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qierxing · 10 months

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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?”

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare.

“I’m really sorry about all this.”

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.”

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox.

From: Azul Ashengrotto

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult.

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses.

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat.

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing.

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back.

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No."

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland.

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but...

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon.

Your fingertips curve inward and dig.

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities.

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain.

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute.

"Ah!"

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed.

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place.

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose.

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them.

He can't hurt me here.

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter.

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter.

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then."

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?"

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols."

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call."

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message?

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance.

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks.

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight.

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox.

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!"

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately.

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling.

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag.

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone.

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?"

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit.

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?”

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.”

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours.

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore.

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?”

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion.

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange.

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face.

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on.

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear.

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious.

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers.

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads.

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield.

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back.

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear?

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds.

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses."

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question.

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react?

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse.

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house.

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see?

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore.

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now?

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him.

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all.

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling.

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair.

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair.

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #my works #if this gets good reception i'll have a easier time of writing part 2

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xxnghtclls · 2 months

Text

Flickering Lights

Chapter 1: Flickering Lights

Chapter (2)

True Form Sukuna x fem!reader

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence!

Tags under the cut and will be updated over the course of writing!

Summary: On a sad friday night, you’re finishing your last email for your job, as suddenly The King of Curses appears through a rip of space in time in your office. A change of everyday life perhaps?

Notes:

Welcome to Flickering Lights!

I hope you will enjoy <3

The -play- cues or underlined texts are linked to the specific songs she’s listening to, however I didn’t time the songs with reading time, since everyone of us reads at a different pace. I hope you’ll have fun anyway. :)

Tags:

clack clack clack clack

The harsh sound of your fingers hitting against the keys on your keyboard is reaching your ears, as you’re finishing the last email for the day.

The day, which will end in about 10 minutes.

It’s friday, 11:50 p.m. and you’re still in the office tower you work in.

Alone. An odd occasion, since this situation is not unusual in your field of work. Harsh deadlines require overtime.

Often.

Too often.

But today, your co-workers must have had something better to do. It’s friday after all.

And you wish you had the guts to do that, too.

Flickering lights from the illuminated advertisements from outside the streets are dancing in the corners of your eye. Your only company tonight.

And you blink. With a sigh, you look to the window to your right, having Tokyo looking right back at you.

Sometimes, you wish you would have the time to flee this place, your office, your life. To actually enjoy those lights, to experience something. To not give your life up for your job.

To feel not as lonely. Lonely in this city of millions.

A longing deep in your heart.

But-

I gotta pay my fucking bills, you think, as you sigh another time, before turning back to your computer. The light on your desk makes your eyes tired and before you finish your email, you go into your music library on your phone and put on your headphones. A ritual you almost do on every overtime night. It gives you energy. Almost a prayer to whoever listens. Someday something must happen.

Right?

-play-

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?

Leading you down into my core

Where I've become so numb …

Your blood starts pumping and the hairs on your body stand up, as the song crawls through your veins.

Without a soul, my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

Until you find it there and lead it back home …

Your body starts moving on its own, you move your head and lips in sync to the song. It gives you energy to finish this last fucking email before the chorus hits.

And you slam your middle finger on enter.

Send!

(Wake me up) wake me up inside (I can′t wake up), wake me up inside

(Save me) call my name and save me from the dark

Oh my god.

You feel it. The song hits your core so deep and you turn the volume even louder. Singing both parts at the same time in your head, you let yourself go.

(Wake me up) bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) before I come undone

(Save me) save me from the nothing I've become

Flickering lights hit the corners of your eyes, bass in your heart, as you lip sync quietly, but passionately, while you close all your remaining applications on your desktop.

You would not want to risk someone, anyone, to actually hear you singing.

Suddenly the bass gets unusual heavy, but you love it. You feel the song even harder.

Adios Bitchatchos. See you on monday, you think to yourself, as you notice a glitch on your desktop.

Another one.

And another one.

The light on your desk flickers as well. You frown in confusion, but brush it off as a “monday me” problem and shut down your computer. Standing up, still moving and lipsynching to the song, you lean forward to turn off the monitors, as the bass grows even heavier.

Weird. Those headphones only cost me like 5000 yen-

Wrrrrmmmm!

Suddenly the ground vibrates and your knees give in. You grab yourself onto the desk, as an energy pulls you down. Pulls you down to your knees and almost cuts the air off your lungs and nose. You gasp, as the ground starts to vibrate and jitter even harder. Bring Me To Life still pounds into your ears, so dramatically, as you feel your vision blurring and glitching, as the light on your desk finally says goodbye, leaving you in total darkness of the office space. Looking around you don’t see anyone, start to get scared.

What’s happening?? An earthquake?

The vibrations are sent through your whole body, your blood tingles in your veins, just in time for your favourite part of the song.

Frozen (frozen) inside without your touch, without your love

Darling, only (only) you are the life among the dead …

Just in this moment, the technology of your cheap ass headphones gives in and sends an incredibly loud beep to your ears, distorting the wonderful voice of Amy Lee.

Fuck!

You yell in pain and yank the headphones off your head, just before a loud grunge noise echoes through the room, makes it vibrate even more, makes you push your hands over your ears. All the other monitors are shutting on and off and on and off and glitching and blinking.

Zschhhh!

Suddenly a blue glowing light crawls into the air in the split of a second, like a lightning strike and it starts to tear apart. A gap ripped into the air of the office space, just a few desks next to yours.

What the fuck?

You don’t believe your eyes, as a tall shadow starts to appear in the gap that just opened, before it steps forward, red eyes glowing through the dark, while the rap part starts to roar through the headphones in the background.

All this time, I can't believe I couldn't see

Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me

I′ve been sleeping a thousand years, it seems

Got to open my eyes to everything

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

Don′t let me die here, there must be something more

Br-riing m-m-me t-tt-to l-lifeeee-…

And with this your headphones die, leaving you alone with…

Who is this?

Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Feet step into your office and you slide beneath your desk. The vibrations grow harder, the energy heavier, as the gap seems to close back up, almost pulling you completely to the ground.

Whoom!

And suddenly-

it’s all silent.

Quiet.

Calm.

You don’t know what to do.

Hide? Say something?

Still on the ground, you let your hands leave your ears and watch below the desks. Two massive feet, covered in tabi socks and wearing ancient looking sandals, quietly walk into your direction.

Flickering lights dance upon the ground and onto the moving clothes. Your heart is racing and you put your hand upon your mouth to be as silent as possible, as the person walks closer and closer. Another step and they will pass your desk, will see you sitting there like a little baby, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

And finally he walks into your vision, not even offering you a glance. A tall man, a black cloak around his shoulders, covering his upper arms and parts of his chest. A white hakama sitting on his waist. Pink hair, four red eyes, simple tattooed lines on his face and wrists and chest. A mask is covering the right side of his face.

Why does he look like a villain?

Your eyes widen at the man in front of you.

He’s built like a tank.

With a smug smirk, he steps in front of the window facade, looking down onto the streets of Tokyo.

“Keh Keh Keh.” he giggles.

Such a devious voice.

You watch him suspiciously, watch how the lights illuminate his face, unsure if he’s seen you yet or knows that you’re here.

His eyes roam around the streets and his expression grows excited. So excited.

“What a view.” he quietly smiles, before he taps against the window with his nail.

Tap. Tap.

The glass sounds firm.

He looks up, musters the framing and cocks his eyebrow and pouts his lips.

You frown at him. Confused, because he looks like he’s never seen a proper window before.

“It’s shatterproof glass.” you suddenly say quietly, still curled up beneath your desk. He freezes, as his left ear twitches, before his eyes and finally his head slowly move and turn to look at you and your eyes meet.

Silence.

Shit.

He glares at you, looking like an evil villain indeed. His red eyes glow in the dark and pierce right at you, as you feel his demon-like energy reach you, looking right at your soul, so deep and intimidating, as if your eyes are truly only a window to your mind.

And you’re about to pee your pants.

“You uhm.” you point your trembling finger at the glass. “You can’t fall through it… b-because it’s. You know… shatterproof.” you stumble quietly, before you crawl out from beneath your desk and grab your jacket, phone and dead headphones. “It… doesn’t sh-shatter.”

He stays silent, so silent, as suddenly a second pair of arms reveal themselves from under his cloak and cross in front of his torso.

And you can’t help but to stare in shock and confusion at his arms, tattooed chest and his flexing muscles, as you’re being hit by his degrading energy at the very same time. You are so overwhelmed by anything and everything, that you can’t help but to think that-

It’s almost as if-

He rolls his eyes and turns his face back to the window. The silence crushes you and the look on his face is still so intimidating, as he suddenly flicks the finger, that previously tapped against the glass.

BrrshhZschinnggg!

The glass of a window shatters into a thousand pieces and with an incredible force, like an invisible blade, the energy cuts through everything in it’s way, leaving a track of loud destruction and cuts a furrow into the floor, your computer and the wall a few yards behind you.

Bamm!

So close to you, that you even think you lost some hair. You feel the impact shatter in your bones.

“Is that so?” he grumbles in a deep, unimpressed voice, with his left bottom eye watching you. Your heart almost stops- waiting for the alarm to go off…

but it doesn’t.

Yup, out we go.

Before he can do anything more your body moves on its own.

A breeze from outside and the sounds of the street are blowing in through the broken window. You twitch a forced smile at him, before you tipple your way between the desks and out of the office space.

With a racing heart you run to the staircase, as the lights in the dark hallway flicker above your head, fighting to get back on. But they don’t. They die down again, leaving you in utter darkness. With a hitching breath, you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, as you tipple your way to take the stairs. Not just because the elevator is probably down as well, but to calm down. No elevator ride could soothe the adrenaline in your body right now.

Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap

Down the stairs, five stories, until you arrive at the entry hall, seeing the security guard at the reception table in the dark. Cursing under his breath, his face is illuminated by a flashlight on his desk, while he’s being busy to tap onto his monitors and to smash on the keyboard to get the cameras back on screen.

That creature must’ve caused a total blackout.

The security guard doesn’t mind or even notice you walking by, so you take the chance to quickly walk to the front door with no air in your lungs and sweat in your armpits. You catch a look onto the still busy streets.

Did someone from outside notice?

People are walking, no one is looking.

Sigh.

Thank god.

You carefully slip through the front door and see a few broken glass pieces onto your left. Quickly, you cross the street, melting into the groups of people, vanishing behind many faces, looking down to your feet and hoping nobody from outside caught you leaving the building. To calm your panic, you first buy yourself a coke on the next vending machine.

Psssshh.

Sip. Sip. Sip.

Sigh.

Better.

You inhale, before you slowly turn around, looking up to your office on the fifth floor, where you were a few minutes ago, curious what the fuck just happened there.

Flickering lights and advertisements mirror themselves on the remaining not-so-shatterproof glass, leaving a black hole on the one that indeed shattered. You can’t see him.

He might be gone.

But… it wasn’t a dream, was it?

You put on your headphones and try to connect them back to your phone.

Maybe the building got struck by a lightning, while I was knee deep into feeling Amy Lee’s voice.

No. Nothing.

Dead.

Shit, you think to yourself as another rush of adrenaline flows through your veins.

That was exciting…

You bite your lip.

Maybe my prayers were heard.

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fxtalitygod · 6 days

Text

X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 24 days

Text

so...I have a new chapter of my Feyd-Rauta/Reader fanfic up and ready.

AO3 link: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 4 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

I also have it below the cut. It does require some content warning/TW and is NSFW/not safe for minors.

CW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/referenced incest, rough sex, blood and pain kinks, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter below the cut:

You wake up the next morning to the sound of the timepiece on your nightstand.

Idrisa had assumed correctly when she told you that just a half-tablet would help both with the pain and with getting to sleep later. For half an hour afterwards, you sat in the bath, staring at the opposite wall and hoping the warm water would add to your relief. Five minutes was all it took to start feeling better, your torn muscles relaxing, and half an hour to start feeling drowsy.

It took some effort, but you managed to get out, drain the tub, and clean your teeth before settling into bed, thinking about how this will be your nightly routine at least until you’re carrying his child. Who knows? You might be already.

You’re sipping from the water still left on your nightstand when Idrisa comes in with a tray carrying a couple of mugs. Over the past few days Idrisa’s learned that you like a bit of caffeine first thing in the morning but you’re not sure what the other mug’s for as she sets the tray down on the desk and hands you one. You sniff at the contents; it smells savory.

“It’s bone broth for you, Na-Baroness,” she explains. “I thought it might be nice. It’s not medication but it has healing properties of its own.”

Bones of what, exactly? you think as you accept the mug. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light, avoiding the direct question.

“Sore,” you admit after taking your first sip, and it tastes quite nice. “But what you gave me last night helped.” You expected your womanhood to throb, but there’s also a persistent ache in your legs, your hips, the undefined muscles in your abdomen.

“You still have more for tonight,” she says, “just in case.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you tell her. She looks away before trying to figure out what she could possibly say to that.

“I can’t help you with that part,” is what she comes up with. “But I can assist with almost everything else.” She turns to your closets and rifles through, picking out a few items for you to choose from. Over her shoulder she tells you, “You’ll be expected at breakfast in an hour. It shouldn’t take too long to get you freshened up.”

One of the few things you quite like about the Harkonnen Fortress is the emphasis on good hygiene. Of course, you have extra features to maintain that the rest of the Fortress doesn’t, but you brought the supplies and ointments needed for that and you know where to have more imported when you run out.

When it comes time to dress you decide on a combination of your own clothing and Harkonnen that doesn’t clash. A bit of a symbolic union of the Houses. You can’t help but think that people will have certain ideas of you today as a newly married woman who had, as clear as day to everyone, fulfilled all the marital duties expected of her last night. Your walk isn’t quite as stiff as last night, though, and if you just walk a little slower then your discomfort won’t seem obvious to anyone not looking for it.

Of course, everyone at breakfast will be looking for it; your family out of concern, your new husband and in-laws presumably out of amusement. It’s all you can really think about as you leave your chambers and descend for the Dining Hall. That and the look on your new husband’s face as he’ll undoubtedly want to assess the damage.

You manage a smile as Idrisa announces your entrance. There’s an open seat next to Feyd-Rautha that’s clearly meant for you and you take into account that your family has only just arrived and everyone’s watching you. Everyone but the Baron stands in respect as you keep your polite smile, the one that projects that nothing could bother you, and you greet the table.

To his credit, Feyd still displays the kind of chivalry your father would expect when in his presence. He stays standing when everyone else sits down so he can pull your seat out for you. The kindness of the gesture’s somewhat undermined by the look in his eye, gauging every movement, every minute detail, and it makes you feel naked again under his shark-like gaze.

You don’t look him in the eye as you sit down, nor when he pushes your chair in and takes his seat beside you, nor when you quietly thank him. You know he’s still watching you, wondering how effectively he’s broken you in already, like a pair of combat boots.

The table is laid with everything you could need as far as drinks, but as a courtesy it’s not until you sit down that food arrives, delivered on massive platters by slave girls in billowy white garb and whose biceps strain under the weight of each tray. You’re sure that the Baron’s patience is a pretense that he’s upholding to appear polite towards your family, not one that will continue after breakfast, especially when you see his enthusiasm when he digs in with the appetite of multiple men.

The food itself takes up most of his attention, but he does discuss trade routes with your father, who seems subdued and withdrawn. Father maintains his end of the conversation but doesn’t offer more and barely touches his food–the latter you can assume is because he’s put off by seeing the Baron eat, and you don’t blame him. Even with the bone broth from earlier you’re pretty sure you’d have more of an appetite if you didn’t have to sit close to someone who inhales nearly half of a spread meant for eight people.

You break away from that thought when Feyd-Rautha says, “Oh, so you don’t need to head back to Arrakis so soon,” and you follow his gaze to the entranceway.

Rabban trudges in, nose heavily bruised and in a splint. He nods in acknowledgement to your family, offering a brief salutation before taking his seat. He doesn’t respond to his brother, but quickly accepts a small glass of what you can only assume is whatever he was drinking last night. He pours it into a mug that he tops with coffee.

“I leave in the afternoon,” he says, addressing his uncle instead. “The spice is abundant.”

As they briefly discuss spice production on Arrakis, you shift in your seat. Sitting down, you’d quickly realized, is also uncomfortable, and you’re glad for your brother-in-law’s entrance causing a diversion.

It doesn’t last long, though. The Baron says, “It’s lovely that we get to reconvene again after such a fruitful wedding.”

Fruitful . You can’t help your blush and you’re sure everyone notices. You wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing and as the meal stretches on, the longer the worry of it eats at you.

It all goes understood, and for you it’s excruciatingly awkward, and everyone senses it, but no one mentions it. Rabban certainly wants to; you can feel it whenever he sneaks glances at you, and you’re certain it’s on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you. You don’t think he’s really lusting after you, though. He just happens to covet his sibling’s shiny new toy. It’s more than a little immature, given that he has nearly twenty years on Feyd-Rautha, and had come of age by the time his brother was born, but you think you can understand. You may love your siblings and they may love you too, but that’s not how the Harkonnens work. For them, siblings are a safety measure just in case the first one dies. They’re taught to fight one another for the approval of their parents–or in this case, their uncle–and are stripped of any sentimentality lest they become weak.

Oh, Great Mother. What does that mean when you do finally have a child? You’ll likely be expected to have more than one even if one is all you need to appease the Bene Gesserit.

You take a sip of water and avoid Rabban’s gaze. He probably would’ve been amused to see how slowly and gingerly you were walking earlier, maybe he would’ve bit down on a cutting remark on how you’d be a lot sorer if he’d been your groom.

Oh, Rabban definitely wants to taunt you over what you all know transpired last night, but he won’t. He can sense the power shifting within the family and if he wasn’t aware that his younger brother was their uncle’s favorite before, he certainly knows now and knows why. He probably just wants to go back to Arrakis where he has unquestioned power.

The Baron is once again the one who actually comes close to mentioning it. “With such a distinct change in environment I’m sure you’ll want to relax, especially once you’re with child,” he says. “We have an excellent system for that, some well-trained attendants as well who can provide things like massage, special baths. We can keep you comfortable.”

After last night, the concept seems nice, but you’ll go out of your mind with boredom if that’s all you have to look forward to. You want to know as much as possible about the planet you’re inhabiting and the family you’ve married into, no matter how gruesome the details. You doubt the Baron or your new husband probably had thought about that, and had just assumed you’d be content as a human incubator for the next nine months.

“That is a wonderful offer and one I’d be interested in another day, perhaps, but I was actually wondering where you kept your library? Maybe a room of archives?” you ask. “I’ve had some education about the history of the Harkonnen line and some of the infrastructure of Geidi Prime, but I’m interested in learning more.”

The Baron considers your interest in his people and his planet versus your dismissal of his original suggestion before saying, “We have a very fine library, young Y/N, and within it a room of records. Your attendant will know where it is and can accompany you whenever you like.”

“I can take her, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says immediately. “I can give her a proper tour.”

I know you can take and give a lot with your new little pet , you can practically hear the Baron think.

“If you prefer,” he says instead. “We still need to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

Right. Another gladiatorial “match.” The one in which you’re to paint your new husband’s–-admittedly chiseled–-torso beforehand.

“We have time for that,” Feyd says. “But I’d also like to show my bride the other parts of our Fortress, starting with the library.” He manages to keep his tone casual, but you can tell his rebuttal irritates the Baron. It’s almost comical, his surprise and annoyance that his nephew would want to spend any time with his wife other than the compulsory impregnation.

“Very well,” the Baron says. “You can show her the library after our guests have left.”

They’re already packed up, as it turns out. Worried about leaving you alone but eager to get back home, and perhaps ever so slightly assuaged by the fact that your new husband has some sense of decorum and that you seem intact. Not your virginity, of course, but everything else.

You excuse yourself to use the bathrooms, a sort of salon with individual cubicles and sinks but a larger sitting area with vanities and larger mirrors. You tilt your head at it, curious, because it implies that there are women of leisure on Geidi Prime, but there aren’t many that you’ve seen. A single girl stands near the entrance and gives a small bow as you enter.

You also don’t expect to see your mother when you leave your cubicle and head for the sinks to wash your hands.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking like she wants badly to speak but not sure what to say. You give her a small smile as you wash up. The girl’s quick to hand you a towel and patient to wait until you’re done drying your hands before accepting it back without a word.

They truly have people for everything , you think, looking after her as she scurries back to her post and drops the towel in a hamper before you can so much as thank her. You and your mother look back at each other.

“Father looks miserable,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Your father has a hangover,” Mother says.

“He didn’t seem drunk when I left,” you say, leaning one hand against the counter.

“He wasn’t,” Mother says. “He got drunk after you and your…husband…left for the evening.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. You open your mouth, exasperated, wishing you could explain how it feels to have everyone act as though you’ve been handed a death sentence that they put you up to. She takes your hands without a word and nods towards the salon.

“How are you feeling, really?” she asks once you’ve acquiesced and you’re seated across from each other.

“All things considered, fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look convinced. “Mother, I…” you try to articulate it. “I can’t say that I’m happy about this arrangement, but I’m going to have to live with it for years to come. If I act as though my life is over then it is.”

She looks down and runs her thumb over the top of your hand. “I kept preparing you for something like this hoping it wouldn’t happen,” she says.

“Well then, you did exactly right,” you tell her with a small smile that feels fake but one that she returns, however briefly. She sighs and looks down. “I’m grateful that you’re worried, and trust me, I am, too. But it would help more if you believed that I can survive this.”

Mother leans forward, eyes widening in hurt. “Your father and I wouldn’t have let you near that man if we didn’t think you’d survive,” she says. “The Bene Gesserit gave us their word that you will, and it’s the reason we’re here right now.”

You furrow your brow. Mother hesitates, glancing at the girl in her gauzy white dress, who remains standing and silent, not acknowledging your conversation. Mother needn’t worry; the Baron would never bother listening to a slave speak even if she had something to offer. When the girl doesn’t indicate that she’s heard anything, Mother continues.

“When the Reverend Mother spoke to us, she assured us that as brutal as he is, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen won’t defy Bene Gesserit orders to make sure you’re safe to have and raise his child. She also said that he has an ingrained sense of honor and loyalty to the Harkonnen line. He’ll ensure your survival and your children’s survival.” And even if survival is the best you can expect right now, you can still count on that.

....................................................

The Na-Baron accompanies you when you see your parents off; neither his uncle nor his brother does the same. He offers you his arm and you could almost laugh at the formality of it, his entire behavior towards you when you’re both fully dressed juxtaposed against last night. He can play the perfect gentleman all he likes, but you won’t forget how he pressed you onto your stomach and fucked you ruthlessly. Still, you take his arm, appearing as his poised and docile new wife. He offers his final respects to your father but otherwise stands back at a distance, watching in silence as you hug everyone one last time. You wonder if he’s ever hugged anyone a day in his life.

He still stands, waiting, when they board their ship, when it takes off. He watches you watch until their vessel is no more than a pinpoint in the sky before he approaches you, arm extended again. “Shall we?” he asks.

You’re still trying to accept that it’ll be a long time before you see your family again, your correspondence with them likely to consist only of letters, and he’s probably waiting for you to speak when you have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t understand what you’re feeling and you doubt he cares to try. You just take his arm and he leads you to the Fortress library in silence.

“I hope you slept well,” he says finally.

“I did,” you tell him. “Although Idrisa had to give me a mild sedative to do so.”

You glance over at him and think that another man would feel guilt over hurting his new bride, but of course you’re stuck–for now–with this one, who keeps his expression neutral but who you can already see in his eyes both that he’s satisfied that he caused you pain and that he doesn’t care what methods you used to relieve it. At best, he’s indifferent to your pain given that you seem fine now.

“Good, because I’ll want you in my chambers tonight after dinner. Same procedure as last night. Your girl will collect you when it’s time.”

“Alright,” you say, and he waits for just a moment before you realize what he wants and add, “ husband .”

He glances sideways at you, as if to say, Good. You’re learning. Don’t get too confident, though. What he says, though, as you reach a set of double doors, is, “Everything and everyone here is at your disposal.” Just as you are at mine .

When he opens the doors and you get your first look, you can’t help but be impressed. Your impression of Geidi Prime was that it was hardly a planet of scholars, but the library is immense.

Feyd-Rautha notes your surprise. Not that he says anything, but you doubt he’s flattered by it. A librarian’s quick to appear at your side, head bowed, and Feyd snaps his fingers in his direction before gesturing forward. “Come with us,” he says, and gives a rudimentary tour of the layout, showing you the Archives room and different wings. It’s even more expansive than you’d realized, and you’re grateful for it. You’ve got your work cut out for you, you think as you see the impossibly high walls lined with shelves up to the vaulted ceilings.

How many of these have you read? you want to ask him but refrain as the tour ends.

“Make sure the Na-Baroness has everything she needs,” he says to the librarian. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, though. He looks directly at you, then beckons you forward with a simple curl of his hand. When you come forward he cups your cheek in that same hand, and his kiss is neither chaste nor passionate; it’s a simple statement that he’s claimed you. He’s marking his territory.

“See you at dinner,” he says once he lets you go.

............................................

You know what you want to read up on first.

There’ve always been rumors about the depravity of the House of Harkonnen. You’d heard a few of them regurgitated over the years. Some of them, like cannibalism, you’re reasonably certain aren’t true, but there are others you can’t dismiss.

Father implied once that the Baron’s voracious appetite for food was the least repulsive of his desires. You’d been too young at the time to understand what he was saying, nor were they for your ears as you’d been listening in, unnoticed, but you can’t help but think about Father’s disgusted tone, because you certainly know what he’d been implying now. Not that a Harkonnen-sanctioned record is likely to provide such details in their own library, but it’s a possibility you’ll have to consider even as the thought turns your stomach.

You start, though, with Feyd-Rautha. It takes pulling out several books and bound sheaves from a couple of different sections to get started, but a worthy investigation once you’ve found a comfortable place to spread everything out and get to reading.

You hadn’t realized that he was born not on Geidi Prime, but on another planet, Lankiveil. You had , however, heard about how his father, Abulurd Rabban, defected from the Harkonnen line and everything it represented, opting for a different sort of life on a distant planet with a Bene Gesserit woman who gave him two sons born eighteen years apart. This leads you into reading about Lankiveil, how it’s cold and water-based like your own planet. Its main source of industry is whaling, and it almost makes you laugh to picture Feyd in a raincoat on a dock. It’s just so far-fetched, the idea that he almost had a life very different from this one.

Of course, that was never going to happen. Rabban is infamous for one major act that changed all of their lives forever: as a younger man he killed their father for abandoning the bloodline and shaming the Harkonnen name. For the crime of patricide, he earned the moniker “Beast,” which he wears with pride. The Baron had already gotten his claws in his elder nephew by then, but Feyd-Rautha had still been a little boy. You’re not entirely sure how much he even remembers his father. You don’t know if they’re happy memories, or if he’d loved him. It’s still hard to imagine him ever having a childhood, but not only did he have one, his early childhood had been free from the Baron, from Geidi Prime, from the expectations of the House of Harkonnen and with two parents who you’re sure must have loved him.

It's an irrefutable fact that he’d come to Geidi Prime at the age of seven. And that is where rumor and fact intermingle. Some have claimed that Feyd’s mother sent him away for what she thought was his own protection; after all, she had never been on Geidi Prime nor known her late husband’s family, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her to assume that her son would be better off with his uncle. Some believe she sent him away as punishment or for her own self-preservation, sensing danger in him at a young age and fearing what he’d grow up to become. Others have insisted that the Baron had his youngest nephew taken away to ensure the possibility of another heir, having no sons of his own.

You pause only part way through when Idrisa come in and suggests you take a break, maybe retire to your quarters and have something to eat and drink to tide you over before dinner. Apparently no one will mind if you take whatever documents you choose back to your quarters.

“We are at the Na-Baroness’s disposal. Whatever she desires,” the librarian assures you when you ask, his head inclined in a bow and his gaze downturned. It’s still a foreign feeling, the way no one can bring themselves to look directly at you, their fear of you by pure association. You clamp down on that discomfort as you thank him and return to your quarters with as many documents as you and Idrisa can carry between you.

As you reach your quarters and get settled in again, you wonder about Feyd-Rautha’s mother and the theories behind the Baron taking over as his guardian. The first theory, you decide, is unlikely. If she knew that her lover had defected and renounced his lineage, she would’ve known why. He would’ve warned her about them, even if she’d never been and even if he hadn’t, the Bene Gesserit would have. The second theory is entirely possible; you have no idea what Feyd was like as a young child. You’d assume he was made rather than born, and that personality traits aren’t inherited, but perhaps the darkness was always there. Perhaps she’d felt that he was doomed to be an extension of everything the Harkonnen represented. Still not terribly likely, given his age, but possible.

What you can likely imagine, though, is the Baron simply plucking Feyd-Rautha from his home to collect and repurpose as his own. He’s never been married nor produced any children and to simply claim one from a deceased family member, knowing no one could truly challenge him over it, would be an easy solution for that. From what you already know about him, he probably wouldn’t even see it as kidnapping, just taking what rightfully belongs to him.

You’re aware that Feyd’s an orphan, but nothing as to why beyond Abulurd’s murder. You find that there really isn’t enough to go on as far as his mother’s concerned other than her Bene Gesserit training and identity as Abulurd Rabban’s concubine, until you finally find the date and cause of death.

Feyd’s mother, according to the records, died when Feyd was fourteen. She’d been murdered in her own home. No one was caught, which means that the culprit’s been fiercely protected. You’d be willing to bet real money that the Baron had someone kill her and take away the one motivation he’d have to return to Lankiveil. It would line up with something else that you read; Feyd’s mother’s murder would have taken place shortly after Feyd-Rautha had attempted to assassinate his uncle. It had been quickly thwarted and fourteen-year-old Feyd-Rautha had been punished severely but spared his life.

You can easily imagine the Baron killing the one family member left not connected to the Harkonnens so his young nephew would be so isolated that he’d have nowhere else to turn.

Are the lashes on his back part of the punishment he faced? It would make them just over a decade old. You’re still not sure about the scars on his inner thighs. He likes pain; could they be self-inflicted? Maybe done to him at his own request by a lover? There’s an intimacy to them that you can only hope was done in an act of passion rather than a punishment administered by his uncle.

Although, and it makes you feel sick to think about, that option is also entirely possible.

If they were self-inflicted, or done for his own gratification, you wonder if he’ll one day ask you to draw a knife on him as well. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’d be willing to; certainly rather him than you.

“Idrisa,” you start, looking up as she enters the room carrying what looks like a pair of black dresses. “How much do you know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to assassinate his uncle when he was a boy?” She hesitates. You wait.

“My apologies, my lady,” she says, looking down, “but I wasn’t in the Fortress then. It was before my time.” Instead of elaborating further, she holds up the dresses, one in each hand to compare. “The Baron wants you to dress in the traditional Harkonnen style for dinner this evening. Which of these would you prefer?”

You glance between the two. Both long, both structured, but one with paneling and a more elaborate bodice that looks like it would take more time to actually get in and out of. “That one,” you say, pointing to it. If Idrisa knows your logic behind your choice, she doesn’t bring it up. She just waits for you to put your documents away and after you’ve taken to the bathroom to freshen up, helps you get ready.

When you arrive for dinner, you’re almost the image of a Harkonnen lady, the only traits betraying you being your hair and eyebrows. As expected, the Baron is already eating and while neither he nor Feyd-Rautha stand for you when you enter, your groom does stand to pull your chair out once more as you reach the table. It’s a simple formality, you assume, to hold up the pretense that this is a normal marriage and as something he can easily take away.

“What did you think of our library?” the Baron asks when you sit down, accepting only one answer.

“Truly impressive, Baron,” you tell him. “A testament to the House’s power and resilience.”

If you were worried what he would think about you wanting to look into his bloodline and history, those worries were unfounded. After the exchange he barely acknowledges you the entire meal. He and Feyd-Rautha, however, discuss the arena and new spice routes. You quietly take everything in and watch them interact.

The Baron switches between backhanded compliments, mean-spirited little quips, and the occasional genuine compliment for his nephew. He oscillates between seeming to respect him as a man fit to ascend the throne and still undermining him as hardly more than a child out of his depth handling any conflict. Feyd’s frustration remains quiet, just beneath the surface, but palpable. He seems to know that the Baron’s toying with him, testing him constantly, wondering which new way he flatter him only to put him down again.

It’s also immediately clear that Feyd doesn’t like that you’re seeing him like this, that once again as soon as he’s gotten what he’s wanted he’ll abruptly send you away. Whatever control his uncle takes from him he can always claim from you.

He tried to kill him once, when he was much younger and weaker than he is now. What changed? Does he still think about killing him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?

You’ve long since finished eating by the time you realize that the men at the table have probably forgotten that you’re even there, so you clear your throat to get their attention.

“My apologies, but may I go to my chambers to prepare for the evening?” you ask, voice light.

You wait. Feyd-Rautha turns and gives you a small nod. “I won’t be too much longer,” he says, exchanging a cold look with his uncle. You don’t want to think about what they say about you when you’re not around, or what kind of innuendo the Baron will leave.

..........................................

The second time of what you’re sure will become a nightly routine is a little less nerve-wracking, but not one that you’re looking forward to.

When you’re stripped down in his bedroom again you choose the same position, even as you feel like a completely different person than you were just one day ago. There’s no fear this time, just resignation. You’re not sure if it’s going to hurt again but it also doesn’t matter, won’t change anything.

He comes out of his bathroom in the same manner as last night, naked and only partially erect. The sight may not scare you anymore, but you still, unfortunately, find his body nice to look at. You’re getting used to everything else, as well. The black teeth and gums nearly made you flinch the first time; now you’ve accepted it as the only mouth you’ll kiss from now on.

He approaches the bed. “Lay back,” he says as he starts to climb into it with you. “Spread your legs. I want to check something.”

You blush, thinking, Can’t we just get this over with? as you comply and take a breath to calm yourself, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking directly at him. You try to tamp down the embarrassment at how exposed you feel.

He inspects the damage, his fingertips pressing against your swollen folds and eyes darting back up to your face at your sharp inhale. He gives your privates a more thorough pass-through than you were willing to give yourself last night. You blink, concerned, as he takes his hand and spits on his fingers.

Why would you? --you think for only a split second before he brings his fingers back down to your torn and stretched womanhood, circling your bud in lazy circles and keeping his thumb there before dipping a finger inside of you.

You instinctively clench around the digit even as it doesn’t actually hurt. “Relax,” he says, as if that’s something you can easily do in your situation. His thumb continues working your bud as he curls his finger inside of you, pressing forward, and you see his brief smirk as you whine, taken aback by the jolt it provides. He does it again, slipping in a second, and the stretch doesn’t burn quite as much, doesn’t pinch so much as it tugs. You glance between his legs to see that he’s filling out the rest of the way from the sights and sounds of you skewered on his fingers. That in itself makes you gasp and flush at the idea that this, warming you up and seeing you aroused, gets him going. In many ways this preparation is just as much for him as it is for you.

Just as last time, you sense when he decides, Alright, you’re ready .

He has enough decency to pause when he’s pressed all the way inside of you, because he still feels massive, and like there’s not enough of you to accommodate him, as though your insides need to rearrange themselves for this intrusion.

It doesn’t hurt as much as last night, you remind yourself. You breathe through your nose as you tremble and hold onto him, gripping his shoulders and remembering how he likes the way you “get your little claws in.” The rocking of his hips is steady and deep but not too rough, not yet. You whimper and adjust your grip on him, managing to breathe, taking in the way he slides in and out of your bruised canal. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’ll get through this .

As soon as he can sense that you’re adjusted he goes harder, faster, relishing the way your nails scratch down his back. You raise your knees up to his ribcage and squeeze, trying to get some leverage in.

It’s no real use; he controls the pace, grips your hip with his free hand and seems to like when your whimpers and moans are laced with discomfort, wordlessly begging for him to please slow down, be gentler. Even if he doesn’t force you onto all fours like last night, it still feels animalistic when he speeds up further, grunting against the flushed skin of your neck, keeping you locked in place around him until you feel him coming, shuddering as he fills you up.

For a moment he raises himself up from his forearms to his hands, looking down at you with an expression he can’t place, before drawing a few errant strands of hair away from your face and pulling out. You don’t look at him as he collapses onto his back beside you. Somehow you feel even more used than before, more like a warm hole than a woman.

The two of you lay together in silence as you wait for the throbbing to subside. It takes a couple of minutes, but when you start to feel better you sit up and slide your legs to the side of the bed. You won’t wait to be dismissed. You sense him turn his head to look at you but don’t acknowledge him. You’ll head back to your chambers, soak in another lukewarm bath, and take the second half of the tablet from last night, even if you don’t need it as badly. It’ll at least help you sleep.

You get up and head for his dresser, reaching for your clothes when Feyd-Rautha’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

You turn and look at him, your eyebrows raised. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet,” he says.

You give his still-softened dick a pointed look. “You look pretty finished off to me,” you tell him, and step into your slippers.

You realize you made a mistake as soon as you say it. Feyd-Rautha’s up and at your back before you can finish pulling on your chemise. He tears it off you, throws it to the floor and wraps an arm around your ribcage as he lowers his head to your ear.

“I won’t tolerate you questioning my own body or abilities,” he says. “If I say I want another go, then I’ll have one.”

You squirm, and he turns you around, pinning you to the dresser as he grabs your hair and tightens. You wince and try to push away from him, but he only grabs your wrist in his free hand and brings it down to the dresser.

“I won’t be disrespected in my own bedroom,” he says, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. It’s the first time he’s seemed angry with you; the harsh angles of his narrow face more pronounced, his eyes pale and pupils blown out, his full lips the closest you’ve seen to a thin line.

Maybe it’s you he’s actually mad at, maybe not. Either way, you’re the one he can take his frustrations out on.

Play along, you tell yourself. Even if he’s not going to kill you for insolence, he’ll find ways to make life worse for you .

“What do you want me to do?” you ask finally. His face seems to relax slightly, and you realize when his chest moves again he’d been holding his breath. After a moment he decides how he’ll punish you for your so-called disrespect.

“Kneel on the bed, hands braced on the headboard, with your legs spread. Make sure to keep ‘em there,” he says.

You slowly step out of your slippers and turn, walking towards the bed. The seconds that pass as you get into position are silent, agonizing.

You wait, and when you don’t sense him move any closer, turn your head to look at him.

He’s still staring, taking in his fill, before he strides forward and settles in behind you, one hand braced beside yours against the headboard, the other cupping your breast.

It doesn’t stay there, though. After giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure he moves his hand upwards, around your throat. Your first instinct is to freeze, wanting to move.

He’s not going to kill you; he’s just trying to scare you, you tell yourself, and it’s working. You try to breathe, calm your rapid heartbeat. He can taste your fear; he revels in it. He doesn’t squeeze but he deliberately leaves his thumb against your windpipe, his long fingers curled around your neck.

I won’t kill you but I easily can, he seems to say. Unarmed and naked I could still kill you in brutal fashions you’ve never heard of. And then he gently nuzzles against your hair, and the shift disarms you, makes you feel all the more helpless as you whine.

He releases your neck and you inhale, closing your eyes. His hand trails back down, squeezing your other breast this time, down your stomach and to the apex of your thighs. He idly strokes your bud, and it gives you a jolt despite your nerves.

“Who else has ever touched you here?” he asks. It’s not a threat, but you could easily picture him killing anyone you name–it’s also not lost on you how fucked up that is. Thankfully you can provide none.

“Just myself,” you tell him. He huffs, as if to say, Yeah, I thought so , before taking one of your hands from the headboard and guiding it back in between your legs.

“Show me how you do it,” he says, his hand over yours.

You flush with embarrassment, but comply, bringing your fingertips to your bud and pressing down in a circling motion.

He gives a hmm , as you trail your fingertips to your slit, collecting the combination of his spent seed leaking out of you and your own growing wetness before bringing your digits back to your bud, has you whimpering at the slick of it. He follows, hand tight over yours, learning your movements. Despite your nerves it’s easier to get slicker, and to your horror you find yourself rocking your hips up against both his hand and yours. You give a breathy whimper, unsure how your own body can betray you like this. He finally tightens his grip on your hand and moves it to the headboard, leaving you in shock as he spits on his fingers and takes up where you’ve left off.

He mimics your movements exactly, touches you the way you’ve touched yourself over the past few years, and yet it feels all the more exhilarating to have another hand there that you can’t help but gently move against his fingers, larger and so much longer than yours and yet so precise and deliberate.

Before you realize it his cock, stiff again, slides against the cleft of your ass. You gasp, wanting to turn around but he’s so close to you, chest against your back, and he grabs your hips to jut out further behind you, pulls you down his level, your thighs on top of his.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, withdrawing his hand from yours and settling back. You can feel your body flush, your nipples stiff against the air, holding onto the headboard as you sense him grip himself in his fist and press against you.

It doesn’t hurt this time when he pushes in. He can sense it in your moans, the way you’re wet and pliant for him, ready to take him however he comes to you. You almost hate it, that he can do this to you. That he probably could have from the beginning. He rolls his hips up into you, the glide and pressure of it only on the verge of discomfort, but a welcome ache, a stretch inside of you.

You reach a hand behind you, skimming along his flank, wanting to touch him, but he’s just out of reach and you drop your forehead against the headboard, your moans and whines spurring him on. He grabs your hand and presses it back against the headboard before giving a deeper thrust into you, one that would’ve hurt yesterday but the push of it provides a delicious throb now.

The tension builds. You can feel it like flames licking up your spine and belly, and he can hear it. Your cries become increasingly desperate, your own hips rocking back down to meet his. You hardly register that you’re doing it or why; your body takes over and makes the decisions for you. He brings one hand to fondle your breasts again, one after the other, before bringing it down to your bud, and you can only imagine how smug he must be feeling that not only does he have you exactly where he wants you, that he’s making you enjoy it.

It finally feels good. You’d almost assumed that it never would, but it does. If anyone listened in, they’d hear the unambiguous pleasure in every noise you make and Great Mother, does Feyd-Rautha draw a lot of noises out of you.

But then his hand comes back to your other hip, leaving you so close to the precipice and after several more thrusts he comes, grabbing your hips and pushing upwards with a harsh grunt against your hair. He spears you onto him, pausing, rocking his hips up once more, and once he’s certain that he’s finished pulls out, grabs your jaw, and turns his face as much as he reasonably can to yours.

He sees your stunned expression, can feel that you’re still throbbing and in need of some sweet relief, and nods his head dismissively towards the door.

“ Now you can go,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if you want to slap him across the face or pull him in for a furious kiss. He can see the warring impulses on your face and looks at you as though he’d be perfectly content with either, but still will react differently depending on which you choose.

You settle for a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and mashing your lips against his. You think that you’d like nothing more than to push him down and take him for yourself, for your own selfish pleasure like he did. You’re not entirely sure of the positioning but you’ll figure it out. You shift, managing to turn to face him properly before resuming the kiss.

He allows it, even responds to it, for a minute before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you away.

He tilts his head at you as if to say, ‘ Next time don’t question my virility or how I can make you feel, and maybe then I’ll let you come. ’

You bastard, you think, wondering how much he’s enjoying the clear indignation on your face. He likes provoking you, that much is certain, whether it’s fear or lust or anger. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, then, and so after some awkward shuffling you dismount the bed and pointedly look away from him as you walk to the dresser. It would probably be more dignified if you didn’t have his seed leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs.

You don’t bother to look back or say anything as you quickly redress and leave.

Neither you nor Idrisa speak as you head to your chambers, but as soon as you’re behind closed doors again you tell her that you’ll need a moment alone in the bathroom.

You’re grateful that she leaves you to it without an explanation this time as you glance in the mirror and the remnants of your blush that start at your hairline and follow down to your chest.

You shrug off your robe and turn on the faucet before finally, shamefully, bringing your hand between your legs and feeling the slick of him there mingling with your own slick and rub down, cursing Feyd-Rautha and cursing this planet and hoping that the sound of the running water drowns out your cries as you brace yourself against the sink, head bowed, and come, shaking and twitching, to the memory of his tongue and fingers against you, of him inside of you.

When it’s over you can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror was you wash your hands and turn off the faucet

You’ll need the half-tablet tonight. Not for pain, but because otherwise there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #feyd rautha smut #dune 2 #dune par 2 #feyd rautha x reader

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bleach-your-panties · 3 months

Text

KEEP IT JUICY LIKE COUTURE !~ ☆》

- how they eat the 😽🎀 pt 1.

-sugawara, nishinoya, yamaguchi, & tendo! all appropriate age/timeskip age. fem reader.

dividers by adia_morbid via glitter-graphics, @/h-aewo, and @/cafekitsune

☆Koushi Sugawara:

Type of Eater - Slow, Patient, Meticulous

Song: Under - Pleasure P

When Sugawara is eating you out, he most certainly takes his time.

He is a teacher, so his patience is unmatched - especially when it comes to making his special girl feel good.

Prefers more private, intimate settings for oral activities, but is not opposed to eating you out in the teacher's longue at the end of the school day.

"Kou-, wait a second! Is it really appropriate to do this here?! What if somebody walks in?"

*(Both reader and Sugawara are teachers!)

He's kneeling in front of you, his greyish-silver hair slightly mussed, white dress shirt ruffled at the collar from you yanking on it during a heated makeout session, tie askew.

His glasses teeter on the bridge of his nose in danger of slipping off.

Your back arches into the counter behind you, thighs rubbing together in attempt to hold in the slick wetness that's forming between your thighs as your lover looks up at you with those big, round, chocolate-hazel eyes.

"Early-release day, honey." His voice is low and sickeningly sweet while he rubs his hands up your stocking-clad thighs until he reaches the tops.

Rolling them down your hips and over your plush thighs, Sugawara surges forward and grips the fat of them, pushing them up and outwards before letting them close around his head.

Your fingers entangle themselves in his hair as he begins licking you with long, methodical laps of his tongue, up and through your glistening folds. He entire mouth covers your sex as he begins to suck on your clit slowly, swirling his tongue in wide circles.

"K-Koushi..."

His fingers tighten on your flesh while he continues suckling on your bud. He presses you open further and his tongue dives deep into your hole.

"Koushi!"

Your thighs quiver and squeeze around his head while your abdomen clenches and you squirt your orgasm all over his beautiful face.

He leans back and slides his glasses off. Your cum covers him, carefully dripping down over his cheekbones and that cute mole under his left eye.

"Looks like you had an early release as well."

☆Yuu Nishinoya

Type of Eater: Messy, Playful, Eager

Song: Dive In - Trey Songz

He is very eager to eat you out, always. You don't even have to ask him, he just somehow always knows.

You could be reclining on the couch with your knees slightly apart, and when you reach over to grab the remote and look back at your show, there his head is, betwixt your thighs.

Loves for you to ride his face and make a mess on it, too.

Can he breathe? Probably not, but ask him if he cares.

Yuu was due to return home today from a long expedition at sea. He often wishes that you can join him on his sometime-months-long trips around the world, but you have a stable job in Tokyo where you both reside together.

You were on the lying on the couch waiting for him in nothing but one of his old volleyball jerseys and a pair of black lace panties.

When the door clicked open and the sound of his suitcase's wheels rolling across the floor reached your ears, a drizzle of arousal slid down your chunky thigh.

"I'm home, baby girl!" His loud, cheerful voice was right next to your ear. As soon as you turned your head, your lips were engulfed in a sloppy, wet kiss.

Yuu circles his arms around your upper back and lifts you up until your thighs are straddling his head.

Yuu-!

"Too late, he's already gotten started. He uses one hand to lift up your (his) shirt and circle his tongue around your belly button before dipping his tongue in.

You nudge his head with your elbow and he pulls back to look up at you with huge chocolate eyes.

"What?" He nips at your side, making you yelp, "You should know better than to wear my jerseys and think that I won't absolutely devour you, right here and right now."

He straightens up, presses you against the back of the couch, and dives right back in.

"Yuu! Yuu, you need to breathe!" You moan and grip the back of his shirt with your nails as he drags the flat of his tongue through your pussy lips and up to your clit before latching on with his lips, sucking hard.

"MmphnoIdonf." He mumbles while continuing to lick, slurp, and kiss through your drenched folds. His forehead is slick with your juices, making his hair flatten down.

He really, really missed you this time.

☆Tadashi Yamaguchi

Type of Eater: Shy, Careful, Inexperienced

Song: Just A Friend - Mario

Tadashi and you have been friends since high school.

You both had a crush on each other, but did that thing where you both acted oblivious to the other's desires.

So after graduating from Karasuno, you both attend the same university just like you both planned.

So with the notion that the only thing the two of you will ever be is friends, you move into an apartment together.

Tadashi is out doing the monthly grocery shopping while you tidy up your shared space. When you finish, he's still not back yet, so you decide to go lie down in your room and peruse social media while you wait for your freckle-faced friend to return.

After what feels like hours of you mindlessly scrolling and liking pics on Instagram, you hear the front door slam closed and Tadashi call your name.

He has a cute smile on his face as he asks you to help him put away the groceries, in which you comply.

A quick, simple dinner is prepared and eaten before you both retreat to your room to watch a show.

Tadashi rests his head on your thigh as usual - nothing out of the ordinary - until he rests a large palm on the inside of it, dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

"Yam-Yams?"

His eyes move up to your face and his dick begins to stir awake at the soft, caring look mirrored in your own e/c orbs.

'Fuck it' he says in his mind, and with a surge of confidence he moves his hand closer to your cunt.

It's shaking; he's nervous as hell to ask to eat you out, mostly because he's never done it before. But it's you; you'll be patient with him, even guide him along the way.

So, with an unsteady hand, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric and pulls the panties to the side. He pauses, waits for you to stop him - to pull away in disgust.

You're still gazing at him, now with lidded eyes, and you give a little nod.

Tadashi pulls himself onto his elbows and spreads your thighs further apart with his free hand. A soft, surprised 'oh' escapes your lips when he bites down on your thigh gently, nipping the flesh before he licks through the crease, his tongue grazing your outer lips.

"Tadashi!"

You're shivering - did he do something wrong?

But when you thread your fingers through his hair and push his head closer into your warm center, he grows confident.

His little nose bumps your clit as he gives you kitten licks; the action itself is so sweet and sinfully sexy that it has your toes curling.

The speed of his licks increases at your sounds and he grips your thighs to keep you firmly planted in the mattress.

After you finish (which, he can't believe he made you cum), his cheeks are red, making his freckles stand out even more as he gives you the biggest smile ever.

☆Satori Tendo

Type of Eater: Unconventional, Teasing, Mean

Song: Surgery - Peewee Longway, MPA Turk

Tendo is the worst tease on the face of this Earth.

He's mean too, loves to degrade you and make you blush about how well he eats you and how he always leaves you begging for more.

He talks a lot of shit while eating it.

Mans is a menace, fr.

"Satori, please."

You groaned, trying to pull your boyfriend's red head from between your aching legs, to no avail.

"Y-you're killing me...please, 'Tori. Let me have just a little break."

Tendou scoffed and pulled his long fingers from your swollen cunt. A stream of squirt followed them, adding to the soaked towels beneath your ass.

"You act like this is my first time eating you. Man up, Y/N." He cackled evilly and slapped your pussy with the back of his hand, making your hips jerk. He laughed harder.

He kept his devilish eyes trained on you and dropped his long, slender body off the edge of the bed. Hiking your legs over his shoulders, he dove right back in.

Tendou alternated between sucking your lower lips, your clit, fingering you, and slapping your pubic mound.

"Hmm, sweetest thing I ever had in my mouth." He chuckled at his own quip, spit on your pussy, and sucked it right back up before repeating the process.

You mewled and screamed his name, voice only growing hoarser from having already yelled it out so much over the last couple hours. A harsh shiver - another orgasm - racked through your body, making you slump down on the pillows.

Satori licked his lips and looked up at you before smacking your thigh, hard.

"No passing out during a session, Y/N. There's no fun in that. Don't you want to beat your record of squirting five times in a row, back to back?"

Tiredly, you shook your head. You might be saying no, but you only arched your soaked cunt further towards his mouth, making him grin.

As mean as he was, you couldn't get enough of that sinful mouth. He was both your heaven and your hell.

"Too bad for you then. Because I'm going to suck on this pussy until I'm satisfied."

----

#💗💗🍡°tagging: @prettybraat @cunttani @yuujispinkhair @honeybleed @hoesluvshanti @chrollohearttags @darkstarlight82 @krenee1drful

*let me know how i did y'all!*

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lives-in-midgard · 10 days

Text

Taking Care Of You

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Summary: When Chris finds out that you're sick he wants to be there for you.

Word Count: 1165

Request: I saw requests are open can I ask for a fluff one with Evans and reader is sick and he's there to care for her? It can be hubby/wife and bf/gf or even best friends up to you. Thank you!! [See request here]

A/N: Thank you for sending me this request! I hope you like it! The picture above inspired the parts were they were facetiming.

Divider made by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

It’s already been two months since your boyfriend Chris Evans left to film his new movie. You missed each other a lot but face timing and texting made it more bearable. Chris tried to call you as often as possible and when he didn’t have time, he sent you a text message. Because he was away filming Chris and you decided that it would be the best if Dodger stayed at your place and when you were at work his brother would look after him.

After picking up Dodger after work, you weren’t feeling well, so you decided to take Dodger for a walk. You thought that it would help when you suddenly sneezed. When you got home you suddenly felt cold and decided to go to bed and watch a movie while cuddling with Dodger. After a while your phone rang and when you looked at it, you started to smile because it was Chris.

“Hey, honey.” He said with a smile.

“Hey, babe.”

“You’re already in bed?” Chris asked a little worried.

“Oh yeah, I wanted to lie down for a while…work was really exhausting today.” You said because you didn’t want to worry him.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry you’ve had such a hard day.” Chris said softly.

“How was your day so far?” You asked and suddenly had to sneeze.

“Bless you, my love.” Chris said and made you blush.

“Well, my day was pretty good. Filming is going great so far.”

“That’s amazing Chris.” You said and sneezed twice and then started to shiver.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”

“It’s probably just a little cold.” You said, trying to smile.

“But please promise to let me know if it gets worse.” Chris told you in a worried tone and you nodded.

“Okay, I promise.” You talked for a while about everything that came to your mind and Chris also told you a lot about his day and his new co-stars.

“I miss you so much and can’t wait to be home with you again.” Chris said after a while.

“I miss you too, babe.” You said and you both said I love you, before saying goodbye because Chris had to go.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt so much sicker than the day before. Now you weren’t only sneezing, but you also started to cough and felt slightly dizzy. You decided that it would be the best if you stayed home and called in sick at work. After calling at work, you called Scott to ask if he could pick up Dodger because you were sick.

Most of the time you stayed in bed all day and only got out of bed to get something to eat. When you were lying in bed again with at least two blankets, you suddenly heard your phone ringing. You started to smile, but it quickly faded because you knew how worried Chris can be sometimes, especially when he is away. But you didn’t want to ignore his call, so you picked up and tried to smile.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You greeted each other and Chris knew immediately that you weren’t feeling well. There was no chance of denial, so you told him how you really felt.

“Oh no, I wish I could be home and take care of you.” Chris mumbled with a sad expression in his eyes.

“Should I come home?” Chris then suddenly asked.

“No, Chris it’s okay… really.” Then you told him that Dodger is staying at his brother’s home because you didn’t feel the energy of going for a walk with him and thought it would be the best. Chris understood that and hoped that you feel better soon. You only talked for a few more minutes because you felt so tired. Chris understood that, but he was also so sad that he couldn’t be there for you. You didn’t sleep very well that night, you woke up a few times because you were either too cold or too warm. You felt a little better in the afternoon than in the morning. Later when Chris called you, he sadly couldn’t facetime, so you could only talk without seeing each other. You talked for a while when you suddenly heard a knock on the front door.

“Wait, someone is at the door, I’ll call you back babe.” You said, wondering who was at the door. You walked to your apartment door, a bit slowly because you were dizzy. When you opened the door, you couldn’t believe who was standing there.

“Chris, what are you doing here?”

“I came here to take care of my girl. I couldn’t stay away from you any longer, especially when I knew that you’re sick.” Chris said as he walked closer to you.

“Oh, Chris thank you.” You said and started to shake.

“Come on honey, let’s get you to bed.” When he noticed that you were getting dizzy, Chris put his hand on your back and guided you to your room. You laid back down in your bed and Chris gently kissed your forehead.

“I’ll go and make you some tea.”

When Chris came back a few minutes later, he placed the cup of tea on your bedside table. You took a few sips and Chris held your back.

“Now let’s cuddle.” Chris said with a smile.

“Are you sure, I don’t want you to get sick.” You asked as Chris already made himself comfortable next to you.

“I’m sure, sweetheart.” You smiled and Chris then wrapped his arms around you. You slept for a while until you felt Chris touching your forehead.

“Sorry that I woke you up honey, but you have a fever.” He said in a soothing voice.

“Oh” You mumbled tiredly, and Chris tucked a hear behind your ear with a worried look on his face.

“Do you have any medicine here?” He asked and you nodded and told him where to find it.

“I’ll get it quick.” Chris said and gave you a smile. After a few minutes he was back with the medicine in his hand.

“Can you sit up for me, sweetheart? Just for a second, so you can take your medicine.” Chris asked and you nodded. Then he helped you to sit up, so your back was leaning against the headboard of the bed. Chris helped you take your medication and then you laid back down.

“Thank you for coming home to me.” You said after you cuddled again.

“I would come home anytime for you.” Chris held you tight and rubbed your back softly.

For the next few days, he took care of you as best as he could. Chris made sure you took your medicine, made you a bath, cooked for you and was there to give you cuddles. A few days later you felt so much better, but Chris still didn’t want to leave you, so he stayed another week to spend some time with his girl.

Taglist:

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x girlfriend!reader #chris x reader #chris x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans one shot #chris evans fluff #chris evans cute #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #steve rogers x reader #marvel cast #chris evans imagine

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huramuna · 2 months

Text

banshee's lament - chapter 4.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: this chapter might be a bit slower. it's building some things up and i wanted to brush up on my combat writing. it's a bit scuffed but i hope you enjoy! aemond is kind of feral in this chapter.

wordcount: 4.2k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

‘Little wolf spider’ Helaena had called her. She remembered Helaena’s incessant facts about them specifically– why, of all things, did she remember that? She remembered Helaena citing that they were excellent hunters with superb eyesight. They did not spin webs, most being wanderers without permanent homes.

It almost made her want to laugh. It truly described her well, didn’t it? Besides the eyesight part… and the hunting part– she was indeed, a little wolf spider– doomed to be alone and not able to make her own home, a rolling stone amongst the waves that threatened to drown her.

After the betrothal announcement dinner and subsequent breakdown of Shera, she stayed in her chambers for a few days, not feeling well enough to socialize, nor see the faces of people that would’ve heard her crying. Cregan visited a few times, bringing her a meal or two and forcing her to bathe– it was agitating her to be forced to do something she loved, something she wished to do alone.

He, thankfully, had maids do the actual washing part– but this still annoyed Shera to bits. She hated being touched, being fretted over by them as they looked upon her like she was lesser, like she wasn’t capable of doing things herself. She felt suffocated in a place that usually brought her peace, simpering tiny whines as they pulled at her hair.

I can do it, I can do it– just let me do it!

She wanted to scream and claw their wandering eyes out, then go and kick Cregan in the balls– this was his fault, his fault–

Finally, the maids left and she felt like a freshly plucked duck, ready to be roasted over the fire. Her skin was red and pink, emanating heat that she could almost see, steam roiling over her overwrought skin.

Moongeist whined at the closed washroom door– they had locked him out, the absolute fiends. She wrapped in a robe, pinning her hair up with a whale bone pin and opened the door.

“Come here, lovey,” she cooed, voice broken and hoarse still. “They locked you out– my poor bubby.” Shera pat his head, descending onto her knees. She was still weak from the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, bleeding into her physical state, but she would need to be bed bound before she would ever forsake Moongeist proper scratches. Her hands glided through his black fur and she pressed her face to him, taking in his familiar scent.

Everyone said he smelled like a dog, but that was simply untrue. He smelled… clean, he smelled like wolf– which was much different than smelling like dog. It was primal and heady, deep and warm like fir trees and pine nettles and all the things that were so synonymous with him. She scratched behind his ears and his leg thumped on the ground.

Cregan returned to her chamber, a plate of something sweet smelling in his hand. He put it down on the dining table. “Are you feeling better today?”

Shera’s mouth pursed into a thin line as she got back to her feet— with Moongeist’s assistance— and meandered to the table. “Define better.” she murmured, inspecting the plate. It was piled high with her favorite treat; sticky honey walnut cakes. Her mouth filled with saliva instantly and her brow raised to Cregan. Perhaps her brother was more considerate than she thought.

“Better as in you’d be able to walk the Keep— Jacaerys and I are going to be skirmishing in the training yard at noon.”

She all but scowled as she pilfered one of the pastries, biting into it without much decorum. It was a messy dessert, designed to be eaten with a fork and knife— but damn that, she would be sticky faced like a honey drunk bear if she pleased! She melded into the flavors, the nostalgia of it tampering her mood. “… I suppose I could watch.”

“He asked for you, you know.”

Shera’s brow raised. ‘He’ could mean a lot of people. “Who?”

“Jacaerys. He asked if you were alright and wished his condolences for your… illness.”

“Is that what we are saying it is now? An illness?” she muttered, taking another bite of the cake. Yes, how diminishing it felt to pass off her fragility of mind as an illness. Of course— how else could it be put? She was surprised that it wasn’t being spread as a ‘malady of woman’, or some other pompous innocuous name for whatever was really wrong with her.

“What would you call it then?”

She made a noncommittal noise and continued eating. After finishing, she let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cakes, Cregan.”

“I didn’t bring them— they were at your chamber door when I came back.”

She tilted her head. “They were just… there?”

“I didn’t even know you liked honey walnut cakes, Shera.”

She clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll be at the yard at noon. I need to get ready, if you please.” she said, the nicest way of putting it. Leave, brother. You’re annoying.

–

Dressed in a lighter garment than usual, she descended the steps carefully. A light blue tulle train flowed behind her, rippling and waving in the breeze like the white capped crests upon the Blackwater. It was different from her normal style of muted, monotone colors— mayhaps it was a way to uplift herself.

It was a lovely blue and green hue, embroidered with filigree patterns. The sleeves were long, accompanied by a sweeping circular decolletage, exposing her soft collarbone and the faintest swell of breast. She had felt so confident leaving her chambers— she even went with a shorter veil than usual, the lace falling just past her jaw.

Walking down the hall, Moongeist nosed her hand to his head, as if to remind her of something. She felt… exposed. A bit too much for her liking. Her fingers glided over her wolf’s soft fur… and she remembered, swiftly turning around to grab her fur stole from her room. “Thank you for reminding me, sweet boy,” she hummed, snuggling into the comforting, familiar fur.

Descending down to the training yard, she fanned herself with an errant hand. Even with less layers than usual and lighter colors, she was still broiling under the sun. Moongeist panted near her, tongue lolled out in silent agreement.

“A parasol might do you well, my lady,” a bored voice drawled. “Your pale complexion does you wonders, but I wonder if you still flay in the sun like as a child.”

“Aegon,” Shera recognized the lazy, tired voice of the eldest child of Alicent. He had been one of her companions back in the day, but also one of her greatest foes– before the incident of course. “I’m surprised to see you outside. I’ve heard you’re solely a creature of the dark now.”

“I am full of surprises, dear Shera,” he caught up to her, looping their arms together all too readily. He had a dopey smile on his face, but it didn’t match the pure exhaustion in his eyes. Dark bags fell under those violet orbs like a dreary storm. “I happen to be coming back from… such nightly activities.”

Moongeist let out a growl as he touched her, but Shera silenced him. She didn’t believe that she had any reason to fear Aegon and thought him almost as pathetic as she. “Very well.”

“I heard about… the dinner. I’m glad I slipped out when I did, I knew it’d be a shit show,” he was fiddling with his rings on his free arm, all while stringing her along to the training yard. “Curious how Aemond said you were a bashed up mess under that veil of yours, and yet– he is challenging your betrothed and your brother to a duel?”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways– eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Helaena told you, didn’t she?”

“... mm. Maybe– even so, I don’t think it’s wholly terrible under there, is it?” he peered at her, a single hand lifting her veil to peek underneath.

She promptly slapped his hand away and wrenched herself from his grasp, followed by Moongeist giving a warning snap to the air. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Sleeping off your night, mayhaps?”

“Well– yes,” Aegon backed up, putting his hands in the air in surrender. “I just wanted to catch up. Is that so terrible?”

“Yes.”

He patted down imaginary dust from his doublet, twisting his rings again as they reached the landing to the training yard observation deck. He leaned his head to look out and survey it for a moment before a devilish smirk perked at his mouth once more. “You are going to wish that it was me talking to you soon enough, Shera. Have fun, zokla.” Wolf.

Shera watched him jaunt off with an air of confusion, turning to walk onto the rampart. She saw Jacaerys there already with Cregan, talking and laughing with… Rhaena and Baela. Daemon was there, too, stalking in the background.

Fuck.

She took a deep breath, glancing to the dirt grounds where Aemond was sparring with Criston.

Cregan’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re not your friends, not anymore. She pulled her stole closer to herself, walking forward. I don’t have any friends here. Except for Helaena, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, she made her way to the small congregation. “Brother, Jacaerys,” she greeted first, dipping her head. Cregan seemed jovial and in good spirits– he always was around Jacaerys and vice versa. “Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena.” she spoke then, trying to keep her quivering voice even. They hadn’t spoken since Baela had slashed her eye and attempted to kill her. Shera took in her appearance best she could– she had grown up, as they all had, but especially resembled her mother, Laena. Shera remembers seeing Laena’s portraits in Driftmark– and her statuesque coffin depiction before she was pushed into the sea.

“Shera,” Jacaerys grinned, taking her hand– which she did not offer him– and kissed it. So gallant, so princely. It made her want to vomit. “It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?”

Yes, it’s a lovely day, stifling hot in the hells. “... it could do with a breeze, mayhaps. But yes, quite nice.” she responded coolly.

“‘Tis my turn to spar Aemond next– apparently he has been here since the crack of dawn with Criston. Do you think he’s getting exhausted yet, my lady?” Jace asked, guiding Shera to her seat and handing her a fan. At least he noticed that she was positively broiling.

She leaned and looked over the rampart to the skirmishing ring, where Aemond kept up his pace. “Since dawn, you say?” she asked, raising a brow as she fanned herself.

Aemond was using a shortsword, which seemed to be his weapon of choice against all others. Ser Criston was wielding a morningstar with spiked barbs around it. Her lone eye was entranced on the prince’s movements as he danced around his teacher, footwork impeccable as if he were simply floating across the dirt, whipping up hardly any dust in his wake. Shera wished she was a bit closer so she could see it better, but his movements didn’t seem to be exhausted in the slightest– he was like grebe skimming over the water, in his element.

Criston raised his morningstar, twirling it before making his advance to the prince, to which Aemond did not move. Move, Aemond. Move! What are you doing? Shera clenched her fist in her lap and leaned forward even farther to try and parse exactly what Aemond’s plan was– certainly not to face a morningstar head on with a simple shortsword? She held her breath as he was within bludgeoning range of the flail, the chains clinking as Criston didn’t waiver– it was like they were in a real fight. Was he about to kill Aemond?

She rose to her feet quickly, startled by what she thought was about to be a murder– only to watch Aemond roll deftly out of the way as the kingsguard’s weapon stuck into the dirt, lodged a few inches in by the heft of his lunge. This was a clear opportunity for Aemond, one he calculated so carefully. He stuck the tip of his shortsword through the links of the flail, keeping it pinned to the ground and hovered a dagger at Ser Cole’s neck with his other hand.

“I yield, my prince.” Criston huffed, bowing his head.

“Very good,” Aemond grinned– but it wasn’t a grin of joy, this seemed to be a recurring theme with Aemond– he smiled but it was nothing of mirth. It was simply a reflex, like a snake opening its jaws to stretch its fangs, one might think it was laughing. “Who’s next?”

Shera realized the kerfuffle she’d made, her hand white knuckled against her chest as she stared at Aemond in abject horror, still not getting past the fact that she had been deathly worried about Aemond– even after the horrible things he had said. If Ser Cole’s flail had met the prince’s head, she would’ve jumped the rampart with Moongeist and mauled that sordid Kingsguard without a second thought.

She blinked, letting out a breath. Where did that come from? She was usually so well versed in her moods, as tumultuous as they could be. But this rage had snuck up on her, her blood boiling slightly. She glanced to her side, Moongeist was up and raring to go, as if sharing her sentiment.

Aemond wiped sweat from his forehead, finally looking to the ramparts. Their eyes met once again and he smirked. Smirked. It wasn’t a reflexive, mirthless smirk either. It was taunting, pompous. “Lady Shera,” he drawled, dislodging his sword from the ground and twirled it with ease, like it was an attachment of his own body. “You are dressed… brightly today.” he walked to the edge of the ring, looking directly up at her.

Shera looked behind her for a moment– the rest of the party was occupied with talking with one another. She pressed her arms on the wall and leaned down. “I am. You are not.”

“When have I ever been?”

“You used to like green.”

“Hm,” he snorted, wiping some errant dirt from his face. “If I were in a tourney, would you cast down your favor to me?”

“I thought you didn’t care for tournaments, my prince.”

“I don’t.” he responded coolly, his eye trained on her so intensely. He was looking at something– did she have something on her face?

She realized quickly the air coming up from under her veil, the shorter one she wore today, and her angle. She was looking… down at him, and the veil stayed in place. He could see her face. He was looking at her, studying her like a book. Shera let out a soft sheepish noise, pushing back from the rampart and sitting back at her seat.

She heard him laugh as he walked away to stow his weapon on the rack and pick another. He was laughing at her– surely because he thought her ugly. Wilting into herself, she adjusted her veil so that she might not have any more mishaps.

“Jacaerys, I believe it’s your turn,” she murmured, fanning herself again, then fanning Moongeist.

“Ah, very good. Wish me luck, my lady.”

“Good luck, Jacaerys.” she hummed. I do wish you don’t get your brains splattered in the pit by Aemond. I am not getting up again.

Cregan clasped Jace on the shoulder with such ferocity he almost knocked the prince over, walking down to the pit with him. Shera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“So, Lady Stark,” Baela hummed, pulling her seat up next to Shera. Uncomfortably close. “Cregan is your brother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.” she responded, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Forgive me– you two don’t look much alike, so I was just making sure.”

You cannot even see my face, how do you know we do not look alike? The last time you saw my face, you mauled it. “Cregan takes after our father more than I. I am more like our mother– or so I’ve been told. I’ve not met her.” she fiddled with her fur stole to ease her growing irritation. Add mother issues to the list of things I have wrong with me. Shera’s mother died shortly after her birth– all she knew is that she had copper hair. Their father had put away portraits and any semblance of her existence after– and never remarried.

Baela carefully sidestepped the issue of Shera’s mother, keeping her pressed about Cregan. “My stepmother says that mayhaps after you and Jacaerys are wed, she will propose a betrothal between Cregan and I.”

Oh, of course. Let’s have Winterfell all but indebted to dragons. “I hadn’t heard. Have you been North, my lady?”

“No– but I imagine it cannot be any harsher than the roiling tides of Driftmark.”

Fuck you. “Having been both places– they are very different, Lady Baela,” Shera knew she was being short and not doing well in containing her agitation at this whole situation, being in proximity to her would-be murderer. “The North is harsher than any tide and is not the best climate for everyone. I do not think dragons fair well in the North,” she paused to breathe, her pace of speaking beginning to burn her throat. She was fueled by disconcertment and barely contained anger alone. “... that is what I have heard. Vermax loathes the snow.”

“Well,” Baela kept a smile on her face. “Cregan is handsome, don’t you think?”

“I cannot say, my lady. I don’t really see him in such a manner— I am not a Targaryen, after all.” Shera said back, finally regaining some control in her voice.

She heard Daemon laugh behind her. She fought the urge to turn around and sneer, focusing on the melee happening in the pit. It was well on its way and Jacaerys was… faring. She didn’t know how he was faring, but he wasn’t knocked out yet.

Aemond was circling him like a wolf upon prey– a totally different technique than what he had done with Criston. He had let Criston come to him, rather than facing him head on. It was almost sickly how he was playing with him before the slaughter. There was a dangerous glint in Aemond’s eye that only Shera seemed to catch– did he mean to kill Jace? She remembered a similar glint in his eye when he raised the rock to Jacaerys’ head in the tunnels under Driftmark–

Aemond surged forward and steel met steel, their swords clashing together. Jace had chosen a shortsword as well, parrying his opponent’s thrust– barely. He knocked the white-haired prince back slightly, catching his breath.

Once again, that sickly smile spread across Aemond’s face. “Tired already, Jacaerys? We’ve barely begun!” he continued his walk around his nephew, twirling his sword.

“Hardly, uncle. All you’ve done is dance around me. How about an actual fight, ey?” Jace quipped back.

Shera had to give him credit where it was due. Jace was brazen. Taunting an already unhinged Aemond and being mayhaps a bit stupid– but brazen nonetheless.

“A swordsman knows how to pick his fights and when to wait, doesn’t he?” Aemond’s eye flicked to the ramparts where Daemon was still looming. “Has your stepfather not taught you that?”

“You’re both talking a bit too much for my liking,” Cregan grunted, his hand itching on his own sword, which he had already unsheathed. It was the Stark’s ancestral weapon, a huge greatsword aptly called Ice. Cregan handled it with ease– Shera wouldn’t even be able to lift it. “Go on, Jacaerys.”

“Go on, Jacaerys,” Aemond taunted in a similar tone, his hackles raised. He looked slightly manic in the moment. “Let's see what your stepfather has taught you– if anything. I thought you were supposed to be strong.”

Jacaerys raged forward, spurred by his rising anger. Their swords clashed again with such force that sparks flew from the metal. Aemond thwarted him off, pushing him backwards into the dirt, shrugging his shoulders.

Despite being pushed down, Jace still got up, coming at Aemond again and again, each slash more sloppy than the last, but fueled with spite. His uncle continued to parry him, to push him, to sweep him aside with ease– it was a game to him.

“Keep your attacks focused, Jacaerys,” Cregan commanded. “He’s getting tired, I can see it.”

“I can go all day, Stark!” Aemond barked, his violet eye pierced solely on Cregan now as he thwarted Jacaerys’ heavy-handed blows without even looking at him. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? If your… pup here wins, I’ll personally pay for you and your troops to have a trip to the Silk Street– the best brothel. If I win– I get to take your sister for a ride on my dragon.”

Ah, fuck. Cregan’s hackles rose and he shoved off his fur cape. “Don’t talk about my sister, you beast,” the vein in Cregan’s neck throbbed and Shera knew it would come to blows between the Warden of the North and the One-Eyed prince. “You wouldn’t know a real fight if it hit you in the face.”

“Oh, please– now give me a moment so I can pummel your little pup into the ground and show your sister a real dra–” Aemond’s voice was cut off as Cregan punched him squarely in the face, right in his nose. Blood dripped from his nostrils and he then raised his sword to Cregan. “Fine.”

Their bodies tensed and Jacaerys saw the opportunity to walk away, thoroughly exhausted and not wanting to get in between the two of them.

They were about to clash swords once more in a very real manner and Shera stood up from her chair hastily, opening her mouth to say something– but she was cut off.

“Aemond!” an authoritative voice called from the rampart. It was Otto Hightower, hand of the King– and Aemond’s grandsire. “Forgo your petty spar and meet me in the Tower of the Hand. Promptly.”

The mania in Aemond’s eyes and aura faded, snuffing it out once more– just like his rage at the dinner. “Of course. Good fight, Jacaerys,” he nodded his head to his nephew, then looked to Cregan. “Stark.” he uttered before spitting blood onto the dirt, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t even look at Shera as he ascended the steps and followed his grandsire.

“I notice you did not greet me, Lady Stark,” Daemon hummed as he loomed behind her. “Am I not worthy of your respect?”

“... you were quite far away, Prince Daemon. I simply cannot project my voice that far, forgive me.” she droned, blinking profusely at the turn of events.

“My nephew said he would’ve taken you on a ride upon his dragon– care to enlighten me what that might mean?” he continued, tapping ringed fingers on the stone barrier.

“I presume he would take me on a ride on Vhagar,” she muttered, edging away from Daemon. “He would find it hard to get me upon his beast, even if he won the bet.”

“I’m sure he would. Your brother has a temper when it comes to you, it seems?”

“All men have tempers when it comes to women in their lives, do they not?”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t imagine you would wish your daughter,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to Baela, who was speaking to Jacaerys off to the side. “To be absconded to the North. Nor do I imagine you’re entirely pleased at the prospect of more Andal blood tainting your line.”

“An apt observation, wolf. Though, I am not sure the North is meant for northerners, either. Some people just do not belong anywhere, it seems.”

Fuck off, old man. “I wish you a good day, prince Daemon.” Shera whispered, bowing her head, careful of her veil placement. She could feel his gaze on her, leering at her, trying to figure out what was beneath.

“Cregan– I am going to lunch with Helaena,” Shera tried to call down, but her voice didn’t project. He was caught up talking very animatedly to Jacaerys and Baela– Rhaena was off to the side, not saying much.

Shera let out an errant puff of agitation and left the training yard. She stopped at her chambers before going to Helaena’s– she took off the errant piece of flowing fabric from her outfit and put it on the desk.

–

Aemond returned to his chambers hours later after being thoroughly chewed out by his grandsire for ‘behavior unbecoming of a prince’. Is this how it felt to be Aegon?

His nose ached and he was sure that northern beast had broken it. It mattered not, it will mend. Most things do in time.

He began to unlace his jerkin as he noticed a piece of cerulean fabric on his desk, pinned with a note.

My favor, for you.

There was no signature to whom had written it, only a crude drawing of a wolf. He rolled his eye, picking up the fabric. It was soft between his calloused fingers and smelled heavily of lavender and rosemary. It smelled of her– he could absorb it even with his broken nose.

A tiny smile perked at his lips for a moment. ‘Twas a real one.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #banshees lament #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc

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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 14 days

Text

Stitches (Part II)

(Read Part I Here! used to be We Interrupt This Broadcast... changed the name because I feel like this fits better 😅)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). And again, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect some angst (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

"Almost ready" I said. "Basically finished" I said. Sorry y'all, the Chronic Illness Fairy struck. 😅 I will say this was my favorite part to write, but also the one I'm most uncertain about... bit more angst in this installment and I'm not much of an angst writer lol... but with Rosie in the mix (especially as a ler), angst never lasts long. 🥰

Also I changed the title. Hopefully it's not confusing that way... cuz without Part 1 this fic makes zero sense 😅

One last thing... I'm so happy y'all like Trudy! Was thinking about posting a lil sketch of her at some point (I need a new insomnia project now that this fic is done 😅). I've been having a truly awful few weeks on the anxiety front, so all the positive feedback on Part I has been quite literally making my days 💕

Hope you enjoy!!

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"Ooh, you stubborn little bastard. You're still gonna refuse to laugh?" Rosie mutters.

Alastor doesn't dare try to speak. All he can manage is a defiant shake of his head.

"Look, my friend. If you 'don't mind a little tickling,' and getting all giggly is your specialty…" Rosie tweaks his bottom rib, eliciting a noise that comes just short of a squeak. "What, exactly, is the problem here?"

"I'm supposed to be in control!" he grinds out through his twitching grin.

"You are in control, sir." Trudy abruptly withdraws her hands, holding them up innocently. "You can tell me to stop at any time."

Alastor cringes. He was sorta hoping no one would point that out.

"Which is why I find it so fascinating that you haven't yet." A sly smirk creeps across Rosie's face.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I- I'm humoring you!"

"Humoring me?" Rosie tilts her head. "My dear, I hope you're not doing this just for my sake. If you don't want Trudy to check for further injury-"

"No, I do! O-on my terms!"

"This is on your terms."

"Yes, but-"

"In fact, you insisted."

He stumbles again, before mumbling another meager, "…to humor you!"

Trudy shoots her boss a disoriented look - but Rosie, as usual, is hearing her friend loud and clear.

"Alastor." Rosie rolls her eyes, gestures for Trudy to step aside, and scoots over to place a hand on his knee. "Adam is dead. Everyone in hell thinks you're either succumbing to your wounds in some remote gutter or hiding in whatever alternate dimension you just spent the last seven years. You're not even 'on air'." She leans in. "You can drop the act for a moment, if it's what you need."

That certainly hits the mark. For the first time, Alastor's smile falters - not completely dropping, but certainly losing much of the strained quality it's had since he arrived.

"I wish I could, my dear."

Encouraged, Rosie continues. "Well, what's stopping ya? As much as I love spending time with Alastor the Radio Demon… if you wanna take this opportunity to let out whoever's underneath that effervescent grin of yours, you know we wouldn't mind."

Alastor swallows - and for the first time in a decades, Rosie finds his expression difficult to read. "Rosie, I'm afraid I can't really..."

"I mean, you've been holding that same silly show-host-smile for years! Don't tell me you've never gotten tired of it!"

"It's sewn on, Rosie."

"…What?"

He hesitates. "Let's just say today wasn't the first time I've been, ah... stitched up." As he speaks, he gestures to his toothy grin. And for once, there's not a trace of distortion in his voice.

Rosie's dark eyes go wide when she realizes what he means. The cannibal overlord just stands there for a beat, in an uncharacteristic moment of shock.

But, being Rosie, she quickly recovers. "Well, so what?"

"I'm just saying, I'm afraid I can't really drop the act."

"Nonsense! Since when has your act had anything to do with your face?" Rosie flicks her hand, as if brushing the thought aside. "Who cares if you can't show genuine Alastor. I wanna hear him."

"But my microphone..."

"You're doing just fine without it."

Once again, this attempt at reassurance only makes Alastor look more disturbed. "Th-this can't be me!"

"...Well, no. This right here sure isn't the Alastor I know. But…"

Alastor is barely listening to her anymore. His broadcast persona has been his sole identity since he was alive. Now his radio tower has been reduced to rubble, his microphone snapped clean in half, even his carefully-styled clothing left in tatters…

If this is the Genuine Alastor he's now stuck with - panicked, stuttering, weak - he can't imagine how he'll ever be able to face the rest of hell…

But these racing thoughts are once again interrupted by nails tracing up his sides. A sharp yelp cuts the air as poor Alastor just about jumps out of his skin.

"…Perhaps I can offer a little help?" Rosie suggests gently, once she has his undivided (and adorably flustered) attention. "On your terms, of course?"

Alastor just gazes back at her for a long moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"I happen to know something about you that even you can't fake."

The radio demon hesitates… before heaving a sigh and, to Rosie's surprise, giving a small nod of consent.

She breaks into a brilliant (and frankly terrifying) smile.

Before Alastor can brace himself, Rosie's hands have both found his sides and begun working into his waist. Having just watched him squirm around under Trudy's thorough probing twice (and adored every second of it), she already has a pretty good idea of where his worst spots are.

Which is made abundantly clear by Alastor's reaction. Within seconds he's gone from still trying to hold it all in by habit, to giggling into his hands, to cackling hysterically.

And it's the kind of laughter she's spent the last seven years missing. This isn't the confident, taunting chuckle he brings out for battles or brushing off rivals; this is bright, helpless, occasionally hiccuping laughter, the kind that is nearly impossible for him to stop once he starts - and the kind she only has the privilege of hearing when something truly amuses him.

"You can't sew your laughter on," Rosie reminds him. "This is all yours."

Rosie's fingers creep up under his shirt to scribble on bare tummy, adding a couple new sweet spots to her mental catalogue. This technique brings out even more of her favorite little quirks: the way he bats playfully (and completely ineffectually) at her wrists; his repeated attempts to speak around his laughter that only result in frantic spurts of incomprehensible, giggle-laced gibberish.

As she traces her nails across his lower belly she also finds a tiiiny layer of unexpected pudge. Which probably shouldn't surprise her - he's been out of the battle scene for seven years, after all. All those deer carcasses have to go somewhere.

Regardless, she finds it terribly endearing for some reason... and the surge of affection translates into a corresponding surge in the intensity of Rosie's tickles.

"AHaha! Ro- Rosie!" he blurts, his voice jumping a full octave higher than normal. "Stop!!"

Rosie removes her hands immediately. "Stop?"

"Aha- ah- well- I mean, er…" He stumbles breathlessly, and gives a sheepish cough.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?"

Rosie resumes with a chuckle, reeling herself in just a little. "How 'bout we say... oh... 'enough,' if you really want me to quit?"

Of course, she has to go and say it out loud.

"M-more of a reflehex..." he admits reluctantly.

Alastor tosses a shaky thumbs-up at her, already too lost in his own giggles to manage a verbal reply.

And he's gotta admit… Rosie was absolutely right. He wouldn't stop her right now for all the souls in hell. There's a reason Alastor has the most recognizable evil cackle of any other overlord. He can't help but find dissolving into laughter as cathartic and exhilarating as always - even if this time, it's not at some poor soul's misfortune. It's a result of his best friend's affection for her darling deer demon.

"As fun as getting your soft little belly is," Rosie muses, pausing to let Alastor catch his breath for a moment, "I can't help but wonder if you're ticklish anywhere else…"

Alastor may be off the air, but Rosie can practically hear the screech of microphone feedback just by the look on his face. "….I plead the fifth."

"Have you considered his ears?" Trudy pipes up shyly. While she'd managed to restrain herself behind an impeccably professional bedside manner earlier, it had taken everything in her power not to stroke Alastor's ears when she'd been close enough to do so. They were just. so. fluffy.

"Ohhh, heavens…" Alastor, for his part, curls in on himself at the mere suggestion.

Rosie grins. "Hey, 'no' is always an option."

A long pause. Alastor can't believe he's considering this. But the sensation of being tickled, as unbearable as it is, does feel awfully pleasant… and it's been so long since anyone has dared to touch him…

And what else does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

"I suppose if you're… very gentle…"

"Are you aware that your ears are the softest thing in the nine circles?"

This stipulation ends up backfiring. When it comes to his ears, gentle is worse. So, so much worse.

Poor Alastor is too busy clutching his stomach and snickering madly into his sleeve to reply.

"I should know, I work in retail. These right here-" Rosie traces her fingers down the feathery-soft edges, sending the radio demon into a new round of hysterics. "-Would fetch a pretty penny."

"They're nohot for saHA-ale!!"

"Nooo, I should say not." Rosie's hapless victim lurches back into the cushions as her fingers find the fluffy region at the base of his ears. Even without the microphone, his cackles have no problem filling the room. "You're the only demon classy enough to wear them."

"And don' you - GAHaha! - f-forget it!" He's so drunk on laughter now that he's beginning to slur his words. His careful elocution has gone the same place as his steady tone, and lack of stutter.

Luckily, he's also far too drunk on laughter to care.

...Right about there, Rosie notices that the faint hum of radio static in the air is no longer just in her head.

He is laughing his heart out for the first time in weeks. Genuinely laughing for the first time in decades. And laughing completely for himself, for his own enjoyment, without need for intimidation or control or image or audience, for the first time since long before he died.

While Trudy typically can't say much for her self-preservation instinct, she's got enough of one to feel hesitant joining her boss in tickling the most powerful overlord in hell (outside the pretense of medical intervention, at least). So she just stands back, watching fondly as The Most Dangerous Overlord This Side of the Pentagram utterly destroys the deer demon.

...At least, until she notices a flicker of green light out of the corner of her eye. Lying forgotten on the end table, the splintered ends of Alastor's microphone are sparking and crackling like live wires.

The surgeon creeps over for a closer look, staring in fascination. And then - just as Rosie gets poor Alastor behind the ears and delivers a scribble to his tummy at the same time - she ever-so-gently nudges the fractured ends closer to one another.

To her surprise, a bright green spark arcs clear across the gap. For a fraction of a second, the whole staff radiates a flash of a familiar green glow.

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"Keep him laughing, Rosie," Trudy murmurs over her shoulder. It appears the Radio Demon's downfall will be nothing more than an intermission.

Thanks for being so patient with me y'all! Hope it was worth the wait 💕

💜- Cozy

#lee!alastor #ler!rosie #ticklish!alastor #oh deer he's ticklish #hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #ticklefic #dr. trudy sawblade #my ocs

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nicoline1998enilocin · 8 months

Text

The perfect date

300 follower celebration 🖤

PAIRING | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2K

SUMMARY | You're restocking at work when you accidentally fall and are caught by the most handsome man you've ever seen. When he asks you out on a date, you can't say no, and when you run into your ex on that date, he stands up for you like a true gentleman.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Light angst, swearing, talk about cheating.

A/N | I want to give the biggest thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for brainstorming with me for this! I loved how our ideas came together in this one, and I’m looking forward to creating more like this in the future! 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 🩷

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | 18+ only banner is made by yours truly

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

''Good afternoon, welcome to Readers Delight!'' you say as you're restocking some books, and you get a nod from the long-haired man walking in the door.

You give him a wide smile as you step onto a step stool to reach the higher shelves, and everything goes well until someone tries to get your attention, and you fall over.

''Excuse me, Miss,'' a deep voice behind you says, and you're so focused on reaching that the stool slips from underneath you, feeling yourself fall while you shriek loudly.

You close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable thud onto the ground, but it never comes. Instead, you're caught by two pairs of strong arms holding you tightly.

''You're alright; I got you, doll,'' the man says in a deep voice, and you open your eyes.

Looking back at you are a pair of deep blue eyes with a little twinkle and a bright smile.

His nose is slightly crooked from all the times it's been broken, and long brown hair hangs around his face like a silky dark brown curtain.

The arms holding you feel unnaturally strong, but you can't help how it feels to be held by them, and you wish he would never let go of you.

''I-I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to get scared,'' you stumble over your words as you take in his handsome features.

''It's okay; I should've waited until you're no longer standing on a step stool to ask my question. I'm Bucky, by the way,'' he says as he sets you down and extends his flesh hand.

''Y/N, it's nice to meet you, Bucky,'' you say as the blush on your cheeks deepens when you feel how warm his hand is. You're so completely taken aback by the beauty in front of you that you almost forget what you were doing.

''Could I maybe take you out on a date as a way to say thank you?'' he asks, and you're wondering if you heard him correctly.

''Y-You want to go on a d-date? With me?'' you ask as your eyes widen; it's hard to believe someone like him would like to ask you out on a date.

''Only if you'll have me, of course,'' he says as he waits patiently, and you nod.

''That would be nice. I'll give you my number, and afterward, you can ask me the question you wanted to ask earlier,'' you say, and Bucky laughs; he completely forgot about the question he had to begin with.

You're working a closing shift at Readers Delight today, and Bucky agreed to take you out on a picnic on the beach afterward.

It's been a few weeks since he caught you after your fall, and the two of you hit it off. You're constantly texting, and when you're at home, you often talk for hours on the phone.

You decided to wear a yellow maxi dress in preparation for your date, combined with a matching makeup look and earrings. When you sent a photo of it to Bucky, he told you that you look like the sun, and you can't think of a better way to start your day.

The day goes by quickly, for which you're thankful, and right before closing time, Bucky walks in sporting light jeans and a sweater. His hair is up in a high bun, and his cheeks are filled nicely with soft scruff, making him look even more handsome than the first time you saw him.

''Hi, doll,'' he says as he walks in and walks over to you, kissing your cheek softly. ''You still look like the sun, and my day just got even brighter by seeing you,'' Bucky says, making you blush deeply.

''Oh, stop it!'' you say playfully, and you walk away to hide that you're getting more and more flushed at the thought of him being near you.

You close the store, and Bucky picks up a book from behind the counter to read while you are counting the registers, which took a little bit of time today.

You walk over to Bucky with an outstretched hand when everything else is done. ''Are you ready to go on our date?'' you ask, and he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles softly as he brings it to his lips.

The two of you walk out of the store and lock the door, but before you can turn around, you feel Bucky slide his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he places soft kisses on your neck.

''Have I told you how beautiful you look today?'' he says as he keeps littering small kisses on your neck and shoulder.

''Maybe once or twice, but you look amazing too,'' you say, feeling Bucky smile against your neck.

You giggle as he turns you around, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug.

''Thank you for saving me and taking me out on a date,'' you tell him, kissing the soft scruff that lines his jaw.

''I would do it repeatedly if it meant I could get more dates with you,'' he says, interlacing his fingers with yours as he guides you to his car.

He opens the passenger-side door and lets you slip in before closing it and walking over to the driver's side.

''I prepared a playlist for tonight; I hope you like it,'' he says, turning it on. Soft jazz music flows out of the speakers, which makes you feel very relaxed.

The drive to the beach is short, but when he parks the car, you gasp a little at the sight in front of you. A beautiful picnic was prepared with the help of Nat and Wanda, who couldn't be more excited to help out the grumpy super soldier.

''Oh my god, Bucky! This looks amazing!'' you say, and you can't help but pull him into another hug.

He helps you sit on one of the pillows they put down, and you dive into the fantastic food they prepared.

''Did you do all this before you picked me up?'' you ask as you pop a grape into your mouth.

''I wish I could say that's the case, but it isn't. I had the help of Nat and Wanda, who insisted this would be perfect,'' he said with a small smile.

''I can't wait to thank them in person because this is amazing. Thank you for bringing me here tonight. It is everything I dreamt of and more,'' you say as you snuggle into his side.

You two share many funny stories and laugh endlessly, but suddenly, Bucky notices you're shivering.

''Here, take my sweater doll. You feel like you're freezing right now,'' he says, pulling off his hoodie and leaving him with a thin shirt that shows off every ridge and muscle on his abdomen and chest.

''Fuck,'' you mutter under your breath as your eyes glide over his body, and suddenly you feel your cheeks redden at the thought that you're openly checking him out like this.

''Well, I'm not used to hearing that when I take off my hoodie, but it's something I won't mind hearing again from you,'' he says, placing a small kiss right underneath your ear. You bite your lip to stifle the moan creeping up your throat.

''Bucky, stop!'' you say as his kisses tickle, and he does, but not without a last kiss on your temple.

''Also, you're never getting your hoodie back because it's so comfortable, and it smells like you,'' you say before taking a whiff, smelling his cologne.

''That's okay with me, but if you want it to keep smelling like that, shouldn't I wear it now and again to ensure it stays that way?'' Bucky asks, and you act like you're thinking hard about that.

''I can allow that, but I need another one to keep me stocked up at all times!'' you say, and Bucky nods before pulling you into his arms and onto his lap.

''I'm perfectly fine with that,'' he says, and the two of you stay like that for a little longer, enjoying the sunset with cuddles and soft kisses littered over each other's cheeks, jaws, and necks.

When the food is gone, Bucky texts Nat so the girls can pack up the picnic, and the two of you are heading to an ice cream shop nearby for dessert.

Bucky picks out a booth for the two of you to sit in, and you sit across from him. You pick up a menu to look at all the options and order a strawberry sundae. He decides to go for a peanut butter milkshake and asks for two straws so you can share.

''I still can't believe you would do all this for me! Honestly, I still can't believe anyone would do this for me,'' you tell him, and Bucky takes your hands in his. Before he can say anything, however, the two of you are rudely interrupted.

''Well, well, it looks like you found another victim to fall for your 'innocent' act,'' a booming voice says, and you shut your eyes when you hear it.

''Alyx, can you please leave me alone? I left your cheating ass for a reason, and I don't appreciate you interrupting me when I'm-'' is all you get out.

He walks over to you and puts his fists on the table as he leans close to you, whispering something.

''You know damn well I left you, not the other way around, bitch!'' he hisses through his teeth, but Bucky doesn't take it well.

''Who are you calling a bitch, huh? She told you to leave her alone, so leave us the fuck alone,'' he says as he gets up, and Bucky easily towers over your ex-boyfriend.

''Do you even know why I had to sleep with someone else? Because she didn't let me touch her! We were together for three fucking years, and she didn't let me touch her once! What else was I supposed to do after all those years?!'' he spits out, but Bucky isn't too happy with his answer.

''Well, for starters, you could have talked to her because she's reasonable. You didn't have to go out and fuck the first thing that spread her legs and break Y/N's heart. But honestly, I'm glad she left you because now I have the chance to show her what a real gentleman looks like,'' Bucky says, but he doesn't notice the tears streaming down your face.

''B-Buck, please. Let's go s-somewhere else,'' you hiccup through your tears, and that's when he turns around. His heart breaks at the sight, but first, he turns back to Alyx.

''You leave now and never bother us again, or I will punch you so badly even your mother won't recognize you anymore,'' Bucky growls, and Alyx scrambles out the door.

''C'mere, I'm so sorry you had to witness all that,'' Bucky says, and you get up and throw yourself into his arms where it feels safe.

''T-thank you for e-everything,'' you say through your tears, but Bucky wipes them away with a soft swipe of his thumbs.

''There's no need to thank me, he just shouldn't be such an ass,'' he says, and you nod.

''I should tell you the real reason he cheated on me, though, because it's not my fault, even though that's what he made it sound like. He cheated on me because I'm still a virgin, and I wasn't ready to give myself to him in that way at the time,'' you say, and you look at the floor instead of at Bucky.

''Doll, there's nothing wrong with not being ready. I would be honored if you would ever be ready to give yourself to me, but if you never want anything to do with me again, I will respect that too,'' Bucky says, and you give him a soft smile.

''I want to have you like that tonight, Bucky. But only if you're up for it too,'' you say, and he smiles back.

''I'd be honored,'' he says, and you stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips, capturing them with yours in a breathtaking, slow, and sweet kiss.

''Let's finish our ice cream first and get out of here after,'' he says before he gives a small peck on your lips.

''Absolutely''.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

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georgiapeach30513 · 1 month

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Just Like the Caged Bird, Part 10

Summary: Andy gets jealous

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, sex in a work place, oral sex (F receiving), getting caught, obsession, possession, breeding kink, manipulations, depictions of grief, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.8K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Andy sighs, removing his fingers from the keyboard. Normally he would have his office door closed, hoping to keep people from bothering him. But not on days that you worked. You are the best kind of distraction. He has to keep twisting his head to look out his door to see you on the phone, or making copies for him.

You brightened up the office whether you realized it or not. Even when you got overwhelmed or confused, and needed to ask him something. And the joy that spreads across your face when he helps you figure something out. You caught up to things quickly, and he wished you didn’t. It would mean more time with him.

You had a need to please him, and you did. Every bit of movement you did felt like it was just for him. And now he gets to see you in pencil skirts, heels, button up blouses, dresses — this is his favorite fantasy. Even when he shouldn’t have been looking at you, he knew you would grow up into the woman you are. And now you were his and he could look at you whenever he damn well pleased.

There were some minor setbacks to get you to him, and he is sorry that his brother had to pass in order for him to have you. What he isn’t sorry for is the fact that he knew you were always his. Jake was always a place holder, but he hated the fact that he had you first. However, you were now slowly coming around, and so reactive to him.

It is incredible to see you listen and obey. The way you longed for his touch, and melted into him. You deserved to be spoiled in ways that no one ever has. Men were always leaving you. Your father was off into oblivion. Your brothers were always leaving for something or other. Jake decided the army was more important than spending time with his wife, and what did it cause him? He hates thinking about his brother like that, but Andy has no intentions of leaving you.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear your heels clicking towards his office. Placing a hand on the doorframe, you lean into his office with the most beautiful smile. “It’s a bit slow today,” you start talking. Your nickname of Songbird makes even more sense with how melodic you sound.

“You can’t leave for the day.”

“I didn’t want to,” he watches as your hand rubs up and down the door frame, your smile getting larger. “I was wondering if you’d like me to go get us some coffee.”

“There’s a coffee machine in the break room,” he gives you a little smirk, already deciding that yes, he was going to let you go get some coffee. You said ‘us’.

”Yes, but that’s just boring K Cups. Wouldn’t you like a latte? Maybe a shaken espresso?”

“Would that make you happy, sweetheart?” He swears, and you could break his heart from your wide grin. Nodding your head in excitement. You stand up straight in the door, and he gets to see your entire body on display. Your outfit is perfect for him. Hugging every curve of your body. Work got both harder and better because of you. “Fine, surprise me. Nothing too sweet, and no vanilla. Here, let me get you my card.”

“Andy! I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Then come sit in my lap, and give me a kiss. You’ll have paid me in full,” you may give him a coy smile, shaking your head, but you close the door to go sit on his lap. He grabs ahold of your hips starting a slow grind on him. “I don’t think you realize how much I have wanted you.”

“I have an idea,” you whisper, leaning into his neck. Your dangerous game starts early today. Panting on his neck, while you whisper his name. He plays his games, too. Edging himself so when he does get you he goes harder and deeper than you thought possible. Knowing that even though his cock is hardening under your ass that he won’t act on his primal need to have you.

“Have you thought about my suggestion,” you whimper onto his neck. Pressing open mouth kisses behind the shell of his ear, and he moves you harder. “Don’t change the subject. I took your temp this morning. You’re not ovulating.”

“I don’t know if that works,” answering honestly. Why did he always want to talk about things of this nature while you’re distracted? It’s like you couldn’t fully concentrate on either one, and you would just go with whatever he decided.

“It’s worked for enough people. It’ll work on you,” his words are a bit hard as he thrusts up. Pushing your front onto his desk, and he gets to his knees. Rucking up your skirt. His calloused fingers hook under the expensive thong he had bought you, moving it aside. He buries his face in your wet heat. Tongue lapping up your juices.

Andy begins to kitten lick your clit. Giving the little nub a nip before he paints butterflies on your core with every stroke of his tongue. Fucking your cunt with his thick muscle, and then back to sucking your clit. Back and forth. Pleasuring and stopping. Confusing your body until you're pushing yourself onto his tongue while he kneels behind you.

Fingers gripping onto the edge of the desk, and you search for that release. Using his face and tongue for your enjoyment. Can feel his devilish smirk on your center. You mewl out in pleasure when you glance behind you. Seeing him burrow so deep into your folds you feel like you’re about to explode.

“Mr. Barber?” You push him off you so fast, collapsing onto the floor in front of him, hiding from his partner’s secretary, and Andy stands up. Straightening his tie. Using his hand to wipe off your juices from his face, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll knock next time.”

”Janice? This — she’s my girlfriend.”

”I didn’t ask,” the older woman walks out of his office, and Andy looks down at you with a smirk.

He places his thumb along your bottom lip. Rubbing the smooth skin back and forth before pushing it into your mouth, and you suckle the appendage. Staring up at him with wide eyes. “Your cunt’s showing,” you try to shrug away from his thumb so you can right your skirt. “Uh uh. I like the view. Looking all innocent and vulnerable all because someone saw me feasting on that pretty little pussy. It’s new for me, too.”

“But you’re the man,” you mumble of his thumb before he pulls it out of your mouth. Reaching a hand down to you, and you take it. You stand up, and pull down your skirt. “I don’t want people to think I got this job because we’re sleeping together. I don’t want the news here to be that you’re fucking your office manager. You want to be the DA.”

”I’m fucking my girlfriend. I have you here to spend more time with you because I have a busy schedule. And anytime you and I are behind closed doors, how about we make sure to lock it? They see you arrive with me, and leave with me. Honey, what do you think they thought you were? You’re not some bimbo that I use as a fleshlight. Now, here’s my card. Go buy us some coffee. No vanilla.”

“Caramel?” Your mouth turns up in a sheepish grin. With the sun shining through the window, Andy’s hair looks a bit darker. Too often you get glimpses of what your sunshine boy would look like if he was allowed to get older. You decided to quit denying that part of your attraction to Andy is his resemblance to Jake. Was it wrong? Possibly. But it was your life and your conflicting thoughts.

“Sweetheart, surprise me. No vanilla though,” you grab onto his card, and turn away to get a cute little love tap on your ass. Having to stop yourself when you turn around because that was Jake’s favorite move. And the feeling is too familiar, and you wish it was Jake instead.

Andy’s head lifts up when he hears your giggle. His smile spreads out wide across his face, faltering just a bit when he sees you on the phone animatedly talking to someone as you balance the two coffees in your arms. Pushing into the building. He is almost worried until you give him your warm smile. But it doesn’t stop him from wondering just who you’re talking to.

Bringing him his drink, you give him a quick peck just beside his lips before turning back towards the front, “Yeah, I’ll be home tonight,” he stops his drinking as his steady eyes follow you. Practically glaring as you sit down at your desk. “Okay, but last time you got to choose the movie.”

Fucking Bucky Barnes. Or his little brother. Either way you casually said you were going home tonight. Which was the plan, but you said it so happily. Like you are ready to leave Andy. And all he could think about is the next time that you were going to be with him. Jealousy isn’t the word. He’s angry. His house should be your home, and not some temporary apartment.

You are flirting with Bucky or Steve right in front of him. How could you casually forget all the ways he made you feel? He was just feasting on your juices. He wondered if Bucky knew just how you crumbled before him? What pretty little sounds you made when he filled you up with pleasure, and it was time he filled you up with him.

“Let me ask him. Hold on,” Andy is lost in all the ways he wants to feel himself inside of you, and have Bucky know who you belonged to. Steve knew who you always belonged to, and it was him. “Andy?”

He knew what he had to do. Bucky is getting in the way of what Andy deserved. He waited too long for you. He was patient. Waited on you to be legal and then watched in agony as you fell for Jensen. It was his turn now, and this was the endgame. There is no other option but you and him.

“Andy?”

“Hmm?” He looks up from his hands, staring blankly at you. Still on the damn phone.

“To save time Bucky said he can come pick me up after work.”

“It’s okay,” that is the wrong thing to say as you scrunch up your nose. “I don’t mind driving you back to the apartment,” clear words. That place isn’t your home. He is. “It just means more time with you. And I thought you were going to make me food?”

“You said you had a lot to do with your case. Bucky is just trying to help you out,” of course he is. Bucky is just trying to get in the middle of the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. You rest the phone on your shoulder, giving him a sweet smile, “Remember what I told you I was going to do when we are apart?”

Pictures and video calls would never be the same. It isn’t enough. Only you were enough. But he is beginning to notice when he pushes you too hard the harder you pull away. He’s going to give you this moment even though everything inside him is screaming to wrap you up in his warmth. “I look forward to every part of you,” he answers vaguely. “Fine, tell Bucky he can pick you up.”

“And we're just ordering pizza. You need to stop procrastinating with your work, too. I’m a bad influence,” well that sounds like you didn’t even want him there with you. You need alone time with Bucky. “But if you want to join us, what’s your favorite kind of pizza?”

“Pepperoni and Italian sausage, but you’re right,” you are, but he didn’t didn’t like Bucky. One of these days you would be living completely with Andy, so he supposed it didn’t matter now. But Bucky had to go. You didn’t need guy friends. You should just want Andy. “What are you going to do?”

“I keep telling Bucky we need to watch Neverending Story, but he’s suggesting Hellraiser.”

“Your choice is better,” his choice sounds like a great way to have you clinging to him while you are alone. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. There is a reason that guy liked to watch horror movies. Childish. Neverending Story is safe. It isn’t scary.

“I knew it! Thanks, Andy. He’ll be here around quitting time to pick me up,” and Andy would make sure that Bucky knew exactly how affected you are by him. It isn’t much but it would have to do. You’d just have to learn that if you were going to that dumb apartment, he would leave a mark. Or a few.

Andy takes a quick look at his watch, noting the time and how it is almost time for Bucky to collect you. If he is going to have to be away from you then he’d make sure you kept a part of him, and also felt him the entire time you were away from him. He could already feel your supple skin under his fingers. It’s a feeling he would never grow tire of.

He says your name, and like the sweet and shy girl you are, you stand up quickly and saunter into his office, “Lock the door,” his voice is so low and deep you almost don’t hear it. His intentions are clear in what he wants, so you do as you're told, but hesitate locking the door.

“Bucky will be here soon.”

“I know. And you’re talking is delaying our time. Better hurry, my beautiful sweet, Songbird,” your eyes flutter shut as you lock the door, and slowly glide towards Andy. He holds up a hand for you, pulling you closer to the chair he’s sitting on. Bending over, his mouth presses right into the sensitive shell of your ear, and his thumb rubs over your hand.

You feel yourself going into that space. Completely trusting and full of lust, “I need to get you a car. We’ll do that next weekend.”

“Too soon,” is all you manage to get out as Andy stands, towering over you. His thumb is still tracing circles on you as he pushes you back onto the desk. Dropping your hand to ruck up your skirt. Yanking down your panties so fast, and he stuffs them in his pocket, “Andy.”

“If you’re going to be away from me, I need to remember you. And you’re going to remember me,” stretching out his fingers, he lays his hand flat on your belly. Rubbing over your soft skin before dipping lower. He creates gentle circles on your clit with his thumb, his fingers remaining splayed out on your belly. He bends over your spread body, and you’re forced to keep your legs wide to accommodate his body as he grinds into you.

“You and I are the real deal. And you were worth the wait. I’ll continue to wait on you and the right timing for you. But you said you didn’t want birth control. Do you trust me?” His free hand grabs yours, and he begins to paint circles with his thumb. That motion that relaxes you, and makes your thoughts immediately go to your husband. The current situation mixes with your favorite memories. Andy’s slacks create a delicious friction on your core. And you move back to him for a now.

Your eyes are a black pool of lust. Pupils blown out wide and letting him know the animalistic pull you have for him. You want a home and a family. You want to trust him. You want a simple life. You want to scream and run. You want to be held tightly and have someone tell you everything okay. You want someone to tell you that your feelings are valid. And you’re so fucking scared. Scared to lose. Scared to be alone. Scared of disappointing anyone. And that’s all you have been doing. You want to trust, and there’s a tiny piece that doesn’t.

“Songbird, you look so beautiful like this,” he whispers into your ear, kissing that spot just behind it, and he starts undoing his pants. “I need you so much right now. Trust me. Please.”

An engrained feeling spurts up your throat and you nod your head, “I trust you,” you choke out. Immediately you feel his silky steel rod crash into your warmth without warning. Your back arches up off the desk, and he pounds into you with more force than he ever has before. Implanting himself deep into your core, and demanding that you remember him when he’s not around. “Andy, they’ll hear,” you try to keep your words even and steady, but they’re a pathetic breathy tone.

JJ never pushed into you this hard. It’s a punishing pleasure. You shouldn’t have entertained Andy for this long. Much less this far. And yet, you couldn’t stay away. Your mind and body playing a game of what you want and what you need, and you are tired of fighting.

His hands grip onto your hips so tightly, and his body ruts into you with so much force you see stars. Juices spew out around him, and you dare to peek. Lifting up to see the severe stretch he’s causing you.

Watching as he impales your body. Keeping you full and filled with him. Having to grab onto his arms to brace yourself with each pounding thrust. “I will have every part of you. Every bit, okay?”

“Yes,” you mewl up at him. Your eyes glassed over in pleasure as you feel your tummy heat up. Everything is overwhelming. Andy is intense in more than his motions. Giving a gleeful smile when he hears a door close out front, but all you see is his handsome face. “Andy,” you’re able to bumble out. “Andy.”

It’s just so much. Too much. Flashes of moments when JJ acted like this. Squinting your eyes you see your beautiful sunshine boy. You were supposed to have beautiful babies with that man, and you got dog tags, and his rings. Everything is flying in your mind as you start to lose control. Moments in time blurring with the present.

Wanting the past. Fearing the future. Overwhelmed by the present. What was the right choice? Would he hate you? Does he know that you sometimes saw JJ in him? Did he know how much you missed your husband and what was supposed to be? Did he know you had yours and JJ’s life planned out to perfection and now you’ll never get it with him?

Your fingers dig into his forearms as he races for the finish. Cooing something down to you, but you can’t see. You just see Jake. You feel him. You smell his cologne. You miss him so much, and this moment is transforming, and you can’t stop the words from spewing out. “I want your babies,” you croak out, swallowing deeply before saying his name. Your voice is hardly audible. Andy doesn’t even hear them words that spewed out of your mouth.

“What’s that? What?”

More feelings rushing into your chest as those deep blue eyes look into your soul, “I — I…Andy,” you got his name right, and the words dissipate back into your throat. He isn’t JJ, and you don’t love him like that. You hope you can. And fear that you will.

“I need you to trust me,” he crashes into your one more time. Your walls cling tight to his girth as his warm seed spurts into your belly, and you yelp up at him. “You’re not ovulating,” he says breathlessly. Pressing a hand on your belly again. Nobody had ever had that part of you, and you’re left feeling overwhelmed. The fear never edges away, but only increases as you process what just transpired. “It’s too soon anyways. But I want this with you. I’ve always wanted it with you. Okay?”

You nod your head at him, still unsure of what to feel. “I’ve always wanted you. Even when I shouldn’t,” he pulls himself out of you slowly. Using his fingers to paint your swollen cunt with his spunk. “I just keep seeing moments of us really trying for a family. I need you to want what I want. Be on the same team. I’d give us a good life. You’d never want for anything. I’d get along with your brothers, I would make myself do that for you. Can you,” his fingers stuff themselves inside of you, and you wince. “Do you want that?”

“I don’t know,” his mouth goes flat, and he finally looks up from your center. “Andy this is a lot all at once.”

“He’s never coming back. Don’t chase a ghost.”

“I’m not,” your voice comes out harsh, and you push his fingers away from you. Sitting up on the desk, and you glare at him. “I love him. Still. That is your brother. And you’re clouding my brain with your perfectness, and I’m getting bombarded with — memories, and I can’t decipher what is here and now, and what was then. Just stop. It’s so much. And I can’t…it’s like I can’t breathe.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” you scoff. Standing up to pull your skirt down. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Andy, you’re making this much more serious than I’m ready to make it right now. I’m learning to grow and move forward. But…I need some space to not allow him to seep through,” those were the wrong words. But Andy doesn’t get angry, he looks hurt.

“When — who did you see just now? Me or him? Are you envisioning having sex with my baby brother when I’m the one that’s fucking you?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m giving you every bit of me. Every bit that I didn’t give Laurie. I never loved her like I do you. I didn’t even want kids with her because they were never going to be yours. And then you tell me that while I have fantasies of you swollen with our first child, and your rings shining in the light that you saw Jake. How do you think that makes me feel? All I have on my mind is you, and…our future.”

Your anger softens a bit as you stare up into his eyes. Trying to figure out what to say, but you can’t think of anything. You shouldn’t have visions of Jake when you had this man inside of you. He has changed his life and wants you to be part of it. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

“I want you to not do it again. It’s like what you feel for me is nothing compared to what I feel for you,” he’s right. And you’re ashamed of yourself. And scared. So so scared. A knock on the door makes you flinch.

“You…finished?” Oh god. It’s Bucky, and you get so embarrassed. Cheeks heating up as you feel Andy trickling out of you. You cover your face with your hands as you wonder how much Bucky heard.

“Yeah,” you call to him, and turn back to Andy, pressing a hand over his heart. “Andy, I’m sorry.”

“Can you not sleep with him then?”

“I don’t,” that’s an odd request. Currently you’ve only had sex with two people, and the second was right in front of you.

“You fall asleep with him. Just for me. Can you just sleep on your own? If you want someone to sleep with I can stay there. I just think…”

“You’re right,” you respond quickly. Wanting to change the subject, and get out of here. The air and tension is too thick, and you feel like you’re drowning. You can’t even get your thoughts working because of it. “I will sleep on my own,” you would try to.

“I’ll walk you out to the car,” his hand presses on the small of your back, and he walks you into the foyer. Smirking and nodding to Bucky. Your roommate looks more at you than at Andy. Silvery blue eyes raking over your features. How long had he even been outside of Andy’s office? “Make sure you take care of my girlfriend, Barnes. Songbird, I look forward to your texts later tonight,” he gives you a wink as he opens the door to the truck, and even buckles you in.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as Bucky gets into the driver seat.

“Miss you, too,” you respond. Waiting for him to close the door, and your vision goes blurry. Staring out the window blankly when Bucky begins a slow roll to the highway. What just happened? And how did you feel? And why were there always questions?

”Does he follow you in the bathroom, too?” You try to replay the last thirty minutes in your head, still unable to focus on anything. “Peach? You okay?” Andy is much more intense than Jake. Did you even see the thermometer this morning? Andy had always checked before you had fully awakened. What did it read? Did he even tell you?

“You guys got into an argument?”

“Disagreement,” you answer quickly. Too many thoughts in your head. Too many. You weren’t ready. “Is there a drugstore that sells the morning after pill?”

“Did he make you do something you didn’t want to do?” Did he? What a strange question. You remember what you whispered, but was that for JJ’s ghost? Why were you still hanging on to the past? It had been a year, but you were told grief is different for everyone. “Peach?”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, unable to go to that place. “I just want to be careful. Are there side effects? Will Andy know?”

“You’re scaring me.”

You were scaring yourself. But one thing was for sure, you weren’t ready. “Will he know if I took something?” Your heart is racing as you realize what happened. You weren’t ready to think about kids with anyone but Jake. You feel like Andy was all over you. Like he was leaking out onto the truck seat. “Pull over. Bucky, I’m going to throw up.”

Looking into his mirrors, he pulls the truck over, and you jump out. Hurling your lunch onto the side of the road, and the tears don’t stop. You are so scared. Why? Why is fear the only thing that is oozing throughout your body? It’s all you feel right now. He’d leave you if he found out. Did Jake leave you because you couldn’t have his kids? Why couldn’t you at least have had a part of him with you.

Standing up you look at the sky, screaming out everything inside of you before Bucky pulls you into his arms. He didn’t expect anything in return. He is just there to offer any comfort as the tears block you from seeing anything. “I’m so tired.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. What do you need me to do?”

“I need the morning after pill, but will he know?” With mascara stained cheeks you look up at Bucky hoping for a miracle. Needing a specific answer, and no more questions. The questions had your thoughts racing too fast to sort through. Like driving in the snow and each snowflake is your thoughts. They were coming at you at such a rapid speed you missed things.

“No, he won’t. Come on, order us a pizza, and we’ll get ice cream, too,” you can tell he wants to prod, but thinks better of it, and you’ll be forever grateful to him. You want to take the hottest shower, and remove the traces of Andy. You didn’t hate him, but the feeling of him still there is making you queasy.

“Can we DoorDash it while I shower?” You don’t have to say more, but Bucky understands. Nodding his head is his only answer, and he leads you back to the truck. Clenching his jaw as he wonders just exactly what transpired behind that door. He’s gathered enough. And what he really wants to do is pound in Andy’s face. He cracks his neck trying to make the thoughts go away. They weren’t good for his recovery.

But right now Bucky wants to hit everything. He wants to make someone pay for the mess they made you. And that someone is him. Andy Barber. He’s now become more than an irritation. He’s become an enemy.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @agirlneedsgoals @sgtjaamesbaarnes @cjand10 @rebekahdawkins @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @rainydayprincess @shortstuff16 @slowdownbeforeyouregretit @whimsyplaty92

#just like the caged bird #caged bird #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber smut #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fanfic #andy barber fanfics #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #defending jacob #chris evans #chris evans character

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m00nlight-ramblings · 3 months

Text

Like Real People Do: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of "Like Real People Do"

Working a Saturday shift, Eddie and Dustin come to the rescue to help you leave work early...only after you've met potentially a new friend.

Read Chapter 2 here

Pairing: Eddie x female reader (named "Brooke" because I hate using Y/N, but will also be using "you" to make it reader-centric!)

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint enough

Word Count: 2.11k

A/N: Graphic made by me. I do not give permission for my work (graphic and writing) to be shared without my permission. I have a taglist for this fic, let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

The weather had finally gave way to autumn, the citizens of Hawkins saying goodbye to their tank tops, and hello to their sweaters. The sun was shining on this crisp, autumn day, making you a little stir crazy while you worked your Saturday shift.

Huffing and wiping your brow, you pushed the shelving cart through the Non-Fiction section, feeling like you were missing out. It was a Saturday and the library was virtually empty, and as you watched a group of kids run past the windows, you frowned slightly, wishing you were anywhere but there.

Sure, you loved the library – you loved reading! – but now that your social life was taking a turn for the better in Hawkins (you had gone out a couple of times with Nancy Wheeler, and oddly enough, her younger brother and his crew…most importantly, Eddie), you wanted to go do fun things. For instance, you knew that Eddie and the rest of Hellfire were going to the mall that afternoon, and were later grabbing burgers at Benny’s.

Your mind wandered to Eddie as you grabbed a small stack of books to re-shelve. Thinking of how, in the past few weeks, you had fallen into a nice friendship with him, and how, if given the chance, you’d want to seriously suck face with him.

Not that you’d admit that out loud.

Butterflies appeared in your stomach as you couldn’t help but smile, thinking back at the last time you had hung out with Eddie – after a Hellfire Club meeting, you met him in the parking lot to grab late night sodas at the local convenience store. Somehow, he made sitting in a dimly lit parking lot until 1 AM excessively fun, especially when he kept leaning into you every time he laughed.

Sigh.

His hair was extra curly that night, the summer humidity hanging on for dear life fluffing it up a bit. You noticed he smelled really good too, which, was how he smelled all the time…but it was still really good, and sill worth noticing.

“Uh…excuse me?” Some said from behind, snapping you out of your daydream. You jumped a little and turned around, facing a boy around your age, waving his hand awkwardly. When he finally got your attention, he smiled, “Hi. I’ve been trying to ask for help for a bit now…I hope you’re not in the middle of something?”

You blushed, embarrassed, “Oh god, no. I’m sorry. My brain is…somewhere else.”

He waved his hand as if to say “no big deal”, “It’s Saturday. Your brain isn’t supposed to be working that hard today, anyway.”

You laughed and nodded, “What can I help you with?”

“Well, I’m doing a report on Napoleon for school, and I was wondering if you could help me find some stuff on him?”

“Oh…well, you’re in the right section, and it’s alphabetical, so you can start at the N’s…but unfortunately, I’m not a librarian, so I can’t help you find exactly what you’re looking for…I just put stuff back on the shelves,” You gestured to the pile of books you were holding in your arms, “Eventually. I do put them back on the shelves…eventually.”

The boy nodded and stalled a moment, looking down at your outfit. “Do I…know you? Do you go to Hawkins High?”

You nodded, “I do. I transferred this year. I’m Brooke.”

“Michael. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to shake it, but suddenly took his hand back, “Actually…let’s not. Because of the books…” He blushed a little, “I don’t want you to drop them.”

You smiled and waved your elbow as a greeting, “Nice to meet you,” Awkwardly, you transferred weight on your feet, “Well…I better get back to this…the librarian is over in the corner over there if you have questions.” You nodded towards the librarian, who may or may not have been currently sleeping.

Michael gave a little wave, “Yeah, sure. Thanks…it was nice to meet you.” He turned and walked a few steps away, but turned to look back at you. Giving you one last smile, he disappeared around the corner.

Huh. He was nice.

Suddenly, there was a giant crash near the front of the small library. You craned your neck and saw the front display of books on the floor, the books scattered in every direction. You followed the two pair of sneakers standing in front of the (now broken) display, and unsurprisingly, you found Eddie and Dustin. Sheepishly, they waved.

You rolled your eyes and put the book stack down, marching towards them, “What are you guys doing here?” You asked, your voice a hoarse whisper. You snuck a glance at the librarian at the front desk who was wide awake now.

“We’re here to bail you out!” Eddie said proudly, crossing his arms. You smiled at him.

“…you’re what?”

“We’re here to bail you out!” Dustin echoed, shouting excitedly. The librarian stood and put a finger to her lips.

Shh!

“No, I get that, but,” You ushered them over to a corner, trying to not get in trouble, “Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t be cooped up at work on such a beautiful day.” Eddie said, almost in a “duh!” fashion.

“Okay…and how are you going to bail me out?” You asked, incredulously.

Suddenly, Eddie grabbed your arm and dragged you over to the librarian’s desk, Dustin in tow.

“Ma’am!” Eddie said, suddenly acting nervously, “I am this young lady’s brother and I just found out that she is really sick…our doctor just called our house. He told us she shouldn’t be out, so our mom just asked me to take her home.”

“SHE’S CONTAGIOUS!” Dustin wailed dramatically, earning another “Shh!” from the librarian.

“You guys!” You hissed, embarrassed. You could feel the deep blush rising in your cheeks.

The librarian looked at them, then at you, and then at the clock. It read 2:30. Slowly, she looked back at you and sighed heavily.

“You’re lucky you only have a half hour left of your shift,” The librarian said, monotone. She waved her hand in the air, “Go…enjoy the beautiful day. I mean…enjoy your…” She looked over her glasses at Eddie, “Quarantine from your contagious illness.”

Dustin pumped his fist in the air and Eddie smiled, snagging your arm and taking you outside. “I can’t believe that worked.” He said, laughing as soon as he got outside.

“I can’t either…but you canNOT do that again, you guys! I could’ve gotten in trouble!”

“With that dinosaur? She’s so old she’s not going to remember this in like, five minutes.” Dustin said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, “So, Benny’s?”

“To Benny’s!” Eddie said, looping his arm in yours and leading you to his van. You giggled and followed suit, happy to be enjoying the day.

-*-

With your milkshakes to go, you and Eddie were the only two left after everyone had gone home. Currently, you were sitting in the back of his van, the doors open, watching the sun go down outside of the empty field next to Benny’s.

“Cookies and cream was the way to go.” Eddie said, slurping up some of his milkshake, speaking with his mouth open. You shook your head.

“You can’t go wrong with chocolate, Eddie. Any other flavor is just…not right.”

“Chocolate is so boring!”

“Chocolate is a classic!”

“I refuse to argue this bogus point,” Eddie said, putting his hand up in your face, “Quite frankly because there is no argument…I am right.”

You huffed, giggling and crossing your arms. You swung your legs and sipped your milkshake, falling in a comfortable silence with Eddie.

“So…who were you talking to?” Eddie asked randomly. Confused, you shot him a look.

“Huh?”

“When Dustin and I got to the library today, you were talking to…some guy. Who was it?” He nonchalantly sipped his milkshake, staring off at the sunset.

You furrowed your brow, “Oh…his name is Michael? He’s doing a project for school and needed help finding books. Apparently, he goes to our school but…I’ve never seen him,” You shrugged, following Eddie’s gaze.

He paused for a moment, “Oh. Michael Cardin? I think he’s in my study hall…” He nodded slowly, “Cool.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

You softly punched Eddie’s arm, “Why did you want to know?”

“I dunno,” Eddie said, lifting the straw out of the milkshake cup over and over again, “Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t like…bothering you…or something…” He grumbled.

You could feel your ears turning a bit pink – what was with Eddie wondering that? “Aw, Eddie…are you looking out for me?”

“I just know what people in this town can be like, especially with new kids, so I wanted to make sure he wasn’t giving you shit!” He smiled and chuckled, “Sue me!”

“That’s very nice,” You murmured, looking at him. He met your eyes and smiled, a drawn-out moment between the two of you. You got lost into his eyes before he cleared his throat uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair, “But I wouldn’t be able to sue you for like, anything. I’m the one who had to buy these milkshakes, if you’ve forgotten already.” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

“I told you, when I’m a rich and famous rockstar, I’ll buy you all the milkshakes you want.” He countered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Nah…when you’re a rich and famous rockstar, you’ll forget all about me. You’re gonna have like, 80 million chicks surrounding you, with bleach blonde hair and fancy makeup and tits out to here,” You held your hands far out on your chest, like you were holding beach balls. “That’s who you’re going to be buying milkshakes for.”

“First of all, those kinds of chicks probably don’t want milkshakes, they’ll probably want tequila,” He started, poking your shoulder, “And secondly…what makes you think that I’d ever forget you?”

You turned and looked at Eddie, his brown eyes seemingly boring into your skull. Your breath hitched in your throat as you searched his eyes, trying to find what he meant by that. He was leaning close to you, completely still. Uncomfortably, you shrugged.

“I don’t know…because I’m forgettable?” You mumbled.

“Okay, you must not be as smart as I thought you were because that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true!” You said, throwing your hands up in the air, “I didn’t have a lot of friends back home! And let’s just say I didn’t have a line of boys waiting to take me on dates, either…” You sighed, “I mean, I don’t think I should be putting a brown paper bag over my head, but-”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need a line of boys waiting for you to take you on a date, just as long as you have the right one.” Eddie said, sucking out some more of his milkshake.

You eyed him and pressed your lips together, your heart starting to beat like crazy in your chest.

“Well…I don’t even have one yet, so…” You tried, quietly. Eddie snorted, putting his milkshake down.

“Well, that Michael guy seemed to have those goo-goo-ga-ga eyes after you guys talked today, so…” His voice tapered off.

You frowned, looking away in disappointment. You didn’t know why you thought maybe Eddie would give you an admittance of a crush, but hearing him try to go the Michael route was a bit crushing.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, sighing lightly and leaning against the edge of the van. You could hear kids playing off in the distance, the sun almost fully set now. Maybe you had read the situation with Eddie wrong? You thought he wouldn’t have been hanging out with you unless there was some sort of feelings there, but he was just given an easy in, and didn’t take it.

You felt lame.

“Are you getting cold? I can drive you home.” He offered, tossing his cup into a garbage can in the parking lot. It went in first try and he pretended to be a crowd roaring, throwing his hands up in the air. You felt sad, but also silly now that he was doing that.

He didn’t seem to even notice what was going on, and now he wanted to drive you home. Great.

You nodded, hopping out the back of the van. Making your way to the passenger seat, you finally spoke, “Yeah, I can go home.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, but got into the driver’s seat after closing the back doors to his van. He looked at you for a bit, and when you turned your head to meet his eyes, he immediately looked out the front window, starting the car.

He drove you home in silence.

---

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