#( this plot has been plaguing my mind for days ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratbby333 · 1 year ago

Text

i will possess your heart – satoru gojo

-this story contains very heavy nsfw content! please read at your own discretion!-

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 content warnings dead dove fic- heavy stalking, violent obsession, manipulation, forced voyeurism, forced exhibition, drugging, mentions of blood, knives, use of restraints, plot twist, extreme dub-con 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 synopsis for as cocky as Satoru is, it’s oddly fitting. in his mind, everything belongs to him, including you. 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 word count 8k

Satoru fumbled with a tripod as he positioned his camera onto the stand and proceeded to hit record. He was thorough, making sure his chair was perfectly centered before he sat down, staring at himself in the viewfinder while he fussed with his hair, inhaling deeply. A wide grin cut across his face before dropping back into lackluster neutrality. He looked down at his lap, his fingers ran up and down his denim-clad thighs. He snapped back onto the camera blank-faced before a deranged smile pulled at his cheeks.

Click

January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point. I’m plagued by the shadows, my entire life enshrouded in darkness. I don’t remember what things were like before. Day by day, it’s all the same. I cannot escape it—this anchoring feeling of despair. The emptiness eats away at me. I’m in search of release…of some sort of freedom from this pain. I need to fill my life with meaning, to find purpose in this accursed world…I think I’ll go out for coffee today. People watching brings me so much joy. They seem to live much happier lives than me.

Click

January 16th, 6:38 PM

My daydreams must’ve blended into reality because there was no way I created someone as beautiful as she was outside my imagination. I’m certain of it. She was sitting at the bar of the cafe down the street from my apartment, dressed in business casual—she probably works nearby. How kismet. The coffee was bland, as were most things in my life, but she awoke something in me. I hope I see her again. She somehow managed to clear the cobwebs around my heart. I think my life has finally found purpose. She is my driving force. I wonder what her name is.

Click

January 19th, 6:11 AM

Feeling well-rested today. Four hours of sleep is my new record. I plan to go to the coffee shop again. Back to the place where my eyes were first blessed with the mirage of her…where I first fell in love. I hope she’s there. People are so fun to observe when they don’t think they’re being watched…it’s simple psychology. The Hawthorne Effect. When humans notice they are under observation, they change. So inauthentic. But her? She never notices. She sits so obliviously, allowing me to take her in with ease. So good to me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I hope to work up the courage to speak to her soon. My heart soars at the mere thought of being in her presence once again. It’s so refreshing to feel something after all this time. I’ve been numb for so long, but she has set my heart on fire. She is everything to me, my sole purpose for existence.

Click

January 19th, 8:27 PM

I saw her again today. She didn’t see me. Just how I like it. She typed away on her computer like normal…she’s a hard worker, it seems. Driven and strong. And here I was thinking such beauty was a thing of legend. It's refreshing to have been proved wrong–that rarely happens. Oh, how I crave her. I know she’d make me feel whole again. She can save me from all this, I can feel it.

Click

January 23rd, 5:13 AM

Only two hours of sleep tonight. But, for some reason, I feel better than ever… I normally do when I find a reason for living, again. It’s her…it must be because of her. She keeps me going; my muse, my inspiration. She’s worked wonders on me already and she doesn’t even know it, yet. I’m going to the cafe again today, I cannot wait to see her. Maybe today I will finally speak to her.

Click

January 23rd, 9:53 PM

She never showed up today…I wonder what’s going on. Maybe she had other things to do. It’s fine, really. I’m annoyed, honestly. I waited around all day. I’ll keep checking until I see her again.

Click

January 28th, 7:06 PM

My sweet girl has gone missing. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. This is just ridiculous. The woman I love…is she avoiding me? No, no that cannot be.

Click

February 2nd, 8:31 AM

I haven’t slept well in days. I’ve been awake for twenty six hours now…my mind feels like it’s filled with static and yet, I feel sharper than ever. I’ve gone to the cafe every day. Still no sign of her. I’m slipping back into my old ways, the darkness is going to return any moment. I’ve begun to hear the laughter in the shadows again. They’re making fun of me, I just know it. I need her…oh, I need her so bad. How could she do this to me? Does she not know how much I suffer when she’s not around? If I don’t see her again soon, I will never recover.

Click

February 5th, 6:21 PM

I finally saw her again today. My heartrate spiked and I nearly leaped from my seat to kiss her, to hold her, sway her side to side in a deep hug. Instead, I slipped a tracker into her purse as I walked by her chair. I must know where she works, where she lives, and what she enjoys in her free time. She slipped away from me so easily…can’t let that happen again. I need to know every little thing about her. She is my one and only after all. It would be ridiculous to love someone so deeply and know nothing about them. She is too beautiful, I cannot let her wander around unsupervised. There are some crazy people out there—you never know what could happen. I can’t lose her. I must keep her safe. I will possess her heart. No one else can have her but me.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru observed her for months, shadowing her all around town. He knew the woman’s routine like the back of his hand, before he ever learned her name. Sunday’s she went grocery shopping, Monday after work was her pilates class, every couple of Thursday’s she was at the nail salon, and Friday’s were seemingly payday–he picked up on her pattern of going out to nice restaurants every other week. Satoru eventually got an upper-level management position at a company that shared the office building with her job–he is incredibly intelligent and overqualified, after all; they would be foolish to not hire him. Now he could really keep an eye on her.

That was when he finally learned her name–the two of them taking the same elevator. She didn’t recognize him as the man who seemingly had the same routine as her–it’s one of the many reasons why Satoru loved her so much: her naivety. She looked into his eyes for the first time that day, her voice was soft and angelic, and the name that fell from her lips sent waves through Satoru’s body, the same name that would now be coupled with his gasping moans every evening as he stroked himself to the thought of her.

With Satoru’s new job that brought him one step closer to her, he knew he could no longer watch her in the way he used to. His movements had to be more calculated, putting more distance between them than he normally would or hiding behind the deep tint of his car windows. If she saw his face too frequently, she surely would have caught on. Satoru smiled at the possibility of her never catching on…how she’d greet him with a smile and a friendly hug each time they “coincidentally” bumped into one another, giggling about their lives' odd synchronicities. Such a sweet girl. If only she knew.

He stopped into her job, a small gift bag hanging off his slender fingers, desperate to watch her eyes light up with the sweet gesture of an unexpected gift. He asked to see her, only to be informed by the receptionist that she had the day off.

It was no worry, he didn’t let that dull his excitement. “I’m a friend of hers, brought this in to surprise her. Do you mind showing me to her desk, I’ll just leave it there for her when she returns to work,” he said kindly. The lady working the front desk blushed under his piercing gaze and handsome features, nodding shyly and walking him to his lover’s designated area.

Satoru thanked her, stepping into the cubicle to place his gift by her computer. His eyes glazed over her workspace. It was decorated with trinkets and family photos. He picked one up, his thumb tracing over her face. His pretty girl. That smile could bring about world peace; it definitely quieted the angered voices in his head. He scanned her desk, a moment of envy shooting through him at the thought of her dainty fingers dancing over the keyboard rather than tangling in his hair. He groaned internally, looking over his shoulder to ensure no one was around, before ducking down, rummaging through his beloved’s drawers. Stowed away in the bottom of the unit was a fuzzy, white cardigan. He brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply, stifling the filthy moan that nearly echoed through the cubicle. He quickly tucked it into his jacket, took one last look around, and headed toward the exit.

In the safety of his vehicle, Satoru whipped the clothing out from under his wing, bringing it to his face once more. He undid his belt buckle with haste, shoving his dress slacks halfway down his thighs before his large fist swaddled his cock with the fuzzy white cardigan. He nearly sobbed at the contact, the smell of his car filling with her beautifully floral perfume. He brought the free edge up to his nose, taking another whiff as his hand worked furiously against his shaft. He had never finished so quickly in his life, staggered whimpers and choked moans fell from his parted lips as fat ropes shot up onto his abs and chest. His cheeks were flustered a violent red as he wiped his sticky shame away with her top. After he came, then did his clarity, and Satoru’s body ached with the thought of how good it would feel to finally be sheathed within her sticky walls, rather than her soft clothing. I’ll be with you soon. Soon, my love.

These feelings were getting unbearable. His overactive brain had him teetering on the edge of insanity. He needed more. His imagination was no longer enough to satiate the hunger that gnawed so deeply in his core, the distanced watching and hopeless longing for the love of his life created jagged rifts in his already damaged psyche. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. A few deep breaths and the promise he made to himself to take action soon quelled his burning desire. But for how much longer could Satoru repress the demon that clawed through his body?

Satoru surveyed her while she ran to the bank, walked her dog, or took her car to the wash. But his most favorite place to watch her was from the bench just outside her bedroom window, engulfed in darkness. Pretty girl lived on the second floor, her silly little brain assumed she didn’t need curtains. She never saw him, but he always saw her. All of her. Drinking in the way her clothes were delicately removed from her pretty little frame, the way she turned and posed in the mirror–so good to him. How her skin glistened after she got out of the shower, the water droplets running along her body in the same way Satoru wanted to.

He fell into a state of bliss, feeling spoiled by the show he was getting tonight. The lotion that she worked into her body, the beautiful set of lingerie that she dawned. His eyes buzzed around his sockets, elation flooding through him. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. But his body went rigid and his jaw locked tight at the appearance of another man behind the love of his life. He sat upright, shoulders stiff and heart pounding in his ears at the thought of his sweet being in danger, he cursed himself for not being more aware of her surroundings on her behalf. But when his darling girl turned to the unknown man with a smile, greeting him with a gentle kiss with the lips that were supposed to be just for Satoru, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Oh, no. This just won’t do, my love. You are mine.

Jealousy coursed through his veins while he looked into her room, rage balled in his fists as he watched a random man have her in the one way Satoru couldn’t. Not yet, at least. He must’ve been new in her life, judging by the way his nervous hands explored every part of her skin. Satoru laughed at this–he knew he could please his woman so much better. But betrayal nipped at the back of his neck; how could she do this to him? Had his loyalty fallen on unappreciative shoulders? No, that couldn’t be. Satoru knew she was better than that, he picked her for a reason, after all. She was just playing hard to get.

You rejected my advances and desperate pleas, and now you throw your relationship in my face. It’s punishment enough that I can’t have you, but I won't let you let me down so easily.

Feeling at a loss, swallowed whole by his hungered desperation, he did what any rational person would. He moved in next door.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Satoru Gojo was your next-door neighbor. He moved in only a few months after you did. You were elated, chalking it up to a lucky roll of the dice that you had met by chance at your job; he had started working for the company that shared the office park with yours. It really seemed like things were on the come-up for you. He was kind, confidently intuitive, funny, and supportive. Mildly egotistical, but it worked for him. He always invited you over for dinner and movie nights and was a strong, dependable shoulder for you to cry on. You had just moved to the city, feeling utterly lost and absolutely gutted about being so far from your support systems now, and he was your first friend. You felt safe knowing he was just a wall away.

On a random Sunday, you opened your front door to see all the food you loved sitting at your doorstep–weird, you were just about to leave for the store. You turned your head, seeing Satoru peeking out from his cracked door, grinning at you.

“Was this you, Satoru? You didn’t have to…this is incredibly thoughtful,” you beamed, stepping over the grocery bags to give him a tight hug. “You’re the best, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” But Satoru did, he knew exactly what you could do for him.

When you needed a ride to work, he jumped in to save you. The two of you worked in the same building after all. It was a crazy coincidence that your new neighbor turned best friend worked just a few floors above you. It’s such a small world, isn’t it? But it worked out perfectly for the two of you.

There was a month where you were short on rent, and there was Satoru, paying the rest on your behalf.

You weren’t catching on. Sweet, naive girl. Oh, how he loved you. I need to work harder to get her attention.

Satoru was not a patient man, but for you, he would do anything and everything to get you right where he wanted you, expertly playing the long game. It began with the fated sighting of you sitting in a cafe, and snowballed into something bigger. At first, he only ever observed you, maybe the minor occasion of overstepping, but as time went on, he couldn’t sit idly by. It was time to make his move.

His disruptions in your life started inconspicuously. Leaving for a date? You found your car tires slashed and windows shattered in the parking deck. Now there’s a police investigation. Bummer…gotta cancel the date. Had a guy over? Satoru’s apartment flooded. Weird… that was the second time this month.

“You gotta talk to the landlord about this, ‘Toru,” you sighed. He had to stay at yours that evening.

You cried on his shoulder, telling him that some guy stood you up on a date you had been anticipating for weeks. There was an electrical fire in that man’s apartment that night. Must’ve been faulty wiring...or something.

His apartment flooded again. He was back at your door. You welcomed him with open arms, of course. He’s so good to you, the least you could do is help him out, as well.

Satoru, you’re slipping. That’s too many times in one month. Ease up or she’ll catch on.

Friday night, in a wild happenstance, he bumped into you while you were out with another man, enjoying a nice dinner together. He smiled warmly at the two of you, before politely dismissing himself. His cheery smile dropped into a demented grin once he stepped out of the restaurant as he anonymously called in a bomb threat to the establishment. You were so shaken up at the entire ordeal you practically begged Satoru to stay with you that night. He’d be a fool to turn you down.

Satoru got everything he wanted. You were just a tough nut to crack, is all. No big deal. He loved a challenge. After all, how could you not love him by now?

But nothing was working. You couldn’t catch the hint, even with everything he threw at you. He was always the one there for you, even when you weren’t aware of it. What more could he do to prove that he was the only person you needed? I’m reliable, witty, and loving… how can she not see this? He finally snapped. The last straw? Hearing your pleasure-filled cries while getting fucked by another man, your “boyfriend”. The lewd sounds ricocheted around your room, shooting through the thin walls of your apartment and straight into his listening ears.

Tsk, tsk. Now you’ve done it. Always been such a tease.

For as cocky as he was, it’s oddly fitting. In his mind, everything belonged to him, including you. And with that, his demented plan was in full effect. He had hoped to spare you, prayed that you would fall in love with him before he lost his composure completely. But your sweet, naive nature had proved to be a difficult wall to break down.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The sound of your front door’s lock disengaging echoed through the empty hallway. Satoru stepped in, inhaling deeply as he shoved your house key into his back pocket. It was far easier to gain access into your home than he had originally anticipated; he was fully prepared to break in, but all he had to do was tell your landlord you went out of town and you forgot to leave a key with him before you left. The manager of your apartment complex knew how close you and Satoru were, so it was an easy lie to tell. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth. You weren’t out of town, he wasn’t house sitting, and you had no intentions of having company this evening.

Seated at your desk, he opened your laptop and navigated his way to your iMessage settings, ensuring you could only send and receive texts from your laptop. Clicking on the messaging app, he stifled the gag that threatened to escape his throat as he clicked on the thread between you and your boyfriend, his contact name “my love” in your phone. He rolled his eyes, before drafting a quick text:

-Hey, baby. I have a half-day at work today…dinner and wine at my place tonight? ;)

He grinned at the quickness of your boyfriend’s response.

-I would love that. What time, my love?

Satoru scoffed at the pet name. He doesn’t deserve to call you that. Poor bastard needed to learn his place. Heat rose in his chest, jealousy emanating through his skin as he crafted his response.

-3pm…Can’t wait to see you.

Everything was going according to plan. Satoru glanced at the clock beside him: 11:17 AM. It was time to get set up, he had a big day planned for you, and his first guest would be arriving in a few short hours.

A knock rang through the apartment as Satoru finished lighting his final candle. He smiled wide, sauntering over to the door. He swung it open, grinning politely at your boyfriend. “...Hey, man…didn’t expect to see you here…” he said warily as Satoru stood to the side and gestured him in, a quizzical look painted on your partner’s face as he stepped through the doorway. The door shut and the lock was reengaged. “Where’s…” but before he could get his question out, his chin was met with Satoru’s right fist.

Satoru made quick work of dragging his body upstairs. He dug through the unconscious man’s pants, pulling out his cellphone. Satoru was disgusted to see that you were his lockscreen. This pitiful man wasn’t worthy enough to be with you. He rolled his eyes, unlocking the man’s phone and sending you a text:

-Hey, beautiful. Come straight home tonight. I’m making dinner for us. See you when you get off work.

You smiled at the familiar ding of your phone, the notification effectively distracting you from your tedious paperwork. Your heart soared at the message, sighing deeply and shifting your weight around in your office chair. Your hand rubbed at your face in an attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“What is it?” your coworker asked.

“Oh, nothing. I thought my boyfriend forgot our anniversary cause I hadn’t heard from him all day…but he just texted me saying he’s at my place and is making dinner for us tonight.” A giddy smile couldn’t help but drag across your face.

Satoru looked at the clock: 3:28 PM. You would be home in an hour or so. Just a few more things had to be done, everything had to be perfect.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Your heart rate spiked as you got closer to your apartment door, keys jingling against your palm as you fumbled with the lock, excitement making your movements a bit clumsier than usual. You entered and kicked off your heels, and as you turned to toss your keys onto the small table in your foyer, you noticed a small card that said “Read Me” placed perfectly in the center of the tray. You were perplexed as your eyes scanned over the note. “Go to the living room” was all it said.

You blushed, a nervous smile pulling at the edge of your lips as you crept to the other room. Your eyes went wide at the sight; deep red roses were placed in the center of the coffee table and every accessible surface around the couch was adorned with beautifully flickering candles. Another note was on the table, your fingers fumbled with the edge of the card as you opened it: “Have a seat, take a sip, and press play.” You settled on the couch, noticing a glass of alluring red wine to the right of the roses. You took a few deep, fulfilling swigs of your drink before grabbing the TV remote. Your face twisted a bit, examining the glass in your hand, the flavor of wine different than the one you were used to. It was a special night after all, your thoughtful boyfriend must have wanted you to branch out this evening. Where is he, anyway? As you pressed play, you called out for him, only to be cut off by your own confusion as Satoru’s face appeared on your TV screen. You watched with perplexity as Satoru recentered his chair, smiled, relaxed his face, and then smiled again.

No…no, no, no. What is this? You were locked in place, the melodious sounds of Satoru’s voice cascaded out of your surround sound system. He looked different though, his eyes were dull and low, his voice monotonous–his alarming difference in demeanor sent a chill down your spine. Your groggy mind inferred that this must’ve been an accident. Maybe it was casted to the wrong TV. I shouldn’t be seeing this…these are Satoru’s video diaries.

You so badly wanted to tear your eyes away from the screen, this seemed like such an invasion of privacy. But you were entranced, staring intently toward the TV, though you didn’t really have a choice, your body was completely numb now.

“January 16th, 4:06 AM

I woke up drenched in the feeling of lethargy again—another night of only an hour’s worth of sleep. Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point…” you fought to keep your eyes open, to piece together what the hell was happening, until your body eventually succumbed to sleep.

When you finally came to, you were laid out on your bed, fully nude. Soft grunts lingered in the air as you worked your hardest to refocus your eyes, your head pounding. You shifted your weight onto your forearms, your neck straining as it felt like your brain was filled with lead, eyes searching your bedroom for the culprit of the moans. One glance to the left, a quick look to the right, before you stared straight ahead at the wall directly across from the bed. Your body lurched in fear as your heart sank, the source of the sounds now looking you dead in the eyes: The man you had been seeing for the past couple of months, gagged and tied to a chair, his bloodied face twisted up in agony.

You tried to call out for him. Your feeble attempts to drag your heavy body closer in order to console him were interrupted as the room was suddenly illuminated with the streaming lights of a projector. Your movements halted as you shielded your eyes immediately, the bright interruption feeling like a flashbang to your sensitive head.

“We didn’t get to finish my show and tell,” a voice spoke up from the dark corner.

“Satoru?? Wha…what is going on?” you cried out, tears spilling from your eyes while your hands attempted to cover your modesty. You tried your hardest to sit upright, your head spinning, unsure if Satoru was the culprit or your savior. Your body felt like it was anchored to the floor, your head throbbing with every word that tore through your chest.

“There’s no need for all that yelling, sweetheart,” Satoru grinned, crouching down next to you. You winced as his hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that trickled down your cheeks.

Click

Metal cuffs clamped down on your wrists before you could even register what was happening. A million unanswered questions spun through the room as you frantically searched through his blue eyes, hoping to find any sort of insight into the torment he was inflicting upon the two of you.

“This is what’s gonna happen, okay? I need you to listen to me.” His voice was sickeningly sweet, each syllable that left his lips more damning than the last as he dragged your limp body up the bed, securing your wrists to the headboard and angling your body toward the projected video on your wall. A crazed grin lit up his dull face as he raised his hand, pointing the remote toward the projector. “You’re gonna sit here and look all pretty f’me while you watch these tapes, and if you move, if you stop paying attention for even a second…” Your stomach churned at how gently he was able to give such vile instructions. He turned his attention towards your partner, the blade of a knife twirling through the slender fingers of his free hand, “...He’s dead. Understand, angel?”

You nodded reluctantly, unable to do anything else but comply with his demands. Your head was spinning, trying to digest the fact that this was the same person who had paid your rent and entertained your rants after a hard day of work. You listened as his voice continued to drabble over the static of the projector, recalling how bland that day had been until he saw your face. How he must’ve dreamt of you because there was no way your beauty could exist outside of his imagination. To you, it had been a normal Tuesday afternoon. To him, it had been the start of the rest of his life.

The longer you watched, the more the realization set in that the sweet gestures he presented to you were not out of the goodness of his heart, but from the darkness of his spirit, driven by his wanton lust. Your face was slack, eyes wide in horror. Disappointment crawled through your chest at your own naivety. How could I be so oblivious? So trusting?

Satoru’s eyes bored into the side of your face as he sat beside you, his hands rubbing deep circles into your bare thighs, pure elation shooting through his veins at his sweet girl finally having a look into his mind. The look of terror that painted your beautiful face made his heart leap with joy. Satoru’s giddy demeanor dropped as pained grunts emerged from the tethered man against the wall. He stood, closing the distance between the two of them, his fist encircling your boyfriend’s throat. You began to protest, to plead with Satoru to leave him be, but the rage that filled his eyes made you shut your mouth. “Uh uh…eye’s on the screen, my love.” Your head snapped back toward the videos, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as the muffled wailing of your boyfriend filled the room.

As the final video played, Satoru returned to your side, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he stroked the back of your head and rubbed at your cheeks. “Can’t you see all that I’ve done for you?” He grabbed your face, digging his fingers deep into the space under your cheekbones, forcing your lips into a pucker. “You belong to me, my love.” A deep growl rumbled through his chest, “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” He leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, his hot tongue bullying its way through your tight lips. Small whines echoed through your mouth and into his, and Satoru greedily swallowed up your sounds with ease. Whimpers of protest came from the wall across from your bed, but they were quickly drowned out by the wet sounds of smacking lips and battling tongues.

He broke away, a thick trail of spit still connecting the two of you. Satoru released your cheeks with a gentle shove, throwing his leg over yours to straddle you. He dropped his head to your neck, his white hair brushing against your skin. You winced as he licked a thick line from your collarbone to your ear. “I finally get to have you,” he whispered, nipping at your flesh, “You ready to give yourself to me, princess?” Your eyes widened in horror, your gaze affixed towards your boyfriend, blood trickling from the fresh cuts on his cheeks. Your head shook side to side, tears brimming in your eyes once more as your thoughts raced through your mind, causing a traffic jam in your throat. “I…no, I can’t…he’s…” Satoru’s palm covered your mouth, a groan erupting from the back of his throat as his eyes rolled deep into his skull. He sat back, staring down at you, his free hand running its fingertips between your breasts. “This has nothing to do with him…It’s just me and you now, my love.” Your head snapped up to stare at your captor as the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your nipples. A stifled moan teased the back of your throat, an exasperated look of fear in your eyes as you stared up at Satoru.

Your cheeks flushed as you held his gaze. He grinned back down at you before rolling the hardened bud between his fingertips. Your chest arched toward him, a shameful hum dancing from your lips as he played with you. A deep laugh erupted from the blue-eyed man at your unintentional reaction, his head thrown back with pure joy as he continued to pull at your nipples. He leaned into your neck once more, his teeth grazing the outer shell of your ear. “I knew it,” he purred, “Knew you wanted me, too. You were just playing hard to get, isn’t that right?” You shook your head once more, your words constricted in your chest. “N-no…I never wanted you,” you retorted, head thrown to the side, attempting to distance yourself from him, but to no avail. The weight of him anchored your lower half to the mattress while your tethered wrists held you in place.

A deep chuckle rumbled through Satoru, “So if I feel your pussy, it won’t be absolutely soaked right now?” A pathetic whimper escaped your throat as you shook your head furiously. The rolling motion against your nipples halted and his hand trailed lower down your abdomen. “Hmm…let’s see then, shall we?” he taunted, tracing your skin before rubbing your folds and dipping into your core. “I knew it…you’re fucking drenched f’me, sweetheart.” He shoved two fingers in, shallowly teasing your hole before withdrawing, bringing his sopping digits between your faces, turning his wrist as the dim light of the room illuminated the wetness, making it glisten ever so slightly. He examined them before meeting your fearful gaze. “Why did you lie?” He sucked his middle digit into his mouth, his tongue lapping hungrily at your sweet juices as his eyes fluttered shut. A hum emanated from Satoru as his other soaked finger pushed past your lips, “Here, have a taste, pretty girl,” his long digit dancing around your tongue. “So fucking sweet. You have no idea how badly I’ve been craving this.”

“I’ll ask you again, princess…Why’d you lie to me? I thought you were better than that,” he teased, an insincere pout twitching at his lips as he cradled your chin. Your body thrashed as his hands pawed down your body, plunging two fingers deep inside you again. Your back arched toward him, his knee between your legs was the only thing keeping you open for him. “I…It wasn’t..ahh!– I wasn’t lying…I–”. Your words fell on deaf ears as a wicked smile crept across Satoru’s face.

“Shhh…shhh my sweet girl, just lay back and enjoy,” he smirked as he crawled down your body, laying himself flat on the bed with his head nestled between your legs. Satoru’s body no longer shielded you from your boyfriend, your teary eyes darted across his face, a silent apology being sent his way. Small gasps escaped your lips as Satoru continued to pump into you, the tips of his curled fingers toying with your sweet spot. When you stared down at him, the look of pure desire peered back at you, the dampness between your legs skyrocketing at the sight. A scarlet dusting of shame brushed across your cheeks at your clear enjoyment of all this, even though it betrayed every natural instinct you had. His tongue darted out from between his lips, the tip circling your swollen clit as his fingers dipped in and out of you, his movements spurred on by his own desperation.

He was delirious, suckling against your clit while his fingers worked into you with fervor, moans and growls echoing through the room as he drank you in. You so badly wanted to break away, to console your boyfriend who had an unintentional front row seat to you falling apart on someone else’s tongue, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him, his digits hitting spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. Pleasure ripped through your body as a tightening sensation crept its way into your stomach. The rattling of your cuffs echoed through your bedroom as you fought against your restraints, desperately wanting to tangle your fingers in Satoru’s hair.

Your hips bucked toward his mouth, your body aching for release as your pelvis thrusted against his flattened tongue. You didn’t dare look away from Satoru, for you knew there was another set of eyes affixed upon the damning scene that was unfolding. He continued to hum and suck and pump into your core as you tightened around him, his slender fingers quickly coaxing your orgasm from your writhing body. Your eyes screwed shut as your gushy walls spasmed around his fingers, your release painting Satoru’s overly-eager face. He lapped at you some more, working you through your orgasm as he cleaned you up with his wickedly talented tongue.

A deep growl broke through Satoru’s chest as he removed his head from between your legs, the back of his hand dragging across his chin, catching the last of your release before he licked you off of him. He sat upright, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, “Hope you were taking notes,” a smug grin on his face as he addressed your watching boyfriend. He redirected his attention to you. “Did so good f’me, angel. Dreamt of that for so long…” he grinned, his tongue darting out to trace along his lips, hoping there was still some of you coating his face “...I could do that all fuckin’ day.”

Your shaking chest heaved as clarity settled into your mind. Satoru untethered your wrists from the headboard, shifting your body so that you were on your hands and knees, head positioned toward the wall your partner was leaning against. Strangled sounds rang from your boyfriend’s chest as you finally met his gaze. Humiliation prickling under your skin at the realization of what you had just done. But you had no time to dwell on it as Satoru repositioned himself on the bed.

“He’s gonna watch me destroy you, my sweet girl,” Satoru was kneeled behind you, lining himself up with your embarrassingly soaked entrance. He grasped your hips roughly, sinking into you in one fluid motion. You choked out a sob as you dropped your head in shame.

“You’re so pretty when you cry. He can’t help you…can’t save you. Go ‘head, keep cryin’ for him,” he cooed, his thrusts deep and slow inside of you. Jagged moans escaped your throat as the thick head of his cock brushed into your sweet spot. “He can’t make you feel as good as I do.”

He leaned down, reaching around to cradle your throat in his hand, squeezing tightly as he turned your head to the side, his sharp eyes running up and down your contorted face. “Can’t you see that you belong to me, how my poor heart aches for you? How badly I’ve needed you?” His thrusts were agonizingly slow but incredibly deep, the pressure in your tummy betraying your desire for this to stop. “That’s it, my love. Feel you clenching down on me…you’re getting off on this, aren’t ya?” His hips rocked deeper into you, the new depth had your hands clawing at the sheets of your bed as pleasure worked its way through your trembling body.

“He doesn’t treat you the way I do. He never will. No one is better for you than me, princess,” he seethes, his hand cupping your chin, holding your head up, “Now look in his eyes while I use you.” His pace picked up, pulling you back on to him with his anchored hand around your neck. A broken sob cut through your constricted throat as he fucked into you, the visceral sound of flesh smacking against flesh and whines and cries spun through the otherwise stiff air of your room. He palmed at the fat of your ass, pulling your body to meet his rough thrusts. A choked cry left your lips as you maintained eye contact with your boyfriend, crimson droplets running down his face, mimicking the pattern of your tears. You mouthed a silent “I’m sorry” to him before your eyes shut tightly, waves of sinful bliss pulsed through your body with every mean thrust of Satoru’s hips.

“Gettin’ so tight around me–f-fuuuck–you’re close, huh?” Your face contorted in shameful pleasure as you nodded, your back arching even more to take him deeper. “That’s it…c’mon, my love. Need you to cum on my cock,” Satoru begged, his voice airy as he got lost in your tight, sopping walls. “Show me how good I make you feel.” His words ricocheted around your head as the building pressure in your stomach finally snapped, your legs shaking violently as your orgasm ripped through your body, splattering onto Satoru’s thighs and the mattress below you.

A few more strokes met your dripping center before Satoru bottomed out inside of you, thick ropes of his pearlescent seed painting your spasming walls. He finally released his tight grip around your throat, your head dropping immediately as indignity plagued your trembling frame. He pulled out, spreading your cheeks as he leaned down, an animalistic growl pulling from his chest as he watched his cum dribble out of your pussy.

Satoru rubbed soothing circles into your lower back as you worked to regain your breath. “You’re mine,” he whispered. He unlatched the restraints from around your wrists, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the purple bruises that marked your skin. He locked eyes with your boyfriend, a deranged smile dancing across his face as he reached for the discarded projector remote.

Another familiar voice flooded through the speaker, but this time it wasn’t Satoru’s. “...We broke up a few weeks ago. No, no. Really, it’s okay. She was kind of a bitch anyway.” Your pupils widened as you stared back at the man you had just been feeling sorry for minutes ago, rage mixing into the vast sea of emotions you were already feeling while you watched a grainy video of him snaking his arm around another woman’s waist. The two of them were laughing outside of his house before she leaned in to kiss him.

“My poor sweet girl.” Satoru’s hand brushed lightly against your cheeks, catching tears that you didn’t even realize had begun spilling out. “I didn’t want you to have to find out this way, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

There were a million other ways he could have broken the news to you, but that somehow wasn’t the most pressing issue at hand.

“An eye for an eye, right?” The same haunting grin that you’d grown to know all too well spread across his face again, his blue eyes slicing into your ex-boyfriend’s. “I can’t believe that my entire world was in the hands of someone so undeserving…” he redirected his attention back to you and recaptured your cheeks in his hands. He leaned down to meet your gaze, unexpected softness replacing his usual sinister demeanor. “What do we do now, baby? It’s your call.”

Your pulse was ringing through your ears. “My call?” your voice was reduced to a whisper as you repeated it back to him.

“I’m going to kill him either way, but I want you to tell me how.”

You pondered for a moment, still coming to terms with the chain of events that lead you to this one vengeful moment.

Satoru stood, sauntering over to your boyfriend, stooping down to his level while his hands hovered over his gag. “When I take this off, I don’t want to hear anything other than remorse come from that pathetic fuckin’ mouth of yours.” Your boyfriend’s eyes shifted towards you, then back to Satoru, as he nodded pitifully. The tie was pulled from his mouth. His words were broken, barely audible. “I’m -” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I -”

Your stomach lurched as a sharp smack met his cheek, the painful sound resonating through the room. “You can do better than that. You got one more try,” Satoru spat, his eyes burning into your ex-lover’s bloodied face as he wrapped his fist around his throat, jostling his head around in a fit of rage.

“Satoru,” you hardly recognized your tone let alone the thoughts that were racing through your head. The last few hours of your life had been a blur. The words you heard earlier made perfect sense now, “Nothing feels real when you hit a certain point.” You were officially at that point. “Satoru, don’t. Let’s just end this.”

It was the first time you’d ever seen the silver-haired man look surprised. His eyebrow raised, a mix of curiosity and amusement glinting in his eye. “Tell me how,” he repeated. “I need to hear you say it.”

You were in a dream. Nothing more than a figment of Satoru’s imagination, just like he had said. It was the only thing that made sense to you because there was no way any of this was actually happening.

“Rip his heart out,” your voice emotionless as you gazed toward the blue-eyed man. Satoru groaned deeply, his dick twitching at the sound of your pretty voice speaking his dark language. The same depraved grin pulled at the edge of his lips as he looked back at your ex.

“Well,” he smirked, “looks like it’s decided then…” Adoration swam through his ocean eyes as he looked back at you, “I knew I picked the right one.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Click

The lock of your front door unbolted as your bodies pushed through the door frame, giggling as four glasses of wine danced through your systems. Satoru wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. “Happy anniversary, my love,” he mumbled against your lips. His hands grasped yours as he led you toward the couch.

You nestled into the warmth of his chest, his arm secured around you while you gazed around the room. Your head spun from the wine-induced nostalgia that this day had inevitably brought on. You were still in the same apartment, only it belonged to both of you now. A blend of sentimental gifts decorated your bookshelf that the two of you had collected over the last year. A camcorder, pressed red roses, framed vacation photos, and the first set of diamond earrings he’d bought you stowed away in a heart-shaped jewelry box. But out of all of the memories that tied you together, there was one that stood out the most.

“Should we open it?” you whispered, drawing lazy circles into his shoulder.

You didn’t have to see his face to feel his smirk. He knew his girl and he knew her well. He stood wordlessly, retrieving a jar from the highest shelf. He presented it to you, a smug grin gracing his ethereal features, the same look that was permanently etched into your brain the night he got it for you.

“Be my guest, princess.” You unscrewed the lid, peering into the jar as the strong scent of formaldehyde tickled your nose. You smiled longingly into the container, the overwhelming feeling of love reverberating through your chest. There was something so beautifully poetic about Satoru’s limerence, the lengths at which he went to steal the heart of another in order to fully possess yours.

author note: im so sorry for not posting my sweets,, i had the worst case of writer's block and i was actively trying to work on six different WIPs...i was losing my mind.

this was quite the heavy fic to write...i hope i didn't scare anyone away with it lol

alsoooo!! sending out the biggest thank you to @remlionheart for forcing me to finish this...my editor, my co-writer, the love of my life ♡ ⋆｡˚

4K notes · View notes

dearmisshoney · 3 months ago

Text

sniff, stroke, repeat

pairing. brother's bsf! theo x reader content/mdni. brother’s bsf! theo, degenerate! theo, unhinged! theo, sub! theo energy (he's losing it), pent-up! theo, fem! reader, enemies-to-lovers tension, solo masturbation (m), pantie stealing, pantie sniffing, cum play, obsession, scent kink (?), allusions to overstimulation, allusions to oral (f receiving), p in v implied/remembered, smut with little plot word count. 1.2k a/n. this happens after my full theo fic! i recommend reading that first, but it does make sense as a standalone as well. let me know what you think!

it was rare for theo to say no to a party. even as mattheo asks him one last time, on his way out of theo’s place, if he’s sure he wants to stay at home tonight, theo only weakly smiled at him.

“must be one hell of a virus, huh?” he heard mattheo mutter as he finally closed the front door shut, joining the other guys and departing for the party.

the strong clank of the door echoed through the area like a green light. theo was finally home alone, and he was grateful than ever for that.

“fuck, it’s so bad…”

the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them, voice deep with amazement, he himself astounded by the state he was in. tossing away the pillow he has been keeping in his lap all this time, he was now face to face with his grey sweatpants.

and the hardest fucking boner he’d ever had in his entire life.

he wasn’t sick; he wouldn’t call this sickness.

being strangely jumpy and overstimulated could be signs of a flu. nonetheless, getting uncontrollably rock hard these past few days had nothing to do with it.

but he couldn’t tell mattheo the truth.

another kind of virus attacked him a few days back, plaguing his mind with nasty thoughts and making his cock ache with arousal more frequently than before. a sexy annoying virus, who rode the shit out of him and made him see stars. a virus with gorgeous tits and a hungry little cunt–

shit, he could no longer think straight.

closing his eyes and scrunching his face in annoyance, he dragged his hand against his face, trying to scrub away the sensual images of you.

but to no avail.

that night is deeply engraved in his mind, and, no matter what he did, he was constantly flashed with shameless scenes of you.

“that minx took my mind…”

a frustrated groan left his lips, irritated that you had such an effect on him. his groan was closely followed by a gasp of pleasure — his other hand dipped beneath the waistband of his pants, his palm making contact with bare skin.

“i hate her so much.”

hissing between his teeth, he grasped the length of his cock between shaky fingers. the underside was already sticky with precum, a thick trail seeping from his angry tip down to his very base.

it was a good idea to cover up with a pillow; otherwise, mattheo and the others would have seen the big patch of wetness on his sweats.

“she’s an annoying bitch–”

with slow, but sure strokes, theo began pumping his hand up and down his shaft. his words, cruel and venomous, were thrown out in the air in an attempt to convince himself that he did not like you at all.

which was quite ironic, considering he was jerking off to the thought of you.

“–nasty girl, taking these pictures–”

yeah, those pictures.

he managed to steal that polaroid of your tits from your grabby hands without much effort; you were exhausted after riding him so good, so you did not put up much of a fight. that image was now sealed nicely in his wallet, a token of his first night with you.

and if you asked past theo, he would have pronounced that polaroid as his most prized possession.

but now? oh no, he had something better.

finally removing his hand from his face, he trailed it downwards across his body, until it reached his sweats. but instead of joining his other hand, it trailed further down into his pocket.

pulling out a flimsy pair of panties.

and not just any pair… it’s the exact one you wore that night. the lovely colour of your lacey thong was stained with dry patches of arousal — a mix of your and his cum.

“–and this slutty thong.”

pinching the band of the thong with his digits, he spread the material as much as possible to better examine it. this pair stayed so close to your pussy being rammed by his cock, collecting all that sticky cum and getting more drenched than your sheets.

“fuuck, she was so wet and warm…”

his hand was speeding up at the sudden reminder, clenching stronger around his dick and fisting with desperation.

his hand was tight and slippery, but it was nothing compared to your sweet sweet cunt. he wanted to feel you again so bad — to grope at your perky tits and taste them on his tongue… to fuck up into your tight pussy as you thrust back into him like a good girl…

to drown in your scent and forget himself completely.

“i wanna taste her.”

your threat of sitting on his face if he misbehaves has been looming in the back of his mind for these past few days. just imagining your soft thighs squishing his head, your cunt pressed deliciously against his slimy tongue, your clit digging in his nose–

your panties. he had your panties.

“fuck it.”

clenching his hand around your panties, gathering the pair into a fist, he brought it to his nose. and, without a second thought, he took a strong whiff.

deep. hungry. depraved.

“oh my fucking god!”

his hand gripped his cock with renewed vigor, harsher, harder, rougher… mimicking the tightness of your pussy for his shaft to fuck back into it.

you were there, he could feel you — squeezing him like a vice.

you were there, he could smell you — so delicious.

your aroma flooded his senses with each press of your thong into his nostrils, his head lolling backwards from the overwhelming feeling of his approaching orgasm.

it was humiliating, really. one night with you. one fucking night with you made him act like a horny little teenager, popping a boner constantly and jerking off every moment of the day.

and even worse, for him to act like a degenerate, pressing your panties to his face and sniffing your aroma like a pervert…

“should’ve never let me have you. should’ve known i’d get addicted–”

theo was whining against your panties, his hand pushing them closer and closer against his nose. his hips were flying away from the couch now, thrusting faster into his fist, chasing his release.

“n–next time i am drowning in that puss– fuckkk”

next time he sees you he would crack your legs open and eat you out until you cry. he would rut into your bedsheets like a dog– would probably even cum in his pants like a loser.

but that doesn’t matter. he doesn’t matter.

“i am so fucked.”

was the last thing theo said before cumming all over his hand, his fingers drenched in creamy arousal. some of his release splashed onto his sweats and shirt as well, the muted grey turning even darker with each rope of cum landing on the material.

“what a mess.” he said between ragged breaths, finally removing the thong from his face.

his clothes were a complete mess, and so was he. his hair was tousled, his eyes blown-out with lust. lips wet and shaking, panting for air. legs twitching like hell, still overwhelmed by his orgasm.

but his cock was still standing firm between his fingers, pulsing harder than ever with need.

“i hate her, i hate her, i hate her–”

he chanted between whines, almost crying. latching your panties around his shaft, theo resumed his sloppy thrusts.

“i hate her, i hate h–”

a new splurge of cum already stained the lacy thong, joining the dry stains from before. and more was to come.

“hate her, hate her–“

he was uncurable.

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay

#~ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘳 #pantiesniffer!theo #brother's bsf!theo #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys smut #smut #slytherin smut #sub!theo #sub!theodore

598 notes · View notes

ange1heavensent · 11 months ago

Text

━ You Wanna Guess? ━

Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

Content Warning: +18 content, minors do not interact, fic is based on Guess by Charli xcx featuring Billie Eilish, oral (r! receiving), kitchen sex, thumb sucking, porn with plot

w/c ≈ 1800

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes away from you, more specifically keep her eyes from drifting down to your lower back, the small tattoo peeking out from the lowrise jeans you were wearing, however it wasn’t just the tattoo that was piquing Ellies interest. The black lace thongs that were sticking out were much more interesting.

It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday, but you decided that the two of you needed to get out of the small apartment you were sharing. You'd been cooped up there since Friday evening and Ellie would’ve been fully contempt with a weekend full of nothing but you two being close to one another, but you had other plans for how you were going to spend your Sunday and Ellie decided to tag along.

You started with lunch and then the two of you were roaming the streets of Boston, checking off boxes on your shopping list. First looking for new duvet covers and that's when Ellie noticed the black lace fabric sticking out. You were crouched, looking at some blue flannel duvet covers and Ellie couldn’t help but stare, because it was her favorite pair. The black lace ones, with the bow in the front. She also knew that they were part of a matching set and she wondered if you were wearing the bra that went with it. The black lace lingerie set was something you picked out together, Ellie's gift to you that Valentine’s day - which was more of a gift to herself, but that’s irrelevant.

It was as if the underwear you were wearing was haunting her. They were plaguing her mind. She tried to keep her composure, but they kept on reappearing throughout the day. At the bookstore, when you once again crouched down to look at the classics on the bottom shelf, or at the grocery store when you were reaching for something on the top shelf. Ellie was capable of keeping her hands off of you in public, most of the time. The two of you had been together for a long time at this point and Ellie had been in situations were she found you incredibly sexy, to the point where all she wanted were to press you up against the nearest surface and just fuck you sensless, but she’d often managed to keep her cool and wait until you were at home. Now however, she was a ticking time bomb and it was the underwear's fault.

The two of you had finally made it home and were putting away the groceries together. The way you moved around made the underwear peek out several times and Ellie couldn’t keep her composure any longer, she needed you now. So, Ellie decided to move towards you, wrap her arms around your waist and bury her head in your neck, breathing in your scent. “Ellie” you said while playfully trying to get her away from you, her breathing tickling the side of your neck. Ellie’s arms only wrapped tighter around your waist and she huffed out a “what” you could hear the pout on her face, “I’m not doing anything,” she continued, the pout turning into a smirk. “Yes, you are,” you chuckled, “you're distracting me, let me just finish up and you’ll get my undivided attention.” “ You better” she only huffed out, then returned to bury her face in your neck and her arms remained around your waist. She clung onto your body as you moved through the kitchen, putting away the remainder of your groceries. Then, as you promised, your attention turned towards her.

You turned around in her arms, your hands moving to cup her face. Ellie’s hands which used to have a respectful placement around your waist, were now drifting down and placed them on your ass and hips. Ellie sucked in a breath as she buried her thumbs underneath the waistband of your jeans, stroking the material she was entranced by the whole day. “What has gotten you so needy, baby?” you asked softly, Ellie answered by pressing her lips on yours. Because she was needy and she was needy for you.

Ellie’s hands moved to unbutton your jeans and when they laid on the kitchen floor, the place where they belong according to Ellie, her hands immediately gripped onto your thighs to place you upon the edge of the kitchen counter. “Been thinking about this all day, babe,” Ellie said while placing sloppy kisses onto your neck. “About what?” you questioned playfully, she had been giving you ‘bedroom eyes’ all day, but you couldn’t come up with a reason as to why. “The fucking underwear, baby,” she said looking into your eyes, while simultaneously cupping her hand inbetween your legs. You let out a strangled “oh” both for the clarification but also the sudden pressure.

Ellie’s lips trailed down your chin, neck and onto your fabric clothed chest, which Ellie immediately made an effort to remove. A curse slipped out from her lips as she saw that you were in fact wearing the matching bra. Her hands and mouth latched onto your lace clothed tits, massaging, licking and biting lightly. Your hands flung into her hair, weaving themselves through her auburn locks. “Baby please,” you pleaded, pushing Ellie’s head down to where you wanted her the most. She chuckled into your skin, lips placing light kisses down your stomach, “look who's needy now, sweet girl” Ellie muttered looking up at you with a smug look plastered on her face.

She grabbed onto your thighs, angling your hips upward for better access. Surprised by the fast motion you let out a yelp, as an apology Ellie kissed your thigh. Ellie’s hands were on your hips, keeping you in place, fingers weaving themselves in your black lace underwear, playing with the fabric, teasingly. Ellie’s lips were on the move, from light kisses on your plush inner thighs, to your lower stomach, but never at your center. You tried to guide Ellies head towards your pussy, but she kept on teasing kisses around it. You couldn’t fathom the level of self control she must have at this moment, if this was any other day, she would’ve already been two fingers deep already.

You let out a whine and uttered “fuck, Ellie please just-” when she moved away from your lower half, positioning herself to be face to face with you. You were cut off by the fast movement of her hand tangling in your hair, pulling at it slightly. A gasp was released by you at the sudden movement. Ellie gazed deeply into your eyes, “you’ve been teasing me all day baby, and I can’t have a little fun with you? Such a brat,” she said mockingly, one hand moving to cup your cheek, thumb slowly tracing your bottom lip. You pushed your tongue out slightly, licking her thumb. Ellie decided to move it along further, pushing her thumb deeper into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around it and started sucking. Ellie watched with fascination, and the facade of self control started to crumble. Deep breathing could be heard from the both of you, Ellie released her thumb from your mouth, with a last swipe of your bottom lip, before her hand disappeared between your thighs. “So wet for me,” she stated, while her thumb was stroking your clit through your soaked underwear.

Feeling how wet you were, Ellie decided to move downwards again, however this time at a much faster pace. Her head was buried between your thighs in no time, she gave one lick on your still lace covered core, before moving the fabric aside and dove in. She was lapping at your core like a starved woman. She was licking, sucking and lightly biting on your clit, pulling moans, whines and pleads out of your mouth. It was messy, Ellie’s lower half of her face fully drenched in your wetness. Her hands were holding your hips down, so you wouldn’t accidentally buck yourself off the kitchen counter.

The rhythmic sucking and licking on your clit was bringing you closer to an orgasm. Your head was thrown back, leaning against the kitchen cabinet, one hand buried in Ellie’s hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter. Your thighs were now placed on Ellie’s shoulders, her head secured in between your thighs. The apartment was quiet, except for the pornographic noises the two of you were making.

Ellie could sense that you were approaching climax, your body was tensing and you were grinding against her face, her suspicion was confirmed by you repeating “don’t stop” mixed with numerous curses. Ellie wouldn’t dare to stop, if she was honest, she probably needed this just as much as you did. Ellie did just as she was told to do, she continued. She continued to lap at your core, continued to moan into it, and continued to look up at you as you were approaching your climax.

It wasn’t long until your last throaty chant of Ellie’s name was vibrating off the kitchen walls, your body tense and sweaty. Ellie’s head was still locked in place between your thighs, the last grinds of your hips hitting her tongue. Then your body relaxed and slumped backwards, Ellie’s grip on your hips releasing as she straightened herself. Her disheveled face now leveled with yours. A smile spread on your face when you got a good look at the state Ellie was in, hair all ruffled, sticking to her forehead and neck, her mouth and chin glistening.

She leant in towards you, lips pressing against yours, this time much softer. Her tongue protruding into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself. Then her lips started moving again, down your chin, jawline, neck and towards your chest. You hummed at the sensations, your hands tangling themselves in Ellie’s hair yet again, pulling her upwards to face you. You saw the frustrated look on her face, she wanted a second round. You chuckled at her expression, playfully stating “I should wear these underwear more often, huh?” Ellie’s hands were yet again playing with the lace when thinking about her answer “I don’t think you can, they're ruined, but I can get you new ones,” she said smirking, looking up at you through her eyelashes. You kissed her, giving you time to think of a comeback. You parted your lips from hers, whispering against them, “Ellie,” “mhm?” she responded, you moved your lips closer to hers, “I shouldn't be wearing ruined underwear, right?” Gazing into her eyes, to see if she got the innuendo. She shook her head with a sly smile on her face, “you definitely shouldn’t,” she said, dragging your underwear down your legs letting them fall to the kitchen floor.

｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

2K notes · View notes

cryptfile · 10 months ago

Text

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet smut #logan x reader #logan xmen #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett #jimmy howlett #xmen smut #cryptfile // x-men #minors dni #minors do not interact #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett x vampire!reader #deadpool 3 #xmen days of future past #deadpool and wolverine

447 notes · View notes

rinniessance · 2 years ago

Text

FAITH ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x fem!reader

suguru geto has been slipping further into darkness every day since amanai riko's death. now with yu haibara's dead body in front of you, you think suguru might sink even deeper. so you offer him a respite between your legs.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ hurt/comfort, porn with plot. established relationship, sex as unhealthy coping mechanism, co-dependency, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected sex. canon compliant but you forgive geto all his crimes ♡ // word count: 6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: this is a repost from my old blog .ᐟ.ᐟ this was originally written for a collab and i love this piece so much, i want it on my new blog꒱

for a second, the world has finally gone silent. suguru doesn’t remember when was the last time it was this quiet inside his head. ever since that day, he’s been haunted by the creeping thoughts of the next time he’s going to fail; plagued by the thoughts of which friend he will have to bury next just because they were lucky (or unlucky) to be born with the gift to be special, to be stronger, to protect. but suguru should’ve known better than to trust his own mind not to play the cruel trick.

clap… clap.. clap. clap.clap.clap

raven-haired sorcerer keeps staring at the wall, paralyzed by the memories, the echoes that still breath down his spine and make the goosebumps dance across his skin. the clapping always follows the silence. same way a kid would pick on a just healed wound, making it bleed with the renewed vigor, suguru’s mind keeps tearing his never-healing soul apart and making it bleed all over again.

the water has gone cold, but geto doesn’t notice. in the end, the coldness that’s been spreading somewhere deep around his heart is harder to ignore. he has not noticed yet, but he’s been slowly losing himself to the darkness brewing inside. and if what they say about the eyes being windows to the soul is true, then suguru’s are sign of no good (you’ve been trying to find the reflection of the suguru you knew but he’s been slipping away further every day).

he knows you’ve been worried; he knows you’ve been asking him to open up and talk; whispering so softly please baby let me help you. and you’re so soft, so sweet, so willing to do anything, he tries to forget the burden he’ll always be carrying by losing himself between your legs. water droplets keep falling down his wet hair, and he thinks he’ll allow his inner demons to be satiated by the thoughts of you. he thinks of your soft lips that he yearns to kiss after a mission because the taste of the strawberry lipstick and green tea mochi you had for desert chases away the taste of vomit from the curses he had to swallow. suguru is sure he will do anything for you. he just has to make sure that you will do anything for him as well.

yu haibara is seventeen years old when he dies. you think you should be crying but the shock of the news has not worn off yet; you’re not able to comprehend yet that it’s another friend gone. you move your gaze to nanami who is sitting in the corner hiding his face behind the towel. he reminds you awfully of the suguru a year and some ago when he trailed behind satoru who was carrying the body of amanai riko. you wonder if nanami is hiding his eyes on purpose; you wonder if he's been crying and feeling guilty and blaming the villagers for what happened. you wonder because that's what you’ve been through with suguru.

you slowly turn to look at your lover: his under-eye bags have become even darker, his face appeared to be more sunken, and he looks even more disheveled than he’s been looking lately. you’ve been trying to persuade him to talk to you about the demons that are pulling him away from you but he doesn’t want to discuss this – that’s not what he wants you for. but you’re so helplessly in love with him, you’re not sure what you would do if he stops coming back to bury himself to the hilt in your pussy as means of coping. so if he wants to chase his demons away by fucking you like his life depends on it, you will allow him to do it every time.

“it was supposed to be an easy mission to exterminate a second-grade cursed spirit… fuck!” nanami feels bubbling frustration and exhaustion mix together, so he tiredly exhales. “their faith in ubusunagami... that was a local deity. that was a first-grade case.”

suguru sighs. “you need to rest for now, nanami. satoru has taken up your mission.”

“can't we just leave everything up to him alone at this point?”

the question hangs heavy in the air. satoru was becoming the strongest sorcerer, he didn’t need you or suguru accompanying him on missions anymore. you wonder if satoru really didn’t notice the changes happening with suguru, or if he just decided to ignore all the signs. maybe you should’ve brought your concerns to him but if your partner did not want to talk to his best friend about it, then you would not get in the mix.

you gently took geto’s hand and intertwined your fingers.

“i’ll wait for you in your room, my love. come find me when you’re ready.”

this has become a routine for you. whenever you would see suguru start slipping, you would offer him the oasis he seeks in your cunt. so you leave the morgue and let suguru come to you.

geto wanders around school before he makes his way to you. he thinks about the conversation he had with yu and yuki right before his mission. he thinks about yu’s sweet innocence and naïve desire to protect everything and everyone. what did he say to geto? it feels really good to be able to give my all to something i can actually do. should suguru have said something to him about how easy it is to slip and fall? how fragile human lives are and how unfair it was that the only lives that the non-sorcerer world was not scared of breaking were theirs?

and then he thinks about what yuki asked him. do you hate non-sorcerers, geto-kun? he makes a turn into a garden behind the school contemplating the question. did he really want to fight and reject the part that makes him grow hot with contempt, burning him from the inside? if the failure of the last year’s mission, if the death of yu haibara, if the thought of you bloody and dead in his arms makes his insides run cold, crippling him to the point of total numbness, then the thoughts of letting the weak and the pathetic live while the people closest to him only keep piling up as corpses make his blood boil. maybe that’s exactly what he was looking for.

suguru makes another turn to walk towards the dorm. he lets his thoughts run their own course while he’s trying to concentrate on the only person who matters to him right now. he knows you’re waiting for him in the room, and he cannot wait to slip into a blissful ignorance about everything, even if it’s just for a second. as he expects, you’re waiting for him on his bed, laying on your side facing the wall. he strips of his jacket and lays next to you snaking his arms around your waist and hugging you so close, you think he would never let you go again.

“need you right now, baby,” geto whispers so quietly and then places the first kiss in the crook of your neck. you turn to face him now instead, and gently cup his face into your hands. it always starts like this. suguru would come to you at the ungodly hour of the night, and you accept him with no hesitation.

“tell me what exactly you need, my love,” you respond and then place a careful kiss on his lips. he doesn’t respond, just lets you move your lips to the other parts of his face, pecking everything you can get your lips on.

“need to have you, to be in you.”

“then you have me. you know i’m yours, now and forever.”

with that, suguru pushes you onto your back and then climbs on top. he captures your lips in the kiss that can only be described as desperate: one of his hands comes up behind your neck and he pulls your face even closer to him, while other slowly trails down your body. he’s invading your mouth with his tongue, stealing all your oxygen for himself as if he’s to decide when you can breathe, teeth clashing. it’s messy, it’s violent in its intensity, and it makes the wetness pool between your legs. suguru pushes his knee between your thighs, spreading them further, and breaks the kiss. his gaze follows the outline of your body all the way to your clothes cunt, and the wet stain on your underwear gets him excited, and makes you blush.

“someone’s been waiting for this, huh?” geto teases and takes off your underwear. he gathers the slick dripping out of you onto his long fingers by circling them around your weeping entrance but doesn’t insert them yet.

“can you take me without any prep?” you can see his is frantic to the point of impatience. you can see how ragged his breathing already is, how heavy his eyelids are and how dilated his pupils became. suguru is a drug addict looking for his next fix, and only your pussy can offer him the relief he needs.

“anything you need, you can take from me,” is the only thing you can respond with, and suguru does not need any other confirmations. he shimmers out of his pants and boxers, takes off his shirt and his naked physic makes your breath hitch. you run your fingers on his pectoral muscles and down his pecks. you want to lick geto’s happy trail, all the way down his hard cock and then gag yourself to the point of tears. but that will possibly come later. for now, you just let him get situated between your thighs, grab your legs and bring them over his shoulders.

“you ready, pretty thing?” suguru knows that he doesn’t need to ask as if you will give any other answer but positive, but you still nod your head. geto knows that he is being selfish – there is no foreplay on nights like this, just pure desire and desperation. he will make sure he will pay you back later. now he takes his pulsating dick in his hand, strokes himself twice and lines himself with your needy hole. and when suguru pushes himself inside, he doesn’t give you any time to adjust to his size and buries himself to the hilt. the stretch is painful, you can feel your walls flatter around him trying to accommodate his cock. geto doesn’t give you any time to even think about adjusting when he suddenly pulls away and then bottoms out again. this has been rehearsed so many times that when the tip of his dick kisses your cervix, you forget all about the pain and let out a wanton moan. it’s in the moments like this that dark-haired sorcerer thinks your moans is the only melody that can sooth his troubled mind.

the pace he sets is unforgiving. it’s fast, it’s bruising, it’s almost maddening in the way he pushes himself in and out. and every time his cock leaves your dripping hole, your body just sucks him right back in. suguru’s hair is disheveled, perfect bun he likes to keep his hair in is unkempt and loose hair strands frame his face making him look like pure sin. he’s still holding onto your ankles, turning his head and placing timid kisses there when he pushes inside you especially rough.

“you’re so tight, angel. you’re always so fucking good to me. i’ve molded your cunt to take me so well, huh?” he’s babbling, and you’re drinking up every dirty thing he says to you. “open your mouth.” you do it without a second delay, and take out your tongue too, just like he’s trained you. geto grabs the back of your knees and pushes them onto your body, bringing you into a mating press. this allows him to reach an even deeper angle inside you (you didn’t think it was even possible), and you moan again through your opened mouth. he brings his face close to yours.

“god, you really are ready to take whatever i give you,” geto says through panting breaths and then spits on your tongue. your boyfriend forces your mouth closed, and you swallow without any further instructions. now that suguru is pressed against your chest, he feels so close, that you’re start losing yourself in the warmth his body provides. he speeds up even more, and with the changed position, he now hits the spot inside that makes your whole world spiral. you want to close your eyes but you cannot tear your gaze away from the devil above you – geto’s strands are now stuck to his forehead, sweat is dripping down the sides of his face, and you want to lick him clean. your breathing is shallow as you feel the orgasm starting to build up inside your belly – suguru can feel your walls flatter around him even tighter, and you know it forces him to go over the edge too.

“just like that, baby, it feels so good,” you cry out and suguru kisses you hard and rough. you know it’s because he’s trying not to come so he is distracting himself by your lips; but when you moan again into his mouth like your life depends on the orgasm he is holding off, he knows he cannot edge himself anymore. so he brings thumb to your clit to add the extra stimulation. as soon as you feel his finger on your sensitive nub, you’re grabbing onto the first thing that comes across your hands – suguru’s shoulders, his biceps, the sheet underneath you. the coil inside your tummy snaps, and your orgasm gushes down geto’s cock. your pussy becomes so tight, it’s impossible to hold back anymore so suguru follows right behind you. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm feeling your tight gummy walls suck him dry. your legs are shaking from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure and the position you're in, and you try to pull yourself away from being overstimulated.

"baby, 's too much..." you try to let him know but he just kisses you again and keeps circling his thumb on your clit.

"aw, are you saying my girl can't take it anymore?" he hits the gummy spot inside of you again and that almost brings you to tears. you know that it must be almost painful for him as well, his softening dick still throbbing inside you but geto does not seem to care. only once he sees the tears running down the sides of your face that he finally slows down.

you’re trying to catch your breath, slow inhales and exhales to bring yourself back to earth. sorcerer hovers above you, and you can still feel him twitching inside. he brings his gaze to where your bodies connect, the intimacy of vulnerability of this moment making him dizzy. suguru starts pulling out and looks at the mess leaking out of you, the combined releases slowly dripping from your hole and down between your ass cheeks. you whine at the sudden emptiness, and despite the shaking legs, overstimulation and the aftershocks of your first orgasm, you already yearn for another. you flutter your eyelids open and pleadingly look at geto, praying he would know exactly what you need right now. he clearly sees the hunger swimming in your eyes but he loves nothing more but to hear you beg.

“what happened, angel? you’ve been fucked so stupid, you can’t even use your words anymore? i bet that’s true, my dick got you so dumb.” you squirm at his words because no matter how hard you try, his mocking tone makes your pussy tighten around nothing and you whimper. "weren't you the one just crying that you can't take it anymore? dick so good you can't even decide if you want more or not?"

“please sugu…” you ask breathlessly, and suguru chuckles darkly. he doesn’t give in into a simple plea and starts kissing down your neck, making his way in between your boobs and licking the sweat that pooled there. he knows you can do better than this.

“you have to give me more than that, pretty girl. what do you need?” he gathers the dripping cum with his two fingers and pushes them back inside you. at the same time, he takes your nipple into his mouth and gently sucks on it. the combined feeling of his fingers going in and out your throbbing core and tongue leisurely licking and sucking on your hardened nipple makes you quiver with anticipation. “still not talking, huh?”

suguru draws a circle around your nipple and then bites on it, making you gasp. he releases it and then blows on the wet skin and that sends shivers down your spine. the juxtaposition of hot skin and cold air makes you wetter and you can’t take it anymore. you finally give your lover what he’s been waiting for.

“i want you to clean me, sugu.”

“and how do you want me to do it?”

“with your tongue. please please please, i need it so bad, i really really need, please clean me up 'guru,” you say through tearful voice. it’s not good enough of begging, he will have to teach you (again) better later, but geto is also running out of patience. he wants to taste the sweet mess between your legs, and he wants you to fall apart around his tongue again. so he languidly trails kisses between your breasts, on your stomach and all the way down to your cunt while still pumping his fingers in and out of you. he only stops once he’s face to face with your wanting hole.

“so beautiful, my girl is always so beautiful and ready for me,” and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or your pussy. he kisses the inside of your thighs first, tickling you with the locks that left his manbun. he didn’t slow his fingers once, adding more speed, curling them so he can reach the spot that makes you lose you breath and wonder if you were made to always be in this position, for him only. he finally brings his mouth to your puffy lips and spreads your folds so he can see the clit dying for his attention. he lightly slaps it, which earns a surprised gasp from you, and then finally licks up from your hole to you clit sucking on your sensitive nub.

the whole world could collapse now and both of you would not care. geto groans from the taste he’s been dying to have ever since he walked through the doors, and you’re sure moans that escape your throat will make the devil blush if he wasn't present in the room with you. suguru starts lapping at your clit: he’s fully in control of long languid strokes of his tongue that makes your ears ring. he adds now a third finger into you, and the stretch is almost painful again even if you took him raw not even 10 minutes ago. raven-haired sorcerer can feel your walls tighten around his fingers again so he keeps abusing that gummy spot inside, curling them just at the right angle, while he’s licking up your lower lips and sucking your pearl.

you grab the hair tie that holds his almost non-existent bun and take it out of his hair letting the long locks drape all over your thighs and frame his face. you glance down and you think he looks absolutely mesmerizing like this – eating you out like it's his life line, your hand in his hair massaging his scalp, suguru’s moans vibrating against your clit. you grind on his face, bringing yourself even closer, desperate to get to the top of the orgasm you started climbing again.

“someone’s so needy,” geto chuckles.

“yes, baby, please, i need to come, please let me come again,” you plead with him, and he finally gives you what you want. suguru speeds up his fingers once again, swirling his tongue near your entrance to catch your release and then up the inner lips back to the clit where he keeps sucking on your almost overstimulated bud. you weave your fingers through his hair and tug, just enough to let geto know you’re very close. your breathing becomes shallow and you want to continue looking at your lover performing his magic but the orgasm waves are threatening to drown you, so you close your eyes and let go.

suguru feels your cunt tighten around his fingers and he withdraws them from your hole so he can drink up your juices instead. he is pushing his tongue inside you, tasting your sweet release, and he can swear he can taste his own cum that he pushed back into you before. you moan out his name over and over again, repeating it like mantra with “please don’t stop” and “this feel so so good” sprinkled in between your incoherent babbling. geto is unrelenting and he fucks you with his tongue through your second orgasm, not missing a single drop you have to offer him.

once he can feel you start to relax, he withdraws from your abused pussy to admire his work: the mess of your combined releases and his spit on your cunt glistens in the moonlight peaking through the curtains, and suguru thinks he’s never seen as anything as beautiful as this. he reaches for the phone in his pants and opens up a camera.

“i would submit a photo of your pussy like this to a modern museum of art if only anyone else was worthy enough to look at it,” geto says as he snaps couple of pictures of your spread legs. the blush creeps up your cheeks and you hide behind your hands (suguru thinks it’s cute he can still manage to make you blush). once he’s satisfied with the results, he climbs back on top of you. geto looks at your fucked out face and thinks this is the only thing worth to be alive for right now. so he kisses you deep and hard hoping you can feel all of him in the kiss. you softly cup his face and kiss him back, tasting yourself on his lips.

suguru pushes himself back to sit down on his knees and takes in your naked body. you look up at him with the gaze full of adoration, hunger, longing and ache, and he is falling in love all over again. geto stands up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom to grab the towel, leaving the room for a minute shortly after to grab you a bottle of water you keep in your mini fridge. you whine lightly at the loss of his body near you but you’re not even given time to complain before suguru is back by your side in a record time.

“drink this, angel.”

“thank you, my love.”

“anything for you.”

he brings the cup to your lips and carefully tips it so you’re not choking on the water. once you down the full glass, he spreads your legs and cleans everything by gently swiping away the residual liquids. you let him take care of you in a way that’s comforting to him, turning you and cleaning you like a porcelain doll he’s scared of breaking.

suguru is always so gentle after sex. no matter how hard he fucks you or how overstimulated he may make you at times, the absolute tenderness in the way he treats you after never fails to tug at your heartstrings. once he determines you’re clean enough to go to sleep now, he throws the towel into your laundry basket and lies down besides you. you turn to face him and press a soothing kiss to his lips.

“i love you.”

“i love you too, sugu. now go to sleep, you need to rest.”

and with that, geto throws his arms around your waist, traps your legs with his legs and brings you so close as if he’s scared you will slip away.

sleep tight, princess. i will see you again in a new world.

“huh?”

“don’t make me repeat myself. suguru killed everyone in the village and…”

“i heard you the first time. that's why i said, "huh?"

you could see satoru was angry and in denial. and you cannot blame him, after all, he didn’t notice (or didn't want to notice) the abyss that was pulling suguru deeper and deeper every day, it’s no wonder he is in denial of what geto has done, what he has been contemplating of doing for the past year. sure, you wouldn’t have guessed he would take things this far but you saw the darkness slowly seeping through the broken crevices of his façade, you knew it was only a matter of time before he snaps. satoru kept saying something about how this cannot be true but his words sound as if they are coming through a vacuum.

your lack of response makes yaga turn to you. you can see his mouth moving but no words can be distinguished. he calls your name, and you try harder to concentrate on the next question.

“can you hear me? did you know about this?”

“are you asking me if i knew suguru would massacre 112 people?” you snap at him. taking a deep breath, you try controlling the bubbling emotions inside. geto has been on a radio silence for a full week now, and you can’t help but feel hurt and betrayed; and deep down you know that you would never be able to leave him, even if you knew about what he was going to do from the very beginning.

“that’s exactly what i’m asking.”

“no, i didn’t know that. i’d think you have more faith in me that just letting my boyfriend to go on a murder spree.” liar, you think to yourself, you’re such a fucking liar. faith does not mean anything to either of you anymore, and if suguru wanted you to open your chest and give him your heart for his amusement, or if he asked you to drench yourself in the blood of the people he murdered, you would do it in a heartbeat. “and before you ask, i don’t know where he is. he’s been ignoring my calls and messages ever since he took that mission.”

both satoru and yaga let out a deep exhale: satoru’s sounds defeated and almost broken (you think he might be trying to hold back tears); yaga’s is resigned and exhausted. no one speaks anymore, and the silent agreement is made to go separate ways for the day.

you don’t know how to feel about this whole situation. you think you feel hurt, betrayed, shocked. and you know that you’re the only person who feels this way not because suguru committed a crime worthy of death penalty but because he didn’t trust you enough to let you know about his plans in the first place. didn’t the past year two of you spent together show him the depth of your loyalty? did all of the nights spent tangled in sheets meant nothing? when you would let him do whatever he wanted to your body because being lost in the feeling of earthly pleasure was the only way he could feel grounded? you wanted to believe that all of that meant more than just him fucking you to oblivion to forget about the pain tearing him apart. should have you done it differently? maybe made him talk, open up, let you see inside his troubled mind? you’ve been trying to call him and message him every day ever since he ghosted you, and today’s discovery just made the pit inside your heart grow even bigger.

you finally reach your dorm room. you drop on your bed as soon as you step inside, clothes be damned, and grab suguru’s sweater he left on your chair, deeply inhaling his scent. you think about “i love you” he told you the last night you saw him a week ago; you think about all the times he kissed you so deeply, it felt like he was trying to carve out a home somewhere between your teeth. you think about his eyes, and the way they glistened with that special spark every time he looked at you. and you wonder if all of the significant memories of you together were only significant to you.

you body and mind feels heavy so you close your eyes and curl yourself into a fetal position, hugging suguru’s sweater even tighter. the tears start pooling in the corners of your eyes, and you don’t remember when was the last time that you cried yourself to sleep.

4:35pm

im sorry i haven’t said anything

4:35pm

but this was something i needed to do on my own

4:36pm

pls come to this address ill explain everything

4:36pm

[sent location]

suguru keeps staring at his phone screen. ever since he disappeared a week ago, he’s been ignoring your attempts to contact him. he wanted to make sure that the coast is clear, and all of the ties are cut off before he can contact you again. leaving his best friend behind was painful; but geto is not a child, and he understands that him and satoru will never see eye-to-eye on this matter. that’s why he had to say goodbye to him today the way he did. but leaving you behind? unimaginable. so he feels his anxiety bubbling up when he hasn’t received a response back to the messages he sent you 8 hours ago.

he feels a small tug on his sleeve.

“geto-sama?” a small voice is unsure and almost scared. he looks down at the dark-haired girl. mimiko. her big doe eyes glistening with tears and face is covered with bruises that still haven’t faded: his heart breaks at the sight and he is wondering about how long the abuse was going on for before he discovered them in a cage, locked away like animals. the mere thought of that place fills him with burning rage.

“yes?”

“when will we leave this place? nanako says it reminds her of our old house, and it’s scaring her,” mimiko whispers back. and it’s so quiet, it saddens geto again thinking how many times their little voices were never heard.

“we will leave soon, i promise.”

suguru looks out of the window of this abandoned building. he had to take a temporary cover here before he can figure out what happens next. his thoughts drift back to you. he’s wondering if you’ve been interrogated about his whereabouts yet, if they used any techniques on making you talk. he swears if any of the higher-ups got to you before he could figure out how to leave jujutsu high behind, the massacred village will be the least of their worries.

he wonders if he misread your constant acceptance in the past year. he wonders if you’ll come screaming at him too, asking why he did it and that maybe it’s not too late to come back. but what he is scared of the most is to see the fear in your eyes when you see him again: they should be scared of him, but not you, never you.

suguru thinks about the last night you spent together, and the i love yous exchanged in the darkness of the night. he knows he meant it, he’s sure you meant it too, so what is this sinking feeling growing deeper somewhere inside his ribcage? he thinks it’s fear but a different kind this time – he dreamt of building his new world with you by his side so now that he’s on the silent end of the phone, he fears he was wrong, yet again.

but before geto can drown any deeper in the overwhelming feeling of possible loss, he senses your cursed energy. he springs to his feet, and the very next minute, the door to the room where they are now creaks opened.

“suguru?” your voice pierces through the oppressive silence, and geto releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. he crosses the room in three big steps and hugs you so tight, all the air from your lungs is immediately pushed out.

“god, i am so happy you’re here. i was worried you wouldn’t come when you didn’t respond to my messages.”

“baby, i had to get all of your stuff first, didn’t know if you needed anything, and i had to time when i sneak out without leaving any traces, higher-ups are on high alert now and… wait, you were worried i didn’t respond to your messages?” you point an accusatory finger at him. “what about all the messages and calls you ignored from me for the last week? what about the fact that i am finding out about whatever you’ve been doing from yaga out of all people? i thought you left me, i thought…” you stop yourself as your lips start trembling and you bite down on your lower lip to prevent the tears threatening to fall.

suguru looks at you in shock. he didn’t even consider the fact that this could be a sign of him abandoning you. because how could he? after everything you’ve done for him, unconditionally? after everything he's done for you? didn’t he make it clear that you’re stuck with him, for better or for worse, and that he does not intend on letting you go?

“i’m sorry, i should’ve thought about how things looked from your perspective. i am really glad you’re here now, i will never do something like this to you ever again, i promise,” and he cradles your face in his hands so gently, you really wonder if these are the same hands that are capable of murdering 112 people. “i love you, always and forever.”

“i love you too," he softly whispers. "by the way, i want you to meet someone,” he takes your hand in his and leads you further to the middle of the room. you're just now noticing another presence and then you see them: two little girls huddled together on a couch. they move their gaze from suguru to you as if confirming you're safe to approach.

"mimiko, nanako, this is my girlfriend," geto says your name and the girl slowly repeat it back. you squad down to bring yourself to their face level and gently smile.

"it's very nice to meet you, mimiko and nanako," you ruffle their hair, and suguru realizes that that's exactly the same thing that he did to them the first time he saw them. a warm feeling spreads inside his chest at this thought, something he hasn't felt in a while. "i hope we can be good friends soon!"

the girls are still shy and don't say anything back but they don't look as scared anymore. you bring yourself back to your full height and turn to suguru. he responds to your silent question.

"i saved them during the mission i went on last week. they were locked away in the cage, like goddamn animals," you can see the anger babbling up again so you just put your head in his chest and hug him. geto visibly relaxes and kisses the crown of your head.

"you're my new family now, i don't need anyone else," suguru says, and he fully means it. you don't bring up the real family he killed, or the friends he massacred in his village. you don't bring it up because it won't change a thing for you.

suguru cups your face again, leans down and kisses you on the lips like he has never kissed you before, or like he will never have a chance to kiss you again. it knocks the wind out of you, and your knees go weak so suguru needs to hold you upright. and no matter what anyone else might think or say, this feels right, being here enveloped in his arms, pressed against his chest, tasting nicotine on his tongue. you know this is exactly where you belong – in his arms, between his lips, in his heart, always and forever.

1K notes · View notes

writerinlearning · 5 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲. 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞.

plot: henry is always here for his best friend, but everyone reaches their breaking point eventually. but maybe, just maybe, this is for the best.

pairing: henry hart x fem!reader

show: henry danger

warnings: light mentions of blood, cuts and bruises; implied domestic violence but nothing graphic; henry swearing when he’s pissed off (listen, that boy swears a lot and you can’t convince me of the opposite). also, the part in italics is a flashback from henry's pov.

word count: 6,8k

author’s notes: english isn’t my first language, apologies for the possible mistakes. this piece is inspired by the song Hard from Why Don’t We, and i guess a little bit by the song Treat You Better from Shawn Mendes, so i suggest you listen to the songs beforehand to get the vibe of the story, or read the lyrics to know what it’s about. it takes place around season five of henry danger, to give you an idea of how old the characters are. also, it’s implied that the reader is in a bad relationship, it might be triggering for some people so read it to your own discretion. and if you ever need anyone to talk to, my dms are always open.

henry hart masterlist | main masterlist

Henry lays wide awake in his bed, looking up at the ceiling above him. His hands are flat on his stomach as he lays on his back, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He knows it’s late at night and that he’ll probably regret it in the morning, aware that he’ll have to wake up around 7 if he doesn’t want to be late for school again. He just can’t seem to get her out of his head. Every day and every night, she plagues his every thought; Y/N, his best friend since kindergarten.

When he’s at school, she’s on his mind. When he’s at work, she’s on his mind. When he lays alone in bed at night, she’s on his mind. No matter what he’s doing, or where he is, she’s always in a corner of his mind. Always. It doesn’t help that she goes to the same school and works in the same place; he’s always catching sight of her, even when she isn’t looking. He doesn’t know how anyone hasn’t said anything to him, or how she hasn’t noticed him staring, because he isn’t the most subtle person in the world when it comes to his feelings for her. He always gets sidetracked when she enters a room, his eyes always linger on her when she walks away, his cheeks always flare up when she smiles, and when she stands close to him, he always pretends to accidentally brush his hand against hers, craving the warmth of her skin against his. Perhaps he is better at hiding his feelings than he thought he’d be; either way, he doesn’t mind. If his feelings are unacknowledged by the people around him, it makes it easier to push down those feelings, forever wondering if they’ll go away; if it’ll hurt less every time she walks away.

Henry lets out a sigh, turning on his side to check the time on his bedside clock. The bright red numbers display 12:15 in the morning, and he groans, burying his face in his pillow out of frustration. He knows he won’t get enough sleep to get himself through the day and that he’ll probably fall asleep in class at some point, and he hates it. He doesn’t really know when his sleep schedule became fucked up; if it had been when he first became Kid Danger when he was thirteen, or if it were since he first realized he had feelings for Y/N. Perhaps a little bit of both, he thinks. He did choose to become Captain Man’s sidekick, but he certainly didn’t choose to fall in love with his best friend. He hates it, but there isn’t much he can do about it; even if he tries to push his feelings away, they’ll always come back to bite him in the ass. It doesn’t help that Y/N already has a boyfriend and, granted, Henry hates the guy, but Y/N seems happy with him so Henry thinks it’s all that matters. If she is happy, then he is happy for her. At least, that’s what he told himself when she first began dating the guy; he went back on his words when he realized he loved her.

Henry closes his eyes as he sighs again, remembering the night when he admitted to himself that he was in love with Y/N. She hadn’t shown up to his birthday party that his parents had thrown, which was unlike her and it had him worried the whole night. Until she showed up, at midnight, on his front porch.

Y/N is standing there, with tears in her eyes as she looks up at him. Her arms are wrapped around herself in a hug, as if she were trying to shield herself from the cold air of the night. Henry doesn’t know what to say, still mad that she wasn’t there for his birthday party, but his anger dissolves into nothing when his eyes drift to the red tear stains on her cheeks. He holds his breath as a sob rushes past her lips, and his arms find her waist to hold her up when her knees almost give out under her weight. He leads her inside, closing the front door behind him with the heel of his foot, and he helps her up to his room where she sits on his bed.

Henry doesn’t have to say anything as he sits next to her and she rests her head on his shoulder, but he is smart enough to understand. He feels his chest tighten when his mind makes him think about what might have happened, that perhaps her boyfriend had laid a hand on her, and he tilts his head downward to look at her. He shivers at the thought, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. He knows it hasn’t been long since she started dating this guy from high school, about a month or two, but she seemed happy with him, and Henry frowns when he thinks about it. His hands move to hold the sides of her face as he shifts in his spot to be facing her, and his eyes flicker to the fading bruise in the corner of her left eye. His frown deepens, not remembering ever seeing a bruise on her face before, but his features soften when tears begin to roll down her cheeks the second his eyes drift back to hers, holding her gaze in his. He uses his thumbs to wipe the tears away, worry flashing in his eyes. Warmth spreads through his muscles when her hands find his wrists, and she wraps her fingers around them to ground herself. Her hands are cold, but her skin is soft against his, and his heart flutters in his chest. Another sob leaves her lips, and Henry moves his hands to wrap his arms around her shoulders to pull her close to him.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” He whispers softly, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

Y/N shakes her head a little, further burying it into his chest as she grips the hem of his shirt, her tears forming wet patches against the cotton fabric. Her shoulders tremble with every sob that leaves her body, but Henry keeps her close to him, using his hands to draw soothing circles against her back. He closes his eyes as he begins to rock their bodies back and forth gently, until her sobs die down and he can hear the slow pace of her breath and her soft sniffles. She’s the one to pull away from him, using the palm of her hand to wipe away her runny nose, and her lips break into an embarrassed smile as she looks down in her lap. One of her hands reaches for something in the pocket of her coat, and Henry tilts his head in confusion when she hands him a small white box with a silver ribbon on it.

“Happy birthday Hen.” Y/N whispers hoarsely, looking at him with a small smile on her lips.

He smiles then, taking the box from her and unraveling the ribbon before he carefully opens the lid. He recognizes what it is; she has the same one, and she gifted one to Jasper and Charlotte too, on their respective birthdays. It’s a permanent chain silver bracelet, one Y/N says is supposed to represent their friendship. Henry knew he would get one from her eventually, because she’d gifted one to their friends, he just didn’t think she’d gift it to him on his eighteenth birthday.

“I love it.” He tells her, smiling.

She smiles back. “C’mon, I’ll help you put it on.”

Henry can still see the sadness in her eyes, and the fading purple bruise in the corner of her eye, but he lets her take the chain bracelet and the pair of cutting pliers provided in the kit. He extends his right arm in front of him, and she puts the silver bracelet around his wrist, using the pliers to cut the chain. He observes as she concentrates herself on sealing the bracelet, making sure it’s not too tight so that it sits comfortably on his wrist. He watches her, and his heart flutters in his chest when her fingers brush against his skin, sending shivers down his spine and he can feel the heat flushing his cheeks. His eyes drift to her face, and he sees that she’s slightly poking her tongue out in concentration, licking her lips after taking a deep breath. His heart begins to race in his chest, and the butterflies flutter in his stomach when she brings the palm of her hand against his to analyze her work on the silver chain. He holds his breath when she glances up to him through her eyelashes, a soft smile on her lips. He hears her let out a small chuckle when he looks away from her, knowing his cheeks are probably as red as a tomato, but he can’t help it; she looks beautiful, wrapped in her black coat and with her hair falling on each side of her face, eyebrows turned into a focused frown as she focuses on the permanent bracelet again. She shifts positions, and her knees touch his, sending a wave of warmth through his muscles. He loves having her close to him, in the comforting silence of his room. He loves observing her, and the little things she does that only he seems to notice. He loves the way her hand feels against his when her palm is pressed against his, and he has to fight the urge to intertwine their fingers together. His eyes drift from their hands to her face again, lingering on her lips a little too long, and he thinks about how it would feel like to taste them; to have his lips against hers, to be kissing her.

He blinks, reminding himself that she already has a boyfriend, that he cannot be in love with her, and he is pulled away from his thoughts when she clears her throat. He looks up to her, and he sees her put a strand of hair back behind her ear when she sits straighter, letting the cutting pliers fall between her crossed legs on his bed. He glances down at the silver chain on his wrist as she brings her right arm close to his, revealing the matching permanent bracelet on hers.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here today.” She says, her eyes flickering to his.

“Why are you here now?” Henry asks her, his voice barely a whisper.

He knows she’s picked up on the worry in his voice, because her eyes drift back to their wrists, and he can feel her tears falling on his skin as she looks down.

“Did he hurt you?”

Henry doesn’t know why his voice comes out with a crack; perhaps because he is afraid of what her answer might be. He doesn’t know why he asked her either, but he wants to know. Because she is his best friend, and he cares about her.

His blood freezes in his veins and his face pales when he sees her nod her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks as sobs leave her lips. His chest hurts as his heart constricts inside, and his breathing becomes shallow. He has to keep himself together because, as she falls apart in front of him, he knows she needs him. He shifts around on his mattress, opening his arms. Y/N takes refuge in them, wrapping her own around his midsection and she buries her face in his chest. He lets out a low sigh, feeling her tears through the fabric of his shirt, and he begins to draw circles on her back in a soothing way. He lays his head atop hers, his cheek pressed against the crown of her head as he gently rocks their bodies back and forth until her cries die down. She deserves so much better than her boyfriend, Henry thinks as he holds her close, wondering what else has been going on that he doesn’t know about.

Henry groans, running a hand over his face as he tries to forget that night, pushing the memory to the far back of his mind. The moon casts its light in his room through the window, and he can see it reflecting on the chain bracelet on his wrist. Four months. It had been four months since then, and Henry still couldn’t understand how Y/N went back to her boyfriend. She says it’s because she loves him, because he’ll never lay a hand on her again, but Henry has been observing her since that night. Because he worries about her, and because he loves her. He would notice the way she’d pull her sleeves down or wear scarves in class when she never wore one in her life before. He would take note of the makeup she wears, when she’d never been one to cover herself with makeup in the first place. He would see how she’d flinch when someone would accidentally hit a locker, or if a door was slammed too hard. He would catch sight of her trying to make herself small in the Man Cave whenever one of them would get angry and raise their voice. He knows that what she wants everyone to believe isn’t true because he sees her. And because he notices the little things no one else seems to pick up on.

Henry turns on his back again, eyes up to the ceiling. Just as sleep is about to pull him in, he hears the familiar creaking noise of his window being lifted open. He sits up on his bed, back against the wall behind him as he searches for the lightswitch of the lamp on his bedside table. Henry blinks, adjusting his eyes to the dim light in his room. He runs a hand across his face as he looks up, a frown creasing lines on his forehead when he sees Y/N tumbling into his room through the window, falling onto his couch to her right. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of her, and he pulls the bedcovers away from his body as he makes his way to the loft area in his room, climbing the couple of stairs before sitting next to her on the couch, his body turned a little so that he can face her. She doesn’t look at him, but he sees the phone in her hand and he hears the soft sniffles that leave her. His arms find home around her shoulders as he pulls her in closer, and his heart flutters when she rests her head against his shoulder. Her phone falls onto her lap, and he can see the blocked symbol next to her boyfriend’s name on her screen. His chest heaves up as a sigh leaves him, and he mentally curses himself. He doesn’t know why he was expecting anything else, but it does not surprise him that she’s come to him. Again.

It’s a repetitive circle, ever since she started dating Gareth, her boyfriend. He’d pull her away from her friends, then they’d have a fight, and Henry would be there to pick up the pieces when she’d come to him and break down in his arms. Days later, Y/N would run back to Gareth as if nothing happened, and Henry would be left with another piece of his heart gone with her. He knows it’s not right, that he should put distance between him and Y/N, but then his mind reminds him of how she’s always been there for him after he broke up with his first girlfriend, how she comforted him and helped him change his mind after Chloe and then Bianca left to do a television show in the woods. She’s always been there for him; it’s only right if he’s there for her. Even if his heart breaks a little more each time she walks away. Because even if she’ll never be his, he’ll always be hers.

Y/N is the one to pull away from him, using one hand to wipe away the tears on her cheeks, and her sniffles pull him out of his thoughts. Her eyes drift up to his, and she cracks a thin-lipped smile. Henry tilts his head, sighing.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N whispers, looking down when she hears him sigh. “I– I should have called…”

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Henry tells her, taking her hand in his. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Y/N chuckles under her breath, looking down at their hands together. The warmth of his skin spreads through hers, and she feels her heart flutter in her chest. She clears her throat, pulling her hand away from his and she looks away from him.

“He said he needed distance, and I had nowhere to go…” She whispers, scratching the back of her neck.

Henry knows what she means; his parents are never really here for him, but hers are never there. They’re always traveling abroad for work, only showing up in Swellview twice a year; one time for her birthday, and a second time for Christmas. So Y/N always spends most of her time at work, at his house, or at her boyfriend’s place.

Henry shakes his head and he scoots closer to her, pulling her hand in his own again. His eyes scan over her features, and a frown creases lines on his forehead when he notices a new bruise on her cheek, and the small cut on her upper lip. He grinds his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep his anger simmering beneath the surface. A low sigh leaves his lips instead, and he closes his eyes briefly.

“You know you’re always welcome here.” He says eventually, looking at her. “Besides, I still have the clothes you forgot the last time you slept here.”

Y/N chuckles at that, and Henry swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. It’s been a while since he’s heard too; he can’t really remember when was the last time he did, but he knows he’s missed it. His heart flutters when she looks him in the eyes with a genuine smile on her lips, and it’s like the anger in him has never existed. His body relaxes, and he finds himself smiling at her.

“I’ll take the couch,” he tells her. “You can take my bed. Make yourself at home.”

Her smile widens. “Thank you Hen.”

She lifts her free hand, pressing her palm against his left cheek and she tilts her head, leaning in to leave a quick kiss on his right one. Henry feels the heat rush to his cheeks as his breath gets caught up in his throat, and he watches as she gets down the couple stairs of the loft area in his room, heading for the bathroom in the hallway after taking her clothes from his closet like she owned the place. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. What is he doing?

When she returns after a few minutes, Henry notices that she has inadvertently taken a shirt of his out of the closet instead of hers. His breath hitches, and his eyes travel up and down her frame to fully take in the sight of her in his clothes. It’s just his shirt, he knows that, but because he’s always been taller than her, it looks like a dress that stops at her thighs when she wears it, and the short sleeves slide off of her shoulders a little. He can see the edge of her collarbone because she has tied her hair in a messy bun to the back of her head, and Henry blinks, his eyes drifting to anywhere but her. She already has a boyfriend, he tries to remind himself. But that selfish side of him thinks it’s not fair; that he should be the one who gets to see her like this every night. He should be the one who gets to take her out for dinner. He should be the one who gets to give her flowers for no particular reason. He should be the one who gets to tell her he loves her. Not that stupid boyfriend of hers; but him.

Henry shakes his head, letting out a low, frustrated sigh. From the corner of his eyes he watches as Y/N slips under his bed covers, leaving her locked phone onto his nightstand before she glances his way with a soft smile curling her lips upwards and carving dimples in the curves of her cheeks.

“You’re gonna be okay?” Henry finds himself asking, settling himself onto his couch with a pillow behind his back.

“You’re giving me your bed for the night,” she chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“N– no, I mean… about Gareth. Are you gonna be alright?”

She sighs, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “Y– yeah, I think. I mean, I miss him… but he needs space. I– I know he’s trying to be better, but we both needed some air tonight. I needed some air. And he needs the distance, even if only for tonight. But I miss him…”

Henry nods, only half-listening to what she’s saying. He doesn’t understand how she can think about going back to Gareth, when all he does is break her heart every time. He doesn’t understand how she stays with her boyfriend when he keeps hurting her, leaving bruises on her skin. And Henry can see the way her shoulders tense when she mentions Gareth, even without saying his name, and how she keeps fumbling with her fingers, picking at her nails. Y/N always does it when she’s anxious, Henry notices. He always notices the little things no one else seems to pick up on; because he cares. But he doesn’t say anything, because she is his best friend and he doesn’t want to lose her.

“Good night, Hen.” Y/N whispers, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He licks his lips and glances towards her. “G’night Y/N.”

As she turns off the lights in his room, Henry takes one last glance at the clock on his bedside table. 2:05 in the morning. Now he’ll definitely fall asleep in class.

—

The last time Henry spoke to Y/N was two weeks earlier, when she’d showed up into his room in the middle of the night after another fight with her boyfriend. He hadn’t talked to her since, and he’d only seen her at school. She’s stopped coming to work as well, but when he tried talking to her at school, she’d look down on the ground and avoid conversation at all cost. She was ignoring him and Henry was pretty sure her boyfriend was the one making her do it.

“Alright Kid.” Ray’s voice catches Henry’s attention. “You’ve been sulking for the last two weeks. What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N.” Charlotte says bluntly, and Henry glares at her.

“Oh come on, Char!”

“What?” She crosses her arms, holding his gaze. “You’ve been in a mood since Y/N began ignoring you. And, she stopped coming to work.”

“Oh, so you think it’s my fault she’s not coming to work?”

“I didn’t say I did.” Charlotte shrugs.

“What happened with Y/N?” Ray asks before Henry could reply to Charlotte.

“I don’t know.” Henry sighs, running a hand over his face. “She hasn’t talked to me in two weeks. She’s been avoiding me.”

“Did you do something wrong?”

“Wh– what? No! She came to my place because she’d gotten into a fight with her boyfr–”

Henry stops himself, eyes widening slightly when realization dwells upon him. Of course. He should have known; he should have figured it out sooner. Now that he thinks about it, she hadn’t returned that shirt of his she accidentally borrowed when she came by, and he swears she had been wearing it the next day. At school, where her boyfriend was. Henry groans, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“Stupid Gareth…” Henry mutters under his breath.

Charlotte frowns, having caught on. “What about Gareth?”

“He’s a fucking asshole, that’s what he is.”

“Who’s Gareth?” Ray asks, frowning.

Charlotte begins to answer, but she barely gets a word out as the emergency alarm begins to echo across the Man Cave. Henry jumps on his feet, walking over to the supercomputer. An emergency is what he needs to keep his mind off of everything else. He presses one of the larger buttons on the control panel, his muscle memory guiding his movements. After five years of working as Captain Man’s sidekick, you do pick up on a few things around here. The Man Cave sort of became his second home.

“Captain Man’s emergency line, how may we punch your problem?”

Henry speaks up, taking sight of Charlotte sitting on the chair to his right with her hands roaming over the control panel to try and pinpoint the location of the call, and he feels Ray standing behind him, probably with his hands on his hips as he looks to the screen.

Henry frowns when no one answers, but he can hear them breathing through the phone line. It’s ragged, coming out in hiccups, and faintly in the distance he can discern the sound of objects clattering onto the ground. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, frowning.

“This is Kid Danger speaking, how may I help you?” He tries again, worriedly glancing at Charlotte.

He doesn’t want to say anything, but his heart leaps in his chest, his heartbeat quickening with every second that passes by. He still doesn’t know where the phone call comes from, but judging by the person’s silence his mind plays him all the worst scenarios he can imagine. Y/N still occupies the corner of his mind, and this phone call is one that is way too familiar for Henry’s liking. A week after his birthday, she’d given him a call, and the beginning had been just like this one.

“Oh, shit… Henry?”

He hears Charlotte whisper next to him, and he turns to look at her when she nudges his side. She points a finger at one of the five monitors of the supercomputer, and Henry follows her finger to the green letters displayed on the screen. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. He takes a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. Y/N’s home address is blinking in green letters on one of the computer’s monitors, and Henry feels a shiver down his spine. Why did he have to be right about this?

“Hey, Y/N?” He calls out, ignoring Ray’s confused look. “I– I’m right here, okay? I’m still on the phone with you. Can you– can you leave the house?”

His stomach drops when he hears her whimper through the phone, and he clenches his fists at his sides. Chills run down his spine when he hears more clattering on the other side of the line, followed by Y/N’s quiet sobs. Then he hears footsteps, and something like a window being open and a soft thud as if someone had fallen on the ground. He swallows back the lump in his throat, his heartbeat quickening beneath his chest. There’s a hand on his shoulder, Henry can feel it and when he glances to his left, Ray is there with a worried look in his eyes. He may not show it in the right way because he acts like a man-child more often than not, but Henry knows Ray cares for the kids he works with, including Y/N.

“I– I’m… out…”

Y/N’s voice brings Henry back to look helplessly at the screens. Through the phone, he can hear she’s panting, her footsteps clacking against the ground. She’s running, he tells himself. He lets out a relieved sigh; at least she’s getting away from her boyfriend.

“Can you make it to Junk’N’Stuff?” He asks her, worried. “Or do you need me to pick you up somewhere?”

“I can– Junk’N’Stuff– is fine…”

“O– okay, I’ll– I’ll go up to the store and wait for you, alright? And Ray and Charlotte are gonna stay on the phone with you, okay?”

She doesn’t answer him, but he knows she’s heard him. Ray clasps his shoulder, and Henry takes it as his queue to leave the Man Cave. He knows Jasper has closed the junk store around half an hour earlier, so no one is up there. Henry prefers it that way, because then he’ll have the time alone with Y/N. No one but him actually knows just how bad it’s gotten between her and Gareth, because she always hid her bruises with makeup and for some reason, not even Charlotte had noticed. And his brain keeps picturing the worst-case scenarios, making his heart beat faster as he steps inside the elevator and presses on the store’s up button.

When he’s up in the store, he waits by the front door, eyes darting to the outdoors for any sign of her until he sees her, catching her breath as she leans under a lamppost. He opens the door, and he sees her lift her head when she hears the bells jingling. He notices the look of relief on her face when she spots him, hanging up her phone and shoving it in the back pocket of her pants before she rushes toward him. She stumbles on her feet, exhausted, but Henry is there to catch her, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her on her feet.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Henry mutters in a reassuring way as he leads her inside.

He can hear her muffled cries against his chest as he closes the shop’s front door with the heel of his foot, and her body trembles in his arms.

“I’m right here.” He whispers as he moves his hands to hold the sides of her face. “You’re safe now; he can’t hurt you.”

At first he can’t see her features, but when he brushes her hair away from her face that’s when he spots her busted lip, and the darkening bruise around her left eye. There is a large bleeding cut across her right eyebrow arch, and a few smaller ones all over the right side of her face, as if something sharp had been thrown in her face. Her cheeks are reddened by the tears that escape her eyes, her lips trembling with every sharp breath she takes.

Henry’s face pales when he takes in the sight of her, his heart dropping. He knows that no matter what he says, or does, she will run back to her boyfriend after a day or two. Like she always does. But the selfish side of him knows that he cannot let her go back to Gareth; he cannot risk her being hurt again. Yesterday it was a few bruises, tonight it’s a few cuts and a black eye, but tomorrow? Tomorrow still isn’t set in stone, but he can’t let her risk her life again; no matter how much she claims to love her boyfriend.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he sneaks an arm under her kneecaps and the other around her shoulder blades, picking her up bridal style. He feels her wrap her arms around his shoulders for support, and he feels her bury her face in the crook of his neck. He makes his way around the shop with her in his arms, going towards the elevator in the back shop. With agility, he steps inside the elevator and presses down onto the Man Cave button. He can feel her slow breath against his skin; it sends shivers down his spine, and when he looks down at her, he sees she’s somehow fallen asleep in his arms. He smiles a little, sighing when the elevator dings open, and he sees Ray and Charlotte sitting on the round couch in the middle of the Man Cave, with worried looks on their faces. He shakes his head when they glance up to him, and he dips his chin toward Y/N. Charlotte nods in understanding, but Ray frowns, taking note of the dried blood he spots on the girl’s shirt.

Henry ignores Ray’s questioning gaze as he makes his way to the sprocket, disappearing in the hallway that leads to the few bedrooms the Man Cave has to offer. He walks past the one with a big “DO NOT ENTER” sign hung on the door, well-aware that it is Ray’s room and he will not make the mistake of stepping inside a second time. Then, there is Schwoz’s guest bedroom, and the one his sister Winnie uses when she comes to visit. Henry keeps on walking until he makes it to the end of the hallway, using his foot to push open the door to the last guest bedroom.

Y/N stirs up in his arms just as he puts her down on the mattress, and he sits beside her, smiling when she opens her eyes. The blood on her face is now dry and sticks to her skin, and Henry frowns, standing up without a word to look for a first-aid kit in one of the drawers in the room’s closet. When he returns to the bed with the red case in his hand, Y/N is sitting up on the mattress, leaning against the backrest behind her, and she watches as he pulls out some cotton pads and the antiseptic spray from the kit.

“It might sting a little.” Henry whispers as he brings a cotton to her face.

She nods, allowing him to clean the cuts on her cheeks and across her eyebrow arch, wincing in pain and gritting her teeth. But she keeps her eyes on her best friend, watching as his wrinkled brows carve a line on his forehead, and how his nose scrunches up whenever she lets out a wince. She sees the worry in his chocolate irises when he leans back, his eyes drifting across her features to make sure he’s cleaned every bit of dried blood off of her face.

“Thank you.” She whispers, reaching for his hand.

“You can’t keep going back to him, Y/N.” Henry blurts out all of the sudden, pulling his hand away from hers.

Y/N frowns. “He’s my boyfriend, Hen. And I love him.”

“I know you do, I just– I’m not sure he loves you, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seriously, Y/N?”

Henry’s frowns deepens as he stands up, and Y/N’s smile falters, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watches him pace back and forth in front of her, frustratedly tugging at his hair. She shakes her head, heaving out a sigh. Henry stops pacing, hands on his hips as he turns to her.

“Do you know how hard it is?” He begins, scowling. “To be the one to fix you, wh– when all you do is run back to the one who breaks your heart?” He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been with him for six months, and every time something happens between the two of you, who do you run to? Me! I’m always here to pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and every fucking time you go back to that piece of shit as if nothing happened! I know we’re best friends Y/N, and I know you’ve always been there for me when I had girl problems but, fuck, you’re making this too hard…” He inhales sharply, running a hand over his face.

Henry doesn’t dare to look at her, at first, and he isn’t sure that he wants to. He probably has ruined their friendship but at this point, he doesn’t care. He needed to tell her everything; he needed to tell her how he feels about her, and damn the consequences.

“I can’t keep on pretending that this isn’t hurting me, too.” He sighs, resuming his pacing. “I can’t keep on pretending that watching you getting hurt by the man who claims to love you doesn’t break my heart every fucking time, because it does. It does break my heart to see you hurt.” He stops pacing then, finally looking at her. “I can’t stand to see you getting hurt by him every single time, and I can’t keep on having my heart broken every time you run back to him. So if you want to go back to him, I’m not holding you back, but I won’t be there to pick up the pieces when he breaks your heart again.”

His eyes sting as he blinks back the tears in his tear ducts. He won’t let her see him cry. He inhales sharply, his gaze drifting away to look anywhere but her. The silence in the room is suffocating, and Henry feels his chest tightens with each passing second. He’s too afraid to move, his feet anchored to the ground, and he’s scared of what she might say. He hears her shift on the mattress, wincing a little when she moves around, and then he can feel her standing close to him. Y/N brings one hand up, and he feels the warmth of her palm against his skin, her touch soft on his right cheek. With a soft pressure, she turns his face to hers, and Henry is forced to look at her. Her gentle smile lightens her features, reaching her glossy and bright eyes. Her head is slightly tilted to the side as her eyes roam over his features, her thumb delicately brushing over his flushed cheekbone.

“I can’t keep on being hurt by you, Y/N…” Henry whispers, his voice wavering as he takes a sharp breath.

“I don’t want to be the one hurting you, Hen.” Her voice is soft when she speaks up, and a single tear runs down her cheek. “And I am sorry for ever hurting you. I just–”

“I know…” Henry sighs, defeated. “You’re in love with him.”

“It’s not– it’s not that simple…” Y/N sighs. “I can’t– I can’t just leave him.”

She drops her hand back to her side, sitting back on the mattress’ edge, and she begins to anxiously fiddle with her fingers in her lap. Henry frowns when he no longer feels her touch, and he sits next to her. His hands find hers, and he takes them in his to stop her from torturing her fingers.

“You don’t– you don’t have to do this alone, you know.” He tells her, his tone gentle. “If you want to leave him, I’m right here with you, I promise.”

“I– I’m scared of what he’ll do if– if I leave him…”

“Y/N…” He lets go of her hands to hold her face in his, making her look his way. “You know he’s not right for you. He keeps hurting you, physically. Emotionally too, I bet, because it’s the first time in two weeks that we’re talking. You deserve so much better than that piece of shit.” He smiles when she laughs at that. “You deserve a gentleman that will treat you right, take you out for dinner and give you flowers for no specific reason. I’ve known you my whole life Y/N; you’re one of a kind, and you deserve someone who’ll love you with all their heart. Not someone like Gareth…”

“But, someone… like you?”

Henry falls silent next to her, because as much as he loves her, he didn’t think she’d catch on to what he was trying to tell her. Does he want her to be his girlfriend? Yes. Does he want to be her boyfriend? Also, yes. But he knows the things she’s been through with Gareth, and as much as he loves her, he’s smart enough to know that if she leaves her boyfriend, she will need time to heal from that relationship. He’s willing to wait; for her, he’d wait a lifetime, because he wants nothing more than to see her happy.

“One day. Maybe.” He whispers, brushing his thumb over the cuts on her cheek. “But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have me. And Charlotte, and Jasper. Even Piper, or Ray and Schwoz. I know you, and I know you have the strength to leave him, even if you think you can’t. You’re the strongest person I know, and you deserve to be happy.”

“Okay.” She breathes out, smiling.

“O– okay?”

She hums softly, chuckling when he lets out a relieved sigh. Maybe he was right to tell her how he felt. Maybe he was right to tell her what he thought of her relationship with her boyfriend. Because maybe, just maybe, it opened the possibility of something more. Because maybe, just maybe, one day he would get to call her his.

#henry danger #henry hart x reader #henry hart imagines #writerinlearning

150 notes · View notes

sanakimohara · 7 months ago

Text

[ BOUND BY BLOOD ] - H. H.

master lists <> + CHRISTMAS EVENT: day two (n/a yet)

pairing: Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: A seductive vampire who has been watching you for centuries finally reveals himself. As Hyunjin pulls you deeper into his world of immortality, the line between love and obsession begins to blur.

date: December 21st 2024

playlist:

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + BLOOD KINK + ORAL + LOTS OF EXPOSITION + MENTIONS OF WITCHCRAFT & PAGAN HOLIDAY + EXTENSIVE PINING

Yule is more than a concession of sacred days ending in immense celebration. You knew of this from a very tender age, of course.

Your mother impressed upon you how vastly more important it was than any other festivity held throughout the year in your small village. A place nestled in the rocky edges of the St. Romanov mountains, just below the everlasting castle at the very top of the harsh scenery. In a dreary land, everyone would be just the same—sulking like the grey, cold clouds that hung high above, even in mid-summer, and bitter like the bark of the evergreen trees and pines occupying the surrounding woods. Many who lived far and near the little ancient plot began to whisper of its strangely happy and content inhabitants centuries before books made of linen and leather were being traded for secrets on the land they lived on.

Some talked of how women resembled eerily beautiful statues on a winter's night. Others told tales of men who never seemed to age past their prime but nearly always perished under terrible circumstances, whether in secret or for all to behold. You were born to a family who pressed truth into these oh-so-beguiled wise tales made up by outsiders. Yet, that was natural within a family littered with witches and warlocks of every kind.

Young and blessed with slow aging and graceful wisdom, your mother and father took it upon themselves to grant you a moderately lavish life within the strangely quaint village. You went without very little, and whatever your kind heart desired was promptly given. Your demure features disarmed many, growing enchanting as you neared the age of two centuries, looking nothing past the age of two bright decades. One might call it luck -especially living in a jagged and whimsical place. But many who lived beyond called it witchcraft at its finest point -the undead's evil doing.

You paid the assumptions no mind. Content with living a life in your studies of the dark arts under the teachings of your nearly pestering and frazzled mother and her less distracted and elated partner -your father. To some extent, he was a patriarch of the town, never fully taking on the title of its Baron and never desiring to when asked. He helped people experiencing poverty, aided people in need, and advised those who did have a hand in village affairs. On the other hand, your mother saw to the population's superstitions and unusual ailments and guarded their shaken resolves with practiced and refined magik. You had undoubtedly become their most prized offering to the masses. A beauty many could behold but could never understand being kept so hidden away at your family estate.

In turn, you were plagued with loneliness that could only be ailed by knowledge of the arts for so long. Years shifted into another half a decade of unbound youth and restrained confidence for you. Thinking of another century in such a state made your heartache and your head spin with sound worry. The terror struck you at family dinner in the dining hall, and you nearly opened your mouth to suggest an alternative to your parents. However, you were halted in a speech by your ever-so-live mother, who'd been unable to stop smiling since you stepped foot into the candlelit room behind your father's usual late arrival.

"I have grand news for you, my dear!" she beamed, and you perked up in your seat in interest. "Mother?...' you cautiously egged her on, sipping from the blackened wine glass set before your plate of half-finished food. She waited to hear you swallow your blackberry wine before glancing at your oddly silent father. "I and your Papa have a gift for you...well, a surprise, to be more specific."

Please, Mother of Darkness, do not let it be another grimoire. I've already filled in four others.

You prayed to the powers that be in a single silent breath, glancing between them as they observed you. "Oh...please do tell me of it. You know how little patience I have for surprises." The sweetest smile crossed your face, pulled tight by subtle anxiety and held there by a need to seem mildly normal about the implications of receiving a new and unknown gift.

Yet, it fell into a quivering line as your mother excitedly spilled her heart out for you to hear.

"We have found you a match, and he is rather eager about it. More than we are if my senses ring true!"

The light wave of shock that gripped you dissipated into relief. A hot flush rushed through d your veins like a flame catching the edge of fresh linen. Any other woman being told of a secure match might feel her heart turned to icey malice, but all you could taste was wild freedom being attained without much fight.

And you couldn't be happier to have it.

Who this match was and why he was so eager to be one with you was another mystery for different times. Now, you wanted a moment to relish in a world to be discovered outside the village you'd known an entire lifetime and mask that joy from the two beings who gave you such power over life as if their announcement hadn't changed a thing in your reeling mind.

With a deep and steadying breath, you replied, "How fortunate. I look forward to beginning our union."

Your mother nodded, sipping wine while your father grumbled a phrase of contentment. She offered you an all-too-tender smile, her bright gaze sparking as you tilted your head in curiosity. "Is there something more you'd like to tell me, Mother?"

She sighed, humming melodically, then set her glass down to speak again, her tone genuinely matter-of-fact.

"You'll be traveling to meet him at his estate within a fortnight."

This wasn't unexpected, yet hearing it aloud stirred a peculiar thrill within you, an undeniable pull toward the unknown that lay waiting.

The fortnight came within a whirlwind of a day. Your belongings were packed and shipped off early at noon, and your father blessed and sealed your treasures an hour before your departure. Your mother sent you off with genuine gifts of goodwill and more excellent fortune, refusing to speak on the mysterious author more than she already had -which only gave you a semblance of a surname from which to paint a picture of him.

Hwang.

It was all you'd know of him until the moon reached its height and your horse-drawn carriage stopped in the gravel walkway in front of his glaringly cold estate. You imagined his features, charm, voice, and sway over those within his power. Sketching his imaginations in a tattered leather-bound grimoire and writing earnest anecdotes of goodwill under each one. You wrote and drew until your hand ached, glad to see the semblance of a large mansion coming into view far across a snow-touched meadow.

The book snapped shut as you refined your focus on the blatantly grand estate. Your mother had called it magnificent when describing where this Hwang hailed from, but she left out the fair detail of how larger-than-life it seemed, with its gardens packed with mere hundreds of people.

A party.

A celebration.

An honoring of Yule.

You had never, ever seen such a large and lavish gathering. Granted, your mother and father never threw one as grand as the one you witnessed now from afar, but the edge of awe was still present as you observed it. People -men, women, the moderately young, and the wise old roamed about.

Some wore masks of gleaming gold, amber, and cherry red. Others wore black veils and cashmere shawls. Everyone in attendance held prestigious looks from afar, dressed in sacred colors starkly contrasting with the pure white snow coating the grounds.

Candles and lanterns were lit to perfection, leaking light into the moonlit night and casting a golden white glow on those who swayed beneath and through them. Shadows danced as many grabbed for waltz partners. A quartet strummed at their instruments and rang their bells into the air. Laughter and speech leaked into the music, piercing the sky.

It was life.

It was passion.

It was beautiful to see.

You ached to join the fun. Think of it constantly, even as the carriage stops at the steps leading straight to the heavy dark oak wood doors carved with the face of Medusa and sealed shut with iron wrought doubles of the letter 'H' leading straight to your new home.

With the help of a kind footman and the relief of a soft gasp, you took tentative steps to the top of the staircase, undeterred by the ice under your heeled boots and the gentle crunch of snow under your every movement. With a step left, the doors creaked open for you, a sudden chill wrapping around you before a steady warmth replaced it. You stopped short, unaffordable of the sudden eeriness, but perplexed to see not a soul standing behind the door.

"Mother of the moon.." you whispered in timid amusement, gazing up at the white sphere gleaming down on your clocked form before allowing its energy to steady your shaken nerves. When your mind could focus again, you bit the inside of your left cheek, slipping into the estate's front doors with a quiet huff, passing by the eyes of Medusa with a solemn smile of thanks.

The doors slammed shut as your feet hit the marble floor inside, loudly clicking its locks with finality as you spared them a final glance before sauntering further into the massive household. The small palace was lit, and not a corner was left cold or void, but not a life in your sight. It seemed as if the tree outside was merely a dreamscape and a phantom of reality within the world you stood in now - a wonderous opener to the spectacle within your suitor's less-than-humble abode. You reached another set of winding staircases. The embroidered carpet gently glistened under an amber-lit chandelier, never seeming to stain your wet footprints and littered with mistletoe, pine, fresh herbs, and trimmed garland. It was neat chaos at its finest, but what took your breath away was the line of blackened roses lining the center. Their thrones were pricked clean off, and their stems meticulously swirled in on themselves and tied off in an alternation of crimson red and deep violet silk ribbons. "How strange..." you thought aloud, pricking one from the warm floor, examining it until its petals were paled compared to the folded letter hidden underneath it.

It simply read in practiced well, done calligraphy,

"My Dearest Love,

The hour is late, and the world outside lies shrouded in slumber, save for me and my kin—ever wakeful, ever longing. I have watched you from the shadows, not with the eyes of a stranger, but with the gaze of a soul tethered to yours by threads spun long before this life. You do not yet know me, but I have known you for an eternity, each passing moment a cruel reminder of my yearning to claim what fate has promised me.

I am writing to you now, my beloved, because our meeting is near. The winter moon will shine brightest on the eve of the year's final breath, casting its silvery veil upon the snow-laden earth. In that sacred hour, I shall come to you. Do not fear the chill in the air or the stillness accompanying my presence. Know that every step I take toward you is born of reverence and an unyielding desire to protect, cherish, and love.

You may wonder why I have chosen you among all others, why I dare to speak of binding our lives together in the sacred vow of marriage. The truth is as eternal as the stars: I did not choose you. Though it beats no longer, my heart has always belonged to you. In your laughter, I hear the echo of joy I have long since forgotten; in your gaze, I see a light that pierces the veil of my darkness. You are the warmth my cold existence craves, the embodiment of all that is pure and eternal.

For centuries, I have wandered through this world, untouched by its beauty and unmoved by its offerings. Yet, the barren void within me stirred from the moment I beheld you, even from afar. My soul cursed as it is, recognized in you its redemption—a love that transcends time, a light strong enough to shatter even the deepest shadows.

I write this letter not to frighten you but to offer you a choice. When we meet, you will see me as I truly am. My nature, my curse—it is not one I would impose upon you without consent. But if your heart, as I suspect, already beats in harmony with mine, I ask for your hand, trust, and love. Together, we will defy the passage of time, weaving a tapestry of eternity that no force can unravel.

Await me on the night of our destined meeting. Do not despair the hour, for it shall mark the beginning of a love that poets and dreamers could only hope to capture. I shall kneel before you, not as a creature of the night, but as a man who has waited lifetimes to call you his own.

Until then, my love, guard your heart, for it is already mine. And know that no force on this earth, nor in the heavens above, could keep me from you.

Yours eternally,

Hyunjin..."

A weight lingered over your shoulders as his name slipped past your lips like pure honey. As if it were planned to happen, and for one explicable reason or another, he had pined for it to be that way on this very night. You pieced things together in the moment it took you to realize them. Every night since your 118th risi, you'd felt a presence -not nearly a calling- but something tethered to your existence. Had that been him for all these years? Watching over you in the smallest of moments. Moving when you moved. Listening when you spoke. Caring when it seemed no one else could. Being there when you felt further trapped in an unintentional isolation.

Were the sharp and bloodborne eyes trailing every move in glimpses of mirrors.?Was he the lurking shadow hovering above your own in the light of a single candle? Was he the one leaving gifts of your desire at the foot of your bed? Each one left with no note or card of recognition but instead wrapped neatly and meant for you to find and enjoy. Wasthee soft chill of breath you felt through the coldest nights? Twinged with a peculiar warmth and steadily streaming against the crook of your neck and behind the shell of your ear.

You thought of the possibilities, fueled by a deep curiosity and security, as you followed the trail of roses left along the ststastaircathrough staircase-through rooTandyandy stopped at a particular door on the second floor, previously leading through the tre right-wing amenities before the abr.aWithhith one big push of both your hands, you revealed what lay within the last unlocked room.

A man, dressed in fine clothing with a more captivating charmed beauty to match, stood before you in a moment of tensed admiration.

He seemed to hold in a breath, lips pressed into a slow-growing smile of recognition as his eyes scanned you in familiarity. Your heart thumped twice its normal speed as he did, and your feet shifted closer to each other as his gaze halted on your flushing face. "He-Hello..." you muttered, unsure what else to say and completely startled to see another person standing in the emptied estate.

Hyunjin did not hold your lack of recognition and frazzled greeting against you; he accepted them. I expect much worse, and he was glad those assumptions did not come to fruition upon your timely arrival.

He found the words to speak and the will to be heard when you took a half-nervous step back, shuffling closer to the doorway in a plain attempt to close it shut if prompted to. "You're quite alright. I've been waiting for you for some time now, so I would like you to stay even if it's for a moment..."

The cadence of his words and the gentle tone of his voice sounded the same as the whisper within your most common dreams. It was healing, charming, sweet, and meant to cause delirium to anyone who heard it without warning. You unconsciously paired it with the letter you'd found. Gripping it in your right hands, your mind collected subtle connections.

This had to be him.

Your allusive and eager suitor?...

"Hwang...Hyunjin..."

"That is my full name, yes..." he jested a bit, treading carefully through your observation of him. However, when your stare found him again, you seemed neither displeased nor perplexed.

"Are you to be my match, then? " you asked, hoping his answer would satisfy your growing uncertainties.

He nodded, nibbling at his lush bottom lip for a split second of tension relief. Then, you noticed his edged canines glinting in the soft light filling the room. Your heart jumped, but your breath slowed at the minuscule sight.

You'd gotten yourself a walking undead of your own, it seems.

Hyunjin's quick eyes caught yours wondering towards his mouth, fixated on the slip-upphe'ddd ma unconsciously but nowhere near frightened or frazzled by the reveal. It eased his rare nerves and allowed him to speak more freely as you inched further into the room to get a closer look at him. "I know stepping into this new life may be very odd to you now, but as I explained in the letter-"

"I've read it twice since my arrival..." you confess in one uttered breath, unable to keep smiling softly at him, "You're a lovely admirer and a gifted writer by all means..." You paused, unsure what to call him and afraid you'd begun to ramble, seeing his head lower at your words. However, Hyunjin flashed a charmed grin your way after half a moment. His pale cheeks flushed a tinge of rouge you thought was a trick of the light. How could someone so confident in their presence be so easily flustered? The answer was beyond you, but it was a question you cherished watching him watch you from across the room.

His smile fell to a slight smirk, eyes cutting to the side for a moment before he spoke again, "You are one charming doll... do you know that?" He chuckled, and you shrugged, eyeing him as he wandered closer with steady strides. "I've been told otherwise..." you confess in a whisper, accepting bated breath as he flows above the top of your head.

A pull surged in your chest, urging you forward into his immobile warmth and drawing your head up at an angle so his face remained inches from your own. Hyunjin stared back, eyes downcast in jaded concern as you hid a coy smile. "Wel, my love, they don't know you as I do."

He spoke of your intentional grace and earned your trust. He is unafraid to let you witness the flicker of vulnerability behind his maroon irises.

It was then that you knew what he thought of you, how he felt, with only your eyes to capture him.

A life to live in the eternity he found himself in.

One year came and went in the Hwang estate; in that time, you'd grown to love hearing that surname replace your own. Hyunjin was far more than a dashing husband and far better than any other living man you had encounteredHisis obsession with you was infinite and dedicated. It showed in every little thing he did for you and was present in every intimate interaction you had with him - even if he took each one no further than a heated kiss and a passing touch of his cold hands over your warmer flesh.

There were times it drove you mad.

His withholding of passion in fear of harming you during such acts was maddening, to say the very least. Sleeping with him had begun to be the only thing you could think of. You are noo longer able to keep such thoughts within the confines of your still-separated rooms during the dead of night and are frazzled by the visceral need to feel him take you.

He knew of your struggles but never acknowledged them. Hell-bent on sticking to his version of affection for as long as possible and undeterred by your subtle begging far longer than you had expected him to be.

That is until the very night you met him came around again.

Sweat shined your skin from the heat of the broiling water you sank into only moments ago. Herbs, spices sprinkled, and citrus shreds floated to the top of the scented bath. It was a relief to feel each component working into your tired body and slowly bringing life back into it as moments of solace trickled into a calm, quiet passage.

Finally, you could rest and not answer another question about decorations, food to serve partygoers of the evening, or what musical set to be played throughout the night. Taking on the task of planning for the Hwang household Yule was tedious and meticulous. Every detail was meant to be perfect, just as you had seen upon your arrival a year prior, but against Hyunjin's well-meant wishes, you took on the assignment with vigor for perfection.

It was overwhelming in all aspects, but you'd done it to the best of your ability, and now you wanted nothing more than to relax before the celebration began. The guests slowly showed themselves.

Your eyelids lowered, fully closing as the hot water sank deeper into your skin—the smell of fresfragranceses swept under your nose in gentle wafts. For a while,nt the world went utterly sti, ll, and you could hear the wind and snow softly blowing outside; your lonely peace was dissolved as a tender kiss was placed at the of your head by familiar lips.

"My love..." Hyunjin greeted you humbly, and you returned the sentiment by peeking your eyes at him. "My prince..."

He smiled at the neverending nickname you'd decided long ago to give him. You held his lingering gaze, tracing the lift of his lips as he leaned in to place a meaningful kiss against your lips. Your hands floated from the water, gently cupping his face as his lips pressed into yours. They were tinted with red wine and the lingering taste of iron blood, but you paid the bitterness no mind, delving for something more profound as he trailed a hand through your damp hair and brushed back the strands sticking to your flushed cheeks.

A fire stirred in your stomach, spiraling as the swipe of his tongue over your own melted the taste of him into your senses. Hyunjin pressed to shift backward, understanding the intensity of your exchange, but had no room to do so as your freshly manicured nails gently dug into the skin of his unblemished face. He stayed still, falling into a pattern of returning slow and wet kisses with you in the quiet of the large washroom. You hummed at his intentional sweetness to please you, smiling as he tilted your head back to rest on his thigh, your right hand cupping your chin firmly as his left raked through your hair and massaged the roots at your scalp. A trickle of drool seeped past your lips, tainted with blood a moment later, as he bit down on your inner lower lip with the tip of a fang. You whined softly as the sudden and short infliction of pain pleasured that he took joy in marking you in such a discreet place and was not timid about savoring the reward of your blood on his tongue, but the mix of elation didn't last long. Hyunjin snapped away from your lips, pressing loving kisses to them as you frowned and whimpered from the loss of connection. "Please do not torture me..." you huffed, legs closing instinctively to put pressure on the throbbing heat between them.

“Don’t…do this to me, “ you repeat yourself, stirring into a fever as his touch on your jaw slid to cup and caress the side of your face as if to lull you back to sanity.

He failed, a rare thing to happen, but something he couldn’t help as you stared up at him with the most unforgiving and pleading stare. “Please…” you utter to him, bottom lip catching between your teeth as his eyes settle across your body in a languid dance. His gaze stops at your chest -barely hidden in the cream-filled water, and you’re tempted to slip out of the bath and let him have a full view if it’ll coax him to give what you so desperately want from him.

Hyunjin needs no further persuasion than a flicker of sadness and disappointment in your eyes. You’re prepared to handle your growing frustration of heat alone and hope it will be done by the time guests arrive, but a simple phrase from him shatters your ideas of doing so.

“You’ve waited long and well enough.”

The sound of praise in his tone has you turning in the water to face him like an excited mutt being given a treat. Your smile returns, and your hands fall to rest on his thigh. “You won’t back down from me?…” You ask out of fear he will, knowing his quick change of mind could be fickle and turned again if you weren’t careful with your intent. Hyunjin stifled a chuckle, unbothered by your eagerness and thrilled to see you smiling at him brightly again.

That generous lift of your lips always made his cock twitch to life no matter when, where, or why it happened.

It was such a curse to him that even now, he failed to think straight enough as you rose a bit more from Luke's warm water to press a slow kiss to his parted lips. The cherry stain on your lips seeped onto his tongue, your tongue slow and delicate against his, steadily licking into his mouth a sweet confidence. He swallowed your noises, smothering them with nips and licks before easing your mouth open for a singular line of his spit to slide down your tongue. You purred at the feeling, sinking into the water a bit as he stood up and spat straight into your throat as if he owned it.

Because he did…and you adored him for it.

“Come with me…” Hyunjin grunted against your ear, not caring about the mess made, as he wrapped a strengthened arm around your waist to pull you from the cold bathwater. You helped lousy in excitement as he did, completely fine with being tossed over his shoulder like a sack of packed sugar cane. “I wasn’t finished bathing-!” You start to scold him despite not having the heart or right mind to mean anything by it, but a tender prick of his fangs to the flesh of your thighs startles you into a fit of giggles.

“And I don’t care anymore, my love…”

“Ca…c…can’t…” you choked on your words, falling to pieces as Hyunjin laid his head between your legs, hair sheened with sweat as your fingers traveled through and gripped every strand it touched tight. “Third time a charm,” he muttered, all too focused on the task in front of him and unbothered by your shaking thighs and rolling hips. “N-no..” you protested in half-sought agony, unsure if he’d even heard you when he earned another shout of his name with a slow and deliberate swipe of his tongue pressed flat to your entrance. He let the wet muscle rest there for a second, nudging it into your creamy walls inch by inch until you tugged at his hair and groaned in pleasurable despair at the feeling.

He added to the pattern, tracing the inner folds of your cunt and circling your bundle of nerves in repetitive motions. You quivered every time, leaking cum onto the fresh linen, and overstimulated in every sense you had left.

Hyunjin groaned loudly, with a collared shirt falling from his broad shoulders and your legs lazily hanging over them. A tug in your hips brought your scented body an inch closer to his face before he buried himself in your cunt again. Licking, searching, and finding exactly what he wanted. You squirmed and tossed above him, gripping at anything soft and mailable to have a steadying grip, but you couldn’t sit still or stay calm. Hyunjin wouldn’t have it any other way, sinking his fangs into your plush thighs and the soft skin just above your left knee to keep you on edge.

“N-ngh ugh….ah! Ah! Hy-Hyunjin…” you called for his attention, on the of unraveling, feeling his lips wrap around and suckle on your clit generously before his tongue went right back to exploring your insides in a practiced dance. He refused to settle down, looking up at you through fallen strands of dark and damp hair and devouring you with intent as your moans climbed to new octave before a scream tore from your throat at a final flick of his skilled tongue.

It nearly hurt how fast and how intensely he’d thrown you over the edge. A third instance is not more straightforward than the first two; a fourth is meant to top it all off immediately. You panted, feeling wild and shaken but unable to care as a buzzing heat flooded through your veins and leaked onto the sheets in arousal. It stained the soft fabric, your inner thighs -painting the darkened marks he’d left and smearing the trickles of blood he��d caused with small bites, and coated the bottom half of his face as he raised to hover above you.

You caught him in a delirious kiss, too tired to sit up and lock him in your arms but glad he felt no desire for you to do it. Hyunjin caved into you, letting your hands wander over his skin, across his shoulders, down his back, around his waist, and stopping right where his heart should beat in his toned chest.

There wasn’t a throb of life left in him, and you trusted that he saw yours as valuable enough to change.

One day…but not yet…

He answered your lingering question without a word, peppering the corner of your upturned lips with gentle kisses and soft sighs you returned. Your legs remained parted, allowing his free hand to lazily touch and spread your slick along the expanse of your cunt. “Such a pretty little flower for me…so sweet…and so,” he trailed off, nudging your head to the side to sink his teeth into your heated neck, drawing blood and a pleased moan from you as he took slow sips of your blood.

“Soft…” he finished.

His fingers plunged deep into your core, stretching the gummy walls within in slender but tasteful thrusts. You shook from the contrasting actions he was committing. Awed at how full he made you feel despite draining you in the same breath.

Was this the true love of an undead man?

Does the obsession of another once alive come back to life?

You hadn’t the slightest clue to answer both inquires, fixated on watching his fingers pump into your soaked entrance as your head spinning from the lack of blood beginning to take effect. Hyunjin refrained from sucking you dry, driven mad by the taste of you no matter how he got it, but aware of your limits as part of the living. Still, he detached from your neck with a soft and crisp sound, focused on pulling another climax from you.

You were on the verge of another, lashes fluttering as the syllables of his name faded into breathy gasps as your high tiptoed closer, but the slow drag of his fingers from your cunt slowed it to a standstill. “No..!” You yelp in disbelief, ready to shed tears if this was his way of putting a stop to your feigning for him, but your disappointment was short-lived and replaced with pleasant surprise as he shifted to kneel on the soiled sheets between your spread legs.

You watched in particular excitement as he stared you down, rolling his neck once to release tension in it, and licked the remaining droplets of your blood from the corner of his lips while reaching to undo the confines of his trousers. He said nothing as you marveled at the sight of his cock. Your face flushed a bit as he brought it into your view with his large hand wrapped around its inches more considerable length. You refused to speak a word, having imagined the sight of his cock more than once before, but speechless at its true nature being revealed.

Thick, full of stock, and neatly groomed.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of it -merely glancing up at Hyunjin in awe when he leaned forward to press the length of it against your sensitive folds, but shifting your gaze right back to it as he passed over your folds.

“Oh!…mmm..” you shuddered into a gasp and fell into a moan at the sensation. Your insides flipped and twisted, eager to know if his cock could reach new places you’d never forget. Hyunjin clicked his tongue, sparing a glance downward between your bodies before lowering his head to rest against yours, hips set back slightly to prod the tip of his length to your aching entrance. You whined, prepared for the stretch but intolerant of his ever-waning patience. “We’ll miss our first guests if we continue like this…” He hummed, sensing approaching carriages and steeds from afar in the low blizzard rousing the night air. You cup his face, eyes set on his as your lips curl into a coy smile. “Let them wait…Let them wonder where we are the whole night if that’s what must be done..”

He raised a brow, licking his lips while his cock inched into your untouched entrance, watching the fall of your smile into a small ‘o’ shape as he did so. “Your wish is my command, Lady Hwang..”

A/N: I’m sick so this is late but it’s a double feature (Changbin is next)

Other links: Tik Tok + Discord + Instagram

TAG LIST 🖤: @halfwinterhalfuniverse 🖤 @eastjonowhere 🖤 @whatudowhennooneseesyou 🖤 @skz-dorms 🖤

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

🗣️ Credits to Creator 💜

172 notes · View notes

ellesthots · 24 days ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

LI. “ambrosia”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: bittersuite domesticity suddenly isn't as bittersweet.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, fluffy fluff fluff

words: 8k

a/n: hiii lovelies!! back for another installment with these two lovebirds <3 as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my last day of school EVER !!! what !!! then I have a Master’s degree !! writing that in the notes of a battinson fic has me feeling like that meme of ‘I lowkey have a Master’s degree’. lmao. enjoy !!

“This is how sleepovers start?”

You grabbed his other hand and started painting the black polish on his thumb; it took every ounce of energy left in your wilting body to keep your breathing regular and thoughts from spiraling. His fingers were always softer than you thought they would be, especially so when you held them delicately, like now.

“If they’re fun.”

The floor was starting to hurt your crossed legs, but you trucked along with only three nails left. Your thumb and forefinger tilted his hand to the right before the polish flooded the side, and Bruce complimented your technique. It was crucial, actually, that he didn’t say words like ‘technique’ while you took in the size and shape of his fingers.

The stale lighting of an overhead bulb that hadn’t been changed in half a decade was barely enough to have a proper look at your craft, but more than enough to illuminate the depth of his inky hair as it grazed his cheek. Your dad had bugged you to change the light before leaving to Gotham two years ago, citing your future self’s gratefulness at not having to change a bulb the first day you came back from graduation. Now, you couldn’t imagine how you’d function if you were seeing Bruce in high definition.

Two years. Two years? You barely knew about Bruce Wayne before moving; just enough to know that he was a sort of celebrity, and it hit you all at once that the man was now sitting here, in your sleepy little town, letting you paint his nails. What the fuck?

Two more.

Ring finger… painting this one felt different. Childlike electricity pulsed through you as you imagined a metal band adorning it. You loathed to know it could never be you. Plagued by how intensely you wished things were different. If you let yourself digest just how intensely, it would end in a state of tears and disbelief.

Bruce’s eyes followed yours like they were his own, flicking from the nail to your face with an encouraging grin. You rushed through his pinky, your body filling with a vague sense of anticipation that bubbled up all types of emotions you’d tried to stuff down the past hour.

While you capped the lacquer, you reminisced on how scared he’d looked at the thought of having sex with you. So scared, in fact, that it nullified your original hypothesis (and left you reeling—he didn’t want to fuck you?). If not to control you, dominate you, what the hell did a billionaire want with the one person who knew his biggest secret? As much as your mind wanted to run away with alternative explanations for why this vigilante was sitting pretty talking about girly sleepovers, none took. He’d been trustworthy on every other front, so what reasons did you have to think he was lying now? Your own insecurity?

Still, the visceral sensation of forcing someone to ‘go along’ with your interests made you a bit sick. If you hadn’t offered to paint nails, it wouldn’t have happened. If you hadn’t needed a flight home, he wouldn’t be here. Who was to say he wasn’t just humoring you? Perhaps in it for the long-con?

He was smart enough for it. God, his mind worked like a whip. The ease with which he switched into Appeasing Bruce in front of Oz, the way his posture and cadence changed the few times he’d addressed a group, and the mere fact he’d been going out nightly as a fucking vigilante for four years and not one person was onto him. For how antisocial he was, he could transform into a chameleon at a moment’s notice.

What if he thought appeasing you was the only way to safeguard himself? Your heart fluttered. Could he cry on cue? Get his eyes to look as tender as they did whenever you tried to leave?

Too late you realized you’d gotten lost in your thoughts. And like the softest yet sharpest knife you’d ever felt, Bruce waited patiently. His mouth was even sloped to form a soft grin.

“You can choose what we do next.” You clasped your hands around your knee, subtly rocking your hips to self-soothe. He glanced at the box of polish, confused.

“You don’t want yours done?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

He laughed like you’d challenged him, and it entered you like fresh, cool air whistling through your tight chest. “I’d love to.”

Something had shifted when he mentioned your friends. On the drive back, instead of silence, he’d asked how often you came here, what you liked about this road, if you knew any constellations, and occasionally to ID a tree when the headlights illuminated one. He held the front door open for you on arrival, and was already halfway to Walter’s bowl when all you’d done was mention that he might be hungry. Not to mention: tolerating this.

Your friends had always disliked Walter. Complained about how ‘needy’ he was, and walked through the house without worrying if he was underfoot. They stepped on his paws and tail and knocked the side of his head when they’d walk down the hall, to the point you’d had a breakdown the last time they’d visited. Cradling him, crying and sniffling over how careless they were. Bruce paused every other step, letting Walter weave through his legs as much as he pleased. You didn’t even know if Bruce particularly liked you, and the bar was disastrously low, but you would’ve married him on the spot for that alone. He’d never been more attractive.

It hadn’t even been an hour since his shell cracked open, and you wondered who would cave first: you confessing how wonderful he was, or him burning out and reverting back to his old, man-of-few words ways.

Bruce thumbed through the various tones and textures, and you told him he could pick. He pulled a few shades out and held them to the side of your face, analyzing. First a green, then a red, then black, then: a shimmer. His brow cocked almost imperceptibly. “You like glitter, right?”

You’d crack. You’d absolutely crack first.

You nodded, and the anticipation bubbled into something almost unbearable in the space between uncapping it and him grabbing your hand. Was there some law of the universe that allowed only enough space for one of you to be talkative? Because since he’d started speaking, it’d become increasingly difficult for words to materialize. Like some sort of spell.

“The makeup you wore at March’s rally.” Bruce took your hand and gently pulled your fingers toward him; at this point noticing how softly he touched you read like an oxymoron. Who taught him to be so tender? Your breath came sparingly, mesmerized by the sheer force of what sat in front of you. “It looked like this.”

“You know,” you cleared your throat, tightening your core to reign in a tremble from cascading down your arm. “It’s intimidating how observant you are.”

“Could say the same to you.”

“I’m not an infamous detective.” Somehow the words were falling out, and thank god, because any longer of this tension and you would’ve blurted something unhallowed. He just grinned, and very precisely placed a stripe of shimmer on your thumb. It was slightly cold, and stunk more than the black you’d put on him. He was so precise… even with his own wet nails.

Said detective moved to the next finger, eyes twinkling with something unsaid you really wished he’d name. Was he having fun? Was he miserable and covering it up? You searched his face for any giveaway, but he looked almost peaceful. Taking his time with the painting, taking his time to respond. “Aren’t journalists the same? Never know when you’re on record.”

“So we’re both intimidating.”

“Very.”

And there you sat for the next few minutes while he finished, the longest silence since stargazing. You couldn’t grasp where to focus your attention, with both hands wet and the only things in your point of view being Bruce and your bed. Which… you couldn’t focus on too much, not while he was literally being the sweetest, most attentive man alive sitting cross-legged, staring intently at your fingers as he painted them with unparalleled, meditative focus.

But your mind wandered, unable to resist the temptation of learning he’d not only kissed someone before, but fucked them. You’d assumed so with someone like him, a miserably attractive billionaire in the big city, but it clung to you differently since he’d confirmed it. An undisclosed number of people walked around with the memory of his body on theirs, knowing how he looked, sounded, felt… was there anyone he’d gone back to?

“You okay?”

“What?”

“Your breathing changed, wondered if we needed to open a window.”

You looked down to see two fingers left. I can manage. I’m good. I’m so good. “Like I said: observant.”

“Yeah, well,” he moved to your ring finger (only one left, fuck!) and sighed. “When one of my first memories of you was how you nearly stopped breathing,” he dipped back into the shimmer. “I started paying attention.”

Oh, this man… “That’s why you brought the Benadryl to City Hall.”

Bruce tapped his upper thigh with the heel of his palm, careful not to smudge. A slight outline of a rectangle became apparent through the faded black fabric. “Just in case.”

You blinked. Swallowed. This much consideration was excruciating, and decades of mistreatment washed over you at once. It would’ve been so simple to give you what you’d always wanted; someone to sit with you, really, truly sit and consider you. Enjoy you. Cooper had, but then she left. Never to be seen again.

“Talk to me.” He flicked a well-executed stroke onto your pinky and covered it in one fell swoop, placing the polish back into the box.

“It’s the same old shit.” That I don’t want to burden you with, so please, stop looking at me like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Then say the same old shit.”

“I don’t want them taking up time.” You waved your hands around to try to stave off the trove of energy that launched into you, hurry up the process of the nail drying, and direct his attention anywhere but your face. None of it worked. “They just never cared about any of it. This, peaches, Walter.”

“Walter?” He balked at it, eyes practically bugging out of his head.

“Bruce, stop.” His name sat strangely in your mouth, like it was rapidly taking on a different meaning.

“Stop what?”

“Handling me with gloves.”

“I’m not.” He stared at you plainly, unwavering, and you felt pinned. He blinked a few times, then broke the contact to stare at the carpet. You let out a heavy breath.

Silence stretched between you like a wide, empty field. You couldn’t begin to fill it, so you sat, willing your lips to stop trembling, and tears to stop forming, to no avail. He didn’t call attention to it, which you appreciated. His consideration was like a rose’s thorn, smelling so sweet but cutting through thinned skin.

“I think we have similar problems with people.”

Such conviction. You stared into him like he could save you from slipping and asked a question that already had an answer. “Pity?”

Despite the exhaustion you were certain was wearing him down, his eyes were clearer than they’d ever looked. You wanted to tell him to get some sleep, let himself relax, but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently you not buying the concept of him liking that you knew his biggest secret was horrifying to him, instead of basic sense. He was steadfast on his mission of trust, like any mission he set himself on, you were learning.

“I’m not pitying you, you’re not pitying me.” Bruce surprised you when he held out a pinky, so out of character you almost didn’t track what it meant. “Truce?”

Leveling the playing field. You hesitated. “But what if it’s not pity but it’s still something bad—”

“Y/n.” He said your name with a sigh that blasted through your eardrums; a sigh that was kind, that straddled the line between amused and apologetic.

“Bruce.”

The moment stalled, and he was caught between two choices: tell you it, tell you it all, to take you out of this momentary suffering and clear the air that was so tangible, that you were so right about; or keep you from what it might mean. Keep you safe. This was strange, he could tell you knew it, and he could tell it was affecting. He was here with things below the surface, sure, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive. Just… keeping a secret. One that helped you.

Your eyes glittered with tears, and all deliberation left his body as he was struck with the realization that keeping you safe would win every single time. No matter what.

Eventually the silence hung too thick and you took his pinky in yours, moving quickly to put away the polishes like you were running from the promise. Meanwhile, all he could do was barely keep himself afloat from the incessant touching and the intensity of your eyes when they locked onto his.

“What’s next?”

“Uh,”

He attached to the hesitancy in your tone and dismissed it, pressing on. “What are you thinking?”

“I have an old jewelry kit I never opened, but it’s babyish,”

“Bring it.”

You tinkered around in your closet, then plunked a plastic kit down on the floor. You stared at it. Then laughed. You mimed lifting the lid and heaved a sigh as you sat back. “Too wet. So disappointing.”

Jesus… what the fuck did I just say? Peeking at him showed he wasn’t reading into the diabolical innuendo, or at least he wasn’t showing it.

“We can wait.”

Could you?

Bruce and you sat in silence without anything to distract. You pretended to be very interested in the tree branches swaying outside your window, one you could barely make out through the streams of moonlight. The whisper of the kitchen clock ticked, and you concentrated on a leaf hitting the window’s glass. After you felt your body would implode from the tension, you tapped the edge of a nail and felt a slick smear. Like it’d only been two seconds.

“What do you want to make?”

He rarely interrupted the silence, and it startled your wound-up spirit. Which magic word made him spill? Was he so offended by the notion that he just wanted to fuck?

“There’s only a few things. Braided bracelets, beaded bracelets, or a necklace I guess if you get long enough string.” You tilted the packaging with the back of your hand to squint at the side label. “And stud earrings, but it’s probably nickel or some shit. Can’t do it.”

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “I’m willing to try.” Nickel. You can’t have nickel jewelry. Allergic?

You barely heard him, seeing on the side in colorful cursive: Summer Edition, which apparently meant beads of apples, peaches, pears, and bananas thrown in the mix. Your stomach flipped, confronted with the memory that Rose had gotten this one for you way back when. She’d laughed with Gabbi and Lara when you thanked her, and you hadn’t known why, you just knew their laughter didn’t feel good. Maybe Bruce was right: they’d never cared.

“Hmm?”

“Earrings.”

You scoffed. “I’m not piercing your ears.”

“Way ahead of you.”

You looked up expecting to see him brutally stabbing his ear with a stray pin or special gadget, but he just used the back of his hand to show a microscopic dot in the middle of his earlobe.

“Pierced them in high school.”

“No way!”

Evidently your shock had alerted the only other resident of the house, and Walter came careening in. You shot your hands up and quickly told Bruce to stop his movement to pet him, or else his nails would be fuzzed to hell. Walter thought this was a game, and started jumping to reach the nothing that was in your hand.

Standing became the only option, and you managed to squeeze your way out the front door to the windy porch. Bruce followed in tow, peeking behind him while he shut the door with the back of his calf. You held your hands up to catch the breeze, feeling the whoosh against your damp nails and your cheeks you had no idea were that flushed.

Deep breaths brought the tension in your chest to a simmer. With shut eyes, you tried to pretend you didn’t feel him behind you like a physical touch. Slow and even, fresh and cooling, all that mattered right now were the breaths getting in and leaving.

Part of you flooded with guilt at even thinking about something as trivial as sex while your mom was hospitalized. Another part argued through a stabbing feeling of defiance, reminding you that she was alright, that she was in some ways, once again, better than you thought before the call. That right now would be perfect; fuck around and get the grief out of your system on one of the last days you had the house to yourself. Fuck around and let yourself become a billionaire playboy statistic.

Bruce stepped to the edge of the porch, glancing at you in a way you knew was another wellness check before facing the road. Your heart strangled in your chest. This wasn’t just a ‘fuck around’ thing for you, and the mist was starting to clear around his intentions, too, in a way that sent your mangled heart to the back of your throat. A ‘fuck around’ perspective might not track here if he actually cared.

You focused on the flicker of the driveway light for courage. Pretended like you were speaking to nothing but open air. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“About what?”

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t know what I mean.” The flicker was frustrating, so you stared at the rusted, dinged windchime instead, remembering so clearly the day your mom set it up. “Thinking you wanted to have sex.”

“It’s okay.” He hadn’t let your sentence linger for a second before blurting a placation. He ached thinking about how you’d described it: power fantasy. Even if you were apologizing now, that had come from somewhere that wasn’t just gone. No wonder he couldn’t get a pulse on you; you might’ve thought you were evading a lion when to him, it was nothing more than casual conversation.

“You probably get that a lot, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. He did hear it a lot, in some variation; people mistaking his introversion for being a closed-off loser looking for nothing more than a conquest. He winced thinking about how many people treated him like a toy, a scandalous story to run and tell their friends about; and how long it took him to realize that was happening.

Bruce looked downtrodden, and a hole was drilled into your chest. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

The longer this continued, the greater the likelihood of him turning his filter back to full power. He shot you a grin that was weak, too weak, hoping that you wouldn’t press it, please god, and changed the subject. “Looking forward to the next item for tonight.”

“If my nails ever dry.”

Bruce gripped the front of the porch, its wood paneling weathered and splintered. It was hard to believe anything moved out here. That time even passed.

The pause between was physical pain.

Nothing marked the passage of time here. No ambulances, no cars, the only light source a dim porch light and half-dead carport bulb. Thoughts were hard to form. Nothing, absolutely nothing served as a distraction. And he’d committed to stepping up for you, so he couldn’t very well crawl inside of himself.

What to say?

What to say?!

You drummed your fingers on the feathered wood, the edge of your shirt catching on a splinter. For some reason, it reminded him of Alfred.

“Alfred texted, by the way. Said they got everything.”

“Nice.”

What were you thinking about?

He couldn’t tell if you were upset. Did you feel trapped having to come back to his place? When he’d offered it, did you feel obligated to agree? When else had you ever felt obligated to agree with anything he ever said?

“You don’t have to stay tomorrow. I’ll be fine if you want to head back.”

Oh. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You wondered how this might feel if people had chosen you at any other point in your life. If this wasn’t the first time someone was persistent in their want to be around you, would it sit differently? Would it feel soothing, would it feel normal? right now, it tempted to piss you off. He said no ulterior motives, but it was so foreign you couldn’t enjoy it for what it was. Pity reared its ugly head.

“You might be right about the pity thing.”

“Hard to swallow?”

“Don’t say that.”

“A lot of innuendos tonight.” He said it so plainly, giving you no choice but to surge forward to excavate meaning.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Just worried about you.”

“So because someone talks about sex it’s worrisome?”

“You never talked about it before your mother was hospitalized, and we were completely alone.”

He wasn’t terse, or rolling his eyes; in fact, he wasn’t saying it how you could so easily imagine he would’ve if it’d only been a month prior. Spoken in an accommodating tone, with gentle curiosity, and it threatened to piss you off. Ants crawling on your skin. A feather kissing the back of your neck.

“What’s your diagnosis, detective?” Flustered. Annoyed.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

He fucking looked at you again, and you were set to liquify unless you steeled yourself. You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “I don’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I can hold my own boundaries, Bruce.”

“I know you can.” He faced the outside of the porch, and you couldn’t tell whether he was staring at the concrete or the car’s trunk. “But when you start talking about power fantasies, I start thinking about how long that’s been festering.”

“Where did all this chatter come from?”

“You’re deflecting.”

Fuck. Couldn’t his generosity extend to not calling you out right now?

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk about sex.” Saying the word around him still felt blasphemous, like every time was an invitation. He didn’t react, again, like the concept of sex was the most benign thing. You glanced at his lips, and realized the concept of kissing him felt even more intimate. At least right now. It was softer. More… romantic. Can’t think about that right now.

“I’m pointing out something I’m seeing.”

“Which is pressure?”

“Are you denying it?”

You huffed, steepling your fingers against the aged wood. “I don’t get how this turned into an argument.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Don’t like how you said that.”

“There’s a lot going on, you don’t need to feel pushed.”

Don’t tell me what I need. “I don’t.”

“Actually?”

“You can’t believe that someone would want to hang out with you without wanting to fuck.”

“Isn’t that what you accused me of?” Bruce turned toward you, and you burned. A rush of throbbing, untended grief only barely covered by rapidly slipping defiance. His blue eyes pulled you in, but you resisted. Weakly.

“Whatever.”

Another standstill; where one was right, and the other didn’t want to accept it. Your shoulders tensed then relaxed when he leaned close, his smooth rumble in his voice soothing your eyes shut and coaxing tears out. “I’m trying to check in.”

Tears smeared across your arm as you swiped at your cheeks, sniffing up snot before it could dribble. The air was no longer breezy, slicing through you with a vengeance. You felt his eyes right on you though you fought to avoid them, and him, and the very fact that you were here now when you didn’t plan to be, but you had, but you’d forgotten, too busy with Bruce to remember your sick mom. You should be in bed, sleeping, or thinking about Bruce, not standing here in front of your empty house with him because your mom was, but she didn’t, she was, everything was fine.

You shoved words from behind your teeth. “‘A lot of innuendos tonight’ doesn’t sound especially caring.”

It was his turn to be silent, giving you time to shove your tears in a bag. Still, still still still, his presence was an undeniable force that let no other thoughts visit.

“It feels awkward to be straightforward.”

His candor made you laugh, then pause. How many layers did he have up, then, because you never knew him to beat around the bush. “You had no issues being blunt when we first met, Batman.”

“Things were different then.”

“How?”

“Before I cared what you think.”

Per usual, in a way that was quintessentially you, you rolled your eyes at any sign of compliment. He smirked. “Fine. Blunt.”

Bruce leaned forward, the arm of his shirt brushing yours. You were so… you. “You’re not used to people saying they care.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“It’s so impossible to think someone actually cares that you can’t hold it.”

Fingertips brushed goosebumps as you tried to cover them with crossed arms. Couldn’t he get off your back? “Psychoanalyzing me now, huh?”

“We have the same problems with people.”

A shy grin tugged at your lips. Air shot into Bruce’s chest. “… you are Bruce Wayne.”

“You do know.” He didn’t know what he meant by this next part, but he said it nonetheless, because it was teetering off his tongue. “Does that make this impossible?”

Your grin was now a smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe not.”

It faltered. “Says the person with all the power. To someone who does know.”

“I know.”

You remained tense, and if anything, his response had made your shoulders scrunch in on each other. Did he know?

A small knocking sound signified the late closing of the screen door. A peek over his shoulder and his eyes immediately locked onto the worn black handle, slightly warped and rubbed down to its base metal tone from decades of use. It was thin, and didn’t have a lock. The front door was sturdy, but singular. One lock, one deadbolt. Hell, this porch was available to anyone at any time. If something happened to you, you’d be wide open. This wasn’t an even field. Whatsoever.

“But I don’t.”

The last piece of it all thunked into place. Standing here in the middle of your life, seeing how quiet and tight-knit things were, the wear and tear, the life of it all, it had never felt so fragile.

You weren’t. Your family wasn’t. But it was. The container that held you.

“I don’t know.”

Relaxed. You finally relaxed. All of this fighting, all of this wanting to bridge something so impossible; no wonder you’d been so pissed off each and every time. Everything felt different here. You sounded tired. Of course you did. Of course. “How could you?”

“By not spending all my time with stockbrokers.”

“So I’m a growth opportunity for you?”

“No,” he winced, having meant it as a joke, but why was he joking right now? Why was he so uncomfortable? He felt like fucking Mount Everest. “But you are helping me get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you don’t like me.”

You spun to glare at him like he hadn’t reflected what you’d told him from the beginning. It was like he’d thrown a brick at you. “You think I don’t like you?”

“Of course you don’t like me.”

“You don’t like me!”

“I do.” Bruce’s heart began to pound. Did you like him? Suddenly, he felt a pint of lukewarm Phish Food in his hand and the breeze of a dingy alleyway.

You laughed. Just like stargazing. Like it was ridiculous. Hadn’t he made himself clear? Too clear, in fact?

“You’re fun to spend time with.”

“What’s fun about me?”

The pounding built to a goddamn racket. “How stubborn you are.”

“Now I know you’re kidding.”

“I mean it. People aren’t usually like that with me.” It dawned on him that that might have been the reason he always argued back. With Alfred he tried to leave, the man was too firm, not passionate, always sounding like a parent.

“So you like arguing all the time?”

“I like someone vehemently disagreeing.”

Billion-dollar word. The flushing that just died down was warming your cheeks again.

“I like your perspective on politics, too.”

“So we can argue about politics all the time, got it.” Should’ve taken him for a masochist.

“I like hearing you talk about your family. How you like animals. Nature.”

“Sounds like the most basic Tinder profile.” Throw, deflect.

“I like how easy it feels around you.”

You swatted that one away the instant a tingle ran up your spine. “You’ve spent most of the time I’ve known you either avoiding me or actively telling me you don’t want me around.”

The wounds from those times were still fresh. Yelling at you in the kitchen. The car. Glaring you down like you were gum stuck to his shoe. Avoiding looking at you. Grimacing when you’d show up. The scowls and clenched jaws. They were all branded into your skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Yeah, sure.

“Hey,” he tapped your shoulder, and only then did you notice you’d shifted away from him, absentmindedly staring at the concrete. You knew when you looked up that he’d…

“I wish I could take them back, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” An apology. An apologetic face. Apologetic tone. Like he actually meant the damn thing, and meant it so thoroughly you couldn’t reasonably ignore it. “I’m not used to you, and that’s not an excuse”

“So I’m an acquired taste?”

“You have a rebuttal for everything.” He was standing across the U.S., thousands of miles away from people who needed him, right NOW, and he was hellbent on having you know he liked you. His world had become backwards in a matter of weeks.

“Maybe I do.”

Honesty was the best policy here, right? Outside of blurting that he liked you, like a fucking middle schooler? He chose his words carefully. “I didn’t think I could enjoy someone’s company so much.”

While the compliment struggled to grip, your heart fluttered like it wanted to accept it. So much? A war broke out in the few seconds it took you to conjure a response. The familiar refrain spun your thoughts of if he’s mean to you, that means he likes you. But that was bullshit. Entirely bullshit. Throw it back at him. “So you secretly like everyone at City Hall?”

“I pretend to.”

“I should be honored you’re an ass to me, then?” You raised an eyebrow at him, sizing him up. “Because at least you’re not pretending?”

“Do you want me to pretend?”

To you, it felt like he already was. “You’ll just treat me like you do when Oz is watching.”

“Do you want that?”

“So concerned with what I want when you’ve rarely given me it.”

The air clumped together and thickened like clouds.

“And what’s that?” His mouth was dry as the Sahara, his tingly, numb arm moving to rest on the handrail.

It could’ve been something raunchy, and your mind landed there initially. I want you on top of me, I want you inside of me, I want to know what you taste like. But what you really, deeply, truly wanted, was to know him. “To figure you out. To know you.”

“Our interests match, then.”

“Someone to match your stubborn?”

A roguish grin dazzled you. “I’m known to be very flexible.”

“Another innuendo.”

His laugh was lemony—bright and sharp—like you’d read into his smile a little too excessively. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled hard.

“So you’re a fucking Wayne, I’m not. You know that.”

Could be, Bruce thought, but held it close to his chest.

“I know shit that you don’t want to get out, and that makes me second-guess everything, too. You’re antisocial and I’ve been basically bullied by my friends since forever.”

“Well said.”

“Shut up.” With a twinkle in his eye, like you were so amusing to him. It was a lost cause stifling the laugh erupting from your belly. “Like actually, this is the most you’ve ever talked and it’s weirding me out.”

“I can be stoic.”

Another giggle. So he was self-aware. “I like it. It’s just new.”

“Hmm.”

“Stop.” Your cheeks scorched, strong as a hot flash.

“What?” Bruce played innocent, soaking up the way it plucked at you in just the right way to make a laugh rumble.

“I know it’s the same thing you’re saying.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh my god.” Rolling your eyes. Shaking your head. The apples of your cheeks becoming prominent as you fought showing him a smile. Such normal things eliciting such an intense response; he always wanted to do this to you.

“I want you to know me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It is. I want to talk like I write.” To you. With you. No one else.

You recalled a stack of old journals taking up considerable portions of his desk. Titled Notes and Observations: Gotham Project, you hadn't exactly thought he was spilling his personal guts. If you had, you might've snuck a guilty peek. You only thought you'd been named there because it related to Batman.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You slapped the wood, and Bruce wondered how your palm wasn’t covered in pointy fibers. “But I know you want to go.”

“I said I want you to know me, not that you already did.”

You shot a playful glare at him, equal parts pleased and annoyed at his newfound comfort. “You said before that I know you better than most people.”

“I did.”

“One is still better than zero, so.” You scrunched your nose at him and moved to open the door. “Neither of us is technically wrong.”

A satisfied sound accompanied the successful tapping of your now-dried nails. “Let’s bake.”

He caught the door on its wide swing. “Bake?”

“You cannot drop this, Walter can’t have chocolate.”

Glaring beeps signified the oven had preheated. In his squinting at the neon-green numbers he apparently moved the bowl slightly off from the middle of the pan, and you scoffed, swiftly grabbing his wrist to reposition the batter.

“Ever made brownies before?” You took the bowl from him and licked the back of your thumb, tossing the bowl in the sink before spreading the batter to each side of the glass pan.

Bruce filtered a snide comment about salmonella. “I’m still a human.”

“Didn’t know if Alfred was the only person to ever cook.”

“My mother didn’t want me to be spoiled.”

“Is that why Alfred gets Breyer’s and not overpriced custards?”

A spoonful dropped in the utensil’s journey to the sink. Walter, who had been watching at a very close distance, was narrowly intercepted by Bruce’s elbow.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She says you can’t have it.”

Completely oblivious to the conversation you were interrupting, you finished rinsing the bowl and mused aloud. “You’ve had Betty Crocker?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.”

A glance over your shoulder saw Bruce wiping his hands with a paper towel, nonchalant. Too nonchalantly. You turned off the water and stared at him until he broke, giving his head a little shake. “Knew it.”

Walter suddenly caused a commotion, snagging his claws into Bruce’s pants. He jumped, scaling up past his knee until he plopped onto the ground, meowing and trying to re-claw. Bruce looked mildly alarmed, a single step back ramming his hip into the counter of the small kitchen. “Um,”

“He hasn’t done that since he was a kitten.”

The kitchen lights appeared to dim when he bent down to pick him up. Correctly. Bruce’s hands under Walter’s armpits, hoisting him up to rest on his shoulder. He flopped in his arms and batted at the frayed edge of Bruce’s tee shirt collar. Faintness threatened to overwhelm you. “He really likes you. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in catnip?”

“Impossible for someone to like me.”

He moseyed to the living room, putting half a wall between you. Did he wink? Had he even been looking at you?

This wasn’t kind to your heart. Ever since watching the recording from the club, it’d been run ragged. Not only was now no exception, it might’ve been the worst outside of stumbling the hospital hallways. It was the only thing which felt tangible and real; Bruce certainly didn’t, and not having your mom laughing in the other room had her disappeared like quicksand.

Closed eyes. Puffing breaths. Time moved too fast, packing too much into a moment. Brushed shoulders, shared gazes, navigating a shared kitchen. The warmth propelling from the oven reflected a surge of kindling he’d placed in your chest. Unprecedented—this was unprecedented.

A strong wind sought to fell you, striking you at the knees from behind. Something felt close. Too close. You gripped the counter for balance and tried to breathe through it. Accept it, whatever the hell it was. The atmosphere was too warm. So inviting it loosened your filter, rapidly breaking down the walls between what was said and what was known.

Walter thumped and jumped in a race around the living room, a back paw sliding onto the linoleum as he regained traction. Bruce’s low, rumbly chuckle swaddled you in warm cotton. Despite how weird it felt, it felt…

Walter slammed his paw on the wall precisely where the laser was pointed.

Steady.

Despite it all, Bruce was steadfast, and holy hell did that feel great, and terrifying. So great that you wanted to run up, grab him, and never let him go. Let yourself talk for hours, knowing that he’d actually listen. And terrifying: he’ll actually listen. It injected lead weight into your words. After so long of no one seeing you, it felt like a magnifying glass beneath the sun.

The oven beeped again. On autopilot, you put the brownies in, cleaned the bowl, and bit your lip when Bruce emerged, asking if you needed any help. Walter sat beside him, tail flicking, eyes bright and dilated. God, he’d never liked anyone as much as Bruce. “What do you want to do now?”

“Jewelry?”

“Eh.”

“Talk?”

You wiped your hands on a dishtowel, his offer reminding you of how much he had back home and he was just sitting here, doing what you wanted. “Do you want to talk about the journalism student stuff? The people we housed, or Oz, or Morrison, or anything about your work?”

Work. No one had called it that before. “Not right now.”

“Are you sure? I know if you were in Gotham right now you’d be… patrolling?”

He would be. He needed to be. Guilt nipped at his frayed nerves. Only a few days. Only while you needed him. “If I need to talk about it, I’ll let you know.”

You rested your weight against the fridge, crossing your arms like it might protect you from his charms. He filled the space, of course he did. His stamina was shocking.

“Now: where are you taking me tomorrow?”

“I thought we’d drive and walk around.”

You measured his expression for signs of disappointment. There were none.

“What’s your favorite place in town?” He mimicked your body language, pressing his shoulderblade into the side of the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“This field down the road. We can bike there to start in the morning.”

‘This field down the road’, and you looked about to burst at its mention. He could do this forever, even with the frame jamming into his back. “What do you like about it?”

What did you like about your favorite place in the world?

“It’s quiet. But a good quiet. Like no one could bother me, or see me, and there’s this little creek that probably has a billion different bacteria in it, but it’s pretty. Lots of trees surrounding it. Big open space, lots of grass, some wild plants. Blackberries grow near the creek. I’d get sick eating so many of them and my mom would have to ban me from going, or check my fingers to see if they were stained.”

Bruce swore you didn’t even take a breath rushing it out. He also swore he’d never known the word ‘invested’ until looking at the crinkle in your eyes. “Did you find a work-around?”

“I’d squish them off the vine with a leaf, and open my mouth super wide so it didn’t stain my lips.”

He swore his smile would break his cheeks.

“I think they’re still in season, so you might get to try them.”

“You’re setting a high bar. Don’t know if they’ll measure up.”

There was a comfort in his teasing—a billowiness that caught wind. “I like when you’re not overthinking yourself.”

He eyed you. “Sure you won’t regret it?”

You nodded, sealing fate.

The glimmer in his eye intrigued you. “I really think we should revisit that kit.”

“I really think you’re humoring me, but I’ll allow it.”

Crossing the threshold from the hall to your room, guilt grabbed you by the throat. It squeezed your cheeks together, put pressure on your teeth, and made your skin hot. I’m lying to him. He wouldn’t act like this if he knew.

You grabbed the box, and the instant you brought it to your chest, Alfred bobbled in and out of your psyche. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

Steeling yourself with the memory of that and Bruce telling you—vehemently—that he’d never be upset about safety, you made your way back to the table. Walter stared at the tabletop like the secrets of humanity lied just out of reach, and Bruce pulled up the seat to your left.

No one had ever sat in that seat. You’d never realized how empty it was.

He took the initiative and opened the kit, snagging the leaflet to peruse. He kept one hand holding a packet of beads, zooming through the instructions to not waste a lick of time or show a grain of hesitancy. You wanted to make jewelry, and suddenly that was all he ever dreamed of. Out of the corner of his eye he noted you ogling at the back of his chair, and shifted in his seat. Was he sitting in some sacred space?

He cleared his throat. “‘Friendship Bracelets’, hmm.”

“We don’t actually have to follow the instructions.”

“I think it’s required.” He fixed his face with a deep concentration, scouring the page in a flurry. “Says here there’s two sets of each ‘specialty bead’.” Leaning in, he placed a finger on an imaginary line, squinting at it for good measure. “‘If you’re making brownies, specifically at a sleepover,’”

“Bruce,” your mouth twitched.

“‘It is critical to use each set together, or the knot won’t hold.’ Crazy tech they got in this.”

You looked away, hiding your smile. So fucking ridiculous…

“This is serious business, Y/n.” He was trying to stay serious, and shit it was impossible, but he managed a confused, affronted look; he held the pamphlet to you. “Do you want to read it?”

“Fine.” You snatched it from him. “Since the kit will blow up if we don’t, what do you want to make?”

“Hm,” he reflected on it, feeling the smack of Walter’s paw at his ankle. “I believe the owner of the kit has to pick.”

The moment was almost too saccharine; the twist of your mouth as you swirled beads in your cupped hand, the subtle scent of chocolate wafting from across the room. He let his muscles relax, the chair creaking as he rested against it. He watched as you discarded blue, then purple, then green.

A delicate sound hummed from your chest. He longed to bottle it up. Bead picking was evidently deeply significant; he saw your thoughts whizzing by like a comic strip. He felt Gotham slip away into the buttery melt of being with you.

Apples, pears, bananas… apple? Peach!

It clicked, and you poured two of each into your palm. “Since I almost died from them the night I found out about you, one peach each.”

Two more. “And apples for the mulligan…”

“Mulligatawny.”

“Yes! Also because they’re ninety percent of your diet.”

It felt absurd to enjoy something this much. Just a table, circles of plastic, and some words. Simple materials for such ambrosia.

“I’ll make yours, you make mine?”

“Red and… pink?” Orange wasn’t a bead color, making him very aware that citrus had been excluded from the affair. You knotted the bottom of your string, and he followed suit. Wrapping it around your wrist, you clipped it an inch further, then slipped it to him. You got straight to work, alternating beads with practiced ease.

Pink, red, pink, red. Having a purpose to the beading that wasn’t just getting discarded in your jewelry box put you into hyperdrive. Each clink of plastic on plastic fueled the sunlight spearing through your ribs. Maybe he wanted to be here. Maybe you could trust it.

He fell behind two thirds of the way through, struck by the crooked smile creeping up on you. He’d judged you too quickly. If not for your persistence, he wouldn’t be here. Enjoying this. Feeling this.

“Which wrist do you want to wear it on?”

Done already?

Carefully setting down his work-in-progress, he held out his left wrist. You pulled the bracelet on; it fit with the perfect amount of slack, the peach and apple nestled together in the middle. He knew the second your hands left that he’d wear it until it fell apart. “I love it.”

You beamed, securing a long-awaited triumph. Feeling impossibly silly, you got up to metabolize the rush prickling your fingertips. “I’m gonna check on the brownies.”

Ripping his attention from you to the task at hand, he hurried beads onto string with manic focus until he: “Finished.” Pride circled him until he noticed his mid-job pause resulted in a solid chunk of pink too deep to redo.

You walked over and held out your right wrist. He apologized for the mistake, but you told him that was the point: “It’s homemade. I love it.” And your smile sold it to his anxious heart.

The coolness of the hollow plastic stuffed your head with static. Not even a couple hours in and he’d accomplished his mission. A silly little thing, so pathetic you wouldn’t dare name it aloud. You’d forgotten about the kit. You’d forgotten this part of you hurt.

“Peaches and apples go well together.” Pads of your fingers caressed the perimeter of the fruit, speaking just loud enough to travel the silence. “Never thought they would.”

You left him sitting there, breathless, swirling in repose as you grabbed a knife. His rose-colored glasses bloomed crimson.

“I like to cut them immediately so there’s less crumbs,” you pulled the dessert out and fussed with a hard edge, accidentally flipping a chunk to the floor. In the space of placing the knife down, your hand collided with Bruce, already knelt in front of you picking up the pieces. It was suddenly too loud, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

Bruce sunk into a calming bath under your praise. Blush shrouded his skin in words he couldn’t say as he pulled himself to his feet. As he tossed the brownie in the trash, the weight of the bracelet shifted. The first anchor he’d felt in twenty years.

taglist: @noisylime @jonathancranesgf @hedonisticwomen @vampiresvengeance @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sarcasticwalrus0 @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

70 notes · View notes

deathbxnny · 1 year ago

Note

I hope you dont mind another one but it’s something i’ve been thinking about. Dw this is more hurt/comfort. Can I request Wriothesly, Ayato, and Tighnari reacting to an alternate version of their dead kid all grown up? Like my other request, can you write it where it happens during their respective Archon quest (and well for Ayato, his story quest)?

Context:

He used to have a kid. Whether the kid was related to him or not doesn't matter as he still loves them all the same. But one day, his kid died around their pre teens. I'll leave it ambiguous on how they died but their death broke him.

Few years later, the genshin impact plot happens and he meets the traveler and their companions where one of them just so happens to be his dead kid's alternate self. And they're all.. grown up. Despite looking much older, he knew deep down that that's his kid but also not really his kid because he knows his kid is dead, they died young.

The person in front him is just an alternate version of them. A glimpse of what his kid could be if they were still alive..

- Flower Anon 🌸

This one hurts so well, Flower Anon, so thank you so much for another great request!!<33

(Just like the other request, this is also generalized to make it easier for my fish memory brain-)

Content: Reader died young, mention of alt reader being more of a doppelganger in a way, grief, vague child death, angst, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》TIGHNARI

Tighnari didn't notice at first, or well, he tried not to pay too much attention to the fact that you looked eerily similar to his deceased child. His heart was racing, ears flattening to his head momentarily, so many unsaid words stuck in his throat. And then there was nothing.

His face gently relaxed into it's usual deadpan, shoulders dropping, his instincts grimly reminding him that you were indeed not his child, but somehow just a coincidental and much older doppelganger of it.

But the heart ache began to linger for different reasons. Mainly due to the fact that a part of him finally healed at the sight of you. He always wanted his young one to grow up happy and healthy. And whilst it never got to do so on it's own, he allowed himself to imagine that his child lived on through this version of you.

》KAMISATO AYATO

Ayato smiled bitterly, immideatly recognizing your younger features in this much older version. His heart hurt, ached, and felt like it was being ripped out all over again, yet his signature smile still remained. He had a role to play, an important title to uphold. But he still couldn't bare to look at you directly after the first time he did so.

His answers to the travelers and Paimons questions were short and swift, making it kind of obvious to his sister next to him how desperate he was to get away from everyone. Not that she could blame him, as she felt the same. Your death broke everyone in the family, and they found no joy in seeing you all grown up because this wasn't you. You weren't the child they lost.

Ayaka eventually feels too faint to continue the conversation, which frees the two siblings from you and your companions questions and confused glances. The silence between the two is deafening, as they watch you leave with dull, solemn looks, the questions of "what if" and "if only" plaguing their exhausted minds.

》WRIOTHESLEY

Seeing you, an older you, stand there with the traveler and Paimon whilst he went to greet you both, made him nearly consider turning around and leaving at once. He never confronted your death, mainly to protect his strength and what was left of his sanity after he lost you. He never spoke of you either anymore, going as far as forbidding anyone to ever mention it, too.

He just couldn't stand it, having become so awfully bitter over time, and it only worsened at the sight of this alternate version. His jaw clenched, and he had to take a deep breath to quell his confused temper. Why did he feel so angry? Was it the regret and grief of never being to actually see the real you this way? Shouldn't he be glad that he had seen a glimpse of you as an adult after all? Perhaps his anger stemmed from the realisation of permanent loss. You weren't his child, despite the similarities.

It makes him become alot harsher to you three and the Hearth children that were lurking in the shadows. Whilst he may have been more merciful beforehand, he just wanted you all out already. He wanted to return to the peace he had made with the darkness in his heart. If it wasn't for Sigewinne telling him to focus on the plan at hand, he would've perhaps lost it entirely a while ago.

221 notes · View notes

hard-core-super-star · 8 months ago

Text

if you're weak, come to me [wandanat]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!wanda maximoff

summary: wanda gets injured during a mission and natasha is TOTALLY fine with that (not). they seek each other's comfort in the only way they know how.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with so many feelings and a dash of plot; mentions of dom/sub dynamics; natasha has so many feelings and no way of verbalizing them; wanda's brattiness is implied; fingering {wanda receiving}; flirty banter; begging; teasing; so many kisses; non-fatal injuries; mentions of blood; not mentioned but this takes place somewhere between age of ultron and civil war

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: so...this week has been a LOT, i have many thoughts but they're all scattered and filled with rage so i'll save them for another time. the U.S election results have left me feeling both incredibly hopeless and numb and to counteract the heaviness of the moment, i decided to finish this fic instead of spiraling or doomscrolling. easier said than done but it's fine. thank you so much to the lovely person who commissioned this, i had a great time writing for this paring. i still don't feel super confident about my characterization of natasha but it's getting there 😅 anyway, enough rambling, i'm sending you guys all my love and support, my askbox is always open <3

* * * * * * *

No one said being an Avenger was easy.

Outside of the long hours, and the possibility of the world ending every other day, there were the unmeasurable amounts of guilt and regret and worry that seemed to plague each and every one of them. They could probably keep a whole building of therapists employed with the amount of trauma they carried.

Everyone at the compound was well aware of their personal situations, but no two felt it as strongly as Natasha and Wanda. There was no denying how well they worked together, how easy their chemistry was, the way they knew exactly what to do to stop each other from spiraling when they needed it most.

Unfortunately, there were moments where their worries clashed together and left them feeling worse than usual.

Moments like today.

Wanda had been chosen to go on a mission without Natasha and the widow had managed to threaten just about everyone she could think of until she was able to go with her girlfriend.

It all would have been fine had the witch not been incredibly annoyed by what she felt to be an overreaction. Even that would have been fine if they hadn't ended up going on the mission while they were still upset with each other.

They weren't mad enough to not worry about each other, but they still chose to go separate ways and focus on getting different things done. Something that would have been fine had Wanda not been ambushed by far too many enemy agents at once.

Steve had been the closest one to the witch and had managed to get there before things turned too sour. Unfortunately, that had been enough to make the Widow spiral. She'd heard her girlfriend request backup in that shaky voice that gave away her fear and she'd been unable to do anything about it.

If Steve had taken any longer to get to Wanda...she didn't want to think about what could have happened. She couldn't think about it.

And yet it was the only thing on her mind on the way home.

The mission had been successful, but she still felt like a failure. Like somehow, despite how inaccurate of an assessment it was, it had all been her fault. If she hadn't allowed her ego to get the better of her, she would have been there. She would have been able to help her girlfriend before she got hurt.

The witch wasn't mortally wounded in any way, but that didn't matter to her.

Wanda, for her part, felt fine. Sure, she was sore and in pain and bleeding, but she was an Avenger, getting hurt came with the territory.

It became obvious to her that her girlfriend didn't feel the same way as her when the redhead decided to ignore her on the way home. The Quinjet was small, and yet the distance between them felt massive.

It wasn't like her to sneak into people's minds without permission, but this was different. This was Natasha, and her concern for her outweighed most of her guilt around using her powers around her.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway, and it allowed her to see the pain her girlfriend was carrying on her shoulders. It pained her to know Natasha was blaming herself. That she didn't believe she was worth all the love the younger woman had for her.

There wasn't an easy solution to that kind of guilt, but Wanda would be dammed if she allowed her girlfriend to continue to suffer in silence.

The second they landed back at the Compound, Natasha made her way to the witch's side. There was an unreadable expression on her face as she looked her lover over and she silently extended her hand out for her.

Wanda wasted no time in accepting her help.

They made their way to their shared room, holding onto each other a little tighter than necessary. Neither of them commented on it, though, they needed the physical contact more than they were willing to admit out loud.

The silence between them bordered on awkward, but they didn't even attempt to break it. They needed to have a long conversation and it needed to happen away from prying eyes and ears.

After a tense walk, they managed to make it inside their room, and Natasha instantly set the younger woman down on the bed. "Do you need to change your bandages?"

The mention of the badly wrapped bandages made Wanda chuckle despite herself. She wasn't sure whose idea it was to go on a mission without Dr. Banner who, despite how awkward he could be about it, always did a great job at patching them up when they were hurt. Sure, it wasn't his area of expertise, but he was much better at it than Steve.

"No, I'm okay," she replied, not aware of the effect her words were going to have on her girlfriend.

The Widow let out a loud scoff. "Oh, you're okay? You were stabbed and shot at but you're okay?"

"'Tasha-"

"Don't." Her tone left no room for arguing. "You're hurt, I'm allowed to be pissed off about it."

"I never said you couldn't be upset," Wanda muttered in response. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm fine."

It was a shitty argument, but it was the best she could do given the circumstance. There was no way to win out over Natasha's stubbornness, so the only thing she could do was hope her words would eventually get through to her. That seeing her so sure that everything was fine would bring her out of the spiral she was stuck in.

The only response the Widow gave was a long sigh, her eyes betraying the true weight of her feelings.

Her hand reached out before she could stop it, and Wanda met her halfway, leaning into her touch with a small smile.

Natasha's fingers trailed across the witch's jawline as her eyes took in every little scrape that painted her delicate features. A part of her knew she was overreacting. That they're safe and sound and Wanda's injuries will heal in no time.

And yet, it was impossible to stop desperation from building within her. The worries that threatened to swallow her whole if she allowed herself to think about things too much.

"'Tasha." Wanda's voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to get through to her lover one more time. "I'm okay."

"You were hurt."

"I've been through worse."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. If anything, they made Natasha feel more helpless. Like despite all her skills, all her knowledge, all her training, she'll never be able to keep her lover safe.

She'll never be enough.

"Stop that, you're more than enough."

Her eyebrow raised involuntarily in response. "Get out of my mind, little witch."

"Hey! It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud."

Despite the heaviness that still lingered within her, a chuckle managed to escape past her lips. In an instant, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Wanda's pouting lips.

It amazed her how soft the witch could be after all the pain and violence she grew up in.

More than that, it amazed her how quickly her mood was able to shift when she was with the younger woman. How easy it was for her fears to disappear when they were together.

A soft smile was written across her features when she pulled away from her lover, her eyes a mirror that reflected the affection that was clear in the witch's eyes.

"Let me fix you up, detka." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no denying the weight behind her words. "I promise I'll be quick."

Wanda couldn't help but shift nervously in response. It wasn't like she didn't trust Natasha, of course she trusted the redhead, but she knew how she could get. How easy it was for her to get caught up seeing monsters instead of shadows.

"I...are you sure? My bandages should be okay for a few hours."

"Not with the way Steve wrapped them," Natasha replied with a hint of humor in her tone.

The humor wasn't enough to mask her worry, and yet Wanda felt herself relaxing a little. If it helped her girlfriend feel better, she had no complaints about allowing her to clean her wounds up a little.

"Okay."

It was a single word that conveyed the trust she held in the redhead.

Wanda shifted back on the bed until she was laying down with her head resting on their pillows. She'd been in this position many times before, but this was different. There was an edge of vulnerability that clung to the air between them, a need for reassurance that neither of them could verbalize.

Natasha moved closer, not quite settling between the witch's legs, simply coming close enough to reach for her shirt. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted her girlfriend's shirt, her eyes taking in every inch of smooth skin that was revealed to her. Her heart ached in her chest as she examined each and every one of the cuts and bruises that littered her torso.

"I promise I'm okay," Wanda whispered, noticing her girlfriend's hesitation.

"I believe you."

Still, her head ducked down until her lips met the skin that had been revealed to her.

The gasp that escaped past the younger woman's lips made her smile. She still didn't feel completely okay but the helplessness that had settled in her chest was slowly easing away.

Her lips traced every inch of battered skin they could reach, her hands pushing the fabric up and over Wanda's head. With her shirt out of the way, she was able to fully look over the bandages wrapped around her girlfriend's injuries. They didn't look as bad as she had expected them to and she subconciously let out a sigh of relief.

It didn't matter how many times she was reassured that the younger woman was fine, she needed to see it with her own eyes. To realize she wasn't bleeding out, there was no bullet lodged inside her, no sharp knife sticking out of her. She was fine.

She was safe.

And she was already arching her back in the way that made the Widow lose all of her control.

It wasn't about the pleasure, though. They both knew that. It was about comfort.

About being there for each other in the only way that was able cut through their anxieties. Maybe it was wrong to have to rely on the physical to get rid of the mental strain they were always under, but it made sense to them. More than that, it worked.

Because as much as they trusted and loved each other, being vulnerable wasn't something that came easy to them. Especially not after a mission when their fight or flight insticts were still on.

"I'm here," Natasha mumbled, shifting until she was hovering over her girlfriend. "I'm right here, Wands."

The words brought a beautiful smile to the witch's face. "I know...but you're still too far."

Wanda managed to work up enough courage to wrap her arms around Natasha's neck. She tried to keep her grip loose, just in case the Widow wasn't ready for too much physical contact.

"Patience," she replied. "I'm in the middle of something here. I still haven't cleaned you up."

The witch couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. The last thing on her mind right was her injuries. She felt fine. More than that, she felt weirdly needy and she needed her girlfriend's lips in a completely different spot.

She knew complaining probably wouldn't get her very far, but she couldn't help it. Maybe some light playfulness would help Natasha feel better.

"Come on, 'Tasha, that can wait. I need you right now."

The redhead paused for a second, green eyes focused intently on Wanda's face. She thought things over for a second, silently analyzing the situation in front of her. Her girlfriend seemed fine. All that seemed to linger were her wounds but not the pain they had initially brought.

It was irresponsible, she knew that much, but how was she supposed to deny her beautiful lover?

"How are you always so needy?" She replied, her soft smile growing just a tad bit teasing. "Don't tell me I've spoiled you too much."

"Maybe you have." Wanda shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I beg to differ."

Natasha leaned down to capture the witch's lips again. This time, there was a little less softness to the contact and a little more urgency. And a lot of unrestrained desperation neither of them knew what to do with.

One kiss turned into two which turned into Wanda digging her nails into Natasha's shoulders while her hips bucked involuntarily. The Widow's thigh was too far to provide the witch with any real friction and yet it only made everything feel ten times more intense. An intensity that always seemed to catch up to them when they were together in such a way.

"Nat..." Wanda groaned, head tilting back in both pleasure and desperation.

"I know." Despite the teasing edge to her response, there was nothing but affection in her tone. Nothing but devotion for her lover. "What did I say about patience?"

One of Natasha's hands made its way between their bodies, her fingers tracing a path she knew by memory. The witch didn't seem to be in the mood for much teasing but she couldn't help it. There was something so exciting about turning her girlfriend into a desperate mess.

She knew, on some level, where it came from. That Wanda needed to be taken care of just as badly as she needed to be in control. They were on opposite ends of the same spectrum.

The witch arched her back in an attempt to push her chest further into Natasha's hand, a quiet moan leaving her lips as she teased her hardned nipples. "Stop teasing."

"I've barely started, detka. Don't tell me you already can't handle it?"

"You're so mean."

"You like it."

Wanda didn't have any time to refute that claim because right when she opened her mouth to speak, the redhead decided to finally give in to what her body needed.

"I oh-" The witch's body shuddered as Natasha's hand moved down, slidding into her tight pants and cupping her wet heat. The fabric of her underwear was still in the way, but neither of them cared too much about the obstruction.

Matching moans left their lips as the Widow found the wet spot staining the younger woman's underwear, her fingers moving over the soaked fabric with renowed purpose.

"What was that?" Natasha teased. "Were you going to say something?"

Her girlfriend's tone had Wanda clenching around pure air, her hips bucking involuntarily in search of more friction. "N-no."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to."

"Fuck no. Don't stop...please."

"Good girl."

The praise sent shivers down Wanda's spine and effectively turned all her thoughts to pure mush. It should have been embarrassing how quickly she fell apart for her lover and yet all she could feel was pleasure. And maybe a little pride at how fast she managed to make Natasha give in to what she wanted.

That sort of pride was mutual, though, and it caused desire to thrum in their veins. Desire for what? That wasn't as easy to figure out. Thankfully, they had nothing but time to try.

Natasha quickly grew tired of teasing her girlfriend. Not because she didn't want to keep doing it (she really really did), but because she could tell she needed more. And after the day they'd had, she wasn't sure she'd be able to deny the witch anything.

Her fingers slid inside Wanda's ruined underwear, relishing the loud gasp that escaped the younger woman when she brushed against her clit. The witch was always sensitive, and today was no exception. It made these kinds of moments all the more exciting for her.

"Oh, fuck." Wanda's voice came out more like a whine than anything else. "Please."

"Please what?" She responded, leaning down to trail kisses down the witch's jawline. "Use your words like a good girl."

The only response she could form for a few seconds was another whine. Natasha always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, to help her sink down into that fuzzy, submissive headspace she was slowly getting used to. They hadn't done much exploring, too busy with never-ending missions to safely allow the witch to slip, but the safe experimentation they'd done had taught them both more than enough.

Mainly, it taught them how much they both thrive in that type of scenario. How much they depend on each other, on and off the battlefield.

"Don't stop," Wanda begged, feeling her hesitation fade away with every second that went by. "Touch me, fuck me, anything, please."

If Natasha was in a crueler mood, she would have taken her time to tease the younger woman. To play with her until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath her.

As fun as that sounded, she wasn't in the mood for that today. She wanted to let go. To help Wanda let go until all that was left was the two of them, locked together, in the sanctuary of their room.

"That's my girl." Her words were accompanied by the movement of her fingers. They slid through Wanda's slick folds before slowly easing in to her cunt. "Fuck, you're soaked for me, detka."

The witch was more than wet enough to take Natasha's fingers but the Widow still took her time, working two fingers inside and diligently watching her lover's face contort with pleasure. The way her walls fluttered around her was intoxicating, drawing the digits in deeper and practically begging her to stay buried inside her.

She moved slowly. Not because she wanted to tease but because she wanted to draw out the sensations. To overwhelm Wanda with the devotion she couldn't properly express most days.

To be fair, it didn't seem like the younger woman minded. They were both broken, albeit in different ways, and they seemed to understand eachother without words. It was the most comforting thing either of them had ever known.

But God, she was so afraid of losing this. Of losing the one good thing she had. The one person who didn't see her as the Black Widow or a S.H.I.E.L.D. product. To Wanda, she was simply 'Tasha and it meant far more to her than anything else.

It wasn't hard for Wanda to realize the change in her girlfriend's thoughts. The sudden change in her breathing, the glosiness that overtook her eyes. She knew exactly what it meant and she knew she had to do something before the redhead started drowning in her thoughts.

So, she did the only thing she could think of right now. Mainly because thinking was getting difficult and it wasn't like she could move around too much with the Widow's fingers buried in her pussy.

Her hands moved to Natasha's face, cuping her cheeks and bringing her closer until their lips met once again. The kiss was a stark contrast to the movements of the redhead's fingers, but neither of them seemed to care.

All they cared about was being together.

Wanda pulled away first, her panting breaths turning into whimpering gasps. The coil in her stomach was about ready to snap, her hips bucking desperately into the readhead's hand. "Nat- I can't, I need-"

"What do you need, detka?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer. She couldn't help it, she loved the way the witch's eyebrows furrowed in frustration when she interrupted her just to tease her.

"Need to cum, please-" Her words turned into a moan when Natasha's thumb found her swollen clit. "Please, can I cum?"

The desperation in her girlfriend's voice made the redhead smile proudly. It was hard to think about her fears when she had the witch like this. Completely and utterly under her spell.

"Of course," she replied, speeding up the thrusts of her fingers in an attempt to bring Wanda even closer to falling apart. "Come on, be a good girl and cum for me."

The witch felt overwhelmed in the best way. All she could think about, all she could feel, was Natasha. Her words, her hands, the pleasure only she was able to bring her. It was all too much yet it felt so good.

Her walls clenched around the Widow's fingers as she lost control of herself, giving in to the pleasure and letting everything else fade away. All it took was a few sharp thrusts of Natasha's fingers before she was moaning her lover's name, her eyes squeezing shut while she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed into her.

The redhead worked her through her orgasm, making sure to slow down a little to avoid overstimulating the younger woman. She leaned down to pepper kisses across each and every inch of Wanda's neck to help ground her a little more.

Neither of them were sure how much time went by before Wanda was able to open her eyes again, but when she finally did, the large, slightly goofy, smile on her face instantly gave away how she was feeling.

Still, Natasha asked anyway.

"You okay?"

"Hmmm, yeah."

The Widow chuckled, her heart practically bursting out of her chest at the sight of Wanda so happy and relaxed. It was a sight that never failed to make her feel better, no matter how shitty her day had been before.

"Good." She placed a few extra kisses across Wanda's face before shifting further down her body. "Because we're not done yet."

Natasha was talking about the remaining injuries she hadn't taken a look at yet but if they got up to other things too...well, she wouldn't complain about that.

#wandanat #wandanat smut #wandanat fic #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #avengers fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu imagine #wlw fic #writing

127 notes · View notes

hurts2think · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! I love your work and I know you probably are really busy with other requests and stuff. But I was wondering if you could do a Red x Chloe x fem reader? Where the reader is having nightmares and is scared to go to sleep and so she she’s really tired all the time and has lost a lot of energy, and Red and Chloe are really worried about her and confront her about it. So like a hurt/comfort.

Again you’re probably super busy with stuff so I understand if this isn’t possible. Have a great day!

⚔️Chloe Charming x Red Hearts x Reader♥️

Reader pronouns: she/her

Pairing: Chloe Charming x Red Hearts x Fem!Reader

Plot: For the past month you've been having the same dream. A dreadful dream that keeps you up all night for the past month. You start sleeping in class and becoming less attentive, of course your two girlfriends will start to pick up that something is wrong

Word Count: 1.6k

Extra: Chloe and Red are dating and you're dating Chloe and Red! Hurt/comfort my favorite, I have another hurt/comfort planned but the polycule idea was too tempting I had to do it though there isn't much dialogue as I wanted there to be. 🫠

It's never a particularly dark and stormy night when it happens. It's usually a pretty mild night, actually. Of course, the weather had nothing to do with the dreams you see in your deepest sleeps.

It started about a month ago. A lot of things happened between a month ago and today. You go accepted to your dream college, you and your two girlfriends started officially dating, you're planning to move out of your house and into the AP dormitory, and you got a job. All great things. Things that make you so happy with your life and proud of yourself.

So why is your mind plagued with horrific nightmares every night?

It always starts the same. In your room. The song "Chapel of Love" by The Dixie Cups always playing on a radio you didn't own. The song never bothered you before, you actually used to really like it.

But now you can't help but feel like it was something out of a horror movie because of these nightmares.

You'd be packing your room to move into the dorms, the song playing faintly in the back. And everytime, without fail, at the line 'Birds all sing as if they knew' there was a light knock on your door.

You skip over to open it, assuming it's one of your parents, only for it to lead into nothing but darkness. You turn around and see the same darkness through your window. Something pulls you to walk into the darkness before you're suddenly in an endless dormitory hallway. Not like the dorms at Auradon. But college dorms that smelled sour.

You'd walk down the hall, trying to find your dorm number only for your eyes to strain and never be able to read the numbers.

And then, something chases you. It's something different everytime. Your parent, a friend, a monster, an invisible force. But everytime you end up running into a room with the only number you could read. 777.

Once you walk in, you're suddenly in your room again. But there's someone else in there. It's you. You and yourself. And never does she look very happy to see you. Your dreams always end with your doppelganger pouncing you and then you waking up before anything too graphic happens.

At first you suspected it was only a one time thing, until it started to occur more and more often until it started happening every night. And this past week you hadn't slept at all other than in your classes. You've never fallen asleep in class until now...

----

Now, you really were in your room packing for your move. You knew you weren't dreaming, because instead of The Dixie Cups, Maddona was playing. And instead of a dark endless void outside, it was bright and sunny out. And instead of being by yourself, your two wonderful girlfriends were by your side, helping you pack.

Well, more like you and Chloe were packing. Red laid back on your stuffed animal filled bed and ranted about the tourney team. It was a nice day and you were happy. But inevitably, very tired. Your eyelids threatened to shut at almost every moment. And once you began getting too tired and spaced out to respond to Red and Chloe's conversation, the two of them gave each other a knowing look.

There was silence before Chloe spoke up, "So... You seem pretty tired. Did you sleep well last night?" She asked, taping up one of the boxes

"Huh?" Your head perked up. Truthfully, you hadn't slept at all last night. Though you did fall asleep as the breakfast table, "Uhm. I slept fine. I guess I just went to bed a little late, ya know?" You awkwardly chuckle.

You really don't know why you lied. You just didn't want to worry your girlfriends. If they found out you'd been only getting a couple hours of sleep a week, they'd probably smother you until you did fall asleep.

Red sat up, "Oh really? And you just happen to start falling asleep everyday in class? After never once falling asleep? You haven't been sleeping. Why?" Red asked, clearly more direct with getting to the problem, where Chloe wanted to slowly work up to it.

You turn to have your back face them. They could always tell when you're lying just by your face, "I've just been a little stressed about the move and stuff, that's it." You reassure.

The two girls looked at each other again, clearly not convinced. They bugged you about it for a little longer before finally deciding to leave you alone.

"Just, promise you'll go to bed at a normal time tonight, alright?" Chloe said, clear worry in her tone.

You sighed, looking between her and Red, "Fine. I promise I'll try to go to bed at a normal time."

----

You really did try. You tried so hard. But that night as you laid in bed, you were too scared to fall asleep. Everytime your eyes threatened to close, you only thought about what horrible thing would be chasing you next.

But your body could only hold awake for so long. So eventually, you did fall back into a sleep.

And you had the same dream. The same damn dream you haf every night. The same dream you could never escape from.

But once you opened that door and saw your doppelganger, you were suddenly jerked awake earlier than usual. You sat up quickly to the sound of something at your window.

You peer your head slightly to try and see what it was before you suddenly yelp at your window being opened.

"Wha— Red??" You whisper yelled, careful not to wake up your parents by being too loud. "Why are you coming through my window at four o'clock in the morning?" You ask, still obviously startled.

"Because it would've been rude to ring the doorbell and wake the whole house up? Duh." She said as if it was obvious, grabbing onto the top of the window sill and swinging inside.

"I told her we shouldn't have gone through the window!" Another head suddenly popped through the window. A head of blue curly hair.

Now you were only more confused, "Uhm. I love you guys, but what in the world are you doing?"

Red smiled and put her hands on her hips, "Just making sure you're actually sleeping like you said you would."

Chloe hopped inside too, closing the window behind her.

"Yeah, and maybe jumping through my window isn't the best way to make sure I get a good night's sleep." You scoff, rubbing your eyes. You still felt exhausted and a little frightened from your nightmare.

"And maybe you shouldn't keep your door unlocked." Red said, inviting herself to sit down next to you on your bed, kicking her boots off.

Chloe took her own shoes off before sitting in the other side of you, "Just tell us what's wrong, love. You've been acting weird this past week." She said. Rubbing her hand down your arm comfortingly.

"It's nothing, it's fine. It's just..." You fall silent for a moment, debating on if you want to tell them. "I guess I've just been having weird dreams recently..." You mutter out.

"Weird? Like how?" Red asked, raising a brow.

You explain your dream and how it goes everytime. The two of them listen with no interruptions until you were done. Some of it was hard to explain and you were scared it would all sound silly.

"So you're scared of moving and going to college? Growing up?" Chloe asked. There was no judgment in her voice.

You look at her and give her a weird look, "What? No? Why would I be scared of that? I'm excited for that. I'm excited to be roommates with you guys and get into my dream school."

"Doesn't make growing up any less scary," Chloe said, as if she understood exactly how you felt.

Red wrapped an arm around your waist and leaned onto you as a form of comfort, "It's okay to be scared. But why deal with this by yourself? We're always here for you and always will be. We love you." Red assures you.

Chloe smiles and nods, "Yeah. We're definitely not going anywhere. It's not healthy to deal with this on your own. Even if you think it's not that big of a deal, if it's impacting you negatively, it is a big deal and we want to help you. We always want to help. Just like the countless times you've helped us."

You couldn't help but smile bashfully as your eyes began to get a little wet. You were so grateful for being surrounded by such wonderful people. To have the two best girlfriends in the world. To be so accepted. "I guess... You're right..." You admit, looking down at your hands that were in your lap.

"Of course we are. We're always right. Especially when it comes to our girlfriends. We know everything." Red winks with a smirk.

You and Chloe both chuckle. "Right. You're right. Thank you." You look between Red and Chloe with an endearing look.

Red leans over and kisses you on the cheek, "How about a sleepover, cute stuff? Might help you sleep better." She grins.

"Oh! Good idea! Its been so long since we've all had a sleepover together." Chloe suddenly gets a grin of her own.

You laugh, "Fine fine. You guys can sleep over." You smile in defeat.

You all cuddle into each other, holding onto each other and feeling safe. Feeling safe and like nothing could hurt you this way. Nothing could get to you. You'd open that door and you'd see yourself happy and protected rather than anything else.

Because you knew you'd always have your two favorite people in the world on your side.

151 notes · View notes

nieceeee · 2 years ago

Text

“SOUNDS OF FRIENDSHIP”

PS: Bestfriend!ony always sneaks and checks on you every night as a part of his nighttime routine. But this one night, Ony hears something he definitely shouldn’t have. Yet, he can’t seem to pull himself away.

WC: 3.1K

A/N: This has been one of my favorite plots to write lol. Im sorry Onybunny but I had to do it to you baby, NSFW, toy mentioned, suggestive, masturbation, little freaky stuff, Sneaking, Ony creeping through the dark lol.

Tag list: @iloveblogging2 @kritetakes @marshallowy @laylasbunbunny

After getting out the shower Ony tosses on a pair of gray sweatpants and slips his feet into an old pair of house shoes. The steam from the shower seeped into his bedroom, thickening the humidity in the air. Tendrils of smoke fluttered off his smooth brown skin, his body lingering with the warm from the water even after he had stepped out.

He rolled his neck stretching it out, the tightness still there from the workout he had earlier. Ony slipped out of his room door to start his nightly routine. He crept through the darkness, checking the seals on the windows and making sure everything was locked down. Although nothing had ever happened at home, he always did it to ensure both of your safety. Over time, it because engrained in his mind to do everyday. The house was quiet, the cool air whipping gently around his, cooling his still open pores. An unexpected shiver ran down his body. He turned the corner to check the air conditioner. “65?!” He whispered to himself. He should be used to the temperature by now considering how long you’ve lived together but it still shocked him every time he looked at it.

Ony shook his head and kept walking towards the living room. He wrapped around the couch in the living room and walked towards the front door. Checking to make sure both locks were secured, Ony made his way down the hallway and took a right towards your door. The closer he got to your room, the softer his footsteps became. You didn't know but he always took time to check on you every night. Ony knew about your past and the nightmares that plagued you some nights. So he always swept by your door to make sure you were resting. He pressed his body flat against the wall and side stepped until he was right next to your door. The last thing he wanted to do was wake you up out of your sleep. Last time he made that mistake, he was explaining to his brothers where his black eye came from.

Ony slowed his pace and calmed his breathing. His footsteps were as light as feathers as he reached the crack in the wall where your door was. He listened in the darkness for any signs of crying or panic in your voice. There was only one noise coming from inside, a low thrumming sound. Ony’s brows furrowed together and he hesitantly inched closer. He’d done this many times before and he’s never heard this before. He had memorized every sound in your room from the way the air blew to the sound your fan made as it spun. Am I hearing things he thought to himself. He tilted his head closer and remained quiet, holding his position in the shadows. The sound was consistent, there was no break in between it. Just a gentle low paced humming. Ony blinked a few times and began to move back slowly. As he shifted his both to begin to slip out, a noise caused him to pause. The humming as still there but he heard it clear as day. A small whimper. Ony’s heart began to race in his chest.

Because from the other side of the door, a soft moan crept from your lips. Ony held his position unable to move, unable to breath. He didn't hear that. He’s tired. His mind is playing tricks on him. But it happened again, another sweet low moan echoes in your room, creeping underneath the door, gliding across the carpet, and snaking up to his ears. Ony was shell shocked. Because as he stood in the hall, body pressed against the cream paint in the apartment, he heard the sounds of you, his best friend. And on the other side of the door, unaware of his presence, your back pressed into your bed and legs spread on each side, you drug your vibrator across your already swollen bud of nerves between your legs. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you release another small cry into the darkness.

You had been wound up all day and were desperate to get home for release. The workout you and Ony had to endure did nothing to curve the sensation you were craving. And unlucky for you, seeing your best friend shirtless, body sweaty and muscles bulging didn't help you at all. You weren’t attracted to Ony in that way you told yourself. You and him had been friends for years. Your relationship was platonic, borderline suggestive to anyone who didn't know you both but you’ve always been just friends. But you weren’t blind. You couldn’t help but admit that your best friend had always been cute. But as you both grew up, Ony lost the boyish charm and developed into a full grown man. So eyeing your 6’0, dark skin bestie with the body of a god did absolutely nothing but cause you more problems.

Granted you could’ve called up one of your options, it wasn't unlike you to have them. But you and Ony had a rule, no sex in the apartment that you shared. Your home was your safe space, and with your past, both of you agreed to the rule with no hesitation and you didn't feel like driving anywhere at what you endured today. So instead you opted in to staying at home and pleasing yourself. Which lead you to here, with your handheld pressing deeper into your walls as you worked yourself closer and closer to your climax. Except today absolutely hated you because every time you inched closer, you lost the spot and had to start over.

You had been going at it way longer than you expected and were teetering on the edge. You needed to do something. Something to relax yourself. So you shifted your hips, pressed further back into the bed and closed your eyes. Increasing the speed on the vibrator, you took deep breaths and let your mind wander. Images of peace fluttered through your mind as you willed your body to relax. You stopped holding your moans, allowing all your muscles to relax as you imagines intimacy, trying to coax your body to it's release. Your mind thought of your ex, how well he would fuck you. The way he would pound into you with no remorse. Your side piece and the way his tongue worked you over and over. Then your mind shifted to hands. Thick hands rubbing up your sides, fingers gently gripping your hips. It envisioned full two toned lips pressing gentle kisses down your neck and towards your breasts. Perfectly sculpted arms gripping your legs and pushing them back towards you. Your mind imagined it, though you’ve never seen it, your mind still conjured up the image of his girth pressing into you, the delicious stretch it would provide as he hit your spot. Your mind plagued with images of him, of the familiar scent of cedar wood and absinthe, his velvety voice coating your ear drums as he whispers sweet nothings to you, begging you to call out to him. So you did. You knew it was wrong. Your mind was playing dirty tricks on you as it made you force it out. Made you call out to the one person you knew you couldn’t have.

“Ony”

His heart pounded in his eardrums. Ony couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Because as he stood outside your door, the sound of his name fell from your lips. His eyes widened searching the darkness. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. He tried to rationalize with himself. But again your voice called out to him as your moans followed, increasing in speed and volume. You repeated it over and over and over again until your body shook. Muscles clenching around the toy, he heard you cry out as you worked the orgasm from your body. You released…while calling his name.

It was a joke. It had to be a joke. There was no way that you would do that. Ony assured himself. He nodded and waited. You must’ve heard him outside the door and decided to play tricks with him, pretending to call his name and accuse him of snooping outside your door. So he waited. He held his breath and waited for you to come out of the door and laugh at him for falling for your game.

But you never came out.

Instead there was a slur of “fucks” that crept underneath the door instead. There was shuffling, your feet hitting the floor. The thrumming sound stopped and the only other thing he heard was the closing of your bathroom door and the creaking of the knobs of your shower as your rushed to clean yourself up.

If his heart beat any harder it would jump out of his chest and run away from him, leaving nothing but a wide eyed, mouth agaped corpse behind. Because realization dawned on his features at the fact that this wasn't a joke. This wasn't another game you decided to play. You called out to him as you came. In one of the most intense moments, your mind imagined him. Your body wanted…him.

Ony waited a few more moments, willing himself to come back from the comatose state he was in. He crept back to his room, pace quicker than before. He made sure he was far away enough before he rushed towards his hallway and closed the door to his room, locking himself inside. His mind began to race.

You said his name. Why would you say his name? Is this the first time you said it? HOW MANY TIMES HAS THIS HAPPENED?

Ony was absolutely spiraling and every moment you have ever shared together played through his head. Every time you held hands or hugged each other. How smooth your smaller hands felt in his as your nimble fingers intertwined with his larger ones. Nights were you slept in his bed and the warmth of your body against his, the smell of lilacs and honey lingering on his pillow from your shampoo. You stealing all his clothes and the way the cotton fabric brushed right against the underside of your ass, hanging between your thighs when you sat down. The first kiss you shared when you were 12 because you wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. The way your lips felt against his. The taste of your cherry bomb lipgloss coming back to his senses.

His thoughts were shifting into a very unfamiliar territory. Ony didn't think about you like that. You were his best friend. You’ve been that way since you both were 6 years old. You were always the one by his side, picking at him and making him laugh. Sure one or two thoughts about building something more had come to his mind but neither of you cared to push it further so you remained friends. But this was new territory. This was unspoken territory. Ony paced his room, thumb pressed to his lips as his teeth bit into his nail. He couldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t think about you like that. It was wrong.

So why the fuck was he hard right now…

Ony couldn’t lie about what he was feeling in this moment. He wouldn't admit it out loud because that was wrong. It was wrong to think about how soft you would feel underneath him. It was wrong to imagine what you face looked like when you came, how you thick hair fell across your pillow and your back arched into him. It was wrong of him to imagine the way you would squirm underneath him and his dick pushed into your cervix and his lips trailed from your toes down to the gold anklet he bought you for your birthday. It was definitely wrong for him to imagine the way you would cream against him as his hand wrapped gently around your neck and the other held your hips still so you couldn’t run from him. It was wrong of him to imagine the nail sets he always pays for scraping down his spine as he fucked tears from your eyes. The way your beautiful brown eyes would widen as he made you look at him while you cum because he knew it would break you. It was so fucking wrong.

But his dick couldn’t tell the difference.

Ony shook his head trying to clear his mind of those thoughts but it did nothing. Heat rose through his body as he quickly made his way to the bathroom. He turned the shower on and undresses before stepping inside. The icy temperature stung against his warm skin as he tried to drown the thoughts away. But as he stood there underneath the shower head, the only thing he could imagine was the fact that you had just gotten into the shower yourself. And his mind crafted images of you naked, body glistening in the water. Ony never cared for shower sex but he imagined it with you. He wondered what you thought about him. What was it about him that drove you over the edge. What turned you on? Did you taste as good as you always smelled? He imagined his tongue running up and down your core as he held you up by your thighs, your back presses against the shower wall.

A low groan released from his throat, the cold water doing nothing for him as the sounds of your moans replayed like the melodic notes of symphony, caressing his ears. Ony closed his eyes, head tilted back against the shower. “Fuck.” He let out, his body betraying him. His thick hands sliding down his body to offer himself some much needed release.

How the fuck was he supposed to face you in the morning…

#ony x black reader #smut #aot x y/n #aot x reader #fem!reader #aot x black reader #black writers #onyankopon smut #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankapon #aot fic #melovehimsomuch #nieceenotes

940 notes · View notes

yoghurtsgirl · 1 month ago

Text

If I held that wish baby, I would wish that Russell T Davies never returned to Doctor Who

RTD2 has been a colossal mess. Last season was maybe the worst series the show has ever had, with the only truly good episode being Rogue. After The Empire of Death, I thought I was done with the show. Then I killed time by watching Joy to the World on Boxing Day and I thought I was done with the show. But on my quest to show my girlfriend Doctor Who, I thought hey it might be an idea to do the new stuff just so she knows why I don't like it. And guess what we found?

We both really liked this series. The Robot Revolution was a super fun camp introduction to the season, with Belinda instantly being ten times more of a character than Ruby Bloody Sunday was. Lux was creatively unique and even though I wasn't a huge fan of it, it was a big swing which I really enjoyed it taking. The Well was a surprisingly great base-under-siege sequel to Midnight, something I never thought could happen. Lucky Day touched on really interesting themes and emotional beats even if it didn't stick the landing. The Story and the Engine was absolutely fantastic, pure joy and the most original episode in all of Doctor Who. And then we got the Interstellar Song Contest - an episode with incredible production values but god awful internal politics.

And here we are. Wish World, a story has some real interesting meta commentary of conservative power-structures that suppress people who don't fit in with the patriarchal worldview, how the world the right-wing strive to get back never really existed, and they have to ignore literal holes in their philosophy for their fiction to make sense. The production design is superb and it does look lush, with redressings of sets in super clever ways. On a production design and on a commentary level it is better than last year’s first part of the finale, but it left me feeling nothing. It left me feeling very little hope for The Reality War. I've been let down before by this show, and been let down by you, Russell. Surely you won't do that again.

Well Russell, fool me once shame on me, fool me twice? Fuck you.

The Reality War. What a heap of absolute piss. There's something truly incestous about the show now. This god-damn boys club that's had its claws in the show since the 90's is still here, and it refuses to progress. When the show returned in 2005, Russell was on record saying the kids watching the show in twenty years would be running it, they would be Doctor Who. 20 years later the old bugger is still here. And I have to wonder, was it worth it? Is all this worth it?

The MCU-ification of the show - and all media, let's be honest - is a plague. I don't mind the deal with Disney, I don't mind the lil mid-credit scenes I guess. What I do mind is how the show is being made as content and that's it. It's jangly keys tv. It's not a show, it's not made as a production. It's made out of legal obligation. This show is being made for ten year olds who have been watching the show for forty five years. It's made so broadly and yet so fucking niche it's for nobody. I enjoy lil cameos here and there, I enjoy lil references to silly little lore. What I hate is building entire episodes - nay, seasons - off references to decade old plot points that haven't been referenced since 1983. Oh, speaking of which...

Susan Foreman. Hi Susan. I love Susan. Why were you here? Or specifically, why weren't you here? If I had a nickel for each series of Doctor Who which built up the big return of The Doctor's first companion, only for her to not actually appear, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird it not only happened twice, but in back to back seasons no less. Her cameo in Interstellar Song Contest was nice, but it amounted to nothing. Why was she here? Who was she for? The Fugitive Doctor's cameo in Story and the Engine was nice, but amounted to nothing more than jangly keys. The Thirteenth Doctor's cameo here amounted to nothing because she pops in, and it's lovely to see her again, but her whole cameo only existed for one reason - to give me vindication on how good her era actually was and how no one fucking believed me. We had it so good, man

The Rani - why? She's a character that exists only to be The Master-lite. I do like her, but she's often just a less interesting villain archetype. She's camp, she's silly, but that's kinda about it. I'm glad her grand return happened so we can stop with the "oooh the Rani is coming back" speculation every damn year, but god almighty what was this? Mrs Flood is the epitome of making it up as you go along. There's no arc, there's no actual thinking things through. Go back and watch her first appearances in Season One - she's clearly not The Rani. She just exists to be a buzzword so people can make lore videos about. "Ooh, are you not excited this character who hasn't appeared since The Doctor was Scottish five times ago is coming back??"

No. Because I care about writing. I care about plotting. I care about this show. Well, fuck me. Because if I had a nickel for each time a season finale brought back a legacy character who aspired to be a God, reduced his character to just being another boring God, with a CGI body of a dog, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird it's happened twice... two seasons in a row. Why is Omega here and why is he like this? He got Sutekh'd. Holy fuck. How was this allowed to happen.

Why is there no story? Why is it all fluff and waffle. And when there is a story, about the Doctor having a daughter and how if they fix the world she disappears from time, why does it not matter? They pretend it does, but it not only is obviously a reshoot but it clearly lacks all the emotional weight of times long gone. You cannot tell me RTD2 was made to be accessible for new fans, and at the same time mention Looms in the same sentence. Because Looms are canon now. LOOMS. FUCKING LOOMS. The most insane and worst part of 90's Who Lore. Hey, remember that time the Time Lords got cursed by a witch and made them sterile? No? Well that's canon now. Oh, and bi-generation was explained as something Time Lords can do to reproduce, and not actually a one off magical event based on a Time Lord myth. WHAT THE FUCK REASONING IS THAT FOR THAT ALREADY AWFUL IDEA???? The Doctor having children was such a huge part of the show in RTD1, and how he lost them (in the Time War or not) was super impactful. But now he's retconned his own era - the Doctor never had kids because he's sterile but Susan... exists...?

Susan is a real weird part of the show because she existed pre-all this lore about The Doctor and the Time Lords and regeneration came about. He left her on an alien world to live a life of her own, and said he would come back for her. He never did. His granddaughter. But because of all the new lore over the years, her place in the show was left super unclear. Was she a Time Lord? Could she regenerate? Would she age like a human or a Gallifreyan? Well fuck you, because now she's not even the Doctor's grandkid. I don't want those answers to be explored really, because exploring too much of the Doctor's past could be damaging, and damning in Susan's case. But the answer is now no, she's not even his grandkid, is fucking insane to me.

And look, nostalgia is a dangerous thing. Nostalgia is a really powerful tool but it's remembering a past that never truly existed, it's the memories of past events that should stay that. And it's always good to remember. But that same boys club running the show for the past 20+ years refuse to let go of nostalgia. Because Ncuti is gone. And Billie Piper is the next Doctor Who

I fucking mean this, that is the single choice that has forever broken the show. Hey, Doctor Who is Rose Tyler now. Rose Tyler, his ex, who he last saw hundreds and thousands of years ago and six regenerations ago. We've had five Doctor Who's since David Tennant (first) left the TARDIS. And Rose has not been relevant in the show since 2009. Why are we still doing this? Beyond the optics of regenerating into his ex, beyond the nostalgia-baiting, I have to ask. Does anyone even care about Rose Tyler like this anymore? I have no hope for the future of the show, because it refuses to let go of the past.

And poor Ncuti. I feel so bad for him. He was so hard-done by. Two seasons of poor scripts, awful plotting, negative character arc. He came in with nat-20 charisma and I love him for that, and in this season he got to pull back the layers a little more and have him be a more complex character. All for it to come undone here. The best Doctor who deserved better; he's joined that pantheon alongside Colin Baker, Paul McGann, Peter Capaldi, and Jo Martin. The only Dalek appearance in his era was a reused clip from Day of the Daleks (which, by the way, was a clip from the special edition that featured new Dalek voices by Nicholas Briggs, which means the original serial isn't canon but the special edition is? Oh my god, Russell T Davies is the George Lucas of Doctor Who...) The only Cyberman appearance in his era was in a comic strip. No, we're not doing old baddies unless we're turning them into big dogs. No, we have whole new baddies and monsters! Like... a Nazi, a victim of a genocide who is villainised to the extent the Doctor joins the cause to kill him, and a monster made of snot. WOW, SO INCREDIBLE THERE

There is no sauce here. Nothing special. The directing and blocking in this episode was truly awful. The lighting flat as a pancake. Insane uses of characters. Anita from that god awful Christmas special stands there as a doorstop and says nothing for the entire episode. They throw the main companion into a literal fucking box for half the episode and she does nothing. Rose, Donna's transgender daughter is also here. And again, she does nothing (at least this time she did more than only look at a bloody iPad though). Like,,, wow, go girlies!! Give us NOTHING!!!

Also it's insane that the optics of the story where a fascist creates an alt-timeline where the men go to work and the women stay at homes to look after the babies, only for the resolution of the story to have the main female character stay in the sci-fi cube. Now that's what I call feminism. Reducing a female character to just being a mother. Belinda wanted to get home all this time because she was an independent woman who had a life of her own to lead, with zero set up of her wanting to start a family. She even hated the idea of being Mrs, of being seen as incomplete if she didn’t adhere to a family unit. But no, the Doctor commits suicide to change time and make her a single mother and rewrite her entire life. What the fuck. Also insane that Anita is a pregnant woman, yet her whole function in saving the day is to stay standing for uncomfortably long. It’s not like pregnant women need major physical support or anything. Fuck off. The gender politics of this episode Jesus fucking Christ.

It’s truly fucked up. Why did no one stop this? Poppy getting erased from time, The Doctor awkwardly giving up his life to save his and Belinda's daughter, only for her to come back and re-write Belinda's entire timestream so she was a single mother. Because in this story, women are just for breeding or something?? Wtf is that about. It's insane that the Doctor died like this even. On paper I love the Doctor giving up his life to save one person. That's so so good and something that has been done before, and even in this era the idea of one person being missing is so heartbreaking and the Doctor would do anything to remedy that. But the emotional and thematic beat of the Doctor finally having a biological child (which is a heap of piss but let's go along with it for a moment) is completely gone because no, he doesn't have a kid. Poppy doesn’t matter because her life got completely rewritten too. We don’t even meet her dad. Fuck you.

This has been a whole ramble of a review, and I have so so many more thoughts on it. This is entirely unstructured, but I'm disappointed. My girlfriend Jane is disappointed. She's a pathological enjoyer of media, she's somebody who will find the good in anything and love it for that (is that why she's dating me, chat?) and she hated it. I hated it. And you should hate this too.

If 1980's Doctor Who was not worth saving, this shit isn't either. I said the same last year, and I'll say it again. I hope Disney pulls out. Doctor Who deserves better than Bad Wolf and Russell T Davies.

Sack Russell T Davies, sack Jane Tranter, sack Phil Collinson, sack Julie Gardner, sack Murray Gold. And then I'll come back to the show...

#Doctor who #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #doctor who is bad now #rtd #ncuti gatwa #billie piper #dr who #fifteenth doctor #sixteenth doctor #tardis #doctor who review #dw

31 notes · View notes

endursent · 4 months ago

Text

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; this wasn't supposed to take so long… but since act 1 ended, i decided to go back and touch up my act 2 plot-plan, change some things that were added/changed as i wrote act 1 and such. also studies took me by the scruff of my clothes and tossed me out back lol.

anyway, quicker updates ahead! won't be almost two months again, half the time went into the act 2 plot revisit and half went into the chapter itself. what is a slow-burn if not the main pair just not being in the same place half the time… the burn will pickup soon… soon… eheh… | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 6.634 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 12 - Calcination

Your feet touch the cold snow once more and your mind reels slightly after being suspended in the air for so long. Morax holds your waist for a second even after you both stand on solid ground—unsure whether you will keep your balance or not. The warm press of his body against yours separates and cold hair flows between you, immediately the shivers that have plagued you for days return, you hadn’t even noticed they had ceased during your proximity with him.

The winds had settled, and snow fell gently to the ground—high rising peaks begin to show themselves in the distance, and though you had just barely seen enough to watch the massive serpent slither away between the mountains… you had no idea that the south of the Guili Assembly had such a massive reach of mountains, a range stretching as far as you could squint.

“W-what do we…” your words have barely left your chapped lips when Morax strides past you, you stutter a bit more as you see his back and quickly move your legs. The snow was shaken significantly and doesn’t reach up to your knees anymore—but you can hardly feel your feet anyway, the cold hums inside your bones and with every step that crunches the snow, a reverberating note of pain surges up your legs.

It’s awfully cold, even in the absence of wind. you can feel your nose hairs move with every breath and try to breathe with your mouth instead to stop the feeling.

Morax strides ahead, several thoughts swirl around in his head—he assumes you will keep up with him, he must investigate the site of the seal… rather, he should be making pursuit of the serpent and ensuring it will not cause harm.

Wracking his mind as he increases his pace, Morax doesn’t notice you lagging behind, breaths heaved as you try to trudge through the cold with aching limbs. There are countless tales of ancient gods and spirits beneath the land—of sealed gods and demons, being a serpent doesn’t narrow it down either, just as if it would have been many other type of spirit.

He makes it to the edge of the highest part of the flat mountain, where it sinks into the area where the seal had been placed atop a glassy ice… which has now broken away and given way for an all-encompassing abyss, a hole into the earth so dark one might there is no bottom.

Straightening slightly, as if perking up… Morax realises he doesn’t hear the crunch of snow behind him, not as closely as he expected at least. He turns to see that you’re a good distance away still, and a small tug pulls on his brows. He says your name and turns to walk back to you, momentarily putting his thoughts aside.

“Sorry… i-it’s just so cold,” you stutter slightly, though your clothes are okay for snow… they’re not exactly made for snowy mountain climbing. Your shoes are wet and practically freezing over again, and your nose feels like it’s about to crumble off your face at any moment.

Morax takes your hand, feeling the cold that practically emanates from it. He forgets the fragility of humanity often, even if he should be more accustomed to it by now. He must get you to warmth soon before you get sick—if he isn’t too late already.

You blink as you feel warm palms on your cheeks, the texture of Morax’s gloves are uncomfortable against your ice cold, sensitive skin… but as the warmth of his hands seep in and gently soothe your cold skin, you exhale in mild relief. If only he would pinch your nose and warm that too before it falls off.

He can assess the situation later… although Morax should do it now, he shifts his priorities—besides, he should ensure Moon Carver managed to protect the rest of the encampment with all the tremors that shook the mountains. “Come, I will take you back to the others. There will be fires and warmth there,” he assures, Morax’s hand finds your shoulder—but he stops before he can scoop you up as he intended.

You look over his shoulder and see a form crawling up from the now massive hole in the mountain, the slope has snow tossed everywhere and patches of grass poking out from underneath.

Mei Lan’s arms tremble as she manages to drag herself over the slope leading down into the maw of darkness behind her, she lowers and her torso finally touches the ground—splotches of red leaking from beneath her robes and into the white beneath her.

A silence passes, you don’t dare move—you saw how fast she crossed the mountaintops—and Morax is still beside you, hand still resting on your shoulder.

The fallen god coughs slightly and hoists herself up to sit on the crunchy snow. “Y-you… this is your fault… I was focused—I held it well, it held for three hundred years,” Mei Lan didn’t raise her face to look towards you and Morax. The deep wound inflicted on her body bled freely, staining her clothes all the way down to her knees in a curtain of blood. “Four hundred years… gone, he’s free…”

Your eyes glance to Morax, his own gaze fixed on Mei Lan with a gaze sharp as steel. “You said nothing of a sealed calamity below the mountain,” his voice is even, a heavy tone that you haven’t heard expressed from his lips before. One guarded and distant.

“Why would I have to say anything?! These mountains have been mine for long!” she pounds her fist against the covered earth, with every exertion of her muscles, fresh blood pours from her torso. “Foolish humans climb the peaks in search of blessings and stir his conscious! They build and aggravate the earth above his tomb!”

Your lips part and you want to say something, but nothing but the sound of your clattering teeth leaves you—if Morax weren’t practically holding you on your feet by your arm you would have fallen into the snow.

Morax’s head turns only slightly, but he doesn’t fully look at you. “Whose tomb have you been protecting?”

How would it be a tomb, if that massive thing slithered out of it? You nearly shudder (more) at the thought of it not only being a malevolent being, but also a ghost!

“He Shan,” she says the name with such vitriol you almost feel the burning heat of her hatred in your skin—it’s almost a relieving warmth, if you had fully felt it. “A bitter, violent creature that has had centuries to churn it deep in his soul.” You’re amazed she still seems so… full of energy considering how much blood coats her and the ground. Perhaps blood to gods is just decoration…? You wonder.

A low hum leaves Morax’s throat. He doesn’t recall the name—there are many gods that have risen and fallen within a handful of a hundred years that have names the winds of time have forgotten. Mei Lan has been atop this mountain range for a long time now, but the Guili Assembly is still relatively young, all things considered. Its borders have changed much in merely the last two centuries.

Steps approach from behind, boots crunching snow that diverts your attention from Mei Lan’s form and towards an approaching Moon Carver. “Lord Rex Lapis, what happened? This one did not anticipate such terrible shaking of the mountains below our feet!”

“Moon Carver, excellent timing,” Morax’s hand on your shoulder shifts to your back and he practically turns you around towards the adeptus. “Please take our friend to safety, I assume the others are well. I will finish asserting the situation here.”

“Of course,” Moon Carver is quick to agree, despite his question going unanswered. He could practically feel your freezing skin beneath your winter robes as he approached the two of you and took your arm.

You would’ve loved to not be passed along like a child, but your feet feel frozen solid, you can’t promise yourself you won’t tumble and faceplant in the snow were you to attempt to walk all the way. “Ah, I’m sorry for the trouble—”

He only shakes his head and you stop talking immediately… you feel like you’ve caused trouble, again, and lower your head slightly. First taking off and getting your feet swept from under you in Quiche, now rushing outside into the storm and letting a massive serpent loose…

“Hey,” a finger flicks your ice cold cheek and you jump, head snapping up as an; “ow!??” leaves your lips. Moon Carver's expression is unimpressed. “Stop sulking, let’s go.”

Morax watches the two of you silently as the adeptus practically drags you with him, not being as gracious as the man you’re leaving behind by offering to carry you—as Moon Carver responds to your complaining, you shouldn’t have rushed out into the cold if you weren’t prepared to trek back on your own two feet. Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson (unlikely).

A small sigh leaves Morax as he turns his attention back to Mei Lan, whatever hint of emotion or gentleness directed at your presence is now gone in its absence. “Tell me everything.”

–

Thankfully, no one below the sheltered cliffside was injured badly, a few people toppled over each other and someone fell against one of the braziers and burned their leg quite harshly—but all things considered… they were safe.

Discussions of new locations were already rumbling along the half-crowd, but you didn’t pay much attention to the chatter—Moon Carver had tossed his own robe over you after you sat down by a reignited brazier, you were shaking like a leaf. You hadn’t even realised how cold you were until the warmth of the fire blossomed over your ice-cold skin, the last of the adrenalin faded and you were left like a pile of shivering bones, you wondered if your nose was still attached.

“A large serpent?” Moon Carver touched his chin in thought, despite being stripped of his robe, he doesn’t seem very cold nor bothered. He doesn’t recall tales of massive serpents in this region… but he hasn’t spent much time here either.

The more you think back on it, the more you shiver—even as the flames from the brazier start to warm your wet, frozen clothes. Your eyes hurt as you rub them, exhaustion settling in as the adrenalin from the day wanes away. “It could encircle mountains, I’ve never heard of a serpent so large,” you say as you tuck your hand back into your robe.

“Hm,” there seemed to be a lot of thoughts wrangling in his head, and you really want to close your eyes—thus as Moon Carver falls into a silent thought, you allow them to droop. There’s not much to lean against, but you can probably get a shut-eye like this, sitting on the ground with your knees tucked up to your chest.

You didn’t get very far into your rest—or that’s what it felt like, as a hand touched your head.

Jolting up and almost knocking your forehead into his jaw, Morax leans back in surprise when you suddenly start at his touch. His eyes are slightly wide and eyebrows raised. “Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you—I merely meant to make sure you had warmed up enough.”

A bit embarrassed by your own reaction—you’re not sure why you keep jerking so harshly when surprised, every instance of being caught off guard seems to make your entire body tense up and lock for a brief second. “N-no, it’s alright. I’m sorry,” you lower your legs to sit cross-legged before him, where Morax has kneeled by you. “What happened?”

Moon Carver stands in front of you by the brazier, arms folded as he watches the exchange silently.

Morax stands gracefully. “She gave me valuable information before departing, we will need to reestablish an outpost along the mountains—but as we will not be pushed back further, we can settle with more practicality.” It’s strange how pristine his robes are, considering the events of the day—there’s hardly more than a few dots of blood on him.

“Departed?” Moon Carver asks.

“Into the mountains, she has not left for the Dark Sea,” he clarifies. “It seems she used a rather flimsy seal that requires the user to uphold the prison mentally at all times—it makes the seal powerful, so long as the user’s will to contain is strong enough… the wound she sustained tore her attention and broke the seal.”

They don’t seem very concerned that Mei Lan has simply retreated and not departed entirely, perhaps they came to some sort of agreement before they separated… you hope—in any case, if Moon Carver and Morax seem relaxed about it, you shouldn’t worry either.

“Where did it go?” your voice sounds, turning the attention of both adepti to you—momentarily you feel a bit embarrassed for distracting them from the conversation.

But Morax doesn’t hesitate to answer your question, though it wasn’t much of an answer. “I lost track of the serpent’s energy after he disappeared beyond the mountains. I must search the land and assure that he has not begun wreaking havoc.”

“This one doubts someone that has been sealed for so long has the strength to unleash terror so soon,” Moon Carver adds.

“You are likely right,” Morax agrees. “Yet I must ensure the Assembly’s safety. Allow us to find shelter for our people before I depart…” he pauses before turning, eyes moving between you and Moon Carver. “At sunrise, you must return to the capital and inform Guizhong of what has occurred. Both of you.”

Moon Carver nods without resistance, and thought you feel you should resist… what is there for you to do here? You suppose you could help rebuild, but you’re hardly a skilled enough carpenter. You nod your head as well.

–

It was amazing to see—with a simple raise of his hand, Morax created a shelter of stone. It wasn’t the long winded labyrinth that you had stayed in before, the rooms were a bit uneven and not split properly to allow for barracks… but simply being able to raise a shelter for the amount of people that had come unscathed was impressive.

Quickly braziers were lit inside and large cloths used to seal off the entrances. It was rather dark, but it brought shelter from the cool breeze. You finally managed to lie down and get a shut-eye for a while, but hunger eventually woke you… taking away the little peace your slumber brought.

As you’re handed a bun that had been prepared some days ago in the routine emergency, your cool fingers warm on the soft dough, heated above the fires raised in one section of the shelter. As you find a place to sit down, you hear two Millelith behind you chattering between themselves as they eat their own buns. “He made it look so effortless, I wonder if lord Rex Lapis could build a castle in a day.”

“Perhaps… his interior skills might do with some improvement,” he other grumbles, mouth half-full of food.

“... well, it must be hard to design something on the inside while you’re outside?” the first hums after a brief pause.

Though the conversation occurring behind you is amusing, you start to tune them out once they begin to argue the “right way” to design a home, and the first Millelith pulls out at every stop to remind the other that he built his own house as therefor knows exactly how it should be done, despite the other Millelith reminding him that his wife took take of the decorating and he just built the tables and chairs.

You wipe your hands on your pant legs after finishing the last bite of your meal and stand up, you’ve already explored the shelter and there’s no crook you haven’t stuck your nose into in curiosity. The hall has been properly warmed and your fingers and nose don’t feel like they’re about to fall off either, which is a relief—you were definitely starting to suspect you might have frostbite.

After some searching, you find Moon Carver again. “Will we depart in the morning?”

The sun has long sunken down below the mountaintops, dawn should be making its way any time now… though it has been quite the long day, perhaps Moon Carver is too tired to leave right now.

“We leave at noon, rest as much as you can,” he replies without turning to face you. Curious, you try to peek at what he’s doing… only to see him trying to scrub soot out of his robe.

… the robe he tossed on you earlier this evening. You were leaning so close to the brazier you dirtied it—that robe looked older than you! And crafted so carefully it must be worth heaps of mora for the care alone!

Immediately, you step next to him. “Gods—I’m sorry, I dirtied your robe after your kindness, allow me to clean it…”

“It is no matter, one has nothing else to do with his hands,” Moon Carver tells you off easily, so easily that you feel like he just picked you up by the back of your robe and set you aside.

“Well… shouldn’t you rest as well? It can’t be good to travel without sleep,” you inquire hesitantly. The thought of Moon Carver dozing off while you’re a kilometre in the hair makes you shiver slightly.

His movements halt for a moment before he continues. “Adepti do not require sleep.”

… sure, you’ve heard that before. “But… it’s better, surely? It must give some energy.”

You’re not entirely sure why you’re debating him on his own energy, but you want him to rest—have you ever seen an adeptus sleep? Or just close their eyes and lay out on the grass for a while?

You suppose you’ve been hallucinating a mini-Rex Lapis for a few months now, dozing around like a limp noodle. Maybe you’re going crazy.

… though, Moon Carver had been with you. “Moon Carver…”

Hearing the uncertainty in your voice, he turns his head, but doesn’t fully look at you. “What?”

“Can… lord Rex Lapis… turn into a small dragon? About the size of a forest snake?” you feel like you’re a toddler asking your grandmother if vishaps are real… again.

Moon Carver blinks at you for a moment, his expression rather confused both towards the contents of the question, as well as the rudeness of it. “One supposes he could, adepti choose their forms… why do you not ask him yourself?” The expression you made must have been amusing, because the corners of his lips quirk up. “This one is certain he would find it entertaining, at the least.”

Entertaining… you had felt like a real weirdo in your first meetings, and then just as you feel that you’ve somewhat started to build up your reputation to at least seem like a relatively normal person—Moon Carver wants you to ask Rex Lapis himself if he indulges in naps as a pocket-sized dragon?

Absolutely not.

“I’ll pass, thank you for the suggestion,” you say, and turn on your heels. What a dumb question, if Moon Carver mentions this to him, you’ll put peppers in his tea—you regret asking immediately.

–

Soaring into the ice-cold air atop the Fengyuan Peaks, you clutch the Moon Carver’s mane as if it was the only thing between you and certain death… you’re sure he could catch you if you did slip and tumble off his back—but you’re not every excited to test that theory.

Your eyes quickly dry as cool wind brushes against your face, you turn your head to the side to avoid facing forward and hopefully spare your eyeballs when your eyelids fly open. “Moon Carver! Look—do you see it?”

The earth between rising mountains, usually filled with deep snow and dark ravines… have flattened, rounded under the weight of a god so large and heavy he broke the sides of cliffs and left behind markings of his movements.

“This one has observed our surroundings,” he confirms, but doesn’t move his head to look down.

It makes your skin tingle, Morax had taken the two of you back far enough that you hadn’t been crushed when He Shan broke free—but seeing the marks he left behind somehow made him seem far larger than you had thought, even in the same vicinity.

The earth beneath is darker than you would have thought the land should be, even though the rocks and stone of the mountains even under the sun of day is dark… it feels as if the night sky is below you, streaks of white dragging into the black, creating an unnatural formation between the rising peaks of the mountain range.

You turn your head into the adeptus’ fur as the scenery fades to high rising trees in place of stone… you don’t wish to see Quiche from above right now.

Though you felt a bit bad leaving the peaks of the mountain behind considering the recent events, it was very comforting to arrive back in the capital… the air was still warm, despite the colours of autumn, and the city was lively as always.

As soon as you set foot inside the courtyard, both Ground Mender—features covered as always—and Ming Hui were waiting. You felt like you were about to be scolded like a child…

“You!” Ming Hui quickly approached you, poking you in the stomach repeatedly—it’s about as much ‘poking someone in the chest threateningly’ as she can get with such a short height. “I had to do every single one of your chores while you were gone! Without warning!”

Ah… you hadn’t really thought of that. Though, you also hadn’t really been re-assigned chores by the time you left…? “I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I’ll take your workload for a while.”

“Uh-huh, and you’re going to stand in queue for that limited seasonal rice cake that’s been super popular—which I haven’t been able to get all week because of your chores,” she pokes you three more times before then jabbing her finger towards your nose. “Idiot!”

You blink down at her for a few seconds, you haven’t seen her so expressive before—Ming Hui has been rather quiet and focused on her work since you met her… it’s a little amusing to see such a contrast to her (though she had been very patient and kind by your sickbed), but your guilty conscience of making her work twice as hard outweighs your amusement. “Of course, I’ll buy four—”

“—five!”

“Five,” you agree. “What is it anyway? Are people really queuing for it?”

Ming Hui, finally lowering her hand—for a moment you thought she might just curl her fist and give you a nice knock on the belly. And she’s so strong that it might actually take you down. “Chestnut-paste filled youtiao,” she says and tugs on her clothes to straighten them.

You’ve never tried that particular combination before… but since so many people are excited about it, it must be at least decent. “Okay, I’ll bring them to you for lunch tomorrow.”

Ming Hui, who had been about to turn away and let Ground Mender’s turn begin to scold you in some form—you hope it’s not more poking—turns and squints at you. “Tomorrow? The queue is too long for you to make it back before lunchtime.”

“Then I’ll start waiting before the stall opens,” you say with a little bit more conviction than you probably should for such a little thing… but it’s not so little, you feel. When she gives you a look of doubt, you feel a deep need to right it. That she shouldn’t doubt your ability to do such a simple thing.

She sets her hands on her hips. “So long as you don’t hurt yourself, I guess. Remember that you were in an infirmary bed not long ago.”

She probably doesn’t realise it, but the reminder does make your chest—and arm—pinch a little at the thought. You’d rather not think about it more than you have to. “I’ll be fine.”

It kind of feels like you’re the twelve year old between the two of you with this scolding and then voice of concern of your well-being and ability to so… such a simple thing and walk to the city and purchase some fried dough sticks.

“Hm, I believe you,” she finally gives in and sets her hands down again, the robe she’s wearing today seems far too large on her than it should be, the sleeves are tied back but they still droop below her elbows.

As she finally takes her leave, you realise you’re left standing alone in the courtyard—not counting guards passing between buildings and attendants leaving out the gates behind you. Moon Carver and Ground Mender have gone as well, hadn’t you just been looking at Ground Mender a moment ago?

Perhaps adepti have better stealth than you give them credit for. -

Your room feels even more bare than before, as you shut the door behind you and walk inside, allowing yourself to sink down on your bed—it’s far more comfortable than you’ve given it credit for in the past—before you kick off your shoes and toss your thick travel robe on the chair by your desk.

Falling backward and feeling the mattress against your back, you stare at the ceiling for a good long time.

The memory of the terrible, strangely fleshy sound of the massive serpent slithering between the mountains makes your muscles tense up briefly before relaxing… the thought of that terrible demon slithering on the outskirts of the Assembly makes you anxious—even more so when you know there’s little you can do. What could a small human like you do against a demon?

You try your best to not think about Quiche, the more your brain tries to claw into your thoughts and drag them out of the little hole you put them in during the last few days, the more you resist and try to think of something else.

But the only other thing that comes to mind… is your empty hands.

Returning to your room without the weight of your cleansing tools in your hand feels as if you’ve left parts of yourself behind, the old and crooked shape of that old bell was so familiar against your palm that it had felt as if you were holding your own hand.

You feel as if you’ve been stuck inside your head for weeks, perhaps even a few months—yet you don’t feel as if you’ve been thinking of very much at all.

Raising your left arm to the air, the bandages around your skin are loose and you can see peeks of skin between them. Your palm and fingers look healthy and fine, and there are no eyes watching from beneath the white cloth—but you don’t dare unravel the rest. It has been days, enough to see improvements, or the opposite. And you’d rather not know, so long as you can’t see the state of your skin and tissue, it can’t trap your mind.

Letting it fall back down and land on your stomach, you let out a small huff of discomfort as the impact reverberates through your arm and up your shoulder. Ow…

Sitting up with a groan, you decide to leave your room—you’re tired, and should probably sleep… but now that you’re in a calmer place with enough space for your thoughts to gather, you’re a bit afraid of what that could lead to.

The air has definitely gotten cooler as the sun sits down, it was comfortably warm when the sun was up… but it was definitely warmer than on the mountain despite the chill. You took a long good walk around the courtyard, it seems the last days of moving so much has really helped your muscles—though you’re sure any doctor or healer would have suggested you re-train your muscles normally, with slow and progressing exercises.

Looking to the skies once you’re between thick trees and bushes with yellowing leaves, you squint up at the moon… it’s brighter than usual today.

Your nose stings, and you rub at it—but it doesn’t stop the filling of tears in your eyes. Damn it… you had come outside so that you wouldn't cry, and now look at you. The tears bubble in your eyes and blur your vision, you quickly wipe them away but as you lower your head—they seem to flow out.

That damned bell… why would you leave it in your room? You should’ve had it on you the entire time, even when there wasn’t really a reason to, you weren’t at home, you shouldn't just leave things lying around—who knows what could happen? Perhaps you should even have predicted the attack to happen.

“Take good care of it, jiao jiao,” the old, worn hands of your grandmother present the bell to you, even back then, it was old and rusted at the bottom. Her larger hand supports your open palms as the other lowers the bell into them. “Your great-grandmother was very talented, and she will be delighted to see you grow to be like her.”

“It’s old…” you had said, small fingers rubbing the bottom of the bell and feeling the uneven metal scrape against your skin. “If I drop it, will it break?”

Your grandmother smiles, and she sets her finger on the ornament atop the bell, where one would hold it to ring. “It’s a resilient thing, your great-grandmother was given it by her father, who received it from his mother. I’m sure someone has dropped it into a bowl of oil before.”

“Who was cleansing bowls of oil?” your face pinches in confusion. Could spirits and demons even inhabit food? In all the books you’ve read, they go for people or weapons, sometimes even trees or rocks.

“Well, the family kitchen doesn’t have much storage space… perhaps you will find a better place to keep it,” her large, wrinkled hand pats your head, the warmth from it clear against your head as you give her a big smile.

You shake your head, as if the memory was a snowflake on your hair you’d like to toss off. Don’t think about it, the more you think about it, the more your mind recognises what used to be real and no longer is.

Running a hand down your face, and dragging any tears or snot that formed in the meantime into your palm, you blink a few times to gather yourself. You can probably have your tools replaced, perhaps you could even chip the bottom of a new bell to make it look like the old one.

Then, maybe then you’ll keep pretending it’s the same, that it’s fine and you didn’t lose them.

You don’t want to go back to your room… perhaps the youtiao stall is still open so late into the evening, or perhaps you’ll find something else to distract you on the way. You take a long breath, willing away the tightness in your chest and the ache of your clenched jaw, before turning and leaving the serene gardens.

The last thing you expected once you stepped past the gates to the palaces after avoiding conversation with either guard there, was the sound of bare feet tapping on the stone steps behind you—you don’t know of many people who walk around barefoot, so only one guess comes to mind.

Stopping and turning to look behind you, you see Guizhong hopping down the steps towards you at… concerning speeds. Her dress is longer than usual, going below her ankles so that you can’t see her feet, but her sleeves always sway far below her hands as usual. “My lady—” you extend a hand to steady her in case she stumbles on her dress, she’s taking more than two steps at a time.

But thankfully, she stops easily as soon as she reaches you, and takes your extended hand. “There you are! I was preoccupied when you came back, I haven’t had a chance to speak with you properly… for so long! Too long, come!”

She seemed very energetic, did she get more energised under the moon?

She gave you little choice as she began tugging you down the steps behind her, and you quickly brought your mind back on pace to control your legs before YOU started tumbling down. Falling down this monstrous amount of steps would surely finally be the end of you. “O-okay, please slow down,” you pleaded as she began to hop down the steps two at a time once more.

“Slow? We’ll miss our window, no time to hang around!” she simply laughed at your concern.

Your mind felt like it was spinning, the emotions of the day being churned around in your head like laundry being washed in a basin. Just moments ago you had been fighting the tightness of your chest and hoping to find a distraction that could occupy your attention until you were too tired to think comprehensive thoughts.

“Window…?” you weren’t aware you had anything planned with her today… or ever, Guizhong is lovely—but she’s far too busy to be making friends with someone like you.

She doesn’t let go of your hand, grip surprisingly strong even if it’s holding you through her sleeve. “Once the moon sits at its highest, it creates a lovely sight along the river, I always visit it when it’s at its brightest—and since you’re here anyway, you’re coming with me!”

You suppose you have no choice, then.

Your legs complain as Guizhong picks up her running pace as soon as you leave the long steps behind, but you’ve been pushing through for so many days now that feeling that ache in your thighs is familiar enough to not stop you.

Despite it being before midnight, the streets of the city have quieted—they’re never completely silent, with cats meowing loudly at the back of a meat-shop as they clean up after the day until the owner finally comes out with some leftovers to let them nibble on. Some streets are lined with taverns and bars that stay open well into the night for rowdy patrons, with bright lanterns lighting the entrance. Standing on such a street can even feel as if it were daytime with how bright and lively it is.

Other streets are dark and still, where people have retired to bed and closed their windows. Signs sit outside closed doors with opening times, and a crafts shop has a sheet laying over the clay pots left outside for the night.

Guizhong only slows once you finally pass a large building that looks like a rice-wine making business, at least if the smell is to be believed. “Here, through the little path,” she lets go of your hand and motions for you to follow her.

Her body is smaller than yours, so you have to lean a bit down where she doesn’t. It reminds you of the path you took upon visiting the city proper at first, except your face and head is thankfully safe from any cobwebs or insects upon exiting.

“We came very far for…” you start, a little annoyed that Guizhong just had you tun halfway across the capital in a few minutes, lungs burning and thighs twitching in discomfort.

But your words halt halfway once your eyes adjust to the clearing, it was rather dark at first sight, but now reveals itself to be a small garden of sorts. Vines climb up the back of buildings that face away from each other, the river that flows through the city widens significantly before narrowing again a few houses down from where you entered.

A few large trees stretch from three different gardens, and the orange and red leaves create a strangely warm hue from the cold light that illuminates the clearing from the moon. The leaves from the trees litter the ground, making it appear like a warm cushion instead of the hard ground that is surely beneath them.

Guizhong walks towards the riverside, where the ground rises above it. She tugs her dress up and lets her feet touch the cool water before looking back to you. “Come, sit with me.”

Attention taken away from your pretty surroundings, you approach Guizhong and sit down cross legged beside her, not wanting to wet your shoes. “Did you bring me here spontaneously?”

“Oh, yes. I just happened to spot you on my way out,” she kicks her feet against the flowing stream, small splashes sounding below. Across the river, two children and a dog come out from another little path between homes, they don’t pay either of you any mind as they run up along the river until you don’t see them anymore.

It’s… nice. Peaceful. “I see… I suppose I wasn’t on my way to do anything important,” you say, and truthfully, it was very optimistic of you to assume the youtiao stall was still open so late.

Guizhong leans back, sleeves resting on the leaf-covered ground. “I thought you’d be resting early, you’ve had quite the trip.”

… you’d rather not talk about it, if you were to be honest. “As did I,” you simply say. You feel a tingle in your bones, you hadn’t considered the “returning home” of your plan. So desperate to figure out what happened in Quiche, you didn’t think of any consequences to yourself or others. “I will rest soon.”

“Hm,” a small hum simply leaves the girl. Despite being a god, so many unimaginably long and difficult years older than any mortal in this city, including yourself. She looks so youthful, not a single mar on her porcelain skin.

She doesn’t say any more, not for a while. As the moon stretches to the top of the heavens, settling for what feel like mere moments as the light of it illuminates the small garden. The light reflects off the water in the river and creates a projection of waves on the underside of the leaves above your head. As if you were in the ocean itself, swimming along the stream.

The scene is undoubtedly beautiful, but you find your mind distracted, occupied with less beautiful things. You wish you could close it off, silence the workings of your mind and simply exist as the moments come and go in front of your eyes.

To act as a human living on limited time, and experience time as it exists in your body. Not the ever-slowing clocks of time in your mind, clinging onto past memories—

You’re torn from your strange thoughts as something dark above you moves, and as you stare at the trees, seems to grow bigger—

THUNK

Your forehead throbs as you let out a sound of surprise, a dry, heavy-looking branch bounces off your head and onto the ground with a dull thud.

Guizhong looks at you with large eyes as she shuffles closer, sleeve raising to touch your head. “Are you okay? What a misfortune, we should make an offering to the river to ward it away,” she says with a half smile, rubbing her sleeve on your forehead as you squint your eyes.

“How is a small branch so heavy… I feel like I just got hit on the head with a staff,” you grumble, your head throbs with a headache that spreads down to your neck. Taking a nicely shaped brown leaf from next to you, you blow on it before uttering a phrase of offering and sending it off on top of the river.

After it flowed a few metres away… it sank under the stream.

Guizhong gave you a sympathetic look. “Perhaps you should wear a red string for a few days…”

#⭒ - gss #genshin impact x reader #morax x reader #rex lapis x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #morax x you #rex lapis x you #zhongli x you #multi-chapter #fics #my writing #afab reader #genshin impact

44 notes · View notes

scifibabee · 8 months ago

Text

hey fam, welcome to the October round up of all my favorite fics i read this month!!

as a reminder: the ingredients for a five star rating typically (but not always!!) include some combination of a.) believable characterizations of both Hannibal and Will, b.) compelling plot and/or character arcs, and c.) high quality smut.

that being said, my judgment of the aforementioned ingredients is powered almost exclusively by vibes and as such, is incredibly subjective.

you can find past recs below:

February March April May June July August September

and if you have any recs of your own for me, PLEASE SHARE.

without further ado, let's go!

Mine to Touch by piginapoketuesday

Word Count: 14193 Summary: "You respond so well to hand feeding," Hannibal said, watching Will's hips squirm. "I'm considering binding you for every meal."Will's neck flushed with fear. Never being allowed to feed himself again. Learning to associate food with a swollen, untouched cock. Swallowing prettily and on command. His body betrayed him, and he moaned around the fork in his mouth.~Lots of constant stimulation, feeding kink, and orgasm denial. Also lots of love and care.

So I might have a handfeeding kink. Possibly. Who's to say?

A Game for Two by sourweather

Word Count: 7710 Summary: One Long Game. That's what their relationship has always been. And the game never seems to end, which suits them just fine.Some unhinged murder husband content for the soul

Pretty much anything from this author ends up getting a five star rating, and this one was no exception.

Focus and Curiosity by hesterbyrde

Word Count: 7029 Summary: If someone had told Will two months ago that he would wind up regularly sleeping with his psychiatrist, he would have laughed in their face. Not just once, but twice. First for the absurdity of the idea in general. Just the thought of someone carrying on a sexual relationship with their therapist was ridiculous. Never mind that it would also be wildly unethical and illegal. But then he would also laugh at the sheer thought of having a psychiatrist in the first place. He'd avoided them like the plague all his adult life, and largely succeeded save the required eval after he'd been stabbed in the line of duty back when he was a cop. Needless to say that hadn't gone well.But this arrangement with Hannibal Lecter was going very well, strangely enough. Hannibal seemed content to let Will steer the course of his therapy. When Will didn't feel like talking, Hannibal would keep the conversation superficial. Or they would talk about whatever case Will was currently working on for Jack. And when Will did feel like talking, he had to admit some of Hannibal's insights into the quandary of his personality were actually enlightening. And it didn't hurt that the sex was amazing.

THIS BETTER NOT AWAKEN ANYTHING IN ME. Deadass, this inspired me to upgrade my own nipple clamps, so. Do with that information what you will.

Quiet Asphodel by FKAHerSweetness

Word Count: 174475 Summary: Once upon a time, there was a great and just king. This king, long ago, adopted a son and groomed the young prince to hunt monsters that roamed the kingdom. One day, the prince comes upon a monster of wild proportions, both fierce and courteous. The prince vows to the monster: 'I will capture you, as my father bids me.' The monster makes his own vow to the prince: 'I will wed you, as my heart bids me.'

Holy fucking shit. Once again, a deeply uncomfortable and awesome read. Again, nobody is good in this fic. But with my whole chest, FUCK Jack Crawford.

Much Ado About Knotting by l3moncoffee

Word Count: 3352 Summary: “We have a warrant to search the premises!”“Surely you could have knocked,” Hannibal Lecter said, wrapping a protective arm around his Omega.—————————————————— The FBI & Baltimore City Homicide have their sights on the Lecters, a bonded Alpha-Omega pair suspected of torturing and cannibalizing their victims.A strike team is assembled to catch them red-handed, but they run into some unexpected knots along the way.

I need more of this. STAT.

Heart's Desire by Celinesits

Word Count: 34514 Summary: COMPLETEWhat if Hannibal Lecter was given a Love Potion that led him straight to Will Graham? Spending two weeks with your Heart’s Desire is a dream come true.Meanwhile, Will Graham is fulfilling his public duty by staying with Hannibal, but being smothered in affection forces Will to confront his increasingly confused feelings for Doctor Lecter. Thank you if you have supported this story- kudos and comments/bookmarks are so kind x ❤️Based on the characters created by Thomas Harris, and Hannibal TV show creator Bryan Fuller.

I loved how well this was executed, enough that I can forgive the very brief overlap with HP/FBWTFT. Also, very in character Hannibal.

double by YouAreMyDesign

Word Count: 3961 Summary: It took a long time before Will grew from actively fighting these gifts, to resigned acceptance, to eager anticipation. It's just one of those things that comes with dating Hannibal Lecter; gifts are a given. And Hannibal, he soon realized, loves seeing Will in things he's bought.

We see dom Will Graham and we black out.

Patience and Precision by hesterbyrde

Word Count: 6253 Summary: Will drove himself straight from the crime scene to Hannibal's house. He wasn't even halfway up the porch steps when the door cracked open to reveal Hannibal's chiseled face, his features all the sharper with lines of confusion and concern."Will, I wasn't expecting you. Is everything alright?" he asked, pulling the door open to allow Will inside.Will took in the sight for a moment, making a slow fuss of taking off his coat and brushing his shoes on the mat. Hannibal was not in a suit. Not even in casual wear. Rather he was wearing a pair of soft grey lounge pants and a cable knit red sweater. Will had the sudden urge to press his face into the fabric and see if the crimson yarn was as soft as it looked.

Nipple clamps are my kryptonite.

pick up your phone by abbymyg

Word Count: 1404 Summary: Alana calls Will at an inopportune time.

A reread!! I love this one so much.

Recognition by StratsWrote

Word Count: 3910 Summary: The video was simple, a man sat in a high-back chair with his legs spread and his hand between them. He had a magnificent cock, uncut, red, thick. Will loved that cock. He worshipped it in his mind. And watching it now, Will groaned in pleasure, sinking deeper into the bed with his own hand stroking himself. Will has a certain porn actor he's a fan of. He's never seen his face, but he knows every breath and groan and whimper he makes. When he meets Dr. Lecter, a consultant on the Shrike case, Will doesn't find him particularly interesting until in the midst of saving a life, he hears the same sighs and hums he's pleasured himself to coming from the doctor next to him.

Oh ideal. This was so hot.

Housekeeping by FKAHerSweetness

Word Count: 96562 Summary: Marriage is a creature living separate from its components. Yet it requires attention, tolerance and care. Have you seen it? Could you recognize its deep wounds - and which one of you inflicted them? And are they ready to heal? What do you really know about this illusory animal?

Holy shit. When I say this fic got under my skin in the best way possible, I truly mean that. Will is terrible. Honestly, so is Chilton. Hannibal is also not great. This is a story about not great people, but like a car crash, I simply couldn't look away. I love erotic psychological horror and this was ticking all of the boxes for me.

The Accident by TigerPrawn

Word Count: 1369 Summary: Sharing a bed results in unexpected intimacy.

And there was only one bed!!! I love.

Moth to the Flame by hannibae

Word Count: 4324 Summary: Will breathes out a laugh, arching his back in surprise when Hannibal presses the dry pad of a finger over his hole. “Nah,” he lets out, shaky and unsure, “I’ve been high before, but I’ve never—God, everything you do is perfect, isn’t it? Are you bad at anything?” It all feels too nice, Hannibal’s body solid and perfect against his own, his hands squeezing and kneading his flesh, his hips working up against Will’s own. It’s exactly how it shouldn’t be with Hannibal.

stoned Hannigram is absolutely delightful, this was so fucking HOT.

The Strangest Thing by foggys_cupcake_girl

Word Count: 3562 Summary: Will Graham is used to coming home and seeing his husband doing odd things, but he's never come home to find him with his head in a bag of Cheetos, with his hand down the toilet, or lying bare-naked in the living room after a shower.Or, that one where Hannibal tries to do a nice thing and ends up in way, WAY over his head.

STONED HANNIGRAM IS ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL.

Remember Me, I Ask by HigherMagic

Word Count: 10795 Summary: "Part of me was worried you were dead."It's not what he expected to hear, and Will's throat goes tight. The sheath of it is slicked with honey and afterburn, and his fingers flex on the arms of the chair. "You didn't used to let fear of consequences affect you," he replies."Until you."Settled into his life with Duncan, Will is ready to leave everything behind. Until Hannibal breaks out of prison. Will knows his time is limited.

This felt very in character, and was also hot as fuck.

Healthy Curiosity by orphan_account

Word Count: 1267 Summary: Restless, Abigail sneaks off to her fathers' bedroom in the middle of the night seeking comfort. She instead puts some of her curiosities to rest.

Fuck me, I do love voyeurism.

Teach Me a Lesson (Already Learned) by whenitstarted

Word Count: 3142 Summary: Will being married to Molly and cheating on her with Hannibal.

A reread that is still fabulous.

the leather runs smooth by drpeaceandlove

Word Count: 4960 Summary: "Are you... encouraging me to sleep with Molly?" Will kept his intent gaze trained upon Hannibal's face, finding that - even through his abilities to empathise with others - he could not discern anything wrong about Hannibal's current demeanour.A feline grin unfurled upon Hannibal's lips and he let out a faint exhalation of amusement, capturing Will's lips in yet another kiss."I am merely advising you, my dear." Hannibal insisted - something Will did not at all believe - and brought his hand back, much to Will's dismay. That disappointment was short-lived, however, when Hannibal began unbuckling the leather belt looped through Will's jeans. "Now, shall we begin our session?"----Or, Hannibal and Will are interrupted by a call during one of their therapy sessions.

Anything involving being railed while on a phone call is gonna make me INCREDIBLY happy.

All the Things that Make a Sound by sourweather

Word Count: 3330 Summary: Hannibal gets an unexpected call from Will while he's in prison. They don't speak, Will just wants Hannibal to listen.

Will calling Hannibal while Hanni's in prison to make him listen while Will fucks Molly? Amazing. Wish I could give this more than one star.

I Hope You'll Feed Me by DorianThey

Word Count: 3473 Summary: Trans!Will Graham hates getting his period, but Hannibal loves taking care of him while he’s bleeding. Especially when Will needs an endorphin boost…

This was hot. That's all.

Cuisine Euphonique by thecountessolivia

Word Count: 35321 Summary: Nightmares brought on by a gruesome case lead Will to some unorthodox therapy in the form of a YouTube cooking channel.[Completed]

So this was a reread and I'm still obsessed with it.

Instinct by solarteacup

Word Count: 5329 Summary: Hannibal took another sip of wine, then reached out with both hands to cup Will’s face. He moved slowly, intentionally. His fingers caressed from the point of Will’s chin through the coarse dark hair of his beard, fanning out to his cheeks. When his fingertips reached Will’s ears, he stopped, cradling Will’s jaw in his palms while his thumbs brushed against old scars. He smiled, eyes moving from Will’s reflective gaze down to his slightly parted lips. “Instinct is nothing more than lessons learned and skills acquired over millions of years of self-preservation. Genetic patterns built to keep us alive without thinking. Legs to run or kick, arms to climb or scratch…” “And mouths to bite?” Will spoke low, eyes darting across Hannibal’s, unsure where to settle his gaze. Hannibal hummed. “The mouth serves many, many purposes." ______________ aka Hannibal gives Will anatomy lessons on what he and his mouth were built for.

Oh dear. I fear this has awoken something in me.

it’s only a matter of time before we all burn by madeofbees

Word Count: 11963 Summary: help, please voice cracking 2:13am blinking the world on and off. The flashing he couldn’t trust the time a power outage a will outage he needed to check his phone couldn’t tolerate hannibal away from his ear what do you need will heavy with sleep composed and solid propping will up keeping him from flying apart, shattering like a fragile teacupi need you to make it stop—will has a panic attack, hannibal fixes it

THIS WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AND SO FREAKIN' HOT.

you are the shower of light i devour by madeofbees

Word Count: 26255 Summary: Will has spent his life on suppressants, living as a beta, repressing as much of his sexuality as he can. It’s easier, raises fewer questions. But suppressants only work so well for so long, and chronic overuse only makes the eventual heat worse. Still, he rests easy knowing that he’s perceived as a beta, and therefore is safe.Until his psychiatrist casually mentions it’s been a while since his last heat, and does he require any assistance?Yes, actually. He does.—Almost exclusively smut, with a dash of trauma!angst, heavily seasoned with obliviously and incorrectly assumed one-sided feels.

I do adore a good chronic overuse of suppressants leads to an intense heat trope.

looked up at the sky and it was maroon by madeofbees

Word Count: 15852 Summary: Will accidentally sends Hannibal a dick pic and Hannibal loses his shit. That’s it that’s the story.eta: now with edits!

i LOVE Hannibal nearly setting his home on fire because of a dick pic from Will. absolutely amazing, 10/10.

Doctor Lecter’s Fabulously Buff Investigator by TheSilverQueen

Word Count: 5625 Summary: Online conferences due to the quarantine are how Doctor Lecter's colleagues learn that: 1) Doctor Lecter has a beautiful home; 2) Doctor Lecter is married; and 3) Doctor Lecter's husband is fabulously buff.

This was very silly and I loved it.

I Only Have Eyes For You by sourweather

Word Count: 3827 Summary: Will gets so, so bored at Hannibal's dinner parties. But they're dating, so he can't exactly say no. So one night, he decides to have some fun, and tries to make Hannibal jealous by flirting with one of the guests. It doesn't go how Will expected.

Another re-read, another one that's still incredible.

Caught in the Act by UndeadRobby

Word Count: 2829 Summary: A collection of oneshots where Hannibal and Will get caught in... compromising positions.

Amazing.

Will Graham's Unconventional Health Care Proxy by UndeadRobby

Word Count: 3383 Summary: "It appears our dear friend Will Graham was in an accident, and is currently unconscious at Johns Hopkins. They needed someone to consent to continued treatment on his behalf, now that they have completed the actively life-saving treatment.”Frederick blinks. “And… he listed you as his healthcare proxy? Not, oh, I don’t know, his wife? Jack Crawford? Alana Bloom? A dog?”

Hannibal being Will's healthcare proxy and rubbing it in everyone else's face is hysterical and I loved it.

Like a Room Without a Roof by halotolerant

Word Count: 52881 Summary: Will is an awkward, single Submissive who has to get a temporary partner so he can pass an Alignment Health Assessment for his job. Hannibal is a Dom agreeable to low-level ‘sessions’ in which no sex or feelings will get involved.None of that works out quite to plan.

This was such a fun take on a BDSM AU!!

Make the world go quiet - sensory deprivation by Incidentsofunknownorigins

Word Count: 6071 Summary: Back in America 4th of July weekend,Will is triggered by fireworks and past trauma, Hannibal finds a way to distract him.

Trauma response mitigated by sex? Say less. Also written by a friend!

Hummingbird by sourweather

Word Count: 5416 Summary: Will and Hannibal have been seeing each other for a few months. They're keeping things pretty casual, sneaking around behind closed doors. Until Will finds out he's pregnant with Hannibal's baby.

This was fluffy goodness.

Pupping Season. by TheDarkestMindWithin

Word Count: 2377 Summary: Will's ready for pups, Hannibal remains adamant he is not.

This is exactly what I want out of a non-con scenario, holy SHIT. This was also a reread.

Captive by sixtieshairdo

Word Count: 1436 Summary: “What would Franklyn do if he saw you like this?” He relishes the way he can feel Hannibal’s cock twitch inside him whenever he clenches around him just a little tighter. “What would Jack do if he saw you like this?” The thought that Jack would disapprove of his relationship with Hannibal only makes Will spread his thighs wider, fucking down onto Hannibal’s cock faster, mind-drunk on how he can hear the sounds of his ass cheeks clapping. He’s fully naked, the way Hannibal likes him to be, and Hannibal’s mostly dressed – except for his pants around his knees – the way Will likes him to be. He can’t imagine what his sweaty knees are doing to the leather under him, but he knows Hannibal wouldn’t hesitate to keep the desecrated furniture in his office as evidence of their sordid affairs.

Fake relationship? Featuring a jealous Franklyn?? Catnip.

Hanni's Boy by Ishxallxgood

Word Count: 4648 Summary: Franklyn Froideveaux falls in love at first sight with none other than our friendly neighborhood empath. The only problem is, the object of his affections already has a partner. What is a man to do? Stalk the shit out of and emulate said partner of course. And it doesn't hurt that the man's partner just so happens to be Franklyn's very own psychiatrist Doctor Hannibal Lecter.Pure crack inspired by Jessie's Girl

This was so perfect, everything I wanted.

Savor You by Murder_Cupcake

Word Count: 585 Summary: Hannibal wants to pleasure Will, who's pregnant, heavy and embarrassed.

This was so so so hot.

in the truly gruesome do we trust by sidnihoudini

Word Count: 9473 Summary: Hannibal and Will have murder husbands mind palace sex, and Alana watches obsessively. A slow, sneaky grin slides its way across Will’s face as he looks up at Hannibal and teases, “You enjoy being watched.” “Does a lion eat its prey while it is still alive?” Hannibal asks rhetorically, an amused quirk to his lips. He drags his elbows against the silk sheets, letting himself rest his weight on them so he can comfortably brush his fingers through Will’s curls. After a pause, he drops his head, and presses his open mouth to Will’s. He pulls back a fraction, and breathes, “Yes.” Fully smiling now, sharp and uncontrolled, Will arches up against Hannibal’s body, and asks, “Does that make me the lion, or the prey?” “You are simply part of the pride,” Hannibal murmurs.

This. Was. So. Hot.

aaaand that's a wrap for October!! have fun babes!!

#gracie reads hannigram #fic recs #hannigram fic recs #hannigram recs #hannigram #hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #mads mikkelsen #hannigram fic #nbc hannibal #hugh dancy

95 notes · View notes