#I love him but he needs to suffer a slow death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

changbunnies · 3 months ago

Text

Evermore (18+)

♡ Pairing: Beast!Changbin x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: beauty and the beast inspired fantasy au, monster/human relationship, some angst, fluff, eventual smut, mutual pining, slow burnish?

♡ Word Count: 15.1k

♡ Summary: Desperate to flee an arranged marriage, you take your chances fleeing into the woods. The home of countless myths and legends, many in your village believe the forest to be enchanted, with all manner of dangerous creatures lurking within. You never took stock in such tales, much less in that of the most feared of them all– “The Beast.” But when you are saved from a pack of wolves by The Beast himself, you quickly realize that there is more truth to the fables you grew up on than you ever believed.

♡ Warnings: mention of an arranged marriage for reader, referenced misogyny, risk of death / near death experience, mild blood and injury, bin's appearance as the beast is based on minotaurs because i think it's sexy!, his height is never stated but i pictured him as ~10 feet tall while writing so :)

♡ Smut Warnings: monster fucking but make it Soft and Sweet, size difference, size kink, bin is touch-starved and feral for reader (but feral in a way that is somehow still soft?), handjob, oral (m + f rec), cum eating

♡ Notes: happy very late birthday to my sweet binnie <3 i wanted to get this out on his birthday but my life has been a mess tbh lmao but i'm back now and here's to loving changbin with my whole heart <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There were many things in your life you were willing to sacrifice for the sake of family.

Time, if they were in need or want of company. Money, whatever little you had, if they were in need of something they couldn't afford on their own. Your health, if they were sick and needed caring, even if giving them aid brought their illness upon you.

But the one thing you could not bring yourself to do was marry that terrible man.

They wanted you to marry a local hunter with some wealth, one who could provide for you and your family with his talents. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, and admittedly his wealth had appeal to families suffering from poverty, but you just couldn't get past his dreadful personality.

He was insufferably arrogant in his pride, and truly awful in his views towards women. He didn't want a wife– he wanted a maid; one he could lie with and have bear his children. His desire for such was clear every time you spoke with him.

You knew that he'd never see you as a partner, or an equal, or even love you. In his eyes, you were nary more than a pretty object for him to do with as he pleased. You didn't want that to be your life, refused to be a glorified servant to such a horrid person.

And so, in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding, you made your escape. Tiptoeing through your house as quietly and carefully as you could, you tucked away what little belongings you had and food your family could spare into a basket, and fled into the woods surrounding your village.

You veered off the beaten path, hoping that if you fled into the dense heart of the forest no one would risk trying to find you. Your village believed the woods to be inhabited by dangerous creatures– all manner of fae and magical beasts that would not hesitate to bring harm to lost humans.

All who left the village stuck strictly to the dirt paved roads, and even hunters didn't wander too far inside the woods. You didn't fear the creatures of fable, to be honest; you didn't even believe they existed. You were an avid reader, and enjoyed your share of fairy tales; you just found it hard to believe such creatures existed beyond the page.

It was risky and dangerous to flee into the woods at night, but not because of the stories of magic beasts and trickster fae; such things were the machinations of imaginative writers, and nothing more. Those who believed in them were simply overly superstitious, fearful of what could be instead of what is.

What you were scared of were the tangible, real threats that you knew very well existed. Wild animals, strange men, violent hunters– those were the things lurking in the woods that people should really be scared of; not silly stories of fairies who lure unsuspecting villagers deeper into the forest.

Regardless of what is real and what isn't, one thing is for certain– the forest is frightening to navigate at night. To ensure you remained undetected and hard to track, you forwent bringing a lantern with you, and having only the moonlight to guide you is both challenging and unnerving.

Even the smallest of noises puts you on edge, but you refuse to stop moving onward. You want to put as much distance between you and the village as you can before your family rises in the morning and notices you missing.

While you doubt many will be willing to follow your trail once they've put together that you've fled off the road and deep into the woods, you can't deny the possibility that someone may wish to try. Especially your arranged husband considering what a skilled hunter and tracker he is.

Still, you do need some rest– you've been walking through the densest parts of the forest for over an hour now, and you're more than a little tired; especially since you only got a few hours of sleep before setting off.

Just a short pause should be acceptable; you can rest against a tree, rummage through your basket for some of the food you tucked away to replenish your energy while giving your legs and feet the break they need.

It's nearly impossible to see inside your basket, so you simply feel for the food you want with your hand. It doesn't take you long to find the loaf of bread you packed inside, and you carefully tear off a piece to eat. You take a bite, and then another, but before you can take a third you hear a noise that makes you freeze.

The snapping of a branch, much louder than any previous forest sounds you heard, followed by a slight rustling of leaves. You look in the direction you heard the noise, met with the terrifying sight of a pair of glowing eyes looking straight at you.

Their low proximity to the ground tells you enough about the creature to make your blood run cold; and as it steps closer, and its silhouette becomes clearer, you realize what you thought was correct. It’s a wolf. And by the way it’s sizing you up, you can guess it’s hungry.

To make matters worse, it soon becomes clear it isn’t the only one as more glowing eyes emerge between the dark trees. You start running before you can even truly think, your body running purely on survival instinct, your basket dropped and forgotten behind you. The small amount of food inside is enough to draw the attention of some of them, but the rest ignore it to give chase.

You flee with all your strength, doing your best not to stumble and fall over protruding tree roots or your own feet. You keep your eyes forward as you do, worrying that looking over your shoulder to see the wolves close behind will only worsen your efforts to get away.

Your lungs ache, your feet hurt, your dress torn in multiple places from snagging on branches– but still, you can’t stop running. The wolves are faster than you, they’ll catch you eventually, you know it; but the desperation and adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going beyond your limits.

Your legs will give out before long, you'll falter and lose speed, it's inevitable; but you will yourself to keep going for as long as you can despite it. Realistically, your only hope for survival is the wolves losing interest before you grow too tired to continue. But is that even a possibility?

Maybe you should climb a tree? Can wolves climb? No, more importantly, can you? It’s over for you if you misstep or lose your strength during the climb up– falling would assuredly be the end of you.

Still, maybe it’s worth the risk. You can’t run forever, and it’s unlikely the wolves will give up the chase– better to try and fail than to not try at all, right? If you are to face death tonight, you wish to do so knowing that you tried everything you possibly could to escape it.

You scan your surroundings the best you can whilst running, looking for a tree with a branch low enough to the ground for you to feasibly reach and start your climb. It's a difficult task, the images before you as you run a dark blur; but eventually, you spot a branch you think will be suitable enough.

As you turn your body to reach out for it, one of the wolves lunges towards you, salivating jaws snapping at you. The wolf narrowly misses, instead biting through your dress and tearing a significant chunk of the fabric off, exposing your leg up to your thigh.

You let out an involuntary shriek at the sound of the fabric ripping in the wolf’s jaws, the knowledge that it easily could’ve been your leg chilling you to the bone. You’re terrified, but you can’t let yourself freeze up– it missed, and now is your best chance to get up the tree before it can try to bite you again, or the other wolves catch up with you.

You grab the branch, placing your foot on the trunk of the tree as you ready yourself to pull up your weight, but as you do you’re met with a sound that sinks your heart to the very pit of your stomach. The branch isn’t as sturdy as you hoped; it creaks and splinters as you pull, and it quickly becomes clear that should you attempt to pull your entire weight up with it, it will snap entirely.

So this is it, you think as you turn around to meet the gaze of the snarling wolf. You take a small step back, and then another, until your back is against the tree you hoped to climb. More wolves soon approach, and you know you’re cornered now. There’s nowhere else for you to go, nothing else you can think to try; your fate is sealed.

You try to make peace with it in these last moments you have; this isn’t how you imagined your life would someday end, but you knew the risks when it came to entering the woods. While you hoped differently, this was always a possibility. You were desperate, and you made your choice; and though the outcome is unfortunate, you don’t want to regret making the decision that brought you here.

As the wolves begin to fully encircle you, there is a loud thump in the distance that draws their attention away from you. The sound rings out again, and then again, and as it draws closer, you realize the ground is shaking, a cacophony of twigs and dried leaves snapping with each thump. Certainly you’re mistaken, but it sounds reminiscent of walking..

That’s impossible, isn’t it? The creature in question would have to be massive to cause the earth to shake around you this much, and to snap so many branches with each step. That simply can’t be reality– there’s no way something that big lives in the forest; giants and the like are nothing but fairy tales!

Still, the thumps continue to grow louder as whatever is causing the sounds draw closer, and you’re certain that if you weren’t already against a tree, you would’ve fallen over from how intensely the ground shakes. Some wolves whimper and flee with their tails between their legs, while the more ferocious of the pack stand their ground against whatever it is that approaches.

Its shadowy silhouette soon becomes visible through the trees, the forest floor shaking violently as it comes more clearly into view. You can’t tell what it is, but it's big– impossibly so. It’s too dark to make out features, and its height obscures the moonlight that was previously shining on you. The only thing you can make out through the shadow is.. Horns?

Unconsciously, you suck in a breath; it’s The Beast, you realize as it takes another hulking step towards you and the ravenous wolves. Half man, half monster, violent and aggressive, with an appetite for any foolish enough to wander into its territory. With horns and hooves, it easily towers over even the tallest of human men.

He’s the creature those living in your village fear the most, the subject of many cautionary tales told to children, the conjurer of countless hunter's nightmares. You never believed it– and it is only now that you think maybe you should’ve. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been so reckless in your escape from home.

You wonder which fate is worse; to be eaten by wolves, or eaten by The Beast. You wish you could run while the wolves are distracted, but your legs are frozen; whether from exhaustion or terror, you aren’t sure. Regardless, you stand there trembling and helpless, watching as it easily shoves the wolves aside.

They bite and scratch at The Beast, but it makes no discernable sound of pain. Seemingly unphased, it (or he?) reaches out for you, lifting you from the ground with ease, as if you weigh little more than a feather. You sob as it does, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the pain to follow.

But the pain never comes. Slowly, you open one eye to peek at The Beast; it isn’t looking at you, but simply straight ahead as it resumes walking. He continues to shove off the wolves that attack, and as the animals realize it is futile to stop or slow him, they slowly but surely give up and retreat back to whence they came.

He must’ve made a turn before you opened your eyes, because the moon is no longer obscured by his size, and now illuminates the creature’s face clearly. His face is mostly that of a man’s, with the exception of his nose.

His nose is a rich brown bespeckled in pink, you can just barely tell, and its shape reminds you of the cattle that farmers own back in your village. You notice that his ears are bovine too, and fluffy in appearance. Brown in color, you think, or maybe black; it’s too dark to tell for certain.

The Beast looks down at you as if it can feel you observing him, and when he does, you can feel his breath envelop your body. Its smell is.. pleasant? Surprisingly so; like mixed berries, with a hint of tea leaves.

You expected something worse, given the tales; shouldn’t he smell like blood, or flesh? Even when his breath leaves you, you don’t detect anything remotely foul coming from him. In fact, his body smells unexpectedly clean.

“Safe now,” The Beast speaks, and you blink in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to be capable of speech, though you suppose it makes sense if he’s half man. It sounds like he’s trying to whisper, but his voice still comes out quite loud regardless; consequence of his size, you imagine.

But wait– does he mean you? You’re safe now? It occurs to you then that he’s holding you gently in his large arms. He isn’t squeezing you, constricting your movement, or trying to hurt you in any way; he’s simply carrying you. But to where? Though you’re apparently safe, there’s still a part of you that fears you won’t be for long.

It’s likely that as a half man he has some measure of human intelligence, and it’s very possible this apparent kindness is part of a ploy to make eating you easier. Get you to his den, build trust with you so you don’t run, all so he can relish in devouring you later.

Regardless, you’re too exhausted to do anything right now. Fatigue has settled in you now that the adrenaline has run its course through your body. You wouldn’t be able to run in this state, nor be able to fight him off– not that you think you could anyways, but especially not like this.

Your body falls limp, your eyes heavy, weary. As you close them, all you can do is hope that The Beast doesn’t toy with you in the end. If you wake before he decides to eat you, your wish is that he makes your death swift and painless. That’s all you can ask for as you lose consciousness.

When you blink awake, the first thing you register is that you’re in a bed– a large one at that. It’s comfortable, plush, and warm, if not a tad dusty. The blanket that covers you too is warm, and you realize as you continue to blink away the grogginess that you’re staring up at a darkly colored canopy– a deep purple.

Turning your head to the left, you see stained glass windows with a design of red roses filtering in small amounts of sunlight through worn, tattered drapes. On the right side lies the door to the room you’re in, wooden and carved with a motif of roses identical in design to the one on the windows.

How did you get here? You stare back up at the canopy, trying to recall what happened last night. You were walking for what felt like ages, you got tired and stopped to eat.. Wolves found you, you were running, and then.. The Beast!

You sit up quickly as the memory hits you, and take a panicked look around the room. He isn’t here, you realize after a moment, and your brows furrow in confusion. Did someone else stumble upon you and save you from The Beast? That must be it– there’s no way the dreaded beast of the forest brought you here.

The entire room is covered in a thin layer of dust, though it’s clear that someone made an effort to clean it recently. For your sake, you wonder? Removing the blanket and looking down, you can see you’re still in your torn clothes from the night before. You rise from the bed carefully, your legs still aching from the events prior to waking up here, and take another, more in depth look around the room you’re in.

It’s a rather empty room, with just a few pieces of furniture strewn about, and a fireplace sitting in the center of the wall opposite the bed you were sleeping in. In one of the corners of the room sits a large wardrobe, and next to it a chair with a dress laid atop it that you assume has been placed there for you to change into.

You walk over to the chair and take the dress into your hands, and it does seem like it’ll fit well enough when you hold it up to your body. It feels to be made of silk, and while not necessarily lavish, it is much fancier than any of the dresses you could get back home.

You consider for a moment if it’s really okay to change into, but ultimately conclude that it was laid out with a purpose, and you should accept the kindness. Besides, you don’t think remaining in your now tattered dress would do you any good.

You change quickly despite the ache remaining in your limbs, and unsure of what exactly to do with your old clothes, you opt for placing them on the same chair you grabbed the new dress from. Afterwards, you step to the rose-carved door, and slowly pull it open to peek out.

You’re not sure if leaving the room is a good idea, but there’s no one in the hall to instruct you otherwise, and you’re admittedly starving. You hope you can find a kitchen, or the person who kindly saved you so you can thank them and ask them for a meal.

The door opens to a long hallway, lined with lattice windows and rusty knight statues. Wall sconces take up the spaces between the windows, though many are missing the candles meant to reside in them.

Artwork lines the opposite wall, decorating the spaces between what you assume to be other bedroom doors. Some are askew and others perfectly straight, but all are old and worn. Landscapes, still life, portraits– regardless of type, the paint on each and every one has dulled and chipped, with a layer of dust atop them.

Continuing down the hall past the several closed doors, you come to a set of stairs leading down. Following it down leads to another long hall, though this one is quite different. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, evenly spaced apart in a line. There are vases and statues of various types; human, gargoyle, angel– some few perfectly intact, but many broken in some way, often missing entire limbs.

There are no windows, and the walls are not painted like in the previous hall, but appear to be carved of stone, with each vase and statue nestled between expertly carved columns. There are only two doors in this hall– one in the center of each wall. Both doors are locked when you try them, and so you move on down the hall, eventually finding yet another set of stairs leading down.

They bring you to what appears to be a grand entryway. Across from you is an identical set of stairs leading to what is likely a similarly structured wing of the castle you appear to be in. To the left, between both sets of stairs, is a large door that nearly touches the ceiling, and to the right a large open hall with what you think are the doors leading outside at the very end of it.

Simply leaving would be tempting if you weren’t in dire need of a meal, or entirely unsure of where exactly you are. You can tell the castle you’re in is quite old given the state of things, but you can’t think of any such old, worn down castles you’ve heard tale of. All the castles you know of are well occupied by royalty; none, as far as you’re aware, have been left to fall to dust and ruin like this.

It’s terribly confusing, and if you don’t find a kitchen soon, you at least hope you’ll find someone kind and willing to provide you answers. Forgoing the large door that you’re pretty sure leads to a ballroom, as well as the opposite staircase you’re confident will lead to a hall identical to the one you were just in, you step right, to the entry hall.

There are a few doors on each side, and to your relief, one of them is labeled “Dining Hall.” A dining hall has to lead to a kitchen! Eagerly, you pull open the door, and as you do, you gasp when you realize The Beast himself is standing next to the dining table.

He’s looking straight at you, ears flickering in response to the sound of your gasp. You can’t help but freeze, having convinced yourself that it was impossible for him to be here, for him to have been the one to bring you here. You’re too stunned to move– everything in you was expended when fleeing the wolves, and now all you can do is stand before him.

You can see him much better now than you could last night, his every feature clearly defined by the sunlight filtering in through the dining hall’s large windows. His hair is curlier than you realized, and deeply brown, as are his bovine ears. His cheeks are round, his lips pouty and entirely human in shape.

You can also now see clearly just how broad he is– and strong. His torso, while decidedly man, is still much larger than a regular man’s could ever be. His pecs and arms are muscular and well defined, while his stomach appears to be soft, and maybe a little squishy, with a dark patch of fur trailing down beneath his belly button.

He is in no way similar to a man beneath that point. The Beast has the legs reminiscent of a bull, every inch covered in thick, dark fur down to his hooves. His legs are much thicker than any you’ve ever seen, human or otherwise; you can only conclude this is because he is as strong in his legs as he is in his arms.

Lastly, is a tail swishing leisurely from side to side behind him. You can just barely see it when he’s facing you, but the glimpses you get of it further reminds you of cattle. Long and thin, with a large amount of fur at the tip of it. Part of you wonders if his fur is as soft as it looks– you didn’t feel it last night to know.

Parts of his arms are messily bandaged, bits of red tainting the otherwise white fabric– blood, you conclude, from when the wolves attacked him. He’s wearing a cape, the same shade of deep purple as the canopy that hung over the bed you woke up in, clasped around his collar bone with a golden buckle. The buckle, similar to the doors and some of the stained glass windows, is beholden with the image of a rose.

It feels wrong to think so, but he’s attractive– were he a purely human man, you’re certain many village girls would swoon for him.

“You’re awake,” he smiles for a moment, clearly human teeth showing for a split second before he stops and timidly breaks direct eye contact. “I wanted to help with torn dress but couldn’t. Hands too big,” he continues, showing his hands to you to further prove his point– not that you need him to.

“I picked a new one for you instead, glad you found it. Glad you’re wearing it,” he says, and you’re still too surprised to even speak in turn. “Looks.. Nice?” he says with an unsure tilt of the head. It seems as if he wants to compliment you, but is unsure in his word choice. He looks contemplative for a moment, as if mulling over if there’s a better word he could’ve used.

You get the impression he isn’t used to interacting with humans. You yourself aren’t used to interacting with beasts.

“I wanted to bring you food. You must be hungry! But I don’t know everything humans like to eat..” he muses as he turns his attention back to the dining table, where you now realize an abundance of food is laid out. Nice food.

Fruit platters, veggie trays, fine meats.. He has it all. If you weren’t already in awe of The Beast, this alone would floor you, because all this food would cost a fortune in your village unless you grew it and hunted for it yourself.

“This is for me..?” you finally find your voice and manage to ask. He nods and waves his hand, beckoning you to approach the table. Cautiously, you do, still in awe of it all.

Tentatively, you stand next to him before the dining room table, taking a nervous glance up towards him. You knew very well he was big and tall, but your difference in height is positively dizzying up close.

Your own stature barely even exceeds past his waist; if you were to look at him straight on, your eyes would be level with his belly button. His hands are bigger than your head, his legs thicker than your entire body. It’s as amazing as it is frightening– how can a creature this big even exist? You swallow, trying not to think about his size as you turn your attention back to the food.

“How did you get all this?” you manage to ask him; you can’t imagine someone as huge as him going out to collect fruits and vegetables– you imagine he’s much too big to be able to do so without struggling.

“I trade with friends of the forest. Little winged ones love shiny, sparkly things. They give me food in exchange,” he answers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Well, for him, it is normal. But you can’t imagine this big, burly man-beast trading with fairies. You’re hardly even ready to accept he’s real, much less that fairies are!

It’s all too much to wrap your head around. Maybe you should just eat– maybe everything will start to make more sense once your stomach is full. You hope.

You find a bare plate on the table, and pick it up to start loading food onto. The Beast watches you, seemingly happy that you’re choosing to eat the food he has out on the table. Once satisfied, you take a seat, giving him one last cursory glance before focusing on the meal in front of you.

“Aren’t you going to eat too? This is a lot of food,” you inquire as you start to nibble on the fruit you picked out. “Wanted to make sure you got enough,” he replies, "You had a bad night, used a lot of energy. Need to have enough food to recover."

You can’t believe how seemingly nice, considerate, and intelligent The Beast is. Not only is he real, but he seems to be genuinely kind and caring. The stories paint him as violent, ferocious, ravenously blood-thirsty.. But the creature in front of you seems so far removed from those things.

“What’s your name?” you ask him, and he seems surprised for a moment. He must not have been expecting you to ask. “Little winged ones call me Changbin,” he answers. You repeat it back to him, and he smiles just a little as he nods his head. “Your name?” he asks after, and he repeats it to himself after you offer it, just the same as you did with his.

“Do you live here?” is your next question, and he nods once more. “Alone?” you follow up, and again he nods. It’s clear that Changbin isn’t the castle's original inhabitant, and you wonder how long it lay abandoned before he claimed it as his home.

Of course, he could’ve killed the owners to take it, but the more you speak with him, you simply can’t imagine him being so cold blooded. He seems too… sweet.

A more pressing question– where are you exactly? You’re certain you’re still within the bounds of the forest, as you saw nothing but trees every time you looked out a window. But if that’s the case, how has an entire castle gone unnoticed? Castles aren’t exactly small– surely you and the other villagers would’ve seen it poking through the top of the trees.

Was it the magic that people believed the forest to hold that left it obscured? Or was it so deep in the forest, with the trees that surround it so tall and dense that even spying it from a distance was impossible? No matter the truth, the simple fact remains that there is much more to the forest than you ever thought, and it’s a lot to digest all at once.

“Why did you save me?” you decide to ask him instead of trying to unravel the mysteries and secrets of the forest. “You needed help,” he answers easily, “humans fear me, but I always try to help.”

It’s easy to imagine his words true. A human like you, perhaps a hunter accidentally straying too far into the forest. They find themselves lost, hurt, or in trouble, and Changbin finds them.

He tries to help, but in their terror, they flee further into danger, get themselves more lost, strain an already injured leg.. And the ones who make it back tell a terrifying tale of The Beast in the forest who wished to devour them when all he actually wanted to do was help them. It’s a bit sad to consider in all honesty.

“When you're feeling better, do you want to go back home?” he asks once you’ve finished your meal, and it takes you by surprise. “I’d help you. Take you as far as I could. Help you find path."

He’d really help you get home..? Just like that? You begin to feel bad that even after he rescued you, gave you a warm place to sleep, a new change of clothes and a meal, there was still a part deep inside you that feared what his intentions with you could be.

“No,” you answer after a moment, “I was in the forest trying to get away from home. My life there.. It wouldn’t be good if I went back.”

“Then.. you stay? I’ll help you. Protect you,” Changbin offers, a faint smile appearing on his lips when you nod.

“I’ll stay,” you affirm. It’ll be strange at first, you’re sure, living in a castle in the middle of the apparently enchanted woods with The Beast your village fears so much. But you’d rather live here, with a physical beast, rather than back home, with the metaphorical one you’d be forced to call “husband.”

Living with The Beast, Changbin, is surprisingly pleasant. It was easier than you expected it to be; almost natural.

On your first official night in the abandoned castle he made his home, he gave you a tour. What was intended to be a tour of strictly the important rooms you’d be expected to frequent turned into a several hour long walkthrough of the entire estate. He took you through the kitchen, the bathrooms, the study, the drawing room, the library, the watchtower– everything.

You could tell which rooms he frequented most by how dusty they were. If there was very little dust, you concluded that he was there often. If there was a large accumulation of it, he stayed out of it.

The watchtower was one of the rooms he liked to be in the most, often finding himself surveying the forest from it. That's how he saw you fleeing the wolves– and the moment he did, he descended the tower in a rush, hoping to get to you before any harm would befall you.

Additionally, you learned that his bedroom is in the opposite wing of yours. Changbin said he purposely chose the room furthest from his own to put you in because he thought you’d be more comfortable that way if you chose to stay for a while. He’s used to humans fearing him, and he wanted to give you whatever distance you’d need to feel safe during your time here.

Truthfully, you stopped being scared of him very quickly. If there was anyone the term “gentle giant” suited, it was assuredly Changbin. He always stepped through the castle carefully, doing his best not to shake the ground too hard and risk shattering glass or knocking over vulnerable statues and vases.

He knew his voice was booming, so he always tried to speak softly. It was still loud, of course, but you knew it could be much louder if he allowed himself to project it fully. When he handled porcelain or other breakables, he would move his hands so slowly and carefully that you’d think he was holding a newborn baby.

Changbin would often stare at you quietly when you were in the same room, assumedly out of curiosity. He’d never gotten the chance to share a space with a human, or to observe them up close for such great lengths of time; it made you wonder what he must think of you.

You wondered if there was anything he assumed a human would be that didn’t prove true, similar to how wrong you were about him. You always noticed his staring, and oftentimes when you decided to return his gaze, he’d quickly turn away.

Did he have the gut human instinct to look away when eye contact becomes too intense or prolonged? Was he simply shy? Both?

Sometimes he would smile before he looked away, the faintest peek of a dimple showing on his cheek before darting his eyes elsewhere. Sometimes his cheeks would dust over a soft pink, and other times, on the rare moments he let himself smile more fully, the bridge of his nose would scrunch up similarly to a humans.

Was it strange to say you found such moments cute? He was oddly endearing in the way he went about life, in his mannerisms and complexities. And admittedly, you’d stare at him the same way he stared at you when his attention was elsewhere.

At first, you justified it to yourself by saying you couldn’t help it– you discovered a magical creature that you always thought was nothing more than a story is real. How could you not stare at him? But lately, you weren’t so sure that’s all there was to it.

Changbin was many things outside of being The Beast. He was warm, soft, and sincere. Caring, considerate, and careful. He was.. Attractive. Handsome. Cute. Words you never thought you’d use to describe a creature with protruding horns and other inhuman features. And with each season passed inside the castle together, the more you grew fond of him.

You spent many afternoons together in the library. You were surprised to learn he could read; something that perhaps shouldn’t have been surprising in hindsight, given his capability of speech, but it still shocked you. The ability to read wasn’t something necessary to his everyday life, but he liked doing it to pass time, or ease the loneliness of living alone.

All the books in the castle’s library were dated, easily hundreds of years old; it was clear that every single book was one left behind by the previous inhabitants, and not a single new book had entered the library since. Their age didn’t make them any less enjoyable however, and in fact you found it exciting to have so many stories you’d never heard of before to dive into.

Watching Changbin read was a treat within itself. Even the thickest of novels looked comically small in his large hands, and turning pages was always a struggle for him. You couldn’t help but giggle watching him try to turn a single page with his finger, only to instead turn several. There were many times you took it upon yourself to help him once your giggling subsided.

Given his size, he’d often have to sit in a hunched position, or hold books up quite close to his face to read them. And the words– they must’ve looked so tiny to him; you were certain it was a strain. Then add his struggle to turn pages on top of it..

While it was cute to watch him pout after he turned way too many pages at once, you also didn’t want to just sit idly by if he was having a hard time. Especially not when you were more than capable of assisting him.

He was surprised when you first offered to help him read, curiously tilting his head as he watched you close the book you were reading to walk over to him. Changbin often sat on the floor, much too big and heavy to sit in the castle’s arm chairs or sofas. His place on the floor made it easy for you to climb up his leg, and sit on his thigh.

“I could turn the pages for you,” you explained, reaching over to the book lying in his hands to demonstrate how easy it is for you to turn the pages one at a time. “Or read them to you, should your eyes grow tired from looking at the tiny words,” you said.

You remember his smile clearly; how sweet it was, and the way his nose cutely scrunched as his smile grew the biggest you’d seen it. He seemed really thankful; he didn’t say it, but you think it meant a lot to him that you were showing him kindness.

That’s how you fell into a comfortable routine. At least a few afternoons a week, you’d sit somewhere on Changbin’s body; one of his thighs if you were reading the book to him, or his forearm if you were turning the pages for him. Sometimes his shoulder too, if a book needed to be held especially close to his face for him to be able to read the words written.

When the sun would set, and candles needed to be lit, you often sat on his shoulder as he moved about the room, helping him light them. He’d always help you up carefully, offering one of his large hands as support, or carefully wrap his fingers around you to lift you up to his shoulder. He wouldn’t move an inch or take a single step until he was certain you were steady and comfortable.

You’d always get sleepy after that. The moon through the windows, the soft candle light, the sound of turning pages as the wood in the library’s fireplace crackled, the warmth Changbin exuded.. It was just so comfortable; especially if you were sitting on his thigh.

His fur was like a blanket, his broad, soft torso like a warm pillow. And sometimes, when you relaxed all the way against him, you could hear his heart rhythmically beating. It wasn’t uncommon for you to fall asleep, and every time you did, Changbin would carry you back to your room.

He would carefully cradle you in his arms, and you’d unconsciously curl into him as he rose up from the ground to carry you to bed. The doors of the castle, while larger than any typical door, were still too small to accommodate his size.

He’d have to duck through them while also minding his horns, your body pressing to his chest as he hunched his body to step through them. If you were awake enough to feel it, you never minded it. If you were being honest, you liked it. You liked the warmth when he held you, liked feeling his chest against you, liked hearing the thumping of his heart.

Sometimes, you were tempted to ask him to stay with you, or to ask him to take you to his room. Changbin was just so comfortable and warm– having him next to you all night just sounded like it’d be so pleasant. Safe too; you always felt safe in his presence.

The following mornings, you’d stare up at your canopy and wonder if such thoughts were okay to have. Changbin was a man– an inhuman man, but a man all the same. And it was in these moments, alone in your room and fresh from sleep, contemplating where you are and the life you lead now that you realize you are more than just fond of Changbin.

You knew you would never leave the castle, but it wasn’t just because your best chance at survival and protection was here. It was because the thought of leaving him behind made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You didn’t like contemplating what a life without him in it would look like.

And it was almost funny how despite being a beast, Changbin was the kindest man you’d ever known. Complicated as it may be, you think you love him more than you should. You want him more than you should.

It’d hit you when you shared meals, and he’d watch you with his impossibly dark, warm eyes. His attentive stare made you warm– too warm. You’d swallow, try to focus on anything other than his full lips, or the swell of his chest, or the flex of his arms when he reached out to grab a piece of meat.

It'd hit you when you watched him split wood for the fireplaces with his bare hands. Your heart would swell when you'd step out to the gardens, and he'd carefully maneuver so as to not crush the growing flowers. From innocent, sweet love to deepest, carnal desire, and then back again, your thoughts of Changbin were like a pendulum.

It’d even hit you in the moments of comfortable silence, when ease settled over you both at day's end. When you’d tentatively steal glances at each other until your eyes accidentally meet, and you both look away, bashful and unsure.

You’d feel it creeping on you, warming your body exponentially until you felt feverish with desire to be closer to him. Even alone, in bed or in the bath, your thoughts would linger on him. Innocent thoughts and curiosities about how it'd be for him to kiss and hold you quickly give way to perversion– impure thoughts you really, really think you shouldn’t be having.

You needed to get yourself together. There’s no way an intimate relationship is feasible between you– you shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. But God, you can’t stop your mind from going there. Even just watching him lick his lips and fingers clean after he finishes eating is enough to get your heart racing these days.

Every day, you desperately try to ignore it.

It’s easier on the days you venture outside the castle’s familiar walls. Warm, sunny days, where you explore the forest from the safety of Changbin’s broad shoulder. He showed you so many things you’d never seen before, things you never thought were real.

Fairy villages, magic healing ponds, meadows of enchanted flowers. His fairy friends were excited to meet you, and similar to Changbin himself, you realized they were much kinder than tales would lead you to believe.

They were tricksters, yes; many were fond of a good prank. But really, they just wanted to have fun, and there was no inherent harm in that. (Though Changbin did advise you to speak carefully, lest you accidentally end up in a fae pact he’d have no way to help you out of.)

You watched Changbin trade with them too. A few beads from a broken necklace or marbles from a forgotten child’s playset he found within the castle you called home was all he needed to provide to receive bushels of their freshly grown fruits and vegetables.

If you returned back to the castle with a good chunk of daylight left, you’d spend them together in the castle’s flower garden. It was overgrown, and sometimes hard to navigate, but you always enjoyed your time there. Changbin would always set you down to the ground carefully, letting you roam the garden at your leisure while he picked a sunny spot in the grass to relax in.

You got the idea to make him a flower crown once. It was something you and other village girls enjoyed doing, and it was common to give them to people you cared for. It was simple, but you thought it’d be a good way to show your appreciation to Changbin for all the ways he helped you since the day you met him.

You wondered, as you went around the garden picking flowers, if he had ever received a gift before. Apart from his dealings with the fairies, he lived a very isolated life before he met you. And while the fairies were his friends to some extent, you couldn’t imagine them giving something away without receiving something in return.

You suppose you just wanted him to have the feeling of joy that comes with a gift. The warm feeling that settles in your chest when you realize someone was thinking of you, the delight that seeps inside you when you see the effort they made to give you a visual representation of how much they care for you. You were thinking that Changbin deserves to have that feeling.

When you were done collecting what felt like dozens of flowers, you sat yourself in the sunny grass clearing next to Changbin. He was lying flat on his back, the sun highlighting his face beautifully. His eyes were closed, and the soft snores (for his size, anyways), told you he’d fallen asleep.

You observed him for a moment, smiling to yourself over how soft and cute his features looked whilst sleeping before you got to work on the flower crown. It took quite some time considering you had to make it much larger than you typically would. Changbin eventually stirred awake and sat up, watching you work curiously but ultimately saying nothing as he observed– he didn’t want to distract you.

“Finally! All done!” you exclaimed after threading the final of the flowers you picked together, and Changbin did his usual inquisitive tilt of the head. “It’s pretty. What is it for?” he asked, watching as you rise to your feet with your creation in hand. “It’s a flower crown,” you answer as you hold it out to him to accept, “for you.”

He simply blinked in response, saying nothing as he processed the information. It may not have been the first time he’d ever been given a gift by another, but it was certainly the first one he’d ever received from a human. You didn’t intend to let it be the last, either. “Crown?” he finally asked after a moment, “I wear it?”

“Mhm! Like this,” you said as you held the crown around your head to try to show him what you meant. “It’s too big for my head since I made it for you, but.. Here, let me put it on you!” You hooked the flower crown you made gently around your arm after you spoke, and grabbed at one of his hands.

Changbin understood what you wanted him to do, and so he lowered his hands to the ground so that you could step onto them. You sat on your knees whilst in his hands, finding it much easier to keep your balance that way as opposed to standing; and then, as he had many times before, he lifted you carefully up.

You instructed him to tilt his head towards you, and he did without question. It occurred to you then that maybe you underestimated how big you needed to make the flower crown.

The one you made was definitely big– too big for a human head, that was for sure. Still, Changbin is at least double the size of every man in your village, and he has horns. Realizing there was no way to make it sit around his head the way it's intended to, you opted for simply placing it on his head between his horns, and letting it rest there.

You smiled at him when he lifted his head, and told him what you truly thought– that he looked cute. “Really?” he questioned, surprised to be considered such. There have been many words by humans and his little winged friends used to describe him, and ‘cute’ wasn’t usually among them.

You watched him as he processed his thoughts, another few moments passing before he moved his hands to one of his shoulders, urging you to get on. You did, clinging to his cape tightly when he moved faster than you expected him to. Changbin was always patient and careful when you were on him, always moving slowly– you hadn’t anticipated the sudden change in the slightest.

You were a little confused, unsure of what his sudden rush to leave the gardens was, but it quickly became clear; he was looking for somewhere to see his reflection. He tried the fountain first, but when he realized he couldn’t see himself clearly enough in the water, he made his way back to the castle.

The entry doors to the castle were tall and wide enough that he didn’t have to hunch or awkwardly step through them, but he still moved carefully through it. Despite his rush to see himself, he still wasn’t walking as fast as you both knew he could.

He was trying his best not to break the glass and porcelain inside nearby cabinets with his steps, though he was still moving quick enough that the castle’s floor shook as he continued through the entry hall. His desire to be careful even whilst in a rush was endearing; it brought a smile to your face.

The ballroom was Changbin’s ultimate destination. It had a large mirror, floor to ceiling, encompassing a substantial chunk of the wall opposite the windows. It was the only room in the entire castle that had a mirror large enough for him to see his entire reflection with, from the tips of his horns all the way down to his hooved feet.

His eyes changed when he first saw his reflection– so fast that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. He got up close to the mirror, examining himself with the flower crown you made for him resting between his horns, and truly, he looked happy.

You chose the colors of the flowers well, each one meant to compliment the deep brown of his hair. Soft yellows, vibrant blues, and light, pretty pinks– each selection, in your eye, was perfect. You were relieved that Changbin seemed to agree.

He wasn’t just looking at the flowers atop his head in the reflection though; he was also looking at you. Sat there on his shoulder, looking at him with more kindness than he’d ever felt from anyone. Your eyes met through the reflection, and he could feel his heart starting to beat faster– he wondered if you could feel it too, with your legs dangling over his chest.

He’d never felt this way before, and didn’t know what to do with himself. He knew from his books that humans give gifts to people they care about, and for many reasons. Kindness, appreciation, love.. What was your reason? He found himself hoping it was all of them. He hoped you cared about him as much as he cares about you.

“Thank you,” Changbin said, realizing that he should’ve done so from the start. He thought maybe he should read more books on human manners and improve himself. He hoped he didn’t seem inappreciative by taking so long to thank you for doing something kind for him. His worries melted away when you smiled at him again though, sincere and sweet as always.

“You’re welcome! You’ve always done so much to help me, I wanted to thank you somehow,” you explain. Changbin didn’t think you needed to thank him for anything. No matter who it was out in the forest that night, he would’ve helped them. He’d have let them stay in his home, fed them, and made sure they were well.

But he’s glad it was you; he doesn’t think he could envision the castle without you in it anymore. There may come a day when you grow tired of Changbin being your only companion, and of your daily life in the castle. On that day, you may wish to return to human society, even if your return isn’t to the village you grew up in.

He’d let you go if you wanted to; he’d never, never force you to stay. But he hopes you stay. He hopes that you’ll always be here with him.

“But that’s not the only reason I made it,” you continued, finding a moment of bravery to be a bit vulnerable with your feelings. Changbin watched your expression change in the mirror, your brightness replaced by something more timid as you twiddled your thumbs.

Apart from your tentative first nights here when you were still getting comfortable with his presence, you always met his gaze head on while talking. This was the first time since then that you hesitated to look him in the eye whilst speaking to him, even if it was just eye contact through the ballroom mirror. He found it curious; he wondered if he should be worried.

“The girls in my village also like to make these for people we care about. I wanted you to know that too. That I care about you,” you told him. It felt incredibly nerve wracking to say it aloud, though you didn't think he'd pick up on the underlying romantic sentiment that village girls usually tied to their gifted flower crowns.

Honestly, it was okay if he didn’t recognize how much you like him. Perhaps in some ways it was better if he didn’t; because you are a small human, and Changbin is so much more than that.

Difference in anatomy aside, you don’t think humans and beasts are supposed to have deep feelings for one another. Friendship was fine, you thought, but love? You just weren’t sure that was a line you should cross.

Still, regardless of whether or not such feelings towards him were okay to have, they were already there. Before that day, you thought you loved him; but seeing him look at you, pink in the cheeks and happy, with the flower crown on his head that you made him, you knew for certain.

You love him. And watching the concern melt away and turn to joy when you told him you care about him was more than enough to tell you how deeply you adore him.

You decided to leave the moment with one last, small gesture. You leaned over, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was a simple, innocent sign of affection, but his heart stuttered all the same, as did yours.

“I care about you too,” he’d said with his usual soft, timid smile when you looked at him again, the pink on his cheeks deepening, "very much.”

Laying awake as you are now, recalling your memories with Changbin, you yearn for him even more. You want him beyond friendship, foolish and impossible as it may be. You want to tell him you love him, to kiss him, to lie with him at night and feel his warmth envelope you all over.

You want to touch him, want him to touch you, want to straddle as much of his waist as you can as he lies beneath you, and– God, enough, you huff to yourself. You roll over, bury your head in your pillows and let out a frustrated yell into them.

You wish you knew what to do with these feelings. How would things go if you simply told him? What if you said nothing, and instead acted on them in one of your quietly shared moments of comfort? Would he accept your kiss? Would he return your feelings?

Tossing onto your back once more, you stare up at your canopy as you always do when your brain is plagued by thoughts of Changbin. You sigh after a moment, and close your eyes, wondering if he ever lies awake at night like you do, if he has feelings like yours that he too doesn’t know what to do with. Though you probably shouldn’t, you can’t help but hope that he does.

The arrival of winter didn't make your struggle with your feelings for Changbin any easier. The outdoors used to serve as a distraction; your growing love and attraction to him was never truly silenced, but at least you found it easier to focus your attention elsewhere whilst you were outside the castle walls.

All you can do when you're inside the castle is think of him. When you're in the same room, you find it hard not to stare at him. And sure, you stared at him a lot before, but now it felt different; because before, you were simply curious about him. Now it's purely because you're too lovesick to look anywhere else.

When you read books together, you often find that you don't actually remember what happened in the story. At some point, your thoughts always travel to Changbin, and they linger there despite all efforts to focus on the book in your hands.

The fact that his body is touching yours more often these days doesn't help. It's a particularly cold winter, perhaps the coldest it's ever been in all your years. Snow is piled up to your calves when you step outside, tree branches are completely frosted over, and icicles hang from nearly every inch of the castle's exterior.

Suffice it to say, you are often very cold. Changbin doesn't suffer from the cold nearly as much as you do, but he does his best to keep the castle warmer for your sake. The minute you step into a room he lights the fireplace for you, and you stick close to it, sitting before it with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

But even still, you found yourself shivering much more than either of you'd like. The only time you stopped was when you were in his lap, likely thanks to the inhuman amount of warmth that radiates off his body.

So now, instead of sitting or laying in his lap just being a part of helping him read, you'd spend a majority of your winter days there, clinging to his warmth. He'd sit himself as close to the fireplace as he could, with you curled snuggly on his lap.

His fur was like an extra blanket, warm and soft and comfortable. Nearly every day was spent next to the library's fireplace, as reading was about the only thing you could do whilst trying to stay warm.

Though, as previously stated, you found it hard to focus on reading lately. And even when you did manage to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes would quickly grow heavy; Changbin was just too comfortable to lay on– you just couldn't resist dozing off.

Every night was cold, but some were worse than others. On the first of one of those extra chilly nights, when the time in which you'd go your separate ways for bed came, Changbin hesitated to carry you back to your room. Even if he lit your fireplace before he left, you'd be cold without him, he knew it for a fact.

He looked down at where he held you in his arms, asleep and curled into him, cozy and warm, and he made a decision; he took you to his room. You would understand, he thought. You may be confused when you wake up in a room that isn’t your own, but you’d understand why you were there.

And you trust him now; you wouldn’t be upset with him, especially not when he has your best interest at heart. He hoped not, anyways; in his experience, humans can be unpredictable. But you're a good human– one that he likes and cares for more than he ever has for anyone else.

With such thoughts in mind, he carried you to his room. And as he hoped, you weren't upset in the slightest to wake up the next morning beside him (or more accurately, atop him.)

You were certainly confused at first, opening your eyes and blinking away sleep only to be met with slightly unfamiliar surroundings. The windows and the view through them were the same, but the room was brighter than your own, with no curtains to obscure the sunrays pouring over you. There was less furniture strewn about than in your own room, and you were higher up from the ground than you’d be if you were lying in your own bed.

It took a moment for you to become cognitive enough to register that the reason for this, along with what the blissful warmth you were feeling was, was Changbin's body underneath you. One of his hands was resting on your back too, heavy and limp with sleep, but you didn't mind it. Strangely, you found the weight of his hand on your back comforting.

Your head was on his chest, and you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, slow but steady. That too, was comforting. You closed your eyes again, but you didn't fall asleep like you might otherwise expect. You were simply basking in the comfort, enjoying lying with him in bed like you'd been wanting to for so long. You wondered if he'd let you stay even once winter came to an end.

When you felt him begin to stir awake, you lifted your head to look at him, watching him fondly as he stretched and hummed, and blinked away the last bits of whatever dream he was having. When your eyes met for the first time that morning, he seemed apprehensive; it was easy to deduce that he thought you may be uncomfortable with his choice to bring you here.

Ideally, he would've asked you first, or let you know that the option would be available should you want it; but when he thought about how cold you'd be shivering alone in bed, he just couldn't leave you be. When you smiled at him and whispered a soft good morning, you saw nothing but pure relief in his eyes.

You knew Changbin's heart, that he was nothing but sweet and caring. The trust you placed in him, and the way you wordlessly understood him made his heart soar. But not just that– laying with you every night, and waking up to you in general made his body react in ways entirely foreign to him.

Naturally, from that cold winter’s night onward, you always slept with him. Your body, so soft and smooth, felt good pressed against him. If you weren’t yet asleep when he’d lie down with you in his arms, you’d hug him after you both settled in; your arms obviously couldn’t wrap fully around him, but you’d still try to get as much of his body in your embrace as you could manage to.

And every morning, when you’d sit up in his lap and look down at him, his heart would always stutter, his already incredibly warm body growing hotter. Your sweet smile, your softly spoken “good morning”s, the way your lightly tousled hair beautifully framed your face– all of it affected him in ways he never imagined would happen to him.

Changbin knew of such feelings conceptually– he’s read more than his fair share of novels featuring romantic subplots within the library. But he always thought such experiences and sentiments would be out of reach for him; he was the only one of his kind in the forest, and normal humans feared him too greatly to build a bond with him.

Even you feared him at first, and while he hoped that it wouldn’t always be that way, he wouldn’t have been surprised if you never grew to like him. He was so, so happy when, in only a short time, you were no longer scared of him. He was even happier when you showed him kindness. He was happier still when he realized you considered him a friend. Having a companion after so many years of loneliness was more valuable to him than words could express.

In some ways, he supposes falling in love with you was natural. How couldn’t he fall in love with the first person to ever see him for who he was past his appearance? The first person who told him they liked his appearance. He didn’t believe you the first time you said it– how could he? All he’d ever known before from humans was fear and scorn.

He didn’t know how to accept it, always left in disbelief when you complimented him. But even if he didn’t quite believe it, he still liked hearing it. He liked it when you called him cute, or said he looked handsome, or kissed his cheek after calling him sweet.

He liked when you smiled at him, and the way you’d try to hold his hand despite how much smaller yours were than his. He liked listening to you talk, whether it was because you were reading a book to him, or because you had a lot on your mind; he could listen to you for hours, no matter the topic.

He likes hearing about your dreams, he likes the sound of your giggle, he likes the way you twirl in your dresses. He liked it when you taught him how to dance, and how you encouraged him when his steps were initially awkward. He liked how thoughtful and good you were to him. He likes that you help him believe he truly is all the kind things you describe him as.

No, he shouldn’t say he likes those things about you– it was much more accurate to say he loves them. Changbin loves everything about you. He wants to tell you as much, but he never imagined it’d be so difficult to say; he always thought that when the characters in his books struggled to find the words, it was merely exaggeration for dramatic effect.

In reality, it actually is quite hard to speak such things aloud. Changbin is normally a very candid person, able to speak whatever he thinks freely; but when it comes to you, and the feelings he has for you, his mouth runs dry, the words lodging in his throat. And realistically, should he even say them?

He knows it's true when you compliment him, he knows that you genuinely care for him and enjoy his company. But it’s hard to believe you can love him, it’s hard not to think he’s too different from you, hard to completely shut out the memories of humans fearing him. Sometimes, he’s scared that deep down there’s a part of you that still fears him.

"Changbin? Are you asleep..?" your voice calls to him softly, breaking him from his thoughts. It honestly startled him just a little; he's so used to you already being asleep before you're brought into the room, or falling asleep quickly if you aren't. He hadn't expected your voice to break the silence.

As is typical for your nightly arrangement, you're lying atop him with your head on his chest. It's only now that he realizes your fingers have been absentmindedly tracing his skin the entire time he was lost in thought.

Changbin doesn't have a bed in the traditional sense– he's much too big to fit on human mattresses. Instead, he has various pillows and blankets piled together on the floor. It's surprisingly comfortable, but you always find yourself laying on him, rather than next to him on his makeshift bed.

"I'm awake," he murmurs, trying to keep his voice as soft and low as possible, "..was thinking." You hum, and lift yourself up to look at him. The room is dark, but his lack of curtains allows you to clearly make out his features in the moonlight.

He can see you just as clearly, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest; you're always so pretty when the moon illuminates you.

"So was I. Made it hard to fall asleep," you reply, and Changbin eyes you curiously. He can tell by your somewhat solemn expression that something seems to be weighing on you. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now, something I can't stop thinking about," you continue.

Changbin swallows, suddenly nervous. Given where his thoughts were just moments ago, he can't help but fear that the moment he's been dreading has finally come– this is where you ask him to take you home.

Maybe not home, as the village you grew up in is a place you don't wish to return, but away from here– away from him. Back to human society where you belong, to a place that he could never hope to follow, a place he could never live in with you.

"Wh-What.. What is it?" he asks, hesitant; he really hopes you can't tell how anxious he is, but he's certain his voice has betrayed it already. He wishes he wasn't so terrified of losing you.

Even in the dim lighting, you could clearly see the way his expression changed to one of immense trepidation. You wonder if he's nervous because he can see that you're nervous. It takes you a moment to even begin to speak again, timidly fidgeting with your fingers as you try to will your voice to return to you.

"Have you ever.. been in love..?" you ask him, voice so soft and timid that Changbin almost misses it, even with his exceptional hearing. You watch as his ears flick, his eyes widen slightly as he takes your question in, his cheeks growing ever so slightly pinker.

His surprise is to be expected– from his perspective, this question must seem incredibly out of the blue. But truthfully, it's been eating at you for weeks. You know you're in love with Changbin, but you don't know how possible it is for him to love you back. You don't know if he's ever loved anyone at all– and you have to know.

If not to give yourself hope, then to put your infatuation with him to rest once and for all. If he rejects you, living with him may be awkward for a time, but at least you could try to put an end to your hopeless pining.

Changbin blinks, unsure how to respond. If he were to answer on the basis of what his life was like before you were in it, then the answer was no– he'd never been in love. Never, in all his years, had met someone and fallen for them.

But if he were to answer for the present.. Is he in love now? Yes, he is– he's in love with you. Your eyes search his desperately, and it's clear there's an answer you're hoping to hear– but which answer is it? You chew your bottom lip nervously as you watch him consider his answer. "No, and yes," he finally responds.

"No, and yes..?" you mimic, uncertain and curious. Changbin nods, and he's thankful you're no longer laying on his chest, because you'd certainly hear the quick, erratic thumping of his heart.

"I was never in love. Not before. I.. am in love now," he says, letting out a nervous exhale as the last word leaves his lips. The implication is clear, and he watches apprehensively as your eyes widen, and the truth fully settles itself within you.

Changbin is always honest and forthright, in a way that humans typically never are. Free of societal norms and expectations, he's never had to lie about anything, nor does he feel the need to. So when he looks into your eyes, deep and vulnerable, and tells you that what he feels now is love, you believe him entirely.

"Me too," you utter softly, voice a timid whisper, "I was never in love, not before.. I am now."

Changbin sits up from his makeshift bed, quickly bringing one of his large hands to your back so that the sudden movement doesn't cause you to topple off him. He doesn't want to be lying down when he asks you if this means what he thinks it does– he wants to meet your gaze directly.

"Do you mean that? Can you really love me?" he questions, hopeful but unsure– it nearly breaks your heart that he even has to ask. If there's anything in your life that you're certain of, it's that Changbin is the best man you've ever known.

It doesn't matter that he's not entirely human, it doesn't matter that he eclipses you in size and stature, it doesn't matter that he has horns, hooves, and a tail. All that matters is how he treats you, and makes you feel; and you've never known anyone who makes you feel as warm, safe, and cared for as he does.

Sitting in his lap, you look up at him and smile, warm and affectionate. "I've never meant anything more than I mean this– I love you, Changbin."

In all his life, even at his loneliest and most isolated, in his most saddened and hurt, he'd never had the urge to cry. But now he feels it, welling from deep inside and choking him up. He's always wanted to be accepted, loved– even when it seemed impossible and entirely irrational, he wanted it.

What is it that humans do when they're filled with so much emotion for another? All his books have different answers, but there's one that sticks in his mind predominantly– they get married. And perhaps he can't marry you the way a human man can, but he can make the same vow; he can, and will, promise to love you for the rest of your lives.

You reach out to him, placing your hands on round cheeks, the heat of his blush incredibly warm on your palms. "Can I kiss you?" you ask him, and he sucks in a breath, nodding shyly. His ears pick up on the loud thumping of his quickly beating heart– he wonders if it's loud enough for you to hear it too.

You lean up as he leans down for you, both of you closing your eyes as you touch your lips softly to his. You linger there, feeling the blush on his cheeks flare with more heat as you kiss him. When you pull back, you can see his eyes sparkling with awe and adoration. Shyly, he breaks his gaze away from your eyes, darting them down to your lips; it’s easy to tell he wants to kiss you again.

With your hands still on his cheeks, you guide him back to you. You kiss him again and again, slow and gentle. Eventually, you let your hands move to his chest, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart beneath your fingertips. He brings one of his hands to your waist, and pulls you closer, until your tiny body is flush with his.

His lips are so plump and soft, and now that you know what they feel like against your own, you never want to stop kissing him. Unfortunately for you, your lungs are much smaller than Changbin’s, and you run out of breath very quickly, often having to be the one to pull away first.

He always watches you intently when you do, all the care and affection he has towards you pouring out of him in droves as he stares at you. But there's a new emotion written in his eyes too– desire, yearning. All you’ve done is kiss him, but he’s positively, undeniably enchanted by you, a deeply rooted need for more of your touch clawing its way to the surface.

When you kiss him again, you tentatively run your tongue across his bottom lip. The feeling jolts him, sending a shiver down his spine. He parts his lips, cautiously slipping his tongue out to run over yours, butterflies erupting in his stomach over the soft noise of approval you give him in response.

His tongue is longer than yours, as well thick and textured– it makes you imagine what it’d feel like if you progressed further, and allowed him to run it over every inch of your body. For now, you simply open your mouth for him, letting him lick and explore; it fills you with a strange sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt, but you love it.

Changbin carefully scoops his hands beneath you, lifting you up so he doesn’t have to hunch down to kiss you anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as closely as you can whilst your kisses continue to deepen and become more heated. He eventually grows just as breathless as you, his broad chest heaving as his thirst for you grows in intensity.

It’s almost too much for him– the feeling of you in his hands, of you trying to press as much of your body to him as you can, of your sweet scent all over him. The need he feels for you goes beyond anything he’s ever felt, a deep innate hunger and desperation beginning to gnaw at him, clawing at his sense of reason.

He wants more of you– how much more he doesn’t know, but to simply kiss you isn’t enough. All of you, he thinks; he needs all of you in every way. He wants to feel you everywhere, to taste you everywhere, needs to experience the depths of love and intimacy with you.

He’s been trying for so long to deny how bad he wants it, so scared of scaring you off with unwanted advances– but now that he knows you feel the same as him, now that you’re kissing him like this, fevered and hungry, he can’t deny his craving for you any longer.

“Please,” Changbin whines under his breath when you next pull away, his voice the most light and airy either of you have ever heard. Anything, he’ll take anything you’re willing to give him– he just wants you, so badly he can hardly think straight anymore. It sends a wave of heat through your body, butterflies thrashing in your stomach.

“Set me down, please?” you ask, and instantly he worries that he crossed a boundary, made you uncomfortable by wanting too much too soon. Still, he does as you ask, lowering his hands to the ground so you can reunite with the ground. He swallows nervously as he watches you step off his hands; thankfully, some of the tension he feels is eased when you shoot him your characteristically sweet, yet currently more bashful, smile.

The heat on his face flares when you break your gaze away from his face to look at his erection, fully unsheathed and visibly leaking large amounts of pre-cum. It’s thick, as is to be expected given his size, but to actually see it with your own eyes is astonishing. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed, starting to grab one of the many blankets littering the floor so he can cover himself.

You shake your head and reach for his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly sets the blanket back down, both of you gazing at each other shyly as you swallow down your nerves to speak. “I want to.. Can I touch it..?” you ask, and oh, the way he throbs from the question alone. You can see it, heavy where it lies against his thighs, throbbing with desire and anticipation.

“Y-You- you want to?” he asks, very nearly sent reeling when you shyly nod your head. He’s wanted this for so long; and he tried not to, really. It felt inappropriate to want you that way, almost shameful every time he got hard with you in mind.

You always interacted with each other so sweetly, innocently– it felt perverse to lie in his makeshift bed at night and throb over the way your breasts looked pressed together in your dresses, or over the glimpses he got of your legs and thighs when you twirled around.

It wasn’t this way from the start; when he rescued you deep in the woods, he had nothing but pure intentions. He didn’t know you were beautiful, he didn’t know how soft and sweet you were, didn’t know how radiant you were in body and soul. He didn’t know he’d grow to love you, nor could he have predicted how badly he’d want you as his infatuation for you grew.

Little does he know that you always wanted him just as bad, your late night thoughts always consumed by him. None of the village men ever made you feel the way Changbin does, never made your heart race or stomach erupt in butterflies, never filled you with such insatiable need for touch.

“Ahh, I-” he exhales, trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat accumulating in his palms due to his nerves, “I.. yes, please, I’d like it.” Even just the thought of you touching his cock makes him feel like his heart is going to leap out of his chest– he has no idea how he’ll feel when you actually do it. Still, he wants it; and he watches you, unconsciously holding his breath as he waits for you to act.

He’s leaking so much, and it occurs to you that your dress will get very wet and messy if you leave it on while you touch him. The thought of being naked in front of Changbin makes you nervous, but also excites you somehow; and technically speaking, he’s always naked in front of you– apart from the cape he wears during the day, anyways. So there’s no reason to be so shy about it, right?

You gaze up at him, still timid despite the pep talk you’re giving yourself internally, and you reach behind your back to untie the ribbons that keep your silk gown on your body. You can hear Changbin’s breath hitch as the fabric loosens and begins to fall away, your bare torso becoming visible to his eyes for the first time.

Your breasts were so pretty, so full– and yet even then, they’d surely look small in his large hands. Still, you weren’t done revealing yourself to him just yet; reaching lower down your back, you loosen another ribbon– the one keeping it held around your waist. Your gown falls down your hips and to the floor once untied, now left only in your panties before his eyes.

Fuck, he wants to touch you– but you asked him first, and he’s not going to interrupt whatever you have planned for him. You step closer to him, and climb up his leg to sit yourself on one of his large thighs. He can’t help but gasp when you bring your hands to his cock, and just as you thought it’d be from seeing it, it’s heavy.

It’s much too thick to wrap your fingers around, your hands appearing impossibly small in comparison. You rub your hands over his sensitive tip, glancing up at Changbin’s face when he lets out a whine. Your hands quickly become slick from the steadily leaking pre-cum, gliding easily up and down the length of his cock. There’s not as much friction as there’d be if it was Changbin’s own hand, but he prefers this despite it– having you touch him is much, much better.

He moans when you lean forward to kiss and lick the tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips and cheeks. He fists the blankets below him, his breaths growing harsher as he watches you work him up. Your hands stroke his length in a steady rhythm while you continue to lavish his tip with attention using your mouth, and he can’t help the frequency of his whines and moans.

He already feels so close– you're so soft, so wet, it drives him crazy. When you stop kissing and licking his cock, you sit up to look back up at him, and God, the sight of you– you’re glistening with his pre-cum and your own saliva. It’s dripped down your chin, falling to your breasts and the sight proves too much for him– he whimpers, stuttering out your name as his cock twitches and spurts of thick cum begin to shoot from the tip.

You make a noise of surprise, watching in awe as it coats your bodies; his stomach, your whole torso, your hands– you wouldn’t be surprised if some ended up on the blankets beneath him too. Your stomach flips when he finally comes down from his high and looks at you. Reddened cheeks, flushed body, harsh breaths– and yet he still gazes at you hungrily.

“Your turn,” he breathes as he effortlessly scoops you into his hands, paying no mind to the mess that covers you. His carnal desire for you is fraying at him, his shyness becoming increasingly eclipsed by his need. “Can I-” he starts, lifting you up towards his face, “Is it okay? Can I do the same for you? Please?”

He’s sure you can feel how much his hands are trembling for you– he hasn’t even seen between your legs yet, hasn’t yet tasted you, but his mind already feels like it’s in a frenzy. “Yes, please,” you tell him with a nod, and he brings you closer, responding with an appreciative, hungry kiss. He licks away the mess left there, then swipes his tongue over your torso, not at all minding the taste of his own cum.

You squirm in his hands, and when he’s done, he gently nudges you with his nose, urging you to lay back. Your back meets his fingers, your butt cradled in his palms while your legs dangle over his wrists. “Can you take them off like this?” he asks, and you nod, letting out a nervous exhale as you bring your hands to your sides, and hook the hem of your panties in your fingers.

You know Changbin would never drop you or let you fall, but you’re still careful not to make big movements as you slide them down your thighs, and then lift your legs to pull them off. You toss them aside, and shyly spread your legs open for him to look at your dripping pussy. You smell so sweet– he imagines that you’ll taste even sweeter.

You shiver when he starts by placing kisses between your thighs, your legs spreading further apart to accommodate him. He sticks out his tongue, and the whine you let you when he licks between your folds is intoxicating. His tongue is too big to focus only on your clit, but the sensation of him licking up and down is still utterly delicious.

He moans and hums as he devours you, and the vibration of it makes you tremble. You let out a loud whimper and your eyes roll back when he dips his tongue carefully into your hole. It reaches deeper than your fingers ever could, feels so much better than them too– you never imagined something could feel this good.

Your nails dig into his palms, but Changbin pays no mind to it, continuing to alternate between dipping his tongue into your hole and licking you up from top to bottom. He can feel your body tensing, the shaking of your legs and twitching of your thighs growing more intense as he drives you closer to release.

You cry his name over and over, the syllables broken between whimpers as your back arches and your cum gushes on to his tongue. He licks it up and swallows it eagerly, and it serves to effectively draw out your orgasm, the sounds you make easily the prettiest he’s ever heard.

You collapse back against his fingers when your high ebbs away, and you feel positively euphoric, every inch of your body buzzing from the pleasure. Changbin waits until you catch your breath again to kiss you, and you bring your hands to his face, holding him close as he shares the taste of your release with you.

He carefully adjusts his hold of you afterwards, cradling you in his arms and laying you against his chest as he rises from his floor bed. “Need to take a bath,” he mumbles to you as you instinctively curl into his embrace. He cringes when he thinks about how much effort it’ll take to clean the mess from his fur and sheath, but he wouldn’t have done anything differently; the night was perfect– you were perfect.

You’re exhausted, but you do your best to help him get clean once you’re done washing yourself, and he covers you with appreciative kisses when the task is done. You giggle from the attention, and Changbin giggles too before he scoops you back into his arms to carry you to bed.

Doing away with the soiled blankets he’ll leave to clean tomorrow, he replaces them with some from the many empty rooms littered about. You’d fallen asleep shortly exiting the bath, and it was a bit challenging for Changbin to fix the bed one handed, but he wasn’t going to set you down onto the cold floor– and you surely would’ve pouted if you woke up without him in reach.

He heaves a heavy sigh once he finally lays down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his own against the many pillows beneath him. He whispers that he loves you before he closes his eyes, and he guesses you were just awake enough to hear it, because you sleepily whisper it back.

It makes him smile, and he squeezes you in his arms just a little. And as he drifts to sleep, he thinks about how lucky he is to have you, how wonderful it is to be loved, how happy he’ll be spending every moment in his life together with you.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#the fact that it took me so long to finish this that I'm posting it on /my/ birthday instead of bin's is so gsdgsdfh #happy birthday to me ig lmao!#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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chibsandchill · 4 months ago

Text

Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of.

Masterlist

My requests are open!

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption

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The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes.

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.”

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods.

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing.

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there.

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.

You shake your head.

“Liar.”

“I was already awake. I like to…”

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are.

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.”

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue.

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.”

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes.

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away.

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.”

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch.

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks.

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye.

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin.

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.”

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.”

“As my Queen commands.”

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night.

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so.

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells.

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul.

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there.

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone.

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you.

He was a dragon playing at being a lover.

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him.

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer.

He could simply be him.

Aemond.

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained.

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?”

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation.

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please.

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying.

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against.

Then,

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard.

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais.

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes.

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping.

Aemond needs more.

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head.

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give.

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds?

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire.

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.”

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure.

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip.

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor.

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows.

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure.

“We match,” you told him once.

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you.

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure.

“Aemond.” You moan.

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops.

Aemond pulls away, but not for long.

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there.

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest.

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin.

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him.

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again.

And the next moment he’s burning.

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds.

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in.

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul?

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it.

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you.

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself.

“I love you,” you pant into his ear.

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return.

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.”

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth.

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future.

His beauty may be what gods fought for,

but Aemond?

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new,

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets.

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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anundyingfidelity · 20 days ago

Text

HAPPY MISTAKE — Logan Howlett

Summary: Not ever, through all the years of your life, you found someone like Logan. Since he arrived at the school, something brought you together like a magnet. Sadly, not everything came out as you wished it would be. Time is not gentle with mutants, and you try so hard to show him your unconditional love before everything is over, but can you finally accept your feelings for each other? Or yours and Logan's tumultuous relationship through the years.

(PART ONE → PART TWO) | GEN MASTERLIST!

Pairing: Logan x mutant!female!reader.

Word count: 9.6k.

Warnings: slow burn, breaking up(?)/making up, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut and unprotected everything, language, character death, time travel, Logan hurting reader unintentionally, wounds and blood. Logan being a whore for both Jean Grey and the reader. Reader has slow aging as Logan and looks around mid 30s in my head. Anthropology teacher!reader. Reader can manipulate light (just like Starlight from The Boys). This takes place between different movies from the franchise, from X-Men 1 to DoFP, so spoilers of the movies ahead.

Notes: Long time no write. Life is horrible but somehow I managed to get this in like two months. I love Logan so fucking much now you don't have an idea. This was also written with Happy Mistake by Lady Gaga in mind. If you'd like to be tagged in the second part let me know or let me know your thoughts on this, it's very much appreciated! I suffered a lot writing it .

𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒙 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊'𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 ��𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆.

—

2000

“Need any help?”

Logan stopped on his tracks from wandering around the cozy, yet strange place he woke up in. Turning on his feet, he saw your figure standing in the middle of the hallway. He said nothing, but you approached him as you had known him for a very long time.

“I assume you’re the new guy-”

“Where is she?” Logan abruptly interrupted once you stood inches away from him.

“Rogue? She’s fine. And you need to take a little rest.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said, looking around to search for a nearby exit. Before he walked away you took his arm in a soft grip.

He was, as much as you could tell, surprised by your boldness. You gave him no time to process his next movements once you talked again, your voice firm and welcoming in a way he had never felt before.

“Please, you need to meet Professor Xavier,” you said. “At least before you go. It’s totally fine if you wanna leave, I don’t recommend it though, but we can offer you a safe place here. We are just like you.”

Logan’s hardened expression relaxed for a moment, sensing no threat coming from you. All he saw in your eyes wasn’t pity, nor anger at him being kind of an asshole at first. It was just authority, the good kind where he also had something to say and decide about.

“Whatcha say, Logan?”

He was so immersed in his thoughts before you called his name, thinking it sounded beautiful falling off your lips. You gave him a half smile as he took in each detail of your face, as if he was memorizing every part of it.

It was the first time someone had been nice to him and it felt strangely good.

For some reason, it felt very good coming from you.

—

Logan just found out from the Professor’s mouth the mansion was a school for mutants. Gifted people, he called them. After learning another powerful mutant was behind him and Rogue, he had no other choice but accept the shelter. He didn’t like the other guys better, playing the teacher with a bunch of teenagers with special or cursed abilities. But besides Storm and Jean, you were the person who had welcomed him the most, even showing him the place and the room he would stay in.

One late night, you sat at the dining table together. Logan was silently drinking a beer outside school hours so the kids wouldn’t see him, and you, reading a bunch of papers from your students that you were missing. He realized how hard you worked, how you would praise your students, how you talked to them outside classes, being the one to actually convince Rogue to enroll in the school. Immediately, he knew you were really something, having much more in common than he thought. And you, living for so long, being both a mutant and a lady for sure had a hard life through time.

“What you teach again?” he suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence you shared.

“Anthropology,” you answered, giving him a short glance. “I took this at college a long time ago, and I’ve been alive long enough to know a thing or two,” you explained, putting away a paper after putting an A+ on it proudly. “It’s important to understand ourselves, humankind and mutants… It’s a diverse world and there are lots of cultures, languages and societies we don’t get to know, but it’s beautiful. I think I like to celebrate what makes us unique. I've had the chance to study some of them around the world since I had the time, y’know, and it’s truly amazing. It’s a shame we have to fight between us to make us heard when we could just be kind and empathetic to each other… Sorry, you didn’t ask but, y’know, anyway.”

You shook your head with a curve on your lips, going back to the next paper. Logan had taken the sparks in your eyes as you talked. He half smiled to himself once you buried yourself in your papers again, thinking you sounded just like Professor Xavier. No wonder why he took you in. Probably, if things were different for him, he would’ve found something that could light his face with so much passion just like you did.

“Been alive for almost two hundred years,” Logan said and you looked up to him. “We might have things about the past to share,” he drank from his beer. It was your turn to smile back at him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve lived both horrible but nice things. Couldn’t read or do math without being called a witch,” you chuckled to yourself, but hiding on the inside the awful experiences you had to endure. “Someday, we could go out and grab a coffee or something,” you said with a playful smile.

A light chuckle left your lips, but you and him knew it wasn’t just a joke.

He joined you with a warm smile that lit up his face before disappearing from his lips. “Of course. Count me in.”

—

The sun was shining bright and the weather was great that morning. Some of the students were in the yard playing, having some quality time, and others simply just left to go to the town. It was a good weekend before the next semester started, and it was better now knowing Magneto had been taken to prison after his failed attempt to use Rogue for his plans.

Sipping on your coffee, you saw the students outside. Laughing, running, having a good breakfast picnic. It felt heartwarming just taking this sight, wishing it would always be like this. Your mindful peace was interrupted when Logan entered the kitchen to have a coffee on his own. Visibly, you tensed just a little when he approached you and sat right in front of you at the dining table. The caffeine was not helping at all, you thought.

“Morning,” he greeted you, noticing something was off on you, but hoping it would pass. Maybe you already knew.

“Morning…” your voice came out as a whisper. “How you feeling?”

“Better. What about you?”

You gave a small nod. “Good, thanks for asking.”

A silence fell upon you. Not like the ones you used to share in lonely nights where you prepared your classes and Logan just sat down calmly because he couldn’t sleep. This time it was different. Words won’t come out of your mouth to ask what was really bothering you. You had grown up to like Logan and enjoy his company, but he had a lot of walls upon him, protecting himself of the world and people around him.

However, you understood why he did it. You both have been alive longer than anyone else. You saw people you love dearly dead, being killed because of your flaws. And you really connected to his idea of protecting people by leaving their side. It was better being away. That was until Professor Xavier recruited you. Here, you had a purpose and you helped young people to become the best versions of themselves. You wished Logan could do the same, stay and see he was more of what he thought of himself, but it wouldn’t happen. Right? He had things to sort out on his own.

“Are you leaving soon?”

When you asked the question, Logan knew you had heard something from the Professor. He gave you a nod.

“I need to reconnect with who I was,” he simply answered.

“Right… Wish you all the best there.”

Logan had grown to like you over the past few weeks you shared, exchanging experiences and lessons of life you had taken through the years. For a moment, he looked right into your eyes and smiled. He weirdly smiled, and you could swear he’d miss you too once he is away.

But that warm feeling soon faded away once Jean walked into the kitchen, saying good morning and beaming to the both of you. Logan followed her with his gaze, straightening himself on his seat as she served her own breakfast and an extra plate that you already knew was for Scott. She also began putting fruits and snacks inside a picnic basket while looking all happy and settled, and you knew why Logan had fallen in love with her. It was all over his face.

And you wondered how could he act and talk to you so kindly and sweet, and then look at Jean like that. It was a pain in your heart you tried to dissipate. Everyone knew Jean and Scott were a couple, and the fact that Logan had a not so secret crush on her really played on you. It made you feel like a fool and you had too many heartbreaks and hurted people, putting them in danger due to your mutation, to take initiative and start a relationship - or anything of the sort - again.

Scott made his way inside the kitchen, saying hi to both of you - mostly you. And took the tray with their plates as Jean grabbed the basket, but she let Scott leave the kitchen before.

“Have a good trip, Logan,” she said kindly. “I hope to see you around here soon.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

She smiled one last time before leaving you all alone, Logan following her with his eyes. Just for a second, you wished he could see you like that underneath his facade.

—

You had packed your stuff later that day, deciding a little air and a change for one night would do no wrong. Just as you were walking to the main door, Rogue was saying her goodbyes to Logan after giving him a small hug without really touching him. It was a cute sight how Rogue was able to step into his cold heart. She said goodbye to you as well before leaving the entrance.

“You’re going away too?” Logan asked, rather surprised as you both walked through the door, the sun hitting your skin as soon as you were out of the mansion. He knew your life was at the school.

“Just for the weekend,” you shrug it off.

Logan gave you a nod with a warm smile. “Then have a good trip and enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks. I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so too,” Logan answered and before he went to take Scott’s bike, he looked at you hesitantly for a couple of seconds. “We should go out and grab some coffee once I’m back.”

Your lips formed a wide smile. “That sounds really nice.”

For a moment, where time felt like hours and not seconds, you stood right out the door, looking at each other. You wanted him to go first, but he was waiting for you to say something. Probably to ride the bike with him, he could leave you somewhere near your destination and feel you close - just be around you for at least five more minutes. But none of that ever happened.

Instead, you studied his face, looking at his deep eyes, and then his lips - those lips you wanted to kiss so bad before, but never had the courage to do so. You didn’t think further, and if something had taken possession over you, you leaned towards him leaving a short, sweet kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Take care,” you mumbled once you pulled away.

Not waiting for his answer, you turned back, pulling your bag to your side stronger than ever and walked the path to the front gates, feeling his gaze all over you until you left the mansion.

He felt such an idiot for not kissing you properly.

—

2003

‘I know what I want, but what do you want?’

Mystique’s words echoed through his head. Logan left the tent so long ago he didn’t know what time it was anymore and the situation kept repeating again and again in his mind. The woman had shifted between Jean, Ororo, and you. The one that icked him the most being Rogue once Mystique had taken her figure in. Storm was a good colleague, Jean was a forbidden love, Rogue was like his little sister, someone he would protect as long as he could, and you… you were a different case. When Mystique was about to kiss him wearing your figure, he finally realized he started feeling things he had prohibited himself for a very long time, and he thought he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

Once or twice you shared experiences about love and partners, but he could tell it hurted you the same way as him. He couldn’t burden breaking your heart, or worse, getting you hurt because of what he was. Logan knew you had the same bad luck in the past, but it didn’t stop any of you to pull towards each other like a magnet.

‘Living for so long does things to you, Logan. I feel we become more aware of what we are.’

Those words you said to him one time remained in his head like a warning, and he took it personally.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against a hard tree trunk some feet away from the tents where the rest of the X-Men rested. He tried to find some peace alone for a few moments when the sounds of steps approaching alerted his senses. Claws out and ready to attack, he spun around the trunk only to stop in a second.

There you were, a bright light emanating from your hand to illuminate your path in the darkness of the woods.

“Logan?”

Quickly, he withdrew his claws and his body relaxed visibly. “Sorry,” he apologized, leaning against the tree one more time.

“Are you okay?” you asked, but you already knew the answer. The exhausted sigh he let out told you everything you needed. You let the soft glow of light floating between you and him, to illuminate both of you under the branches. “You wanna talk?”

He slowly shook his head, mumbling ‘no’. He became startled in the light floating like a firefly, letting his own issues wash away with your sole company. Ironically, everything that was troubling him was you. Softly, you caressed his arm, taking him out of his own thoughts. Your touch didn’t help his poor mind either.

Looking worried about the next mission in Lake Alkali, you feared for him and your team. And your lack of sleep was showing it. But just like Logan, the growing feelings were troubling your head. You had seen him talking with Jean earlier when you landed in the forest - talking too close to your liking once he pulled her for a kiss. But what could you do? Logan was still after Jean even when she had already declined him countless of times, and it didn’t really hurt you. It just felt strange inside. Why would he do that while still being nice to you, quitting being a dick when he wanted because he knew you’d snap back at him. And to be honest, Logan looked as if he liked that about you. But he won’t admit it out loud, and of course, you wouldn’t ask. Men were so damn complicated.

“Well, I only expect things to not get worse…” you finally said in a soft whisper since he wasn’t talking and you stopped your head going further on the matter. And you knew he wouldn’t talk soon either. “And you’re brave for seeking your past.”

Logan locked his eyes with your own, under the soft light. Your tired gaze, your figure, your aura pulling him like he found a treasure in an abandoned cave… He felt so bad for falling for someone like you, who was nothing compared to the crap he was. And then, for the first time in years, he decided to follow his instinct with you.

He leaned towards your figure, his rough hand cupping your cheek gently before pulling you in for a kiss. With a soft sigh you corresponded, your arms around his neck as it turned deeper and harsher. Logan lifted you easily from the ground, your legs tangling around his waist until you felt your back against a rough surface, trapped between the trunk and his body. Soft moans and grunts mingled, your chest pressing against his own, his hips grinding against your crotch. It was obvious you wanted this. Logan desired you so painfully after that day you kissed him goodbye at the mansion, he needed your body and soul. But you had to have answers before giving into the heat of the moment.

Pulling away, you broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his own as you tried to catch your breath. Logan tried to taste you once again, but you placed two of your fingers on his swollen lips.

“Why’d you kiss her?”

He remained silent, brows furrowed and eyes blown in lust. You didn’t make any effort to pull him away. He still had you between his legs, asking a simple question he had no response for.

“We’re adults here, Logan. Just wanna know why before we go further.”

Logan started to remember. He vividly heard Jean and Mystique voicing out and asking the right question.

‘Girls flirt with the bad guy. They take the good guy home.’

‘What do you want?’

“Do you really want me?” he asked in return.

You lifted an eyebrow at his sudden question. “And do you?”

He leaned again for a kiss on your lips, and thankfully for him, you didn’t stop it. But he quickly pulled away and inhaled your sweet scent from the skin on your neck, leaving a path of soft pecks, until he nipped the shell of your ear softly. You shivered under his touch.

“I’d love to have you,” he whispered, softly caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Come to my tent,” you mumbled. “Sleep with me. But like, seriously, sleep with me ‘cause I’m tired,” you chuckled, hoping to not kill the mood.

Logan smiled for a bit and nodded, pecking your lips one more time before helping you get on your feet on the muddy ground, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

“As long as I have you by my side it’s alright with me.”

—

Jean’s death was hard to swallow.

For weeks, students and teachers mourned her, and you felt sorry for Scott for losing his soulmate. Logan was not in the best shape either. He didn’t attend her funeral, he never had the guts to stand by her grave either, until now. You stopped right behind him and noticed him sighing, under the afternoon sunset. He was tense because of everything, but when you took his hand out of the pocket of his jacket, he held onto you. Your fingers intertwined together, feeling his life depending solely on you, like a rock he needed to support his whole weight.

The day was about to end, the sun slowly hiding, giving a beautiful painting of orange and purple in the sky. You thought it would soon become an intense thunderstorm due to Ororo’s mourn - something you had gotten used to the last few days.

“She saved us,” Logan barely mumbled, looking intensely at the grave.

You nodded, even if he could not see you. “Can’t blame her, I’d have done the same.”

Those words cause him to look back at you, wishing it’d be a lie. But inside, Logan knew you really had the guts to sacrifice yourself for others. It was something he remembered both of you talking about some time ago. And you would give everything in your hands to save the ones you love.

Quietly, Logan gave a last glance at Jean’s grave, and guided you inside the mansion. Classes barely started again due to the circumstances and a few kids could be seen around the halls. You accompanied him to the doors of his room, noticing you had been holding hands the whole time. Probably no one really cared, they were too busy trying to go through the grief of losing a loved one. Slowly, you broke the gesture, taking your hand away and Logan immediately missed the heat and comfort of your hand.

“Do you need anything?” you asked in a low voice.

Looking at you, Logan reminisced how you kissed in the woods, the need and lust for each other that couldn’t be. He did sleep in your tent that night, in the comfort of your arms, feeling the warmth of your skin. It was, probably, the first time he had a good, peaceful night of sleep in years. No one had brought that up, but he knew something was there. And he needed to act on it before it was too late.

So he brought up his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before planting a kiss on your lips, not caring he was standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see what was going on. You leaned against his touch, deepening the kiss until you couldn’t catch a breath. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead into yours, taking in the beauty of your bright eyes and swollen lips. Everything wandering his mind, making a path right into his cold heart was right in front of him.

“You.”

—

Knocking Professor Xavier's door, you walked inside as soon as his voice announced to come in. You caught your breath seeing Logan by his desk. He just gave you a quick, accomplice glimpse and left the room, closing the door behind. The exchange of glances wasn’t unnoticed by Charles.

“Here’s the report on my subject for this last semester, Professor,” you announced, leaving the folder on the wooden desk.

“Thank you. How’s Logan doing?” he asked all of a sudden, checking the door the man had crossed just seconds ago.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you believe he is comfortable helping the kids?” the old man asked again. He was seeing right through you, and you kind of hated every time he used to do that to you. Nothing could be hidden from Xavier; definitely you couldn’t hide a single thing for the man who took you in decades ago.

“Why would I know that?”

He shrugged it off. “Well, you seem very close lately.”

Close was not the best word to describe your relationship with Logan. Yet, you were sleeping on his bed just the night before. The trace of his kisses, the burn of his beard on your skin, his teeth biting softly your breasts, his rough hands all over your hips… Every touch he left on your body you could still feel it, and you wanted to think he was not just using you. During the past weeks, you were together. Not quite a relationship-thing was established properly, but it was the closest thing any of you could have as for now.

It was a mixture of grief, pain, and hope that had you both still standing. In the end, you understood what he felt. Being alone and alive for so long and then finding a place where people accepted you for who you were was a whole change, even if some years passed by. Though, the time Logan had been spending at the school was nothing but a blink of an eye compared to his past.

“What happened to our team is still affecting us,” you finally said. “I believe we are good friends, yes, we’ve been supporting each other. And he doesn’t know how to deal with the students yet most of the time, but I try to walk him through it.”

Xavier hummed, smiling at the corner of his lips as he eyed the folder you handed him. “I bet you both do.Thanks for bringing your report on time, as always, and I apologize if I am being intrusive. Just please be careful with the noises both of you make at night, we have kids around here.”

Shit.

You swallowed your pride right there and simply gave a nod, feeling the heat burning up your face.

“Will do, Professor.”

—

A loud gasp escaped your lips as you held for dear life on his broad shoulders, hips snapping against your own. His pace was reckless, keeping you on the edge of sin. Grunts mixed with sweet moans, skin hitting skin again and again every time you felt his cock inside you. If possible, your nails could have already left visible scars and marks on his back, scratching and bleeding off his skin as he fucked you senseless.

Logan sucked on the bare skin on your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling your walls clenching around his girth, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your hips as you moaned his name, over and over, under the moonlight. He looked at you intensely with loving eyes when you came underneath him, eyes flashing that familiar bright light every time a powerful orgasm hit your body. The vulnerable sight of your figure shaking, eyes closing slowly and biting your lip to keep the pretty noises low, made him reach the sweetest high.

With a grunt, he leaned to attack your lips in a heated, wet kiss to moan against your mouth. Logan pulled back to press butterfly kisses on your jaw, until he reached your breasts, feeling himself soften inside your wet heat. His hips were still thrusting just enough to fill you up at a gentle rhythm. Marking you his and only his.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your chest. “Remind me why we’re here again.”

You chuckled softly, fingers tangling on his disheveled hair. You just had prepared a small date night out at the shores of a beautiful lake in the woods. No one could bother you if you were alone, and since your relationship was not so secret anymore, you needed him in a place that wasn’t the school. So here you were, laying on your back, fully naked on the picnic blanket, with the Wolverine between your legs, enjoying the calmness of the water, the green grass, the crickets singing around, and the cold of the night.

“Privacy perhaps?” you whispered as his eyes locked on yours.

Softly you touched his cheek with the palm of your hand and he rolled both of you over, until you laid on top of him, legs straddling his waist and your arms on his shoulders to sit on his lap. Silence took over, his hands soothing your hips and the marks he left on your body from the intense love-making.

“I’m so happy we took a couple of days off…”

You waited for Logan to say something. Anything. You wanted to continue, to tell him how you really felt. Instead, you decided it was better leaving it like this. Logan gave you a nod, pulling you for a short kiss.

“Yeah. Me too.”

He wanted to say it out loud, but was too scared to do so.

—

2006

After a couple of long years, the school and the team had to learn how to go through the grief and pain Jean left. Logan had a hard time processing it, just like all your teammates, specially Scott, and of course the students. It didn’t stop you from moving on as time went by though, always remembering her for the great person and mind she was. Going forward and keeping fighting is what she would’ve wanted for everyone, even now that a certain cure for mutants was announced to the public.

You tried to continue your life as a professor at the school, training students, leading young people, and you invited and encouraged Logan to do so countless times. Deep inside, you wished it was you the reason why Logan decided to stay and train young mutants - for you to be the answer to his loneliness. That he knew, for once and all, that he was not alone. You got each other, and you could do something about it. Words unspoken said more than anything, at least you thought so.

It was one of those rare nights where you got some time for yourselves, walking around the city after having a nice and calm dinner. Your shoulders brushed against each other while you walked downtown, your hands hiding inside the pockets of your jacket, protecting them from the cold.

There was a lot on your mind lately, thinking about what you two really were. If there was a stronger feeling in between, or if it was solely because he enjoyed your company and that was it. Both had lived enough to know there was a feeling in the middle. It wasn’t just friends with benefits, or co-workers who sleep together three times a week. Something was blooming deep inside you, but you tried to not give it a lot of attention all those years. Still, it felt like it had to be addressed sooner or later, and this could be the time. In the end, you understood each other perfectly. How painful it was, how living longer than anyone was, how you had to leave everything and everyone behind because you were dangerous…

“Have you ever wondered how’d it feel to have a normal life?” your question came out all of the sudden.

“How come?” He looked at you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t know if his gaze was judging you but you continued anyway.

“Like living a normal amount of years… Not having these things, genes that make us different. Or special…”

Logan suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed your arm softly so you could lock eyes together as he asked. “You’re not thinking of getting that damn cure, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why’d you think that?”

“Because I never had anyone in my life, Logan,” you spat, pulling your arm away from his grip. “I’ve been alive for so long but I can’t promise myself a future. A real one. Not anything, it doesn’t matter if I live forever. Every person I loved before perished.”

Those words shook him out of the rough façade showing on his face. Your gaze told a hundred different stories when he studied your face every time. It was like mirroring himself at some point. You were the first person he ever got to know that has lived as long as he has, and maybe it was the sentimentalism, but he tried to push away those wishes of settling down. Of trying to be normal. Because he was not, and maybe, just maybe, you just didn’t accept it like he did. Probably, he was just giving up. But you weren’t, even after hundreds of years of disgrace continuously happening.

“I thought you’d get this, Logan.”

You mumbled, taking him out of his trance.

“Well, I do, in a way,” he said, but sounded more like an excuse for himself.

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Wha-”

“Just say it,” you repeated and pointed between you and him. “What is this for you? What are we?”

Logan grabbed on your shoulders gently and leaned towards you, stealing a kiss on the sidewalk, a kiss you obliged with a bittersweet feeling for some reason, but then he whispered. “Darling, you’re everything to me now.”

Yet, you smiled and kissed him back, feeling his lips curve against your own. Well, that wasn’t so hard was it?

—

Needless to say, after the last date, your relationship with Logan had evolved to something more domestic, considering you lived together in your workplace. Affection, holding hands, quick kisses were shared now a little more freely, and you had received a couple of jokes and teases from some students and Storm. But it was fine as long as you had cleared your path with Logan, even if he didn’t act like a partner sometimes.

The certain calmness you felt one day disappeared when Logan and Ororo went to look for Scott, who often had these sad thoughts, and since Jean was his partner, it was thoroughly complicated for him to say the least. When Logan and Ororo came back to the mansion, it was not what you expected to see. Jean was alive and Scott was gone.

It hurted you, knowing first hand that their love wouldn’t be anymore. You met both of them when they were so young, becoming something like their mentor when they used to learn how to control their powers and how to fit in this world that loathed mutants to death. Now, the school was something else. It was a big, special place that was not the same without the brains of Jean, or the enthusiasm and leadership of Scott. Things were different, they had to change because the circumstances told so, and everyone had a difficult time adapting to it. One thing after another left you tired, with no option to run away, even if you wanted to. The complicated circumstances and the relationship you shared with Logan were no help either.

While on your way to check on Jean, who was still under observation after a couple of days, you stopped in your tracks when the heavy door of the med bay slid. Logan, looking all out of his daily self and mad, found you at the entrance, and you felt something different emanating from him.

For what you could see behind him, Jean was still asleep, and the Professor called Logan to come back with a serious voice, but he ignored the older man, instead approaching you.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Logan grasped your arm, his tone lower and deeper than usual.

You quickly pulled off his grip and hissed. “What are you talking about?”

“Jean.”

You felt silent. Of course she was anything he could think of since they found her.

“You knew he was controlling her,” Logan went on and your heart skipped a beat.

The look in your eyes told everything but lies. Logan scoffed and walked away, leaving you standing alone under Professor Xavier’s gaze.

“I’ll talk to him,” you mumbled at your mentor before following Logan, trying to keep his pace until he reached his room.

The whole way you tried to keep it professional, greeting students as normally you would, but when you crossed his door it was impossible to continue with the facade.

“Logan-”

“He’s insane,” he snapped, putting his jacket on and taking his bag out.

“Everything that was done was meant to protect her,” you responded calmly as he placed a handful of clothes inside the bag.

“No, you did it because you are disgusting. I bet this is what should’ve been for me if I refused to cooperate with your circus or something.”

“You don’t know what she is capable of-”

“Yeah, well I don’t wanna hear it anymore. This is so fucked up, even for you,” he continued, bag on his hand taking long strides until you were almost touching noses.

You scoffed, trying to laugh at the irony. “What does that even mean? Do you know how horrible it is to be controlled by the Phoenix inside her?.”

Logan rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear another poor excuse. You continued anyway, looking straight in his eyes before he could leave you hanging with your own words. Exactly like he used to do every damn time when you had an argument. Today, he wouldn’t run away that fast.

“She could kill you in a second and won’t hesitate. For her, we’re nothing. We’re not rivals, we can’t do shit. The only thing we could do was keep her alter ego somewhere hiding inside her mind, or else we wouldn’t be here arguing about something you never witnessed. Because I did and you don’t wanna see that, trust me,” you spat at him. He breathed rage at your words and you knew that it was getting on his nerves seeing the way his hands turned to fists. “And you think this version of her cares for you? Or that she loves you? Jean is gone now, Logan, fucking get over it.”

With last harsh words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door with a thud.

Logan breathed out. He wanted to scream, hit something, run away… Anything to let it out. He was a reckless mess but how could he react and accept Charles was playing with Jean’s mind? And you fucking knew all this time and didn’t say anything? Were his feelings dirty on him right now? Probably. Shit, he took years to finally tell you the truth about his love and affection towards you. He spent months trying to find the right words just to say ‘I love you’, and still, it seemed it wasn’t enough. The forbidden love he felt for Jean never disappeared, and he felt guilty for it.

—

You walked down to the med bay after calming down for a bit. You only needed to check on Jean for a moment and see how she was doing. Years prior, you had witnessed what the Phoenix was capable of, so you didn’t really question Charles’ methods when it came to hide this dangerous side of her inside her mind. You also thought your words might have been a little harsh on Logan, but it was the truth. He didn’t know who the Phoenix was and, if his feelings for Jean resurfaced after believing her being dead, then it wasn’t on you. As much as you loved him, as much as you tried and somehow managed to move on together, he was so easily dragged to her.

The anger you felt before took over you once again, as you found the metal doors of the lab in debris. Quickly, you made your way inside the room and found Jean wasn’t there and that Logan was lying unconscious on the floor. You knelt down by his side, calling him over and over and touching his face and shaking his shoulders until he finally opened his eyes slowly, coming back to reality.

“Logan, what happened?”

“She… she killed Scott. The Phoenix,” he whispered. You could tell he was a little weak and out of breath.

“You’re lucky she just ran away,” you pointed out, helping him to sit down. His eyes were lost in the mess in the room. Tools were destroyed, test tubes broken, crystal was everywhere, and Jean left the reminder of kissing him, yet again, before she escaped. God, he felt so idiotic.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, looking at you. “Sorry for being a jerk. It’s my fault.”

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her, okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her.”

“Come here, we need to alert Charles,” you said, helping him to stand up.

Inside, you knew he wouldn’t really need your help. He was strong and indestructible like the metal on his skull, but he seemed really taken back, and you decided to stay by his side, holding his hand strongly as a way to say sorry as well. It was kind of difficult to see Logan in that state of mind, confused and lost, and you wondered what had happened back there in the lab as you left him in his bedroom, ordering him to rest for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” you assured him with loving eyes.

Logan nodded, following your figure stepping out the room and disappearing in the hallway.

He let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. His mind was having a hard time and his heart felt like breaking, going in two opposite directions, and he hated himself for that. His fate was always the same: losing people he loved and cared for dearly. So seeing Jean back again was as if god or anything up there remembered he existed and brought her back just for him. Or maybe he was just being selfish because he already had you.

You were everything for him. A couple of years might be just a short glimpse for both of you, but he was able to feel peace and calm next to you, and he was sure you did as well. Because some nights, that was all you could talk about. Logan didn’t mind hearing you for hours, it reminded him he was alive. With you, but his stupid instinct had to act.

It was his fault Jean had left. The kiss, the whole act of embracing each other’s bodies for at least two minutes, and then her breakdown, begging for him to kill her… All of that was enough to bring out the beast inside her. And he felt such a jerk now for following his desires. He already had you. Wasn’t that enough?

His thoughts were interrupted once you arrived again, finding him sitting at the end of the bed exactly as you had left him there. Sensing something different on him, you sat down by his side and rubbed his hand gently.

“We might know where she’s going,” you whispered.

“I’ll go,” Logan said before you could finish.

“I’m not sure if I should ask, but are you okay? You could do some rest,” you suggested, since seeing the redhead was clearly getting some kind of reaction from him.

“No, I need to go,” he said. But Logan could read your face perfectly, and he knew you didn’t really like the idea of him leaving the mansion. You turned your eyes, scanning the room and avoiding his gaze.

You had the need to ask what exactly had happened back there with Jean, but you didn’t want to start a fight either. Feeling Logan’s hand on your shoulder, he leaned to kiss your forehead goodbye. Maybe you were the one who should stay, check the kids, the school…

“It’ll be fine,” he mumbled, voice low and deep, as if trying to convince you, but himself as well. You nodded with your arms around his neck, giving him a hug that felt like some sort of apology you weren’t able to say out loud. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

And how you’d wish things would be fine.

—

The school has been very quiet lately. Too silent even for his taste. At nights like these, he could still feel the vigor and presence of the students running around, grabbing something to eat, planning to go out for a while... Instead, Logan found himself in a place that was mourning. Grieving the loss of Jean, Scott and Charles.

The feelings inside were complicated. He didn’t really feel the same, and the disgrace and remorse of his actions were growing on him. They were still haunting him; every day, every single night. You knew it too. It was impossible to ignore the nightmares each time he woke up from seeing Jean’s lifeless body fall against his own after he gave what she wished for the most: death.

And then, there was you. He noticed how difficult it was getting for you to sleep. You tried to hide your sorrow into your work, studying even more, keeping yourself busy with the school and not thinking about anything else. Since Charles was gone, Ororo took his place and you were her second hand. But you pushed yourself too hard.

Tonight he found your bedroom empty. He didn’t find you on his either, so he went to the place he knew you would be: your classroom. The door was half opened, the dim light of the lamp on your desk barely illuminated the papers on the surface. He found you deeply concentrated reading on something, hands on the sides of your head hiding your face.

“Hey,” he softly mumbled, stepping inside the empty classroom.

You quickly straightened yourself on the chair, wiping your cheeks and tried to look decent for a moment.

“Hey,” you replied back, low voice.

“Come to bed,” he said, coming to stand before you, his hand on your shoulder comforting and soothing you, making its way to the side of your neck. His big palm on your cheek, caressing the skin stained with your tears as if it was the most delicate thing. He took a look at the mess of papers and old books you loved too much to get rid of, scattered on the wooden surface.

“No, I- I can’t. Need to finish these by tomorrow…”

Logan gave you a nod and a grimace before taking your hand, motioning to come closer. You stood up, knowing he was trying to get you out of the work that was consuming you.

He observed every feature on your face, the sadness in your stare couldn’t be hidden. He just knew you too well, just like the palm of his hand, and he wanted to make you forget. At least for a little. You had taken care of him, helped him with your presence and your unique aura, bringing him comfort and peace to his broken mind. He wanted you to be fine. To feel loved.

Logan leaned just exactly to brush his lips with your own, teasing a kiss that he longed too much, his hands around your waist pulling you towards him.

“Can you just let me take care of you?”

Swallowing hard the knot on your throat, you curled your lips as much as the grief let you. “Yes,” you nodded.

With this, Logan leaned until your lips connected. Your arms around his neck pulled him as closer as you could get, feeling his chest against your own, his strong hands around your waist, softly touching you above your clothes.

Logan slowly walked you until your back hit the desk, hands roaming on your ass down to your legs, placing you to sit down over the loose pages. It might ruin the work a little, but none of you cared. Everything in your head was him, between your legs, running his wet mouth down your jaw, his stubble burning your skin as you gasped gently. Lying on your back on the desk, he began descending down your breasts, unbuttoning your blouse until he exposed you to the cold of the room.

He stopped right on your trousers, and gave you a quick glance. You were so eager, wet already. He could sense it. Your eyes were glowing and you were already trying to catch your breath by just his kisses and touch.

“You locked the door?” you whispered.

“Damn right I did,” he voiced, hoarse and low voice from just thinking of railing you right there and then.

“Then don’t stop.”

At your command, he unzipped your trousers, letting them fall down along with your heels on the floor. He then leaned to take your lips in a sloppy kiss, more urgent this time of feeling you close. You moaned, nails scratching his skin. His calloused hands explored your bare legs and things, creating friction with his hips with slow, controlled thrusts against your crotch. Logan left a trail of kisses down to your breasts, licking and tasting the saltiness of your body.

You urged him to go down where you ached the most, hand tangling on his hair. His hands grabbed the back of your thighs, spreading to him until his nose was almost buried on your panties, smelling and taking the sweetness of your scent, licking softly with his wet tongue over the fabric. A trail of moans and curses left your lips. He pulled your panties aside before diving in your pussy, licking your folds and teasing your hole with two of his fingers.

“Logan…”

His name repeatedly left your mouth like a plea, his fingers now inside you, stretching your walls for him. The noises grew obscene and nasty as he ate you out like a sweet craving he had been denying himself the pleasure for so long.

He was growing hard just by hearing your whimpers, and he needed you. You always were a fucking longing for him. Your words, your intelligence, your beauty… Everything he needed, you had it. And still, he didn’t have any idea of how such a rational, smart woman like you learned to love him so deeply.

You tugged on his hair, hips thrusting up to meet his growling mouth. You were so close, felt almost there where you wanted, but he pulled away before you finished.

Logan unzipped his jeans leaning back, admiring your blissed out eyes and glistened figure.

“Come here,” you begged in a whisper, tangling your legs around his waist.

He let out a low, dirty chuckle, feeling your hands on his boxers, freeing his erection.

“So fucking eager,” Logan breathed kissing your lips, hands supporting his weight at the sides of your head on the desk.

You tasted yourself within the kiss and you moaned at his words, your hand pumped him just enough to feel his pre cum leaking already, lining his dick with your cunt. Inch by inch, he entered slowly so you could get used to his size. Logan pecked your lips gently, kissing your cheeks and the side of your neck to get into your sensitive skin. You tugged on his white shirt so he could remove it and he ripped your bra apart right after. He loved to feel your chest pressed against his own. You gasped but paid no mind, instead urging him to move inside you.

“Shit, Logan please-”

A particular harsh trust caught your breath on your throat. You held onto dear life with your hands on his shoulders. He pounded into you rock hard and deep. So damn deep the desk was shrieking under, papers fell off and the lamp moved at the same rhythm but you hoped it won’t break.

Logan growled, inhaling your scent and tasting the sweat forming on your collarbone, your breasts bouncing against his chest. He felt your nails trailing down his back, and oh, how he wished he could get damn scars on just by fucking you like this. But the view of you, squirming under him, eyes closed, being a whimpering mess… All because of him. He was so insanely in love with your fucked out expression every time.

Your walls clenched, close to the sweet end. Logan felt himself twitching inside your warm pussy and his thrusts were getting erratic and sloppy. He filled you up, reaching his own climax first, hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Your pussy milked him all the way as he kept spliting you open until you let yourself go, legs trembling around his waist.

For a moment, you stayed like this, with him kissing your shoulder and caressing your thigh, taking in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking.

“Thank you…”

Your whisper forced him to look up at you. There it was, that loving, sweet gaze you had reserved just for him.

He nodded, palm on your jaw holding you gently. “Of course…”

For some reason, he wanted to voice out for once those stupid three words.

I love you.

Or at least hoped you would do it first.

—

The night was cold under the moonlight, almost freezing. He wondered how he got trapped there, between the messy, withered shrubbery, fog, and the trees of a forest he never recalled knowing. He was alert, senses to the limit in case something might attack him. He felt as if he was being watched, but there were no eyes he could find around. He couldn’t see much like that.

But then a voice started to call his name from afar, claws coming out immediately as he sharpened his senses to find the owner. One, two, three times he heard, trying to find the person who was calling but there was only darkness. His heart skipped a beat when someone spoke behind him.

“Logan…”

He turned on his feet and he felt like dying again. “Jean?”

He withdrew his claws back immediately. The redhead smiled, coming closer until she touched his cheek with a soft hand before pulling away. “How are you, Logan?”

“What-”

“Are you happy now?” she asked, beaming brightly as if they were in a casual conversation instead of the darkness of the woods.

His brows furrowed. She couldn’t be real. She wasn’t there with him. Jean was gone, he had killed her because it was what she wanted. It was her way out to get what she needed; it was the key to her freedom…

“What do you mean?”

“With her… Be careful. You could kill her. Just like me,” Jean whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

Logan stepped back, trying to get away. He shook his head in disbelief, not knowing exactly why Jean was saying this to him.

“No… You’re not real…”

“Everything you love is destined to death and chaos, Logan. You shouldn’t be there,” Jean continued, her eyes switching from her usual tone to a deep black. The ground began trembling under their feet with each step of her, wind building up around. Logan felt truly scared, but somehow he couldn’t run, just stand there as she approached. “All she will know is a life of suffering if you stay. She doesn’t need that.”

“Jean-”

“She doesn’t need you!”

“Jean!”

And then it happened so fast. His claws buried on her chest, the Phoenix disappearing and leaving her to die. Jean collapsed against his body and Logan reminisced about the events of that battle, where he had to choose to be selfish or liberate her from her own demons. Logan wasn’t sure why he stabbed her like this. And when he thought Jean was dead in his arms, she started to call his name again. This time, he heard it far away.

Logan.

Logan…

Logan!

His eyes went wide open. And there you were, by his side on the bed, calling for him with a pain grimace on your face. His claws buried on your stomach.

“Logan…” you gasped and he pulled the claws out, but you were already bleeding, your nightshirt and the mattress stained.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I-”

“It’s okay,” you managed to say as he caressed your cheek before taking you in his arms hurriedly and quickly made the way out of your room through the halls. “The nightmares… I know, Logan…”

“God, I’m so sorry, please forgive me. Hank!” Logan stood outside the scientist’s door. “Hank, I need your help!”

The commotion caused some of the students to peek from their doors, and Logan waited outside what he felt it was forever under the gazes of the teenagers. It wasn’t the first time he had caused the same accident. The door opened, finally revealing a sleepy Hank putting his glasses on.

There was no need to explain what had happened.

—

“She’ll be stable soon,” Hank informed once he let Logan inside the med bay. “If you hadn’t brought her soon…”

Logan swallowed the knot on his throat, watching your unconscious figure on the stretcher. You already had received blood to cover up what you lost because of the wounds, and Logan’s claws were not minor weapons. His mind was a mess, confusion taking over. He didn’t know how he let this happen. He had nightmares pretty often, yes, but nothing like this.

Maybe Jean was right. Maybe she was trying to warn him about something. Or Jean was just trying to protect you from him. The last one felt more realistic. Logan wouldn’t hurt you, not ever. You talked about how dangerous it was to sleep together not so long ago, but you had insisted on staying. It was the first time something felt so damn real in his dreams and he wished you wouldn’t let him in your room that night…

“She’ll wake up, right?” Logan asked.

“Absolutely,” Hank nodded. “I will need to monitor her vital signs though, hopefully within a day or two she will be normal again… At least she’ll be stable until the wounds heal completely.”

Of course, Logan thought. You didn’t have a healing factor just like him.

“I’ll be right back,” Hank announced before stepping out of the room, leaving Logan alone.

He felt so guilty for doing this to you. For everything. For being the cause of your suffering now. He was a threat and mentally unstable. He was strong thanks to his genes, but he was weak on the inside. He promised countless times to protect you, but he couldn’t avoid hurting you himself. It didn’t matter that it was a very bad dream that felt disgustingly real, he had failed and hurted someone who truly loved. Again.

Taking your hand gently into his, he leaned to plant a kiss on your forehead, wishing it would be just another game from his mind.

But it wasn’t. Now, he had the person he loved the most lying unconscious and hurted because he would let his darkest thoughts consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching you sleep peacefully. “I should have said it sooner.”

PART TWO

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lizzyiii · 2 months ago

Note

just wondering 👉🏼👈🏼 when the next update of his lady love will be? i’m just so excited for the next chapter im OBSESSED with the story 👻

I'm so sorry I took this long, I've been having a mental block with this

His Lady Love (9)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 3,8k words

summary | finally you make your return back to king's landing and reunite with aemond

tags | hurt/comfort,

note | I'm so sorry I took so long

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The storm had raged for a week, battering the old farmstead with rain and howling winds. Inside, the small prince had finally begun to show signs of recovery. Jaehaerys, once pale and on the verge of death, now had the flush of life back in his cheeks, thanks to the small doses of your ancient vampire blood. His eyes, once glazed and distant, now held a quiet strength. Despite his reserved nature, the boy had grown fond of you in his own way, calling you “munās”

The crumbling farm had served its purpose. Though it was no Red Keep, the rations you had scavenged from Tym’s meager cupboards had been enough to sustain the both of you. Tym, the unfortunate soul whose blood had been your own sustenance, now lay rotting in a closet—his death no more significant than a footnote in a much larger story. The smell of his decaying body was thick in the air, but it hardly bothered you. In your long life, you had smelled far worse.

Outside, the rain had finally ceased. The journey back to King’s Landing would be dangerous, but necessary. You could already envision the uproar awaiting your and Jaehaerys’ return. Let them fret; it was no concern of yours.

You gathered what little provisions were left and tucked them into a satchel, slinging it over your shoulder. The food wasn’t for you, of course, but for the prince. He would need his strength if he was to survive the coming days. As you approached Jaehaerys, he looked up at you with a small, fleeting smile—a gesture that melted your dead heart. Without a word, you draped a thick cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood low to hide his silver Targaryen hair. The last thing you needed was to draw unwanted attention on the road.

The air was damp and heavy as you stepped outside, the smell of wet earth mingling with the distant scent of the ocean. You hoisted the boy onto your horse, his small frame easily fitting in front of you. The skies were still dark, but the rain had stopped for now. With a flick of the reins, the horse began its slow trot down the muddy path.

As you approached the towering walls of King’s Landing, the familiar stench of sweat and desperation thickened in the air. Your grip on Jaehaerys tightened, pulling him closer to you as your sharp senses took in the chaotic scene ahead. The streets swarmed with restless peasants, their voices a cacophony of rage and despair, echoing through the narrow alleyways that led to the Red Keep.

You focused, your hearing tuning into the mob’s cries. They were angry, starved. "Food! Bread!" they screamed, their desperation palpable. The realization struck you almost immediately—Rhaenyra must have sealed off the city. No traders, no merchants, no supplies flowing in. It was a power play, of course. She sought to starve out the opposition within her rightful walls, but it was the smallfolk who suffered most. Typical.

But it was what you saw next that made even your blood freeze.

Through the throngs of people, a procession of white cloaks—Kingsguard—marched proudly through the streets, their armor gleaming in the dimming light of dusk. In their hands, they bore a horrifying trophy: the severed head of a red dragon. Melys, you thought, the Red Queen, her crimson scales dulling in death.

The thought of Daemon’s dragon, Caraxes, crossed your mind briefly, but you dismissed it just as quickly. Daemon was not so easily felled. He was a force of chaos, relentless and unyielding. But Rhaenys... She had fought valiantly for her kin. It had to be her. Aegon had slain her and had the audacity to parade her dragon’s head as if it were some twisted victory.

The crowd grew louder, their protests turning to angry shouts as they watched the grotesque display. You could feel the fear rising among them, but it was overshadowed by the hunger—both for food and for rebellion. The city was on the brink, and Aegon was playing with fire.

Jaehaerys stirred slightly in your arms, oblivious to the grim spectacle unfolding before you. He was innocent in all this, yet he would soon be thrust into the heart of this brutal war. With a final glance at the dragon’s severed head, you urged your horse forward, pulling the hood of Jaehaerys’ cloak lower to shield his Targaryen features. The mob surged around you, but you moved through it like a shadow, unseen and unstoppable.

As you slipped through the shadowed alleys and hidden paths of King’s Landing, the weight of Jaehaerys in your arms was a reminder of just how fragile human life could be. The streets were filled with chaos, but to you, it was nothing. In six hundred years, you had perfected the art of moving unseen, a phantom in the night.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how those men, Daemon had sent, had managed to infiltrate these halls. It was almost laughably easy for you to slip past the guards. They were easily distracted, and you had no trouble avoiding detection.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Aemond, his sharp, striking features, the single violet eye that gleamed with intelligence and ruthlessness. You yearned for him in a way that surprised even you. In all your centuries of existence, through the rise and fall of empires, you had never felt this way about anyone. Aemond had a way of stirring something deep within you—a hunger, not for blood, but for him.

It was strange to admit, even to yourself, but you loved him. In your immortal life, you had seen love twisted and turned into something vile, something manipulative and fleeting. But with Aemond, it was different. His ambition, his fire, even his darkness—those were things you understood, things you were drawn to.

Still, love would have to wait. For now, your priority was Jaehaerys, the boy asleep in your arms, his silver hair tucked away beneath the hood you had wrapped around him. You glided through the hidden corridors of the Red Keep with ease, your steps silent, your presence undetected.

Helaena’s chambers were quiet when you arrived, the door slightly ajar as if awaiting your return. You pushed it open gently, stepping inside to the dimly lit room. Helaena was sitting by the window, her eyes distant and unfocused, lost in her thoughts.

You frowned noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes as the frown that tugged on her lips. “Helaena,” you whispered softly, moving toward her.

Her gaze shifted slowly, her violet eyes blinking as if pulling her from a dream. When she saw Jaehaerys in your arms, her expression changed—a flicker of recognition, of hope. Her lips parted, a gasp escaping her as she stood from her chair.

Helaena breathed out your name softly, her voice fragile, as if uttering it too loudly might cause you to vanish. She rose from her chair, her steps tentative, as if unsure whether you were real or some apparition conjured by her grief. Her eyes glistened with tears, her hands trembling as she reached for you.

You gently placed Jaehaerys in her arms, watching as she clung to him with a desperation that broke your heart. Her tears flowed freely as she kissed his sleeping face, her maternal love rekindled in the boy’s presence. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted from her, her sorrow held at bay by the soft rise and fall of her son’s breathing.

"I knew you weren't dead," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with conviction.

A frown creased your brow, confusion settling over you like a fog. "Why would you think that, Helaena?" you asked softly, your concern growing as you saw the pain etched into her delicate features.

Helaena’s gaze dropped to Jaehaerys as she gently rocked him in her arms, her sorrow palpable in the silence that followed. "Three dead Kingsguard, your carriage burnt to ash... what were we to think?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, the words heavy with the weight of grief she had been carrying.

The shock hit you like a dagger to the chest. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "My carriage... burnt?" The last time you had seen it, it had been intact. And worse, Aemond—he must have thought you perished in the flames.

You could feel the fear rising in you, not for yourself, but for him. What had Aemond been thinking all this time? The very thought of him mourning you sent a pang of sadness through your heart.

You swallowed the rising tide of emotion, forcing a smile to reassure Helaena, though it felt strained and unnatural. Your hand rested gently atop hers, offering comfort the way you always had, with a tender touch and a steady heart. "I am fine, my Queen," you said, your voice soft but firm, hoping your words could ease some of the burden that weighed on her. "Jaehaerys is fine. We are both safe, and that is all that matters now."

Helaena looked up at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and for a moment, she seemed to believe you. But you could see the remnants of her anguish still clinging to her, a shadow she could not shake.

Seeing Helaena in such a state—it wounded you, though you could never let it show. You had centuries of practice hiding your own grief, your own longing. But now, with Aemond believing you dead, you felt the familiar weight of sorrow creeping back in.

You had to find him. He needed to know you were alive.

"I have to find Aemond," you murmured, the urgency in your voice betraying the calm you had tried to maintain.

Helaena’s eyes snapped to you, her sorrow deepening as she spoke softly, "He’s changed."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Helaena hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. "The battle at Rook’s Rest," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "He brought down both Rhaenys and Aegon."

You flinched, a ripple of shock running through you. "He killed Aegon?" Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke. Despite Aegon’s many flaws, despite his cruelty, he was still Aemond's brother. How could Aemond have done such a thing?

Helaena shook her head, her expression mournful, weighed down by grief. "No. He didn’t kill him, but he might as well have. Aegon is burnt beyond recognition... A shadow of himself now."

The words hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to grasp them. "Why?" you whispered, more to yourself than to Helaena. How could Aemond, the man you loved, have let things go so far?

Helaena’s gaze softened, and she pressed another kiss to Jaehaerys' forehead, her voice filled with a melancholy acceptance. "Aegon’s taunts… his cruel words… Perhaps he had enough of being belittled, of being treated as lesser, when in truth, he has always been the stronger of the two."

You could see the weariness in Helaena’s eyes, the understanding of how deep the rift had grown between her brothers. But what you couldn’t understand was how much Aemond had changed in just a week. The man you knew, the one you loved, was fierce and proud, yes, but he had always been measured, calculating. To hear that he had snapped so violently, even against his own kin—it worried you.

But you had to see him. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Without another word, you turned toward the door, your mind already racing with thoughts of Aemond—of the man he had been, and the man he might be now.

Aemond was riding a dangerous high, the taste of victory bitter on his tongue. He had dealt with Aegon—though not as thoroughly as he would have preferred. Aegon still lived, if one could call it living. Burnt beyond recognition, a husk of his former self, barely clinging to life. But it didn’t matter. Aegon was no longer a threat to him, and now, Aemond stood as Prince Regent. His mother’s protests were of no consequence to him anymore. She had forsaken him, after all. Turned her back on him, chosen Aegon despite everything. Well, now he would forsake her.

He clenched his fists tightly as he forced his thoughts away from her disappointment, her judgment. It wasn’t Alicent's rebuke that tormented him now. No, when he allowed his mind to drift, when the battlefield fell quiet and the bloodlust faded, his thoughts always, always came back to you.

And that was a pain he could not bear. The sharp sting in his chest that came whenever he remembered your face, your voice, the way your eyes looked at him with a softness no one else could offer. That softness had been his anchor in a world of chaos, and now it was gone. You were gone. Aemond clenched his jaw, forcing the memories back down, but they refused to be silenced.

You haunted him.

So he clung to the one thing that had never failed him: anger. The rage burned hotter and clearer than any sorrow ever could. Vengeance had always been his closest companion, and now it was the only thing he had left to keep him standing. It was easier to drown in that fire, to let the heat scorch away the grief, than to face the aching emptiness your death had left behind.

Because to truly feel the weight of his heartache—to allow himself to grieve—would be a descent into madness. It would be a slow, deliberate suicide. And Aemond Targaryen would not be destroyed by sorrow. He had survived too much for that.

His face was a mask of cold determination, but inside, the wound you left was bleeding still. Anger was a salve, not a cure, but it was the only thing keeping him alive.

As long as he was angry, he couldn’t be sad. And as long as he avoided sadness, he wouldn’t have to confront the truth: that without you, something in him had already died.

Aemond made his way to his chambers, eager to escape the oppressive weight of the castle and the relentless thoughts swirling in his mind. His steps were heavy, and though he had embraced the cold edge of his anger, exhaustion tugged at the edges of his resolve. He needed a moment, just a fleeting break from the burdens of regency and family strife.

But as he pushed open the door, his breath caught in his throat. Standing in the center of his room, with their back turned, was a figure he knew too well. His entire body froze, heart pounding so violently it hurt. His mind, sharp and disciplined, rebelled against the sight before him. It couldn't be real. It shouldn't be real.

Aemond's throat tightened, and he rubbed his eye, the patch over the other itching against his skin as if willing this cruel vision away. His breaths became shallow, harsh gasps escaping him as the figure turned.

And there you were.

The eyes he had dreamt of, that he had mourned for, were looking back at him, alive with warmth and familiarity. "Aemond," you murmured softly, your voice like a balm to his tormented soul.

He stumbled back, his chest heaving with the effort to contain the surge of emotion ripping through him. You moved toward him, your hands reaching out as if to soothe, but he flinched. The pain in your eyes mirrored his own, though he couldn't understand why. He had believed you dead, and now you stood before him. But his mind, ever cautious, doubted the reality before him.

"You're not real," he choked out, the words leaving his lips like a prayer, desperate and broken.

You faltered for a moment, your face contorting with an expression of pain. But it wasn’t for you—it was for him. "I am real, Aemond," you said firmly, your voice unwavering even as his trembled. Then, softer, you added, "As real as the sun and stars, my love."

Tentatively, he reached out, his hand shaking as he brushed your cheek. The soft warmth of your skin against his palm sent a shock through him. His lone eye stung with tears as he leaned closer, feeling the truth of your presence in the softness of your flesh. And when you leaned into his touch, his entire world seemed to shift.

The sob broke from his chest, raw and aching, as he pulled you into his arms with a fierce desperation. He crushed you against his chest, his face buried in your hair, inhaling the scent he had feared he would never experience again. It was real. You were real. His hands trembled as they tightened around you, holding you as if you might slip away once more.

"You're real," he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips in a reverent chant, as if saying it enough times would make it an undeniable truth. "You're alive."

Tears streamed freely down his face as he clung to you, the walls he had built around his heart crumbling in your presence. You had returned to him, and in this moment, the weight of the world, the rage, the grief—it all faded away in the warmth of your embrace. He whispered your name like a prayer, his chest shaking with the sobs he could no longer control.

The two of you had eventually found your way onto Aemond's bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip. The moonlight spilled softly through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room, but all that mattered in this moment was the warmth of his body beneath yours. You lay on top of him, your noses touching, your breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the night.

And yet, he only stared at you, his eye searching your face as if trying to memorize every inch, every detail. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

"I don’t understand how," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the confusion and longing in his eye clear as he tried to reconcile your presence with the grief he had been drowning in.

You lifted your head slightly, his gaze following your every movement. Gently, you brought a finger to trail down his scar, your touch soft and comforting. His eye fluttered shut at the sensation, as if the weight of the world lifted momentarily under your fingertips.

"Helaena told me what was believed," you began, your voice steady as you prepared to weave the lie once more. "But the truth is, our carriage was ambushed. The Kingsguard were killed." You paused, then continued with conviction, "I escaped with Jaehaerys. My intent was to return."

His eye opened slowly, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his gaze as he asked in a voice that was unusually soft, "Why did it take so long?"

"The prince fell ill on the journey. My only priority was his health, not how quickly we could return," you explained, your lips pressing together in a thin line. "I'm sorry it took so long," you added, guilt weighing your words, though the truth of your ordeal remained hidden beneath layers of carefully constructed deception.

Aemond's expression softened as you rested your head back against him, in the crook of his neck where you could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. "You're here now," he whispered, his voice filled with relief. It seemed as if that was all that mattered to him in this moment.

The silence between you lingered, a peaceful reprieve from the chaos that awaited outside these walls. But after a while, he spoke again, his voice barely breaking the quiet. "I'm Prince Regent now."

You already knew, of course. Helaena had told you, but you wanted to hear it from him. "Helaena told me what happened to Aegon," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. You had to know the truth, not from Helaena’s recounting but from Aemond himself. You needed to understand what had happened, why he had done what he did.

There was a pause, a silence that stretched on too long before he finally spoke. "He was not supposed to be there. At Rook’s Rest," he said, his voice low and distant, as if recounting a memory he wanted to forget.

Your hand rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. "What happened, Aemond?" you asked, your tone soft but insistent, though part of you dreaded hearing the answer.

Aemond’s face hardened, his eye staring up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched. "Aegon got what he deserved," he said flatly, his tone almost indifferent. "He was unfit to rule. Unworthy to sit the throne."

His words hit you like a stone sinking into a well, and though you had expected them, it still hurt. Aegon was not a good man. He was cruel, selfish, and unfit to lead, but knowing that Aemond had taken such drastic action—it was a bitter pill to swallow. The world was better without Aegon’s reign, and yet the weight of Aemond’s decision loomed over you.

You studied his face, searching for any hint of remorse, of conflict. "Was it worth it?" you asked quietly, though you weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

Aemond didn’t respond. He simply stared at the ceiling, his silence speaking louder than any words could. And you didn’t push him. You knew Aemond better than anyone; his guilt, his anger, and his desire for power all warred within him.

So you lay there, your hand on his chest, letting the silence stretch on, knowing that in time, perhaps, the answers would come. But for now, you were content to simply be there with him.

@esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @lokisgoddesofpower @anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader

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#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd fanfic #mikaelson #hotd #the originals #hotd x reader

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vyglitchcraft · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I’d like to request Scorpion, smoke and sub zero with a virgin reader 🫣

Gotcha 😉 imma do this HC + scenario style also since you didn't specify MK1 or 11 i did both (except for Smoke)

Lin Kuei Bros x Virgin!Reader HCs (18+)

MK1 and 11 Kuai Liang, Bi Han, MK1 Tomas Vrbada x Gen!reader (+ bonus Hanzo Hasashi)

Kuai Liang (MK11)

Being in the Lin Kuei is a very isolating life style even compared to the Shaolin monks who live their life purely filled by training, abstinence, and discipline but in the Lin Kuei, everyone you love will either die or turn against you and you can't do shit except just deal with it and move on while leading the others who haven't suffered that fate yet.

You were Kuai's first and he was yours. Although he knew what to do (coming from his older brother who kept bragging about all the women and men he slept with)

Kuai doesn't really like sleeping around, he always wanted to sleep with someone he has a deep connection with but of course after all the shit he went through, he never had time, that is until you came.

Kuai is a gentle lover, cold, stiff, but gentle. He knows his strength so he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. He can read emotions well, for his first time, he's doing VERY well

You held onto the grandmaster's arm tightly, your head rolled back onto the pillow as you see your lover slowly pushing himself against your opening. He was cold but that was expected. He held your head softly, as he broke the barrier and fully pushed himself inside of you. Coolness spread across your whole body yet it was pleasant. He kissed your forehead while he asked your permission to move. You said yes and he started off with a slow but deep pace that pressed against all the right places.

Kuai Liang (MK1)

You were also his first. Although he had some experience dating. The Lin Kuei isn't exactly strict when it comes to relationships. He hated the idea of sleeping around, to him his first should be shared with someone he deems worthy, and after beating him in a spar, he deems you as worthy of his love.

He is a gentle but fierce lover, he isn't self conscious about his abilities to pleasure you. Even for the first time, he's confident that you'll enjoy it.

The day you two decided to do it. He started getting ready, asking his brothers for advice. He prepared everything he might need and made sure that today was perfect and unforgettable. It felt more like a date, a date someone inexperienced planned but it came from the heart so you couldn't care less about the minor details.

He always had some very extreme kinks and fantasies but for tonight, he won't do anything extreme, he'll make sure you'll go there slowly.

Kuai held your hips as he kissed your neck, his lube covered fingers slowly working your hole. Sloppy sounds echo the room with moans and groans following with it at the same time. He slowly pulled his fingers out and spread the remaining lubricant on your opening, you swear it was cold when you started but after a while, the room felt boiling hot. He grinded the shaft of his cock against your opening before slowly pushing it in. You felt like you were going into a fever, a good one. One that you couldn't get enough of, for tonight, the only one who matters is you and him.

Bi-Han (MK11)

Falling in love with the cold embrace of death was certainly not healthy. The two of you dated before Hanzo killed Bi-Han for revenge. You mourned him for years, promising not to take another lover again. That is until you met him now. A shadow of his past life. His voice, his appearance, it was all so different but you know it was him, you could just feel it and luckily he remembers you and the two of you started to date again.

He's rough around the edges, even before he takes your virginity, he always enjoyed doing some sexual acts with you, usually his shadow clone, Saibot, appearing to help while he watches.

His hand is always in your pants and you have to admit, he was very skillful with his hands. Be it rubbing your clothed genitals until your arousal soaked through the fabric of your pants or fingering you until you saw stars. The fact that you never did this with anyone else makes it easier for him to pleasure you, specifically because of your sensitivity.

Saibot would hold you on its lap, its fingers inside of you as Bi-Han sat across you, pleasuring himself.

He laughed as you squirmed under him, his touch was anything but delicate. Luckily he has prepared you for this night. You laid on top of Saibot as it held your legs open. Bi-Han rubbing the arousal soaked underwear that you wore, spreading the natural lubricant around before he rips your underwear off. Inky black marks were left everywhere he touched. He pushed himself inside of you aggressively, not letting your body time to adjust but the pain was so so delicious. He spreads you open even more. You will not be walking after this night.

Bi-Han (MK1)

You weren't his first, that was obvious enough. He dated many, broke as many hearts, slept with even more. But he promised, with you it was different. You'll be the last person he'll date. He will never leave you for someone else, you're different.

Bi-Han is not a gentle lover at all. He's rough, he's egotistical, he's immature at times but you know he loves you, that he is capable of being kind. You were his Achilles heel.

Like his MK11 counterpart, you might be a virgin but you two have done some amounts of sexual activities, usually including ice to your dismay/pleasure. His cold fingers touching you in all the right places was enough to get you hooked onto him for iife and the noises you made did the same to Bi-Han.

For your first time, he'll make sure to claim you far away from peering eyes. Somewhere where only he could see you in such a pathetic manner and only he could hear your pained/pleasured screams

You screamed Bi-Han's name as he pushed another ice cube inside of you. Your virgin hole unable to take such feelings even after all the "training" he made you do. The last cube entered your body right with his cock next. He commanded you to beg for him, it was painful but you loved it, it's why you picked him over anyone else. You begged for him to move, to claim you as his own. He obliged. Letting the melted ice cubes cover his cock, making movements way easier. His cock simply slides in and out like a piece of ice on a frozen lake.

Smoke (MK1)

He had some one off slings here and there but none of them were serious. Bi-Han encouraged him to sleep around with a few people but he never exactly found any of them that pleasurable. Although he thinks it might be because of himself lacking the same skill and charisma as Bi-Han.

When he met you, he swore he heard wedding bells. It was love at first sight. He's a sweet one, never pushing you to do anything. Whether you two have done anything sexual before hand is completely up to you. He doesn't mind letting you take the lead.

When you brought up the idea of sex, he immediately was flustered. Sure it wasn't new to him but this time, it was different, it was romantic. Everything should be perfect right? He was panicking, he couldn't help it, Tomas was both excited and nervous.

Although he seems soft and gentle, be warned, he can get rough. He isn't part of the Lin Kuei for nothing.

Tomas filled his mouth with smoke before kissing you. Tasting your lips and tongue while smoke slowly fills into the space of your mouth. It was spilling out from the gaps of your lips. He praises you, whispering sweet nothings, making sure only you could hear him even through the thin walls of the temple. He slowly pushed your pants down your thighs, he licked his lips before going down, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. His tongue danced against your opening, his spit making you slick before the two of you went into the main attraction. Your fault for encouraging him to take over, of course you didn't regret anything

bonus +

Hanzo Hasashi (MK11)

He was very experienced in terms of romance and sex, he had a wife and son after all. Hanzo is the only person on this list who knows what an actually healthy relationship is like and how to actually make sure your partner is experiencing pleasure.

He takes things slow with you, even for all the anger and rage, he couldn't afford losing another partner. He asks for your approval for almost everything but unlike Smoke, he prefers to lead not to submit. He is simply asking for your consent.

He guides your way through every session. He needs you to get used to the feeling of his touch and he needs to know every single sensitive spot on your body. You could feel his experience, he knows his way through his partner's body. Even if you didn't tell him, just by feeling you clenching around his fingers or your expression, he could tell where he should add pressure and where he couldn't.

For him, he could take the form of Scorpion or Hanzo in bed, whichever you wish. But for your first, you chose Hanzo.

The chain on his kunai wrapped around your body and neck. Your hands on your back, your legs spread open and unable to close. His stare dug into your soul. He analyzed every single detail of your body, the way you reacted from the bondage, the way you looked away in shame seeing that you couldn't hide your arousal from his gaze. He sighed and softly pushed you down on the bed, lining himself up with your opening. He counts down from three, every number making sure to look at your face, as the countdown falls to zero, he pushed himself deep into your body, angled so well that the head of his cock was pressing right against your G-Spot. You moaned out his name, holding onto the bedsheet under you as you begged for him to use you, only him, your first and last.

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moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

Text

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 06. TIME CAN NEVER MEND

a/n: so before you dive into this i'm gonna warn you that it's not happy. we have reached the level of angst needed to start this story on it's final arc. the one that changes basically everything. i've put a lot of angst into this, because that's what it called for and well...if you've been here for awhile you know i love my angst. i'm sorry beforehand and can promise a happy ending. but these two have to suffer first.

summary: logan howlett is happy. he's content. by all definitions...he's found the reason for why he's still alive and it all leads down to you. yet time is a fickle and cruel being and she's decided his time for peace must come to an end.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, a heaping of angst so bitter you will yell at me, oral (f receiving), face riding, overstimulation, wade wilson, mutant powers, violence, tw: blood, tw: gore, trauma resurfacing, ptsd, insanity, tw: torture, cliffhanger, BE WARNED PLEASE DON'T SKIP OVER THESE.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Silence filled his mind, darkness an endless expanse behind his shut eyes. He couldn't remember the last time the world fell quiet. Piercing through him with a serenity he fought his entire life to acquire. Nightmares were an expected routine that came to him constantly with a bitter echo of things he couldn't change; people he never saved.

He couldn't recall sleeping without them. Not since he was a sickly child in his father's house—fighting fevers that were caused by a mutation he didn't know existed.

Eventually the world would rip a part his bubble of safety—expose him to horrors he never thought imaginable. He'd struggle against it. Bite, snarl, fight his way through the pain like an animal who'd been caged for far too long. There would be no light at the end of his tunnel. No peace for the man plagued by promises he longed to break—a vow he didn't intend to make.

Only to be found by the one person he thought was lost to his world.

A love that lingered in the shadows of his heart. Bringing back the flame of a torch that blew out the night he lost everything.

He awoke to the warmth of your body tangled with his. His heart didn't race with the anticipation of a battle that didn't exist. His claws were safely stored away in the depths of his arms, and for the first time...his soul didn't scream in agony for help that would never arrive. You shifted with a puff of air, a grumble building in your throat at the morning chill. He watched in rapture—his fingers trailing down your spine.

The clock read eight in the morning. Plenty of time for you to sleep in given it was your last day off. So Logan remained still in order to not disturb your peace. He sucked in slow breaths as you pressed your cheek to his chest—arm wrapped around his waist and legs tangled with his. Each small shift of your face, the furrow of your brows and quickening of your heart, let him know you were trapped in a dream.

Good or bad he couldn't tell.

What did you dream about? What ran through your mind when sleep washed over your body?

He made a mental note to ask when your eyes finally cracked open. The spell of sleep lost, retreating to the depths of your mind till later. But for now he admired the shape of your face, the lilt in your eyes and curve of your lips. You were a painting come to life. An art piece stolen right off the walls of The Met.

How he managed to wind up here, waking up beside you, continued to baffle him the longer he thought about it.

Surely he committed too many atrocities to deserve this. Too many lives lost by his claws, too much pain wrought by his own actions. He shouldn't be allowed to lay here, holding you close with a reverence that he thought was lost to the tragedies of his past. He once counted the days until his death. Marked them off with a tally that seemed to only grow the longer he went.

Now he thanked whatever higher being existed for giving him this.

For gifting him you.

Another soft grunt left your parted lips, nose scrunching in distaste as you were roused from your sleep. He smiled at the sight of your eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across your features for mere seconds before it all came rushing back. The time spent with Logan ravishing your body in this very bed, in the shower you shared. The sweetening ache between your thighs that practically called his name.

You sighed, glancing up at him with drowsy glazed eyes and a crooked smile. "Morning," you rasped, voice thick with sleep.

His heart twisted in his chest. A feeling he could only describe as love began to filter through his veins like an IV. Filling him with the fear that usually came with that four letter word—the terror of possibly losing this. He swallowed it down painfully, his hand moving to press at the base of your spine to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" he rumbled, dipping down to catch your lips in a kiss.

The shower last night left your skin warm to the touch. Logan found he couldn't get enough of it. He curled himself around you, drawing your leg up to hook around his waist as a way to keep your skin against his. You hummed in appreciation, pushing your face up to meet his movements in kind.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom with a familiar warmth. The window was shut and locked after yesterday's phone call. Yet the muffled echo of the world managed to slip through the cracks in the wood, echoing in your small bubble of serenity he longed to stay in. This felt like a hazy dream. One that clung to the edges of his mind, dripping small slivers of joy into his heart.

Logan longed to remain here. Buried in the bed with you wrapped tightly around him.

Eventually you parted with a soft gasp, your hips shifting subtly to relieve the ache that began to bloom and unfurl in your body. Even though you had more than your fill of him yesterday, you remained insatiable.

He couldn't say he was any better—his cock already twitching in interest. If he had his way neither of you would find the need to leave this bed; far more interested in how many more orgasms he could wring from your still spent body.

"I like this," you murmured against his cheek, fingers delving into his messy hair. "Waking up with you."

"Me too honey." He grinned when you kissed his chin, thumb running along the edge of his jaw.

A soft breath washed along his skin, sending chills down his spine. "How did you sleep?"

"No nightmares."

He felt you smile. "Are you lying to me Howlett?"

Fuck if you weren't the last thing he wanted to see at night and the first thing he was welcomed to in the morning. Something sharp pricked his chest, bleeding him of the doubt that might still remain. Lingering beneath the surface of too many broken promises and shattered versions of I love you.

This happened before. A love so deep he felt it solidify into his very mutant DNA. Back then he thought it would one day come to an end; finalize when he fucked up too many times for you to forgive.

Now he knew there was no end to this road that wound up with him alone. No version of the story where he sat at a bar somewhere in the back roads of nowhere, lamenting about a woman he once wanted to spend forever with. Whether he stayed young and you grew too old; there wouldn’t be a final page without him in your life.

What transpired here would knot the strands of fate together. So if one was sliced for the final vow of death. They both went together.

"I'm not lying," he confessed. "I didn't really dream of anythin' this time around."

You hummed, eyes opening to see the contented shine in his hazel eyes. "Don't tell me. It was because of me."

"I think it might be bub." His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, hand curving to cup your ass. "Guess you're my cure. Been lookin' for awhile."

"My bad Mr. Howlett," you breathed through a soft laugh that clenched around his chest. "I didn't mean to take so long, but you were kind of in a different universe."

"Technicalities."

"Yeah right! Technicalities my ass."

He dragged you across his lap with a muffled groan he pressed to your chest. "Could’ve found me all on your own honey. You just weren't looking properly."

The high gasp that filled the air left him with a gratification worse than his satiated hunger. He longed to devour you with a need that felt primal. As if the animalistic side of his body craved the taste of you spread along his tongue. You were the answer to every fuckin' prayer he sent out. The embodiment of what his heart had been missing.

"You're right." Your words were shaky, eyes growing dark with lust when you felt his cock press against your slick folds. "I'll do better next time."

He growled, low and desperate; his hands now clamping down on your hips until pain flickered beneath the surface of your already tender skin. "There'll be no fuckin' next time."

"No?" The grin on your lips made him leak against your thigh. "I'm sure there's more than one James Howlett in the infinite number of universes. And who knows, you might not be enough to satisfy my insatiable needs."

Rolling to his back, he took you with him, even as you yelped in an attempt to pull away. You were trapped against his body with no chance of escape, yet running from him was never a choice. This was your safe place. Against his body that offered warmth and solace—a promise of more wrapped in a gentle touch and heated kiss.

He tugged you up his body, smacking your ass as you climbed to sit on his chest with a breathless smile. The sight alone made Logan's heart stutter. His eyes wide with awe—a semblance of adoration that existed solely for you.

"Insatiable huh," he mumbled against your thigh. "Alright honey. C'mere then."

"For what?"

His thumbs indented the skin of your hip, a smile curving over his lips. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

The realization dawned on you slowly. Your eyes widened, scent growing heavy in the air, and Logan longed to stay here for the rest of his life. Beneath the weight of your body on his—the comfort of your hands cupping his face. Your slick pooled on his chest; a sign that you were in fact interested.

"A-Are you sure?" you breathed.

His teeth sunk into your wrist gently, causing you to jolt. "Fair's fair baby."

Your own words caused heat to spill beneath your skin; you shifted—eyes wanton for what was about to come. "Touché."

Shifting up higher with a hesitancy that turned his mind feral, you situated yourself close to his mouth—barely hovering over his face. With a growl, he looped his arms around your thighs and yanked you down. His mouth sealing over your dripping cunt with a moan of satisfaction. The cry that fell from your lips made his cock twitch against his stomach; the heady tang of you exactly what he longed for.

He was messy with it. Devouring you with abandon, tongue slipping through your folds with little grunts that sent sparks down your spine. When he sucked your clit into his mouth you were done for.

"Oh fuck Logan-" The breath caught in your throat, head tipping back with each swipe of his tongue along the pulsating nerve.

Without realizing it, your hips began to drag along his mouth, chasing the quick building release that threatened to drag you under. He growled—fingers a bruising grip on your skin—with each swivel of your hips. High pitched moans echoed in the room loud enough to resonate through the whole of your apartment.

"Please-" Logan watched—eyes drooped and a red flush across his cheeks—as your body curved towards him, your hand gripping the top of your headboard. "'M gonna. Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

His tongue plunged into you, thumb snaking around to rub harshly against your clit. The long drawn out moan he mumbled into your cunt is what finally broke you. Ripping the release from the base of your spine as you cried out—your hips nearly suffocating him with how you pressed down on his tongue.

Aching for whatever he had left to give you.

Logan drank you down with stunted moan, his cock leaking into the trail of hair on his stomach. But he couldn't fucking care about that. Not when you were gifting him with a nectar that would put the gods ichor to shame.

"Oh...baby," you murmured, eyes staring at the way his cock jumped each time his tongue slid against you.

Before he could turn you away—explain that he was okay and push it off as a natural reaction to you—your hand was wrapping around him. The wet slide of his precum now enough to fuck into your fist with ease. He'd allow you to touch him for a few minutes before deterring you the kitchen. Give you a fill of what need still remained.

He was perfectly okay with finishing himself off.

What he didn't expect was your thumb to settle between his balls, rubbing at a spot that made him see white. A broken feral sound echoed against your inner thigh—his teeth clamping into the skin—as he came across your hand. Spilling down onto his stomach and hitting his chest with a withered shout.

You rolled off him, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Logan could barely feel his fucking legs.

"The fuck was that?" he rasped, eyes cracking open to blearily see your prideful smile—teeth digging into your bottom lip while you eyed the mess on his torso.

"How'd it feel?"

"Like my fuckin' body isn't workin'."

You giggled, soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way you made him cum fast enough to put a hole in his heart. He'd never gotten off so quickly. Yet there you sat, leaning against your pillows, and staring at him as if he'd hung all the stars in your night sky.

He very well would have if you asked.

"I can cook this morning," you offered, snuggling back against his side with a contented sigh.

"Just give me a minute honey and I'll get us food."

"You don't have to cook."

He silenced you with a kiss, your body melting into the mattress at the taste of you on his tongue. "Rosemary's. They still sell breakfast?" When you nodded he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Alright. Soon as the feeling in my legs returns I'll get us some food."

"Okay," you laughed with a kiss to his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The television blared loud enough to bounce off the neighbors walls. A loud and rather obnoxious theme song for a reality show. A steady stream of muttered cuss words overlapped the music as another piece of wood clattered to the floor. The screws with it scattered on the shitty coffee table found in the back alley of the building.

"Ugh. Don't hand over the rose!" Wade shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "Clearly they don't belong together. For fucks sake. I swear the bachelorette always settles."

Althea sighed, fingers sliding along the wood in search of a single screw that might be near. "I thought you said you wanted to help me with this."

"I am!" he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. "Moral support. You're doing great, just a little more to the left. Almooooost got it-"

She grumbled snatching up the silver piece, locating the wood by her feet. "Next time I'm evicting your ass so you can find someone else to annoy."

"Hurtful. Who else would provide you quality entertainment better than moi?"

"A rock."

"Wrong." He shoveled another handful in his mouth. "I've worked with the man. Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is not as funny as he might appear. And starring in Fast Five doesn't count." His eyes flicker to the side, smile forming around his swollen cheeks. "To be honest I couldn't tell who was who between three bald men. Clearly that franchise has a type."

"Clearly I need a better system."

"Well of course you do. The shelf is upside down. No, the other way. No. The other way-"

A blinding flash of blue light burned through the living room, searing a hole in the hardwood floor. Wade clambered to his feet, gripping the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry as he scanned the room for some form of defense.

The closest weapon remained his katanas, propped against the door frame leading to his bedroom. He glanced at them—calculating whether to leap now or wait.

A whip ignited in blue sparks flew from the gaping hole in the air, striking his body and forcing him into the air. He hit the wall with a grunt; the bowl now severed in two on the floor.

"What the fuck!" he groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Al! You okay?"

"Who did you piss off this time?" Althea called, gripping her cane as he staggered towards her, leading her to the bedroom.

"Some fucking Asgardian apparently." A quick glance back revealed someone stepping through—their body encased in ripples of sapphire. "God where's Thor when you need him?"

The bedroom door slammed shut, Althea locking herself in as Wade yanked the katanas from their sheaths. He half expected to see the face of a pissed god coming to enact revenge. He felt his body tense as he prepared for a fight. Only for a hood of blue and gold to be pulled back; your face staring directly at him with milky eyes of white.

"You're not Asgardian."

A sneer crossed other you's face as the whip snapped against the floor, rippling in the space around him. He felt it tug along his body, aging his face with spots that wouldn't show up for decades to come. They healed as you pulled the weapong back; the blue wrapping its way up your arm.

"Where is he?" Your voice bled with a bitterness that punched his stomach. An anger he once felt before.

Whoever stood before him now was not the sweet angel he knew. The scarred skin along your body explained enough of what he needed to know. This was a sign of who you once belonged to. Who the humans hunted. The embodiment of time had become their prey, their plaything. You were the lamb given up for slaughter; the lover scorned and tossed to the side by a man who ran to a different universe.

"Mind giving me a name?" Wade knew who you were asking for. But he also knew Logan lay across the street wrapped in the arms of a you who couldn't protect him.

Your eyes narrowed, the flicker of blue flashing in what used to be the iris of your pupil. "I believe you know him as Wolverine. However...I knew him as Logan."

"Right." He gripped the handle of his swords with cold palms—his eyes flicking to the side where his window was pulled wide open. "Have you tried the yellow pages?"

A scream tore from your throat as you charged—whip sliding across the floor to wrap around Wade's legs. He rolled to the side, katana cracking through the floor to steady his movements. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the burn marks that now spread all the way up to his ceiling—the flicker of your whip lifting in air again.

"Listen you Wonder Woman wannabe. I'm sure we can talk this out rather than fucking me in the ass with the deposit of my apartment!"

Your lips curled into a grin—teeth flashing white. Wade could practically feel them dig into his jugular; all too prepared to rip it from his neck if given the chance. This wasn't a battle to see who could make it out alive. This was a warriors death.

This was you being merciful.

"We had a Deadpool like you on my Earth." He tried to dodge the slice of your whip, but felt it clamp down on his arms, yanking them forward as your hand cupped his chin—nails plunging into his cheeks until blood sprouted to the surface. "Annoying. Less than average IQ. I had such fun sending him to the Void."

The dull throb of pain bit at his face the harder you clutched him. Eyes still a flash of sapphire on an otherwise empty pale eyeball. In the picture Logan showed him, this wasn't how you looked.

The scar that ran from your forehead to chin seemed new—barely healed over. You were nothing like how Logan described you. No light in your smile, no hint of hope or joy.

Whatever happened left you buried so deep in grief and pain there was no chance of digging you out.

"On behalf of my people...fair. We aren't intelligent collectively as a group. Individually we're probably...not better. But as Deadpool Prime-"

"Fuck you're even more annoying than your variants," you growled.

The whip looped around his body, growing with heat as blue flickered in his vision—pulling tight each time you wrapped it around your wrist. His wince of pain brought the malevolent smile back to your lips. Your milky white eyes flashing as you watched him intently. Waiting for a sliver of anguish to cross his scarred face.

Instead his body twitched, a groan ripping from his throat. "Is this the lasso of truth?"

You sneered. "It's a slice of time."

"Because yes, I did steal Captain American themed condoms from the gift shop at the Smithsonian. I thought they would make me fuck like Steve Rogers. But instead they just gave me a rash-" His words devolved into a piercing scream—the once bright hue of his eyes now fading the more his body aged.

The katanas clattered to the floor as you drew him closer, wrapping the whip around his arms tight enough to slice off his blood flow. He struggled—face red and teeth bared—to rip himself free. To stop the aging of his body before it was too late.

He'd endured pain before. The travesty of each wound his body would heal over still burned bright in his mind. But this felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of the universe. The strangled scream you pulled from his chest left him sagging against the hold your whip had on his limbs. Eyes bleary with tears as you stepped back and pulled.

Limbs tore from his body, blood pooling on the floor, as his arms were flung across the room. Blue fizzled in his vision, body struggling to stand upright. And you turned with a flourish—the flutter of energy pouring out into the room around you.

"I'm not going to ask again Wade Wilson."

He weakly laughed. "Look Doc Brown I can't help you with your revenge plan."

The tilt of your head shouldn't have looked so innocent. But all he could see—all that ran through his mind—was a version of you that remained loving. Hopeful. The variant who gave Logan a reason to live. Wade wasn't about to let that slip through either of their fingers; you were too vital to give up.

Even if it meant he might never heal from the one wound that threatened to shove him directly into Death's hands.

Time.

It remained his greatest enemy. Yet there he stood, facing it with a smile.

"Pity." You snapped the whip on the floor, advancing on his broken form with a grin. "Send my regards to your fallen variants."

"If I find a way to come back from this. Expect me to fuck your ass up." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "That sounded wrong. Do I get a do-over on last words?"

He stiffened, waiting for the blow that would be delivered without mercy. But you stopped. Froze in place as you looked out the window—body stiff and breath caught in your chest at the sight. Wade's heart dropped when he turned, staring directly at the you he knew. The lovely angel who stood near the window wearing Logan's flannel, a mug of steaming coffee in your hand and a smile on her face.

"Fuck," he spit, moving to step in and block your view.

No words were spoken, but Wade could feel the anger fall from your body in waves. A rage that made him sick to his stomach. Not only did you arrive in search of your lost lover. But a mirror image of a healthier—a happier—version of yourself stood in an apartment across the street.

"Wait. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't know anything-"

Your hand flew up, a flash of azure blinded him—filling the room—and Wade felt time stop. He could hear the silence, the step of your feet, yet couldn't move his body as you lifted off the floor. Floating towards the window, you felt the particles of time slip through your fingers. Forming a bubble around your form as you broke the wall of the apartment with a slice of your whip.

The agony wasn't unknown to you as time froze; the people of New York stuck in their spots while you remained in the realm you knew well. Yet this pain—this never ending grief—formed like a pit in your stomach, growing the longer you stared at the person who stole your life. The false version that wore your face, loved the man you once claimed as your own.

You were plunged back into the frozen depths of that night. When your family was torn from your life and Logan left you in shambles.

The window shattered, glass stuck in place until you pushed past it, your feet setting down on the floor of an apartment that smelled eerily like cigar smoke. Logan's flannel hung off your variant's body with such ease. Memories of mornings spent like this, indulging in coffee he made as he went off to teach, left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

How dare he discard you to the side.

How dare he love you in another universe when you still lived.

How dare he replace you with a new version, not yet broken by his mistakes.

The tears flowed down your cheeks, hot and unforgiving. Yet you could do nothing but watch as the smile on your variant's face burned bright in the room. He made this version of you happy. Yet couldn't be bothered to remember the mutant you. The one who longed for his touch, for his love.

For his forgiveness.

"He loves you," you murmured, gently touching your variant's cheek. "He loved me once."

Time flickered, a mere second being allowed to pass. But that remained enough. Your variant's eyes flicked up, shock forming in the iris at the sight of a battered and destroyed mirror image stand before you. If the iris of your eyes could be shown, the sorrow would bring the both of you to your knees. The anger that dripped into your heart with a vengeance.

Death didn't seem a kind enough gesture for the version of you that got to live her happily ever after.

You wanted Logan to keep her. To try and save her from the depths of your soon to be shared darkness.

The mark on your neck burned as you stared at the spotless skin. Free from the horrors. Free from a past you'd never endure.

You were perfect.

It made bile crawl up the back of your throat. The fear in your variant's eyes filled your stomach with a satisfaction that you clung to. The first glimpse of dopamine after years of fighting the darkness in your own mind.

Your nails scratched along the skin of your variant's cheeks. Digging into the flesh with a smile.

"Don't worry," you murmured, allowing the shackles you held on time to fall away. The gasp ripped from your variant's mouth as you gripped her. It swirled with joy in your heart. "We'll both make him regret his choice."

The apartment greeted him with a sickening echo of silence. He dropped your key into the bowl by your door, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his hand, as he allowed his claws to slide free on the other. His breath stuck to his chest, the hair on the back of his neck rose with each step he took. Something was wrong. Yet for the life of him...he couldn't find an explanation.

Your scent was stale. An hour old.

Where he expected to find the sweet echo of your heartbeat somewhere in the apartment; he was met with the chilling realization that you weren't here.

"Honey," he called, his voice lower than intended. "You here baby?"

Logan's heart ached when he was met with a response of nothing. Merely air that didn't carry the sound of your voice, nor the scent he'd grown accustomed to. What was he supposed to do when the emptiness was all the world offered? When the echo of his nightmares suddenly bled into reality.

He set the food on your kitchen table, yanking his phone out of his jacket pocket he slammed his finger on your number. The only one programmed into the damn thing. The incessant ring suddenly never sounded so threatening. So malevolent as he waited with baited breath for your voice to filter through the other line. Loud and clear without a single thing to fear.

When the shrill buzz of your own phone came from the bedroom, Logan felt the familiar cold drip of fear begin to slip down his spine. He struggled to maintain his breathing as he walked towards the room. His claws out—ready to attack at whatever came near him.

The empty bedroom—sheets in a laundry basket and comforter a tangle on the bed from this morning—felt like an icy pick in his chest. You weren't here. And Logan knew there had to be a logical explanation as to why this was.

You left for a reason.

You wouldn't simply offer up silence on a silver platter and expect him to take it with a smile.

You weren't that type of person.

Yet no matter how long he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a valid reason as to where you might be. Expecting to see you through the window at Wade's place, Logan rushed to the frame. Only to feel the crunch of glass beneath his feet—the panes shattered and crushed on the floor. Your favorite coffee mug severed in pieces beside it.

"No," he breathed, eyes wide and hand plagued with a tremor of fear as he knelt to grip the porcelain shards.

The terror he fought against for so long slammed into his body with a roar. It forced him to look. To see the truth that he could no longer deny. You didn't leave. You weren't gone of your own volition.

You...weren't safe.

"Fuck," he spit, shutting his eyes as the sting of tears began to prick behind his eyelids. "No. No. No."

"How touching."

The sound of your voice made him whip around, eyes wide and heart racing as he prepared himself to apologize for whatever made you leave. But the face that came into his sight wasn't the you of this universe. Pain sliced his gut as the version of you he couldn't save—the woman he would once die for—smiled at him.

"Fortuna," he said in a breath, eyes trailing down your figure encased in ripples of blue. Your eyes were white—devoid of any emotion. Yet he could feel your bitterness; the hatred that still existed from that night.

Your lips formed a pout, boots echoing against the hardwood floor like bullets firing from a gun. "What? No more honey?"

He flinched when your hand came up to cup his cheek. "What are you-"

"Doing here?" You smiled, blue flashing in the iris of your eyes. Logan felt his body sway with grief—the emotions he swallowed for years now hitting him with a force he never thought possible. "Why...I'm here for you baby."

"Fortuna-"

"Don't call me that." You gripped his chin, dragging him down to face you. "That name never used to leave your lips before. Why now?"

"Where is she?" he bit out, claws begging to take a slice out of your body.

Your voice was filled with mirth. Logan had never heard you this way.

So...deranged. Unhinged.

Whatever happened after you left had pushed you past the edge of what sanity still remained. The brink you toed even when you were together. He could see it in the scars that littered your arms, the long mark along your face. You weren't the woman he once loved. You weren't even the same fucking person.

His eyes trailed further, down to the collar of your suit, until he latched onto the scar that nearly had him staggering away to vomit. Burned onto your skin was a mark to represent who you'd been at one point. Who you would forever remain. The X, a stitched over wound that didn't have the proper time to heal.

The humans broke you. They destroyed the woman he once knew.

Logan felt anger burn in his heart at the realization.

"You mean my replacement?" you spit, shoving him away. "And here I thought you were still nursing your wounds in some fucking bar Logan." The whip twined around your waist sparked to life. "Forgive me for believing you cared."

"You're insane." He stumbled back at the first lick of your power stretching to touch him. "Charles warned you about what your powers would evolve into. He begged you not to go down this path."

Laughter pierced his eardrums—the fury biting at his heart as you cupped his cheeks and shoved your face into his. "Do you know who else begged Logan? Jean. Storm, Scott, Rogue, Bobby-"

He ripped himself away. "Shut the fuck up!"

"They screamed for you Logan!" Time began to slow, slip through his body and tear at the flesh that never aged. "They begged me to help them, to stop their attackers. And what could I do? When I was stuck in the future! But you. You could have saved them. You fucking worthless bastard!"

Blue filled his vision, his body sagging against your hold, as you ripped at his mutant gene with a ferocity that left him beyond saving. This was your last play. The final card you never intended to show him.

"Please-" he gasped, refusing to fight back.

How could he? When his heart still called your name, no matter the universe.

You were his. The person who held every piece of his heart to kill on a whim if you so wished it. The woman who he'd die beside.

He just never thought it would be your mutant variant. He never expected you would be the one to deliver that final blow.

Air filled his lungs when you pulled away. His body healing instantly—the spots of age now fading along his paled skin. Whatever you had planned, it wasn't going to start with his death. Logan knew you better than you knew yourself; a fact you seemed to have forgotten.

You may have been kind—loving once. But final grand shows of vengeance were your ploy. No matter the situation...you wouldn't give away the ending even if he begged.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "Where is she? I-I'll...do anything-"

"You love her," you murmured, regarding him with an expression of pity.

"Yes."

"What a shame."

His head rose, eyes wide as time began to slow. "Fortuna-"

"I'll give her your regards Logan." Your lips pressed to his cheek, breath a familiar warm caress against his skin. He felt his heart shatter.

"Fortuna!"

Staggering to his feet—his heart trapped in his throat—he felt time stop. And any hope he held in his heart...ceased to exist.

The crack of wood jolted you from the darkness you were trapped in. Fear trailed up your spine, wrapping around your heart tight enough to blister in searing pain. Your wrists and ankles were bound, body attached to a chair, and you blinked through the haze to see an empty abandoned room. The cold air stung the bare skin of your thighs as you sat there encased in only Logan's flannel—your skin raw from the rope.

Broken furniture was scattered through the room. A couch stripped of its fabric, walls with torn wallpaper, and you leaning against the wall your head cocked with intrigue.

"W-Who are you?" you stumbled over your words, shivering from the cold.

The echo of boots made the hair rise on the back of your neck, your eyes going wide at the sight of blue spilling off this person's frame. There was no need for her to answer. No response to give, because you knew who stood before you. She wore your face. Spoke in your voice and emanated a power you'd only seen once before.

"Logan once called me honey once," she murmured, milky eyes flashing blue. "He calls you that doesn't he?"

You nodded, shuddering as she dropped to squat in front of you, hands braced on the arms of the air. She didn't regard you with anger like before. Though it still lingered beneath the surface, she watched you as if you were someone to learn from. Someone to figure out.

"Why am I here?" you whispered, voice hoarse.

"Pathetic he would choose to love your kind. After what they did.” Fear struck your chest at the malice in her words, the wrath that now faced you head on. “You can call me Fortuna," she murmured, finger stroking down the side of your face. The place where no scar rested—no mark of torture that echoed from a past she couldn't escape.

"Please." The sting of hot tears burned your eyes. "I don't know what I did-"

A bark of laughter ripped from her throat. "Oh sweetie. You didn't do anything." She stood, loosening the whip from her body. "You're merely collateral damage. No need to take it so personal."

"Collateral-" You gasped as the whip flicked forward, wrapping around your waist. "Wait! Y-You're the woman Logan loved. He told me about you."

The smile that curved her lips forced nausea to the surface of your stomach. "Yes I suppose he would. So guilt ridden by what he couldn't do."

"It's not his fault."

Another laugh had tears slipping down your cheeks. "Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. The humans were the ones to kill your family. Not him."

The whip tightened around your body, pain slicing at your skin. "Oh I'm very well aware of what the humans are capable of."

Scars littered her skin, some larger than others, and suddenly you understood what happened. What she meant by it all. Logan couldn't save her. He wasn't able to keep her from the human's harm. Because he decided to wallow in his own grief than share in hers.

Fortuna had become Logan's worst nightmare. His walking shame that continued to haunt him even in this universe. No wonder he felt so afraid of what might happen the longer he remained with you.

"Do you know this place?" She glanced at the room—the staircase that was tucked away in the corner that led to a second story. "An old farmhouse near the mansion. Abandoned here, but not where I'm from."

"It's..."

"Ours."

Your heart dropped, tears spilling over faster than you could stop them. "Oh..."

"He didn't mention that part did he human?" She stepped closer, leaning over your cowering form with a smile that you felt tear at your heart. "We were going to live here together. You see...I have the one thing you will never be able to give him." Her hand cupped your cheek, wiping at the tears with rough strokes. "I will never die."

You shook your head. "He doesn't-"

"Care?" She clicked her tongue, disappointment flooding her features. "He'll say that now human. But what happens when you're sixty? Seventy? What happens when you outlive the Wolverine? What will he do then?"

"The Logan I know wouldn't leave me because of time."

"I am time," she snapped, gripping your chin. "I have lived as long as he has. I will continue to live even longer. Time means nothing when you are the physical embodiment of it."

"No-"

Wrapping the whip around her clenched fist, she pulled until the power began to split through your nerves. A sob broke past your cracked lips, pain burning through your body, lighting you with a fire only she could put out. She watched with a smile, her power flickering to life as the years began to seep from your body.

Second by second.

Minute by minute.

She stole what little time you could have held with Logan. What might have existed now began to bleed into the air as her whip cut into your skin. The crimson stain of blood seeped into Logan's brown flannel shirt, staining the fabric permanently. A scream tore from your throat—eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block out the sensation that intended to ingrain itself in your mind.

"You are nothing but a replacement." She yanked another inch of the whip closer to her chest—blood pooling beneath the chair and seeping into the wood.

"PLEASE!" you screamed, body wracked with tremors that weren't there before. White began to seep into your hair, streaking down to the base in a long strip—staining you with an age you might never reach. "Please! I-I'll do anything."

She tutted under her breath, her face now at your eye level. "That's where you're wrong. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done honey."

Tears blurred your vision. "W-What?"

"He wouldn't save me." Silence echoed in the still air of the room. The pain slowed to a dull ache as you slumped forward. "So I'm going to make sure he can't save you."

"N-No-"

"Like I said...collateral damage."

Your scream pierced the air like a knife, shattering what peace might have remained, as time began to form around Fortuna. Permanently altering the future that once shone with a light by plunging it into a darkness with no escape. And you were trapped in the center. Unable to claw your way free, to break from the one thing no one could run from.

A hell of time’s own making.

note: i am sorry. we will have a happy ending. just not yet.

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing

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eldritch-spouse · 10 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/741884957599973376/httpswwwtumblrcomeldritch-spouse741700018004?source=share

I need to know in explicit detail the first time breg allowed this human to collect samples. Also need to know the embarrassing situations they are put in that their coworkers judge them

I honestly love this so much I'm kicking my feet and giggling ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Fem reader. I kind of rushed this. Doodle at the end.]

TW: Heavy themes of abuse (including mentions of noncon, death and captivity); Dubious consent moments.

" Listen, we just need you to get in there. "

You blink. " ... This can't be serious. Is this a joke? "

The half-fiend woman, superior to you in professional rank, drags a hand across her blonde locks and grimaces. " Look, I know it sounds bad- "

" Of course it does! This was nowhere in the job description- "

Not that the job description was very uh, descriptive, anyway. But any straw will do, anything to cling to a modicum of your dignity as you get told what your next task will be.

She seems to switch through a few different corporate tactics to ease the blow. " Listen, please. We are short-staffed at the moment, and this has been affecting production a lot more than you can imagine. Specimen 197 is a big bread-winner here and we all know he's uncooperative with machinery, going as far as to ruin it constantly, which leads to more expenses- "

She's explaining this to you like you're a particularly slow toddler and you're not amused.

" We have also noted that M197 is clearly attached to you and a bond has been formed, which is why your presence is requested in certain situations, to reduce his stress levels during tasks. This... Is another one of those tasks. We just need you to get a few samples- " She points at the two canisters next to her. " And you can think of it as a way to improve your bond with the specimen even. "

" Ma'am, he's entering a rut. " You pause. " You want me to walk into a male breeder's cell while he's rutting and engage sexually with him? "

She gulps. " For- For strictly professional purposes- "

" I'm not doing this. "

...

" There's a significant monetary bonus if you manage to do it. "

A long, shameful, disgustingly filthy moment of silence unfolds where you internally debate how far you're willing to go for some much needed money.

Too far, apparently.

" ... I'll do it. "

" Great, that's wonderful, we- "

" No cameras in the room. "

She flinches. " But then how are we supposed to know if you're in danger? "

" No cameras, please. "

If you die you die. You don't want footage of you being possibly mauled by a breeder out there...

A begrudging glance is cast towards the canisters sitting innocently on the table.

Grabbing them, you prepare for the shitshow you signed yourself into.

We have him tied up, the techs had informed you, it'll make things easier.

Just hearing them gives you headaches.

Yes, of course, because forcibly restraining the already volatile lifeform will make it cease being hostile. Logical.

A long-suffering sigh exits your lips when you input the code to open 197's cell. It's a code you know by heart now. If not from the regular standard visits, then from the hurried string of numbers your coworkers would scream at you over the radio before getting launched around by a monster several times their size and weight.

It's hard to forget something like that. There are just some faces you never see again.

As soon as the heavily reinforced door hisses open, you're greeted by an immediate build-up of a snarl. As scary as the sound was when you first heart it, and continues to be on an instinctual level, you understand now that it's mostly born out of fear.

Nothing good ever happens when 197 is cuffed and he's right to be frightened.

The moment you step into view and the door slams shut behind you however, he visibly seems to shift gear instantly.

Sitting on the rather uncomfortable tiled ground, specimen 197 has his ankles spread and cuffed to the ground, his wrists joined behind him and his neck nearly choked to the wall. A muzzle prevents the breeder's jaw from elongating as it tends to do when he's threatened. His tail is likewise restrained in two areas. Those cuffs are the best things modern technology can offer, you haven't heard of a single solid monster type that can shatter them. They're likely also tampered with by some more magically-inclined individuals, but you've never been one to dabble in that.

He exhibits the signs you'd expect from any male entering a rut. Excessive sweating, goosebumps, a faster breathing rate, tension, restlessness and a dilated, humid slit. His skin flickers from time to time, signals somewhere between aggression and courtship displays. You would never have associated heat cycles with torture before starting your work here, but seeing the way these monsters are chemically forced into hypersexual, unhealthily exacerbated heats has shown you just how cruelly this biological process can be exploited.

Sometimes they die. A hormonal, frenzied, artificially accelerated metabolism like this is powerful, but it's also very fragile, in a way. Either they're able to maintain their required ridiculous nutrient intake, find a way to preserve as much energy as possible, or simply panic and end up dying from a mixture of stress and lack of sustenance.

Another sigh escapes your lips, you try to clear your head by placing the canisters on the ground.

The breeder in question, who was once nearly pitch black in his effort to intimidate the perceived threat, is now snow white, having registered you as his favorite, the "nice one". 197 shrinks in himself, then begins a litany of keening whines interspersed with specific chirps.

It might be a plea for attention from an already hormone-fried brain, it might also just be a desperate request to be released from his binds.

You're no paragon of morality, but unlike your coworkers, you understand that building a bond with anyone requires depositing some trust in them. And, even if 197 is rutting, you can only continue to build a connection with him if he has a modicum of comfort in this situation. Which is why you steel yourself before moving closer to the specimen in question and inputting the specific combination to unlock all of his cuffs.

The process is timed, giving workers about five or so minutes to leave the cell before the cuffs drop and the monster is freed. It prevents casualties, naturally.

197 tries to thump his tail in appreciation when he realizes what you're doing, quietly rumbling and trying to lean into the small brushes of your fingers as you work.

" There big guy, just give it a second... " You take a few steps back while you wait.

It feels like a small eternity before the restraints begin falling off one by one. First the tail ones, then the muzzle, the neck, the wrists... And the ankles. On that last click, the breeder shrugs everything away and stretches as he stands.

You've studied these monsters and their mannerisms, he's not stretching just to soothe his joints, he's displaying. The exaggerated curve of that spine says it all, you know exactly what reaction he's after. Though, already riled up as he is, you don't think it's a good idea to respond.

In a second, he's closed the distance between the two of you, this near suffocating hovering over your front, hands and arms twitching with the urge to touch you. 197 is not good with boundaries, which was very surprising to you, considering he absolutely detests it when 99% of people touch him.

The 1% being you.

He waits, visibly pained, for the signal.

" You can touch me now. "

And like a sudden wave, 197 nearly crashes onto you, his comparatively massive pale body blanketing over yours as his arms cage your upper body, lifting it along with him. You squealed the first few times, now you know to stay mostly still and lean to the right so he can shove his face in the crook of your neck without bonking his head against yours. Painful.

He takes a couple deep, shameless inhales of your scent. And, if you had to guess, you're probably a bit sweaty from anxiety. Not that he seems to care, 197 actually appears to slow down a little, enjoying the closeness and now familiar odor you possess. His tail coils around your legs and you pat his back when the telltale chirps and trills of elation make it past his throat.

" Yeah, I missed you too buddy. Take a breather. "

This close to the male, you have absolutely no choice but to drown in his musk. 197 can't help it, he's ruttting after all, those pheromones have to come out. Fortunately, as a human, you're not affected by them, though some of your monster coworkers have to wear specific masks when they enter rutting breeder cells. To you, it's just vaguely unpleasant and heavy.

197 would usually give you a bit of room by now, but he doesn't seem interested in that, instead shifting you around so he can smell other parts of your figure, particularly your hair. Your face warms from his excessive body heat and the sensation of being corralled, your protests silenced when a long blue muscle dips to trail from the base of your neck to your jaw and up the side of your face. The movement is quick, and your attempt to reflexively lean away is met with a tighter grasp as he repeats it.

197 has a habit of dulling his teeth to look more humanoid for your comfort, but not today, in the state he is, he likely forgot that detail altogether. This unfortunately means that you feel the scrape of those pointed daggers every time he amorously samples your skin.

" Alright okay, that's enough- "

You butt in when it feels like he's getting a bit too riled up too fast. It's not exactly counter-productive to your task, but letting him get more and more control over the situation will make it difficult to get the samples later. You can't wrangle a breeder in the throes of their rut, you have to do things before that critical stage.

However, the specimen isn't interested in listening to anything you have to say, responding instead to your tone with his own whine and starting to tug at your uniform. That does it. Thoroughly soaked in his drool, you grab onto the breeder's forearms hard.

" 197! " It's not a tone you like to use with any of the breeders here.

He eventually snaps out of his little trance, gulping, steadying himself before frowning and giving you the space you want.

In this barely minute-long episode, 197 has already kicked into high-gear. Breathing accelerated again, open-mouth panting, excessive drool production, somewhat puffed figure and the tips of his twin cocks already poking out of a pelvic pouch that can barely hold them back. He seems to shiver in his own overwhelming arousal, and though this species is known for having its eyes shielded behind a layer of skin on the face, you know he's fixed on you like a famished animal.

Although your cheeks are moments from setting aflame, this isn't exactly a new sight for you. 197 has gotten aroused in your vicinity several times, you've actually lost count. It'd be nonsensical of you to get irritated over such, given that these males are forced into hypersexuality by the concoctions introduced in their organisms. That paired with his fondness for you probably makes it hard for 197 to not get erections constantly. A hug can set him off, even simple closure paired with your scent is enough to do it.

Well. No time to waste.

While he's mildly disoriented, you grab one of the canisters and move towards a corner of the room with a seemingly randomly arranged pile of fabrics. This, as confusing as it may be to some, is a breeder's nest. And in this species of monsters, the males tend to be the ones who arrange spaces for coupling. 197 has expressed clear discontentment with the fabrics given to him during times of rut to fulfill his instinctual needs, but no one here is ever acting with the specimen's best interests in mind. Besides, he piped down when one of the techs had the bright idea of giving him a jacket you forgot in the workplace. It's right there in fact, the gray hue contrating with a mostly white and pale color scheme.

The nest itself is big, if it fits 197 then it definitely fits you too. And, knowing exactly what you're doing, you let him observe you take a step into it and sit down on the middle, empty canister beside you.

Oh boy.

You can practically hear the popcorn crackles in his brain.

The monster trills loudly, proudly, your supposed acceptance of what have amounted to months of unsubtle courtship from his part being finally rewarded. It's a dangerous moment, you're perfectly aware of such, but it's also necessary to get this over with.

197 drops to a creepily nimble crawl across the floor, rapidly posing over your seated form with blue-tinted cheeks and rabid need. Before you can get so much as a word in, he's dropping some of his weight on you, showering you in hasty licks and clumsy kisses again, this time unable to help himself from nipping at your clothes. The coverings visibly bother him, and the male growls quietly before his instincts tug at him again and he's trying to slot himself between your clothed legs. It takes some yelping, and fussy movement from his part, but you eventually rationalize that stressing him out can lead to a violent response right now.

Might as well let him get away with some embarrassing acts.

Hormone-muddled as he is, 197 has only enough of a mind to hold onto you and press two hot lengths against the front of your body. He's already full-mast, the heat and weight of those things dragging across you when he automatically moves his hips is utterly filthy. He groans, probably the first kind of decent friction he's been getting since he entered this phase of his cycle, the softness and smell of his favorite human getting the monster to leak already, lost in his desperate search for a modicum of relief. As gross and ridiculous as it is, at least he's not tugging at your clothes yet.

You can sense his frustration, the frantic way 197 mechanically bucks against you, the pressure he puts in every thrust, the way his claws puncture into your lab coat and he whines low, this noise that turns into a pleased sort of snarl. Overwhelmed, you shiver beneath his figure, glad there are no cameras to see you fluster and shamefully let a rutting monster grind at you.

You dare say you can get into this.

There's something so appealing about having a monster yearn for you so madly that he's driven to this senseless and primitive display, that even so much as humping you could have them blissed out. Your legs quake around his and you feel your pussy throb in response to the muted friction from his lightly barbed cocks. It's not the first time you've wondered about how it would feel... You've always been a monsterfucker at heart, and 197 is a brutally gorgeous specimen. He's always imploring for even a single touch from you, if you spread yourself out you have absolutely no doubt he would ram those alarming inches into you like a wild beast.

Yeah, maybe your coworkers would call you a sickfuck, but it's not like anyone who works here is moderately normal...

It's a secret. One that you're vaguely paranoid might not be so secret anymore, now that you've been entrusted with this.

In your horny little stupor, you make the critical mistake of forgetting that breeders quickly detect arousal in others. And you are probably making a wet spot in your pants as of now.

With a sudden snort of an inhale, he rises like a man possessed to start ripping at the sides of your lab coat, forcefully trying to rip it off even as he's unable to stop rocking his hips. He knows how to unbutton things just fine, but you bet he can't be fucked to think much in this state.

" Hey- Hey, easy, slow down. " You grab onto his wrists, being ignored.

Okay. Time to think this out while you still can. He's going to rip through your clothes if you let him, and that's not just needless damage, it'll put him in control. But being aggressive about getting him to stop isn't ideal with this type of monster, you need something that distracts him too much to realize he's not exactly holding the leash here. Eventually, an idea graces your mind, though it makes you grimace a little.

Already blazing with shame, you carefully edge a hand between you and, with some hesitation, grab one of the twin members pushed against you.

Instant reaction.

The monster halts, as desired, and looks at you almost oddly, but hopefully. The trick is not giving him enough time to think, so you quickly get a feel for what you're working with, and start stroking him generously.

It's not the frenzied, rushed jerking he inflicts on himself when his own libido becomes bothersome, the fisting of a large hand with little focus and care. You handle him as pleasurably as you can manage, using both hands on him and attentively reading his face. 197 pants openly again, glancing vapidly at your small hands while they work him and he fucks into the motions, strings of thick drool falling from his teeth.

" Good...? Yeah? " You ask, gulping.

He falters and gasps, trying to articulate something. " Please. " Gets dragged out, his dick pulsing in your grasp.

You don't quite know what he's begging for, but you assume he's enjoying himself. Watching the neglected length bob uselessly, you take the opportunity to remove your own lab coat, switching hands quickly when necessary. The shirt comes off too, leaving you in your bra and pants.

By the time you glance back at him, the breeder's skin has shifted entirely to black, and he's hypnotized by the new parts of your body revealed to him, the mounds on your chest breeder females don't have but that he somehow finds pleasing to the eye regardless.

You make a lifting motion, trying to get his attention. " Knees. Come on, knees. Let me show you something. "

It takes a hot second, but he computes the request and does as told out of genuine curiosity. You're about to show an already decidedly horny monster the wonders of oral sex, which is likely not the brightest of ideas, but no one's here to judge your poor decisions.

197's girths hover far too close to your face while he waits a tad impatiently. Studying the things you'll be pleasing soon, you nearly pale a couple shades, knowing it'll take some prayer not to end up hurting your jaw. The male has lived in captivity since the day he hatched, you've enjoyed showing him some of the nicer things in life from time to time, this is just another one of them.

Carefully grabbing onto the left one, you glance at 197 as you deliberately slip your tongue out, so he doesn't just assume you're going to try biting his genitals. He tenses, because of course he would, but you take your time, stopping the moment only his tip is inside your mouth. The breeder is a tad confused and quaking slightly with ambiguous anticipation.

Then you suck.

And it clicks instantly.

God, just this little of his length is already forcing you to open wider than you've ever had to with previous partners, still, you strain to take a few more inches down and focus on that part.

The male exhales tremulously, experiencing the feeling for the first time ever, you're certain. 197 has to straighten slightly as the first intense waves of pleasure course through him, and bless the big dorky monster, he has no idea what to do with himself or his arms. As your jaw adjusts, a tad uncomfortably, you start truly gouging how much of him you can handle. Not that much honestly, but it's to be expected. It's already more than enough to please him, if the increasingly louder growled trills are any indication.

Oh, you bet this is the closest thing to heaven for him. His favorite human, with a mouth warmer than he could have ever expected, lips much softer than any of his species', no apex predator teeth to get in the way, and a tongue that although flat and short, can still chase after those wonderfully sensitive spots.

He has exactly zero idea how to react beyond making bestial noises and drooling on his own chest like a vapid animal. The way his cock pulses in your mouth is a tad bothersome to the rhythm you're trying to keep, but you figure you don't have to show-off to someone who's never had oral before, he's already blown away.

Humorously, 197's hands land on your shoulders, and that's the only way he can apparently steady himself while he's sucked off. His spare cock oozes precum that smears onto your bare chest and you half-heartedly pump it when you pop off his other dick.

" Is this okay, hm? " Needless question, really.

The breeder doesn't even make an effort to reply, whining at the loss of friction and edging forward until both his members nudge against your cheek and lips, begging without words to have that bliss again.

Feeling vaguely in control, enough to be playful, you lean away from the one closest to you and take the right one into your mouth, sucking it as far in as you physically can before switching to the other one, all just so you can hear 197 gasp and grunt out moans. His desperation causes him to buck, and as you gag, a little lightbulb fizzles above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The next time you try to pull away, his hands rise from your shoulders to the sides of your head. Each dark finger nearly curves over the perimeter of your skull, and you freeze instantly, not wanting him to tighten his grasp by any means. Everything is fine so long as he only holds onto your head this way, gently.

He's the one moving this time, apparently marveling at the sight of his length disappearing past your somewhat swollen, drooled lips. Except, as expected, he's going faster and deeper than you'd like, getting into it enough to trigger harsh flutters in the back of your throat. Your gagging and subsequent reflexive jerks are met with warning rumbles and one of his hands caging you in place by the back of head.

He learns fast, needless to say.

The more he drives into you, the less you can control your saliva, creating gross pops and slurps as you have little choice but to huff through your nose. Merciless, not even the odd cough around his dick will stop him now that he's nearing orgasm, or so you're willing to guess by his franticness.

Eventually, he makes the mistake of shoving his cock far enough that your jaw strains and your stomach flips, a grossly loud hurl being his response. The horrid noise finally jolts him to a still, giving you enough space to pull away and catch some much needed breath, controlling your belly before anything unfortunate happens.

" Fucking Hell! " You groan hoarsely, irritated. " You're hung like a horse, be careful... "

The rutting male's fried brain only understands that you sound wounded, a concerned chirp followed by soothing sloppy laps to your jaw being his response.

Not an ideal development at all, and yet, progress.

197 is usually very violent with the breeders they tired to pair him for mating. Which is to be expected, being the golden goose of the facility comes at a cost- The rush of hormones in his machine of a metabolism doesn't just contribute to more virility than his male peers, it also causes bursts of hyper aggression not easily controlled. And the only socialization this one usually gets is fights with other males who feel threatened by his presence, understand that they are being hurt by techs because they fail to live up to the standard 197 created, that they might be killed for such.

The females, likewise, fear him.

197 is bigger, louder, scarier. He has a reputation amongst the other breeders, and some of them were more likely to try fighting him off during their heats than accept getting sexual with him. This has led to 197 rejecting all breeders regardless of the context, which resulted in many of the paired females being immediately fatally attacked whenever a scheduled session was arranged. Sometimes he would simply slaughter them, other times he would actually instinctually attempt to mate, and end up ignoring cries of distress, nothing but rage and hormones in that brain causing him to end up killing them mid-coitus.

Shitshows, complete shitshows you've had the displeasure of partially witnessing in the past.

Which is why you're so incredibly shocked he stopped when he heard you nearly throw up. Then again, you're no breeder, and you like to think you've created as decent a connection with him as possible. It could be that.

When the monster thinks you've recovered enough, he attempts to get you to sit in the same position from before so things can resume, and if the way he's insistent on keeping a hold of your head is any indication, then he's learned he prefers to take control of this. And you won't be the fool that argues with him in this state.

After licking your lips a few times, hearing his impatient little huffs, you take one of those slicked cocks into your mouth again, letting him build the pace back up. On the one hand, you're glad you don't have to pretend to keep any composure, letting yourself drool as much as possible for the sake of making the process easier, and uncaring of the filthy noises that only seem to make his thighs quake. On the other, you need a solution so he doesn't just peirce past the back of your throat.

So, experimentally, the next time 197 pushes far enough to have your eyes rolling, you get a firm grasp of the base of his tail and tug.

The appendage lifts and his spine curves back in sudden shock. You doubt it's pain that has him straightening like a plank, after all, you know these beings can oftentimes carry their young by the tail, so if it can handle their body weight, then it can handle a yank from a human's hand. It's more so a sort of "freeze reaction", effective in getting the male to pull back even if he grunts in mild agitation.

It's only fair, in your eyes.

The moment you let go, 197 continues to fuck your face as he pleases, moaning and curving over you once more to find his own pleasure, until he drives in too much again and you repeat the gesture. Over and over, so he understands there are limits.

It seems to succeed in getting the message across. If he wants to keep getting sucked off by your hot little mouth, then he needs to be minimally considerate.

This goes on for a while, you're almost proud to feel him eventually actively hold back from going too far. Because that would halt the friction, and judging by the way his tongue lolls out in pleasure, 197 wants to come really bad.

He seems to have enjoyed your antics from before, because the male actively pulls out of your mouth with another lurid pop and positions his spare length against your lips, fucking into you a couple times before switching to the other one, doing this enough times that you honestly struggle to contain some laughter.

His throbbing increases and you know his peak approaches, quickly reaching beside you for the container as fingers race to open it. Your spare hand makes an extra effort to stroke the length 197 can't fit inside you and with as much vigor as possible, you complement his every motion.

The second you back away to breathe, strings of saliva still clinging from your lips to his dicks, offers the monster enough of a nasty view to trigger exactly what you need. 197 snarls at the top of his lungs, rapidly fisting both cocks before you. It's a decidedly disgustingly arousing display that has you staring heatedly, until the first rope of thick pearly cum lands on your cheek.

It jolts you into flustered movement, holding the canister up to the closest of his girths, you try to get as much as possible inside, unable to shield yourself from the rest of his load as it lands on your neck and tits, warm globs marking you in the throes of the specimen's ecstasy.

It's immensely relieving for him, the sighed, low and needy moans that rip out his throat evidence enough that 197 had been pent up for more than a while. And you... You're soaked in warm seed, observing his maddened jerking slow down.

This is your job now.

Personally collecting from the golden goose of the facility. All for a bonus.

Whatever, just don't think about it too much.

Giving into the guilty sense of pride you feel over making 197 stare at the ceiling in total bliss, you lean down to catch the trails dripping down those teal blue lengths, cleaning him. You don't have to, by any means, but you've already sunk so low today, what difference does it make if you let yourself go a little?

The specimen's legs tremble and he glances down at you with this utterly cum-drunk, infatuated smile. Dark, stained digits rise to comb through your hair in some kind of comforting gesture until you eventually pull away and allow the male to recover.

Now, two things.

You need to clean up somehow, you don't want his cum to dry on your skin.

There's also the matter of the second canister, you think while you grab one of the cloths in the breeder's nest to wipe your face and chest on. You probably won't be allowed to leave his cell until they're both full.

Reaching for the one already warm with 197's sample, you seal it tight, the small device in it emitting a faint green light and beeping quietly. The signal that one container has been filled is then sent to whichever tech is keeping track of this particularly... Unique task.

A pang of shame courses through you at the thought of one of your coworkers now knowing that you've made 197 orgasm.

Time to get the other one and hurry this up.

Unfortunately, as soon as you're about to set a foot outside of the nest, a huge black hand captures your leg, and you're possessively tugged back by a disgruntled breeder who barely gives you enough time to scream before he starts shredding the rest of your clothes...

Hours have passed. You're sure of it.

As far as anyone's concerned, your work has been accomplished. Both canisters are practically overflowing with untainted samples, sitting in the corner of the room so that nothing happens to them.

You're naked, sticky and likely to bruise in some areas from 197's lack of strength mediation, but you did it.

At any moment now, coworkers of yours will enter 197's cell, and you know it's going to be a total wreck. Between his likely immediate aggression, the damage they'll cause him and your less than sightly state, it'll be unpleasant.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when a tireless tongue continues to groom your already exhausted form and 197's meaty cock lazily fucks globs of his hot cum back into your puffed pussy while he trills soothingly. His breathing has steadied and his heartbeat slows.

Any moment now, he might fall asleep inside you, enjoying a sweet moment of bliss before you're taken away again.

It's almost cruel.

#Bregory #monsterfucker #terato tag #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human #not sfw #minors dni #pinnie's art #terat0philliac

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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin.

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs.

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕�� 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole.

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy.

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope.

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness.

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved.

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay.

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness.

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him.

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that��” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create.

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind.

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it.

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried.

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear.

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—�� he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

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