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uglypastels · 6 months ago

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omg what about Logan being like the softest with a sensitive/shy reader. Idk in what context like maybe she’s just overwhelmed with life and kinda closed off in terms of voicing what’s wrong and you know he’s usually very stoic but he’s the BIGGEST softy. Totally not projecting btw.

YEsss Logan is such a fucking softie, no matter how hard he'd want to try and hide it. thank you for being my first request for this fandom i hope i can do it some justice 🫶 and pleeease, we love to project here so please, go right ahead.

warnings: darkness. anxiety. loneliness. alcohol. fem!reader. reader's mutation specified. mentions of past [implied toxic] relationship. so some angst but also bunch of fluff at the end. also please don't come for me if he's a bit out of character. this is my first time writing Logan so it will be trial and error.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

It was the dead of the night. Quite literally. All around you was so quiet and dark that the rest of the world might as well have ceased to exist. All you heard was the floorboards creaking under your footsteps as slivers of moonlight illuminated your path through the corridors of the mansion. It was the rare instance that you felt at peace.

Yes, you knew almost as soon as you stepped inside the large building and saw all these mutants walking around happily and carelessly that you had found a true safe haven, and yet, months later, you still had not found your bearings. It did not help that you were not exactly in the age bracket of most of the residents here. Having the mansion double as a school meant most of the mutants were in that school-going age range, and while they were lovely (for the most part), you had no desire to befriend children. Then, those who you felt more drawn to socially, like Storm or Jean, were all apart of that special ops team, which always left them busy, if not completely absent, while away on missions.

Thus, most of your days went by in solitude. Something you had gotten used to throughout your life. Over the years it had become natural for you to simply disappear into your surroundings. Wether you wanted to or not, people simply overlooked you. In hindsight, it explained your mutation perfectly… or was that just an aftereffect of it? You had always wondered if it was one’s personality that influenced the mutation or the other way around.

Either way, for you, it all merged into one dark abyss.

By now, you had gotten a hang of all the floor plans of the giant building, especially the route between your room and the kitchens.

You hadn’t checked the clock when you got out of bed, but it must have been around 2 am, if not later. You didn’t expect anyone to be up at this ungodly hour. Especially not walking out of the dark kitchen exactly as you were coming through the threshold. The two of you bump, chest to chest, and the contact immediately made you burst out in a high-pitched scream. From the other side of the impact, you heard a muffled grunt and the sound of a blade being pulled. That was enough for your flight or fight mode to activate. You almost choked on the deep breath you took. The blade swung in your direction, but it only slashed the air where you once stood.

‘Who’s there?’ it was a male voice. Hard and deep, almost wild. In your other form, your eyes adapted much better to the dark, and so you could see him looking around himself wildly. You counted the sharp appendages in his hands— no, they were coming out of his arms— six long claw-like blades ready to impale the very first thing that’d move.

There was no doubt about it that this must have been the infamous Logan everyone around the mansion talked about. From what you had heard, he had been away for almost a year on some top-secret assignment for the Professor, but now he had apparently returned.

And what a comeback he has made, nearly stabbing you in the hallway.

‘Who’s there?’ he repeated his question louder, still looking around.

‘Just me.’ Your voice came out as the exact opposite of his, soft and weak, and you immediately regretted your words. Just me, as if he was supposed to know what that meant.

But it must have done the trick, as Logan retracted his claws. His shoulders visibly slacked at the lack of imminent danger.

‘Well, Me, you can come out of hiding. I’m not gonna hurt ya,’ he grumbled, ‘let me just turn the light on–’

‘Wait!’ You squeezed your eyes shut and let the cool air of the night brush over your bare arms. When you opened them again, all you could see was Logan’s large frame standing inside the kitchen, most likely hovering over the light switch, surprised at your sudden call.

‘Sorry, you can uhm– turn the lights on now.’ And like that, with a quiet flick, the kitchen illuminated with a soft orange glow.

Logan’s eyes were immediately on you, scanning you up and down for any sign of recognition, but you already knew there would be none. Even if he had ever seen you before, there never was.

‘Do I know you?’ he cocked his head with the question, and all you could do was shake your head.

‘I doubt it.’ No one knew you, but that didn’t feel like a smart response.

‘Care to introduce yourself, Bub?’ He leaned against the wall with the light switch, and maybe it was his overall greatness as he practically towered over you, but you felt a rush of heat fall over your face as he looked down at you in expectance. Awkwardly, you pushed out the sounds that formed your name, with a bonus of an extended hand for him to shake.

‘And you must be Logan, right?’

He confirmed your suspicion with a grunt as he took your hand, squeezed firmly, but not painfully, and shook it once. Then, silence fell between you.

Two strangers who met in a complete, nearly fatal accident. It was only to be expected you would have nothing to say to one another. But you were, after all both awake this late in the night, and that was enough to compel you to talk.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Just got back, actually.’ His eyes glanced to your side and that is when you noticed the duffel bag that lay in the corridor. Then, only when you looked back at him did you take in what he was wearing. Not the expected gym shorts or sweatpants with an old shirt. Instead, Logan was dressed in a black button-up under a dark motorcycle jacket. With that, he had a boot cut-jeans and the boots to match. From the tiny dark dotted pattern on his shoulders and the light pitter-pattering that was occurring outside, it was visible he had just come from out of the rain.

Immediately, a parade of questions entered your mind. Where had he been? Why did he come back so late? What was he doing in the kitchen? And so much more, though none of it would leave your mouth as you doubted he would talk to you about his secret mission.

‘You alright?’ His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, and you realised how you must have looked. Staring up at him with wide eyes, not saying a single thing. Another heat flare hit your cheeks.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

He cocked his head in an examinatory fashion. The disbelief evident in his eyes.

‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’

‘Relatively,’ you shrugged. ‘Got here a few months ago.’

‘Parents kicked you out?’ He assumed the most common backstory that comes with the residents of the mansion.

‘Not exactly,’ you kept your response short. After all, you could hardly tell a stranger you just met that your boyfriend had kicked you out of your shared apartment when he found out about your genetic abnormality. You had never been sure how he would have reacted, but the events that unfolded were even beyond your imagination. But the past was the past, and you didn’t want to dwell on it. The important part was that not a day after this conversation, you were crying in your car with nowhere to go. It was by chance that weeks after your break-up/eviction, you stumbled into some other mutants who told you about the Professor. You weren’t too sure about going to seek shelter at a school of all places, but in reality, the Academy was much more than that. Though it did give you the perfect opportunity to safely train your abilities.

That and so much more was what went through your head, but you didn’t say any of that to Logan. Why would you? He didn’t know you. He didn’t care about your problems, and you didn’t blame him for it.

On the contrary, you appreciated that he didn’t press you for more details. When you answered the way you did, he simply nodded in understanding and made his way over to the fridge. The blue glow illuminated his tense features. Strange, for a man who had been a year on the go on some secret spy adventure, you would have expected him to return at least a bit beaten up. But besides maybe some signs of a bad sleep schedule, no form of strain was visible on his face.

‘You want something?’ he looked over at you, making you realise you had been, in fact, staring and not very subtly either.

‘I’m good, thanks.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he went back to inspecting the contents of the fridge before sighing with disappointment. ‘They still don’t have anything stronger around here?’

‘Oh, if you’re looking for beer–’ you walked over to a cabinet at the other end of the kitchen. You tapped a corner, and a small code pad appeared. You tapped in the code, and the cabinet opened to reveal a fully stocked mini-bar. ‘Scott had it installed over the summer,’ you explained when you saw Logan’s confused expression.

‘Explains the babyproofing.’ He walked over, and you handed him a cool bottle of beer.

‘Well, it is a school after all.’ You held in a smile as the thought occurred to you that the kids might not have been the only ones who weren’t supposed to know about the secret compartment. The rivalry between Cyclops and the Wolverine was known all too well around the whole campus, even for newcomers such as yourself.

Logan smirked, taking his beer. You were about to offer a bottle opener, but he hit the neck of the bottle against the edge of the table and with a pop and a clink, the cap came right off.

‘Here,’ he exchanged your bottles, giving you the open one. You watched him repeat his actions with the second drink. Your eyes were still on him as he chugged down half of the beer in one go. He probably could have downed the whole thing if it wasn’t for his look down at you, most likely noticing your entranced look.

‘That staring a part of your powers, too, then?’ he commented, and the acknowledgement immediately made you turn your head in the direction of the window.

‘Sorry. I just— I tend to do that, I guess.’ You wrinkled your nose. Being on your own around so many people, you had gotten used to people watching, observing them from a distance like a show on TV that you kept on for the background noise.

‘What do you do, anyway?’ He asked bluntly, ‘I thought I had done you in good back there.’

‘You would have,’ you chuckled, remembering just how close his claws had come into contact with you. ‘It’s hard to explain. I just kind of—’ You noticed the shadow that fell over the floor from the table and lightly grazed it with the tip of your toe. With a deep breath, the world in front of you changed. Except the exact opposite was the truth. ‘Disappear.’ You finished the sentence, punctuated by your new state.

Logan’s eyes widened as you disappeared in front of his eyes. Where the shock came from, he couldn’t explain. He had encountered these sorts of mutants before. But this felt different than regular invisibility or teleportation. With his heightened senses, he could always detect those sorts of hijinks. No one ever disappeared to him. But you— as soon as you had faded away, it was as if you had completely fallen off the face of the earth. Not a single trace of you lingered behind. When you spoke, just as you had in the hallway, your voice didn’t seem to be coming from one place. It was all around him, almost like a whisper, a voice inside his own head.

With a blink of an eye, you reappeared before him. Just as you had stood there moments before.

‘There’s not really a name for this, I think; at least no one around here could come up with anything that made sense.’ Not that you had any conversations that made people interested enough to do the research. ‘But from my own understanding, I kind of become one with the shadows.’

‘And what about the light?’ he recalled your yelp when he had tried to turn on the light.

‘I merge with the dark, and so when new light sources interfere… it’s not pretty.’

Logan simply nodded as he took the last swig of his beer.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, you leaning against the counter and he against the large table.

‘You’re doing it again, Bub.’ He smirked, calling out your lost stare.

‘Sorry,’ you hadn’t even realised you were doing it. You had just been looking around the room and may have, perhaps, accidentally lingered a look at his frame for a few seconds. And then you caught sight of his hands. More specifically, his knuckles. There was a faint pink glow on the skin, but besides that, you would never be able to tell that deadly claws could grow out from there. You blinked. ‘Sorry.’ You were doing it again. Quickly, you drank the rest of your beer. The bitter taste lingered in your throat, suffocating the burning questions that you wanted to ask.

‘Spill it out.’ He hit you by surprise with the command.

‘Uh–what?’

You knew there were plenty of mindreaders around, but you had not thought it was one of Logan’s abilities. ‘How did you–’

‘It’s all in your face, sweetheart. You think just ‘cause you’re quiet, you’re hard to read, don’t you.’ His assumption left you a bit stunned. It wasn’t that you had thought exactly that, but more so that you never considered that you were making any expressions that were that easy to interpret, as you never really had anyone pay that much attention to you to point it out.

‘If you want to say something, just say it.’ Logan said the corner of his lips lifted in a small smile. ‘If you’re wondering if it hurts,’ he looked down at his knuckles, ‘it hurts just as any other one-foot-long knife cutting through skin.’

‘That’s awful.’ You gasped, considering what it must be like to have such a mutation that inadvertently harmed you any time you used it.

‘You get used to it after a while.’

Another round of silence. This time, the longer it went on, the more you started thinking how you must be inconveniencing him. With the beers drank, there was little for you both to still be doing here, but also didn’t want to be rude by just up and leaving. After all, you didn’t know Logan very well.

‘You sure you’re alright?’ He asked, coming out from behind the table.

‘Yeah.’ You tried to smile but could tell it probably did not reach your eyes. Logan moved with a sense of apprehension, unsure of how to approach you. Being a year on the road, not to mention the years of solitude before he had joined the Professor’s team, had not exactly prepared him for these kinds of situations. He didn’t know the right things to do or to say. But to you, just his presence was enough. Just him being there, talking, or in this case, just seeing you, was more than you could have asked for. ‘I’m good.’

And yet, ironically, though you had actually meant it for once, you really did feel alright, but something about the situation caused tears to prickle in the corners of your eyes. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that made you overly sensitive. Or the alcohol.

You blinked the tears away and smiled awkwardly. ‘It’s just been a long day.’ or week. Month. Year. How about your entire life?

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ There was that quirk in his lip again, that ghost of a smile. And you couldn’t figure out if his response was just a sarcastic quip, understandably referring to his past days, which you were sure did not consist of a walk in the park. Or did he actually mean it, and he did want you to tell him more? Well, your moment of contemplation brought on another wave of silence, and the heavier it fell, the worse you felt to go back to your problems.

The sudden sound of footsteps pulled you back into your world. People must be slowly waking up; meanwhile, you hadn’t had an hour of sleep yet, and the effect of that started to hit.

‘I should— should probably go.’ You muttered, taking small steps in the direction of the door.

‘Well, the offer always stands.’ Logan followed you with his eyes, turning in his spot as you passed by him. See you around, Nightshade.’

‘What?’ the nickname caught you off-guard, stopping you in your tracks.

‘Sorry,’ Logan winced, ‘I don’t know—’ that’s what he gets for trying to be cute.

‘No, don’t apologise. I like it.’ Your smile finally found its full form. A “thank you” almost slipped past it, but you held yourself back. It felt too cheesy to get all sentimental about something as silly as a nickname. Especially since he didn’t know what it meant for you. He didn’t need to know didn’t think you’d ever belong amongst these people enough to get a moniker.

And maybe it didn’t mean anything at all, maybe he had just said it as a mindless comment on your powers. Or maybe not. Maybe he had really tried hard to put that smile on your face.

You would never know.

Unless you took that one small step. Because, of course, all you had to do was ask, just like he had told you, but maybe another time. For now, you just bid him farewell, hoping for that next opportunity to certainly come sooner than later.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 month ago

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it's the next best thing - part one

part two || part three

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson || ~22k, complete || phone sex || accidental love confessions || there was only one bed || getting together || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || wet & messy || friends with benefits || oral sex || rimming

This is my gift for @eyesofshinigami for @steddieexchange! This is part one of three, as it got a little long for a Tumblr One-shot. I hope you like it!

It’s been hours since Robin clocked out, and Steve’s barely hanging on. He misses spending entire shifts sitting behind the counter as Robin threw balled-up receipts at the back of his head, squabbling like children over who gets to pick that night’s movie. But Keith’s all up in a tizzy over their labor numbers, and so he’d split their dynamic duo right down the middle.

They’re like ships passing in the night now, and Steve’s bored.

The stupid bell on Family Video’s stupid front door hasn’t jingled in long enough that Steve’s begun melting into the front counter, head pillowed on his folded arms, legs barely keeping him upright. Mondays have always been the slowest night of the week, and as winter sinks its icy claws into Hawkins, fewer and fewer customers are showing up past six p.m.

Robin’s going to be mad when she opens tomorrow and finds all the tapes he’d been supposed to rewind still stacked by the TV in the back room, but sue him—the shine’s wearing off real quick on this entire job without her at his side.

When the phone rings shrilly in his ear, it’s almost a relief. He’ll take Mrs. Carruthers nagging complaints on the state of kids’ movies these days over another moment of this endless, lonely, monotony. He doesn’t raise his head as he reaches fumbling fingers across the counter to snatch the phone from its cradle, pressing it to his ear.

“Thank you for calling Family Video,” he drones out in the customer service voice he’d learned at Scoops and perfected during Friday night rushes, made worse when the new releases hit the shelves. “How can I help you?”

It’s silent for a moment aside from the staticky sound of an open line. But then there’s laughter drifting down into his ear, alternating between braying and giggly—Steve would recognize that little donkey snort anywhere.

He’s already smiling into the meat of his forearm when another voice, deeper than it usually is, asks, “what are you wearing, big boy?” before dissolving into peals of elated laughter, mixing perfectly with Robin’s own hiccuping giggles.

Steve straightens up. He catches sight of his own face reflected back at him from the dark windows and for the first time that night, he’s glad no one else is here. It’d be hard to explain the force of his grin and the way his cheeks have turned splotchy and pink even in the cold air.

Steve dutifully waits for a break in the laughter to answer Eddie’s question. “White sweater, green vest, blue jeans, white sneakers,” he lists out, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fights against himself to maintain that same droll tone.

The laughter starts up again, spurting like a sprinkler on the fritz. Something crashes over the line, and Steve knows without having to ask that it was Robin as Eddie’s laughter takes on a hysterical edge. Steve’s smiling again, face hurting with the strain of it. He wishes he could be there, sitting between the pair wherever they are, but if he can’t, this is the next best thing.

“That’s so cute, baby,” Eddie replies when he finally gets a handle on things, that same deep tone telling Steve that the bit is still going on. It doesn’t stop warmth from pooling low in his stomach as he bites his lip, the term of endearment ringing through his ears.

“Thanks,” Steve says, wincing when it comes out all breathy. He clears his throat and diverts the topic of conversation. “You stealing my best friend?”

Eddie gasps, sounding almost affronted as he replies, “of course not! We’re leaving a space right in the middle, just for you.”

“You were the tie-breaker for the movie pick, dingus!” Robin calls, voice faint like she’s a little too far away to be properly picked up by the receiver.

“You always side with Robin, Stevie,” Eddie sighs. Steve can picture it—Robin and Eddie on separate sides of the Munson’s couch, passing a joint back and forth, pausing long enough in between each hit like his ghost might want to have a pull of its own. “It’s enough to make a guy think you don’t like him.”

“I like you,” Steve blurts, wincing and closing his eyes when the words register.

The silence rings louder than any response Eddie could have given, deafening Steve in the quiet of the abandoned video store. It’s all too much, made worse by Eddie finally responding with a stilted, “I—oh.”

Steve rubs at his closed eyes, suppressing the groan creeping up his throat. God, why can’t he just stick with the joke? Why does he have to spew his stupid feelings all over everything?

“Well that’s—” Eddie starts when it becomes clear that Steve’s not going to be saying anything to make this moment any less awkward. But suddenly, he just…doesn’t want to hear what Eddie has to say.

“Uh, customer,” Steve interrupts, hoping the lack of ringing bell isn’t obvious over the phone. “Got to go, bye,”

“Oh, oka—”

Steve slams the phone down hard enough that the plastic creaks. Now, alone with his racing thoughts and poor life decisions once more, Steve drops his head down on the sticky counter with a groan.

It’s going to be a long, lonely night.

***

As Eddie listens to the dial-tone filter down the line, he smacks his head into his kitchen cupboard, the shitty door rattling loosely on its hinge as he tries to strangle himself against its plywood surface.

“Why did you let me do that?” Eddie whines, even though “let” is a strongly misleading word. Robin, ever the shit-stirrer, had dialed the number herself and shoved the ringing phone into his fumbling hands just before Steve’s tinny voice had come through the phone’s speaker.

Robin hiccups, and it sounds wet enough that Eddie finally puts the phone back on the cradle and turns around, limbs loose and uncoordinated from the pot brownies they’d burnt to a crispy charcoal but eaten anyway. She’s on the floor where she’d collapsed mid giggle-fit and been unable to get back up. But she’s all out of smiles now as tears trail down her freckled cheeks.

“’m sorry,” she cries, rubbing her closed fist against her streaming eyes, hair haloed out against the dirty linoleum of the trailer’s small kitchen. “Just missed him.”

“You saw him this morning,” Eddie snorts, but lays down next to her, resting his head against her stomach. Her clumsy hands paw at his head, fingers catching in every knot as she tries to sooth him.

“But it’s Steve,” she says, like that will explain everything. And really, it does. He is Steve, and he and Robin were surgically disconnected in the womb or something. They’re going to grow old and die together, and Eddie’s only a little bit bitter about not fitting into that same equation.

“Yeah, Robby, I know,” Eddie sighs, blinking up at the flickering fluorescent lights drilling through his skull. He can’t seem to get up, though, thoughts swirling around themselves, making useless patterns in his brain that are impossible to follow.

They’re quiet aside from Robin’s waning sniffles, her heels kicking rhythmically against the tile like she’s keeping count, fingers tapping against the top of his head like she’s practicing her fingering for one of the songs in marching band. Eddie loves her so much. He should have known to never, ever give her drugs.

“Is it just me or did he sound sort of flustered?” Eddie asks, and Robin’s fingers drop back to his head, clutching at the roots of his hair hard enough to hurt as she dissolves into cute little giggles again, knees pulling up as she curls into the fetal position around his head.

“Uh, customer, got to go, bye!” she calls, rushing it all together in her haste to mock her best friend’s fumbled sign-off.

Eddie laughs right along with her, but there are butterflies fluttering around in his ribcage, rabbiting his heartbeat up to an alarming gallop.

Steve drops from the conversation after that, and it doesn’t come up for the rest of the night. Not when the munchies get the best of them and they order a pizza, or when Robin shoves one of her stupid subtitled French films into the VHS player and they both squint at the screen, too out of their gourds to follow the confusing plot.

Robin might have forgotten the entire thing; Eddie does not.

It lingers in the back of his mind, creeping over him like mold until he finds himself in front of the phone the next night right around the same time, hand hovering over the number pad, fingers damn-near shaking with the desire to punch in the number he’d had to scour the phone book for. The one he’d written down and stuck onto the fridge with a magnet, hoping Wayne wouldn’t ask any questions when he inevitably catches sight of it.

And that’s the thing. He couldn’t even claim it was spur of the moment this time. It was premeditated. And it feels that way as he finally dials and listens to the line ring.

“Thank you for calling Family Video. How can I help you?”

“What are you wearing?” Eddie asks. It comes out of his mouth on a raspy whisper, rumbling deep in the recesses of his throat.

Steve laughs, sounding downright delighted as he asks, “Robin put you up to this?”

Eddie can almost see the smirk that must have crept across his face. He twirls the cord round and round his finger, wishing desperately he could see it in person.

“Uh, no,” Eddie says, voice three octaves higher than it had started out, feeling hot all over as he jumps up onto the counter and settles his head back against the cupboard. “Your better half has fled the coop.”

Steve laughs again, and Eddie wants to drown himself in it. Instead, he clacks his heels against the cupboards behind him, trying to keep from blurting out something stupid.

“So, it’s your idea this time?” like he knows Robin well enough to know she’d dialed the number and put the phone in his hands. He’d be jealous if he wasn’t in love with both of them in his own special way.

“All the better to make you laugh, my king,” Eddie replies, cringing at the stupid little voice that comes out of his mouth. “I would be failing in my court jester duties if I didn’t perform at my king’s behest.”

“You think you’re that funny, do you?” Steve asks around a laugh.

“Well, at my count, you’re at three laughs already, your highness.” Eddie counts them out on the fingers still tangled in the phone cord, like Steve will somehow be able to see them from miles away. God help him if he can, with the way Eddie’s twiddling his fingers and blushing like a schoolgirl on her first date.

Steve scoffs, but there’s another laugh hidden beneath it, so happy and warm that it lodges itself in the recesses of Eddie’s chest. He presses the phone hard enough against his ear that the cheap plastic creaks, unwilling to miss even the smallest of sounds Steve might make.

“Fine, fine, you’re funny, Munson,” Steve says, voice lilting up like he’s still fucking smiling. “You can call your king anytime.”

“How gracious, your majesty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, snorting at Eddie’s antics. “Now what’ve you been up to all day? Preparing your material to call little old me?”

“You’re just jealous that some of us aren’t forced to be capitalist monkeys,” Eddie replies.

“Monkeys?” Steve asks, laughing again—Eddie’s count is now up to five.

“Yeah, you know, with the whole monkey suit you’re forced to wear.”

“It’s a vest,” Steve huffs before putting on a voice that’s soft-spoken and sultry. “With how often you ask what I’m wearing, it seems like you would’ve remembered by now.”

Eddie sputters as Steve’s sibilant whisper slips down his spine, making him shiver. Steve isn’t supposed to turn the flirting back onto him. There are rules, goddammit.

The conversation segues into Steve complaining about the absentee parents barely paying attention as their kids smear candy all over the VHS’s on display, really only proving Eddie’s corporate monkey crack right. Eddie doesn’t mind—anything to get Steve not to use that voice again.

It goes on for minutes, Eddie hanging on every word, every laugh, every sound, like this is something they do. Even though this is the first time they’ve ever talked on the phone without Robin back-seat talking behind one of them. Even though they don’t even really hang out alone, always sequestered in groups.

All the better to keep Eddie’s stupid, ridiculous, hopeless crush from exploding out of him and killing everyone in the line of fire.

But, as Steve hangs up with a rushed, “customer, sorry!” this time with the accompanying sound of the bell on Family Video’s front door, leaving Eddie to listen to the staticky dial tone instead, he can’t regret calling. Not with Steve’s laughter still ringing in his ears.

He stands there clutching the dead line to his ear for an embarrassingly long time.

***

Steve means to tell Robin about it the next time they share a shift. Really, he does. But then she spends the first thirty minutes of their two-hour overlap talking about her most recent one-on-one hangout with Vickie, and Steve spends the rest of their time before the after-work rush hits, hyping her up to finally make a move. By the time Robin’s punching out, Eddie’s name hasn’t come up even once.

He can feel his window of opportunity dwindling as Robin grabs her bike from where she’d stashed it in Keith’s office that morning, wheeling her dirty tires toward the front door.

“Hey, Robin?” Steve asks, just as her hand settles on the door, ready to swing it open.

“Yeah?” she says, focused on rifling through her pockets, making sure she has her house key after one too many times making it all the way home to find her house locked up tight, and her keys dropped somewhere between Family Video’s shelves.

Steve watches her, and feels the moment pass him by. “Want a ride to work tomorrow?” he asks instead of saying, I really like Eddie, or, do you know why he keeps calling, or, do you think I have a chance? It feels more like a bathroom conversation anyway, and if Keith catches them both in there again while the front of the store remains unmanned, he’s going to fire them.

“Always,” she says, waving half-assedly toward him without turning back around.

And just like that, she’s gone, none the wiser to Steve’s inner turmoil, spiralling into full-blown anxiety the closer it gets to what he’s beginning to think of as Eddie’s usual call time. It’s just—they don’t do this. They don’t call, they don’t hang out without Robin or the kids, and they sure as hell don’t ask each other what the other is wearing in that deep, wanting tone of voice.

At least, that’s what Steve had thought two days ago. Now, he’s not so sure.

When the phone rings at exactly eight p.m. that night, Steve knows who it must be on the other side of the line.

“Eddie?” he asks, forgoing his usual customer service spiel. He’s rewarded with a bright, happy laugh that hits him straight in the sternum.

“Is that how you greet all your paying customers?” Eddie asks, smile audible in his voice.

“As if you ever pay.”

“I have!” Eddie cries indignantly. “Wait, no you threw me off! What’re you wearing?”

“This again?” Steve asks, groaning as if the question doesn’t send his guts squirming every single time Eddie’s voice drops into that suggestive register. He shouldn’t answer, should nip this whole thing in the bud before it spirals entirely out of his control.

But Eddie doesn’t break the silence—Steve can’t even hear him breathing, and Steve’s never been that strong-willed. “Striped polo, jeans, sneakers, work vest. There, you happy?”

“I don’t know, Stevie,” Eddie replies, and Steve can practically see the teasing smirk on his face as he asks, “what color are these stripes?”

“Grey and blue,” Steve says after looking down to double check. It’s his only long-sleeved polo and the store’s a bit too cold for anything else.

Eddie whistles, shrill and sharp through the phone like he’s catcalling Steve from across the street. “Jesus,” Steve cries, yanking the phone away from his ear until he can’t hear it anymore. When he presses the phone back to his ear, Eddie’s cackling. “Prick.”

“Sorry, hot stuff, just couldn’t help myself.”

“You could try,” Steve replies dryly.

“You’re not supposed to change for a relationship, Stevie.”

Steve’s breath stutters in his lungs. It’s a joke. He knows it’s a joke, but that doesn’t stop his fingertips from tingling like he’d set them on fire. The other side of the call’s gone dead silent, the words settling between them with more weight than Eddie could have meant.

So, Steve mutters, “this is more like a hostage situation,” and wonders if he’s just imagining the relief he can hear in Eddie’s answering laughter.

Steve’s heart’s always been a little too easy to snatch—Nancy and Robin perfect attestations of that. But it’d worked out okay with Robin, shifting seamlessly into platonic soulmateism as soon as the name Tammy Thompson had come out of her mouth.

Maybe he can do that with Eddie, too. If only he’d stop calling; if only Steve would stop answering. He’s off shift tomorrow, so if Eddie calls anyone, it’ll be Robin.

As their conversation ends, Steve tells himself he’s fine with that.

***

When Eddie calls Family Video like usual, it’s Robin that answers the phone.

“You’re not Steve,” he says, without thinking, cringing when that makes her snort. “Not that you’re not a delight and a treasure to us all, Buckley!”

“Mmmhmm,” she cuts in, sounding even more droll than when she’d droned out her canned customer greeting.

“It’s just that Steve’s always the one that answers, so I was starting to think he was super glued to the front counter, you know?”

Silence rings down the line long enough for Eddie to let his dangling heels smack noisily into the cupboard three times, but then Robin says, “he’s at home,” and continues before he can respond, “you do this a lot then, huh?” she asks around whatever pilfered candy she’s snacking on.

Eddie’s entire body freezes as he runs what he’d just said through his head and comes to the startling realization that Steve hasn’t told her.

“Uh, no?” Eddie asks, hating the way his voice cracks with the lie. “I mean, sometimes I want to call before making the long trek up there. Check if you’ve got anything good on the shelves, you know?”

“Mmmhmm,” she says again, sounding even more doubtful now. They both know it’s a measly six minute drive, but she doesn’t call him on it. “Well, what are you looking for tonight?”

He almost blurts out Steve’s name before remembering his stupid lie. “Uhhhh—um—what about The Fly?” he asks, wincing as Robin scoffs.

“That’s not released yet, dingbat,” she replies, like Eddie doesn’t already know that. It’s just the first movie he’d thought of, having seen its name lighting up The Hawks marquee just this morning.

“Well, call me when it is, okay bye!”

He hangs up the phone on Robin’s indignant sputtering. Because he’s the bane of his own existence, he immediately flips through the white pages and dutifully writes the number he finds listed beside Steve’s yuppy parents' names on the note beneath the long-since memorized number for Family Video.

He doesn’t hesitate to dial.

“Harrington residence,” Steve greets because he’s a bit of a yuppy himself. Eddie hates that he finds it charming.

“You always answer the phone like that, big boy?”

“If I’d known it was you, I might not have picked up at all,” Steve replies, but he sounds like he’s teasing, so Eddie just clutches the phone tighter, smiling around his empty trailer, glad that Wayne’s at work. “Now, did you actually want something?”

“Just wanted to know what you’re wearing.”

Eddie shoves his fist into his mouth and bites down to contain the whine at having said such a god awful, stupid fucking thing for the fourth god awful fucking time.

“Sweats, an old gym shirt, and some socks,” Steve replies, like that’s not enough to rewire Eddie’s whole fucking brain.

Eddie’s never seen him anything other than entirely put together—jeans stain-free, shirt pressed, not a hair out of place. He’s a man after Eddie’s own heart, curating an aesthetic with all the careful consideration that he’d use picking songs for a mixtape. But, unlike Eddie, Steve looks so put together that the thought of him messy has Eddie’s heartbeat ratcheting up.

Are his sweatpants stained? Is the gym shirt stretched out? Is his hair all fucked up? God, Eddie would kill to know, but he can’t think of a normal way to ask, so all he says is, “oh, yeah?” wincing when it comes out embarrassingly squeaky. He clears his throat and continues, “no work today?”

“Nah, it’s my day off,” Steve says, and then there’s the sound of furniture settling, a sigh, the rustle of fabric. Did Steve just lay down? Does he have a phone in his goddamn bedroom? Is he splayed out on his bed, cozy and warm. Eddie’s never seen Steve’s bedroom and god, suddenly he wants to so badly it hurts.

He wants to lay down beside him, wrap him up in his arms, see how fucked up his hair gets by the early hours of the morning. He just—wants.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, sounding frustrated, like he’d tried to get his attention a few different times. “You there?”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says before closing his eyes and bashing his head into the cupboard. Sweetheart? Lusting after Steve was one thing, but fucking sweetheart? This is rapidly becoming dangerous. “Wayne just got home, so I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Oh, oka—”

Eddie hangs up the phone. He stares at the empty trailer, heartbeat rabbiting away in his chest like he’s back in gym class trying to run the mile.

He should stop this, throw Steve’s number away and go cold turkey—hide his heart deep within the recesses of his ribcage and keep it safe.

Eddie’s never been that smart, and he knows, no matter what his stupid brain thinks, he’ll be picking up the phone again tomorrow night. And besides, he’s already got both numbers memorized.

***

It’s still Steve’s day off, but he drives Robin to work, just like he always does. She stuffs her bike in the trunk in case he’s not around to pick her up after her shift’s done, and then she climbs into his passenger seat, still looking half asleep as she pulls down his visor and uses the small mirror to messily apply her eye liner. Steve drives slow, careful of potholes and speed bumps, a part of him always terrified she’ll stab her own eye out.

She doesn’t talk to him until she’s finished both eyes and stashed her pencil securely into her bag.

“So, Eddie called yesterday,” she says, and when he looks at her sidelong, hands clenched on the steering wheel, she’s looking back, smirking as she watches her comment land. He jerks his gaze back to the road.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, relieved when his voice comes out even.

Robin knows him though, so she just snorts, and when he looks back toward her, her arms are crossed and she’s got one eyebrow raised bitchily in a way he knows she learned from him. And now here she is, using it as a weapon against him.

Steve clears his throat, glancing away again as he pulls into the vacant Family Video parking lot. “He… calls sometimes.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Robin replies with a snort.

“Robin,” Steve whines, all sense of decorum lost as he drops his forehead down on the wheel hard enough that his horn honks, sharp and loud in the quiet morning. “It’s not like that.”

She reaches over to pat his back, all dripping condescension as she asks, “for him or for you?” before hopping out of the car and going to unlock the front door, switching the Open sign on.

Steve loiters in the parking lot for an embarrassedly long time, her words running through his head. He hits play on his tape deck to drown it out, peeling out of the parking lot like a demo-dog is on his heels.

Metallica’s Orion drills through his head all the way home.

Steve fritters away his day, wandering around his big, empty house, scrubbing floors, dusting shelves he hasn’t even glanced at in years, reorganizing the pantry, lest his anxious energy shake his organs right out from beneath his skin.

He loses himself in the monotony of scrubbing, wiping, and pilfering through cupboards until he comes out of it, covered in dust and smelling of chemicals with the little hand of the clock in the kitchen pointing damningly close to the eight.

Steve takes a shower, scrambling with shampoo and conditioner, rubbing his bar of soap roughly down his body, trying to get the smell of bleach off his skin.

When he hears the phone ring, Steve rushes out of the shower, dripping water all over the tile as he slips his way into his bedroom to snatch the phone off his desk before it rings out.

“Harrington residence,” he replies breathlessly. He tries to tell himself it’s because of his mad dash to grab the line but as he holds his breath, waiting for that familiar voice to filter through the speaker, he knows it’s a lie.

“What are you wearing?” Eddie asks.

Because he hasn’t lied yet, Steve bites his lip before hesitantly replying, “uh, I just got out of the shower, so…”

Eddie gasps, breath stuttering dramatically, and when he asks, “so, a towel?” his words come out high pitched, almost squeaky, like he’s doing one of his little voices for his nerd game. But, an idea is growing in the back of his head, infecting his every thought with a nagging sort of hope he thought he’d sworn off years ago.

Maybe, just maybe, this whole thing isn’t just a bit at all, no matter how it had started. Maybe this is Eddie’s ridiculous way of starting something. If it is, Steve can’t bear to pass it up, even if all Eddie wants is the sound of Steve’s voice whispering dirty things in his ears.

There’d been a few girls back at Hawkins High who’d liked to call Steve up, have him murmur sweet nothings into their ears as they giggled, doing things to their own bodies that they were too shy to ask Steve to do himself.

If that’s all Eddie wants, Steve will give it to him. He’ll give Eddie anything he wants.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, still like his breath has been punched out of him. Steve wants to hear how breathless he can make him.

“You actually called mid-shower, so I didn’t have time to dry off,” Steve says, voice low so he can catch any little noise Eddie might make. “I didn’t even grab a towel.”

Steve’s not disappointed—Eddie whines, high and strained before the sound cuts off abruptly enough that he can almost picture the way Eddie must’ve covered his own mouth, nails digging into his cheek to keep himself from letting anything else slip. Steve grins, blood heating up even as the water begins cooling against his skin.

“I’m dripping,” he continues, voice low and suggestive. Eddie doesn’t reply aside from the haggard edge his breathing gains. Steve hasn’t even done anything yet, and Eddie sounds like he’s on the knife’s edge of coming. “And it’s all your fault.”

“Steve,” Eddie whines.

“What?” Steve asks, “you started this, Eddie.” Eddie moans as Steve says his name. God, he’s easy.

“It was just a joke,” Eddie argues, but his breathing’s still hitching, and he doesn’t sound like he wants Steve to stop.

“I thought you’d enjoy me playing along.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve interrupts. He will, if Eddie asks, will stop playing this little game and ask him how his day was, wait for Eddie to ask him in turn. They can go back to the way things were before, no matter how much Steve doesn’t want to.

“No, don’t stop,” Eddie replies, quickly, desperately

“Oh, are you just selfish then?”Steve asks, gratified when Eddie hisses like Steve had touched him. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself, too?”

“No, no, no,” Eddie replies in that same high-pitched, stuttering voice that he’s rapidly becoming addicted to, so desperate to please Steve. “Not selfish, not—”

“I don’t know, this is starting to seem a little one-sided,” Steve cuts in, Eddie’s protestations sputtering out into nothing. “You haven’t even told me what you’re wearing.”

“Jeans and a t-shirt!” Eddie answers so fast he can’t have even thought about not replying.

“A little overdressed, aren’t you baby?” Steve asks, making note of the way Eddie moans at the slipped term of endearment. “Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?”

“But, I’m in the kitchen,” Eddie replies, whispering like he’s imparting a secret. It snakes down the line and sends a shiver up Steve’s spine. He’s been to Eddie’s trailer before, settling on one side of the couch, Eddie on the other, with Robin playing buffer in the middle.

He can picture the Munson’s small kitchen, barely cordoned off from the rest of the trailer, the separating wall just enough to block the fridge and sink from view.

“Is Wayne there?” Steve asks.

“He’s at work, but—”

“Then what’s the problem?” Steve asks. “Afraid he’ll come home and figure out what you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Eddie whines, but Steve hears the sound of him rearranging the phone followed by the rustling of fabric. “There, happy?”

Steve pictures it: Eddie, standing shirtless in the kitchen, phone clutched to his ear as he pants down the line. Is his face flushed with embarrassment? With arousal? How far would the pink go down? He wants to follow it with his tongue, trailing over tattoos and into his dark happy trail.

“Good boy,” Steve praises, and Eddie moans, dark and guttural.

Steve strains his ears, swears he can hear the rustling of clothes, the metallic clinking of what must be Eddie’s stupid handcuff belt that he’s dying to get his hands on. There’s a hitch of breath a moment after before it evens out. After having heard him be so loud, Steve’s got his own suspicions about what activity he’s trying to cover up.

“I thought you weren’t doing anything?” Steve asks teasingly as he finally settles his shower-damp body into his clean sheets.

“I’m—I’m not,” Eddie replies, voice still higher than he’s ever heard it.

Steve grins, settling more comfortably into his pillows, phone cord stretched just a bit in order to reach. “So that wasn’t the sound of you sliding your big, strong hands into your pants?”

There’s a clatter on the other side of the line, like Eddie’d dropped the phone before hastily picking it back up to reply. “I—Steve, I wouldn’t—”

“You’re easy,” Steve says, cutting off Eddie’s lie before he can commit to it. “Just the thought of me naked and you had to touch yourself, didn’t you?”

“Steve—”

“Or have you been doing this every time?” Steve asks, just to hear Eddie’s protests. He knows he hasn’t, would have heard the hitching breaths and stifled moans. “Calling me up at my job just to fuck your hand and listen to my voice, baby?”

“I didn’t,” Eddie protests again, but his breathing’s gone ragged.

“Was Wayne sitting in his recliner so you had to be quiet, listening for any movements from the living room while you shoved your hand in your pants, too desperate to wait?”

“No.” Eddie asserts, but he’s panting now, like just the thought of getting caught in a compromising position is getting him there. “I wouldn’t, not—not with Wayne home.”

“But he’s not here this time is he?” Steve asks. “And you’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Steve.”

“I bet you look real pretty like that.” Steve’s own arousal is making itself known, dick hardening as he listens to all the delicious sounds Eddie makes. “Hand moving in your jeans, all hot and bothered as you take what you need.”

Eddie’s not talking anymore, just gasping wetly down the line as Steve speaks. He doesn’t mind, he can conjure up enough visuals to work with as he grasps his own shaft and gives it a tug.

“Sound pretty too, don’t you?” Steve asks, getting an affirmative grunt that has his own hand moving quicker. “Moaning for me like you just can’t help yourself.”

He’s not even thinking about what he’s saying anymore, spewing garbage out of his mouth as he strips his dick, now lubricated enough by precome and lingering shower water to ease his way.

“I might have to stuff something else in there just to shut you up,” he grunts.

That’s apparently all it takes because Eddie’s whining turns high and reedy, muffled like he’d stuffed his own fingers down his throat on Steve’s command.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, talking him through what must be one hell of an orgasm with the way he’s panting. “Bet you look so pretty when you’re coming, making a mess in your stupid tight jeans.”

Eddie moans again like even when he’s spent, the sound of Steve’s voice is almost enough to get him there again. Then he’s back to panting. Steve listens to his wet, staggered breathing, closes his eyes, and pictures what Eddie must look like, collapsed on the floor of his kitchen, hand stuffed in his now-stained jeans, bangs matted to his forehead.

Steve wants to smell him, wants to lick him, wants to brush his bangs back and kiss his sweaty forehead. And that’s all it takes to send Steve over the edge. He bites his lip, suppressing any noises from spilling out of his mouth as he shakes through the aftershocks.

Embarrassment begins curdling in his gut as soon as he comes back to himself. Not at what he’d said, or the noises he might’ve let slip, no. Eddie’d liked it—he had. But, that’s not what had been Steve’s undoing. No, it was the tender, domestic thought of kissing his forehead. Horrifying.

But then Eddie starts laughing, manic and gleeful the way only the best of orgasms leave you, and Steve elects to leave that particular panic for after he’s off the phone.

“Same time tomorrow?” Steve asks, like he hadn’t just listened to one of his closest friends jack off to his voice.

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie says, sounding downright shy now that he’s coming down. Steve can’t handle it. “Yes? Yes.”

“Talk to you then,” Steve replies, hating how soft his voice comes out. “Night, Munson.”

“Night, Stevie.” Eddie whispers.

Once the phone call ends, Steve gets up to shower off more than a little dust this time.

part two

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #SteddieWinterExchange

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saywhat-politics · 29 days ago

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House Republicans are circulating a “menu” of options that Speaker Mike Johnson’s conference could chose from—reportedly a massive $5 trillion worth of federal government programs to put on the chopping block to pay for the President-elect’s promised priorities, including tax cuts and border security.

According to Politico, there is an “early list” of proposed cuts (below) that “includes changes to Medicare and ending Biden administration climate programs, along with slashing welfare and ‘reimagining’ the Affordable Care Act.” Also, in addition to suggesting cuts to Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act (ObamaCare), “the document floats clawing back bipartisan infrastructure and Inflation Reduction Act funding.”

Politico also reports that Republicans appear to be considering cuts to “the country’s largest anti-hunger program”—or, SNAP, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program formerly known as food stamps. This would “spark massive opposition from Democrats and would also face some GOP resistance.”

There is far more, including siphoning about $2.3 trillion from Medicaid, a federal government program that has been providing critical health insurance for low-income adults and children for six decades.

#119th congress #house republicans

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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

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Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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say-al0e · 9 months ago

Text

Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon.

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out.

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick.

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How - if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car.

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to.

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual.

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

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Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #v's fics

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mischieffae · 26 days ago

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Immortal Ties | Loki x f!reader |

Summary: Every year, the Gods descend to Midgard to choose mortal candidates for their brutal games. If the last survivor wins, they will be blessed to have a seat within Valhalla and granted one glorious request. Loki, God of lies and Tricks, settles upon his candidate Reader, a lone wolf desperate to claw her way from her harsh reality. First chosen by mere curiosity Loki soon begins to realize they are more alike than he thinks. Will the trickster fall head first for a mortal destined to win back her freedom? And will you reciprocate said feelings for a God of Lies?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, blood, war games, eventual smut, cat and mouse, enemies to lovers

Chapter List - 1/? (this will be ongoing!)

Chapter 1: Hunger Strikes

A harsh punch struck your cheek, stars beginning to dance in your vision as you were lifted off the ground. You’ve gotten yourself into trouble more times than you could count, but today was one of those days you would gladly take back. Who knew that stealing an apple would cause this much havoc? Ok, maybe it wasn’t just an apple, and perhaps one from the Goddess Idun herself, but at the time you were too hungry to care for the consequences.

Hunger always seemed to trump over sense.

You could feel a pool of blood begin to stir in your mouth, the copper tang causing your brows to knit before spitting upon the ground. A small smirk formed on your face as the captor gripped tighter on your collar, shaking you with each biting word as if scolding a child.

“Is stealing apples your way of living, rat?”

You lift your chin defiantly, a single finger raised before giving a throaty chuckle.

“One apple, actually. And don’t forget it’s golden hue.”

The farmer cursed under his breath before flinging your body to the ground, his hands patting together as if your very touch were filth upon his fingers. A crowd had begin to form around you both, all eager to see how this show would play out. But unfortunately for them, it would end all too soon. Before the farmer could even turn his back, you were no where to be found, a puzzled look settling on his features.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

“Here, don’t eat too much at once.”

You threw the golden apple in your band of misfits’ direction, little hands lifting to catch the sacred fruit in excitement. A mop of tousled brown hair peeked from behind a piece of hanging tapestry used as a doorway, his toothy grin widening happily.

“An apple from Idun? How did you manage to get one of those?”

A group of curious eyes glanced in your direction, one of the children holding the apple as if it would burn their hands. They were a rough patch, all ranging from the ages of six to sixteen. The home life hadn’t been very kind to them, so naturally you gravitated to being their provider and mentor. You had been living on the streets since the age of seven, so you’ve had your experience. You had never belonged anywhere, always fighting for your way to the top of the chain while struggling to keep food in your belly. If you could provide them with the things you did not have, your life would be fulfilled.

“Now now, you don’t ever question the whereabouts of a gift,” said Finn, the oldest child of the group. He patted the curious one’s shoulder in reassurance, giving a small playful wink.

“You really ought to be careful there. If they catch you, we might become lost sheep without it’s herder.”

You let out a teasing huff, settling yourself upon a decaying wooden crate while using a dagger to clean your nails.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time kid. Catching me is hardly my concern.”

“But it is ours! We-….” Finn swallowed thickly, the other children noticing his tension. “We would be astray without you. Don’t make it harder for us than it is.”

The playful tone he once had soon dissipated with an unsettled aura, the sound of munching apple filling the air as he whispered closely to your ear. “You’ve done so much for us in such a short period of time. Please, do not gamble fate.”

“Sometimes you need to gamble in life Finn. You might win a mighty prize if you do.” His eyes filled with realization from your words, his throat bobbing with a thick feeling in his stomach. “You mean to-..”

You could feel your heart clenching in your chest from his look of fear, but it was the only choice you had for their possible freedom. The thought had crossed your mind countless of times before. But now, it could possibly be reality.

“If I can win the tournament, I can grant one request. I can grant you all freedom, a life without hunger and fear. A life where you will all be safe, happy, with a roof above your heads and a fire to keep you warm.” You paused, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “You will all have the life you’ve always wanted, and I can sit in the halls of Valhalla knowing that you are all in good hands.”

“But you will be gone….forever.”

There was a long silence around you, those words a heavy weight you could not bear to hold. Finn could sense your discomfort from the truth, knowing fully well that once your mind was made up it was almost impossible to persuade. What if you did succeed? What if they were able to have the life they always wanted? But what if you didn’t? What if you lose your life, and they lose not only their protection but their friend as well?

But, life is a gamble. One that they all must take. And if anyone deserved to have a happy ending it would be you.

Sensing the turn in thought, you reach for the young man’s hand with a warm embrace, squeezing tightly with a trembling smile. You could only mouth the words ‘thank you’, tears running down your dirt covered cheeks.

He just hoped, and prayed, that they didn’t make a mistake.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You tug upon the hood of your cloak as you weaved in and out of the tight crowd of onlookers, the village’s once empty courtyard now riddled with excitement. There was a cloud of dirt and smoke from the Bifrost’s landmark, various tall figures standing with a regal of importance. There stood Thor son of Odin, Sif and the Warrior’s Three, and Loki Laufeyson, all eager to choose their mortal fighter. The crowd hollered for acceptance, some trampling upon others to get in the front of the line. It was like a hoard of mice.

Only one champion remained to be picked. Loki’s regal blue eyes scanned the sea of onlookers, a slender hand outstretching to point at a brutish looking blacksmith. The other hand, towards your direction.

“You, and you. To the front.”

A fire ignited behind your gaze, your lips forming into a smirk as the crowd dispersed to create a ring around you and the opponent. This was it, this was the moment you were waiting for.

Your heart began to thud wildly in your leather bound chest, two daggers in each hand itching to land their mark.

“You’re in my way, little mouse. There is only one seat in Valhalla, and it shall be mine.”

The blacksmith’s large war axe glimmered from the sun’s light, swaying back in forth in an intimidating motion. But you have fought larger, and before you could form a retort the blade swiftly swung in your direction. Easy, just move your body to the left and it will miss its mark. Again, but the right side. An irritated growl sounded from the attacker, your body moving in an elegant practiced form before landing a dagger to clang against metal. He was faster than you would’ve liked, but still lacked the ability to properly dodge. A hurl of your blade nicked his cheek, blood falling down freely to drip along his chin. You stepped back to analyze more of the situation, his breathing heavy before launching himself forward in rage.

This was the moment you were waiting for, a flaw in his stance.

With a dive of your body, you skidded along dirt to create a large cloud around you, his face contorting in confusion as your dagger embedded itself within the side of his throat. Garbled sounds emitting from him, crimson coating your hand as you unsheathed yourself from his fallen body.

Silence, the crowd gazing dumbly from the actions that just transpired. Your victory.

Your eyes linger upwards while catching your breath, landing upon the very God that would soon become your lifeline. His own gaze held mischief, a satisfied smile etching on his chiseled features.

“Let us travel to Asgard.”

Tag list because I almost forgot!!! @thefairywithboots @oswildin @stilleobjection @chokilaufeyson @aislinnshifts @rainbowfishstix @queen-b @astarions-girl-dinner

#loki x reader #x reader #loki x f!reader #i am super excited to really dive into this #i am also posting on AO3!#mischieffaewrites #loki x reader smut #loki fanfiction

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edgeray · 8 months ago

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Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.) The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff. Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster.

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child.

And Crucabena did just as she said she would.

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins.

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands.

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf.

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away.

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they?

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside.

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone.

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them.

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.

She is tired.

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human.

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive.

Because this is the most she deserves.

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening.

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back.

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils.

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory.

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?”

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes.

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?”

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this.

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast.

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you.

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face.

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact fic #genshin fics #genshin impact fanfics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

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panties-on-boys · 2 months ago

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scary dog privileges poolverine

explicit 18+

tags: jealousy, top wade, bottom logan, dirty talk, breeding, mean wolverine, cowboy position, the author loves italics lol, anal no prep (healing factor mwah), vague feminization, i love you kink if that’s a thing

Everything in this fucking bar is sticky.

Though he’s really trying to be the supportive boyfriend here, Wade has yet to convince himself of a single positive trait this place actually has. It’s loud, it smells, and some ginger with (Wade assumes) a hairless asshole has been flirting with him for the whole five minutes Logan’s been in the bathroom.

“I like your suit.” Slurs the stranger.

He’s tall, but he doesn’t have any cool fangs or cool claws, so Wade does not care. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even look at the guy, too busy poking the ice in the bottom of his Sex on the Beach with a straw.

Unabashed, the stranger doesn’t let Wade’s clear disinterest deter him. “Why red?” He asks.

Wade glances toward the bathroom and tries to summon Logan with their soulmate connection. “So the little babies of the world can’t tell when I’m bleeding. I do all the murdering for the children.” Deadpool replies sarcastically.

The man nods sagely and takes a long drink of his Coors Lite, like that was the deepest thing he’s ever heard.

Wade huffs a sigh of annoyance inside of his mask. He was hoping that would scare the guy away, but lots of people around here have a superhero fetish so it only serves to make him close even more fucking space. Ugh. Is there a nice way to explain to a stranger that they’re moments away from becoming the Wolverine’s puppet, speared three times up the ass? A, you know, let ‘em down easy sort of delivery, but one that really gets it across that they’re flirting for their life?

“You here alone?” Asks the redhead, leaning into Deadpool’s eyeline.

Wade, again, pointedly ignores him in favor of shoving the ice cubes around in the bottom of his glass. “No dude. And my boyfriend is literally the Wolverine so if I were you, and I cared about keeping that hand… I might consider removing it.”

As if summoned, in all of his six foot three inch glory (six-eleven if you count the eight scrumptious inches imprisoned behind his very sexy full-yellow suit, woof), Wolverine emerges from the bathroom. He stops dead in the doorway, the light behind him surrounding his frame like a halo.

Wade’s eyes are already there even before Logan is, drawn to the glinting silver of his claws… which are already fucking out, and he leads with them, God forgive him.

The stranger removes his hand, much too slowly.

Wade can hear the Wolverine growling all the way from the bar. His skin starts getting tingly. Secretly, he loves this part.

Before he can even register it, Logan’s pressed up behind the redhead, every single inch down his body, the tip of one claw to his carotid artery like a shank. “That’s my boyfriend you’re chattin’ up.” He says, low into the stranger’s ear.

Wade crosses his legs and squeezes his thighs together. Fuck, this is gonna get hot. He picks up his glass, stirs his ice around, and says, “I told him, Daddy.”

“You shut the fuck up, slut.” Logan spits. “Lettin’ other men touch you at the bar, I’m shakin’ my fucking head… there’s a motherfuckin’ katana on your back. Two katanas, Wade.”

The man has turned white. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing dangerously against the point of the blade.

Wade smiles. “Ooh… first names? You’re big pissed.” He sips his drink and kicks his feet a little.

The stranger stutters, and Wade thinks he says something like, I didn't know, sorry, but it’s garbled by the pathetic fear that he knows Wolverine can smell on him.

Logan growls, and the man goes still. “Did he know?” He asks Wade.

“Promise, I told him. Scout’s honor.” Wade grins. “I told him even that my boyfriend is the Wolverine, he didn’t seem to think that was such a big deal.” He shrugs.

Logan scoffs and clicks his tongue.

Wade leans back against the bar, sips his drink, and watches with a little too much glee as Logan shoves the stranger down to land hard on the dirty bar floor.

The man scurries backwards on all fours until he can get up, then practically sprints for the exit.

Wade sighs dreamily and looks to Logan.

He looks livid.

It’s everything Wade has to not start giggling. He holds his glass up for a cheers.

Instead, Logan snarls, grabs his arm, and they’re home in less than ten because he drives very recklessly and gropes Wade through his suit the whole time.

He gets carried inside, slung over the Wolverine’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

In their room, Logan drops Wade to his feet just for the satisfaction of pushing him into the bed. He lands with a little oof.

Dogpool follows the commotion, trots to a stop right outside the open doorway and heels to tip her head inquisitively.

Wade is already panting with the anticipation when he tells her, “Go on, girl. You don’t wanna see what Daddy’s gonna do to me,” and grins.

Logan growls and kicks the door shut. “Stop fuckin’ callin’ me that.” He says, pulling off his gloves.

Wade smiles sweetly and tugs his mask over his head from the back.

Logan starts tearing off his own costume as Wade watches with a hungry grin, not bothering to even try to pretend he isn’t totally and irredeemably turned on right now. He lifts his hips up toward nothing.

When Wolverine gets down to just his skin tight boxer briefs– whore– he looks Wade in the eye. Then, he pulls his claws out again.

Deadpool scoffs. “Oh c’mon baby, don’t be like that.” He grins. “I promise I told him who I belonged to. And I didn’t touch him, didn’t even look at him.”

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice, he’s not taking this fucking seriously at all. The claws go back in before he reaches out and starts tugging Wade’s suit off, ignoring him in favor of getting the useless bastard naked.

Logan’s hunch is only further confirmed by Wade’s stupid fucking mouth, which never ever stops, when it opens again and says, “Even when he put his hands alllll over me, I didn’t look at him.”

That does it.

Logan climbs onto the bed and straddles his hips, grumbling.

Deadpool smiles like the fucking idiot he is and puts his hands behind his head, mocking him pretty much. Fucking asshole.

Logan leans down, his lips brushing with Wade’s as he talks, and asks, “You think this is funny, do you?” Stupid motherfucker. “I should’ve fuckin’ killed that guy. The blood would be on your hands.”

Wade bites his lip and squirms, trying to suppress his growing smile and failing. “Oh nooo. That’d be the first time that’s ever happened to me, too. I can see the headlines now: Mercenary, Wade Wilson, Finally Gets Some Blood on his Hands.”

Logan grins because… okay. That one was actually funny. But he dips down to hide it, sinking his sharp teeth into Wade’s shoulder as a punishment for that stupid motherfucking mouth. He doesn’t care if it was funny.

“Ow, fuck! Bad dog.” Wade huffs, half-heartedly swatting at him.

Logan licks at the bite mark. The skin is already healed over again by the time he pulls away to look at it, so he moves up to kiss Wade, automatically licking into his open mouth.

Wade hums, and when they break, pants, “I should get hit on by strangers more often.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Logan replies, voice low and dangerous. He presses a hand to Wade’s neck.

Wade’s eyes roll back in his head and his hands come up to grab at Logan’s wrist.

“I’m serious. You’re all fuckin’ mine.” Logan snarls.

Wade can’t breathe and he fucking loves it.

“Do you understand?”

Wade shakes his head and grins, so Logan tightens his grip.

“You can go out and find any inadequate, under-endowed fuckin’ loser you want. I just want to make sure you know,” he’s seething, his nails biting in, “you will never, ever find it like me again. Nobody knows your body like me, what you like how I do. Nobody will care about makin’ you come more than once, you spoiled fuckin’ brat. You should be thankin’ me on your knees. I’ll tell you why.” Logan spits. He rolls his hips down into Wade’s, one time.

The friction is addicting. Wade whines for it, despite that he does not have anywhere near enough fucking air in his lungs to be whining.

“You can fuck whoever you want, see if I fuckin’ care because at the end of the day, I know.”

Logan releases the pressure and Wade gasps for breath, giggling deliriously.

“You will always come crawlin’ back for this.”

He grinds down again and Wade moans, “Thank you,” and sucks in another greedy breath. “Don't be mean to me, Daddy.” He rasps. “I promise I won’t get hit on by strangers anymore.”

Logan growls, “If I see you let another person talk to you like that again, I will fucking kill them,” and he even tacks the g on this time to show how serious he is.

Wade grins, mostly because he knows it isn’t an empty threat. Logan’s that crazy, which is unbelievably hot because so is Wade. He reaches down and runs his fingertips along the waistband of Wolverine’s underwear.

Logan grabs his wrists and pins them to the bed under one hand. “Don’t you touch me.”

Deadpool whines.

Wolverine kisses him, all tongue this time, and then pulls away. “You’re so fuckin’ greedy. Can’t even last five minutes without being in the fuckin’ spotlight.” He says.

Deadpool whines again, higher, and wriggles beneath him.

“And you think you have the right to touch me, hah.” Logan spits, literally dripping venom. Why it makes Wade harder than a brick house is beyond him. “I should give you fuckin’ nothin’. Letting strangers put their hands on you at the bar, just to get my attention. Tch.”

Wade just giggles dazedly, rolling his hips up into Wolverine’s ass.

Logan growls and bares his teeth, which is supposed to be threatening Wade guesses? “Hey, have you ever heard of just fuckin’ askin’? Huh?”

Wade huffs and pulls where the Wolverine has his wrists pinned. “Please lemme touch you.” He slurs.

“You’re so fuckin’ lucky I’ve been horny since you made blueberry pancakes this morning. I should give you nothin’, you greedy bitch.” Logan tells him again, rocking his hips down into Wade’s.

Eagerly, Wade moans and rolls his hips back up, huffing, “Your favorite.” Nobody knows you like I do. Then, “C’mon, let me touch.”

With a little growl of frustration, Logan caves. He lets Wade’s hands go.

They instantly pull the gloves off and come straight for Wolverine’s chest, raking desperate nails down its front. Then, Wade grabs Logan’s hips and pulls him into a grind.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Wade purrs.

Logan grunts and leans down, panting into his open neck.

Wade turns to talk into his ear, “I love you.”

And then Logan whimpers. There it is.

Wade smiles, “That’s it puppy, there’s my boy…” He hears the metal snikt of Logan’s claws by his head and his smile spreads into a grin. “I don’t care. Gut me. I’m all yours, forever and ever, until death do us part or you get a restraining order, which I will then violate so many times they’ll have to put me in jail.”

Logan growls under his ear, “We’d be the worst exes.” He slips into a rhythm without even realizing it, really, just rolling his hips into Wade’s because it feels good. “I’d fuck you in the bathroom during visitation.”

Wade huffs a little laugh. It’s so nice to laugh during sex. It makes his chest ache. “So say it back.” He purrs.

Wade’s right arm leaves to dig around in the bedside table. Logan grunts and nibbles his earlobe.

Wade pulls back with the bottle, popping the cap with his thumb. Like Pavlov’s dog, Logan hears the sound of it and pulls Wade’s boxers off first so he can slick his cock while he sheds his own briefs.

“I’m only yours, Wolvie. You can stop stressin’ so much.” Wade purrs, mimicking Logan’s accent.

Logan huffs and climbs into cowboy. Wade dutifully lines himself up, more than eager to get inside of him.

“I only wanna be with you.”

Logan sits back on his heels, taking Wade with no prep. “Ah, fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, nails digging in where his hands are holding himself up on Wade’s chest.

“Feels good baby?” Wade asks, admiring the way Logan’s cock ticks and drips onto his stomach.

“Uh huh,” Logan groans.

“Nobody else can make me feel like this.” Wade purrs, a slick hand on Logan’s left hip and a dry one on his right. He holds him still and fucks up into him like that, moaning at the way he can feel himself forcing Logan open around the width of his cock, fuck. “You’re so tight.”

Logan whimpers back, “Feels so huge.”

Wade grins. He’s always loved the hubris of dick praise. “Was made to fuck you, babygirl. I’m never going back, swear to God. Nobody has it like this.”

That finally earns a rock back from Wolverine, and he drags his nails down a little until Wade bleeds, only for a second. “I’ll– fuckin’ kill–” Logan puffs, “m’serious…” he trails off. He can’t even fucking think with the stretch.

Deadpool laughs under his breath. “What’s that, angel baby?” He teases.

Logan sits up a little and pushes back until Wade bottoms out. God, it is incomprehensibly fucking tight. “Don’t fuckin’ do it again.” He spits.

Wade’s mouth drops open and his hands dig in, pulling Logan onto his cock with newfound enthusiasm. “Never. I’ll never do it again, promise.” He grins. “Scout’s honor.”

Logan growls, low in his chest. Irritating motherfucker. “Shut up,” he mumbles, and he starts to bounce in Wade’s lap.

It isn’t just dirty talk, he actually does feel huge… Logan swears he can feel it in his ribs, especially when he’s on top like this. His cock jumps and drips again, and Wade brings his slick hand down to wrap around it.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby,” Wade mutters, which makes Logan roll his eyes a little. “Nobody compares to you.” He purrs. “Ooh, I’m so lucky.”

The dry hand on Wolverine’s hip pulls him down to meet Wade’s next thrust. The skin on skin slapping is disgustingly obscene, and only getting louder as Logan starts getting fucked in real earnest.

“Wade, my God,” Wolverine mutters helplessly.

“MJ if ya nasty,” Wade grins.

“You’re so fuckin’ frustrating.” Logan grumbles. He starts to bounce back a little harder against Wade’s thrusts, soft uh uh uhs hidden in his every exhale.

“You sound so gorgeous angel,” Wade pants back, starting to stroke Logan’s cock in his sticky fist, made even stickier with precome. “You get so wet.” He purrs.

Wolverine finds himself torn between fucking himself back on Wade’s dick or thrusting into his fist. “Feels so good,” he basically drools.

“Nobody in the world as pretty as you sweetheart,” Wade coos. “So tight and so wet and so pretty.”

“Wade, shut up,” Logan whimpers, but the hot pink flush that settles over the bridge of his sun-speckled nose is so painfully obvious.

“I know you like it princess. This is what you want, right? Want me to–” Wade pauses to fuck up into Wolverine a little harder and grunt, “to tell you how you’re so beautiful, you’re so irreplaceable?”

Logan whines and rolls his hips into Wade’s waiting hand, a pointed decision.

“You’re fucking irreplaceable babydoll.”

Logan flutters his eyes open and looks down at Wade. He stares through his clumped lashes, stuck in spikes with tears from the burn of the stretch.

Wade brings up his free hand, cupping Logan’s jaw. “My hero. Isn’t that right? You and me, forever, us against the world kitty.” His thumb drags over his lover’s lower lip on the drop back down to hold his waist.

Wade coos at him, at his big wet puppy eyes.

It’s sweet. Honestly. Sometimes, Logan just gets soft, sort of insecure… Wade secretly loves it, wrapping him up in his arms and whispering praise into his ear until he feels better. He loves it, loves the way he can take Logan apart with just a few compliments.

He picks up the drag of his hand.

Logan growls under his breath and tips his head back to bare his throat, and Wade drags him down by the hip onto his cock, over and over until his breath gets tight.

“D’you like it, angel?” He asks, seething through his teeth.

“Yes,” Wolverine gasps, leaning down to lick into Wade’s mouth. Wade licks back, tongue curling around the sharp points of Logan’s laterals.

Wade breaks the kiss to pant, “Yeah, you feel fucking amazing.”

The Wolverine keens for him. Wade never stops talking, but during sex he’s especially loose with it. Logan mumbles, “shut up,” again, but he secretly loves it and Wade fucking knows that.

“Nobody out there tight like you.” On and on and on. “Can fucking feel you, sucking me in.”

Logan whimpers, “Jesus, Wade,” and Wade bites back another MJ if ya nasty because he’s pretty sure it’ll all go away if he really says it again.

So instead, he purrs, “I love you baby,” and grins like a fucking crazy person. “Nobody compares to you. You’re the best Wolverine.”

And Logan throws his head back and sobs as he comes white and hot over the backs of Wade’s fingers.

Wade watches the first three shots climb up to his own collarbones, then the next three dripping over his knuckles, and by the end of it he’s been smiling for so long his face hurts.

Logan keeps bouncing in his lap. “C’mon, come inside,” he slurs, sounding totally delirious.

That’s what Wade loves about this Wolverine. Even though, most of the time, he’s on the bottom… he’s still so giving. He always keeps going until Wade comes, begs him to, even. It’s the hottest fucking thing in the entire world.

Logan leans down and sinks his teeth into Wade’s neck. Then, his lips come up a little to kiss the corner of Wade’s mouth, printing him red, and he whispers, “I love you.”

Wade moans, “Oh fuck yes,” and buries himself as deep as he can get, coming inside of Logan with literal fucking intention. It feels like it lasts forever, and Logan keeps rocking back against him over and over to ride it out until Wade starts to whine.

Logan collapses on top of him, Wade still inside, and pants like a dog into his ear.

“Jesus Christ,” Wade mutters.

Logan huffs a breathless little laugh. “MJ if I’m nasty?” He asks, voice rough with the lingering remnants of being fucked out of his God damned mind.

Wade groans and rolls his hips again. “You’re my fucking soulmate.”

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the-silver-peahen-residence · 26 days ago

Note

I love Ink and the sic claws children! They all sound adorable!! Would it be possible to write something involving them?

((Hi there anon, hope your well. Also thank you so much! I hope demon mun likes the idea too. But I can write a example of the kids if you like. Oh and Van Ink and the others belong to my friend @demon-blood-youths))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

The DBT was still sorta shocked seeing their their leader was a mom. Though, the six claws were proud even with smiles seen on their faces. Though, Navarro was speechless himself.

"Ink how?..J..Just how the heck did you...you know what never mind..." Navarro said but seeing the six kids around her.

"What? I mean...It's not a bad thing. Besides, their all pretty cool! And I want you guys to get to know them. Their really adorable though! Even Vanity is happy being a grand devil to more!" she pouts sitting down with the fathers helping their child.

"Hi big brother Navarro!" Airi 'Daniela' Akiyama said along with her other siblings. Okay, they were cute! Why were they cute!? Even the others through they were adorable!

"Uhhh h..hi?" he said waving to the little girl.

Mio Nakajima was sitting on her mom's lap while Ink was holding her close while curled up. Beside her was Shiori 'Izzy' Midoriya who was reading a book while smiling.

"I think it's pretty cute that Ink is a mom. Given the past history she's learned a lot Navarro." Hellmare said with her baby girl Cassie who was sleeping in her arms right now.

"But still....it's shocking to say the least. You all know how Ink is." he said.

"Yeah, we know." The DBT said. That's when they heard a shout seeing four kids playing video games.

"We lost Haruki! I told you to use the block!!" Yuto 'Vanguard' Bakugo glares at his game partner Haruki Hayakawa who was holding the other controller.

"Haa!? That's on you! I told you she and Atsuki was going to beat us and you never listen to me!!!" he shouted back.

Bridget along with her game partner Atsuki 'Vanity' Okumura sweatdrops seeing the two boys arguing.

"Easy boys. How about another game?" Rust said seeing the two sigh but looks to him.

"Okay.." they said.

"...Well, that was sorted out well..right Bridget?" Atsuki sees her nod.

"Though that was fun! We should play again indeed." she smiled as the four got ready to play another one.

"Well, that just shows my son is still pretty good! He'll be the number one of all!" Katsuki laughed in a evil way with Denji shaking his head.

"You mean my son! He' still is strong like his old man!"

"The heck you mean! You mean my son's powerful!" Bakugo and Denji argued with Rin confused. Ink sweatdrops.

"Guys guys don't argue please! I think you are all amazing! And the Kids are just as cool!" Ink laughed still holding her daughter Mio who was still asleep, hugging a dragon plush her grand devil Vanity gave her.

"Well, even so..it's good to know you six are still getting along." Jaron told Ren who agreed with this. He sees Ben sleeping in Jaron's arms while Abigail was playing with the others too.

"Yes. Even after all these years we are growing stronger together. To keep our family safe along with our kids." he sees his own daughter happily showing off the little blue persona dragons that was flying around her and her holding one in her arms.

"Though, that just means we should warn you about-"

"Oh no, we know...and if he tries anything we will be sure he's taken care of." Ren smiled that Jaron sweatdrops knowing what he means.

"Good to know. And knowing our leader is in good hands too." Jaron said.

"Indeed she is." Ren said even seeing their uncle Davion smiling watching over them as well. The kids of the Six claws were alright and happy and so was the fathers along with the mom. What a good day indeed.

#IC #silver roses #ask answered #muse answered #curious peahen and peacock #the fractions of NYC #anon #devil royals au #young adults au #demon-blood-youths #peahen writer #the six claws of the blue dragon #dragon harem au #the children of the six claws

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desi2go · 9 months ago

Text

Artemis

Pairing: werewolf!Felix x huntress!reader

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, mention of blood and weapons

Summary: You were a huntress, trained by the Artemis' nymphs to hunt werewolves. However, you weren't prepared to find ,our mate this way.

Author's note: Here it is! I enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll like it too. There is definitely another greek mythology fic with Hyunjin I'll start writing now.

Wild, untameble and strict. These were the words how you would describe the goddess of hunting, the forest, birth and the moon. As well as the guardian of women and children. Artemis. It was your destiny to follow her. You and all the other huntresses who were led by her.

In the past, for over thousands of years, her adherents were nymphs, female, semi-devine nature spirits. After Artemis had climbed Mount Olympus and no longer walked in the mortal world, the nymphs trained some young women who were willing to live up to her ideals. Staying virgins and to hunt creatures that don't belong in this world.

Werewolves. Offsprings from Lykaon who was turned into a wolf as a punishment by Zeus. The trained girls hunted them until they were old. Then, the nymphs will take new girls, never older than six years old, and the training starts again. This procedure went on for over thousands of years.

And one thing they imprint in the brain is staying a virgin. Artemis rejected men and was an eternal virgin. Once, a nymph was raped by Zeus. When the goddess found out, she was furious. She transformed her into a bear and hunted her down.

You were once a young girl that was taken by a nymph to a temple and was trained. Due to the young age, most girls took over the mindset of the nymphs, adopting the goal to hunt werewolves down and to kill them. They taught the children to fight at the age of eight. At first only with the bare hands, then with weapons, especially with bow and arrow since that were the prefered weapons of Artemis.

With the age of 20, the training stops and you become officially a hunter. You travel around the world, killing as much werewolves as you can over the years. And that almost completely unnoticed from the whole society. You were trained like that.

Tracing the steps of packs, following them and then, when the time is right, you kill them.

You were now 24 years old. For four years, you were now travelling, mostly in South Korea. Currently, you traced the steps of a pack near Seoul. As far as you knew, they were only male werewolves, eight in number.

The pack alpha was just two years older than you, while the youngest was one years younger.

Right now, you followed one of the werewolves through the forest. Werewolves had an incredible sense of smell, however, the nymphs provided the hunters some sort of potion that suppressed their scent. That way, you could easily hide and shoot the male without being noticed.

Taking a deep breath and one final step, you concentrated on your target. Unfortunately, you stepped on a twig that broke. The werewolf turned around, growling at you. You let the arrow fly through the air, the moment his glowy eyes targeted.

You jumped back, back so that you could bring some distance between you and the creature. The man yelped and whimpered painfully.

Another pair of footsteps was behind you.

"Shit" of course he wasn't alone. That would be too good. You ran. When the other werewolf found you that wouldn't end well. An angry and pissed wolf is no fun. His claws ripped through your jeans, leaving bloody marks and tackling you to the ground.

You rolled around and threw a dagger at the beast, jumping up as soon as he was distracted and leaved the forest, climbing into your old car.

In the small apartment that you rented for the time here, you disinfected the painful marks and took a shower. You knew that the other pack members will now search for you. They want to get revenge. Revenge for their pack member you shot. Well, he isn't dead yet since the arrows didn't hit the heart or the head.

But the arrows are laced with a poison with silver and wolfsbane. It was extremely painful and the person will die when they aren't treated properly.

☆☾☆

You were on high alert all the time after the that. Due to the potion, they seemed to have problems in locating you. But still, a dagger was always in one of your pockets when you needed errands and stopped by a grocery shop.

With a big bag in hand, you got out of the shop, the other hand fiddling with the car keys. You managed to get the passenger door open and were just placing the bag on the seat when a hand shut it with force. Luckily, you managed to get your hand out just before the door fell shut.

"Seriously?" You exclaimed.

Immediately, you grabbed the dagger in your pocket but the person pushed you against the car while you turned around.

Even at night, you recognized the face.

"Hello there, Bang Chan. How can I help you?"

He pushed you against the car once more. "Save it, hunter. You hit one of my members."

"Jup. That was me. So he's still alive?"

He growled low. A slight threat.

"Yes, he is. And he will stay alive. Because you are going to help him"

A amused chuckle comes out of you. "Why do you assume that I will help? I'm a hunter. Not a vet"

"You don't get to decide" Claws digged into your back as he pushed you forward into the forest.

The walk was rather short and Bang's claws nicked you from time to time, reminding you that he was in force. And the big cottage came closer. That must be their pack house. A bulky alpha stood outside, eying you sharply. You were led upstairs into one room. There was another wolf, you assumed it was Yang Jeongin, the youngest due to his appearance.

In the middle of the room stood a huge bed and you immediately recognised the wolf that layed on it. It was the male that you had shot this morning.

Well, you can't deny that he wasn't pretty. Actually your type, wouldn't he be a beast. The black hair was a huge contrast to his pale, nearly white skin. His breath was uneven and from time to time, a small whimper leaves his lips.

"Help him, hunter. When you want to live a little longer" Bang exclaimed and took place next to Jeongin.

Well, there wasn't really a chance when you wanted to experience your next birthday. You took off your small jacket and leaned over the fragile body. Wolfsbane was deadly to werewolves but even humans could die. That's why the nymphs teach you how to heal such diseases.

You touched his forehead. He felt really cold, even though he was sweating.

"Okay, he needs to get warm" The younger wolf immediately left the room, apparently to search some blankets. You lifted his thin blanket and shirt to see the wound. The arrow was already pulled out and his chest bandaged, already blood stained.

Jeongin came back with blankets and threw them over the wolf's legs. When you removed the bandage, you could see some of his veins being light purple due to the silver. As long as the silver was in his system, he wouldn't heal. You couldn't do much because it was already in his blood system.

He needed to get through it to heal. You cleaned the wound and bandaged it new. Then, you threw all the blankets over him.

"That's all I can do right now."

"If he dies, you will die as well" Bang threaded and walked out of the room. You sat on the chair next to the bed. Apparently his temperature rised to the normal which was perfect. Well, that will be a long night.

☆☾☆

Something moving shot you out of your sleep. Apparently, you must have fallen asleep, watching the wolf over the night. You blinked a few times before you saw into the brown, more golden, eyes of the wolf. He was awake.

That's good. That means, he is definitely healing. Jeongin was soon beside you, relieved that his fellow pack member was awake now.

"Felix, how are you?" He asked. Felix, that was his name. When you collected information about the pack, you stumbled over his name a few times. He was an alpha.

"Fine, I guess. But what is she doing here?" Yeah, he was definitely pissed that you had shot him. Well, you would be too.

"I'm actually helping you. You're welcome" you grumbled and yawned. Hopefully, you could get going soon. You were starving. Hunting the wolves can wait.

"Yeah, helping me by shooting an arrow at me. How nice"

"well, that's how I am" you answered, giving him an amused smile. "Let me check a last time on you before I want to go"

You pulled the blankets down without waiting for an answer. Pushing the shirt upwards, you revealed his toned body. What a shame that he was a wolf. When your cold fingers touched his warm skin, he sucked breath in, flexing his muscles.

"Looks good. Can I go now?"

Jeongin sighed and you followed him through the house to the front.

☆☾☆

Little did you know that soon as Felix saw you that morning, his whole life changed. It changed because of you. And not because you had shot him but because the world became just a bit brighter, more colourful. All his life he had searched for you. His soulmate, his other half.

Seeing you there, he couldn't take his eyes on you. He didn't even noticed the arrow until it hit him. The pain took over and you quickly ran away, just when Hyunjin shot through the bush.

He had felt the silver travelling through his veins, making him slowly unconscious. The last thing he saw was Hyunjin who came up to him. A cut under his eye from the dagger you had thrown.

In the middle of the night, he woke up again. The pain was still there but bearable. He looked to the side and he saw you laying with your head on his bed, sleeping tightly. When you moved you shot up. And oh, you were beautiful but he was a little bit pissed that you had shot him. That wasn't how he wanted to meet his soulmate.

After you checked on him, you quickly exited the house. Hyunjin was already beside him.

"How are you, Lix?"

"Good I think." He mumbled

"Really Felix? You seem sad" his friend stated. Well, he wasn't wrong.

"She is my soulmate, hyune." Felix exclaimed.

"Shit. I'm sorry man" Hyunjin rubbed over his back.

One week later, Felix walked through the city. He and Changbin wanted to drink something at their favourite bar. And he definitely didn't expect to find you there. Next to you a man with a nasty smile. Was that your boyfriend? Jealousy washed over him but it deflated when he observed your body language.

Without you noticing, the man mixed something into your drink. Soon, you grew tired and before the man could lay his dirty hands on you, Felix pulled you to him. You were so befuddled that you didn't even notice Felix.

When you slipped, he lifted you with a wince. His wound wasn't healed completely. The rest of the silver stopped it from healing faster. But that was irrelevant. You were safe now, in his arms.

Changbin shielded you both from the man who protested. Then, the wolves brought you back into their cottage, earning a warning glare from Chan. You were still a huntress. Deadly and if you looked closer armed to the teeth. He pulled out the a dagger and a pistol that were secured in your waistband. And in your jacket there was another dagger.

Felix layed you on his bed. The same bed he layed just a week ago with an injury. Softly he took your hand. If you just could feel the tingles he felt when he touched you. Maybe then you wouldn't want to kill his pack.

For hours, he sat next to you, admiring your face. When you relaxed, you looked so kind and young. He wondered how old you were. Around 25? But definitely not older. Gently, he brushed a hair strand out of your face.

When you woke up, you didn't even realise that he sat beside you. You let out a yawn, that Felix found incredibly sweet, and tried to hide your face from the sun. Why did you leave the curtains open?

You turned and borrowed your nose in the cushion, smelling the scent. Wait, you couldn't remember that you went home. You shot up and saw Felix watching you.

"What are you doing here?" You exclaimed, searching for your weapons. You realised you weren't even in your apartment. No, you remember that room. You watched over Felix here.

"I correct, what am I doing here? I can't remember anything"

He chuckled. "Well, you were at a bar and a creep put something into your drink. You were almost immediately out like a light. I brought you here"

"uhm. Thank you, I guess."

"It's okay. I owed you" he exclaimed and his face was decorated with a pretty smile.

"Of course, you didn't owe me anything. I just shot you" you exclaimed ironically.

"I know. But you will think I'm a liar when I tell you that I saved you because you are in fact my soulmate" he told you and got serious.

You laughed. Funny, very funny. The nymphs told you about the whole soulmate thing.

"Funny. But I'm a hunter and definitely not bound with a wolf. Humans don't get bounded with wolves"

"Your wrong. It happens but really rarely" he tried to change your mind. You sighed. That's not good if he said the truth. All your life, the nymphs told you over and over again that falling in love is something that Artemis hated. She for it it, especially with a wolf. That's suicide.

"You know I should kill ya? I'm a hunter. Keeping your pack alive is against my principles."

"And still, I'm sitting here next to you. Clearly alive" he said with a sweet and amused smile.

You rolled your eyes. You hated how amusing it was for him.

☆☾☆

Just minutes later, you walked back home. Your head hammered and you were confused. Why would Selene, the goddess of the moon that was the cause of the wolves having mates, pair him with you? That was crazy.

Even if you two would start developing feelings for each other, the nymphs would find out. They would send another huntress to see why your presence has changed so much. There is barely a chance that they wouldn't find out.

Days passed and you tried to get your mind straight. In the meantime, you had hunted another, smaller pack some kilometres away from here. Now, you were finally back in your apartment and cleaned your weapons from the dried blood. You stilled, when you heard a knock. Who would visit you? Maybe the old, forgetful lady from above? She asks for your help sometimes.

The small dagger was placed behind your back for the possibility that it was someone else. You opened the door and Felix gave you a kind smile. In his hands, there were grocery bags.

"What are you doing here?" you asked rather fierce than friendly. Without asking he slipped into the apartment and took off his shoes.

"Courting my mate. Where's the kitchen?" He told you like it was something normal to be strolling in here. In the home of a hunter who was armed to the teeth.

"Are you crazy?" you questioned and crossed your armes as you followed him through the apartment. "Sometimes yeah. Now please tell me where your kitchen is, sunshine."

You sighed. It seems like Felix wouldn't go away any time soon. You directed him into the kitchen. "And don't call me sunshine!"

He chuckled and placed his bags down, rummaging through them. "Okay, I won't, sunshine"

"You're unbelievable" you just muttered. He placed meat and some other ingredients on the countertop.

"I didn't know what you like so I figured i would buy something simple that I can cook for you. And for the dessert, I baked brownies earlier."

While he cooked bibimbap, you observed him nervously. He pretends like he was really close to you. Like a real pair, not a huntress and a wolf. It was crazy how much he seemed to trust you when he stirred the pan, his back facing you. Theoretically, you just need to throw the dagger and he would be dead.

But you can't figure out why but something within you stopped you from doing that. That what you were trained for. Maybe it was the bond between you that made you change your mind just a slight bit.

He turned around, drying his hands on a kitchen towel, giving you a kind smile. "Can you please set up the table? The meal is nearly ready." You just nodded and grabbed plates and cutlery, placing it on the table.

During the meal, there was a silence that was really uncomfortable. It was like he wanted to say something and eventually, he initiated a full conversation with you after some time.

Two weeks passed and during that time, Felix often visited you. Soon, it was kind of normal to have him around for dinner and the cold wall that you had built up during all those years of training crumpled down and Felix got to know the real you. Someone who isn't just defined by being a huntress. You grew comfortable and even if you wouldn't admit it you loved to spend the time with him. You knew that you must move away rather quickly so that the nymphs wouldn't suspect something.

Currently, you were getting ready for meeting Felix at their cottage. You assumed that after he cooked for you more than seven times in two weeks it was just kind to return the favour and cook for him. He assured you that most of his pack members weren't there because they all had something against you. Not that this was unjustified.

A sudden knock let you slip out of your thoughts. Definitely that wouldn't be Felix since you would go to him this time. You opened the door and were shocked when you saw who was on the other side. Lila, a huntress that you grew up with in the temple. She was one of your friends and actually shouldn't be here now.

"Lila! Nice to see you again. What brings you here?" You welcomed her. A laugh erupted from her and she braced you into a warm hug. "Hello, y/n. I wanted to see you again after months of being separated."

"That's so sweet. Do you wanna come in?"

"Thanks. So how is the hunt going?" She was always like that, getting to the point of her stay instantly.

"Good. I took down a pack two weeks ago" she gave you an approving nod. "Good that. What pack do you hunt now?" What should you say? Since you got to know Felix, you weren't sure if all wolves are bad. You started to see that not everything the nymphs told you is true.

"I took some time off from hunting. I enjoy it here" you avoided the question. "Then we can take the next pack down together. I heard that here is a pack of eight" Great, that's just great. You can't defend Felix when she was here. You needed to warn him.

"Yeah, that sounds good" you mumbled. Without her noticing, you wrote Felix a quick message on your phone that you couldn't make it.

You could tell that he was disappointed but his life depended on it.

The next morning, you tried to get your mind free from all the heavy thoughts and decided to go on a quick walk. Jogging along the empty streets, you listened to your music and enjoyed the nature along the streets. Due to your earphones, you were distracted and wasn't prepared to be pulled into the woods. You yelped and held the dagger against the person's throat.

"Easy, sunshine. It's me" Quickly, you withdrew the knife and gave him a smile. "You're lucky, I didn't stab you. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Why did you cancelled last night?"

"Another huntress showed up. She wants to hunt your pack. I-" you stopped when you heard the bushes rustle. It could be the wind but therefore it wasn't windy at all. With his heightened senses, Felix tried to detect what the noise was.

There was another rustle and you quickly pushed yourself over Felix, tackling him to the ground and your body above his. Just where Felix head once was, there was now a silver arrow, undoubtedly from a hunter. You got down from Felix and scrambled up to face Lila who walked out the bush with her bow aiming at Felix.

"Go away from the wolf, y/n!" She shouted.

"Lila, please. Drop the bow" you pleaded, your own dagger in your hand. You didn't want to hurt her. She was a former friend after all.

"Seriously? He is a werewolf! You used to hunt them!" She exclaimed angrily. You couldn't hurt her but you couldn't let her hurt Felix.

"I know it sounds crazy but he is my soulmate! Selene herself selected him as my other half"

"That's pathetic. Go to the side and let me take care of him. Now" her voice was cold and filled with determination. You shook your head and felt Felix trying to push you aside, giving Lila the chance to aim at his chest.

The arrow glided through the air and before it could reach it's designated target, you shielded him and the arrow pierced straight into your skin, just centimetres above your chest. The first blood drained your shirt in a deep red, a sharp pain shot trough your whole body, making it impossible to stand. Felix catched you, taking you into his arms. There where tears in his eyes when you looked into those brown spheres, they were the last thing you saw before the black void swallowed you.

☆☾☆

Fear took over Felix's whole body when he saw the arrow piercing through your skin. He held you, shielding you from the other hunter who still aimed her bow at him. It angered him how low it affected her that she just shot someone from her group. Or she isn't showing it. He let out a low growl as a warning.

Before she could harm you in any way again, Chan and Minho came out of the bushes. He had mind linked them earlier when you had talked to her and he knew that this wasn't taking a good turn. Chan knocked her over, slapped the bow out of her hand and before she could do anything that could hurt someone, he knocked her out.

Minho came towards him and you. Felix wanted to snarl at him for coming so close when his mate was hurt but he knew that he just wanted to help you. And you definitely needed that. Without moving you too much, your mate held you protectively in his arms as he ran through the woods to the cottage. Jeongin and Minho needed to get a closer look at the wound to treat you properly.

During the whole process, he sat beside you, holding your hand even though you wouldn't even feel it. But the warm skin against his soothed him even if you weren't awake. However, the skin contact reminded him that he hadn't lost you, that you weren't dead.

They got the arrow out and stopped the bleeding. With a bandage, they were finally finished and let Felix and you alone. You laid on his bed. Just weeks ago, he laid there too, with an arrow that you shot. But he wouldn't wanted it any other way. That way he got you and it was worth the pain.

When you woke up it was late at night, the moon shining through the window into the room. You felt something warm on your leg. It was Felix who slept tightly with your thigh as a pillow. Your whole body hurt but you were fine. But where was Lila? Felix seemed fine. What happened?

But that were questions for later. You were tired and didn't want to wake Lix. Tenderly, you brushed his fluffy hair out of his face, gliding through the strands and playing with them. With your hand in his hair, the dark swallowed you once more and you fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up again. Felix still asleep and it seemed that he didn't even move. You teased his hair once again, especially the strands at his neck. It was so long, already touching his shoulders. But he seems to be ticklish and squirmed away from your hand, nuzzling further in your skin. His eyes fluttered open and he yawned.

"You're awake." He stated, his voice still deep from the sleep. "How are you? Does it hurt?" He questioned and pushed himself up, sitting straight on the stool.

"I'm fine" you said with a smile and took his hand in yours. "But where's Lila?" His face darkened and he sighed.

"Chan knocked her out and brought her here. We figured out that she is dangerous for us"

"I know. Can I see her? I need to speak to her"

"Are you sure? You just woke up." He pouted, showing clearly that he wasn't agreeing to that.

"I need to" you answered and pushed yourself up. It hurt and only with the help of Felix you reached the room where Lila was. You opened the door and walked into the room, Felix fussing over you. He was like a mom, watching carefully over his baby.

Lila sat on a stool, on the table next to her was a plate with food that she didn't even touched. She looked up when she saw you. "Hey" you said. She looked exhausted and like she didn't even slept a bit.

"Y/n, you're okay?" she asked hesitant. "Yeah. Even though you need to work on your aiming"

She let out a laugh, clearly relieved that you weren't angry. "Why did you protect him?" She asked. You walked across the room, sitting down on the other stool and pleaded Felix to let you two speak alone. He wasn't a fan of that but agreed.

"He is my mate. And I know that this felt so wrong at first but he showed me that there are other things in life than just hunting. I liked the life of a hunter but I love the life here, with Felix. And this pack is caring." You explained.

"So, you are giving the life of a hunter up?"

"Yeah. And I hope you can understand me. I'm not saying that you should agree to me but at least accept it."

She gave you a heart warming smile and nodded. "I won't say anything to the nymphs. I want you to live a happy life" you returned the smile and took her hand. "Thank you, Lila"

You escorted her out of the cottage, saying goodbye because she will return to the temple. You hugged and watched her disappear into the woods. Felix came towards you, having watched from the house, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pushing his nose into your hair.

"I can smell your scent!" He exclaimed happily. You giggled. "Yeah, because I didn't take the potion to suppress it"

He wiggled further into your hair, smelling you. "You smell so good."

"You're silly" lightly, you pushed him away to shut up his pouting with a kiss. He was shocked at first, his eyes growing double so big.

"Was that a kiss? Do it again" he demanded and pursed his lips. You laughed and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pressing his lips onto yours.

#stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #lee felix x reader #stray kids felix #felix x reader #felix angst #lee felix #stray kids #felix x reader fluff #felix x y/n

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

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Loving the Zach stuff so far!!!

Could you maybe do something where yn hates his guts, but he is like in love with her and all her sass?? Then they're forced to go on some school trip together or something, and she realizes she likes him and a cute angry love confession, perhaps???

Danke 🫶🏼💐

Thank You, History Class

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Zach have been running in the same friend group since Freshman year, but it doesn’t mean they necessarily get along. Well, it doesn’t mean that she likes him. His sarcasm and puppy dog vibe annoys her cool and distant personality. He’s always asking her how her day is going and trying to make her laugh with his stupid jokes. Zach, on the other hand, fell for her grumpy soul the moment he set eyes on her. Unlike most people, who don’t bother looking deeper into her personality, Zach could see the soft side that she held within and never let anyone see. He would always catch how she would stand up from her bus seat when she saw an elderly person. She wouldn’t let people around her know it was the reason, but she always did. He saw the little bowl of milk she left outside her house for a cat mother and her kittens. Finally, he saw how sweet she was to children whenever they were around her.

Zach didn’t want to take a history class and he certainly didn’t feel like going on a field trip to a museum. It all felt very high school to him. The only upside about it: Y/N is also taking the same class. When he saw that he needed a history credit to graduate, he definitely didn’t go looking for what classes she was taking this semester to try and be in the same one. The cost was giving Jason access to his bathroom whenever he wanted, but it was worth it. He knows the field trip isn’t mandatory for any marks, yet he knows Y/N is going to be there. As he heads toward the Victorian house, he finds Y/N out front waiting for the professor to show up. Her clothing consists of black and brown colours as usual. Her hair was held back by a shiny black claw clip.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grins, coming to stand beside her. She gives him a side eye, “Could you be more cliche? Try something more original, would ya? I still can’t believe you are taking this class.” He doesn’t let her sour mood dampen his energy. “Come on, you know you like having me with you in this class. The only other people in this class are girls who have a romanticized view of the era, or guys, who have a history stick so far up their ass that they think a history degree will take them far in life,” he notes, turning to look at her. She looks him dead in the eyes, “I’m a history major. And I am neither of those things.” “I know, that’s because you are so much better than them. You are far too smart for them,” he flatters. She shakes her head, turning her attention to the professor who has just arrived, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” The professor leads them into the museum and begins his lecture. After ten minutes of listening to the man speak, both Y/N and Zach realized that coming was a big waste of time. He doesn’t know what he is talking about and Zach can hear Y/N constantly correcting the older man under her breath.

He leans toward her, making sure his lips are close to her ear. “Wanna go on our own little tour? This man is getting half of this stuff wrong.” She thinks she has lost her mind because this must be the first thing Zach has said that she thought was a good idea. “That actually sounds kind of fun. They have a Victorian fashion exhibit I want to see, but I don’t think Professor Robo over there is going to take us to,” she whispers back. Her hand finds his and she hates to admit she likes the warmth of his in hers. They round the stairs to the exhibit. She looks delighted when she spots the first mannequin with clothes. Her feet find their way beside a girl about six years old, already looking at the dress. The child’s eyes find Y/N’s face and they smile at each other. “You know, this is an 1843 Evening dress. The bodice, the thing around the chest, is low off the shoulders. And they have lots of other skirts underneath to make it poofy,” Y/N softly explains to the little girl.

They spent around thirty minutes in the small room. Y/N walks around with Willow and Zach, explaining each outfit to them. She is surprised that Zach seemed honestly engaged with what she was saying and would ask thoughtful questions. Eventually, Willow’s mother, an employee, came looking for her and took the girl to lunch. “Do you want to head to lunch?” she asks. He shakes his head, “Actually, I was hoping we could look at the Victorian sports exhibit. I brought some snacks, so if you are hungry, we can share.” He pulls out a bag of cucumbers shaped like hearts. She has to giggle at the sight because big jock Zach MacLaren likes to have his vegetable cut into shapes.

“What?” he questions in fake offence, holding out the Ziploc to her. She shakes her head with a chuckle, “Nothing, just surprised your cucumbers look like an inaccurate depiction of a human organ.” “They make them taste better. Try,” he says with a shrug. He hands her a slice and listens to the sweet crunch of her biting into the vegetable. “Okay… I must admit it is more fun to eat it like a heart. I can pretend I’m a witch eating people’s hearts,” she agrees. He doesn’t look disturbed by her macabre comments, instead, he pretends to be ripping out his heart as he hands her another slice. She enjoys him playing with her deadly thoughts.

They spent about an hour looking at the different displays, eating his snacks and taking turns reading the display’s blurbs to each other. As they stand on the steps of the museum, Y/N towers over him from the step above. He looks up at her like she hangs the stars in the sky. “I hate to admit that you made this day pretty fun,” she confides. Her hands find their way behind her back, biting her lip as she looks into his eyes. His mouth turns into a crescent moon, “I’m really glad I did. I like spending time with you.” She takes a moment to think and moves her head away in frustration. Not at him, but at the turmoil inside her mind. Why is his charming smile suddenly getting to her? Why does she want to step into his warmth and let his arms bring her in? “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m falling for you, MacLaren. So… would you want to go to dinner? Like on a date,” she confesses with a hint of annoyance in her tone that is just normally there. She is disgusted by the excitement that crosses his face. He gets off the steps, running around the green grass in front of the building. He jumps every so often with a little whoop let out as he does so.

He rushes back to her, grabbing her around her waist and spinning her around. She finds the sound of her giggles odd but enjoys it nonetheless. “Way to keep a poker face,” she sasses, looking down at him. He doesn’t care though all he wants is a chance to be with her.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

#the other zoey #zach maclaren #zach maclaren x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfiction

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lookwhatyoumademedohaha · 2 years ago

Text

And that kids, is how I met your mother! Chapter 1 - Until I Found You

I would never fall in love again until I found her I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into" I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her I found you

Summary: Nikolai Lantsov is a falling in love with you. But do you feel the same way about him?

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Reader, Nikolai Lantsov x Six of Crows Reader, Kaz Brekker x Reader.

Warnings: Pure fluff, angst and comfort, humor, unrequited love, pining.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first Nikolai Lantsov fic so I hope that I did Nikolai’s character justice! I am thinking of making this a series and writing another part to this because this is not the end but the beginning! Let me know your thoughts and comments on my work because it means a lot to me! I love you all! Happy reading!

Chapter 2 - Labyrinth

Chapter 3 - Call it what you want

Chapter 4 - Someone to Stay

Chapter 5 - Cornelia Street

Nikolai Lantsov did not believe in love at sight. Nikolai was raised in a gleaming palace where love didn’t have a place in his life. He was raised and believed that love was not an option for a Lantsov son and the King of Ravka whose reason for marriage should be to forge political connections and produce heirs.

But then you had stormed into his life. And the moment Nikolai had seen you, he had been absolutely enchanted by you and there was no going back.

You had arrived into Ravkan Court a few weeks ago from Ketterdam with Nina Zenik who had come to visit Zoya and help her with training Grisha for a few months. Initially Nikolai had been informed that Nina would be arriving alone but he was pleasantly surprised when after Nina, you had stepped out of the carriage in wonder and amazement of a girl who was in a dream. Nina had introduced you to Nikolai, Zoya, David and Genya as part of the Crows in Ketterdam.

Nikolai couldn’t help falling in love with you. He knew it was silly to fall in love with you when he didn’t even know you properly but he loved the curve of your lips when you smiled at his jokes. He loved how you held yourself with a careless elegance as if you didn’t care what anyone else thought of you. He loved how your eyes would twinkle in love for your friends as you gave warm hugs to them and the joy that shined on your face whenever you sent letters to the Crows in Ketterdam. He loved how you treated everyone from Duke to servant with respect and kindness. He loved you on the days you were silent and reserved, lost in your myriad of thoughts. He loved your fierce scowl directed at him whenever he teased you and your blazing furious glare whenever you saw anyone hurt others. He loved the mischief and amusement that shone in you as you talked with children being childlike yourself making them giggle.

But there was a problem.

Your heart was set on someone far away in Ketterdam.

Nikolai had slyly poked around and investigated with a little help from Genya and Zoya whether you were single because he was aching with hope that you wouldn’t be in love with someone else. After torturing Nina who had kept her mouth shut for an impressively long time, he found out that you were in love with Kaz Brekker but he was not in love with you. You had set your hopeful heart in the hands of the Bastard of the Barrel who had used all of its love for a heist by making you play a role of his wife in a fake marriage for months. Everyone knew that you had agreed because you loved Kaz but as time passed, all the Crows thought Kaz had fallen in love with you because of different, sweet and soft - hearted, his heart in his eyes when he was around you. Nina had heard his heart for you and was certain Kaz reciprocated your feelings.

But after the scheme, the heist was over, Kaz has pushed you away and thrown you away with a disregard for your feelings as he crushed your heart into broken glass between his bloody claws. Kaz refused to acknowledge your love for him and face his feelings for you and he stayed stubborn no matter how hard the Crows tried to persuade him. So finally Nina who had enough of seeing you miserable and broken - hearted decided to bring you to Ravka because she believed a lot of distance, good food and a nice change of scenery would cheer you up.

A fake marriage with real feelings. Nikolai understood the feeling all too well. After all, Alina who had been engaged to him had chosen Mal but Nikolai’s heart had been crushed because he had liked Alina and wondered what was wrong with him. He never wanted anyone to feel such a pain and thinking of you suffering in silence, quietly trying to piece your broken heart pained him. He had noticed and wondered about the dark circles under your eyes, the glossy far away distant look in your eyes, the excitement fading when you finished looking through your letters you received from your friend as if there was one missing, the way you looked wistfully and sadly at lovers dancing in court and the quiet unhappiness you hid behind your forced smile when anyone mentioned Kaz Brekker.

Now Nikolai knew why and though he considered Kaz Brekker to be a mutual friend, he had an urge to punch Brekker in the face because why couldn’t he see you were beautiful and wonderful in every way? Why did he break you heart?

Nikolai knew that the smart option would be to give up and walk away from you because there was no chance you would ever return his love. But he was a fool when it came to you. The feelings he had for Alina seemed insignificant compared to the enormity and significance of the feelings he had for you. The moment Nikolai had seen you, he felt familiarity and the feeling of coming home bloom warmly within his heart as he felt alive for the very first time. Nikolai understood every poem about soulmates in that moment as he knew you were his great and beautiful love that only came once in a lifetime and could never be replaced and forgotten. Nikolai felt his heart whisper that you were the one every time you smiled at him and felt forever surround him whenever he held a conversation with you. You were a dream, a comet in the night sky.

And Nikolai knew that if he didn’t fight for you, fight for the love that he could have with you, he would be damned to regret and misery for the rest of his lifetime wondering what could have happened between them if he had faced his feelings and let you know that he loved you. Nikolai knew that even if you didn’t return his affections, he would never love anyone the way he loved you.

So he began trying to woo you. Nikolai complimented you, teased you endlessly receiving annoyed and amused glares from you, joked with you mischievously, asked you questions, spent his leisure time with you, found excuses to spend time with you and talked with you nervously stuttering and blushing and listening attentively to you because he was entranced by you. But in all his attempts to show you that he loved you, you would push him away with brushing off his compliments, gestures and comments with sarcastic remarks and the remarkable roll of your eyes and your guarded demeanor when you realized he was opening his heart to you.

Nikolai remembered the first time he had complimented you flirtatiously when he had seen you in the training grounds “Y/N, you look beautiful as a field of honeysuckle blooming in a spring afternoon.”

Nikolai relished the shock and surprise flushing in your face as your eyes grew guarded “I’m not interested. Save your sweet words for some princess.”

Nikolai appreciated how straightforward you were with him despite how it cut him deep to the bone as he had retorted cheekily “You are a princess to me.”

Nikolai had seen you shake your head in exasperation and walk away when Nikolai yelled out loud “I am going to marry you one day and make you the happiest princess in the world, mark my words Y/N! You’ll be my princess madly in love with me and we’ll live happily ever after!”

Zoya who had been with Nikolai had muttered something about being subtle but Nikolai whose heart was full of you and knew that if he said he was going to marry you one day, he probably would. His attention was only on you who had frozen mid step and then turned around toward him with a completely surprised and exasperated expression “Keep dreaming, Lantsov.”’

Nikolai still was utterly entranced and enchanted by you as he grinned widely, his eyes twinkling with mischief “I got eyes only for you.”

Nikolai saw you roll your eyes sarcastically in exasperation and annoyance at him but he had seen a faint hint of a smile curve on your face as you had walked away, giving him hope.

Genya thought Nikolai’s crush and attempts to show it were cute. Nina found this hilarious and amusing, encouraging this just to see Nikolai fail. Zoya rolled her eyes calling Nikolai a silly school boy falling over his knees pulling the pigtails of a little girl just to get your attention.

Nikolai who was lost in his thoughts about you as he took a stroll in the grounds felt depressed and exhausted by the work and the thought of you loving someone who didn’t appreciate you. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t see you as he bumped into you and both of you fell down.

Nikolai’s eyes widened in apology as he stuttered nervously trying to help you up “I apologize, Y/N. Are you hurt?”

“Oh, I’ve been in worse situations.” you replied cheerfully as you helped him up and looked at him with a cheerful smile that grew into a concerned expression as you observed the exhaustion written in his hazel eyes from ruling Ravka which he gave everything to.

Nikolai froze in surprise when you hugged him gently but he felt himself relax and loosen in your arms as he felt the heavy weight of duty begin to unfold as you whispered softly “Nikolai... just let it all go.”

Nikolai dropped his head on your shoulder feeling the burden of exhaustion throughout the months he had been carrying silently begin to fade away as tears sprang into his eyes and he choked out a sob because it was hard to be the King of Ravka. It was so hard to fight each day for his people, to nod and agree and disagree with his ministers who had plenty of plans and proposals, to keep an eye out for the number of enemies he was surrounded by and to smile and keep everything together so that Ravka could stand strong and unshaken. He didn’t have time to let go and be himself until you had come along. He didn’t even know it was so lonely and painful until he was in your arms, salty tears running down his cheeks as your arms embraced him warmly and your fingers threading through his blonde hair granting him comfort and peace.

Peace. He had not tasted it for a very long time.

Nikolai didn’t know how long he had cried in your arms but it felt like forever when he raised his head to look into your quiet and kind eyes.

He felt ashamed for being such a baby as he tried to move away and apologized “I am sorry. I have never wanted you to see me like this and burden you with my worries. I apologize for ruining your evening.”

“You do realize you are human?” you inquired sassily but there was utmost gentleness in it “And when are you going to realize that you are not alone? That you have friends around you who love you and want to share your burdens?”

Nikolai was taken aback in surprise at your kindness as he blinked back his tears but you took his hand in yours tentatively and gently “You’re allowed to have very bad days and cry and scream and throw a tantrum about it. You are not alone. I’m your friend, Nikolai and that means you share your burdens and worries with me and I’m going to be there for you. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

Nikolai felt a small smile curve on his face as a spark of comfort spouted in him “That means a great deal to me but I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“You worry about everyone but who worries about you? I’m going to worry about you because I want to and you can’t order me not to!” you exclaimed passionately with a fierce scowl that made Nikolai smile widely in amusement as you tossed your hair.

“You’d get tired of it eventually. And I hate seeing your lovely smile replaced by that fierce frown.” teased Nikolai with a grin as his heart thudded with amazement at how worried you were for him and his heart fluttered as he realized you were still holding onto his hand and hadn’t let go.

“I don’t have a fierce frown.” you retorted frowning fiercely making Nikolai huff in laughter and you shook your head at him in exasperation “And I don’t think I can ever get tired of you.”

Nikolai felt his heart flutter happily as he blushed nervously and shyly and you smiled at him softly “Honestly if anyone would get tired of a person, it would be me. People think of me as cool at first but then they sick of me eventually and want someone new around. You’ll be the same.”

Nikolai saw the sad smile you wore as you said this, the unhappiness in your eyes and felt something fierce and painful clench his heart at the thought of you believing that anyone would be tired of having you around “Tell me... tell me who made you believe that your presence, your very kind and beautiful presence would tire a soul lucky enough to be in your presence?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. It matters to me because I hate seeing you hate yourself because people were absolute fools who couldn’t see how wonderful you are.” replied Nikolai fiercely and protectively as he held your hands tightly in his, looking earnestly at you. “The next time you think that I will get sick of you... remember that I’m Nikolai Lantsov and that I absolutely adore your friendly smile, your warm hugs, the way you wrinkle your nose and roll your eyes at me when I tease you, and the small things you say that I replay in my head after you are gone. Remember that I want to annoy you forever and I don’t say that about anyone else.”

To Nikolai’s pleasure, you giggled and blushed as you looked at him with something unreadable as you shook your head “I’ll try to believe it. But sometimes... it gets hard to believe everything you told me. It’s hard to believe that I’m someone people will love.”

“I understand how you feel. I - I know the feeling too.” said Nikolai quietly with a vulnerable expression, defenseless and unguarded as he looked at you after a long moment. “I understand how you feel but it’s not true.”

Nikolai saw your eyes widen in surprise and curiosity “But you’re Nikolai! Everybody loves you!”

Nikolai and you had sat on the grassy ground near the lake as he ran his hand through his hair wanting to hide his greatest fears and insecurities but as he stared into your gentle and quiet eyes, he found himself saying “I know... but it’s not the love I want. I don’t feel loved. I don’t believe I’m loved... I’ve never known real love... my father and mother had a marriage of duty and political arrangement. My mother suffered years of heartless neglect at the hands of my father who was too busy abusing young women. And well, my brother... I don’t think he ever cared about me even though I looked up to him when I was young.”

“And Alina... well, you know how that ended. It was a fake marriage with real feelings. I had feelings for her but her heart belonged to someone else and in the end, she chose someone else over me.” stated Nikolai softly with an air of unguarded vulnerability he had never shown anyone else because he was the King who could not afford to be weak. But sitting here on the grass with you, in your presence, he felt like the boy with fears and insecurities who had to carry on and didn’t have to pretend to be anyone as he cracked a grin “So you see... I’m not very lovable.”

Your eyes were heavy with quiet contemplation and thoughtfulness as Nikolai saw you stare at him and scoffed “You can laugh. Go on, laugh at me.”

You looked at him thoughtfully and quietly, with a protective glint in your eyes “Why would I laugh? I was just thinking about making a time machine so I can go back in time and make everyone who ever made you feel unloved and unlovable regret each moment of their pathetic lives.”

Nikolai let out a huff of laughter, as a smile appeared on his face without a thought feeling happy and taken aback in pleasant surprise “I didn’t know you cared so much about me.”

“You are loud, laugh a lot, tell silly jokes and have a heart full of hope in a world that won’t change easily. You’re exactly the kind of person I would scoff at and yet I find myself feeling quite protective over you and worrying about you.” you confided quietly and softly as your fingers twisted nervously, your beautiful eyes looking into his with something undecipherable “You’re nonsensical but I’ve grown to quite like you.”

Nikolai felt something surprising and warm rush through him, engulfing him in tidal waves as he suddenly felt conscious of being the object of your earnest and sincere gaze. He felt something that he had always strived and worked hard to be in everyone’s eyes... he felt special and extraordinary, seen and loved. This feeling felt all too consuming and yet he wanted more of it as he basked in its golden radiance and new sweetness that he was experiencing for the first time.

“Well... coming from you, it means a great deal.” whispered Nikolai, his foolish heart blooming with hope and adoration as whispers of the feeling that perhaps you could come to care for him in time crowded him and then smiled widely “It certainly is an improvement in our relationship from the last time where you called me an annoying, idiotic, lousy pig and pushed me into the lake.”

You laughed in amusement, your cheeks flushing a bright pink as your eyes sparkled in mirth and nervousness “Saints! I - I don’t know what I was thinking! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was in need of a good swim.” joked Nikolai with an amused grin as he felt happy at being the person who made you laugh in joy and sparkle in happiness.

You laughed and Nikolai swore that he would walk through hell just to hear you laugh so freely, so merrily as you shook your head at him with an apologetic look in your eyes “I - I mean, I wasn’t myself that day. I was having a really bad day and I was angry and hurt and when you said all those - when you said all those really sweet things to tease me - I just felt nothing but rage and I took it out on you. I am truly sorry.”

“You’re always forgiven.” said Nikolai softly and gently as he looked at you mindlessly picking flowers growing on the ground “Why were you angry that day? What’s your story?”

“Fake marriage with real feelings but it ended in heartbreak.” you replied with a wide grin but there was sadness and pain written all over your face “It’s not very happy.”

“Well I have all the time in the world for you, so go ahead, I’m listening.”

Nikolai smiled when you cracked a smile and watched you twist your fingers nervously and hug your knees “It’s the same story. It feels like a long time ago but I honestly thought I would never fall in love because its silly and stupid. But when I first met the enigmatic, mysterious and clever devil by the name of Kaz Brekker.”

“Just imagine it. An impressionable, young girl, new to Ketterdam and suddenly the Bastard of the Barrel drops into my life and he is clever, infamous, dangerous, kinder to me than anyone in my life has been, appreciates every little thing about me. He made me feel important and seen. Imagine what that does to a lonely girl.” you said softly and quietly, your voice trembling with sadness and heartbreak, with a trembling weak smile.

“I fell in love with him before I even knew it. He asked me to pretend to be his wife and because I was so stupid, I agreed because I loved him. And I thought as time passed, that it wasn’t an act on his part because it felt like he genuinely loved me back too. That there could be a chance for a happy ending. But people like me never get happy endings because Kaz Brekker never loved me, I was just an investment, a means to an end to achieve his goals.” you told Nikolai with tears of pain and heartbreak glimmering and falling down your cheeks as you choked back on a sob “And I didn’t expect it to hurt this much... but my heart is broken, and everything hurts so much.”

Nikolai’s heart wrenched in despair and distress as you let out a sob of heartache and heartbreak “And I hate him! I hate him so much! But I hate myself because I let myself believe that he loved me too! Because I loved him through everything, through his worst but he never chose me me at all. Kaz was using me and I was a fool to think I could ever be loved!”

Nikolai couldn’t bear your grief any longer as he wrapped his arms around you comforting you as he let you cry into his chest, your sobs racking your body with grief and heartbreak as you held onto him for dear life. Nikolai stroked your hair gently and rubbed your back soothingly, whispering soft and comforting words of solace and truth that you were loved more because he couldn’t bear your cries of pain, anger, hate and heartbreak that had been bottled up for so long. It physically hurt him to see you so broken but he held you in his arms because he wanted to be the person to hold you up and stand by you through your darkest times.

Nikolai gazed at your tear stained face as he gently brushed away the tears from your cheeks “Kaz Brekker is an idiot. He’s a fool not to fall in love with you.”

“Why are you crying?” you asked Nikolai in curiosity and Nikolai realized that he had been crying too.

“I don’t know. I felt your pain, your heartbreak and if I could take it and make it all mine, I would. I hate to see you in such pain, I hate to seeing you cry even though you are really pretty when you cry.” said Nikolai confessing shyly blushing faintly as you smiled up at him in surprise and then sighed as he confessed sincerely to you who was looking at him curiously “The truth is life as the King is not easy for me. In fact, it has been hard and there are days when my pain and exhaustion threatens to sink me into the quicksand. But I guess my life is much easier and lighter when I share my burdens with you.”

You smiled through your tears as you sniffed “I’m sorry I - I’m really sorry I cried and put all of this on you. You have enough on your plate -”

“I like worrying about you.” said Nikolai immediately as his fingers brushed gently across your cheek wiping away your tears, his skin tingling at the contact with your soft skin “I want to worry about you because I like you more than anyone in this world.”

Nikolai was delighted to see the faint blush coloring your cheeks but your eyes were still full of heartbreak of sadness and pain as your voice cracked as you placed your hand on your chest “This hurts like hell... Everyone close to me in my life is in a happy relationship and now... and I thought I could have happiness and love too. But I’m beginning to think that I don’t have my happy ending”

“No! That is not true. Take it from the Lantsov Prince who has been dumped by the Sun Summoner and suffered crushed feelings... it’s not true.” replied Nikolai immediately with reassurance and honesty as he placed his hand on your shoulder gently and comfortingly and he saw you crack a small faint smile.

“It just feels like this pain is eternal and infinite... it’s never going to end.” you replied your voice trembling with aching pain and hurt as you let out a small sob and sniffed looking at Nikolai whose face was etched with gentleness and adoration.

“Well, that’s what I said about being shot for the first time in the war, exiling my parents and having my heart crushed by a Saint but the pain did and will end.” replied Nikolai quietly in a matter - of - fact tone that exuded simple honesty and reassurance as he looked at you sincerely with vulnerability and affection and felt shy as he saw you gaze at him curiously in concern and admiration.

“Now... the thing is you have such bravery and strength to be vulnerable and open your heart to compassion and love. You feel your emotions deeply and even though it hurts you, it’s a good thing because so many people numb themselves on feeling and miss out on the good things in life.” said Nikolai sincerely and truthfully as he gazed at you, honesty and kindness gleaming in his hazel eyes as you held your breath listening to him. “

Nikolai’s hand dropped to your hand and tentatively sought permission to hold it and he felt electric when you tentatively and gently intertwined your fingers with his as he squeezed your hand comfortingly “You are right now nursing a broken heart but I believe you will heal, rise through the ashes and walk to the other side stronger than ever. Don’t close your heart to love and pain. The joy is worth the pain.”

You looked at him through the tears in your eyes, feeling grateful for his warm and charming presence surprised by his wisdom he hid behind the charming façade of a boy king “It just - I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Kaz love me back? What’s so wrong with me that he won’t love me back?”

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong with you! Saints, you are perfect!” exclaimed Nikolai in honesty and sincerity feeling disbelief and hurt at the thought of you thinking that you were short of perfection when you were the most beautiful, wonderful person he had ever met.

“You’re just saying that because you are always nice to me.” you retorted sharply and sassily as you shook your head in doubt and self - loathing. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right... I don’t know you.” said Nikolai quietly and thoughtfully because that hurt. It hurt Nikolai deeply that you didn’t see how Nikolai saw every crook and crevice of you when no one else cared to look at the little things that made you special “I don’t pay attention to anything you do.”

“I don’t know that you love Nina like your own sister and though you argue with each other, you want her to be proud of you. I don’t know that you lend a helping hand to the servants and comfort and listen to little children who look up to you with gentleness, mischief and the sweets you steal from the kitchen. I don’t know that when someone suggests something stupid and ignorant, you roll your eyes at them and speak your mind wisely and intelligently with a rather sharp tongue.” said Nikolai knowingly and passionately with a soft and affectionate glint in his hazel eyes as he gazed at you intensely full of adoration for you as your eyes widened in surprise “I don’t know that you love dancing and music but you don’t dance unless you are asked properly. I don’t know that you pretend to scoff pretty dresses but you are secretly thrilled at wearing them. I don’t know that you like reading romance, history and crime thrillers in the library until Genya has to drag you away from the library. I don’t know that you always listen patiently to David, not out of pity but sincerely because you are curious and consider him a friend. I don’t know that you are the only one who can get Zoya to eat a decent meal and have a nap.”

“And even though, I will say that I’m fine and try to make you leave me, you are going to walk me to my chambers and make sure I’m alright. Because that’s exactly the kind of person you are.” finished Nikolai honestly and sincerely as he gazed at you softly and gently, his heart full of love and passion only for you.

Your eyes had widened in surprise and you were certain your jaw had dropped as you felt paralyzed in shock and amazement at being seen by Nikolai of all people. You had thought his teasing was an infatuation, a silly game he liked to play to impress every girl but as you felt him gaze at you sincerely and intensely, you felt vulnerable and seen for who you truly were and the little things you thought no one noticed.

You threw your arms around him as you hugged him tightly because you were so scared that for the first time someone had noticed the small, ordinary, little things about you and cared to remember them. It terrified you that Nikolai cared so much about you because you didn’t feel the same about him. It was a new uncharted path that felt terrifying and yet you didn’t want to let Nikolai go. You wanted to hold onto him, hold onto the only person who terrified you with these new feelings, saw the parts of you that no one else did and made it easy to be vulnerable in a world where everyone and everything was cruelest to the weak.

“Nikolai...” you whispered, blinking back your tears of disbelief and amazement because it felt like you had been drowning for ages and now this beautiful boy had pulled you up and you could finally breathe.

“One day, you’ll find someone who loves you heart and soul and all this pain and tears and heartbreak will be just a memory.” whispered Nikolai as he held you tenderly as if you were the most precious, beautiful, fragile person he had the privilege of holding and you felt his silent reassuring promise that he would always be there for you.

“Promise?”

“I solemnly swear on my life and kingdom. In fact, I’ll bet my mother’s diamond necklace on it!” said Nikolai honestly with a bright and sincere smile as he lightly touched your cheek, breathless by your beauty “You’re smart, funny, kind, sharp and the best person I know. You can declare me right, wise, smart, kind, and handsome of all men in Ravka in your speech as bride when the day comes.”

You laughed in amusement as you leaned your head on Nikolai’s shoulder unaware that he was having a fit of fluttering butterflies in his stomach as he internally screamed like a little girl and you replied with a smile “I haven’t even thought of it. My wedding. What will it be like, do you think? Will you be there?”

“Of course, love. The groom can’t miss his own ceremony, now can he? It’s my solemn duty to take your breath away and take you as my lovely wife with a beautiful diamond -” replied Nikolai, his lips curving into a good natured grin as his heart beat a little faster at the thought of you marrying him.

He groaned with a laugh as you punched him in the arm but you were laughing “Can you be serious for once?”

“I can only do five minutes but for you I’ll try my best.” said Nikolai with a wink making you shake your head at him in amused exasperation.

“You are an idiot.” you replied fondly.

“And yet, you still hold my hand.” said Nikolai in a teasing manner but he felt a burst of warmth and shyness within him, because holding your hand in his felt like heaven on earth.

Nikolai expected you to remove your hand away from his but his heart swelled with surprise and hope when you squeezed his hand tightly with a warm smile as you looked at him fondly “And yet, I still hold your hand.”

And as both of you walked to the castle, Nikolai looked at you and knew that you were his one true great love and there was no going back from this moment. Your eyes sparkled with liveliness and you talked animatedly laughing good naturedly and Nikolai wondered if you knew that he was falling... falling deeply, madly, completely and utterly in love with you with no way out.

He had been told hope was dangerous. But the way you looked at him as you left him at his chambers, gave him a semblance of hope that he was not alone in his feelings and this could be the beginning of an adventure that came with a breathtaking view.

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