#(OUTSIDE FRANCIS MIND)

[heuheu-art]

i know i've done something right with kelsey's design because this is what my friend said immediately upon seeing her:

[darrys-laundry]

oh my fucking god

[jojikawa]

Beauty and the Beast

An event where you are a woman in the 50s trying to turn the head of your neighbor, Francis Mosses when you are stalked and pursued by his evil counterpart.

Art by ilameys

Zettai Zetsumei • Co shu Nie

Word Count: 5.7k

⚠️: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT ♥ Manhandling, Slight body horror descriptions, descriptions of blood, himbo!doppelgänger!Francis Mosses, Yandere Behavior, Mentions of Stalking, sexualization of the female MC by Fake Francis, SMUT(CNC, mentions of a "rape kit"), and monster cock.

I write for free, but if you wanna further support me > Ko-Fi 🎀

Life was somewhat boring for you as a woman in the 50s. Despite being sought after by a lot of the men in your apartment complex, you had your heart set on one man. You only got to see him once a day. Francis Mosses. When he would deliver milk to your door in the morning. No matter how cute or cherry you were, it seemed like his mind was set on other things. The man always looked tired but you thought he was handsome no matter what. Maybe even more handsome…it was just something about hot men being tired that made them so much hotter.

You had hoped that eventually, he’d notice you and finally take you on a date!

But that hope soon faded when you read the newspapers. They talked about how doppelgängers are becoming a lot more frequent and the D.D.D. would be installing new units everywhere to ensure that no evil counterparts are making their way into the homes of others and killing people. You were able to tell if this made you feel safer or a lot more scared. What if someone made a mistake…?

Well, you didn’t have a chance to feel anything really, as the D.D.D. was extremely secretive about this kind of threat. After some time, it became normalized and it soon left your mind. The Doorman job seemed to be pretty effective as you had never seen any monsters before and were very much alive. It was rumored that the creatures would murder and eat any person they encountered if they succeeded in passing as humans. This is another reason you had your heart set on Francis. You felt as though he could protect you at a time like this. Maybe it was naive of you but after all, you were just a girl.

“Good Morning.”

Upon hearing the small knock at your door, you went to greet him. Francis stood tall, rather confused about you coming to get your bottled milk so quickly.

“Oh, good morning…” He replied flatly, gripping the strap of his milk bag. You thought that maybe he had a mutual crush on you and was too shy to act on it. So, you could take that step for him.

“How are you this morning? I hope that life is agreeing with you today.” You stepped outside of your apartment door with your glass of milk in hand. Francis shrugged. “I suppose it is.” He then yawned before saying “What’s wrong? Are you looking for another?”

You blinked. “Huh?” Your eyes then darted down to your hands. “O-Oh…sure.” You smiled attractively, causing him to break eye contact with you. He reached into his milk carrier and revealed and took out another. “You’re only allowed to get one every day but you can have mine.” He walked up to you and placed the bottle into your free hand.

“Th-Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.”

After he disappeared around the corner, you were filled with joy! That interaction was such a good sign. He gave you his milk bottle. You had to make him something for dinner tonight as a gift!

Thunk!

You almost jumped at the sound of glass falling on the carpet at the far end of the hallway behind you. It looked like an empty milk bottle if you squinted hard enough. There was a shadow as well. It made you feel uneasy and quickly made you retreat into your home.

You wanted to try seeing if you could have more time with Francis. There was a job opening for the D.D.D. Doorman of your building and you instantly took it. Being able to meet with Francis when he wasn’t busy might have your conversations with him take a turn for the better. You really appreciated his selfless gesture. So, seeing him at least twice a day would make your life so much brighter. Francis was the complete package. Tall, handsome, quiet, and most of all, soft-spoken. You’d be a good wife to him.

On the first day of the job, you didn’t receive any proper training. You were given an informational video and a set of instructions that you scrambled to memorize as a long line of your neighbors awaited their inspection outside. The job was easy at first and you did it well. It was a chore but those are easy. You let in the right people and you called the D.D.D. when you found a doppelganger like you were instructed to. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, Francis didn’t pay you any mind. You gave him a soft smile through the glass before asking him about his day. 

“I hope work is treating you well.” You pitched your voice up to sound cuter. Your graceful hands moved swiftly as you sifted through the many layers of documents, trying to organize them before your next neighbor. “Yeah, I suppose.” He answered, blinking rather slowly. Your smile widened. “Any days off soon? I’d like to see you outside of your uniform.” You winked at him and he just shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Well, maybe, sometime after your hard work, you tell me a day you’d think you would be free?” 

You waited with anticipation for his response. He seemed rather confused and it was rather adorable. Then he said “I don’t really know. I think I’m busy but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Your smile faltered just a little but you were good at faking emotions. “Oh, no worries.” You waved him off in a playful manner before pressing the button to allow him inside. Your shift ended and you thought that you should probably get to making that dinner for him as a ‘thank you’ for the free milk. As you began to clean up, the pressure of your job began to set in. This wasn’t something that you could just quit if Francis were to reject you. Ignoring all the unexplainable noises, the dark figures, and the constant feeling of being watched, it would be very awkward seeing him every day after that.

It was a new day. Francis came to check into the building and you let him go without chatting with him because you didn’t want to seem like a bother. But…then you saw him again.

“Francis?” You cutely tilted your head. The way he looked at you was much different than usual. The Francis you knew could barely make meaningful eye contact with you but right now he had no problem burning holes into your skull with his eyes. Not only that but he was visibly bigger as well. Taller and more masculine. His arms were big and veiny. This was NOT Francis Mosses.

“I-ID…?” You gave a nervous half-smile as you tried to hide your stutter. The humanoid creature gawked, a subtle sense of happiness washing over its face the longer it stayed there. “Don’t have it on me.” It replied plainly. You picked up the clipboard before exing out the box that was labeled “ID.”

“W-Well, you seem to look a lot like someone who’s already checked in. Please, give me a moment to confirm.” You flashed it a close-eyed smile. Upon seeing it, the fake Francis moved closer to the window, fogging it up with its mouth breathing.

You pressed the big red button to close the shutter before dialing the number to the D.D.D. 

The representative told you someone would be over right away to dispose of the doppelgänger. It only took about a minute before they’d arrive. Normally, the shutter would open on its own after being reset by the D.D.D. member but for some reason, it didn’t You figured that now would be a good time to open it to help the last neighbors but when you did, you were not met with the hazmat suit you were so familiar with. 

In front of you was the same fake Francis from before, now covered in some blood. His expression was one of annoyance and the veins in his arms were pulsating as if he were trying to contain some kind of anger.

“E-Excuse me, but you need to—!”

“Let me in.”

Your heart dropped. It talked! And it sounded just like Francis too. 

You shook your head. “N-No! I’m not letting a monster in.” You reached for the number to re-dial the number again.

“But I think you look so pretty today. You wore that just for me, huh? I’d love to t-tear it off of you.” The creature’s neck involuntarily cracked its neck, twisting it in a demonic way. You screamed at the sight, pressing the button once more to close the shutters so that you wouldn’t have to see it. As they went down, the doppelgänger tried to stop it by putting his hand under it. It got caught in the track, causing it to get stuck on the track and it was open halfway.

“Come on, Darling, I know you’re not about to call those bastards again. I don’t want to have to hurt anyone else.” The large man-creature crouched down. You could see his fanged canine teeth poking out of his mouth. You backed away from the window with the telephone in hand.

3312…

You listened to the dial tone for a few seconds before the receptionist answered.

“Hello?”

“P-Please send help!” You cried over the phone. Tears began to spill out of your eyes upon hearing the squeal of metal as the predator stretched and bent it to his will. The glass was the only thing left that could stop him from entering.

You saw how abnormally long his tongue was when it glided over his lips. “I just want to taste you…”

The receptionist dispatched another group of workers to help dispose of the doppelgänger. They arrived almost instantly. It was only then that the fake Francis moved away from the window. You sighed in relief, trying to calm yourself down from the events that transpired. You ran over to the tempered glass. The mental door looked like sheet paper.

You saw no trace of the Hazmat people but you also didn’t see the fake Francis anymore. You quickly gathered your things and rushed to leave. You opened the door to let yourself out. You planned to run to your room and lock the door but as soon as you had left the room, you bumped into a stiff, toned chest. The figure grabbed you by your neck and forced you to look at them. The gloved hand was covered in blood and it stained your skin and the collar of your dress.

“Where do you think you’re going, Princess?”

His grip around your throat was so tight that you weren’t able to form words. It was completely covered in blood and in its other hand was a knife dripping with blood as well. It kept the violence to one side of the room so that you weren’t able to see anything unless you completely left the screening room.

The light clank of the knife hitting the ground could be heard and its newly free hand grabbed your waist. The doppelgänger hugged you to its masculine chest. Its head rested itself on top of yours before it planted its nose in the crown of your head before inhaling your scent deeply. The blaring sound of the alarm continued to go off and it was deafening.

Your nose was overloaded with the scent of fresh blood. The pure shock didn’t let you resist his touch. His grip loosened and you dropped everything you had in your hands on the floor, staining it in with the red substance

“P-Please.”

You felt its large hand around the back of your neck and you feared that it would snap it and kill you any second. You held your breath as you felt it set the other hand on your waist as well, rubbing it gingerly.

It felt like the doppelgänger was sizing you up to see if you’d be a good enough meal for it.

“He-ey, beautiful. It's… okay…” 

The doppelgänger’s speech was somewhat disconnected but it was fluid for the most part. At first, it was clear he was a fake but the more he kept talking, the more it sounded like the real thing…like it was learning in real time.

Your heart rate accelerated when you felt its hand travel ever so slowly from your waist to the collar of your dress. The inhuman smile on its face widened and it suddenly ripped the cloth that covered your torso. You gasped, instinctively covering your now exposed bra.

You wiggled out of its grip and used the opportunity to run. You kicked off your pumps and ran barefoot to your apartment. All you could do was hope that more of the D.D.D. would come and solve the issue before anyone else could get hurt. The emergency alarm was still going off so the authorities should be there soon.

When you arrived at your door, you tried to scramble to look for your keys so that you could get inside but…

…you remembered that you dropped them along with the rest of your possessions.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching behind you. The large shadow engulfed your smaller form.

“Allow me.” The stranger said, calmly. Their large fist went through the door handle, shattering the lock and making it completely useless. You were too shocked to try running again. It found you.

The doppelganger shoved you against the door, swinging it open and causing you to fall forward inside of your home. You hit the floor with a soft but swift thud. “I see the way you look at him.” Its voice was laced with venom—anger but left more to be desired. It was playing with you awfully long for a creature that was trying to kill you.

“But you’d never look at me that way…”

The Fake Francis entered the apartment making sure to secure the door behind it so that you couldn’t run anymore. You cried and whimpered as it took its sweet time pushing your bookcase in front of the door so no one would intervene with what was supposed to happen next.

“I-I don’t know what you’re—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence as it smashed its lips into yours. Its tongue was like that of a serpent, slipping its way into your mouth. You tried to push it away but any attempts just resulted in your lips connecting once more. It was too strong. 

You were terrified but it passed so much for the real Francis.

“Tell me you don’t like it ‘n I’ll stop.” It whispered into your mouth before it French kissed you once more. You kissed it back, unable to resist his appearance any longer. When it pulled away, a string of saliva connected between both of your mouths. It’s warm breath hits the surface of your face, eyes full of lust and horror.

It’s soft lips attached themselves to your neck, biting and sucking until your skin slowly began turning red. “Mmm.” It hummed deeply, traveling lower and lower until it reached the cavern between your breasts. “You’re sensitive here, aren’t you?” It placed kisses in the valley of your chest, waiting for a reply. You were unable to form words at this point. It wanted to ravage you and steal your innocence. It took your idleness as consent, continuing on with satisfying itself and by extension, satisfying you.

It took the delicate hand you had been using to drive a wedge between the both of you. You thought that at this point it was going to break your arm! You squeezed your eyes shut, ready to endure the pain but…it didn’t. You felt the heated bulge beneath it’s bloodied white trousers. It throbbed. 

That’s when it finally clicked for you. It wasn’t playing with you like you were food. It wasn’t trying to taste you and pick it’s teeth with your bones. It wanted to be with you. To breed you.

“I—ah~♡!” You bit down on your lip to contain the pretty moans that left your mouth. Your bra was removed, fully exposing your breasts. Its tongue touched the tip of your nipple and its mouth enveloped over your entire areola. It licked and sucked on the bud until it was nice and hard. The other hand was subtly slipped under your dress.

It took barely any strength at all to rip the fabric, showing how inappropriately wet you’d become from this activity. It craved the essence that was oozing from your tiny cunt.

At the feeling of the cold wind, you brought your legs together just to have them forced apart again. The creature made you feel so small and vulnerable. It used force when it felt necessary but overall, it was….soft. Licking, kissing, biting but no drawing blood, taste, loving.

It salivated at your legs, raising one and nuzzling the side of its face into the smooth skin. “So…gorgeous.” It pulled you forward. “When I saw you, I knew I wanted you.”

“Y-You did…?” You squeaked. It’s touch sent goosebumps from your limp to the rest of your body. “Two years I’ve been watching you. It was so damn annoying seeing you talk to that piece of meat.”

Piece of meat?

“I don’t know who you mean.” You shied away from the perfect creature. Could it mean…

“F-Francis?” You knitted your eyes together in confusion.

“Yes—HIM!” The doppelgänger dropped your leg and pulled you by your thighs to its crotch. “…I could never decide what skin would be the best to pursue you in. But then I’d see the way you look at him.” Pre-cum was beginning to show from its member inside. You could feel the wet fabric on the lips of your hot cunt. “So, I became him…but better.”

You heard the subtle unzipping sound of the pants and it took out its thick cock. It was larger than normal and didn't look like the standard male genitalia. You’d need to use both hands to hold it.

There was no denying this thing could perfectly replicate a human man. Before you could even react, the big “man” picked you up by your hair.

“Get on your knees.” He commanded and you felt obligated to obey him. You’ve never been in a situation where you were being held up by a man like this.

“I’m gonna split you in half with this cock.” He pushed its large tip against your cheek, straining it with warm cum. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted for a moment but you hesitated. There was no way that whole thing could fit into your mouth. Your eyes traveled up to his for guidance. He only stared down at you with hard, tired eyes. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a smirk.

“I said…open your mouth.”

He spoke through his teeth as if it were a threat. You were reluctant but tried to ease it in. You kissed his tip, causing him to grunt and tighten his fist around your hair. “Open.” He growled, yanking your head back. His cock was so close to your face that you could truly take in its side. It was nearly the length of your skull. 

You opened your mouth out of fear and he shoved it inside. He was kind enough to let you get used to it in your throat by going soft and slow…or maybe he was just distracted by the imprint showing on your throat. 

You grabbed his hips to keep yourself from falling backward. Even a bit of force made you lose your balance. “Good girl.” He sighed, relaxing into you, pushing the limits by pushing it deeper. Your choking and gagging only made him feel pleasure.

“You struggling with my dick in your mouth is so hot.” You heard him mutter under his breath. Your eyes began to water from the choking, causing tears to carry mascara down your cheeks.

“Keep sucking.” He fucked into your throat and gentle too. “I’m close.”

 Both of his hands found themselves on the back of your head. He sped up his pace until a loud groan emitted from his chest and a mysterious liquid found its way down your throat.

The doppelgänger let go of your hair. You fell back on your bottom and he crouched down. “Hey.” He called, grabbed both sides of your face with one hand. He squeezed your cheeks together. “Swallow.”

You swallowed what was left and once he knew it was in your belly, his lips crashed into yours. His tongue wormed its way into your mouth and explored every cavern.

You felt yourself get lifted again but this time to your feet. He walked you over to your dining table and shoved you into it. “Bend over.”

You didn’t really get a choice. When you tried to stand, he forced you down to the table with his hand on the back of your head. 

You expected him to say something, but he stayed silent. You felt him explore your backside from your hips to your exposed ass. The wind was so cold but his hands were so warm.

He chuckled darkly, spreading your ass cheeks and sticking his shaft in between. His dick was so much bigger than you that you would definitely have a belly bulge because of it. He wanted to experience it for himself.

You waited with silent anticipation for him what he would do next. You weren’t too sexually active anymore because you wanted to reserve that for the real Francis, if you ever got the chance with him, so you were really nervous about having something so big inside.

“Uah!” You squeaked, feeling a wet, warm muscle enter the deepest part of your cunt. It was his tongue!

You whipped your head around to see that his face was buried in you from behind. “Mmm.” You heard him hum vibrations into you. He consumed all of your juices as they came out. It must’ve tasted so good coming from a pretty human like you.

With every moan and whimper that left your mouth, it made his dick grow harder and harder. He didn’t stop until you had creamed all over his tongue. So much came out that it got all over his face too.

“I-Is that it? Is that what you want…?” You asked, but you were only ignored.

“Pick a hole.”

“Wh-wha—“

“Pick a hole, or I will.”

Pick…a hole…?

His large thumb massaged your asshole while his knuckles, now sleek with your cream, was stimulating your pussy.

“Um…I—“ 

“Both it is!”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what?!”

You felt his thumb sink deep into your ass while he struggled to get his large tip into your pussy. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” He growled through his teeth. His free hand grabbed your ass, fingers sinking in so deep they’d leave marks. 

“W-Wait, you have to go slow!” You cried, face heating up from being touched in such filthy ways. “I am.” He grumbled, pushing the limits of your vagina by forcing himself inside. Despite going at the pace of a snail, the pain of trying to fit himself inside didn’t decrease at all. You helplessly clawed at the table beneath you. It didn’t matter how wet you were. He was too big.

It took a moment but he was able to get it. It slipped in with much ease on his end but the difference inside made you gasp so hard you needed to cover your mouth.

The doppelgänger began thrusting without warning, quickly overstimulating you. You could feel him in your stomach too. You reach back to push him off of you but he just grabbed your arm and kept it. There wasn’t much you could do to get someone this big off of you. You would only take it.

“P-Please…I can’t take it!” You gapped out, drool escaped your mouth as you tried to form words. He was fucking you so hard you couldn’t even think. All that could be heard around the room was the lewd slapping of his filled balls against the bottom of your pussy. 

“Beg for it then. Say you love me.” His breath hitched. “Say you want me and I’ll let you go.”

“I—“ Slap! 

You tried to speak. “I wa—“ Slap!

It seemed that when you tried to comply with him, he’d remove the hand playing with your asshole to leave a rough, skin-reddening slap on your ass. Your struggling amused him. He couldn’t help but smile.

The doppelgänger has been stalking you for so long. It was hard getting into your apartment normally because of the last doorman but he couldn’t resist you once you were sitting at that desk.

“What’s wrong?” He teased, his deep voice going soft. “My dick isn’t in your mouth anymore…so what’s the issue?” He chuckled. “Beg.”

“I want you!” You blurted out.

“You…want me? Say there’s no one else. Say you love me!” It was like music to his ears, really. It was helping him reach his climax.

“I…I love you—“

“FUCK!”

Your belly bulge quickly became bigger as his cum painted your walls and womb. Even with his dick growing more flaccid, he continued to fuck his cum into you so that you both knew who you belonged to now. Tears spilled out of your eyes as you squirted onto his cock, mixing your juices together.

“I love you too, Princess. More than you could ever imagine—“ Before he could finish, his ears perked up almost like an animal. His attention turned towards your door that he had destroyed before. “Here they come.” He muttered, putting his member back into his pants.

You weakly lifted yourself from the table. Your hand placed itself tight below your navel. It was so sore now. “Who’s coming…? What are you talking about…?”

The doppelgänger ignored you, its horns flesh and bones began contorting and changing color. Its physique turned from that of a huge masculine man to the familiar form of that of a D.D.D. member. Yellow suit and all. 

It ran to the door, opening it, and sticking its head out. “I found her, she's in here!” Its voice changed to a generic man as well. Not at all like the deep gruff from before.

Your legs felt like jelly, you fell to the ground as soon as you were able to stand. They were numb from the pleasure, leaving you unable to walk.

What happened next went by as a blur. The D.D.D. Reinforcement Team took you to a hospital where you were taken care of and given rape kit. You were unable to refuse it once the forensics team found semen at the scene. In order to maintain faith in the D.D.D., your assault was largely covered up but only those who were in the apartment that day knew about it.

After the commotion of filing our paperwork and giving information, you were sent home. You didn’t sustain any life threatening injuries but you were asked to come in periodically to see how your body would react to having the semen of a doppelgänger inside of you…so now you were a bit of a test subject to them. You quit the job after that but you were quickly replaced by a new guy. 

You hadn’t seen the doppelgänger the entire time. Or at least, you thought you didn’t. You wanted to process the situation but you were more confused as to why it craved so much validation from you. It wanted you to say you loved it. It wanted you to say that you wanted it. It said that it’s been waiting two years to be this close to you. It looked like Francis.

You had just arrived back home. Carpenters quickly replaced your door before you got home and you decided to continue life as usual by making dinner for yourself. Your heart still aches from the fear you felt when you thought you were going to die. And so did your vagina. It didn’t bleed, thank god, but it was sore to the touch from how big that monster was.

“Man, I thought you’d never come back.”

You were alone in your kitchen when a voice emitted from behind you. The familiarity in the voice made your heart drop. You quickly turned around to see the doppelgänger from before, masquerading as Francis again.

“What are you doing here? What do you—“

“Shh, princess.” He strided through your small kitchen, stepping so close to you that you were against the counter with nowhere else to go. You placed your hands on his chest, giving you the illusion that you could push him away. He grabbed your arm by the wrist before kissing the inside of your palm. He kissed your fingers and then the back of your hand before making you cup his cheek, which he nuzzled into lovingly.

You wanted to rip your hand away but his grip was so strong. You blushed. Was it wrong to admit that he…it, was attractive? 

“Why didn’t you kill me and eat me? Why did you do that to me?” You questioned meekly. His eyes were closed, enjoying your warm touch with a smile before they opened. His eyes were like hunter's eyes. “Because I love you.” He replied flatly. 

“I don’t know what that means…” 

You opened your mouth to speak again but you were cut off by a knock at your door. 

“I’ll get it.” The doppelgänger quickly said and in a mere second, it shapeshifted to turn into…you. It was able to mimic you in all your glory, including the hickeys, bites and bruises from your attack.

“No!” You blurted out. “Don’t do that.”

The doppelgänger allowed you to move away from it and your arm fell to your side. You went to get the door but you made sure to check who it was before opening.

It was Francis!

“It’s him!” You hurried to your bedroom to find your cardigan to cover your tattered clothes before answering the door.

“Francis? What brings you here?” You forced a smile but your eyes looked just as tired as his. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I heard what happened. ‘m so glad you’re okay.” Francis sighed, quickly invading your personal space. He hugged you to his chest. You blinked “F-Francis…?”

“I felt all torn up when I thought you died but when I heard that you were just fine, I just had to come see you myself.” Your stomach burned with delight. Francis was worried about you?

Francis let go of you and you pulled away. His face was red like he was blushing and you couldn’t help but blush too. Your lips curled into a smile. “W-Well, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

He wanted to smile back but he couldn’t. He saw the marks on your skin. You were hurt. “I know you are.” He masked his sadness with a weak smile. He rested his hand on your head and ruffled it a bit.

It would probably be inappropriate for him to admit that he’s actually had feelings for you all this time, so he’d save it for another day. Hearing the news about the doppelgänger through gossip during his job of going door to door made him realize he could lose you at any moment. But today, he settled with placing a kiss at the crown of your head. “Stay safe. I’ll check on you again later.”

For a moment, everything in your life went still. Even after he had walked away and left you standing there, it didn’t feel real. This more or less confirmed he had a crush on you as well. No man just does that and doesn’t see you as more than just a neighbor.

Your heart fluttered as you came back to reality. You slipped back inside of your home. You need to get cleaned up! You had to bathe and find something suitable just in case Francis wanted to come inside upon your next meeting.

But then….

“You look awfully happy.”

The doppelgänger was still here. You gulped, seeing his much bigger form. He grabbed the sides of your face with his hand again. He didn’t bother crouching because of your size difference, leaving you standing on the tips of your toes.

You were too shocked to try defending yourself, so he continued. “I saw everything so don’t even try to lie. That bastard is so lucky that I have to lay low until the D.D.D. gets their claws out of you or else I would’ve…”

“Don’t hurt him!” You tried to beat and punch his arm to get him off but he didn’t budge. “Why not?!”

“Because…I’ll be sad. And you don’t want me to be sad, do you?” Your voice was unlabeled and lacked confidence. It was a Hail Mary but you’d do anything to prevent Francis from getting hurt.

“Shit.” The doppelgänger let go of you, setting you back on your feet. It seemed…conflicted. He paced around your living room briefly. It had a soft spot for you but you could tell it has trouble processing emotions like a person. It was just imitating a person to get what it wanted.

“You don’t want him. You just wanna marry a guy. I’ll marry you.” 

You shook your head. “No. Y-You can’t. You’re not him.”

“Of course I am.” His expression became mischievous. A smirk settled on his handsome face. “You can even call me Francis in bed if it fancies you.” 

You felt your stomach do a flip!

“No! I’m not calling you that. Even though you look just like him…wh-what do I call you anyway…?” You retreated inward, hugging yourself and looking quite nervous as if the situation was beginning to dawn on you. You were currently desired by one of the most dangerous beings in the world.

“Francis.”

“Stop! I’m never using that name for you.” You got angry enough to shove him but he didn’t move an inch. You quickly realized that you shouldn’t push too hard or else it might change its mind and kill you. 

“Mmm….” You pursed your lips, avoiding eye contact with the monster. “Wh-What about Franz? Is that good enough for you…?”

Franz, huh?

“Perfect.”

Tagged Folks: @z3r0art @chilifrylizard2

[etiolatedmutant]

logan seeing a picture of wade pre-mutation

he has a weird moment of “why tf is there a picture of that nicepool douche in my house” before he Realizes

and wade is like “oh great now That’s gonna be in his mind forever, what i used to look like before the ground beefing of it all, just what i fuckin needed” and he makes a joke (shocker) to stave off how insecure he is

“i was trying to make lepers fashionable, jokes on me i guess”

and logan just eyes the photo and says, “you look weird.”

wade’s Shocked. he was a fucking Looker back then, thank you very much. “there’s just no winning with you, is there?” he asks.

and logan turns the photo over and over in his hands, dis-fucking-pleased, before he flicks it back from whence it came. and he looks at wade, all green-eyed disarming honesty, and says, “i like my version better.”

and if wade didn’t Know logan, didn’t know the shine in his eye and the sincere timbre of his voice, he’d call bullshit. no one in their right mind would prefer him Now to the Him of 2016, right? nessa only put up with it because he was kinda grandfathered into that relationship and she liked his insides as well as his outsides (hey-o)

but he does know logan, and he knows that logan doesn’t mince words or sugarcoat Anything in the name of “sparing feelings,” so he sits there, digesting the compliment like gas station sushi — which is to say, not fucking well at all.

to make matters worse (or, well, better, he guesses) he finds a picture of Him Now and logan from nessa’s new year’s eve party magnetized to the fridge the next day.

it’s poorly lit, illuminated only by shattering fireworks overhead and a few yellow streetlights, and they’re both clearly smashed — wade’s eyes are glassy and red, logan’s cheeks are flushed, and the finer details of their faces have been smudged away thanks to shaky camerawork.

but they’re happy. wade looks happy — he’s smiling, a big, fat, candid grin, like he’d been laughing, and logan’s kissing his cheek, unashamed. he’d been wade’s first new year’s kiss in a long fucking time.

he buys a frame for that picture - a sparkly pink monstrosity from goodwill - and gives it a home on the nightstand next to their bed. and yeah, whatever, on bad days he looks at it and thinks eugh, still, because goddamn francis really did a number on him —

but most days, he’s just happy he gets to be that guy in the picture at all. the guy logan howlett stayed for. the guy logan kissed in front of dozens of people.

logan’s version.

[delicrieux]

. . . l'oeuf

˙⋆✮ summary. just another evening at henry's.

pairing. henry winter x f!reader warnings. smoking, swearing, mentioned drug use, bad aspirin use specifically, use of alcohol, +18 (p n v sex, no condom henry DOES NOT care, very minimal dirty talk), pretentiousness, an inkling of classicism, bunny™ wc. 6.9k ✧˖°.

author's note. happy october everyone ! i always wanted to write smth for the loml henry winter but i never had the patience to sit down and do it. well, now i did. this was written with prompt 1. thick, acrid smoke. feel free to rqs more for the prompty thingies! x . . . side note! the fic is named by this song since i listened to it while writing. you can draw a metaphor from it if willing

creds. hd., div.

mlist | buy me coffee ♡ྀ

it was at the start of october on that fateful senior year that you had found yourself in henry winter's illustrious townhouse. from the lacquered brazillian hardwood floorboards to the ivory plasterwork on the ceilings – every corner pertained a certain degree of finery that reflected poorly on the rest of its objects: a well-worn armchair perpetually stuck in henry’s physique and fraying at the edges, the trampled rug that snaked upstairs and held all of your secrets, the coffee table with too many wine stains. in the dim light, the dried rorschach looked like blood.

the present company consisted of six and was slowly dwindling. your dear friend francis, the only boy who had never cared to peek up your skirt in childhood tennis practice, was a moment from collapsing into himself like a weary, old star. holding a champagne coupe from which he exclusively drunk only campari, he had thrown himself over henry’s couch not unlike a discontent lead from a penny dreadful novel. his face kept twisting according to the sounds: bunny’s voice was met with pursed lips and a tightly shut eye (only one, closest to bunny’s person sat by the aforementioned coffee table), charles’ – with a look of defeated boredom, and in the odd bouts of silence and music, bliss.

you offered him a cigarette, and he barely managed to crane his neck to kiss the knuckles of a helping hand before he snatched it away and searched his pockets for a lighter.

sweet camilla sat by the fire, with her knees drawn to her chest. one black stocking was torn on the side, rippling up her calf and sneaking into her inner knee, an action bunny had noted and all had taken particular interest in. there had been a metaphor about literature resembling her glossy stockings – all that language and reference weaved into a fabric that stretched till it could no more, thus marking the end of innovation and intertextuality. a book can only fit so much, and as all of them cared for ancient greek only – a language that no one spoke, and so, could never refine past its perfect state – the topic soon waned in favor of more brandy.

bunny cowed a story about richard papen, the outsider that had joined their coterie, who was not present, as he had not been invited. he was a fine orator, had a specific sense of humor that, while not always understood, could charm an audience when fidgeted with enough. only bunny was too drunk, and his glass of whiskey kept spilling on his trousers till it left an undignified blotch crowned by cigarette ashes, which only painted him a blubbering buffoon. ‘the fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,’ came to mind as you admired the embers dancing in the halo of his blond hair.

then, there was charles, drunk as always, who had opted to lay by camilla’s feet, the place where bunny’s drunken attempts of metaphor had landed him.

lastly, there was henry, your own personal virgil, who had not wanted you to come, but allowed it still. he looked tired from across the room, an arm thrown over the cushions of the armchair in which he sat. in his left hand he held a book, a cover and a title too out of frame for your eyes to see; amber reflected in his wiry glasses, the color of his brandy bottle (half empty) before the orange glow of the fire burned it copper. a plume of cigarette smoke curled into the ceiling from his two fingers. only he could have full concentration among the chaotic symphony in the living room.

the record spun to silence, and you quickly abated your seat on the windowsill to pad to the cabinet and change the vinyl. the collection of classics had not increased since your last visit, which was roughly a week ago, and it had not changed since henry moved out the dorms during the winter of your junior year. there were chopin’s nocturnes and etudes, beethoven’s piano sonatas, and wagner’s tristan and isolda, just to name a few. something lulling, quiet. you picked debussy and placed the needle. lilting, soft and steady, like you supposed love would feel.

instantly, you were met with bunny’s ire.

“no, no,” a wave and a body too weak to stop you. you ensured he was gifted your most sly smile, “no, woman, put on somethin’, somethin’ grand,” a larger wave, like a poorly coordinated conductor, he smacked his hand too close to francis’ head. a groan from charles, as if he had grown nauseous from watching the motions, “somethin’ for me and charlie here,”

charles tried to turn away in his discontent, yet did not manage. camilla, concerned, laid a hand on his shoulder, “should we go? i think we should head home.”

“see?” bunny’s accusing tone found you once more, “you’re scaring the guests. put on some real music. like the... the...” he trailed off, lighting another cigarette. for good luck, one could imagine, “like goddamn— listen to led zeppelin, man! the rolling stones!��

you glanced to henry and found yourself surprised. a shared look.

“no such things in our humble repertoire,” you stated.

“mile davis, at least?”

“no,”

“i don’t believe you,”

“you’re free to check for yourself.”

amidst this small argument, which was much too common when dealing with bunny, camilla had somehow managed to wrestle charles into standing on his own two feet. unstable, he leaned onto his sister, the added weight making her stagger.

“goodness, take care of charles,” bunny whined, though his complaints never amounted to more than simple sulking. you chose not to pay them much mind.

it was henry that helped, carefully balancing his book on the armrest and coming to take charles from camilla’s embrace.

“should i drive you home?” he asked.

camilla shook her head, en route to retrieve her red scarf and new coat, “no, no, we’ll call a taxi.”

it was always mildly fascinating watching the two interact. camilla, never able to meet his gaze directly and for too long, and henry, who only ever extended wordless aid without prompt or reason to her only. what had she done to earn such favor was beyond you – beyond everyone, perhaps – but you were certain you weren’t the only one that saw this careful act of piety and kindness.

you observed them shuffle out after moments on the telephone, camilla’s hand ghosting henry’s arm, or grazing the bend of his elbow, and only when they disappeared past the large door to wait for the taxi did you look away.

loving henry winter was a sisyphean task, unworthy of the effort which it required. you thought yourself too smart for it, and thus, never cared to entertain the notion, not even when he kissed you.

you caught bunny staring at you: not scrutinizing, not calculating – simply staring. a curious leer that often fell on you after some semblance of mirth had worn down. almost shy, somewhat longing.

“this richard of yours,” you began, helping yourself to henry’s lucky strike. out of all the brands that you had smoked, this was the most bitter and always left a tart taste in the back of your throat. you craved it, “papen, was it?”

“yup,” bunny mumbled into his glass.

“and how is he?” your gaze jumped from him to francis.

“poor,” bunny said.

“californian,” francis tacked on.

“but he pretends he isn’t,” bunny continued.

“californian?” your brows rose. the smell, the taste – too powerful, almost choking.

“no, no,” bunny shook his head, disoriented for a moment, “rich. pretends to be rich. see, i didn’t tell you this, but,” and he reached for henry’s cigarettes, too, even if his own pack laid abandoned, two-three left untouched. he did this, at times, this odd mimicry: you smoked, he smoked what you did, you drank, he drank what you did, you decided a getaway to italy was your dream destination for a week and later learned he had haggled henry into buying tickets for the two of them, “but i, you know me: never judge a book by its cover, i say. invited him to dinner. the usual place, the one on-”

“god,” francis winced, and if he could move, surely he’d flee, “stop talking.”

“the lady asked, am i to deny her now? i thought he wouldn’t show, but he does, doesn’t he? with a goddamned tweed jacket, like i wouldn’t notice,” he hiccupped mid-explanation, the liquor long congealed into his system, “and, you know, me, i know people. i know people. i see them for what they are, and i knew he was a no good cheat from a mile away, but hey,” a straight spine, a bit proud, “i think to myself, you know what, old man, i’m gonna give this guy a chance. pop’s always-”

“aspirin,” francis interjected, this time directed at you, “bring me some, would you, juliet?”

you snorted, “a moment,”

“thank you, desdemona. you’re a midsummer night’s dream,”

“she’s from othello,”

“my point stands.”

you sauntered off into henry’s kitchen and scoured his cupboards for painkillers. the layout of this place you knew too well – perhaps, even, if you closed your eyes, you could discern each obstacle and map it in front of your eyes with the grace and certainty of a guidebook. you did just that.

behind you, a sudden coldness pierced through the humidity and a door shut harshly. the influx of fresh air was a brief slap to the face.

it’s been silent for a while now.

“what are you doing?” henry’s voice, not close, yet not too far. always observing at a distance, since closeness was never his intention. henry winter. what a fitting name.

“looking for aspirin.”

the tick of an unseen clock.

“top drawer,” there was no urgency; something you didn’t understand was what made him hurry to answer, “i hid them there. bunny keeps stealing my entire cabinet.”

your eyes fluttered open, “my, my. what a snitch,”

“don’t give him the aspirin,”

“it’s for francis,”

“very well.”

an impasse. you closed the cabinet and thought against bringing water with you, knowing it’s unneeded.

“may i?” henry asked, and when you turned to look at him, he was as always – unbreakable, unmovable. expectant, perhaps, his heavy gaze a familiar pressure upon your cheekbones, the curve of your jaw, your swollen mouth (from biting, not being kissed).

“they’re yours,” you said easily, turning the cap and spilling a few into the bed of your palm as he approached, “here.”

to make matters harder, there’s but a foot of space between the two of you. the smallest separation, every part of him and every part of you entangled into one odd constellation. an immensity of motion before him and an immensity of energy after.

“water?”

“whiskey.”

“is it also hidden?”

“no.”

so you retrieved him a glass, and then the bottle, and lastly you poured the amount enough to swallow in one gulp. when he took and drank, and you watched his adam’s apple bob, you wondered, briefly and hazily, was your act in any way similar to camilla’s. a star that constantly drew him into her orbit.

“you didn’t leave,” he uttered quietly, tired eyes flicking to the maw of the kitchen opening. down the foyer, the firelight danced. bunny’s voice rose in a toast, no doubt to shake francis out of his stupor.

“i did,” you said, a slow smile curling, “what you see before you is a specter. the delirious imaginings of an impoverished mind.”

“ridiculous,” the quirk of his eyebrows: mock-offended.

“amusing,” the narrow of your eyes: contagious, “was everything my spirit foretold the same as you saw it unfold?”

weariness. you looked for it and found it easy enough. his fingers flexed, his tongue went behind his teeth. the cogs turned. for all his genius, henry was too susceptible to fable and entirely too superstitious. he could ward himself off it well, yet when his inhibitions were down, there was a hint of something else, a spark of pious faith in the impossible, what not might come next. he kept looking at you for an extended moment, until the corner of his mouth, minutely, drew up into a not-quite-smile.

“hermia!” came francis’ voice from the other room, “i’m dying.”

henry said nothing.

you expected bunny drunkenly swinging an almost empty bottle around to try and cheer up francis (it rarely worked, unless it was wine), and yet, he wasn’t there. the living room felt very big, somehow, devoid of him and the makings of his gullible heart.

“and where is bun?” you questioned, almost scolding.

“bathroom,” francis succeeded sitting up, yet only just.

you heard henry curse under his breath. he disappeared, and soon you heard the continents of a stomach emptying down the hall and henry’s monotone behind a closed door.

“time to end this sabbath, me thinks,” you said. francis took the pills with a fresh glass of campari, nose scrunching from the taste.

“d’you think henry could drive me home?” francis asked.

“do you trust him with your life?”

“do you think he’d let me die?”

“depends,”

“no. i’ll cab it,”

“wise decision.”

henry returned, seemingly exhausted from his small adventure. no one followed after.

“bun?” you asked again, which seemed to displease him. he only shook his head. passed out, then. unfortunate, yet expected. if bunny could somehow gain authority over all of henry’s things – even the minute ones, the ones that don’t matter and exist in the peripherals without henry’s notice – he would. it was the same reason francis once insisted that bunny had been in love with you.

the incident occurred during your first year of college in early november. a rather somber and chilly day with leaves sticking to wet asphalt and stone walls amidst the rainy season. a monday. bunny had broken his ankle and complained terribly about it, and henry, who had become his caretaker, was sick of it and instead abhorred him. by accident and complete mischance, the handling of bunny corcoran had fallen onto your graceful shoulders, and in a single day – full of obsolete complaints and impulsive questions – the theorized affection was born.

if there was a way in which bunny’s countenance had changed in your presence, it was lost on you, for your attention, at the time, was solely pilfered by charles. he was, back then, the most handsome of the greek class, and oddly enough, the only one pleasant, thus you sought his favor. but charles never returned your fondness, no matter how minuscule it could be, and he never gave the impression of fleeting interest. only sometimes, when he thought you would not catch him, he would stare at you for a bit too long. you never got to figure out what he had thought in those moments.

instead, you figured yourself an actor – a pretty one at that – and decided to ignore this indelicate sort of charm and pursue a new mark. there were many, of course, plenty of faces to consider, yet the outcome was always the same. as it were, they were all terribly boring and reminded you greatly of the peers you’ve encountered in private schools, the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the new age that had too much time and too much heartbreak on their hands. good looks aside, not the slightest hint of culture nor comprehension, just money and nothing to show for it.

and then there was henry, of course, so quintessentially different that his existence, still, was hard to define. something outside the realm of you. something above or beyond, or perhaps below – always somewhere you could not reach. there was an irrecoverable arrogance to him and in his aloof demeanor. an inviolable space that never invited others.

yes, there had to be some appeal to the strangeness of him, yet never could you put your finger on what exactly it was. at least, not immediately. at first sight, though, there were more poetic reasons to it – of the tragic and of the divine kind, yet that was no truth but some novel-born whim, a pointless obsession, some meager infatuation. an involuntary fetish. he had not wanted you, which only made it so that you wanted him in turn. it wasn’t an ugly thing – it simply was.

he must’ve known. henry always seemed to possess the knowledge of things you had never dared to question or to think twice of. or, perhaps, maybe not: but, despite your inability to identify the cause of it, there was a certain change to your disposition upon entering his shared room. one, maybe, akin to the sudden fear brought by dark enclosed spaces, though a bit more subtle and complex.

it was, ironically, a winter’s night.

when you phoned the same taxi and requested it’s return, francis spoke in a hazy murmur, sluggishly trying to shrug on the coat you brought him, “god, i really need a cigarette.”

“hm?”

“do you see mine anywhere?”

a rueful search, hands grabbing the scattered glass and hardbound that littered the surface of the coffee table. a valiant attempt to move the couch cushions and dip fingers into the cracks.

“no,”

“well, fuck me,”

henry offered his, but francis refused. the living room lit up in that thick, acrid smoke anyway.

the foyer echoed with your footsteps. outside the townhouse, rain had started again. a few drops at first, tapping the windows, before quickly it grew and gained weight. soon, it was battering against the glass.

with your scarf in your hands you suddenly found yourself unsure what to do with it. the taxi was coming and it was time to go home and plead to a higher power for reprieve from the headache you knew would cripple you in the morning. perhaps, an afternoon tomorrow to mull around, dazed. yet there was no respite in any of that. you realized, then, with this abrupt trepidation, that the cause of your discomfort, or the cause that exacerbated it, was within this confided space. a chasm-deep disquiet, like an open mouth of a ravine, dark and shadowy, or the pull of a tide at sea, which was, as they say, irresistible to even the most levelheaded.

somewhat uneasily, you lingered by the coat hanger, and when francis ambled over, tripping over his own two feet, he downed the rest of his campari and shoved the glass into your useless hands. then, he kissed your cheek, quick and wet, before ripping the door open and shoving it closed behind you, hence halting your escape.

the house was deafened, and your palms itched. the overwhelming urge to twiddle with your scarf became unbearable, or it was because a pair of eyes bore into you from the depths of the room. the closest thing you’ve ever considered to a tangible aura: the smell of ozone and rain water and tobacco.

“don’t suppose he’s waiting in the rain, is he?” you said.

“no, i don’t think he is.”

it didn’t make sense, none of what happened afterward – the decision to face him instead of making off into the chilling night. your arms crossed in a quiet and peculiar motion, clutching the coupe a bit too tight.

“whiskey?” henry offered, and you felt like the silly ingénue in some high-brow noir thriller donning all that cashmere by the door, “or bourbon.”

“fine.”

a crease of his eyebrow – the sole indication of surprise. your jacket found its rightful place on the rack along with that dreaded scarf. hesitance was unfamiliar to you, as you had not known it growing up – neither a sense of propriety nor a loss of footing. the dandy act had been adopted and perfected to such a degree that to relinquish the mask itself was oddly relieving, the discomfort born merely by knowing that francis was aware of your unusual situation and the upcoming events that would take place once the theater was done. there was a brief thought to how henry might’ve perceived you then. perhaps the removal of a layer of pretense might’ve intrigued him, if anything.

you remained at a slight distance and watched him traverse his domain, stepping around the askew items left behind by bunny and a bottle of gin haphazardly upended by charles, warm by the fire. there was an anomalous sort of patience to him. the silence was an abrasion. so often, you found yourself chattering to fill the void, even with other men who took the shape of strangers.

“there’s quite a storm brewing,” you said, only to be met with more silence. when your words simpered, the feeling they left was inexplicably ominous. ‘all that is transitory is but a symbol,’ yet only a bad poet would dare to draw a soliloquy from henry’s figure by the flames.

thus, you sat down on the couch, still warm from francis, and held up the beloved champagne coupe. henry’s hand did not tremble as it poured, but your fingers quivered when his attention fell onto you.

“is it good?”

you never felt the alcohol, only the burning in the back of your throat.

“very,”

he found himself beside you, not too close. the distance was not unlike orpheus’ journey, or so it appeared in the dim firelight – the familiar pangs of the unwilling, the sudden, selfish urge of wanting to see him in his entirety, his visage unhindered

“may i?” you asked, meaning, of course, his cigarette. he acquiesced easily. the only telltale of his everlasting unbothered mien: his focus had, and always seemed to be, too acute. it was enough to unnerve anyone. flattering, perhaps, if only you could tell what he was thinking, but you never could.

in your lap, the half-empty coupe. you left a smudge of your lipstick on the cigarette butt. henry inhaled. it was not unlike a kiss.

“francis mentioned you didn’t want to see me,” you said.

“i didn’t,” he responded.

“a lie, was it then?”

“you assume to know?”

“yes.”

another drag. smoke parted his mouth, slow as molasses and heavy as clouds.

“you’ve changed,” you said.

conversation with henry had always been difficult, before and after your frequent follies in the dark. if you did speak, it was never about one another, or anything that resided past skin and bone, nestled somewhere in the marrow, only felt. in instances where you did find common ground it was only ever art – literature, specifically, and when he was in a good mood, painting. henry only had one fascination and refused to entertain others; here lied his fatal flaw. thus, in a crowd of three and more, you could exchange remarks that would seem and sound important but held no real meaning.

“what sort of change have you noticed?” henry murmured. the lighting cast shadows. his hands twitched.

you were not sure, as you remembered him in much more detail and color. here, ashen-faced and obscured, all you saw was the ghost of his image, as though he had grown morose in a way that a single season could not alter. the greek class had often suffered for the aesthetic – self-imposed punishments of grandeur and excess that to everyone outside their circle seemed quite ridiculous, along with their dark clothes and mysterious miens and enigmatic jokes. some said they were haunted or blessed, but none envied them. alas.

troubled is the closest you could find, though if you were to voice it, he might take you for a child. it was never good to seek out his vulnerability. he would say you could never find it, and, inevitably, it would end up being the truth. henry wasn’t good at love. no one of were.

you shrugged, “you’ve become quiet.”

“am i, now?”

“more so than you’ve been,”

“perhaps you’ve just gotten better at listening,”

“unlikely,”

henry cocked his head. his hand, once again, twitched and there was an urge to reach out and grasp his fingers – some sort of absolution or at least a consolation for something neither one of you might’ve cared to mention. never did the man in front of you appear unsure, yet somehow, despite his best effort to the contrary, you felt a similar trepidation of an undefined thing.

henry was impossible to read. not just a mystery, but undeciphered in ways so beyond the mundane. over the years, you had collected enough clues to form a humble dictionary, yet much of what was missing could only be determined through his own misfortune and complacency – things which would, then, by nature and by fate, stray into your arms.

it did not matter, not entirely, at least. you did not love henry, but you thought that camilla did, and he, in turn, her. once you exhausted your inspection, perhaps you would pass that glossary to her, though you doubted that she would ever find any use for it.

“well,” henry said, “i suppose that’s to be expected. anything else?”

“would you enjoy a dissection?”

henry hummed, perhaps in agreement or curiosity, but it was very possible that he thought you foolish.

“no need,” he said, “yours is transparent.”

“really?” you countered, “they never are. people, i mean.”

“who are you thinking of?”

your mind drifted to bunny, likely curled on the cold tiles of the bathroom. with the first few buttons of his shirt popped and tie loosened, there was the picture of one not withering away but merely on the incline of a steep and lonely hill. all quiet in the dark of a windowless room from which he couldn’t even turn his head and see the stars.

it felt as though he would wake soon and interrupt. his presence always breached spaces he did not occupy, and the anticipation of his arrival always lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable. perhaps bunny would always exist in the shadowy corner-room between you and henry, because, if what francis said was true, henry was the first to know of it and had you, still.

you wondered if he regretted it, if he felt like brutus sticking the first knife into caesar’s rib, closest to the heart. you considered asking: in that moment, the urge felt insurmountable. instead, you said, “a little bit of everyone.”

inclined, you caught his gaze. an abysmal color and a disorienting shade, as deep and gloomy as the woods surrounding mount cataract.

“and me?”

“of course,” you smiled and slid a bit closer, “it’s not like you to ask. have you become sentimental?”

“not exactly,” his eyes moved to his hands. then, the flecks in the fireplace, the piles on the floor, “i’ve been thinking.”

“care to elaborate?”

“no,” he said. you understood his need for privacy, and a small part of you could appreciate his effort, or maybe, rather, that you got something of an answer at all. he did, occasionally, tend to disappear in thought. he remained, despite his reluctance, sitting with you. this, in a way, spoke more to you than the words that could never leave his mouth.

“this weather makes a body wistful,” you told him, “and the greek have always liked their tragedies.”

he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth before lighting another cigarette, “what do you know of greek?”

always the same argument. always the same contradiction. your attraction was tempestuous, and so, it should have surprised you neither the sudden bite or the wicked sense of amusement.

“all that any student would, naturally,”

“so, nothing,”

“i suppose,” you would not admit, for he would win, “henry,”

something in his posture betrayed him, but it was not his eyes, nor his tone, “yes?”

you were close then, much closer than you were moments ago. his lips thinned in a brittle, noncommittal line and his eyes drooped – more of a warning than anything.

“are you going to kiss me?” you asked.

he wanted to, he must’ve, for it had been the only sensible action – you always pressed for what would hurt least. to drown and swallow poison. it was a favorite, and, for some reason, one he allowed, like an agreement reached. to your knowledge, he only ever let himself indulge in you.

henry only leaned in, which was enough for you. his mouth, a second, not any less tantalizing than the first. and you had kissed him with a brazen softness, enough that his hands snaked to grasp the back of your neck. another hit. the smoke and ash settled deep in your lungs. you had pushed it out in a groan when he dropped his hands to your thighs, pressing hard and confident as he had on those nights when you found each other too lonely. the ache he created was wonderful.

you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it until it untucked. he swallowed and whispered in a language you were familiar with but couldn’t speak, and lifted your skirt.

you kept the cigarette between your teeth as he mouthed down your jaw and neck. his finger traced the skin at the back of your knee and that tickling spot right below your ribs. goosebumps rose and followed his touch. he nipped at the crook of your neck and dragged you onto his lap.

“you are dressed far too heavily, and terribly,” you heard him say, and when his lips found the shell of your ear, you could not stifle the shiver. the whole room felt claustrophobic, hot and steamy, like the aftermath of a scalding bath. your breaths grew labored. you closed your eyes against it and clawed into his arm.

henry said, again, this time more slowly and with a dull emphasis, “terribly.”

“how dare you insult my taste,”

“would you allow for a remediation of my sins?”

“luckily, i’m in an agreeable mood.”

henry’s own sigh was long and somewhat labored, as though a great pressure had been taken off him. and his hands flexed, moving up and down your back. a rare instance, to find him restless. you could admire this in private.

the press of lips to your neck. the collarbone, jutting sharp in the firelight.

there was the urge, sudden and quite novel, to caress his face, cup his cheek, graze the edge of the scar of the eye that’s colder than its twin, that shrouds you in a mist. such an act was outlawed, naturally, thus, the opportunity came and went, carried away on a drafting wind of smoke. an irredeemable misfortune, and you flicked the cigarette into your abandoned coupe.

“are you comfortable?” the gentle cadence of his voice sent a wave through the warmest depths of your abdomen.

“yes.”

henry, having brushed away your stockings, stroked at the insides of your thighs. there was a light feeling in your head, an almost dizzying sway. a subtle rocking, like boats at port, from where the two of you were perched. his digits dug into the firm meat. beneath his hands, a stretch of burning skin and sinew. muscle clenched and quivered, “terribly inconvenient, by the way.”

“how do you mean?”

“all the layers,” he muttered.

“good,”

“never good,”

and then, suddenly: “are you wet?”

“if you touched me properly, you could tell,”

henry ignored your response. his hand climbed upward, and found a place between the gusset and the middle seam, rubbing, testing.

“recently,” you said, “i’ve become fascinated with joseph cornell.”

“you’re stalling,” henry informed you without inflection, slipping a finger through the damp center. a harsh noise of pleasure left you when his tongue slid between your lips. one, then two, circling and sinking with the utmost delicacy.

“why? are you not curious to hear what i think of his boxes?” you managed, halfway.

another stroke. his thumb rubbing, slow and considerate, in the spot that makes your toes curl, tight and demanding. when his eyes opened and found yours, it was almost comical – his fingers in you, mouth and mind on a completely different path, yet the connection was there all the same. even more so, while trying to be detached, fumbling over buttons and laces.

“no,”

“you might learn something,”

he quirked a brow, “you truly wish to waste time talking?”

“aren’t you?”

“i am taking an assessment of your willingness to submit,”

“are you certain it’s not the other way around?”

henry rarely responded with malice; each action was carefully devised and, in conjunction, quite merciless. in this case, he dropped his hand from the vee of your legs and tugged at his shirt collar. the emptiness was startling, as was the feeling of tension that coiled tightly in your gut. then, he grabbed his drink and sipped from the sparkling glass. petty revenge, something he always assured was beneath him.

sensing defeat, you decided to placate him. after a dramatic roll of your eyes, you slipped onto the ground and knelt.

“henry,” you began, and reached for the fly of his pants. the outline of his cock was obvious beneath the smooth fabric, thick and promising, “home ruler,” in one instance of drunken curiosity, the lot of you agonized the meaning of your names, that perhaps they, somehow, unknowingly dictated your fate, “unwilling to shed his crown. is the head not heavy? most kings lost theirs, you know.”

“flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“folly, then,” you replied, dragging the flat of your palm across his groin and taking pleasure in the strained hiss, “are you going to let me do as i please?”

“i think that is,” at the peak of his inhale, you reached into his trousers and curled your fingers around his stiff cock, “quite apparent.”

you grinned, lazy but triumphant, thumbing the blunt ridge. smudging the dribble of white at the leaking head and reveling in his restrained reactions: the minute tremors, the twitch of his jaw, a gasp caught in his throat. you would have kissed him, again. his face might’ve twitched, something uncontrollable that would’ve given away his longing, if only he hadn’t pushed it down.

with a slow pump, your hand traveled. the size was admirable, familiar, nearly to the point of nostalgia. henry had touched more parts of your body than some of the lovers you took as an earnest attempt for passion. you had begged him once, half-gone, half-wild with what you thought was need and impatience, to only fuck you – without his clever mouth and his careful hands, but he hadn’t said yes, no, had only grabbed your jaw and pressed a sucking kiss to the soft and sensitive skin beneath your ear. a promise, almost. and in a way, it had been.

“you remember?”

henry’s voice snapped you to attention, and when you looked up, his expression matched his darkened eyes, intense. something flared hot and needy in you, and with it, the desire to be open and dripping for him. he curled a hand in the small hairs on the back of your neck, stroking the skin there and, even briefly, allowed himself an indulgence in the pleasure he could get from a single touch, and rocked his hips.

“vividly,” you told him.

the flames, behind you, cast him entirely in silhouette, and his shadow projected forward and rose tall, stretched. a ruler, indeed.

his chest moved slow and purposefully, and when he released your hair, the lack of contact felt like a shock to the system. his hand closed around your forearm, “come here.”

the tone, hoarse and hushed and so quietly demanding, startled you, and you stood up so quickly that your head spun. henry placed his hands on your hips, steadying, ushering you back to where you belonged.

“just there.”

legs, parted, framing his waist. fabric, bunched between your thighs. breathing, slowed. a firm, calming weight, pinning you down. the firelight glinted in his eyes.

“henry,” you called. and the only thing to signal his movement was a bob of his adam’s apple. the cufflinks of his sleeves swayed and flickered. he hummed, neither affirmation nor disagreement and entered you with a grunt.

more. skin flushed. eyes crinkled and tightened. more. nails curled and scrabbled for purchase.

there, your name on his lips. it was disorienting – not so much a cry, or a whisper, but something between the two. henry always spoke carefully, as though each word should carry the most weight, so each syllable, in turn, he would construct and cut, meticulous and mathematical. but here, breathless and wanting, they rolled out in a steady litany, never faltering.

all fire and scorching, the pitch of it high and needy. to thrust and bruise, the idea fizzed bright and brilliant at the apex of your spine. with each snap of his hips, a part of him carved a piece of you out, and each ragged noise shook loose a piece of your skin. it would fit him perfectly. then he would slide right into those hollow spaces that swelled and throbbed, expanding beyond tolerance. in moments like these, you loved him – his body, his touch, his face, everything that could not be articulated.

“please,” you begged him, trying to curl around the ache, “i want-”

“i know, i know,” he murmured, with a tilt of his head. his hair, you noticed, had lost its immaculate shape, wild and frazzled by your fingers. your heart swelled and contracted: you wanted to do it again, over and over until his whole countenance resembled nothing more than that of a ravaged man. your power, the only thing you had over him. henry closed his eyes.

“spread your legs a little wider,”

a moan slipped when his tongue flicked and curled against the side of your neck, wet and sloppy. the sweet roll of his hips, his fingers pulling at the buttons of your attire and squeezing the fleshy swell of your buttocks. it was always too much.

you licked your lip, shaking when his teeth gently pinched. and, for a moment, the smell of pine permeated the room. as though it were his own sweat and the heady musk of his natural scent, and not a waning bottle of cologne.

“hold onto me,” henry whispered and allowed for nothing more, driving the movement out of your hands. the tempo spiraled upward. at the center, the tension was building. there was a moment of vertigo.

and it was easy enough, as things had always been between the two of you, to ignore the disjointed voices in the back of your mind. how when you two first kissed, it’d been without grace. how the rain fell, trickled, all around you, drowning the dryness in your throat. how the next day, he asked if you would regret what you’d done. and here, now, a different but striking feeling: the warm haze brought on by alcohol, his palms were hot, slick with sweat, his belt digging into you.

henry grunted and swore to a god neither of you had put much faith in. the flush on his cheeks was impossible not to reach out and touch, his eyebrow scarred with the same sort of smooth texture and fading red, his lashes, long and fine, flickering against the high edge of his cheekbones. i love you, you wanted to tell him, but the high struck you ruthlessly, turning you to liquid.

in the aftermath of this brief paradise, you shared a look.

“i still despise this weather,” you said.

henry’s mouth quirked. and what had been the impulsive dalliances of two desperate people became, once more, two lonely creatures with enough distance between to fill one of henry’s beloved epics. the quiet, in the wake of catharsis, was rather terrifying, and the clatter outside – the rain, the wind, and the cold – almost accusatory. he offered you a cigarette.

you took it without thank you and let him light it.

“should i drive you home?” he offered, voice raspy. his shirt had wrinkles and his collar sat funny. the skin beneath was pink, and there was the barest mark where you had sunk your teeth or dug a nail too hard. you bit the end of the filter, watching the flame waver before rising into ash.

“you’re drunk,” it felt necessary to remind him, though it never stopped him.

“do you want me to drive you home?” he asked again. a long pull and a thin veil of smoke.

“yes,” you said, “i’ll go wake bunny.”

“no,”

“no?”

“stop it.”

“stop what?”

“speaking of him,”

“has he done something?”

silence.

“henry?”

“leave it,” he said, but his tone was tight.

“alright. i’ll get my coat, then,”

“of course,” he murmured, standing slowly. you shouldn’t have seen him put his hand against the wall to steady himself, as though any drunken spell had fled, and with it, his equilibrium. the movement was both conscious and contrived, a fact of necessity, and not like the rest of him, braced by his surroundings and firm in stature. a self-constructed illusion, designed to project a set of attributes meant to create the atmosphere of authority. he embodied it well, but he was still, stripped of the mythos, simply human.

you watched him settle and raise his head with a gentle exhale. a mere lift of his shoulders, and he resembled a man in control, content, satisfied – everything henry was, and yet, within the façade, you could see the truth of his discomfort, recently, and without fault, brought upon by an uttered name.

in the upcoming months, you would understand and wonder if there was something you could have done or said to warn him of a future that was inevitable. no matter how many nights you had spent distressing over this question, the answer would always make itself obvious.

there was nothing you could have ever done.

thank you for reading !

[wutheringcaterpillar]

What if Tommy is desperately (secretly) in love with his step sister, extremely protective, very sweet towards her, but always making sure she’s kept under his thumb just to keep others from taking her from him. Although nothing happened between them until she becomes betrothed to another, he snaps and ruins her so her betrothed wouldn’t want her which would make her stay under his thumb again.

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!

Sorry it took so long to come out! ❤️

Warnings: stepcest, age gap implied, smut, p in v,

Tommy sat beside the window in the arm chair, cigarette in his hands as his eyes drifted from a contract he’d been working on, glancing outside watching the gloomy weather.

The grandfather clock ticked quietly in the background, your footsteps thumping around upstairs in your bedroom.

It seemed as though it was just yesterday Tommy was taking you to piano lessons and telling you endless stories before bed but those days seemed to have past.

You and Tommy always had a rather close relationship since his mum married his dad. After she passed and his dad disappeared he was always the protector who spoiled you rotten as a child and even still to this day as now a grown woman. His crystal eyes focused on the wilting flowers beside the window, thoughts rummaging through his mind as he reminisced the days of past.

“How do I look?” Your voice echoed through the quiet room, pulling Tommy out of his nostalgic thoughts, throwing on a light hearted smile when he looked your way, hiding the intruding thoughts surfacing in his mind.

There you were in a royal blue sparkling dress, makeup painting your face lightly. Not that you needed it, you were quite beautiful without it.

Tucking his hands in his pockets Tommy stood from his seat, diminishing the cigarette in the glass ashtray before walking toward you.

“You look breathtakingly beautiful, as always. Come here.” You blushed from his compliment, heart palpitating anxiously when you leaned into his touch. With growing up came hormones but the profound, illicit thoughts you had for your brother you often found yourself burying such inappropriate feelings, knowing that it wasn’t ideal.

“Be safe tonight eh? I might be running a bit late but I’ll be there. Don’t let any of those bloaks try to whisk you away from me or I may just have to put a bullet through their brain.” You giggled softly into his toned chest, hands roaming his upper back. 

“No one could ever replace you, not even if they tried at the speed of sound.” Tommy hummed in agreement, your words bringing a tremendous amount of reassurance that he’d never admit he needed. 

“Ms. Shelby the car’s here!” Francis called after you. Biting down on your bottom lip and smiling awkwardly you bid Tommy goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before running out the door toward your friends and hopping in the car giddily.

He couldn’t help but worry that you were drifting away, the feeling unsettling his stomach just picturing you with another man or no longer living in the same house as him.

Glancing down at his watch, he released an uneasy breath before picking up his briefcase and heading toward his meeting.

Tommy being a man of knowledge and suspicion found himself unable to focus on the baboon sitting across from him, only thinking about what you were doing and if you were safe.The idea of men staring at you, flirting, fucking trying to get in bed with you etched in his brain. 

This meeting was getting nowhere as it was, the man trying to change the settled agreement with no good reason. This was a deal he could live without.

Removing his glasses, he sighed bored from the man’s piss poor negotiating.

“Alright, this is going fucking nowhere.” Tommy stood up shredding the piece of paper before tossing it in the fireplace.

“You can see yourself out Johnathan eh? I have more important places to be.” The man waved his hands in irritation.

“It’s Bill!” Tommy waved him off before heading out to your party.

When he walked in the music was blaring, definitely underage drinking going on not that he cared as long as it wasn’t you.

He spotted Arthur at the bar, approaching him first only to get a glimpse of you in the corner of the room sat on a sofa with a boy, immediately seeing red.

“Who the fuck is with our sister?” Arthur turned around in curiosity, lips still attached to the bottle still chugging the rest of his drink.

Releasing a exhale of pleasure, he gestured toward the young lad with his arm wrapped around your hips.

“Don’t even get me started on that worthless bloke. He’s the youngest of the Charleston family, they’re new to Birmingham. Y/N’s been seein him for a few weeks. Thought we taught her to respect herself that went out the window didn’t it brother, hm?” Tommy clenched his jaw in annoyance, dead pan staring at the boy’s hands wrapped far too lowly down your waist. Why didn’t you tell him? It would be rude if he didn’t introduce himself.

“Hold me drink Arthur. I’ll be back in a moment.” When Tommy turned around, Arthur made sure he wasn’t looking before finishing off his brother’s drink, a little blonde gal catching his eye in the process, steering him away from whatever the hell Tommy had planned.

Upon approaching you both, he heard the sound of your infectious giggle, so innocent and pure. Blood pumped through his veins realizing that you were slipping away from him, you were growing up.

“Am I interrupting something?” Tommy was shocked to see a beer in your hand and multiple empty ones sat on the table beside you. You were his baby sister, you didn’t drink, you didn’t partake in adult activities. Yet you didn’t seem intoxicated, perhaps that was your first beer, his good girl, but wait what the hell was this and why the fuck did this guy have his hand on your lap, why was he just kissing on your fucking neck. More importantly why was there now a ring on your fucking finger?

He made an incredulous look of disapproval before his breath nearly being taken out of him, your chest falling onto his as your wrapped your arms tightly around Tommy.

“Oh! Tommy I missed you! I was just talking about you to Matthew, I was hoping to introduce you sooner rather than later.” What the fuck was that supposed to be mean? What happened to the conversation from earlier? Tommy grasped your hips, your cleavage rubbing against the fabric of his shirt.

Tommy noticed the boy making a partially disoriented gesture, a look of confusion from the blatant display of affection that some would consider to be unordinary. His eyes dilated, fixating on the boy, challenging him to say something. 

Unsurprisingly he merely took a step back, putting his hands up in surrender that he didn’t want to fight, exactly what Tommy thought.

“Come on, let’s get you some water, eh?” You nodded against his chest, hand sloping down his arm until it clutched his muscular grip.

Walking off with you hand in hand, he guided you up the stairs to a back secluded room, voice booming for the crowd of people to get out.

Sitting you down on the sofa gently, he could feel your eyes watching his every move as he pulled down a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water to help you sober up. 

“Drink this.” 

“Tommy I only had one beer.” He raised his eyebrows expectedly, motioning with his hand, insisting thar you drink it. For some reason your heart seemed to flutter with how willing he always to take care of you.

Downing the glass, you set it on the table before kicking your shoes off and reclining back against the arm rest, Tommy already feeling the tightening in his pants seeing the bare skin of your leg. 

Scoffing, he pushed your legs back down and grabbed the small of your wrist, pulling you closer. His breath was hot against your skin, lips just inches away from the lobe of your ear.

“He doesn’t deserve you love…” Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt his hand go below the fabric of your dress, inching upward toward the radiating heat in between your thighs. Your skin forming goosebumps from the not so innocent touch, the way he was caressing your bare skin swiftly, prompting your eyes to flutter shut, still trying to fight this immoral battle in your heart.

“What-um-what are you-“ His other hands brushed your chin, tilting your face to look at him before his lips landed on yours. The world seemed to stop for a moment, the feeling of your older brother’s lips on yours unexpectedly sensual, the anticipation for more causing your heart to beat rapidly.

You couldn’t resist from kissing him back, the mesmerizing sensation so wrong but so right. 

“I don’t want to see you with anyone else. That fucking low life and you fucking said yes?! You are finished with him, understand? We’ve always had something and you fucking know it.” You nodded against him nearly breathless, unable to form any thoughts other than what might be in his pants. 

Ripping your dress with his hands, you tugged at his suit, tossing the expensive fabric onto the floor when you fumbled with his belt.

The sound of music and people partying only heightening the desire for Tommy to take you right here right now.

In the midst of his tongue delving between your lips, he curled his hands with yours, fingers fumbling around until he found that god forsaken ring. Tugging off, he threw the shiny piece of jewelry on the floor, accessory rolling over to the corner of the room.

When his cock spring free, your eyes widened at the sight of his girthy length.

“Has he touched you here yet?” His skilled fingers carressed the slippery slope between your soaked folds, making you moan and whimper beneath him, shaking your head vigorously no. You dreamt of your brothers touch so long.

“I knew I raised you well my good girl.”

Tommy circled his thumb around your throbbing clit in slow circles, his index finger entering your right canal to ensure you weren’t lying.

“Tommy please!” 

He couldn’t find it in his heart to tell his baby sister no. No he’s waited much too long…

Aligning his cock, he readjusted himself so he was on his knees ready to drill into you and claim you as his own.

The head of his cock at your entrance only fueled your eager want to be taken.

Pushing the tip in, your winced below him from the slight uncomfortable feeling. He must have noticed when his hand glided down your thighs, caressing your hips with his calloused hand soothingly.

He couldn’t wait much longer to pick up speed with your warm cunt practically suffocating his cock.

The sight of you completely nude beneath him, legs spread on display while his cock was pushing inside you, he couldn’t hold himself back.

How could something so forbidden feel so right?

He snapped his hips forward, jolting your body upward not giving you anytime to adjust.

“Fuck! Tommy it feels so-“ He quieted your screams by covering you mouth raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Language sweetheart, we have to be quiet unless you want him to see.” The idea of someone walking in on your brother fucking you sending chills down your spine, pussy squeezing tightly around his cock.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last long. Up you go.” Without pulling out Tommy lifted you effortlessly from the sofa, pushing your back against the walls as his lips ravished your neck, pumping in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Oh fuck, faster, faster!” Your curls bounced gracefully on your shoulders, tits shaking in an up and down motion vigorously while one hand cusped his muscular shoulders other tangled his hair. 

You’d dreamt of this day for so long, you couldn’t help but glance down wanting to see your brother’s shaft completely buried inside you.

Did it hurt a bit? Yes, but the pleasure was so much more, little did you know Tommy knew how to pleasure a woman’s body so expertly.

You could feel your slick pouring out and swimming down his length, you were close so very close.

You craved his seed to paint your walls, for him to mark you as his own.

“Look at my girl, taking me cock so well..” Tommy smirked proudly in a fucked out gaze as beads of sweat formed on his chest.

“Gonna fill your tummy with my cum, make you walk out there with it dripping down your fucking legs for everyone to see.” You moaned sporadically, thighs twitching around his waist, toes curling as a euphoric orgasm claimed your body.

“Mm, Tommy, Tommy! Feels-fe-ohh…” You panted, holding onto him for dear life. If it weren’t for his hands gripping your ass cheeks below, you’d surely make your sweet descent to the hardwood floor.

Tommy’s blue charismatic eyes focused in on the fucked out expression, seeing your lips parted, face contorted into pure bliss. He couldn’t withhold any longer until he was pulsating inside of your cunt, painting the interior of your perfect pussy white with his seed.

“Y’know I’ve wanted you for so long, and now you’re fucking mine.” You nodded still too deliriously exhausted to form words. Pulling your chin to meet his sapphire eyes, he placed a powerful, dominating kiss to your plush lips before setting you down gently and settling you back down on the sofa while he gathered the clothes.

Looking at the dress, he deemed it still suitable as long as you hadn’t bent over it should still be wearable. 

“What about my underwear?” Tommy reached for his jacket after tightening his cufflinks.

“What do you need those for? C’mon love.” Your cheeks reddened, he wasn’t kidding about his cum dripping down your legs.

“Still look beautiful as ever. After you my love?” You glanced back at your brother before exiting the door, pressing your lips to his once more.

Tommy smiled softly, before nodding you off and realizing the ring was still on the floor.

Walking down the stairs with you, he encouraged you to go enjoy time with your friends, only to see Matthew in his way out ignoring Arthur practically fucking some inebriated girl against his brother.

Approaching the boy, you watched the scene unfold from afar, seeing what your dear brother would do.

“Eh!” He pulled the ring out of his pocket, clicking his tongue before shoving the object against the boy’s chest, merely towering over him.

“Here’s your fucking ring. Take it and get off my fucking property before I change my mind and kill your right here, right now.” Everyone in the room turned their eyes to the altercation, including Arthur. When the boy hadn’t moved, twiddling the ring in his grip still staring at Tommy with challenging eyes, calling a bluff, Arthur shoved the girl off of him ready to go to fucking war only for Tommy to hold him back with the wave of his hand.

“Look around kid. You have about five seconds to get out me fucking pub before I splatter your brains on this wall.” He still hadn’t moved, only tightening his fist.

“You think I won’t?” Tommy chuckled beneath his breath, a sadistic smile spreading across his lips before pulling out his gun, finger on the trigger pointing it directly at the middle of his forehead.

“5, 4, 3-“ The boy scattered out the door, satisfying Tommy that he’d never be back.

[odairmultiverse]

Francis forever - Mitski

➜ Yoon Sieun x reader

"Suho was in a coma. He had to change schools. Would he lose you too?"

Low-key hating this shot, but anyway, here it is. English is not my first language, so im sorry for any grammar mistakes. Enjoy!!!

You were walking next to him, coming back from visiting suho at the hospital.

It became a routine to visit him. You would enter the room where he was, make sure he was fine and comfortable.

But sieun stayed still at the door, he didn't want to enter, you understood him, so while you checked on Suho, Sieun sat on a bench outside the room.

"Hey, trouble maker, it's me again." You sat on a chair next to him, placing softly your bag next to you."You will not open your eyes today either, huh?" You talked as if he was sleep, like taking a nap like he used to do. You talked to him like if he was listening to you.

Carefully, you grabbed his hand, letting soft patterns on it.

"Sieun is outside, I hope you're not angry at him for not coming in" Your voice was sweet, soft, scared to sound too loud, the ambience inside the room was completely silence, and as a reflex your voice came out the same way.

"Im trying my best to let him know that this isn't something permamet, that eventually you'll wake up, teasing us again and taking us to visit places like we used to do after class" A nostalgic smile was on your face, but you still didn't look at him, your eyesight on his hand.

"Okay, I know you dont like it when I become all emotional, so now I know you're fine. im going to place this there and get going. " You left a heavy breath, stood from where you were, and took from your bag the small bouquet of flowers that you always let him.

You placed the bouquet carefully on their pot, taking out the ones from last week and replacing it with the new ones.

Before leaving, you give him a soft kiss on his forehead and adjust the sheets around him.

When you opened the door to came out, Sieun was there, waiting for you as always, with a weak smile you said.

"We can go now"

In response, he only nodded.

Now stepping outside the hospital, the ambience had shifted, the day ahead you was bright, warm, a signal that summer was coming.

You were used to walking with him. It was always a comfortable silence that relaxed you.

There wasn't need to speak.

"I think we need to finish this." He spoke for the first time since coming out the hospital

You stopped walking, looking at him confused

"You mean visiting Suho?"

"I mean seeing each other"

His voice was in the same tone as usual, but if you didn't know him, you wouldn't notice how his breath is a little heavier now, how tense his body is and the way his hand are clenching.

You were more confused now. What was he talking about?

"Sieun, I don't understand"

"Im exchanging school, now I will live with my mother, it's not possible for us to see each other"

You were speechless, he came out with this all of sudden.

Obviously, you knew that he was starting a new life away from here, but you didn't imagine that it would come with him leaving you like this.

Your mind was quiet, but your heart? Your heart was racing.

"I don't know what this is coming from, but you better stop it now." You tried to speak with the same tone as him, but you failed when your voice came out shaking and low

He didn't say anything, just watched you, like always, nonetheless you felt this time it was far from the usual.

His eyes traced your features, memorising every part of you, something on the way he was looking at you telled he really didn't want to do this, but here he is anyway.

"This is the better for the both of us"

"No." You stopped him from saying any more words."Dont say that because it won't be the case for me"

"You're being stubborn"

"And you're being an idiot"

He didn't say something back, but you continued.

"You're wrong if you think I will let you go off of me that easily, and don't ever think of something like that ever again." You burst to him. How dare he say such thing with his normal being.

Now you looked at him, eyes still with hints of anger and a little hurt, yet you walked ahead of him.

Sieun didn't move. I just watched you

"Why are you standing there? Don't embarrass me, and let's eat" You turned at him angry, crossing your arms.

He followed you.

The truth was that he was also scared to leave you. The only thing that he had left and the idea of losing you had made a home inside his mind.

He had everything calculated, how he would tell you and each word, even the possible reaction, but when the moment comes, it end up like this.

You are still beside him, and Sieun is unable to put an end with you.

[reikoknshii]

🩸 Scarlet...Milk? 🥛(pt.2)

[This was heavily requested 😭 but i love y'all and have this ❤]

(Words: 1.3k)

"I'm watching you....."

Was written in the note, you stumbled back as you look ahead of the building that leads to the metal doors. The bloody doppelganger staring at you before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You're being stalked...

Out of fear you rushed to your apartment after closing the main gates of the building.

'would that mean that doppelganger will be aggressive?..'

You think as you paced around in front of your apartment, it was the second floor apartment near Nacha's room. You sat down on your doorstep frustrated and nervous, if you messed up he will kill Francis...not only Francis, mostly anyone in the building-

"Y/n?" A soft and gentle tone asked as you turn your head to see Nacha's peeking out of her apartment room. "Miss Nacha- did i disturb you?"

"No, not at all..i just heard you groaning and pacing around, you seem down in the slumps"

"Ah..well, is it okay?-"

"I dont mind, come in we can talk about it"

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

"Thats why...." You said softly explaining the whole incident that had happened as you averted your eyes to someplace , while Nacha takes in all the information. "I don't really get this doppelganger thing, but you seem like a lovely and kind person Y/n.."

"We appreciate you and your doorman duties, remember to take care of yourself whenever" Nacha said as she smiled at You, your venting didn't include your growing admiration for the milkman because well...

From what you know Nacha is Francis ex-wife and its hella awkward to tell her you had a crush on her ex-husband.

"Your muffins are good-" You said breaking away from the topic as you took a bite from the blueberry muffin she offered earlier when you entered her house.

"Why thank you, i baked them with Anastacha" Nacha said happily as she went to the fridge. "would you like some milk? I bought this, funny looking thing-" Nacha said as she pulled out a red bottle of...'Scarlet milk'

You choked on your muffin and soon recovered, you immediately rushed to Nacha and grabbed the bottle.

"Dont"

"D-dont?" Nacha asked confused as you took the bottle and examine it. "its a bottle of blood, where do you get this-"

"It was left by the main gates-"

"Nacha...I'm not crazy, do not..receive the scarlet milk next time" Nacha eyes were wide as she nodded to your statement. "Y/n perhaps you should get an eye shut for tonight? Y-you seem shaken-"

"I'm..." You inhaled as you let go of her shoulders. "Maybe i should" you said sorry as you made your way out of Nacha's apartment room.

"Sweet dreams, Y/n" Nacha said as you closed the door gently.

You stared at the bottle of blood on your hands as your eyebrows furrowed at it. "I'm not delusional..." you said to yourself as you threw away the Scarlet milk into the trash bin.

You went into your apartment for some sleep.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

You didn't manage to sleep at all, you keep hearing voices at night telling you to let them in.

'Y/n..'

Go away..

'Y/n!'

"GO AWAY!" you screamed as you stood up from your bed, it was 5:30 am in the morning.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice asked outside of your apartment door. "Francis?" You asked softly as you stood up from your bed.

You opened your door to see the Milkman all in his glory and uniform. "You alright? You screamed and i heard it from outside" he said as he stared at you with his tired eyes.

"Y-yeah..yeah I'm alright"

"You look..frightened" He stated as he noticed it from your appearance. "I'm fine Francis"

"Just a nightmare.."

"You hear them too?" Your eyes went wide as you stared at him. "What?"

"...mm..nevermind, maybe you should get ready..Ill head to work now, the milk dont deliver themselves" he muttered as he went ahead to the elevator.

"S-see you..." You were filled with mixed emotions, what does he mean 'you hear them too?' .

Is that why he's sleep deprived? At least you're not alone...

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

You started another day of your shift as you opened the metal covers. "Dont let this be weirder than usual" you muttered to yourself as you turn to the gates to see the yellowish eyes.

You dropped your keys and rubbed your eyes , wondering if you're seeing it right.

The eyes were gone...

"There's nothing..nothing at all-" you said to yourself to reassure, and went to your office.

...

The day went weirder, doppelgangers are trying to get in more frequently than usual. It was stressing, doppelgangers get angrier each time they're caught and you feared for your life and the apartments residents life.

"I'm okay.."

'I'm okay' you said to yourself as you keep going, you feel like breaking down. One wrong decision all blame will be pointed at you, and you alone..

"Mmm...Hello" Francis said tired as usual entering the hall in front of your office.

"Francis-" you said as he showed you his papers. "You alright Y/n?"

"J-just...overwhelmed" you answered as you checked his information.

"Mm...take a rest after this"

"I-i should..." You said softly as you opened the metal door for him to get in.

"Mm...Hello"

What...

Your eyes went wide as you stared at the second Francis. "You're a doppelganger-"

"What...?"

"Stop playing with me!" You said frustrated and angry. "Y/n you need to calm down...i just got off from my delivery shift"

Oh no..

Oh noo..

"Francis?!" You cursed under your breath and let him in your office. "Whats happening-" the milkman asked confused and exhausted from work.

"Stay in here- dont leave" you said as you grab your walkie talkie. "Press the emergency button and call D.D.D. when i page you through this" you explained as you hand him the spare device.

"Okay.."

"Please...be safe" you said as you closed the metal covers and door on your way out of the office, you went in the apartments and hit the emergency button to immediately alert the residents to close their rooms.

"You're no fun at all..." Said the doppelganger by the end of the hallway holding the tray of Scarlet milk.

"And you're a threat" you said as you pulled out your gun that was given to you by the D.D.D. services. He rushed to you as he tackled you down on the ground, bottles of Scarlet milk shattered on the way he dropped it near you staining both of your uniform and his.

"I told you ill get back at you" he said hungrily as his tongue licked your face. You kicked his stomach and crawled to the direction where you dropped it, but he stepped on your hand and laughed at you.

"No one would remember you" he started as he presses his foot on your hand making you scream in pain. "They'll see you as a crazy security that let in a threat"

"Oh yeah?" You managed to blurt out. "That doesn't matter, i bite" you said as you bit into his ankle Making him step back and let out a frustrated groan.

"FRANCIS-" you page into your walkie talkie. "CALL D.D.D. NOW--"

You grabbed the gun but the doppelganger kicked you to the nearest wall. "You protect their lives but who will protect you?"

He walked to you with one of the Scarlet milk. "No one.." He grabbed your face as he smiled, his eyes were empty as he forced the bloody bottle into your mouth.

You pulled the trigger of your gun thats pointed on his shoulder and shot him.

He screeched in pain as his face start to distort into a monster form of creature that you fear to see. His form rapidly changing as he charged back at you only for you to shoot him twice on his head.

He fall down on the floor, his blood and yours everywhere on the hallway of the 1st floor.

Your eyes were heavy and your head hurts, soon enough you passed out...

[orphicreveries]

First time trying angst😀

Note: I just edited this and added smut to it, sorry I can’t help it💔💔

It’s subtle at first. At least, you think it is.

You don’t sit beside Henry in the seminar room, something you always do. You choose the seat across the table instead, carefully avoiding his gaze, even when Julian makes a pointed comment about the Iliad that would normally have you glancing to Henry automatically, silently trading thoughts.

But not today.

Today, (and a portion of yesterday) you turn a page in your notebook and pretend Henry Winter does not exist.

The rest of the Greek class notices by the ten-minute mark.

Francis keeps darting glances between the two of you, Camilla raises a brow once, then quietly kicks Charles under the table when he starts whispering about it. Richard, ever perceptive, probably noticed too, but he never said anything.

Henry, for his part, is infuriatingly composed. Not a muscle moves. Not a word is said.

But he watches you.

He always watches you.

When you make a comment in class, his eyes are locked on you. When you reach for your coffee, his gaze tracks the movement. When you laugh at something Richard says, his eyes are burning a whole in the side of your face.

After class, the group lingers in the marble hallway, the smell of old books and tobacco thick in the air. You’re already halfway out the door when you hear it:

“So,” Charles says too loudly, too cheerfully. “Are you two, uh… good?”

Camilla groans. “Oh, for god’s sake—”

“We’re fine,” Henry replies flatly. His voice is calm, even, deceptively bored.

You don’t stop walking.

You hear his footsteps before he speaks.

Even with the echo of rain outside and the sound of your own brisk steps down the marble hallway, you know it’s him. Henry never rushes. He simply appears, unhurried, inevitable.

“You’re being childish,” he says, coldly but somehow still softly.

You don’t look at him, or gratify him with an answer.

“I didn’t think you’d actually mind,” he mutters.

Your steps falter briefly, and you turn to him with disbelief. “Of course I minded, Henry. That’s the entire point.”

His brow furrows, irritation flickering in his expression, but there’s something else too, something like regret, curling just beneath the surface. He doesn’t apologize. He never does.

So you roll your eyes, start walking again. He follows.

Eventually, he sighs. “Are you going to talk to me at some point?”

You don’t answer.

He chuckles under his breath, low and humorless. “Fine. Punish me. Give the Greek class a show.”

You don’t look at him. “Stop trying to distract me from the task at hand.”

There’s a pause. “What’s the task at hand?”

“Not talking to you. Teaching you a lesson. Teaching you that you can’t do whatever you want and still expect people to adore you for it. I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.”

You push open the heavy front door to Hampden, stepping out into the rain without hesitation. It’s that steady, misty Vermont drizzle, the kind that sinks into your clothes and hair like smoke. You feel his presence behind you but keep walking, chin tilted upward like it might make the wetness noble.

“Are you walking?” he asks eventually.

“Yes.”

“In the rain?”

“I like the rain.”

He scoffs lightly. “No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know that” you reply flatly

“I do”

You stop on the edge of the gravel path, soaked already, turning to finally face him. He looks annoyingly composed under the archway, rain misting his dark hair, hands in the pockets of that stupid coat you’d left folded neatly on his chair the night before.

“Stop talking to me,” you snap at him, and begin trudging down the path, through the downpour.

There’s a beat of silence. Then of course, he follows.

“You’re being willfully immature,” he says evenly, just behind your shoulder, like he’s correcting a mistranslation.

“Don’t patronise me, Henry.” You pick up the pace, “And stop following me.” You say over your shoulder

He doesn’t answer. His footsteps fall in time with yours, quiet and deliberate on the rain-slick gravel. You increase your pace. So does he.

“I said—”

“I heard you,” he says, tone as calm as ever.

You whip around. “Then why are you still walking with me?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Not a smile. Almost a challenge. “You seem intent on proving a point. I thought I might observe.”

Your jaw clenches. You don’t dignify it with a response. Instead, you turn back around and keep walking, through the gray, through the steady drops of rain. Water soaks into your shoes, your sleeves, your hair. You don’t look at him again, not even when you hear him fall into step beside you.

He doesn’t speak. Just walks beside you in silence.

By the time you reach the house, your clothes are plastered to your skin and your limbs ache from the cold. Rain’s still drumming hard against the roof when you unlock the front door, stepping into the dim hush of the hallway without a word. Henry follows.

You don’t bother offering him a towel or even turning on the light. You just peel off your coat, leave it dripping by the door, and stalk into the kitchen. He’s close behind, shoes echoing softly on the wood floor.

You grab the half-finished bottle of wine from the counter, something expensive, something Francis left behind last time, and you take a long pull straight from the neck.

Henry’s standing there in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes sharp despite the rain dripping from his hair. He watches as you tip your head back, jaw tight, throat working with each swallow.

Your dress is soaked through. The thin material clings to your skin, see-through in the light. He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t say anything.

Instead he says, “I didn’t make you walk.”

You scoff. “Don’t start.”

“You’re the one who told me to stop talking. I assumed you’d prefer silence.”

“I asked you to stop following me too, so I guess you assumed wrong.”

“That happens more often lately,” he says lightly, leaning back against the wall like he has all the time in the world. “You’re getting impossible to read.”

You take another swig. “Maybe you’re just not as clever as you think you are.”

There’s a pause, only a second, but weighted, and then he pushes off the wall, takes a slow step toward you. “So this is how it is now? I offer you a ride and you act like I’ve committed treason.”

You scoff “first of all, you didn’t offer me anything, you decided to follow me here like a stray dog.”

“Better that than letting you catch pneumonia out of spite.”

“How chivalrous, now we’ll die of pneumonia together” you mutter.

“I followed you because I was worried” he states solemnly.

“Uh huh.”

He laughs once, low and dry. “I forgot how dramatic you get when you’ve had a bad day.”

You shove past him, heat rising to your face. “Go home, Henry.”

“I’m already here.”

You don’t answer him. You stand by your counter, seemingly focused on the swishing liquid inside the wine bottle.

“You don’t hate me,” he says finally, voice low. “You’re just angry. And cold.”

“Don’t tell me what you think I am.”

“And maybe slightly drunk.” He concludes.

You look over your shoulder at him, eyes narrow. “And you’re soaked through and smug and still refusing to apologize.”

He lifts a brow. “Apologize for what? Offering you a ride?”

You let out a laugh, cold and incredulous, and turn your back to him as you reach for a bottle of bourbon . “It was never about the ride, and you know that.” You sift through your cutlery draw for a corkscrew.

There’s a pause. You uncork the bottle with the force of someone trying not to throw something. You take a long drink from the bottle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Is this about earlier?” he asks. Still too even. “When Bunny said that thing about Camilla?”

You don’t answer, not directly. You just lower the bottle and stare at him across the small kitchen, your dress clinging to your thighs like a second skin. “It didn’t seem to bother you.”

“It was Bunny,” he says, making the deduction from the expression your face made when he mentioned the earlier incident. “He says worse about all of us.”

“But you let him,” you say. “You always let him. That’s the thing.”

Henry’s brow twitches. A fraction. “Let him what?”

“Imply,” you say. “Invent. Be a fucking idiot. And you, God, you just stand there and let him believe whatever suits him.”

“I didn’t realise I was responsible for curating Bunny’s reality.”

“You’re responsible for me,” you say, and it’s out before you can stop it.

The silence that follows is short but biting.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” you mutter, already turning away. “Forget it.”

“No,” he says. “Say it again.”

You whip around. “You don’t get to play dumb, Henry. Not when you fuck me and then let people think it’s Camilla sneaking into your room. Not when you—” You stop. Too much, too fast.

He studies you. His clothes are clinging to him, his shoes leaving puddles on your floor. His eyes are darker in the low light, but not unfeeling. “You think I’m ashamed of you.”

The silence thay follows is truly tragic.

“I think you’re hiding me.”

He shakes his head once, slow and disbelieving, like you’ve gotten the answer to a simple equation horribly wrong. “That isn’t true.”

“But you won’t say anything. You never do. Not when they ask. Not when they guess.”

He steps toward you. “And you think it’s because I don’t care.”

“I think,” you say, voice sharp and low, “that you like having me when it’s convenient. When no one’s looking.”

He’s in front of you now, close enough to reach out, though he doesn’t.

“You’re wrong,” he says. Quietly. Almost gently. “But I’m not in the habit of correcting idiots like Bunny. I assumed you weren’t either.”

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth. You raise the bottle to your lips again, taking a particularly large swig. “Well,” you say, “maybe I just wanted to hear it. Once. That you don’t want her.”

He exhales, almost a laugh, but without any real amusement. “You think I’d do this with Camilla?”

“I don’t know what you’d do, Henry. That’s the point.”

He reaches for the bottle, takes it from your hand with unhurried fingers, and sets it down on the counter.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says. “If anything, I’m surprised you’re not ashamed of me.”

“Don’t be daft.” You say in a tone that he can’t tell if you want to break the bottle of bourbon over his head, or kiss him until he’s completely dizzy.

You look up at him. His hair’s dripping into his eyes. You want to hate him. You want to kiss him. You want to cry.

“Get out of your wet clothes,” you mutter. “You’ll ruin the floor.”

He doesn’t move.

“Will you let me stay?” he asks.

You look at him for a long moment, then sigh, and step back.

“Only because it’s pouring outside, and your car’s on the other side of campus.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain had been steady for hours now, a soft percussive rhythm on the sloped tin of the veranda roof. The sound had dulled everything else, the creak of old wicker chairs, the scrape of ceramic against wood as you shifted your mug, and between the two of you, nothing but that thin hush of storm and the slow, deliberate rustle of paper.

Henry sat across from you, sleeves rolled up to the forearms, a faint bruise flowering just beneath the collar of his shirt, from you, you were certain, though neither of you had mentioned it. His brow was furrowed, reading glasses low on his nose, fingers stained faintly with ink from a leaky fountain pen. Between you sat a Latin translation he had assigned and then half-forgotten, and you were determined to pretend it mattered, because if it didn’t, you would have had to look at him.

It was not silence between you. Not quite. But it was something very near it—an intentional, delicate sort of quiet that had to be preserved. A quiet born from earlier pettiness, still fresh enough to sting. You hadn’t spoken, not really, since the argument. Since the rain. Since he’d followed you back to the house like some sullen retriever, trailing just behind your dripping coat and offering nothing by way of apology except the arch of an eyebrow and a sigh like it had all been terribly inconvenient for him.

You sipped your coffee. It was lukewarm and bitter, black as ash. You weren’t even sure why you were still awake. Maybe for the same reason he was. The shared inability to sleep with anything unfinished.

He cleared his throat. You ignored him.

“Aetas prima canebat,” he said flatly, from the text between you.

Your eyes flicked up, narrowed. “The first age sang.”

A pause. The patter of rain.

“You missed the nuance,” Henry said coolly, like this was a classroom, and not a balcony strung together with fog and caffeine and residual disdain

You arched a brow. “And you missed the point.”

He glanced up at you then, slow and surgical. “I find your attempts at punishment strangely inconsistent.”

“Good,” you said crisply, turning another page. “I’m still workshopping.”

Another pause. The mug in your hand felt hot again, somehow. Or maybe your palms had gone cold.

Henry shifted in his chair, leaned back just slightly, watching you over the rim of his own mug. His voice was lower now, more idle. “So. Are we back to teaching me a lesson?”

You didn’t look at him. “You’re a fast learner. I thought I’d make it harder this time.”

A smirk flickered across his mouth, brief and dry and fleeting.

Outside, the rain kept falling. The kind of rain that made you feel like time had stopped altogether, the hours smeared into watercolor. The air smelled like earth and wet stone. You wondered if the others were asleep, if Francis had remembered to close the greenhouse windows.

And still, the silence stretched, warm and uneasy and shared.

Henry’s chair scraped softly against the floor as he shifted again. “You’ve spilled ink on the tablecloth.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look up.

But under the table, your foot brushed against his, accidentally or not, and you didn’t move it away.

It starts the way these things always do—with nothing. An errant brush of fingers when reaching for the same page, your hand flinching slightly as it touches his. He doesn’t pull away.

You can feel his gaze on you again, that measured, unreadable kind of stare. The kind he reserves for manuscripts and rare books and particularly stubborn people.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, not looking up from the page.

“You’ve ink on your knuckle.”

You raise your hand, inspect it idly. “Tragic.”

There’s a long pause. You hear the soft clink of his cup being set down, the creak of wicker as he leans forward. And then, very low,

“I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

You glance at him then, finally. His hair’s still damp from the walk, pushed back carelessly, his shirt clinging faintly to his chest. There’s a faint scowl in his expression, but it’s tempered by something else, something softer beneath the usual marble.

You hesitate. “You don’t act like it.”

“No,” he agrees. “I suppose I don’t.”

You close the book.

He watches you, and you watch him. The air is heavy with late-night humidity and half-swallowed words.

Slowly, you move your chair back, the legs scraping softly against the veranda wood, and step toward him, knees brushing his, then thighs. He looks up at you, calm, silent. You settle yourself in his lap.

He exhales once through his nose, sharp and amused, as if to say really? now? but his hands go to your waist anyway, steadying you. You lean in, your breath mingling with his.

There’s no kiss. Not yet. Just the sound of the rain and your breath and the tension humming between you like a taut string.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur.

“So you’ve said.”

Your noses are nearly touching. One of his hands slips beneath the hem of your nightdress, quiet, reverent. Fingers brush the inside of your thigh. You sigh softly, your forehead tipping against his.

And then finally, he slides two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, the stretch achingly familiar. Your breath stutters. His mouth doesn’t move at first, just hovers near your ear, warm and maddeningly close.

And then, low and rough:

“I’m sorry.”

The words come like a secret. Not an admission of guilt but of desire. Of wanting you happy. Of knowing he’s wounded something delicate and not knowing how to mend it except like this.

You don’t answer, not with words.

Your hips roll slightly into his hand, and you let your lips ghost against his jaw. The book sits forgotten on the table beside you, the pages fluttering gently in the wind. And outside, the rain keeps falling, soft and steady and without end.

You shift on his lap, barely, but the movement is enough to make you gasp, a quiet, stunned sound that escapes before you can stifle it. His fingers work inside you with quiet precision, not hurried or desperate, but purposeful. Like everything Henry does, there’s a method. A kind of cold poetry to it.

Your head tips back slightly, eyes fluttering closed, and he’s still watching you. Always watching. His breath brushes the side of your neck, steady despite the rising tension in you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, so soft you might be imagining it.

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt.

It doesn’t take long. The ache in your belly has been simmering for hours, since the argument, since the tension, since the moment he refused to let you walk home alone in the rain. And now, as his thumb circles and his fingers curl just so, you fall.

Quietly. Softly. A faint gasp against the shell of his ear, your body trembling just once, like a note plucked from a string.

You come undone in silence, brow pressed to his temple, teeth grazing your lip to stay quiet. When it’s over, you exhale shakily, heart thudding in your chest like a bell.

Then comes the pause. The moment after.

You blink, awareness sliding back in, mortification following close behind. You clear your throat, gently shifting away from his lap.

“I should…” You glance toward the house, voice breathy, subdued. “I’m going to bed.”

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t say anything at all.

Only watches you rise, wordless, as you walk back toward the door barefoot, your nightdress clinging to your legs, your skin still humming.

The rain hasn’t let up. Neither has the silence.

[mammalsofaction]

since you've compiled moments where heinz is the possessive one... could we possibly get ones of perry being the jealous/possessive one? 👀

OH NONNIE I GIGGLED

Let's start with the basics 🙏🏼🙏🏼:

Their entire B-Plot in About Time:

Including their legendary first break up song where Perry started staring into puddles like a disney princess with a falshback montage:

(Here's an extended Alt):

Which led to Perry getting pissed off whenever Heinz is in Seattle without telling him (Meapless in Seattle):

And eventually Perry getting pissed off when Heinz got kidnapped by Peter's situationship and rushing to go save him in Seattle again. (Lost in Danville) (Yes, Perry is not the hugest fan of Seattle)

Heinz ended giving Mystery relationship advice and Peter got to meet Mystery's parents :)

Im running out of the picture limit. I can't find the one where Perry got upset when Heinz brought up the babe Inator, but here is Perry getting upset when Mono's speculating about Heinz's new date:

Perry being an overprotective asshole who won't let Heinz do missions during OWCA files:

Some fucking merch content of all things:

Perry being really sad and reaching for Heinz during their SECOND break up arc in Milo Murphy's Law:

Sending a card that was probably his equivalent to falling on knees grovelling:

Damn did I forget to tell you Perry takes pictures, edits, and keeps a whole stash of his photos with Doof in his wallet? Must've slipped my mind:

Anyway. The misunderstanding in MML was because Perry ends up being Time Industries' (Heinz future business endeavor as the Founder of Time Travelling) first and largest shareholder. He cashes in every penny made in overtime for Heinz to build his company back up.

Dan Povenmire stitched this chibi shorts episode as one SPECIFICALLY MADE FOR A "Specific subset of the Phineas and Ferb fandom" spoiler alert: apparently Perry's less upset about Heinz going around kissing people when it's Perry he's kissing.

Here's a short where Perry is apparently less cool about Heinz getting beat up when its someone else beating him up:

And here's a lil bonus Perry getting upset by a fake platypus Baljeet made when he went missing:

This is a very, VERY limited list, including moments of Perry being Fucking Whipped. I have carefully redacted moments of:

-Perry being sweet

-Perry being supportive

-Them being domestic

-Perry being so, so, so incredibly fond of Heinz

-Perry trusting Heinz with his life.

-Perry being sure Heinz doesn't have a life outside of him, anyway.

And in fact i am sure i have missed a lot more out of canon content. Perry being codependent, possessive, protective and jealous is common knowledge at this point. I've made a post before where Perry the Second Dimension proves that Perry has control Issues and an insecurity of being easily replaced by his loved ones, excaberted by Francis' frequent threats of relocating him at the drop of a hat.

Tldr: Perry suffers from down bad-ism and if you look at Heinz too long he is liable to commit violence ♥️♥️♥️

[user500269]

this is based on @lordragamuffin's amazing fanart of bloody doppelgänger francis and real francis!!! minors please dni!!

imagine doppelgänger francis absolutely terrorizing the real francis.

he’d be so jealous, watching the way you handled your boyfriend. he’d quite literally be watching you two fuck every night, outside your balcony.

yeah, world domination was cool, but human sex looked too fun for him to pass up the opportunity.

sometimes you’d leave francis home alone when you worked overnights at the security office, while your boyfriend slept alone in his all too tight shirts.

for the past week, only when you were away, francis felt something, or someone, groping at his chest. but he was always almost half-asleep when he felt slender fingers swirling around his nipples.

he’d twitch and squirm in his sleep, huffing out moans whenever he felt something pinching and tugging at his nubs.

he thought he was going crazy.

and every morning, when he woke up from his nightly grope session, he’d always have an embarrassingly large mess in his pants. his dick was still hard, cum splattered in his boxers.

the next week, francis started having dreams about it. no face could be imagined for whoever was fondling with his chest, but he could feel the same fingers on him every night.

he thought he was just horny, missing you on the nights you weren’t there. but even when you were there, he’d feel so guilty, praying to the dream gods that he’d have a wet dream about the mystery groper, playing with his perky nipples.

then finally, one fateful night, he woke up to finally see fingers stuffed under his shirt. he was still disoriented, squirming under the cold fingers of the mystery groper.

“w-who, haah, are you…?” francis panted, throwing his head back with his tongue lulled out. the fingers were moving too fast for him to protest, nails slightly scrapping the tips.

there was no response. the only noise that filled the room were the whimpers and moans from francis. he was so needy, drool sliding out of his mouth at the immense pleasure he felt. he couldn’t even fathom how good he felt from how just his nipples.

“mmngh! c-can you, aghnn, tell me, please?” he was so polite, even while some stranger was pulling at his stupidly perky nipples, testing if any milk work come out.

doppelgänger francis would just silently chuckle at his copy’s desperation. he’d flick one bud, while rubbing the other with his thumb. whatever made his copy twitch, he’d do it over and over again to see him squirm.

humans are so stupid, he thought.

he looked down to see the mess that was brewing between francis’ legs, before finally giving francis a clue. “why not…you let me replace you, hm?”

francis tried to hide the moans that were spilling out of his lips at the revelation, but his mind was so hazy for him to even refute. “n-nggGH!” he mewled when doppel squeezed both nipples at the tips.

“i’ll play with you like this every night, then i pretend to be you in the day, hm?” doppel proposed, shivers rolling down francis’ spine. the heat of doppel’s breath brushed against his ears making them tingle.

“t-that’s, ungh, not…” francis was grinding against the fabric of his underwear, completely out of it. he was so close. just a few more flicks would send this poor boy over the edge.

“c’mon, they won’t even notice. i can play with these pretty things like this,” he flicked at francis’ buds, pressing kisses against his flushed neck. “such pretty tits, hm?” he chuckled, cupping his chest.

that comment sent francis over the moon. his heart was nearly thumping out of his chest and cum splattered on the inside of his pants.

“guess i trained you well. they’re bigger than before,” doppel didn’t waiver when francis came, continuing to torment his pink nubs. they were throbbing, sensitive to the touch.

francis’ drool dropped to his chin, his eyes rolled back all the way. “n-no, i jus’...hnghh, c-came. ‘s too soon, ngh…” he moaned, cheek smushed against the pillow.

“maybe give me the answer i wanna hear, ‘n i’ll let you have a little break, yeah?” doppel growled, sucking hickies lower down his neck.

francis’ breath hitched, shaking his head. “d-don’t, eek! d-don’t leave marks, they’ll see, mngh, them!” he pleaded.

doppel smirked, rolling his fingertips over francis’ nipples soothingly. it was slow, too slow. “ooohhngh…y-you can, hn, take over f’me…” francis cutely agreed, biting his lower lip.

“yeah? ‘n i’ll play with you every night, right?” doppel grinned widely, sucking on francis’ earlobe.

francis’ eyes were squeezed shut, flushed from the neck down. “m-mhm! p-please…” francis begged, trying to puff his chest out for more friction.

“alright. you said it yourself, so don’t go crying to me when you can’t take it anymore,” doppel chuckled darkly, tugging francis’ nipples with a squeeze.

“haaaAANGH!”

[s1m0nth3swag]

i apologise if i already sent this ask, my memory is terrible! if your requests are open, may i get an easily flustered male Reader/doorman who is mercilessly teased and flirted with by a doppelganger Francis and the real Francis watches? Whenever it's smut or not is up to you

I just absolutely need to imagine Scarlet Milk Francis and regular Francis.... thats a physical need actually.

Like flirty Scarlet Milk and Francis who's just like "bro i would never say that, cringe" UNTIL HE NOTICES READER GETTING FLUSTERED AND HE JUST GOES "damn. whore." (judgy Francis for the win <3)

I'm not at all down bad for Scarlet Milk Francis wdym this is normal, isn't it?

Also, uhm, uhm, a little badly written because I wrote this in Latin Class, and my brain is positively fried!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Slight suggestive themes (not full blown smut though), Francis being judgy, Reader being down bad (relatable), part two worthy bullshit (because i love the thought of taking Scarlet Milk and Francis (totally in a fight.))

Blood. That's the first thing you noticed as your favourite Milkman walked in. He was covered in blood. When asked about it, he simply said it was 'Scarlet Milk', a new type of milk. You had simply nodded along, like yeah. This was totally normal. Not like you had let the actual milkman in just a few minutes later, and you knew that if you called the apartment his voice would sound from the telephone. You reached there, eyes fixed on the doppelganger - you had always thought Francis was attractive but this.. well, it was definetly a new high. "Don't call him." The doppelganger spoke, voice too sweet and buttery. He knew he'd gotten caught, but seemingly he.. didn't mind. He smiled at you through the small window that seperated the hall and your office. "Bet the real one doesn't even bat an eye at you, hm? You're so good looking, he really should." You flushed slightly, even though you know you shouldn't. This was a doppelganger, for gods sake! A ruthless monster that could easily kill you! Yet here you were, blushing at the fake Francis. And he knew he got you on the hook, you could tell by the grin that adorned his face.

If you had known that the actual Francis still stood just outside the door that led into the building, and had seen the fact that a Doppelganger with his face had walked in, you probably wouldn't be talking to it anymore. Much less if you had known that Francis hurriedly made his way to your office - he trusted you didn't have a memory of five seconds, but something told him you were in trouble. He didn't even bother knocking, just opened the door to what was probably the weirdest scene ever. You with a bright blush covering your face, his doppelganger having a shit eating grin on his face... Yeah this had to be a fever dream.

Meanwhile, you were absolutely done for. Sweet nothings, things you didn't think anyone would dare speak out loud - the doppelganger had probably given you the most compliments you'd ever received in your lifetime. You turned around in shock as you heard the door open, staring at the real Francis like a deer caught in headlights. "Look who decided to join us! Real me!" The doppelganger chuckled. "Was just telling this sweet thing what I'd do to them if they let me in." He purrs, tapping against the window teasingly. "They got real shy about it." You glared at the doppelganger, looking between him and the actual Francis. "What'd he say." Francis practically demands to know, and your cheeks flush a deeper shade of red at the thought of having to repeat the things the doppelganger said. This was probably a moment to sink into the ground forever. "Just said I'd give them something to do with those pretty lips. And then some other things.." The doppelganger answers in your stead. Yup, you definitely want to get swallowed by the floor at this point. Francis looks at you, raising a brow in silent judgement. "Seriously? I'd never say stuff like that. That's stupid." He sighs, his face scrunching in a frown. "And honestly, you see me covered in blood and think "Yeah I'd fuck that"? Really?" He adds, serious annoyance in his voice, and you don't even know what's happening anymore because this whole situation is so unreal. "I'm sure I'm really handsome." The doppelganger quips in. "Though.. I would look better without this awful uniform, don't you think, sweets?" You let out a silent groan, covering your ears in embarrassment.

You don't know why this continued, but now Francis and the doppelganger are yapping about how the doppelganger doesn't get Francis' speech right - you seriously stopped listening after they both told you to shush when you said you'd just terminate the Doppelganger... you only listened to hints of the conversation. Something about sharing is caring or so.

God, how did you get yourself into this...

[resurrectionist3]

Timex

Daniel Cleaver x fem!Reader (18+)

✒️ - 12/25/2024 🔏 - 01/08/2025

⏳ - 5,563 words

⚠️CW - 18+ NSFW, oral stimulation (p in mouth), no p in v (yet), general smut, Daniel Cleaver and his sliminess (his presence deserves a warning)

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

📜 - A fairly new hire is getting ready for a very important meeting at her job as the co editor in chief at Pemberley Press. To her surprise, she seems to have lost her favorite wristwatch.

At work, she manages to find it ... on the desk of her most insufferable colleague.

Author's Note - First fan fiction posted to Tumblr, I cannot believe it's for this man. It is actually inspired by the fact that I lost my favorite watch just before Christmas - don't ask how my brain decided to write a fan fiction because of it. I did manage to find it while I wrote this so, that's a win for me. Yes, Frankie is inspired by Francis Abernathy from The Secret History. And yes, the presence of an author named Miles Finch does indeed imply that this fan fiction and this version of Daniel Cleaver do exist in the same universe as the 2003 Christmas comedy film, Elf, starring Will Ferrel. Our beloved Mr. Reed will be here soon, I promise. But I fear I must get this freak out of my system before I can focus on the other one.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

“Chilly morning in London today, with a high of 4 degrees and a low of -1° tonight! Expect light flurries this evening with-” The cheerful English news reporter said in his routine chatter about the weather forecast. I poured out a decent serving of cat food for my sweet Argo and sat down to my own breakfast. Turning down the television volume and opening my work notebook, I reviewed the notes from the previous day regarding today’s very important meeting, with a very important author. 

I furrowed my brows as I read the author’s scribbled name, Miles Finch, trying to remember where else I had heard of him outside of work. 

My eyes drifted lower on the page to a different name that I had written down - one that made my heart race and my cheeks blush. Daniel Cleaver, my insufferably attractive colleague and co-editor in chief at Pemberley Press. Our boss, Mr. Fitzherbert, thought it would be some wonderful idea for us to work together preparing for this meeting; the loyal employee of several years teaching the new hire ‘all the way from Boston, Massachusetts’. Weeks spent working a little too closely with Daniel, all leading up to today. To be completely honest, it took its toll on me. One can only take so much of him and his arrogance. 

And his smile … his eyes … his voice … his-

“Ugh,” I caught my mind wandering and stopped, nearly choking on my morning coffee. “Enough of that, (y/n).” I said to myself as I stood from the table. 

I carefully chose a CD to play while I got dressed, settling on one burned by my friend back home. The first song, some obscure 80s pop tune, filled my room as I made my way to the closet. 

“Miniskirt and blouse,” I pondered out loud, pulling the outfit from the rack. “Or, black suit dress?”

Eyeing both choices, I tried to decide which outfit would warrant the best response during the meeting. I looked again at the miniskirt momentarily, blushing as I recalled the … effect it seemed to have on my intolerable associate when I last wore it. 

The way Daniel eyed me that entire day was undeniable. I had been rather used to his stares after 6 months of working with him, but that was different. The way he bit his lip as those icy blue eyes wandered to places they definitely shouldn’t…

“No,” I said quickly, dropping the skirt onto my bed. “Absolutely no distractions today. Suit dress it is.”

After finishing my outfit and makeup, I only had a few minutes before I had to leave. I gathered my things, listing off everything important: ‘notebook, car keys, bag, coat, scarf…’

I prattled off  my belongings in my head as I stopped at my vanity one last time. ‘Necklace, rings, wristwatch-’ I named each item as I put it on, but-

‘Wristwatch…?’  I froze mid-list as I realized my favorite watch was nowhere in sight. I opened every drawer, brows furrowed as I searched all over the apartment. I thought of anywhere it could possibly be, and yet, still nothing. 

I stopped and sighed at the new mess I had made in my hunt. Clothes and jewelry strewn over my unmade bed after my unceremonious rummage around. 

‘I wore it yesterday.. I remember that,’  I thought to myself, stood amongst the disarray. ‘Then.. where did it go afterwards?' 

Figuring it would be easily found on my desk at work,  I relented. I took all my things and left the apartment, throwing on my scarf and coat once inside the elevator. 

In the car, my mind drifted back to the watch. After earning this perfect job at Pemberley, I bought anything I wanted. Expensive jewelry, designer clothes, a new car - even my fancy apartment in London after relocating. I could probably buy 7 of the same basic black and gold Timex watch, but this one was special to me. 

“I’m being quite honest, Frankie, I can't find it anywhere,” I sigh over the phone to my best friend. “I looked all over my apartment, all over my work desk, even asked our security guard if he’d seen it. I fear it’s gone.” I slouched a little in my desk chair as I came to my upsetting realization. 

“Please, (y/n), it’s not that serious. It’s a small thing, I’ll buy you a new one if you like.” Frankie said, his voice as cool and unconcerned as always. Franklin Arkwright; assistant to the CEO of our partner publishing company back home in Boston. He was my oldest friend, and the one who managed to get me the job at Pemberley in the first place. 

I stood from my chair and paced about my office, the phone cord pulling as I walked around my desk. “It’s not just a small thing, Frankie. You know how much I love that watch, and I don't enjoy losing my belongings.” My hand went to my (y/hc) hair as I sighed again. I turned around, going to the opposite side of the room when I accidentally locked eyes with him. 

Daniel Cleaver’s office sat inconveniently right beside mine, both spaces walled completely with floor to ceiling glass (I preferred more privacy myself, but the sleek and modern look was just so in these days).

My heart quickened for a moment, sending a strange pulse through my chest as his blue eyes met mine, a smirk appearing on his face. I managed a smile back as he waved, still talking to whoever was on his own phone. He eyed me up and down as he always did, his gaze lingering on my choice of dress; the dress that I suddenly realized had such a low neckline. 

I scoffed and looked away from his irritating stares, my eyes moving to his desk instead. Frankie continued on in my ear about something his mother had said as I scanned the organized mess of Daniel’s workspace. Stacked papers and folders, pens and pencils, a paper coffee cup, my watch, a stapler-

My watch?

My eyes widened at the undeniable sight of my wristwatch sitting on the desk of none other than Daniel fucking Cleaver. The black leather wristband and gold rimmed clock face was recognizable even from where I stood. I looked back up to him as he paced about his own office, talking away on his phone. He seemed either unaware that it was there, or he at least didn't care. 

'How on earth did it get there?’ I thought to myself as I wracked my brain, finally remembering yesterday’s encounter. 

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

In the meeting room, Daniel leaned against the long table as I went over my checklist for a final time. “Right, the presentation is finished, I wrote up my little spiel. Do you have yours ready, Cleaver?” I asked and instantly rolled my eyes as I caught him staring where he shouldn’t. Again. 

“Yes, yes, (y/ln), I’ll get on that straight away,” He said briskly, reluctantly meeting my eyes. I could tell he was very distracted, and likely hadn’t heard a word that I said. 

“Daniel, please just know that if you fuck up this meeting and make a fool of me, I will have your head for it.” I said in a casual voice, returning to my written list.

“Noted. Thank you, (y/ln)” Daniel responded coolly. I caught his eyes wandering again and shot him a glare. Perhaps he felt bad for not listening to me, or more than likely, he was trying to play off his stares as he leaned off the table and walked closer. 

“You know, (y/n), I never noticed how nice your watch is,” He said, tilting his head as he looked at the clock on my wrist. “I think I like it.”

 I furrowed my brows at his out-of-place comment and looked at him skeptically. “Well, I do wear it everyday, Daniel. How have you not mentioned it before?” Daniel just shrugged in response, eyes still on my wrist. 

“The gold suits you quite nicely,” He said pensively, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Daniel gently reached out for my hand, and asked for a closer look. Confused, I set down my notebook and pen, taking the watch from my wrist. Our hands brushed momentarily as I set the watch in his palm, making my heart skip annoyingly. As he examined it, I went back to my list and finished going over everything for tomorrow. 

Before I could say another word to Daniel, Mr. Fitzherbert had entered and asked for me. The last thing I remembered was taking my notebook and pen, and hurrying out - leaving my favorite watch with Daniel. Fucking. Cleaver. 

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

“(y/n)...? (Y/N)??” Frankie repeated over the phone, taking me out of my memory. “Are you still there, babe?” 

I let out a laugh and took a breath as I realized I was still on the phone with him. “Y-yea, I’m still here, Frankie.. But I think I should go. I, uhm, I found my watch.”

Without another word, I said goodbye and hung up the phone. Daniel had also finished his own phone call and was standing by the window, reading some documents. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose as I contemplated actually going over there. After all, it IS just a watch. But, it was still my favorite one. 

I readjusted my dress and made my way to Daniel’s office, entering politely. “Afternoon, Mr. Cleaver,” I said with the nicest smile I could manage. “Today’s the day! Big meeting with Miles Finch. I hope you’re ready!” 

Daniel flashed me a smile - that terribly charming smile of his. “Good afternoon to you, Miss (y/ln). To what do I owe this lovely intrusion?” 

From the look he gave me I could tell, he knew what I was there for.  My eyes went from him to my watch, sat right on his desk beside his computer, almost displayed like some kind of trophy. I lost my fake smile and relaxed, crossing my arms. “I’m here to see if you're prepared. And to take my watch back; I’ve been looking for it all morning.” 

Daniel looked confused and taken aback by my statement. “Your watch..? (y/ln), you must be barking, I don’t have your watch.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him and walked towards his desk. I wasn’t in any mood for his games today. “Yes, Daniel. This watch, it’s mine.” I reached out to take it, just as he bent over the desk and picked it up himself. 

“Oh, this watch? Odd, what is it doing here? Are you sure it’s yours?” Daniel said while he examined it just like he did the day prior. I rolled my eyes at him and his antics. 

“Yesterday.. The meeting room? You asked to see it and then I had to go.” I recalled briefly, still irritated with his little act. “I really have been looking for it all morning, I’ve been worried half to death.” 

Daniel’s eyes widened in fake shock. “Half to death? God, (y/ln), it’s just a watch,” He said, turning it over in his hands. “Why do you wear it everyday? It's a bit worse for wear, isn't it? Scratches in the glass here, creasing in the wristband. And, oh dear, is that a crack? Surely, they pay you enough to buy a nicer one.” 

I glared at him from the other side of his desk and huffed in anger. “It’s very special to me, Daniel. My dear friend, Frankie, gave it to me before I left home to move here. It used to belong to him; he knew I loved it so much,” I stopped myself and sighed. Something told me that it was futile to try and explain the emotional value of a wristwatch to someone like Daniel Cleaver. “It’s .. sentimental. Perhaps you’d understand if you had friends of your own, now I’d like to have it back please.” 

The emphasis on my statement didn't seem to matter as Daniel just smiled to himself and looked back at my watch. “How dare you presume to know the status of my personal friendships,” He said after taking a gasp of fake offence. 

I held my hand out for him to give the watch back, a silent plea for him to end this ridiculous nonsense. But to my confusion and irritation, instead of offering it back, he pulled back his sleeve and put it on. “You know, I think I'll hold onto it for you. Just for today, what do you think, (y/ln)?” 

It was my turn to be taken aback now. “What, no- Cleaver, just give it to me,” I said, my already thin patience running thinner. “This isn’t grade school, what are we, confiscating each other’s belongings now..?” 

Daniel said nothing as he walked around his desk and stopped in front of me - a little too close for a colleague. “You can come back and collect it at the end of the day. Stay later tonight.. If you want it back, then you’ll know where to find me, hmm?” He said, his voice patronizing. Yet, quiet and … suggestive. He was so close, I could smell his cologne - a familiar fragrance from Jo Malone. He lifted his hand and I held my breath, ready for him to do something deranged, like brush back my hair or caress my cheek. Hell, he was close enough to lean in for a kiss.

 Instead, he looked over my shoulder at my watch on his wrist to check the time. “Well look at that.. It’s time to meet Miles Finch,” Daniel said with a quick smile as he stepped back to his desk to pick up some documents. According to the clock on his wall, he was right - ten minutes until 3pm. A few people from different departments even walked by Daniel’s office and into the elevator, clearly on their way to the meeting room. 

Daniel walked past me quickly and I followed behind to retrieve my own things from my office, just as he stopped and turned back.

“Hot dress, by the way, (y/ln),” He started, making my cheeks blush red. “With a neckline that low, I’m sure you won’t even need your notes in order to convince them.”

I gasped and tried to interject as he made his way out to the elevator. 

The meeting came and went, ending on a high note with Miles Finch agreeing to our proposed contract for his upcoming book series. It was truly a triumph; after weeks of hard work and preparation, it actually paid off. The entire meeting room filed out, talking happily and shaking hands with one another with a few minutes to spare before the end of the work day. I was approached numerous times by colleagues and representatives visiting from our New York location, congratulating me and Daniel on a job well done. As the building slowly emptied, I retreated back to my office and opened my computer to start on some extra work. I hadn’t forgotten about what Daniel said. And I certainly hadn't forgotten about my damned wristwatch. 

There were five separate invitations to go out for drinks with everyone from the meeting. And I really did wish to attend. Perhaps for a chance to earn a spot within Miles Finch’s good graces (he was said to be a difficult man to please), but I declined every single one. “Such hard workers, you and Mr. Cleaver are. You make an excellent team, I’m quite glad to have hired you.” Mr. Fitzherbert said when he heard that Daniel and I wished to stay late to ‘get ahead’ on the next big project. 

‘Oh yes,’ I thought to myself. ‘I'm sure we’ll be working very hard tonight.’ It was the only thought I had in my mind as the boss praised us. Checking my email for a final time before I got to work, I noticed a new message. The sender’s name made me sigh and curse as I clicked it open. 

 ‘45 minutes, floor will be empty. 

50 minutes, after George does his rounds, you know what to do.

-DC’

The wall clock ticked away at an agonizingly slow pace. A few times, I even caught myself instinctually turning my wrist to check the time, and cursing under my breath when I found nothing there. When the time finally arrived, George, the security guard walked casually past my glass-walled office. We exchanged polite waves and I watched him walk through the room and out, heading for the stairwell. I recognized my moment, and turned off my computer. I took my things as if I were ready to leave: packed my notebook and pen into my bag, gathered up my coat and scarf, and made the dreadful walk of shame to Daniel’s office door. I felt his eyes on me as I hesitated outside, wondering again if this was all really worth it. I knew I wasn’t just going to walk in, collect my trinket, and go. It would never be that easy with Daniel. 

“About time, (y/ln), took you long enough to finally open the door. Having second thoughts?” Daniel said, without looking up from his computer screen. 

“Actually, yes,” I confessed, putting my belongings down on the chair by the door. “Am I going to regret coming in here, Cleaver..?” I gave him a sincere look of worry. His expression visibly softened as he stood from his desk and walked over. He stopped in front of me, just like he had done earlier. Except this time, there was no one around to see us. No one to watch him do something deranged… like brushing back my hair, or caressing my cheek. Or..

“Daniel,” I whispered, pulling away when he leaned in. My hand went to his chest, ghosting against the bare skin where his dress shirt was left unbuttoned. “Please - don’t risk our positions, or our jobs, for this silliness.” Daniel responded with a soft smile as his hand went to my cheek, caressing it gently. 

“It’s only a problem if we’re caught, (y/n).” Daniel began, his other hand trailing slowly up my side and to my waist. He pulled me against him and I stumbled a little, falling against Daniel’s chest and fully into his arms - right where he wanted me. “And if we are, which we won’t be, I’ll take the blame. It’s my idea after all. I’ll risk my position and my job… not yours.”

Somehow, Daniel’s own version of a sacrifice was endearing enough to make me blush furiously. I opened my mouth to protest, just to be met with his thumb gliding gently over my bottom lip. “It’s alright, (y/n),” He whispered with an amused smile on his face. He winked and I couldn't help but return the smile. Daniel backed away briefly, pulling me by the arm to his desk where I settled against it. He resumed his place in front of me, pulling me back into his embrace. “I’ve got it all figured out… and I've got you.”

I felt myself physically relax at Daniel’s words - more relaxed than I’ve ever felt while being with him. I raised my eyebrows at his statement, sighing against his lips. “You always have everything figured out, don't you Daniel?” Before he could give me one of his clever responses, I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips to his. Just to shut him up. 

His hand settled on my hip, keeping me pinned against his desk. I let my own hands move up his chest, and over his shoulders. One hand rest on the back of his neck, while the other went up into his hair, getting tangled in his dark locks. He let out a moan against my lips, and I couldn't help my mischievous smile.

“Excuse my enthusiasm, (y/n),” Daniel began, pulling away only enough to form words. “But I have been fucking dying to get you like this since the day I met you.” It was my turn to be amused now. I smiled and bit my bottom lip, delighted to see him this flustered. “Oh, I can tell, Daniel,” The feeling of his growing erection against me was enough to know that he was serious. I let my hands fall from their work in his hair, dropping one to his shoulder and the other to the desk behind me. It rested beside Daniel’s left hand, my fingers ghosting over his. “To make a confession of my own, I’ve always found you rather attractive - hot as fuck, even. But your insufferable arrogance was often far to much for me to bear.” 

Daniel laughed against my neck as he dipped down to kiss the sensitive skin there, earning a breathy moan from me. I moved my hand from the desktop, gliding over his hand and to his wrist, where I felt the undeniable outline of my watch. I quickly moved my hand up, tightening around his forearm as he nipped at my neck, hoping he wouldn’t get suspicious. “Daniel…” I moaned to him, making him hold my waist tighter in response. My other hand slid off his shoulder and down his back to distract him while I began to remove my watch from his wrist. 

‘Almost…’ I thought and let out a sigh when I felt the leather strap slide from the small buckle. Daniel bit into my neck harder than he had before, and I gasped sharply. He paused, bringing his quest to cover me in love bites to a close. “Don’t stop, please,” I pleaded, nearly whining for him. Not only was I close to finally getting my watch back, but the physical contact actually felt too good to lose. I felt Daniel smirk against my lips as he pulled away from me completely, my hand drifting off his shoulder and lingering outstretched for him. 

“You almost had me, (y/n),” Daniel said while he fastened my watch back onto his wrist. “Don’t make me restrain you, (y/ln). Play fairly and you’ll get what you came here for.” 

I roll my eyes and groan, crossing my arms in front of me. “Fine, Daniel. What must I do to get my precious watch back?” Daniel put a hand to his heart and gasped. 

“You wound me, (y/n), honestly,” He paced to the side of the desk, leaning on it bringing our faces inches apart once again. “I had hoped that what you wanted from me wasn't just your watch.” 

“Daniel-” I scolded, as if he were a child. He was surely acting like one. He just laughed and held up his hands in surrender after taking a step away. “Alright, (y/ln), alright. I need you to do something for me. A favor, I suppose.” His voice dropped in volume as he finished. I chewed the inside of my lip, eyeing him cautiously. 

“Like what? Take over a project for you? Cover for you while you run off to some broom closet or storage room with one of the interns?” Daniel approached me with that damned smile on his face again. The one that first made my heart race. The one that could convince me to do anything. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d be running off with anyone other than you, (y/ln). But no, nothing like that,” He paused, seemingly thinking. His tongue traced his bottom lip as his eyes scanned over my face while his hand absentmindedly rubbed my thigh beneath my skirt. “Well, you are quite good with this mouth of yours.” 

My eyes widened and my lips parted in my shock. ‘Oh, surely not.’ 

“I don’t suppose you mean I have a chance of talking my way out of this?” I asked, trying desperately to avoid what I knew he was implying. Daniel shook his head, still enamored by me as he resumed his kissing along my jaw and down my neck. “Come now, (y/n), don’t play innocent. It’s a poor act, and it doesn't look good on you.” 

He kisses and roughly nips at a spot just below my jaw, making me crane my head back and sigh. He pulled away again and looked at me. I had never seen his blue eyes look so dark. 

‘No. No. No way. Tell him no, say-’

“Fine,” I nodded to Daniel’s desk chair, telling him to sit as I pulled my hair back. I bit my lip to hide a smile as he scrambled to take his seat. I stole a pen off his desk and stuck it into my makeshift updo, securing it in place. 

I left my spot on the front of the desk, rounding it to stand between Daniel’s legs. The outline of his cock was apparent even through his dark trousers as I lowered myself down between his legs. The only sounds for a moment were heavy breaths and Daniel’s zipper sliding down. He shifted in his seat, pushing his trousers down slightly. I took a breath and paused when I slid my fingers around the waistband of his underwear. I hesitated for a moment, making Daniel hum in amusement from above me. I looked up at him, eyes locked with his. 

“You’re really doing this, (y/n)?” He said, surely meaning to challenge me. His arm was propped by his elbow on the armrest of the desk chair. My Timex watch sat, still fastened to Daniel’s wrist, looking almost like it was meant to be there. The gold hardware glinted in the low lights in the office and I felt my chest tighten at the thought of Daniel Fucking Cleaver keeping one of my most treasured possessions forever. “Of course I am,” I say, settling onto my knees and slowly letting my hands slide under Daniel’s dress shirt, up and down the sides of his torso. “I want my fucking watch back.”

Daniel nodded and readjusted himself in his seat, leaning back like a king on his throne. “Go on then Miss (y/ln). Use that pretty mouth of yours… take what you came here for.” I smiled back and rolled my eyes, letting my gaze settle on Daniel and his endearing grin. “Yes, right away, Mr. Cleaver.”

I slid my fingers into his waistband again and pulled them, no hesitation this time. My eyes widened a bit when his cock sprang free from its constraints. He was admittedly very large. Daniel let out a groan as I took him in hand and licked his tip playfully. I continued my teasing, enjoying the sounds of Daniel nearly whimpering. 

“O-ohhh, (y/n).. enough of that, please.” He begged, dropping his left hand to my face. Daniel held my chin up with one, and with the other began to stroke his cock, positioning it in front of my mouth. “No more teasing if you want your watch back.” I nodded obediently, which pleased him. 

“Now, (y/n), if you’d be so kind, just- ohhh, fuck,” Happy to quiet him, I took him into my mouth, going as deep as I comfortably could. I breathed slowly and deliberately, ensuring that I didn’t choke too severely. 

I felt Daniel’s hand snake around to the back my neck and hold me, tangling into the hair at the base. I moaned as he began to guide my head back and forth; slowly and gently. I shut my eyes for a moment, focusing on my breathing again. He was so much … more than what I had experienced in the past, and I was not accustomed to it. 

I felt Daniel move his hand from my chin and I opened my eyes slowly. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, his groans and whispers filling his office space. I pulled off his cock and trailed my tongue along the length of it, earning a hiss and a long moan of my name. I looked up again, hoping to catch his gaze and instead was met with the clockface of my watch on his wrist as his hand held the base of his cock. I stared at it before me, as I closed my lips around him again. 

‘He’s doing it on purpose, surely,’ I thought as his moans became a bit louder. 

“(y/n), fuck. I’m close, darling, so close-” Daniel groaned, his hold tightening on the back of my neck. I hummed and hollowed my cheeks as I took him, enjoying the sounds of his cries. 

I glanced up through my eyelashes and watched as he reached his climax, finishing into my mouth. I shut my eyes, swallowing what I could as Daniel’s hold on my neck loosened completely and his hand fell while he relaxed. 

“God, you are good Miss (y/ln). Fuck,” He groaned, fixing his clothes and redressing. I paused and patted his thigh gently, while I turned and spit the rest of his cum into the wastebin beneath his desk. Daniel watched as I casually stood and wiped at my mouth, rubbing off what remained of my lipstick. “Too much for you, darling?” He said, making me roll my eyes. I leaned forward, resting my hands on the chair’s armrests. My lips grazed Daniel’s tauntingly as I let my tongue glide over his bottom lip. “Is there anything else you require of me, Mr. Cleaver?” I asked with the best demure voice I could manage. 

Daniel groaned again, seemingly close to giving into me. “(y/n), darling…” He whispered, holding my face gently. “I thought I told you the innocent act isn’t your thing. Besides, as badly as I need to bend you over and fuck you on this desk, George’s next round is going to start soon and I’m confident that you don’t want him to find us like that.”

I stood and let him stand from his chair. “How do you know the security guard’s patrolling routine so well?” 

Daniel grinned. “My sweet, (y/n), why do you think?”

I didn’t give him an answer. Instead I scoffed at him and fixed the collar of my dress, crossing the room to pick up my belongings. “Oh, now I’ve earned the silent treatment have I?” Daniel leaned against his desk, watching me put on my scarf and coat. I failed to hide a smile when I watched him attempt to seem as though he wasn’t crying my name a moment ago. I crossed the room again, back over to Daniel and extended my hand wordlessly. He rolled his eyes and sighed, carefully removing the watch on his wrist. 

He lowered it into my palm and I nodded. “Thank y-,”

“On second thought,” Daniel began, cutting me off and pulling my watch away again. “I think I’ll hold onto it a little bit longer. Just until tomorrow evening, that alright, (y/ln)?”

My cheeks went warm while I watched him put the watch into his pocket and put on his own coat. I huffed, admittedly like a child, and crossed my arms. “Oh, was I not good enough?” I asked, a little too loudly. He shook his head. 

“Oh no, darling, you were wonderful. Too good for me to let this little game end right now. What do you say to … The Ritz? Tomorrow evening?” Daniel took his own things and walked to the door of his office. “I do owe you after all. I fear I’ve robbed you of a lovely night of drinks with our colleagues.”

I followed him out of the room and over to the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. “I'd say I've never been,” I confessed. “You do know you can ask me out to dinner without holding my wristwatch hostage, right?”

Daniel shrugged, sliding his arm around my waist as we watched the numbers of the floors descend. “Sure, but this is just more fun,” He leaned down, his lips grazing against my ear as he whispered, making my chest tighten. “It’s like getting back at you for those revealing outfits you’ve been wearing here - especially that little miniskirt you have.” I shivered as his fingers made gentle circles on my waist. 

He lifted his head, and stood up straight just in time for the doors to open again. George was indeed on his second round of the empty building, having left the other security guard at the front desk. We waved goodbye and were met with a cold wind beyond the front doors of Pemberley Press, the flurries mentioned on the news this morning already making their appearance. I paused to button up my coat, as Daniel examined my Timex watch yet again. 

“You know, (y/ln), I really do think this watch suits me nearly as well as it suits you.” He said, putting it back into the pocket of his trousers. I rolled my eyes and faced him. “Oh sure. Perhaps once we’re all done here you can get one of your OWN.” I heard Daniel’s laugh echoing behind me as I walked away from him. As I reached my car, I got inside and started it up wondering how on earth I was going to explain this situation to Frankie when I called him on the phone at my apartment.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

I hope you all enjoyed!! Potentially scheming a Part II at some point, but please let me know what you think!

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.5

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: After years of brutal torture by Francis, Y/N finally escaped, fighting her way out of the lab and fleeing into the dense woods. Each step was a struggle, but she knew she couldn't stop. With the guards on her heels, she disappeared into the shadows, determined to reclaim her life.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x (fem!)Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3640

The slums were from now on her home. Y/n had escaped from the clutches of the facility, but the scars of her past- both mental and physical- were still engraved deeply in her body. The nights were the hardest, when the world around her was quiet and the memories screamed the loudest. She lived in a cramped, old apartment, the flickering neon lights outside her window casting shadows on the walls.

It had been weeks since her escape, weeks of hiding and laying low, blending into the filthiness of the city. Here, she was just another face in the crowd, another soul struggling to survive. But she was different. She could feel the darkness within her, the uncontrollable power that surged through her veins. She had to find a way to control it, to suppress it before it consumed her.

Y/n spent her days looking for information, piecing together bits of knowledge about mutants, about powers like hers. She searched through the back alleys and seedy bars, listening to rumors and whispered conversations. Slowly, she began to understand the nature of her abilities, the twisted gift that had been forced upon her. But understanding was not enough. She needed control.

One night, in a ed bar that reeked of sweat and stale beer, Y/n finally found a lead. She had been sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, when she overheard a conversation between two men at the next table. They spoke in low tones, their words slurred from alcohol, but Y/n's ears caught every word.

"Essex House... that place was a nightmare," one of the men muttered, his face half-hidden in the shadows. "They did some real messed up shit there."

The other man, a burly figure with a ashen beard, nodded grimly. "I heard they had a way to control mutants. Some kind of device."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer, pretending to adjust her coat as she listened.

"Yeah, I know a guy who used to work there," the bearded man continued. "Big guy, real quiet. He hangs around here sometimes."

Y/n did not waste any time. She slid over to their table, her movements smooth. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice low and steady.

The men exchanged a glance, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" the bearded man said, gesturing to the empty seat.

Y/n sat down, fixing them with a piercing gaze. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned Essex House. I'm looking for someone who worked there. A guard, maybe?"

The first man, looked her up and down suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Let's just say I'm looking for answers," Y/n replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate it."

The bearded man scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know his name, but he's usually around here. I'd be careful, though. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Point him out," Y/n she said, her eyes scanning the bar.

The bearded man nodded toward the far corner, where a large figure sat hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. "That's him."

Y/n followed his gaze and saw the man- a huge, muscled frame with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of violence. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders hunched over as he downed another shot of whiskey. There was a darkness about him, an aura of danger that warned others to keep their distance.

Y/n thanked the men and made her way toward the bar, her eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. She did not approach him directly, instead choosing to observe him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. 

The man continued to drink heavily, oblivious to the world around him. It was not long before he started to show signs of drunkenness- his movements sloppy, his head nodding as if fighting off sleep.

Now. This was her chance.

Y/n moved swiftly, her steps silent on the worn wooden floor. She slipped behind the man, her hand reaching into her coat to retrieve a small vial of chloroform and a cloth. In one fluid motion, she pressed the cloth over the man's face, her other arm locking around his throat.

The man struggled, his instincts kicking in despite his drunken state, but Y/n was quick and precise. Within seconds, his body went limp, his heavy frame slumping against the bar.

She wasted no time. With the strength born from desperation, Y/n dragged the unconscious man out of the bar, navigating through the back alleys until she reached her hideout.

The basement of an abandoned building, it was cold and damp, the walls lined with old newspapers and broken furniture. She had set up a small, makeshift interrogation room- just a chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Y/n tied the man to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with thick rope. She stood back, her heart pounding as she waited for him to wake up. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her hands shaking slightly as she paced the room.

Finally, the man moved slightly, his dazed eyes blinking against the harsh light. He groaned, tugging at the ropes before realizing he was restrained. Panic flickered across his face as he looked around, his gaze settling on Y/n, who stood before him with a cold, determined expression.

"What the hell—?" he began, his voice stammered from the lingering effects of the chloroform.

"Shut up," Y/n snapped, stepping closer. "I'm the one asking questions. You're going to answer them."

The man's eyes narrowed, anger replacing his initial fear. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

"Oh, I think I do," Y/n replied, her voice icy. "You used to work at Essex House. You were a guard there."

The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Y/n's patience was wearing thin. She had spent too long hiding, too long searching for answers, to be stonewalled by this brute. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her voice low and menacing.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I know what they did in that place. The experiments, the torture. I know about the children. If you think I'm bluffing, you're sorely mistaken."

The man's boldness stopped for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sneering at her. "You don't know shit."

Her hand moved faster than he could react, striking him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I said, don't lie to me!" Y/n shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "I know what kind of monster you are. I know what you did to those kids. Now tell me about the device that suppresses mutant powers."

The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at her aggressively. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Y/n's fist connected with his jaw again, this time with more force. The man groaned, his head lolling forward as he struggled to stay conscious.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The things I've seen, the pain I've endured. If you think for one second that I won't make you suffer, you're dead wrong. Now, talk."

The man's resolve began to crumble under the weight of her words, the fear returning to his eyes. He took a heavy breath, finally giving in.

"There's a wristband," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was designed to suppress mutant powers. But that place... it's gone. Some kid blew it up, the whole building came down."

Y/n's heart raced as she absorbed his words. "Where can I find one?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Maybe there's still some in the storage rooms beneath the building. But it's dangerous. The whole place is crawling with security, even now."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She had what she needed, but the anger still burned within her, the memories of those children haunting her every thought.

"And one more thing," the man added, his voice a broken whisper. "There were others involved in that explosion. A man in a red and black suit... mutants from the X-Men... and some scary guy with a teddy bear."

The mention of the man in the red and black suit made Y/n's blood run cold. Wade. The man responsible for her suffering. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Thank you," she said coldly, before slamming her fist into his face one last time. The man's head snapped back, and he slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"You deserve much more, you little piece of shit," Y/n muttered, her voice thick with disgust. She untied him and dragged him out to a nearby street, leaving him there to be found. She had no use for him anymore.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

The ruins of Essex House stood before Y/n like a tombstone, a monument to the atrocities that had taken place within its walls. The once impressive structure was now a gutted shell, its walls burned and crumbling, overtaken by creeping vines and nature's slow reclamation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, a fitting aura for a place that had been a living nightmare for so many.

Y/n moved silently through the rubble, her senses heightened, every sound increased in the stillness of the night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the broken ground. 

She had checked out the area earlier, avoiding the main entrances, which were still patrolled by security teams guarding whatever was left in the aftermath of the explosion, a few months ago. She needed to find the storage rooms beneath the building, where the guard had said the wristbands might still be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through a craggy opening in the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened interior. The building's skeleton remains were a labyrinth of broken beams and collapsed ceilings, the floors plastered with rubble and shattered glass. Every step was a calculated risk, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath her weight.

Y/n made her way down a long corridor, the walls covered in peeling paint and faded sceneries that had once depicted happy, smiling children- an ironic touch for a place that had been anything but.

Her breath stuck in the throat like there's a blockage as she approached a large door at the end of the corridor, its frame cracked and splintered. The guard's words echoed in her mind, urging her forward. She pushed the door open, and stepped into a vast chamber that had once been a laboratory.

Y/n's breath stopped as her eyes landed on the twisted metal chair in the center of the room. It was unmistakable- a torture device designed to restrain and torment its victims. The cold steel of the torture chair, the searing pain of electric currents coursing through her body. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea crashing over her, memories of her own time in such a chair flooding her mind, the mocking laughter of Francis as he watched her suffer in agony.

Flashback

She was strapped to the chair, her wrists bound with cold, hard metal. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. Francis stood before her, his cold eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He was dressed in his usual black combat gear and white coat, his arms folded as he watched her struggle against the restraints.

"Ready for another round, sweetheart?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from the aftershocks of the last session. She had lost count of how many times he had done this to her, how many times he had pushed her to the brink of death, only to pull her back and start again.

"Please... no more," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Francis chuckled, his laughter a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, reaching for the control panel beside the chair. His fingers danced over the buttons, and a low hum filled the air as the machine powered up.

Y/n's eyes widened in fear as the currents of electricity surged through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, like being ripped apart from the inside. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her.

Francis watched with detached amusement, his expression one of mild curiosity. "You know, it's fascinating," he mused, his voice calm and measured. "Watching how much pain a person can endure before they break. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that."

Her vision blurred as the pain reached a crescendo, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But she held on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She had to survive, had to escape, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the currents stopped, and Y/n slumped in the chair, her body limp and exhausted. Francis leaned in close, his face inches from hers.

"Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "We'll keep doing this until you learn to behave."

Present

Y/n snapped back to the present, her hands trembling as she stared at the torture chair. The memories were like a vice around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. But she could not afford to break down now, not when she was so close. She forced herself to move, to search the room for the wristband.

The storage room was hidden behind a steel door, half-buried under rubble. Y/n unlocked it with a crowbar she had found earlier, using all her strength to pull the door free. Inside, she found a small, windowless room lined with shelves. Dust coated everything, the air stale and suffocating. She searched through the shelves, her hands moving frantically as she searched for the device.

Finally, her fingers closed around a small, sleek wristband, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. This was it- the device that could suppress her powers, that could give her the control she so desperately needed.

But as she pulled the wristband from the shelf, a shrill alarm pierced the air, the sound reverberating through the building. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized she had triggered a security system, her heart racing as the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.

She had to get out, and fast.

Y/n bolted from the storage room, clutching the wristband tightly in her hand. She sprinted down the corridor, her mind a blur as she searched for an escape route. The footsteps were getting closer, the shouts of guards filling the air.

She spotted a window at the end of the hall, its glass cracked but still intact. Without hesitation, she launched herself at it, her shoulder slamming into the glass. The window shattered with a deafening crash, and Y/n tumbled through the opening, her body twisting in midair.

The world spun around her as she rolled to her feet, glass shards cutting into her skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to recover her injuries. The guards were right behind her.

Y/n ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted through the darkened streets. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Not until she was safe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she slowed to a halt, her body aching and exhausted. She had made it. She had escaped, and she had the wristband. But as she stood there, alone in the shadows, the memories of Essex House lingered in her mind, a reminder of the horrors she had endured- and the revenge she would soon unleash.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Y/n sat in her dimly lit hideout, the cold, metal wristband clasped tightly in her hand. She had waited for this moment, the promise of control over her powers finally within her grasp. With a deep breath, she slipped the wristband onto her wrist. A series of tiny, almost inaudible clicks signaled its activation. She felt a slight hum of energy ripple through her body, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"Okay, Y/n," she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a murmur in the silence. "Time to see if this thing really works."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a small, sharp knife. She took a moment to steel herself before pressing the blade against the palm of her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the knife across her skin, wincing as a thin line of blood welled up. She braced herself for the familiar agony of her powers activating, but to her astonishment, the pain remained localized. The cut did not heal as it usually would.

"It works," she breathed, a mix of relief and awe in her voice. "It actually works."

She wrapped her hand in a bandage, her mind already racing with the possibilities. For the first time in years, she felt like she had a measure of control over her life, over her destiny. She was not just a victim of her circumstances; she could be the master of them.

Over the next two years, Y/n threw herself into training with a passion that bordered on obsession. She perfected her combat skills, mastering various martial arts and weapons. She trained with knives, guns, and swords, each session pushing her limits further. Her hideout became a makeshift dojo, littered with training equipment and weapons of all kinds.

Her reputation in the slums grew as she took on hitman jobs to fund her training. She became a ghost, an unseen force of retribution for those who could not fight back.

One evening, she was approached by a woman with bruised arms and tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please," the woman begged, her voice trembling. "My husband... he beats me. I can't take it anymore. Please, make him stop."

Y/n looked into the woman's eyes, seeing the same helplessness and desperation she had felt so many times before. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Jack. Jack Thompson. He works at the docks," the woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. "Consider it done. He won't hurt you again."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Two years had passed since Y/n had escaped from Francis, two years of relentless training and hard-earned survival. She decided it was time to visit her own grave, a symbolic gesture to honour the person she once was. She made her way to a small flower shop, her mind set on finding the perfect bloom.

As she approached the counter to pay for a single white lily, she saw a woman laughing and chatting with the shopkeeper. The sight made her freeze. It was Vanessa. Alive and well, her smile as bright as ever. Y/n's heart clenched painfully in her chest, pulling her hood that covered her face even more down. She quickly paid for the flower and fled the shop, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger.

She reached her grave, a simple, unadorned headstone with her name etched into the cold marble. The vase next to it was empty.

"I see," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Forgotten and abandoned, even in death."

She knelt down, placing the lily in the empty vase. "I can't remember my old self," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "She truly did die, as well as her trust in you."

Her thoughts turned dark as she slowly stood up. Wade had saved Vanessa, she realized, her mind piecing together the puzzle with cold clarity.

He must have used Cable's time travel device during the Mutant Rehabilitation incident to go back and save her... but he left me to die.

As she turned and walked away from the grave, she could feel a rising tide of hatred surging within her, anger directed at Wade for abandoning her, for choosing Vanessa over her.

Later that evening, Wade approached the same grave. He was dressed in his red and black costume, the weight of his grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a brand-new flower and a polished vase. He had not missed a single visit, always coming back to this lonely, forgotten corner of the cemetery to leave a token of his sorrow and love.

As he knelt down to place the new flower in the vase, he noticed the fresh lily already there, wilting slightly in the cold night air.

"Who...?" Wade muttered to himself, confusion furrowing his brow. He looked around, but the cemetery was empty and silent.

He placed his own flower beside the lily, a pang of sadness piercing his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so damn sorry."

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone as if willing it to give him some sort of answer, some sign that she knew he had not given up on her, that he still mourned her every day.

But the silence of the graveyard offered no reunion, only deepened the gap of misunderstanding that was growing between them, unseen and unspoken.

As Y/n made her way back through the slums, her mind was a storm of emotions. She was determined now, fueled by a dark purpose. She had been forgotten, left to rot in the shadows while Wade had moved on, living his best life with Vanessa.

A twisted sense of revenge began to take root in her heart, and she knew that the next time she crossed paths with Wade, it would be on her terms. And when that day came, there would be a reckoning.

[thelostclassics]

Hiii! I love your writing style! I wanted to request, if possible, Henry with a slightly plump girlfriend, like in a "ancient greek beauty" way, I think he would be head over heels because of it. Maybe he enjoys that she's not really insecure about it, and that instead of rejecting the "girly" part of it, she embraces it. I think he would be "sweet" (well, as much sweet as Henry Winter can be, which is barely tender lmao)

I absolutely adore this idea. Thanks for requesting, babe! 💙

Venus in marble and flesh.

Pairing: Henry Winter x fem!reader

Warnings: none I believe, soft!Henry, use of Y/, as said in the request; reader is described as being plump.

It wasn't the first time Henry had observed her as if she were a sculpture, but it was the first time she had noticed him.

Y/n was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, her legs crossed under her skirt and her hair pulled back in a messy way. They were at Francis's house, as so often, with the others scattered among the garden, the couches, or in private rooms where conversations grew thicker.

She was laughing at something Richard had said-a soft, enveloping laugh, like wind chimes-as she leaned back slightly, leaning on her arms. It was then that she felt the stare.

She raised her eyes and Henry was watching her from across the room, a book in his hand that he was clearly no longer reading. His expression didn't have the fierce intensity he displayed when discussing philology or strategy. It was something else. Something quiet, restrained. Something that made her feel... seen.

“What?” she asked, smiling, one eyebrow raised naturally.

Henry took a second before answering. He closed the book leisurely, set it down on the low table, and walked over.

“It's nothing," he said at last, standing in front of her, "I was just thinking about how you'd fit perfectly into a Hellenistic bas-relief.”

She let out a little laugh, amused.

“Are you saying I look like a fat marble goddess?”

“I'm saying that classical beauty has nothing to do with lightness," he answered, in his low, slow tone. “And that there's something about you... round, serene. As if the centuries did not touch you.”

Y/n looked at him with narrowed eyes, half amused, half surprised. The way he spoke was so uncommon, so utterly devoid of superficiality, that it disarmed any defense before he could even raise it.

“I don't mind you seeing me like this," she said, looking down at her own body, where the soft curves of her hips and thighs filled the space like a Botticelli painting. Then she looked at him again, "I suppose some people would be embarrassed. But not me.”

Henry bowed his head barely, as if approving of what he had just heard. Then, in a gesture as simple as it was revealing, he sat down behind her on the rug, and with studied slowness, placed both hands on her shoulders.

“Good," he murmured, as his fingers began to massage her neck with methodical clumsiness. “Because I like it that way.”

She let out a restrained laugh, closing her eyes with a sigh.

“You know, if you were anyone else, I'd think you were trying to seduce me.”

“And if you were anyone else," Henry replied, his voice low, "it wouldn't work.

The fire crackled between the two of them.

And though Henry was not the kind of man who kissed lightly, that night-in the shared silence, with the firelight dancing on his classical forms, with her warmth enveloping him like an ancient spell-he allowed himself to lean into her cheek and brush her skin with his lips. Barely an instant.

A simple gesture.

Almost imperceptible.

But for him, more intimate than anything else.

———

It was Sunday morning and Francis' house was still sleeping under the weight of the collective hangover. Outside, the sky was overcast with low clouds, but inside it was warm, permeated with the smell of wood and freshly brewed coffee.

Henry was in the kitchen, white shirt rolled up and hair messier than usual. He was slowly moving a teaspoon inside a porcelain cup, almost mechanically, as if he had been doing that for her for years already.

Y/n entered quietly, her face still sleepy and her body wrapped in a thin robe that didn't belong to her, one of those she wore when she was at Henry's or Francis's house. She walked to him barefoot, with that quiet, confident gait he had learned to recognize without looking. He noticed her before she spoke.

“Is it for me?” she asked, her voice still numb.

Henry simply extended the cup to her.

“You know it is.”

She took it in both hands and smiled against the hot rim.

“You're going to spoil me.”

“You already are," he muttered, sipping his own coffee. “Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds, leaning against each other on the counter, not needing to fill the space with words. It was one of those routines they had started unintentionally: he would get up earlier, make coffee, and wait for her to come seeking warmth and comfort in his arms or in the cup he extended to her.

“Are you going to keep reading Plotinus all day?” Ophelia asked after a sip.

“Yes" he answered, without irony. “But only if you stay with me.”

Y/n turned her face to look at him. The way Henry said those things, so simple and so clear, without embellishment, without posturing, still disarmed her a little. As if it were impossible that this man, so hermetic to the world, would let her see so clearly that he needed her near.

“I'll stay. But only if you read aloud to me afterwards.”

“Done.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and Henry, without thinking, slipped his free arm around her waist.

And there, in that silent kitchen, with the alien world still asleep, she felt more loved than anywhere else. For with Henry, love was not fuss or declaration; it was presence. Routine. Permanence.

Later, they were both in the library, which smelled of old dust, leather and paper, with that unmistakable perfume of the eternal. Outside it was raining with an almost monastic constancy, but inside silence reigned.

Y/n was sitting on the window sill, with a blanket covering her legs and a book in her hands. The fogged glass softened the gray light coming in from outside, and enveloped her in a milky, almost dreamlike glow.

Henry was at the desk, presumably taking notes on a Greek treatise he had been meaning to review for weeks. The pen rested in his hand, but the ink had begun to dry without his noticing.

He watched her.

He wasn't just watching- he was observing her.

The way her hair fell, still damp, in soft waves over her shoulders.

The delicate curve of her cheek, rounded, smooth.

The slight fold of her belly under the blanket, natural, unconcealed.

Her hips, wide and calm, as if they belonged to another era.

A baroque goddess wrapped in wool and books.

Y/n did not hide. She never did. There was something about her that offered herself to the world with serene firmness, with that gentle confidence of one who knows and accepts herself. There was no shame in the way she moved, or in the way she pulled her sweater across her chest, she carried herself with confidence.

Henry had spent years surrounded by marble, by perfect ideas, by impossible symmetries. But now...this.

Her.

She lived in his body like a living sculpture, but with more than form: with warmth. With laughter. With soul.

“Are you going to keep looking at me like that, or do you want me to read aloud?” Y/n asked without looking up, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Henry blinked. He hadn't noticed that she had stopped writing, or that the pen had dripped a dark stain on the paper.

“Both of those things sound good to me," he replied with complete seriousness.

She let out a soft laugh, closing the book carefully.

“You're a mess, Winter.”

“I am a man distracted by his muse," he replied, as if reading a passage from Herodotus.

Y/n rose from the windowsill, dropping the blanket at her feet. She walked toward him unhurriedly, the soft creak of the floor accompanying her steps.

When she reached the desk, Henry leaned over without a word and rested his forehead against her belly, wrapping his arms around her waist. Y/n stroked his hair tenderly, silently. Then, she sat on his lap and nestled her cheek on his chest. Henry read to her as he stroked her hair.

There, among bookshelves full of dead voices and rain pattering on the glass, Henry Winter allowed himself a moment of total surrender.

Not to an ideal, not to a theory, not to an idea.

To her.

To her real, warm, beautiful body.

To life.

[talonabraxas]

“The fool is the precursor to the savior.” ― Carl Jung

Atu 0 - The Fool Talon Abraxas

Acting as an aggressive agent of dissolution, the fool breaks down the distinctions between folly and wisdom, life and art. When he is really successful, he breaks this barrier for us, his observers, as well, so that we too can inhabit for a moment a no man's land between the worlds of what is and what might be. He draws out our latent folly and, by our recognition of it, we are freed to follow the fool into a chaos of possible new beginnings. The genius of the fool, his ability to make us believe that he can divert the evil eye, draw us away from pain and outwit the intolerable tyranny of worldly circumstances is contingent upon his continual tendency to invert, dissolve and ever play the wild card. Like the final enigma of the tarot, he plays the part of the zero that can become any number at all. He is unnumbered and unplaced, his many-coloured costume symbolizing the multiple and incoherent influences to which he is subject. But he walks in the mountainous heights where one may not know what is going on in the world below yet receive glimpses of visions glittering beyond ordinary men's dreams. The fool as a prophet or seer is a soothsayer without a temple, a lunatic or, perhaps, an oracle. In the ancient Semitic and Celtic traditions they were often considered possessed men who used verbal arrows to do war against established and complacent forms. The Sha 'ir of Islam, the kahin 'ar arraf, all were believed inspired by jinns in ways similar to the Irish fill or the Teutonic thul. They were fauns who spoke as mouthpieces of the spirits and often appeared bumbling in their varying conditions, as did Parsifal, who was called the Pure Fool. During the Christian era mystics continued to speak and behave in ways often outside the understanding of society. As 'fools of god' they pursued their own peculiar path after the fashion of St. Paul before them. Inspired by the intense abandonment of worldly reason demonstrated by Francis of Assisi, Franciscans liked to call themselves Fools of the World (Mundi Moriones) and deliberately wore the pointed cap of the fool. Russian holy fools walked with heavy chains about their naked bodies from village to village, railing against every injustice. They sometimes froze and starved and often ridiculed the church but no one doubted that they were on fire with a love of God. In fact, the God-intoxicated individual has often been thought a fool by ordinary people because he does nothing to protect himself or further his own interests. Thus Prince Myshkin, Dostoievski's Idiot, was taken to be a fool by those around him simply because he was incapable of understanding their mixed motives. With the mystic fool, the higher mind can take possession precisely because the lower mind is inactive. With the psychic fool, glimpses of truth may often be revealed as he reacts to the changing forces whirling around him. But he is an erratic seer, a pawn capable of being possessed by any sort of entity as he revolves in his desperately madcap dance through life.

The aura of mysticism adhered to even the psychic fool, however, and it is significant that only when belief in the divinity associated with kings began to break down did the fool cease to have a deeper raison d'être in society. As men increasingly sought dignity and respectability in worldly contexts instead of a place in cosmic law, the fool became lost in the comedian, the harlequin of the stage and the clown of folk fairs and circuses. This was a great loss to the world, for together the king and the fool had represented solar and lunar dynasties or races among men. However imperfectly, the king had ruled as the sun rules the solar system and the fool had acted as his fluctuating check against over-concretization. Like the tarot Fool whose tunic bears the crescent moon, the king's idiot ever moved towards the edge of chaos, dragging with him a court otherwise too complacent, too prone to blind and self-serving rationalizations. The solar king symbolizing Manas in the world had, from the time of Rama, fallen from the heights of manasic righteousness into increasingly lower manasic blindness, but the true and natural fool never possessed such worldly reason. Informed either by mystical visions, madness or possessing spirits, he looked on the machinations of the lower mind as though through a window from the outside. He leavened the lump of man-made order, which always threatened to get too hard, and acted as a living link between men and gods. In Shakespeare's King Lear the fool's role seems to exist to emphasize one strange and tragic instance where the positions of the fool and the king are reversed. The king, in his foolishness, acts to dissolve the order of things by turning over his kingdom to his daughters and placing himself in the position of their childlike dependant. This act of folly unleashes powerful forces of good and evil which pour forth in exaggerated form through the important characters in the play. Lear's fool, being a man devoid of worldly wisdom, has the wisdom to see how the worldly are fools. In response to his master's ill-conceived action, he jokes and sings his silly songs and tries, in his grief, to expose the nature of the folly. The great evil expressed through two of the king's daughters results from the inversion whereby they both embrace the adage "Evil be thou my Good." Embracing this, reason cannot reach them. It cannot prove them wrong in itself. This perverse assertion that love and fellow-feeling are foolish can only be reinverted by the fool, who says, "Folly (love) be thou my wisdom." The breaking of blood ties and the denial of love are so abnormal as to suggest a great convulsion of the natural order of things, and when Lear finally becomes aware of the inhumanness of Goneril's heart, his wits begin to lose their bearings. As his madness sets in, his sympathy and vision expand, inspiring his fool to comment, "Thou woulds't make a good fool." And, indeed, having hit the bottom, having lost his place in society as well as everything else, he has become the fool. He comes to see clearly that "When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools."

The fool is the unbinder of man's slavery to the lower mind and the creator of freedom, but it is unwise to try prematurely to play his part. Lear seems to have indulged a whimsical but also egotistical fancy in thinking that he understood the consequences he was about to reap from his grandiose gesture. Far from understanding the true character of those around him, he had equally little understanding of himself or his responsibility in the world. By playing the fool, he was catapulted into madness rather than into a state of visionary wisdom. In dissolving his kingship, he cut away the raft of manasic control which could have seen him safely to the other side of chaos and onto the shore of true spiritual perception. He had plunged himself into the state of the most pathetic and witlessly dependent of fools. In a similar manner, the disciple who struggles along the path towards spiritual enlightenment encounters the same dangerous possible miscalculation. Though in essence a king possessing the germ of divinely endowed intelligence, such a seeker may fail to realize the importance of engendering within himself the rule of the true philosopher. He may free himself from the limitations of worldly identity and position only to cast himself into a turbulent psychic sea. The old myth of Zeus and the philosopher can, if properly interpreted, assist an aspirant to avoid such a pitfall. For the philosopher who had wished to be made a fool among fools was a truly wise man and had the wits to realize that he could shed his wisdom upon his fellow mortals best disguised as a fool.

Who knows how many wise men there are amongst us who pass thus disguised! How many souls have chosen in this or in past lives to forfeit respectability and position in order to work out some line of deeper truth while appearing the simpleton to others? Can we distinguish them from the witless fools whose appearance they share? Along the sidewalks and country lanes of the world walk legions of fools lacking in divine madness. Dull, with confusion swamping their minds, they are prey to cunning spirits or the grief of uncomprehended loss. Perhaps lives ago, perhaps even more recently, they abdicated their crown of manasic responsibility and tried to play the child, the freebooter, the unwise fool. These are not the truth-tellers nor do they have the ability to deflect or neutralize the evil eye. The only dissolution they accomplish is wreaked upon the feeble order of their own minds, which skitter and threaten to break away entirely from their souls. The mystic Fool of God sees them upon the stage of life and knows them for what they are. He sees too the other fools, the buffoon playing at playing the fool, the priest playing at truth, the king playing at God. He sees, and yet he too is a fool, self-chosen in some life. For he knows his foolishness and is willing to abandon all concern for the opinions of men in order to become a better vehicle of his higher vision, his divine madness. He is a fool but also a philosopher-king. He is in control and yet pierces and dissolves the facades of control imprisoning the lower mind. He is chaos threatening the lower orders and sweeping like a peal of compassionate laughter through the hearts of weary humanity. Oh welcome him, the seer, the unexpected visionary with matted locks or fool's cap! Welcome him when he comes!