

She stopped abruptly and jabbed a finger toward you, her gaze piercing. “You should definitely come. Even if you’re technically a second-year, you’re basically new here.”

Izumi leaned in slightly, lowering her voice into something almost conspiratorial. “We could use someone like you.”

Her eyes gleamed with intent, and for a second, you couldn’t tell if she was inviting you—or recruiting you.

You hesitated, trying to suppress a wave of unease. She’s... real fucking intense.

Before you could answer, she launched back into her pitch. “We meet in the old art studio in East Hall. They say it’s haunted—which is perfect for our sessions.” Her fingers flexed like she was already imagining the next eerie ritual. “Candles, chanting... sometimes the lights flicker, but that just adds to the vibe, you know?”

You crossed your arms, studying her carefully. “Do... other people actually join this club?”

Her face lit up with genuine pride. “We have seven members right now. Quality over quantity!” she said quickly, then added, “But honestly, you seem... different. ” Her eyes narrowed slightly, appraising you like she was looking through your skin, searching for something only she could see.

You simply stared into her dark eyes, giving her absolutely nothing to work with. Of course you'd be roomed with an absolute fucking weirdo. Sure you were weird in your own way, but there were such things called boundaries.

“I’ll... think about it,” you said cautiously, already wondering if avoiding this so-called Supernatural Society would be impossible.

Izumi grinned, satisfied. “Good.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you had just agreed to—or what you might’ve gotten yourself into.

After stuffing the last of your clothes into the dresser’s creaky drawers, you let out a weary sigh. Unpacking felt like peeling off a layer of tension, though the strange energy radiating from your roommate, Izumi, never wavered.

Before you could even react, she leapt from her bed. “Alright, enough stalling—we’re going to the university fair.”

“I just unpacked—”

She seized your wrist like an impatient spectre. “No excuses. You’re new. We must stake our claim.” The university quad buzzed with chaotic energy. Booths stretched endlessly in uneven rows, each fighting for attention with blaring music, glittering decorations, and too-loud voices. Flyers fluttered in the breeze, sticking to shoes and swirling like confetti from hell.

A sorority girl with a blinding white smile and neon-pink crop top waved pompoms aggressively from atop a decorated table. “ Join Delta Zeta! ” she screamed, voice sharp enough to pierce metal.

Absolutely fucking not, you thought.

“They reek of fake tan and desperation,” Izumi muttered, sneering.

Students in Greek-letter hoodies patrolled like predators on the hunt. A blonde guy with long hair and a wild grin leaned lazily against a booth marked Sigma Omega Omicron . His sharp blue eyes sparkled with something both inviting and dangerous.

Next to him, a tall, muscular white-haired guy with tattoos covering his arms barked crudely at passers-by. “Oi, you scared of fun or just allergic to living?!” he roared, throwing his arms wide.

The blonde snickered. “Bet you couldn’t handle one party, princess. ”

You halted mid-step, spinning on your heel with a snarky smile. “You’d be surprised.”

His smirk faltered for a split second before returning with twice the arrogance. “ Feisty. I like that.”

Izumi yanked your arm. “Don’t engage with the delinquents.”

“Typical SOO trash,” she hissed, her chopped hair moving briskly as she shook her head. “Don’t even look at them.” Hidan hissed back at her, earning him a quick middle finger. The Sigma Omega Omicron booth radiated chaotic energy, surrounded by a growing crowd of curious onlookers and reluctant recruits. More members emerged like predators circling prey: a tall, muscular guy with piercings and a stitched-together leather jacket—Kisame (Events Coordinator)—stood intimidatingly close to the table, cracking his knuckles for emphasis causing you to roll your eyes.

Behind the table, a lean, pale-skinned man with sharp features and onyx eyes meticulously shuffled through forms like he was managing a hostile takeover rather than a booth for a frat. His nametag read Itachi (Secretary).

The silver-haired man that had been shouting at freshmen plopped himself down, flicking a lighter repeatedly while balancing precariously on a folding chair. His shirt read “Repent Later.” His nametag: Hidan (Social Chair).

Deidara’s name was written dramatically with the role underneath it being smudged to the point you couldn’t read it, the long-haired blonde who had made an ugly pass at you, gestured grandly toward the banner with spray-paint streaks declaring “JOIN SIGMA OMEGA – WE MAKE HISTORY” in bold, messy letters. “Come on, cowards! Live a little!”

“Or don’t,” Hidan added with a wicked grin. “We’re still better than you.”

Izumi muttered darkly, pulling you further away. “They’re like feral dogs in overpriced boots.” Her gaze lingering a little too long on the dark-haired man whose name tag proclaimed him as Itachi.

You couldn’t help but glance back as the crowd erupted into another round of laughter and taunts. What the actual fuck kind of university is this?

Nearby, other booths clamoured for attention: the Literature Society displayed old typewriters under a poetic sign reading “Write Your Own Destiny.” The Astronomy Club had a telescope pointed skyward, even though it was broad daylight. Someone dressed as a medieval knight swung a foam sword near the Historical Reenactment Society booth.

As you wove through the crowd, the atmosphere shifted. Loud music and hooting laughter blasted ahead. A massive banner with electric-blue letters read “DELTA OMEGA STORM - TONIGHT’S ONLY DESTINATION!”

A makeshift DJ booth blared a pounding beat while the group of men at the Delta Omega Storm booth worked the crowd like seasoned pros. Their energy was magnetic, chaotic, and absolutely ridiculous.

A broad-shouldered guy with wild brown hair barked out, “Free drinks for the hot girls, no one else need apply ! ” His sharp-toothed grin gleamed like a warning. His name tag, slapped crookedly across his chest, read: Kiba (Social Chair).

Next to him, a tall guy with long, dark hair and piercing eyes surveyed the crowd with detached coolness, his lean build and folded arms making him seem untouchable.

Another with a varsity jacket and messy blonde hair clapped an unsuspecting freshman on the back. “Delta party tonight ! ” he shouted with cocky ease. “Best night of your life, guaranteed! ” His name tag was peeling at the edges though you could make out his name was Naruto.

Near the booth’s edge, a stoic redhead in a dark hoodie stood like a silent sentinel, his intense gaze sweeping the crowd as though assessing threats—or targets.

A sharp-dressed man with cold, pale eyes stood off to the side, arms crossed as though enduring the chaos for some calculated reason. His posture radiated authority though he looked like he’d rather be running an investment portfolio rather than standing next to a neon party banner.

A quiet figure with round, dark glasses adjusted a flyer display with surgical precision, every motion deliberate and efficient. His intense focus suggested he took his recruitment duties far more seriously than his companions.

Finally, a lanky, bored-looking guy with a perpetual slouch fiddled with a pen, twirling it in fluid, lazy motions. His eyes were half-lidded, giving the impression that existence itself was exhausting. His name tag, stuck on upside down, was impossible to read from the distance you were at.

“Don’t come if you’re gonna be boring ,” he added flatly, drawing easy laughter from nearby girls.

You snorted. The sheer absurdity of their roles being listed so formally on these cheap paper name tags was almost comical. This wasn’t a university fare—it was an overly elaborate invitation to debauchery.

“Want to check it out?” you asked Izumi, half-joking.

She snorted. “ Them? They’re not as bad as SOO... but still... reckless. ”

You smiled faintly. Reckless sounded exactly like what you needed or else you’d bore yourself doing art alone in your room all year– a nightmare in itself, especially seeing your roommate.

Without another word, you shrugged off Izumi’s warning. What the hell . Your so-called fresh start was already spiralling into chaos; you might as well lean into it, just like you did before at your old university, for better or worse.

Izumi sighed in clear disappointment, folding her arms. “I’ll see you later, then. If you have time, you should check out the Supernatural Society booth.”

You barely held back a scoff. “Sure.” Like fuck you were spending another second with her and her cursed objects collection. You’d rather eat glass.

She shot you a long, knowing look before disappearing into the crowd, her dark hair swinging sharply with each step.

You strode confidently toward the Delta Omega Storm booth, shoulders back, chin high. Caution was something you’d never had when making shit decisions.

As you approached, the wild-haired guy—Kiba, according to his name tag—locked onto you with the sharp intensity of a predator sizing up potential prey. His posture shifted, straightening just enough to exude aggressive confidence.

He tilted his head, brazenly dragging his eyes over you like he was inspecting goods at a dodgy market. “You here to actually party, or just look pretty and waste my time?”

The audacity hit you like a slap. Before you could stop yourself, you fired back, “Depends. Are the drinks cold, or are you serving frat-boy delusions on tap?”

His mouth twisted into something between amusement and challenge. “Alright. We could definitely use more of that tonight.”

Behind him, the tall, dark-haired guy—Sasuke, his name tag read—let out a quiet, derisive snort. His sharp, unreadable gaze met yours for a fleeting second before shifting back to the crowd. His lean frame radiated disdain, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes.

“Name?” Kiba asked, already snatching up a flyer from the cluttered stack on the table.

“Y/N.”

His grin widened into something feral. “Y/N, you just earned VIP. Don’t disappoint.” He thrust a glossy, neon-bright invitation into your hand.

You smirked despite yourself. Being reckless was in your nature.

“Hey! You over there!”

Startled, you glanced up to see a sleekly decorated sorority booth positioned directly opposite Delta Omega Storm’s chaotic display. A large pastel-pink banner read Alpha Kappa Blossom (AKB) in elegant cursive. The whole setup was polished, sophisticated, and surprisingly modern—no neon-orange spray-tan disasters in sight.

Finally, some fucking normalcy, much more to my taste.

A tall, striking blonde with piercing blue eyes waved you over, her bright smile practically sparkling under the afternoon sun. Her nametag read “ Ino - Vice President. ” She rested a manicured hand on her hip, her sleek ponytail gleaming like something out of a haircare commercial.

“You look like you belong over here! ” Ino called enthusiastically, gesturing toward the booth’s carefully arranged display of glossy sorority brochures and immaculate floral arrangements.

You hesitated but found yourself walking toward her anyway. After surviving the testosterone-fuelled circus of Delta Omega Storm, this felt... refreshingly normal - she reminded you of your old friends, when things were good between you all at least.

“Welcome to Alpha Kappa Blossom!” Ino beamed, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Ino, Recruitment Chair. You’ve got great energy—I can tell already.”

Her confidence was magnetic but not overbearing. The women stationed around the booth radiated similar charisma—polished, stylish, but undeniably sharp.

You caught glimpses of other girls chatting with prospective members: a dark-haired woman with striking lavender eyes organizing pamphlets with precise care, a tall, athletic brunette adjusting a trophy display, and a petite, pink-haired woman enthusiastically leading a group of freshmen on a booth tour.

You shook Ino’s hand firmly. “Y/N.”

Her smile widened. “Y/N. Love that. Ever considered going Greek?” She tilted her head, studying your expression like she could read between the lines.

You shrugged casually, knowing not to say much. “I was in a sorority at my last university.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against the edge of the booth’s sign. “Then you already know how it works! We’re throwing a welcome event tonight—you should definitely come.”

You glanced back toward Delta Omega Storm’s loud, chaotic booth where Kiba was now howling towards a freshman girl something about “body shots.” The contrast was almost laughable.

God, anything’s better than getting stuck with that creepy roommate. You’d sooner dive headfirst into Delta’s questionable pool than spend another evening hearing about manifestation.

“Alright,” you said, flashing a faint smirk. “I’m in.”

“By the way,” you asked smoothly, “do you guys plan to hit the Delta Omega party later?”

Ino’s grin widened knowingly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Totally. After the welcome event, of course. They’re our brother fraternity.” She rested a hand on her hip, radiating effortless confidence.

The dark-haired woman with lavender eyes—whose name tag read Hinata - New Member Educator —approached with a warm, genuine smile that softened her otherwise regal demeanor. “You should come. The parties are... energetic.” Her soft voice carried a hint of amusement, as though she knew far more than she let on. You found it incredibly useful that everyone on these booths were wearing name tags.

Before you could respond, the athletic brunette— Tenten - Event Planner —laughed as she tossed a stack of brochures onto the table, her toned arms flexing slightly. “Delta Omega’s parties are legendary. Just... watch out for Kiba. He thinks he’s charming.” She rolled her eyes affectionately, clearly accustomed to his antics.

You smirked, shifting your weight casually. “Yeah, I met him. Total salesman.”

The pink-haired girl— Sakura - President —returned, practically buzzing with excitement, her energy palpable even in the chaotic fair setting. “You’re definitely coming, right?” Her green eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm as she handed you a neatly folded invite printed with shimmering gold letters.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said smoothly, already feeling more at home.

Ino clapped her hands together with satisfaction. "Perfect. You’ll fit in here just fine." Her tone was confident, almost like she’d already claimed you for the sorority.

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she tilted her head. "So you said something about an old university... are you a freshman?"

"Second-year," you replied casually. "Art major. Transfer student."

Ino’s interest visibly deepened. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to uncover the juiciest piece of gossip. "Ooh, transfer? Why’d you switch schools?"

You smirked, savoring the slight tension hanging in the air. "Maybe after a few shots, I’ll tell you."

Ino gasped playfully, pressing a hand to her chest like you’d just issued the ultimate challenge. "I’m holding you to that, if I remember to ask."

As the conversation continued, the sorority girls began filling you in on the night’s itinerary. “We’re hosting a pre-party mixer at our house first,” Tenten explained while rearranging some event flyers with efficient precision. “It’s less... chaotic than Delta’s. But after? We’ll head over together.”

“Think of it as... maintaining balance,” Sakura added with a wry smirk. “A little elegance before absolute madness.”

Hinata nodded, her expression thoughtful. “And it’s tradition to arrive together. It keeps things... coordinated. We do everything with our brother fraternity.”

Coordinated, you thought, amused. They operated like a well-oiled machine, blending genuine friendship with the sharp calculation of practiced social navigators.

Ino leaned in conspiratorially. “Also... word of advice? Don’t let Naruto talk you into any drinking contests.” Her smile turned wicked. “He’s undefeated, and you will regret it.”

Sakura snorted. “He lives for that dumb King of Shots title.”

Tenten chimed in with mock seriousness. “And if you hear someone yelling about ‘legendary feats’—just walk away.”

Your eyebrow twitched upwards in wonderment of whatever the fuck that could even mean. You laughed, imagining the chaos already. “Good to know.”

As you lingered by the booth, you couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they interacted—not just with you, but with each other. They weren’t playing a role or putting on an act. This was their world: stylish, commanding, and irresistibly magnetic.

“See you tonight,” Ino said with a playful wink, waving as she moved on to greet another curious student.

You slipped the invitation into your bag, feeling the spark of anticipation ignite in your chest.

Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

AO3 LINK so you don't have to scroll :)

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lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 14 days ago

Text

The Prophecy Chapter 3: Please, I've Been on My Knees

Summary: Aurelia retreats to her private quarters after their wedding feast and Lucius visits.

A/N: Thank you everyone for taking this journey with me! This may be the shortest chapter of the series but who knows. I hope you keep enjoying this story! If you want any specific blurbs from this universe, I can take requests! ALSO, I started making a playlist for this story so, if you want it, let me know and I can share it. Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage, hint of marriage consummation, she's not excited about consummation but she consented, flashback, Geta being Geta, Lucius being an okay dude and not pressuring our girl.

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

Flashbacks are labeled as such.

Aurelia’s private quarters were dimly lit by a few flickering candles, their flames casting long shadows against the marble walls. The opulent chamber was still and quiet, far removed from the jubilant clamor of the banquet hall. Aurelia stepped inside, her crimson gown trailing behind her, her face drawn with exhaustion and a kind of quiet fury that had built throughout the evening.

She crossed the room with deliberate steps, her shoes clicking softly against the polished floor and came to a stop in front of the wide window, looking out at the twinkling lights of the city below. The moon hung high, casting a pale light over the Roman rooftops. It should have been a sight of beauty, but to her, it was just another reminder of the cold empire she was a part of—one that had stolen so much from her, including her peace.

Behind her, she heard the quiet rustling of fabric as Lucius Verus entered the room. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. His presence was unmistakable, as it always was. He had been quieter tonight than she expected, but then again, he didn’t need to speak to make his presence known. His energy filled the room with a heavy tension, the kind that always lingered after a battle—an uneasy truce between two warriors who had fought their own wars, even if they had never met on the battlefield.

"I didn’t think you’d be here so soon," she said, her voice betraying the fatigue in her bones.

Lucius didn’t answer right away, and when she finally turned to face him, he was standing by the door, his posture rigid, as if he too were unsure of what to do with the space between them. He had removed his imperial cloak and his tunic, revealing the broad expanse of his shoulders and the hard lines of his body, still as striking as ever. But there was something else about him—something softer now, something that seemed less like an emperor and more like the boy he must have been in his faraway childhood, a time before all of this.

Aurelia felt a sudden pang of something she couldn’t name—a fleeting sympathy, perhaps?—but she quickly shoved it aside. She had learned long ago to bury her emotions, to guard her heart. There was no room for such weaknesses now.

Lucius’s piercing blue eyes met hers, searching, almost as if he were attempting to read her.

"Did you mean what you said?" he asked, his voice low, but the question hung in the air like a challenge.

Aurelia didn’t flinch. She wasn’t afraid of him, not in the way others were, not anymore. She had already seen what he was capable of—he was a gladiator, a killer, a man forged in the heat of battle. What could he possibly do now, except attempt to break her.

But she was already broken.

"I meant every word," she replied sharply, her voice gaining strength. "I will never love you, Lucius. I will never be your ally by choice. But I am here. I will play my part, for Rome and for the Empire."

Lucius didn’t react at first. He just stood there, watching her. His gaze was steady, unwavering, but there was something different in it now—less of the emperor’s cold authority and more of a man who had seen too much of life’s cruelty to believe in anything like love.

"You think I want your love?" His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, but it carried a certain bitterness that made her pause. "You think I came into this marriage with the hope that we’d be some great power couple, ruling Rome with passion and glory? I have no illusions, Aurelia Carina Cassia."

The use of her full name—Aurelia Carina Cassia—felt like a weight, as though he were not just speaking to her, but to the very woman she had been before all of this. The name she had been born with, the name that had been tied to another life. A life that was no longer hers.

"Then why did you marry me?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She had asked herself the same question countless times, but hearing him speak so bluntly, without pretense, it made her want to understand.

Lucius's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. "Because I had no choice," he said, his voice low but firm. "I couldn’t rule without legitimacy. I needed you to secure my claim. Your bloodline... the Empire needed to see me as the true heir."

Aurelia felt a sudden wave of disgust flood her, but she fought it back. She had known the truth from the moment she had been offered the choice: marry Lucius or die. There was no illusion of love here. No romance. Only survival.

"Just like me," she said bitterly, her eyes narrowing. "You needed my bloodline. I needed your power and protection."

Lucius’s eyes darkened slightly and he took a step toward her, closing the distance between them in a way that felt more predatory than protective. "We are not so different, are we?" His voice was softer now, tinged with something that felt like understanding—but whether it was real or just another layer of manipulation, she couldn’t tell.

Aurelia’s pulse quickened. She felt a strange mixture of irritation and something else—something she didn’t want to name—stir inside her. She had been in control of her emotions for so long, yet here he was, reminding her of everything she had tried to bury.

"Don’t mistake me for someone you can control, Lucius," she said, her voice suddenly cool and sharp. "I am not a prize to be claimed or a piece of property to be used. I may wear your crown, but I will never be your puppet."

Lucius didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, he stopped in front of her, his gaze locked on hers with that unnerving intensity. For a moment, there was silence, and the only sound in the room was the soft flicker of the candles.

"Who says you have to be?" he asked, his tone shifting again—this time with a flicker of something like respect, or perhaps understanding. "Maybe we don’t have to be anything to each other, Aurelia. Maybe we can just exist in this world, for whatever time we have left, without trying to change the other."

Aurelia swallowed, her chest tightening at his words. There was something in his eyes now that made her feel exposed, as if he could see through her carefully constructed walls.

For a moment, she considered saying something else—anything else—but she bit her lip and kept silent. She had no more words, no more energy to fight. This marriage, this empire—it was a cage, and they were both trapped inside it.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "We will exist. For as long as we must."

Lucius nodded, though his expression remained unreadable. He stepped back, giving her space, but the tension between them was still palpable, hanging thick in the air.

"I’ll leave you to rest," he said quietly, turning toward the door but before he could reach the threshold, Aurelia’s voice stopped him.

"Lucius," she said, her tone softer now, though no less guarded.

He paused, glancing back at her.

"For what it’s worth," she said, her words hesitant but true, "I don’t hate you. Not yet."

Lucius’s eyes flickered with something—maybe surprise, maybe something deeper—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he gave her a short, almost imperceptible nod and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Aurelia stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, her thoughts a swirling mass of anger, confusion, and something she was too afraid to admit.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers curling around the fabric of her gown and let out a long, shuddering breath. In the Roman world of power and survival, love had no place. All she could do was endure.

And in the silence of the room, she realized that perhaps, in this strange marriage, endurance would be all they would ever have.

Flashback ~ Wedding Nights and Feasts

The grand hall of the imperial palace was alight with the glow of hundreds of candles, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the marble columns and golden tapestries. The air was thick with the sound of voices—nobles and senators, officials and soldiers—laughing, clinking goblets, and speaking in hushed tones of political matters, all the while pretending to enjoy the extravagance of the evening.

Aurelia sat at the center of the room, her back straight and her face a carefully composed mask of regal calm. The feast was elaborate, more lavish than any she had seen before, with tables laden with roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries of all kinds, and goblets of wine that never seemed to empty. It was a celebration meant to mark the union of two powerful families, a political marriage cloaked in the facade of love and festivity.

Beside her, Geta sat in his place as Emperor, his posture rigid and his eyes scanning the room, his expression cool and detached. He rarely spoke to her, his lips pressed together in an unreadable line as he occasionally exchanged formal pleasantries with the dignitaries at his side. He did not look at her directly, but rather, his gaze seemed to skim over her, as though she were just another part of the evening’s decoration—a beautiful, silent accessory to a ceremony that had more to do with power than affection.

Aurelia shifted in her seat, the weight of her wedding gown pressing down on her shoulders. It felt heavier than she remembered, the delicate silk and embroidery stifling in the warmth of the hall. The wine, which she had sipped sparingly, made her head spin a little. The noise of the crowd seemed distant, like the murmur of waves crashing far away, while the tension in her chest built steadily. She wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but beside Geta, who barely acknowledged her presence.

She glanced up at him, and for the first time that evening, their eyes met. His gaze lingered for a moment—barely a second—but in that moment, she saw something flicker behind his dark eyes. A glimmer of something unreadable.

It was not affection, but perhaps it was acknowledgment. Or perhaps it was just the weight of the situation bearing down on them both. He was the heir to the throne, but he was also, in some ways, as much a prisoner as she was. Aurelia quickly looked away, not wanting to read too deeply into it. They were both bound by duty. Perhaps that was all they ever would be.

"Empress Aurelia, it is a pleasure to finally see you in a laurel wreath. It suits you well," came a voice, pulling her from her thoughts. It was one of the senators, his smile oily and too wide. He was leaning in, his wine-stained breath making her skin crawl.

"Thank you," she replied coolly, offering a tight smile, but her attention was drawn back to Geta. The way his mouth tightened when his twin entered the room, or how his gaze flitted from guest to guest, never settling on her. He was far more interested in the politics of the evening than in the woman at his side.

The moments dragged on, the sound of clinking cutlery and polite laughter filling the air as the night deepened. Aurelia’s stomach twisted with the knowledge that she would spend many more nights like this, forced to sit at the table, to smile, to pretend that this was her choice.

Her fingers, which had been tightly gripping the edge of her goblet, tightened around the stem, her nails digging into the delicate glass.

Geta, still barely acknowledging her, looked up then, catching her eyes once again. This time, there was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps curiosity, or even frustration. But whatever it was, it was gone in a heartbeat. He turned his attention back to the men beside him, a conversation about military matters beginning to unfold.

The night wore on with little change. The banquet was lavish, yes, but it felt more like a gilded cage. The guests praised her beauty, complimented her elegance, but they never asked her what she thought. No one cared for her opinions, her desires. It was all about marriage. It was all about power. Duty.

After what seemed like an eternity, the music began to swell, signaling the end of the feast and the start of the traditional dances.

Aurelia had no choice but to follow. She was led away from her seat by a servant, her movements stiff and controlled. She did not look at Geta as she passed him, but she knew he would be at her side for the next dance.

As they joined the throng of dancers in the center of the room, Aurelia caught a glimpse of Geta moving toward her. His movements were slow, calculated—his posture never changing, even as he took her hand in his. His fingers were firm, but not gentle. There was no warmth in his touch, only the cold certainty of what was expected of him.

The music swelled around them, and they began to dance. The movements were practiced, each step a part of a ritual that had been passed down through the generations. But even as they moved together, Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a sharp sense of isolation. She was surrounded by the thrumming beat of the music, the eyes of the court watching their every move, but there was no connection. Nothing to bridge the distance between them. She felt as though she were dancing with a stranger.

Geta’s gaze remained distant, his eyes fixed somewhere far beyond her, as if he were looking at the empire rather than his bride. He did not seem to care for the spectacle, for the performance. He danced because he had to—because it was expected of him.

Her chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down. This was her life now. A life of duty and silence, of rituals and politics.

When the dance ended, Geta offered her a curt nod, his hand slipping from hers with no more warmth than when it had first touched her. He turned and walked away, lost in the swirl of the crowd, leaving Aurelia to stand alone at the center of the hall, her heart heavy with the weight of it all.

Hours later, the imperial palace had quieted. The last of the guests had been sent away, and the halls were still. Aurelia had changed out of her wedding gown, donning a simple silk robe that was far more comfortable than the heavy dress she had worn for the ceremony and the feast. She had been bathed and prepared by her attendants though she felt no sense of relief. The ceremony was over, but the reality of her marriage had just begun.

Her chambers were vast, opulent and yet it still felt hollow, as though the walls themselves were closing in on her. Aurelia sat at the edge of her bed, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on her shoulders. The soft light of the moon filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Enter," she called out, her voice steady despite the apprehension twisting in her gut.

The door creaked open, and there he stood: Geta, dressed in a simple night tunic, his expression absolutely unreadable. He glanced at her briefly before stepping inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Aurelia stood, her heart pounding in her chest. This was the moment. The moment that would define their marriage, the moment that would bind them together—at least, in the eyes of the empire.

Geta didn’t speak at first, his eyes scanning the room with an almost clinical detachment. It was as though this was just another political alliance, another transaction. Not a marriage. Not an intimate bond.

Transactional.

The emperor walked toward the bed, his movements deliberate, but not rushed. He removed his shoes and sat at the edge, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension.

Aurelia swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She stood across from him, her hands trembling as she clasped them in front of her.

"Is it... time?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the question feeling strange even to her.

Geta turned his head slightly to look at her, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something softer in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold, distant look she had grown quickly accustomed to.

“It is,” he replied, his voice steady, but there was no warmth there.

Aurelia’s heart sank as she stepped toward him, the enormity of what was to come hanging between them like a weight. This was not the passionate union she had imagined. This was not love. This was duty.

Geta reached for her, his touch firm but unfeeling, pulling her toward him. There was no tenderness in the way his hands gripped her, no gentleness in the way he kissed her. His lips were cold, mechanical, as though he were performing a duty rather than seeking a bond.

And how she hoped it could be something. She already felt so lonely.

Aurelia closed her eyes, feeling the disconnect between them. The weight of their marriage, the distance between them, settled deeper in her chest. She didn’t feel loved. She felt like a pawn in a larger game that she had no control in.

She had no choice. She could not pull away. This was her life now. No love. Only duty.

Please the Emperor. Give him heirs. Serve at his side.

As Geta’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, Aurelia stood still, her body stiff and her mind elsewhere - somewhere by the seaside. She felt the sting of loneliness in the marriage bed, the ache of emptiness that nothing could fill.

And when it was done, when he withdrew and settled beside her, there was nothing.

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