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adieutristana · 3 months ago

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kissing headcanons / arcane women x fem! reader

summary: headcanons for what kissing arcane women would be like.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest.

tags/warnings: fluff, mentions of making out, mentions of poor mental health. could be suggestive in some spots.

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is a very playful and spontaneous kisser. she’ll cut you off in the middle of a sentence just because she couldn’t resist, your lips are right there after all.

✧.* there’ll also be times she’ll just swing a leg over to sit in your lap and begin kissing you without warning. jinx is honestly the human embodiment of free will. if she wants a kiss, she’s gonna get a kiss.

✧.* honestly, it really depends how jinx is feeling when it comes to her kisses. when she’s happy to see you, she’ll leave a trail of kisses all over your face before ending on your lips. when she’s tired and feeling relaxed, her lips will softly brush yours as she hums.

✧.* when she’s upset or on the verge of an episode, she’ll kiss you deeply, hands firmly grabbing your top or shoulders just so she can be reassured that you’re actually there.

✧.* morning kisses with jinx. she’s usually up before you are, and most of the time, she’ll let you sleep. there is the odd occasion though where she’ll decide it’s too long of a wait, and she’ll wake you up by peppering kisses all over your face, giggling the whole time.

✧.* “g’mornin’ toots! i didn’t wake ya up, did i? oh, oops!”

✧.* there’s also the times when jinx wants to go slow. it’s not very often, usually preferring to plant her lips onto yours boldly. but there will be times when her lips gently capture yours, her tongue gently prodding at your lips for entrance. she savors these.

✧.* jinx loves when you brush her bangs to the side and kiss her forehead. it makes her freeze up for just a second every time, before she becomes visibly flushed (which is a rare occurrence.) she’ll deny it until she’s out of breath, but you think you’ve cracked the code.

✧.* “wh- i am not blushing! stop it!”

✧.* she doesn’t really talk during kisses, preferring to be present in the moment. she will tell you, very boldly, how much she wants to kiss you, though.

✧.* “can i get a kiss from my pretty girl? pleeeeaaase?”

vi;

✧.* vi is rough the majority of the time. she’ll thread her fingers through your hair or tug on your top, crashing her lips into yours desperately.

✧.* still, she can be soft when she wants to. usually when vi is physically exhausted, all she wants is to be close to you. she’ll gently place her calloused hands on your shoulders, leaning in ever so slowly to capture your lips in a kiss.

✧.* “mhm.. i’m fine, baby. just tired. i missed this.”

✧.* hair was briefly mentioned, but please put your hands in vi’s hair when kissing her. she will positively melt. putty in your hands.

✧.* as i’ve previously mentioned, vi isn’t the best at communicating her emotions, but she’ll kiss you to take the edge off. it’s a temporary stress relief, isn’t it? and she gets to be close to you. a win-win.

✧.* vi has been clearly upset or stressed more than once, trying to figure out how to verbalize those feelings before she just gives up and kisses you, putting her full body weight into it.

✧.* you can, at times, taste a bit of whisky while kissing vi. it’s one of the things that make her so unique, that smell coming off her just the slightest bit.

✧.* vi loves to hold you close to her while kissing. she’ll hold you flush to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your hip. it makes her feel more secure, being so close to you.

✧.* vi loves to talk to you while kissing. little ‘i love you so fuckin much’s and ‘you’re perfect’ whispered against your lips, her voice low and smooth.

✧.* “look at you, just wanna kiss you so bad…”

✧.* vi would absolutely love if you kiss her wounds ‘better’ after patching her up. she’d act like it’s stupid and childish and she doesn’t like it, but you can see right through that.

✧.* it probably sounds weird, but i think vi would sometimes have her eyes slightly open while kissing you. yes, it’s a bit awkward, but she just wants to see you.

mel;

✧.* god help you, mel adores kissing. kissing, kissing, kissing.

✧.* if you like that, perfect! if not, too bad. and she’ll probably take it personally.

✧.* mel doesn’t do pda, but the second she has you behind closed doors, she’s ushering you to sit down so she can finally get her lips on yours.

✧.* mel will kiss your knuckles, she’ll kiss your temple, kiss you upon greeting and parting with you.

✧.* although as mentioned, mel doesn’t do pda, if there’s a time at a gala or conference where she’s simply overcome with the urge to kiss you, she’ll grab your wrist without warning to drag you into the next room and desperately kiss you.

✧.* “hush, they don’t matter. i just need to be with you right now.”

✧.* this woman needs no excuses, she just loves you so much and craves that contact.

✧.* you already know mel would leave so many lipstick marks on you. of course, if you’re going out, she’ll scramble to grab a rag and wipe the stains off your skin. but if it’s just the two of you for a while, she’d adore you wearing the marks for a little bit.

✧.* “you look just darling like that. who would’ve thought my lipstick would look so good on you?” she teases with a cheeky smile.

✧.* mel loves to take kissing slow. she doesn’t particularly care for chaste or brief kisses. she wants to take her time with you, enjoy you while you’re here.

✧.* so don’t rush her. if she feels like you’re trying to go too fast, she’ll let you know as much.

✧.* won’t talk during kisses, but she’ll lightly chuckle and hum into them. mel will make little noises to let you know that she’s enjoying herself.

sevika;

✧.* sevika is surprisingly pretty gentle most of the time. with you, the one she loves, she doesn’t want to hurt you. that’s not to say she won’t accidentally manhandle you, she’s very strong, after all.

✧.* of course, she can be rough when she’s feeling like it, and if you ask her to be a little more harsh, it’s like a switch flips.

✧.* sevika is a busy woman, so she doesn’t always have a lot of time to be attentive to you. when she does, though, believe she’s savoring every moment.

✧.* “i waited for this all day, yeah? come here.” she’d say, patting her thigh.

✧.* please sit in her lap. not only does sevika love holding you in general, but having you in her lap while kissing her will have her on cloud nine.

✧.* sevika will have one hand holding the back of your neck, her mechanical hand wrapped flush around your waist to keep you close to her, pressing long, hungry kisses to your lips.

✧.* on the flip side, sevika will lay beside you, her eyelids heavy of sleep and a calloused hand gently cupping your cheek. she’d lift your chin up to softly kiss you, letting out a relaxed sigh through her nose.

✧.* sevika not only talks to you while kissing you, but teases you.

✧.* “you’re this desperate for a little kiss, eh?” and “patience, hun. don’t worry your pretty little head, i’ll give you more.”

✧.* sevika just likes to see your cute reactions. whether that’s your eyes widening, your breath hitching, or you averting your gaze to try and hide your expression.

✧.* the latter of which, she won’t tolerate. she’d grab your chin and turn your face back to her. sevika wants to see you.

✧.* sevika would melt if you kissed her hands. she doesn’t know why, but it just feels so tender to her.

caitlyn;

✧.* she prefers long, lingering kisses. caitlyn usually does prefer to be in control while kissing you, though.

✧.* caitlyn will mostly only give you short kisses when upon greeting you and parting with you. otherwise, she likes to take her time with you.

✧.* call her pretty while kissing her. not only will it cause her to press into you further, but it gives her a good ego boost.

✧.* “caitlyn, you’re so beautiful, you know th-“ you mutter, before you’re cut off by caitlyn’s plush lips on yours.

✧.* caitlyn likes to have her hands on your waist while kissing you. there’s no particular rhyme or reason why, she just has her hands there. it also allows her to move you freely if she so wishes.

✧.* she’s a busy woman, but constantly stressed and has so much tension built up. poor girl, her shoulders and jaw are always so tense. but you’ve figured out that kissing you is a huge help when it comes to caitlyn releasing tension.

✧.* caitlyn would come home, visibly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to get some rest. before she opts to get ready for bed, though, she’ll come up behind you, turn you around, and begin slowly kissing you. kissing up your neck, landing on your lips and savoring the moment.

✧.* “long day, dear. forgive me if i was too forward.”

✧.* she’s not sorry at all, just trying to talk to you.

✧.* caitlyn is used to getting what she wants. of course she’ll never overstep your boundaries or do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but she’s very convincing. even if you’re not sure sneaking away from a council meeting to be swept off your feet by your girlfriend is a good idea, caitlyn has a way of looking at you. a look that says, ‘just trust me.’

✧.* caitlyn’s lips are very soft, and you can almost always taste some kind of strawberry or vanilla chapstick whilst kissing her.

✧.* caitlyn is also a big charmer. she’ll bring your knuckles to her lips, gently kissing them while looking you directly in the eyes.

✧.* “a charmer? you’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

lest

✧.* lest is also somebody who likes to take her time. it’s rare that she gets time to herself these days, so every moment she does get with her beloved, she wants to take full advantage of.

✧.* lest absolutely purrs into kisses. quite literally. you can tell that she’s enjoying herself because her lips will be on yours, both hands gently grasping your cheeks as she purrs deeply. it’s adorable, honestly.

✧.* she’s rather serious and stern on the surface, but you get to see the more playful side of her. lest purposely leaving lipstick marks on your face while wearing a smirk, giggling into kisses…

✧.* lest absolutely knows her way around relationships and kissing, so she’ll tell you exactly how she wants you to kiss her without fear.

✧.* “hold my shoulders. yes, love, like that. a kiss, then?”

✧.* lest would definitely take her scarf off just so she can use it to pull you into kisses. she finds your surprised reactions adorable, and the more you get used to it, the more she loves it. she’s grown to associate that scarf with you.

✧.* she likes to talk to you while kissing, as well. her voice is so low and soothing, it’s like you’re under a spell every time she opens her mouth.

✧.* “you’re beautiful… oh, stop. you flatter me. i’ll have to shut you up then, i suppose.”

✧.* lest doesn’t really have a preference as to control. she initiated the first few kisses, but she’ll gladly let you initiate them and take control every now and again. it’s nice to let go and relax, she trusts you.

✧.* sleepy kisses with lest. her job takes a lot out of her, being with customers all day, she’s usually drained by the time she’s finished. but nothing completes her day like crawling into bed with you, trailing kisses up your jawline and hearing your satisfied hums.

#arcane x you #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #vi x reader #mel medarda x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #lest x reader #reader insert #sevika x reader

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peachdues · 1 year ago

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SANEMI V. NO-NUT NOVEMBER

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆ ･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳

In honor of it being Thanksgiving in the US, I thought I would feed you all. Happy Turkey Day, skanks.

CW: MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

Let’s count the ways you’ve tortured him over the last thirty days

You would purposefully wait until he arrived back home at his estate before getting yourself off — in his bed, or in his private bath, so that Sanemi had to watch or feel you working yourself, whimpering his name as you imagined your fingers were his.

You’ve never seen a man wound tighter than Sanemi, coming home after a long night of fighting demons and having to put up with incompetent younger Corps members, who is greeted with the sight of his lover, in his bed, legs spread wide open as she plunges her fingers in and out of her wet and ready core, moaning his name.

You also were fond of trouncing around his estate wearing little clothing — if any. In fact, you were far more fond of wearing nothing but his haori as you cooked for him. Sanemi thought you wouldn’t be able to resist him sidling up behind you and sliding his hands between its open folds to rest on your bare waist. He thought.

As it turned out, you were more than happy to swat away his eager hands and resume chopping vegetables. Sanemi managed to hold in his groan of frustration until you bent over to pick up a stray piece of carrot that escaped the pot.

Not to mention it was his BIRTHDAY on the 29th and you wouldn’t so much as let him eat his favorite cake (your pussy)

“But I’m not the one being pleasured, it’s you,” Sanemi’s voice bordered on a whine as he danced his fingers down the curve of your outer thigh. You swatted his hand away. “Need I remind you that, on more than one occasion, you’ve had to change your clothes after spending time between my legs?” Sanemi’s eyes are nearly bulging out of his head as you primly turn away from him, tightening the blanket around your half-nude form. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me —“ “Goodnight, ‘Nemi. Happy Birthday.”

But when the clock hits 12:01 AM December 1?

“If you think you’re walking out of this not pregnant — or that you’re walking out of here at all —,” he said severely, yanking you by the calves until your ass was pressed against his thighs. “Then you’ve got another thing fuckin’ coming.”

Listen. Sanemi respects the fuck out of women, but you’ve been disrespecting him for the last month. He’s about to get MEAN.

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that Sanemi is going to need to purchase new furniture by the end of it; shit’s getting smashed by you two. The bed, dressers, tables, you name it, you’re getting fucked on it, and it’s getting broken.

You are being edged to oblivion. If you whine or complain, it only makes the punishment that much worse (so does crying but he actually wants to see those big fat tears). Sanemi breaks up pace consistently to ensure this happens. Also, he’s gonna cum as much as he wants, but you’re not until he says so.

And when he finally, finally lets you cum, don’t you dare think it’s over — now he’s going to overstimulate you until you’re sobbing (again)

“You think you’re done, sweet girl?” His saccharine coos made your stomach curl because you knew that tone meant he was being anything but sweet. “Like hell you are.” Sanemi flipped the pair of you over, forcing you to lay with your back against his chest, your arms pinned behind you. The hand not restraining you slid to your throat, gripping softly and tilting your head back against him as Sanemi began to thrust sharply up into you. “I’ve had to watch you cum around everything but me for the last month, darlin’,” his teeth sank down into the soft flesh between your shoulder and neck. The wince you made at the sharp prick of his teeth was quickly chased away with a few soothing licks and caresses from his deceptively soft lips. “So you’re gonna be my good girl and cum on my cock until I’ve decided you’ve had enough. Understand?”

It gets to the point where you genuinely cannot tell apart the fluids on your skin — sweat, your cum, his cum, or your tears

When he’s finally out of stamina (which is like. days later, RIP you), the last few rounds are much slower, and he’s much softer and clingier. Granted, he’s shooting blanks by then because he’s also overstimulated and exhausted, but he thinks he’s made his point clear enough. He’s actually asking you for just one more, and if you’re crying, he’s quick to kiss the tears away and murmur words of encouragement and love

“Fuck, baby,” Sanemi moaned, his feet digging into the plush of his futon as a means of giving himself leverage to push into you, his thighs and hips having long since lost the ability to work with the same vigor they had when he’d first bent you over. “You feel too fucking good to stop.” You cried out, fists clenching against the painful pleasure your lover continued to bestow upon you. Part of you was desperate for him to stop, to rest, but your body kept betraying you, your legs tightening around his waist to hold him in place. “S-Sanemi,” you whimpered, fingers digging into the ropey muscles of his shoulders, unable to decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. “No m-more — I c-can’t —“ “One more, sweetheart, just one more.” He cooed, bending his face low to brush kiss after kiss against your lips, swallowing your moans and whimpers. Sanemi braced his weight upon his fists, situated on either side of your hips as he continued to rock into you. His pace now was far at odds with the one he’d maintained over the last day or two, with the scar-speckled Wind Pillar forgoing his vicious, unrelenting speed that had you clinging onto the nearest piece of furniture for dear life in favor of something far softer and more gentle. “You can do that for me, right?” Sanemi circled his hips. "Just one more, sweet thing, that's all I ask."

And you give it to him; though there are big, fat tears leaking down your cheeks and though every nerve in your body is screaming for a break, you come apart around him once more. But Sanemi still isn't fully satisfied even though he's a groaning, cursing mess rutting into you, so his thumb works its way between your legs and presses down. Only when a surge of your sticky fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin, does Sanemi finally relax, his own climax rolling into him like a steady wave.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi smut

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starlemons · 26 days ago

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Coffee and Crime ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ PART SIX

Pairing ✦ mafia!bucky x reader

Word Count ✦ 1.7K

Warnings ✦ overall story has a 18+ content warning, MDNI, cussing, weapon caused injury (non-fatal), mention of surgery

A/N ✦ I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE I'VE BEEN SICK :( I'm working on part seven right now and will try to get it posted this weekend

PART FIVE »»» Series Masterlist

I will update the series every 1-4 days depending on my schedule

“Sorry.”, Bruce said as he dabbed a particularly deep cut, you dug your nails into Bucky’s hand, the burning feeling in your feet sending shivers through you.

Once your wounds had been cleaned sufficiently Bruce reached to his side towards a roll of bandage.

“Hold off on that right now Bruce.”, Bucky said, “Y/N do you want to go get cleaned up before he wraps your feet? You can use my shower and I can give you some clothes to wear.”

You stared at Bucky, caught off guard slightly, and your face flushed bright red.

“Yeah-h that works.”, you choked out, feeling overwhelmingly flustered.

“While you’re showering I’m going to be in here with Bruce. I don’t want you coming in here, I’ll come and get you when we are done. You’ve already had a really long night, and I don’t think seeing Bruce perform minor surgery on my arm is going to do you any good .”

Just the thought of watching a bullet being dug out of his shoulder made your stomach roll.

“Probably a good idea.”, you chuckled.

Bruce stood up, cleaning up his work area and getting everything prepped for Bucky. You followed, your feet aching.

“I am allowed to walk around, right?”, you asked Bruce.

“Yes you can, I would recommend you try to walk as little as possible for a few days though.”

“Oh okay.”, you frowned slightly.

“It’ll be okay sweetheart, come on let’s go.”

Bucky smiled and took your hand, having you follow him back out into the hallway and up the stairs to the second level. Entering his bedroom you were amazed with how big it was.

A large king sized bed with all black bedding sat up against one of the walls, there were several bookshelves around the perimeter of the room, and a small fireplace was in the corner, a velvet green couch placed in front of it.

Releasing your hand for the moment Bucky walked into his closet, returning with a green crewneck and grey sweats.

“I know these might be big on you but figured it would be comfortable.”, he smiled down at you.

“Thank you.”, you blushed, averting your gaze, the thought of wearing his clothes made you feel giddy.

He handed the outfit to you before he walked through another set of doors into the bathroom, you following behind him. Bucky reached into the small closet next to the double vanity sink, pulling out a towel.

“Here’s this for you,” he said handing it to you, “Also feel free to use anything you want to.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem sweetheart, I’m going to go ahead and head back-”

You cut him off, blurting out, “Are you going to be okay?”

Bucky saw the nervousness in your eyes, he internally smiled, happy with the thought that you were worried about him.

“Of course I am. Bruce has worked with me for years, I trust him with my life, and besides this isn’t the worst injury I’ve ever got.”, he nonchalantly said, immediately regretting the words leaving his mouth.

You both stared at each other for a moment. Bucky’s brain was overwhelmed with the realization that sooner rather than later he was going to have to explain everything to you, and as soon as he did that he was afraid you would flee, wanting nothing to do with him ever again. He wouldn’t blame you for that, you were in his eyes the personification of innocence, and he was one royally messed up guy.

“What’s wrong?”, you asked him.

He looked sick, skin pale, and he had an expression of sadness plastered on his face.

“It’s nothing, you need to worry about right now doll. We can talk about it after I get back, I did promise you we would talk about everything tonight after all.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

He reached out and squeezed your hand.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, you can hangout in my room until I get back, if you want to.”

With that he made his leave, closing the bathroom doors behind him. You sat the clothes and towel down on the counter and moved towards the massive walk-in shower. Stripping off your ruined dress, you stepped into the shower and began fiddling with the knobs. Water poured onto you from the showerhead above you.

The warm water rushed down your body, soothing your stressed muscles. You looked at the shelving on the wall noticing several different options of soaps and shampoos.

Reaching for one of the bottles, you picked up some coconut scented shampoo. Lathering your hands with the soap you ran your fingers through your hair, washing out the dirt and other forest foliage that had become tangled into your strands. After you rinsed out your hair, you grabbed a matching scent of body wash, scrubbing the grime from your body.

You stood under the running water for several minutes after you had finished washing yourself, enjoying the comfort the warmth brought you, and the sound of the shower splashing onto the tiles. As your fingers started to prune you figured you’d been in there long enough. You turned off the water, and moved to get your towel.

You dried your body and hair before slipping on Bucky's clothes, which were in fact big on you, due to the fact the man was practically double your size. Picking up your used towel off the floor you refolded it and set it over the edge of the bathtub, also doing the same with your dress.

Walking out of the bathroom and back into Bucky’s room you looked at one of his nightstands, seeing the alarm clock that sat on it read ten thirty.

‘Shit’, you thought.

You hadn’t talked to Nat in over three hours, she was probably going to think you had been murdered at this point. Hesitantly you looked towards the bedroom doors, remembering Bucky had said to stay in his room until he was done. Wrestling back and forth on what to do, you decided on going downstairs to try and find your phone, he had just said to not go back into the office so it wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong.

You slowly eased down the stairs, your feet hurting still. As you stepped onto the first floor, you looked towards the living room, seeing Steve sitting on the large couch. You wobbled over to the furniture, plopping yourself down on it.

“Can you do me a favor?”, you asked him.

Steve looked caught off guard at the fact you were talking to him.

“Uh, it depends.”

“Can you help me find my phone? I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s in Bucky’s office.”

‘Shit’, you thought.

“Okay well could you go get it for me? Please. I’m not allowed in there right now according to Bucky.”

“Yeah no problem.”, he said as he stood and headed down the hallway towards the office.

Steve pushed open the doors to the office space. Bucky laid on his back, Bruce hovering over him, silver tools in his gloved hands.

“It going okay so far?”, Steve asked.

“Yeah almost got it out, just have to stitch him up after.”, Bruce said as he shifted the tools, Bucky letting out an agonized groan.

Steve nodded and walked to Bucky’s desk, picking up your phone and heading back to the living room.

“Here.”, he said as he lightly tossed it to you and sat down.

You caught your phone immediately turning the screen on.

WIFEY 6 MISSED CALLS

You rushed to unlock your phone, dialing Nat back.

“Y/N?!”, she said as she answered the call.

“Nat, I’m so sorry I-”

She cut you off, “Dude what the fuck I thought you’d been kidnapped or murdered, I was seriously debating on calling the cops.”

You knew Nat was extremely overprotective of you and wasn’t bluffing.

“You don’t need to call the cops Nat, I’m completely fine.”

Steve stiffened on the couch, immediately shooting you a look.

“What are you even doing right now?”, she asked.

“I’m at his house.”

“Shit I’m being a cockblock right now okay by Y/N, use protection.”, and with that Nat hung up the phone.

Pulling your phone from your ear, noticing Steve looking at you weirdly.

“So what was that about the police?”, he asked.

“Oh nothing, my roommate thought Bucky had kidnapped me or something and was saying she almost called them.”, you shrugged.

Steve relaxed at that, turning his attention back to his own phone

“Ah okay.”

The two of you sat on the couch in silence, you scrolling through your social media feed. Footsteps echoed from down the hall, Bucky emerging from it. He was shirtless, bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder. Your eyes quickly glanced up and down his torso. Seeing you do this Bucky smirked, enjoying the blush that blossomed across your face.

“I’m going to change and I’ll be right back sweetheart.”

“Okay!”, you said, staring after him, admiring his muscular back from behind as he walked upstairs.

A few minutes later Bucky reappeared, wearing a coffee colored hoodie, plaid pajama pants, and a pair of slippers. In his hands he held another pair of slippers.

“I figured you’d want something soft to wear after Bruce bandages your feet.”

The next several minutes went by quickly. You and Bucky made your way back to the library, Brue wrapping your feet. After that you made your way into the kitchen, following after Bucky. You leaned up against the counter as Bucky made the two of you hot chocolate.

“Let’s go sit outside to talk.”, he said, handing you your mug.

The two of you made your way outside, down some steps, and over to a firepit surrounded by plush patio furniture. You sat in the chair beside the one Bucky had chosen for himself. You could tell he was nervous as he sipped his drink, his eyes staring into the fire.

“Bucky?”

He turned his attention to you.

“Sorry.”, he said as he took another sip, “I just don’t know how to word what I want to tell you.”

“Just tell me, you don’t have to sugar coat anything, just be honest.”, you reached out and squeezed his hand.

Staring into your eyes, he took a deep breath.

“Y/N.”, he started, “I am the head of the Barnes Family, the largest mafia organization in this city.”

PART SEVEN

TAGLIST IS OPEN!! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ADDED!

TAGLIST ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ @danzer8705 @sebastians-love @mrsnikstan @mgchaser @singsosworld @moviegurl2002 @akiyhara @multifandom-boss-bitch @dopewerewolfdaze @jules-and-gems @scott-loki-barnes @baebank @calicoootalks @dumblani @watarmelon212 @haven-in-writing @barnesxstan @alilstressyandlotdepressy @calwitch @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @greatmistakes @ozwriterchick @notsostrangerthing @baw1066 @sapphirebarnes @abaker74 @blackbirdwitch22 @greatmistakes @urfavfakeblonde @vioplay19 @greatenthusiasttidalwave @hisredheadedgoddess28

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the-irreverend · 5 months ago

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The Inferno Theory: The Chara Theory to End All Chara Theories

Here we are! Nine years of Undertale. And seeing how Chara is heavily associated with the number 9 (AND THAT TOBY FOX FINALLY TALKED ABOUT THEM), I can't think of a better way to celebrate the occasion than by dedicating this 5000-word-long theory about them? Y'all remember when people used to make long-ass theories about Chara? Yeah, they're coming back with a vengeance! To say I have a colossal hyperfixation is a massive understatement. No character in all of fiction has had a bigger impact on my life than this little rose-cheeked, cocoa-addicted freak. I’ve been a Chara fan for as long as I’ve been an Undertale fan, and you can bet that my understanding of them has changed a lot since. And now I have the pleasure of sharing said understandings with y’all!

Once upon a time, there was an aroace autistic who, like most of y’all, had a very unhealthy obsession with Undertale. And unlike most of you, he thought the Genocide Route was really fun. Most fans talk about how unhappy they felt killing everyone, but for me, I felt like a polar bear at a baby harp seal convention. I got a disturbing level of happiness out of turning everyone to dust. Hell, the only unhappiness I felt was when I couldn’t turn Monster Kid to dust.

Oh well, at least I got a good consolation prize!

I was one sadistic son of a gun, and so I was even more delighted to find out I had a secret admirer/partner-in-crime and that they joined in on the fun because I was such a goshdarn inspiration to them. Not wishing to disappoint my self-appointed partner, I erased the world without a second thought, eagerly awaiting what we might get to do together.

So you can guess I was pretty taken aback when, instead of a warm welcome, they started lecturing me about how I couldn’t accept the world’s destruction and that I was the one fully responsible for it (even though they were eager to take credit for it earlier). I didn’t think much of it at first. Initially, I just thought that they were just irritated that I was undoing what we had worked so hard to accomplish.

But as this game taught me time after time, you should never trust your first impressions. Those first impressions would crumble to dust when they said this.

To say I was completely baffled is an understatement. Why the hell would this prepubescent genocidal maniac be so obsessed over whether or not I think I’m above consequences? So obsessed to the point they would tell me to go to hell if I told them no? It was at that moment I realized there was something more to this character than meets the eye. But for a long time, I couldn’t seem to figure out what that something was. And it didn’t seem like anyone could figure that out either.

I’m very much a veteran of the fan wars that have emerged surrounding Chara. In fact, one might even say I am a deserter of sorts, as I am a former member of the Chara Defence Squad, Offense Squad, and Neutralist Squad. But I’m not gonna be a stuck-up and say everyone’s a canon-ignoring idiot except for me and that I’m the only one who knows what Toby Fox intended Chara to be. Even though I ended up with a very different take than yours (and will certainly argue why it’s the best), I owe you all your discussions a huge debt, and I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten invested in your interpretations, to begin with. Not to mention that, contrary to what some may argue, you’ve made some valid points to complement them.

And while the debate that resulted from Chara’s ambiguous morality has led to a lot of controversy and even toxicity, it has also been a source of some FANTASTIC CONTENT. Like seriously, would we have gotten those badass renditions of Stronger Than You if no one thought Chara was an awful person? Would we have gotten Man on the Internet’s beautiful rendition of Star if no one thought Chara was a good person (turned awful)?

It would be utter hypocrisy for me to ask of you to approach me and my arguments (or anyone who accepts them) with understanding and good faith only to then not do the same to anyone who doesn’t agree with me. In this theory, I will definitely argue why some points made about Chara are flawed; points that you might hold yourself. But that doesn’t automatically mean that you (or your takes) are intellectually or morally inferior to mine. And besides, I’m not Toby Fox.

So with that said, why did I eventually came to disagree with pretty much everyone about Chara? Because, one way or another, I couldn’t find a take that clicked with me personally as I felt there were various inconsistencies and issues holding them back. I looked at YouTube videos, subreddits, Tumblr essays, Twitter threads, and even forums on the Steam Community. But I couldn’t really find what I thought were satisfactory answers to the questions I had about Chara’s motivations, role in the game, and relationship with the player.

And then, one day, I found those answers. It all happened when I asked myself: “What if Chara didn’t turn against me… because they were always against me from the start?!”

I don’t mean that Chara only saw you as a means to an end. I mean that YOU were the end. What if Chara didn’t use you so they could screw over the monsters but they used the monsters so they could screw over YOU.

You probably think I’m insane, don’t you? And you’re right! I AM INSANE! AND SO IS THIS WHOLE DAMN THEORY!!! But somehow, someway, it just works!! And I’ll show you why and how!!!

What you are about to read is the culmination of six years of reading and critiquing Chara takes and theories of every kind and quality, whether it be Judgement Boy’s Who is the Real Villain of Undertale to Wandydoodles’ Oblivion Theory. Six years of examining the arguments and counterarguments of Chara defenders, offenders, and neutralists alike. Six years of looking in every corner of the UTDR fandom. From the tranquil lands of Quora. To the dark recesses of Reddit. To the intellectual wastelands of Twitter. To the fiery hellsite of Tumblr. So, without further ado, get ready for some of the most pure, unadulterated, high-octane, universe-collapsing neurodivergence you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!!

Part 1: The demonic heritage of the "demon who comes when people call its name".

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’ve asked yourself, “What the actual hell is this guy talking about?” I bet you’re having that moment right now. Everything about their character post-death, including their motives, their methods, and their relationship with you, is perfectly reflected in one of their most famous (or rather infamous) lines:

When most people hear the word demon, the first thing that comes to mind is a being made of pure evil whose only purpose in life is to destroy all things good in the world. Right?

Well, yes, but actually, no. It’s a little more complicated than that. To argue that Chara is a demon because they’re simply “an evil little twerp that enjoys being evil” doesn’t do them or their role in Undertale justice (although that hasn’t stopped people from trying to argue that). To understand why calling themselves a demon is EXTREMELY important, we need to dive into the wonderful (and totally not controversial) world of religious beliefs!

In ancient and modern religions, demons are a little more complex than just ethereal jackasses with a vendetta against virtue and righteousness. Though they vary from faith to faith, most demons have a specific set of qualities and tropes that make them integral to whatever faith they’re in. You also see these demonic qualities in fiction that’s derived or inspired by religions, and since Undertale’s lore and worldbuilding have a heavy emphasis on the spiritual and divine, you can see them in Chara. Since Undertale is a game of “Western” origin, you can definitely see they share qualities that are all too familiar with devils of “Western” religions. In classic devil fashion, they target those with weak integrities or suspect morals; they tempt you with the promise of fulfilling your desires at your and everyone else’s expense; they’re able to control your body as you grow their power through your sins, and hell, they even do the thing where they make a deal for your soul. Also...

But though it's evident that Chara encourages you to do “evil,” THEY THEMSELVES are not responsible for it. Yes, Chara encouraged you to kill, but YOU are the one who acted on those encouragements. In fact, YOU are the one who encouraged THEM to help you out! They walked down the dark path with you, but you didn’t really give them anywhere else they could walk. You had all the power and every chance to turn back and no reason to keep walking. And yet you persisted.

But that does beg the question, why did you walk it at all? What could possibly inspire you to give all of these characters happiness, satisfaction, and peace and then rip it all away? Because you decided that giving everyone the most satisfying ending was not satisfying enough for you. Because there was more that you could experience for yourself, even if it meant making everyone else experience something absolutely horrific. It wasn’t enough for you to fill the glass only halfway. You needed to fill it to the brim. You wanted to reach the absolute. Even if doing the Genocide Run was a bad experience for you, you CANNOT deny it was a fulfilling one. And Chara knows it, too. It ain’t exactly a coincidence that fulfillment and fullness are recurring motifs in Chara’s character.

Like all demons, Chara is able to tempt the wicked and sinful by targeting our greatest weaknesses and deficiencies. It’s no different from how Succubi and Incubi target those who succumb to the sin of lust. That’s why you won’t go after my aroace ass anytime soon. But I digress.

But Chara doesn't just tempt us by exploiting our need to fill the glass to the brim but also because of how they exploit the satisfaction we get from watching it fill up, that is to say, the satisfaction that comes from trying to achieve fulfillment.

We humans are addicted to progression as much as we are to completion, and in an RPG like Undertale, the satisfaction of progression comes in the form of NUMBERS. Not just the numbers that flash on the screen when you battle enemies but also the ones that go up when you finish said enemies off, whether it be your hit points, experience points, and so on. And Undertale isn’t any ordinary RPG; it’s one where its RPG elements are interwoven into the fabric of the game’s universe. Because of that, Chara is able to use these elements in their world to influence those outside of it.

But Chara does not just influence us through the numbers that increase but also the ones that decrease. That’s why the first thing they do when we reach Snowdin is give us a tally.

It’s not just there to measure progress. It’s also there to incentivize us to keep progressing. It gives us a small dose of satisfaction that’s enough to distract us from the mundanity and misery of the murder run, like a loading bar on a loading screen. And just like with loading screens, the farther it progresses, the harder it gets to turn away. Why would you want all the lives you’ve taken and the stats you’ve gained to amount to nothing? Why would you want to hit reset and go through those brutal fights with Sans and Undyne again? You can’t empty out the glass, not when you’re that much closer to filling it to the brim. Speaking of Sans and Undyne, it’s quite interesting that even though they barely know you, they know exactly why you won’t take your foot off the pedal, so to speak.

But that’s not the only thing driving you, isn’t it? Chara knows that there was something else that was spurning you along. Something more powerful and more dangerous than your addiction to progression and completion: PRIDE.

Perhaps the real reason you kept giving in to sin until it was far too late was because you didn’t think it would be too late. You didn’t hold back because you thought you would be able to go back. You thought you could just absolve your sins with the press of a button like you did in countless worlds before. You thought you could dive in, touch the bottom, and come back out of the water. But what were you getting into? How deep would you have gone? And would you have gone in if you knew you couldn’t possibly return? You know you wouldn’t. And Chara knows it, too. That brings us back to the dialogue I showed you at the beginning of this theory. The one said changed everything I knew about this character, and I firmly believe that this is the MOST important line of dialogue in the entire franchise.

PART 2: THE PART WHERE I (PRETEND TO) DESTROY 9 YEARS OF ESTABLISHED FANON!

When I say that that little blurb about being above consequences is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL, I do not say that lightly. It isn’t just important to Chara's character, but the game of Undertale as a whole! Anyone who’s serious about Chara’s character should never take this for granted because Chara sure as hell does not.

It’s not just our refusal to accept the world’s destruction that’s a huge-ass deal to Chara; it’s the arrogance and complacency that accompanies it, rooted in the position and privileges we have as the player. It matters to them so much that they’re willing to completely forgo bartering for our soul (which they say they want) if we don’t admit that we have that belief!

And yet, despite Chara taking this subject so seriously, the people who are analyzing their character ironically don’t. Generally speaking, most people simply brush this line off as nothing more than something they do to help them on their quest to achieve their goals. So, with that said, let’s talk about what those supposed goals actually are.

In all my years of reading and assessing countless Chara theories and interpretations, I’ve discovered that everyone actually agrees on what Chara's goals are. They just can’t agree on why they want them. Said goals are A) reach the absolute, B) max out their numbers/power, C) erase the world, and/or D) eradicate all monsters. But what if it’s actually the other way around? What if those things were the means to an end rather than the ends themselves?

What if the true goal of the “demon who comes when people call its name” was just like that of the demons of old: not to be your partner in crime, but to torment and punish you for your crimes? To make you face CONSEQUENCES!

I’m not making this argument simply because it makes Chara look more badass (though I think it totally does, lol). I firmly believe that Undertale’s post-Genocide content is written so that Chara’s character can only make sense if that was Chara’s goal from start to finish. Because if Chara’s endgame was any of those four I mentioned earlier, their character kinda falls apart because they're awfully inconsistent about fulfilling them. And those inconsistencies are evident in the Second Geno Ending.

Discrepancy 1) They say they will “appear time and time again” to help us “eradicate the enemy and become strong,” and yet they call us perverted for eradicating everyone time and time again.

You can argue that they didn’t want us to recreate the world in the first place and just move on to another world, but if so, why let us come back at all? And if it’s to get our soul, why do they keep around this world after we have it? This leads us to...

Discrepancy 2) They tell us to ERASE the world and move on to the next, and yet they allow us to restore it without a hitch after we give them our SOUL, seeing how there’s no black void when we start the game again.

If Chara was powerless to stop us from coming back, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But they CLEARLY DEMONSTRATE that they’re able to stop the player from restoring the world, as seen in the first post-genocide ending. And yet they don’t use this power after the first time the world is erased (WHICH YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD WANT TO USE SINCE THEY WANT TO ERASE THE WORLD AND MOVE ON TO ANOTHER)! Seeing how the world is back again without us doing anything makes the restoration of the world like something that Chara CHOSE ON THEIR OWN VOLITION. And what makes this all the more damning is...

Discrepancy 3) They tell us they’re down bad for increasing our ATK, DEF, EXP, and LV to the max and erasing the world and everyone in it, and yet they TELL US TO DEVIATE FROM THE ONLY ROUTE THAT ACCOMPLISHES THAT (which, as stated before, they call us perverse for doing it again).

So, let me get something straight. You tell us you want to ”eradicate the enemy” and “ erase this pointless world,” and yet not only are you allowing us to undo all of that, you want us to do something INSTEAD OF THAT??? It’s funny how you lecture us about how we cannot accept the world’s destruction BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, YOU WON’T EITHER!!!!! Also, before I forget...

Discrepancy 4)

WHAT KIND OF MISANTHROPE DEDICATES THEIR WHOLE LIFE TO WIPING OUT HUMANITY, GETS GIFT-WRAPPED A CHANCE TO DO THAT, AND THEN JUST PASSES IT UP?!?!?!

On behalf of misanthropes everywhere, I am DEEPLY disappointed in you!

So it doesn’t matter if you believe Chara is always evil, good, or detached from morality entirely. Because Chara has the same goal across all versions, they all succumb to the same inconsistencies!

Funny how most people see them as this embodiment of the addictive nature of levelling up and consuming everything in a piece of media and all that jazz WHEN THEY SEEM TO CASUALLY GIVE UP ON IT!!!!!!

And if you argue they want a Soulless Pacifist Run when they suggest “another path,” then ask yourself, what does that give them that a Genocide Run doesn’t? Keep in mind, aside from a scribbled-out photograph, we don’t see how many monsters or humans they killed besides the main characters or how much power and stats they gained from it. And it’s not like we see them erase the world afterward since only the genocide run has that infamous wall of red 9s. Not to mention, the genocide run is the most secure way of accomplishing their goals since they have the backing of the player. Not only that, but it’s also the safest and most efficient way to erase everyone and increase stats to the fullest, and we all know how Chara feels about efficiency.

So Chara has no reason to pick the Soulless pacifist ending over the Genocide Run if they want to achieve their end of increasing numbers and consuming the world… unless those things were a means to an end rather than ends themselves.

Indeed it is coming together! That’s the other reason their statement, “You think you’re above consequences,” is so damn important! They’re not telling us why we sinned, but it reveals they intend to make us suffer for those sins, and how.

That’s why Chara is seemingly so inconsistent about erasing the world. Because it was never about the world. It was all about YOU.

[SIDE NOTE: I’m sure many of you will point out that if Chara wanted us to get a Soulless ending in this world, then why would they encourage us to “move on to the next?” I don’t think this is too big an issue for two reasons. First, this line is meant to emphasize that, like all demons, Chara is inescapable and that no matter what world you go to (within their own universe), Chara will always follow you now that you’ve unleashed them. Second, because their goal concerns us and not the world they’re a part of, their character avoids the aforementioned inconsistencies that hamper the other Chara theories much more severely, in my opinion.]

Part 3: Contrapasso

Now I’m sure some of y’all might think that Chara doesn’t need to yearn for our torment to achieve the impact of the Soulless ending and that just because Chara is a demon doesn’t automatically mean they need to screw us over. You are right in that not everyone who makes a Faustian Bargain needs to have malicious intentions toward the people they’re taking advantage of (Kuybey from Madoka Magica is a great example of that). But Chara does need it! Not only does it make their character more narratively cohesive, but also makes their character more thematically impactful. And it’s more in tune with their demonic nature for them to want to torment us.

Because demons represent something more terrifying than evil itself. They represent the terrible price of embracing it, a price that all evildoers fear more than anything, and that all demons want seek to inflict upon us. Like most demons, Chara isn’t encouraging us to sin to fill the emptiness in our soul (or even their own). They did it to perpetuate that torturously empty and unfulfilled state for all eternity, a state which even themselves now endure.

Now, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve talked a lot about the themes of fulfillment and emptiness, and it’s for a good reason since those themes are heavily featured in Undertale. I mean, how could it not? Because concepts of demons, hell, and sins (which are explicitly mentioned in the game) are deeply intertwined with the concept of emptiness. The theologian Thomas Aquinas once defined evil as not a presence but as an absence (of that which is good). Darkness is the absence of light; war is the absence of peace; bigotry is the absence of tolerance; pride is the absence of humility, etc. You see this reflected in not just Christian theology but also fiction as a whole, as a lot of villains are motivated by a desire to obtain something that they believe can’t be without. Whether it be wealth, status, recognition, power, the death of an individual, or even just sadistic pleasure.

Since demons are beings that are inseparable from evil itself, the life of a demon is forever cursed by unceasing and unbearable emptiness. Hell, the word damnation originated from the Latin word damnum, which literally means loss! They’re not exactly partying in hell while your immortal soul is being slow-roasted for eternity. They’re burning in that lake of fire and brimstone along with you! They can’t end their damnation, not because they don’t want to but because they simply can’t. They’re fated to be bereft of the satisfaction or fulfillment found in Heaven or Earth, a fate that is worse than death in every sense of the word, especially since they can’t experience death anymore. Because of that, a demon embodies what is perhaps the most terrifying form of evil of all: not one rooted in a desire to rid the emptiness and unfulfillment within themselves, but a desire to inflict them upon others. Because as a wise philosopher once said:

We see this horrific state of mutually assured suffering everywhere across fiction. From goofy, lighthearted tokusatsu's...

...to nightmarish sci-fi dystopias...

...to a little indie game made 9 years ago.

Oh yeah. Don’t think I was gonna talk about emptiness without mentioning everyone’s favourite homicidal fauna-turned-flora, especially not with lines like this.

Take one to know one! And it can’t be a coincidence that the game emphasizes the theme of emptiness when giving the spotlight to the three characters that have committed the most “evil”: Flowey/Asriel, Chara, and YOU.

Quite the unholy trinity going on here, eh? It truly is fascinating how the emptiness led us to work with each other to exterminate all monsters. And it’s also interesting how the unique kind of emptiness we have eventually led us to work against each other. Whether it be Flowey wishing to preserve his sentimentality for his long-gone sibling, us players wanting to maintain our (perverted) sentimentality for the world of Undertale, or Chara weaponizing these sentimentalities to exact their misanthropic hatred.

Remember how I said that Chara was a lousy misanthrope because they keep letting us bring back the humans they wanted annihilated when they were alive? That does make them a lousy misanthrope… unless their misanthropy found a higher priority target: YOU!!!!! Chara’s desire to torment us didn’t come out of thin air. The same hatred that drove them to wipe out the humans of their world years ago is the same hatred that’s driving them to get at the humans of our world, even if it means destroying those who once embraced them. And now, that hatred is more potent and destructive than ever before, so much so that it’s no wonder Toriel was able to feel it when she endured that fatal blow after the Geno Run began.

Do you think witnessing what soullessness did to sweet little Asriel wasn’t already terrifying and tragic enough? Just try to imagine what it could‘ve done to a vengeful, traumatized, chocolate-addicted problem child so consumed by hatred that they poisoned themselves just for a chance to wipe out their own kind. All of that hatred of humanity is still alive and well, and now it has no humanity to hold it back.

And what could be a more fitting target for a MISANTHROPE that calls themselves a DEMON… than a HUMAN that wants to play GOD?

After all, the only thing demons love more than tormenting mortals is warring with Gods.

Why else do you think that Chara winks right at you if we make Frisk stay with Toriel? Because that’s who the Soulless Ending was meant for. It’s when they’re finally able to unleash all that animosity and hatred that’s been lurking behind that smile ever since we killed everyone in the Ruins. It’s the moment that they’ve been patiently waiting for because they knew that’s when it would hit you the hardest.

And what makes the Soulless Pacifist Ending very special compared to other “bad endings” isn’t simply because they destroy those we pretend to care about (may I remind you that you did do the genocide run, after all). But they destroy something much more valuable to us as the players: OUR OMNIPOTENCE. Chara doesn’t destroy people for the sake of destroying them. But because in doing so they destroy our arrogant belief that nothing could possibly challenge the invisibility and invulnerability we players take for granted.

It's all too human that those with the most power are the least willing to lose it (or even take responsibility for it). And in a world where we should have absolute power, we thought there would be no consequences for abusing it. So what could be a more fitting and frightful punishment than having to actually face them? Missing out on the best ending in a video game is one thing. But to forever lose the power to achieve it ever again?! Now that’s terrifying!

Throughout myth, legend, and religion, sinners are often punished in a way befitting of the sin they’ve committed. In Greek Mythology, Tantalus was damned for trying to feed the Gods the flesh of his murdered son with eternal hunger and thirst despite being within arm’s reach of water and food. In Dante’s Inferno, those who succumb to wrath are forever doomed to fight each other in a river of mud. And since Undertale is no stranger to concepts such as hell, sins, and demons, you can damn well be sure that there’s going to be damnation fitting for the sins that drove you to complete the genocide run.

You completed the Genocide Run because you believed ending their lives would be fulfilling. Now, you can no longer get any fulfillment out of saving their lives.

I mean, where else can you get your precious fulfillment? Those paltry neutral endings? They only offer a fraction of what the pacifist ending offered. And the genocide ending has been drained of its satisfaction like the pacifist! Would you do all that tedious grinding and brutal boss fights just to hear your so-called “partner” lecture you again on perverted sentimentality and say you should choose another path, even though there’s nothing that they could offer? Of course not. In the end, you’re just like poor Tantalus agonizing in the pits of Tartarus, feeling the water vanish from his hands just before it touches his lips.

The ultimate triumph of Chara isn’t making you suffer a total defeat, but perhaps something much worse to you as a gamer: a pyrrhic victory. It’s like having a Twinkie that's been drained of the creamy center. Everything is still there except the thing you treasure most. You’re damned to play a challenge forever deprived of any and all fulfillment you once got from it, a satisfying journey that will always be doomed to reach a dissatisfying destination.

In the end, Chara leaves you with the world exactly as they described it the first time they met you face-to-face: POINTLESS.

You can have the world exactly as it was before (and the people within it). But in the end, Chara will always have the last laugh.

Figuratively and literally.

Welcome to hell!

Part 4: Why Consequences Matter

Woooooo!!! Man, that was quite the read, wasn’t it? And yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said this is going to be autistic as all hell! I don’t doubt you have a lot of thoughts in your mind, and then you’re gonna share them by the time you’re finished reading this post. Some of you might think this is the Chara theory to end Chara theories. Some of you believe that this is the worst thing that has happened to this fandom since Sebastian Wolff. Some of y’all, I’m whitewashing them because I argue they’re driven by a desire to punish the wicked by any means necessary. Some will think I’m demonizing them because I say that they’re, well, a demon.

[SIDE NOTE: Just so I don’t miscommunicate what I believe about Chara’s morality, here are some key points to take away from this theory. A) Chara sought to make you pay for the evil you committed. In fact, the idea that the Soulless Ending is Chara punishing our sins has been around for a while, especially by those who think Chara was “corrupted. B) However, in this theory, Chara's actions are all done with the intent of accomplishing that goal. This means that Chara was aware of what they were doing, they wanted to do it, and that THEY KNEW IT WAS EVIL. C) But you still have to remember that Chara is also A LITERAL CHILD. And D) They’re a child who endured a great deal of hardship (and possibly trauma), which made them so embittered and vengeful. Also, E) Remember that they’re also soulless, just like Asriel when he was Flowey.]

But I think most of you were gonna look at this interpretation of Chara and feel the same thing that I have about most of yours: a take that’s not without issues, but not without a fair bit of interesting points.

But regardless of what you think of this theory overall, there’s one thing I won’t leave up for debate: I deeply treasure Chara’s character. Not just because I think they’re fun, cool, or interesting but also because I firmly believe they’re invaluable Undertale. And yet, at the same time, I think they’re severely undervalued by the fandom. And who can blame them?

The characters of Undertale speak very little of Chara, and Chara speaks for themselves even less. But just like Johan Liebert from the anime Monster, even though they’re not seen too often, they still manage to exert a massive presence and impact within Undertale’s narrative. And that presence is made all the more impactful because they perfectly represent the themes of the narrative: and that theme is CONSEQUENCES, or more accurately, the CONSEQUENCES OF VIOLENCE.

From the violence that drove Chara to climb Mt Ebott to the violence their brother Asriel inflicted in hopes of being with them forever. From something as grand as a war between two civilizations to something as small as dismembering a snowman. Everywhere you look, you will see that violence (and its repercussions) haunts the story and characters of Undertale. But what makes Undertale stand out from other media that tackles this subject is that it’s not just an integral part of its narrative but also its metanarrative. The most ingenious way it does this is by giving meaning to the actions/mechanics that we take for granted, specifically monster encounters.

Our Lord and Saviour Toby Fox said it best:

Because the monsters of Undetale are treated as something more than just enemies to be killed, there are going to be consequences for choosing to kill them away. Some argue that it goes too far in how it admonishes you for killing even a single monster, even to the point of being preachy (I’m looking at you, ScottFalco, but that’s a response for another day).

That argument is deeply flawed because it fails to account for the fact that without these ramifications, the game’s themes would be rendered null and void. The last thing that a game with a narrative centred around the consequences of violence can afford to do is afford you the luxury of avoiding them. And that principle especially applies if you dare to choose nothing BUT violence. //////If you were to bring them all back as if nothing happened, then your decision to commit genocide would be completely meaningless, which would totally disservice Undertale themes regarding violence. There needs to be consequences. LASTING CONSEQUENCES. Undertale can’t drive home its messages and them without lasting consequences. Undertale can’t deliver those consequences without Chara in the driver’s seat. And Chara’s character can only be at their most narratively cohesive and thematically impactful if seeking to make us suffer consequences was their intended destination.

Regardless of whatever detail about Chara you’re discussing or what side of the discussion you’re on, one thing is very clear: they’re absolutely essential to Undertale in the same way that Mephistopheles is essential to Faust, the Cenobites are essential to Hellraiser, and Kuybey is essential to Madoka Magica. And they’re the only ones with the means, motives, and deep-seated misanthropy to hold this whole damn game together.

Sans is right. We deserve to be burning in hell for what we did to those poor monsters. And I can't think of anyone more qualified to have us humans “burning in hell” than a self-proclaimed demon with a seething hatred of humanity.

And how fitting is it that the skeleton who judges our sins is followed by a human child who punishes us for them?

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY!

A CHARA THEORY!

THANKS FOR READING!

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cece693 · 4 months ago

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Bet Pt. 2 (Klaus Mikaelson x M! Reader)

If you haven't read the first part, here's the link. But to catch up, basically male reader is confused about who Klaus really is—evil hybrid vs. sweet, caring man. However, when Klaus is willing to show you where the cure is, are you willing to leave whatever you have with Klaus behind?

tags: reader makes a choice, happy ending, Klaus is a sweet boy, the Salvatore brothers are pissed

You hadn’t stepped foot in the Mikaelson mansion since Klaus had revealed his feelings. Every time you tried, something stopped you. The weight of his confession—his unexpected vulnerability—left you feeling more confused than ever. You couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, not when your mind was torn between the life you had before and the life Klaus was offering you.

It wasn’t him you were angry at. In fact, you couldn’t blame Klaus for being honest, for laying his cards on the table and letting you see a side of him that few others did. No, all your frustration, all the pent-up anger, was directed at yourself. Because if Klaus had made his offer before you truly got to know him—if he had mentioned the cure before you saw the man behind the hybrid—you wouldn’t have hesitated to take it. You would’ve agreed to anything just to be human again. But now things weren’t so simple.

If you chose the cure, you would be giving up everything. Your brothers, your friends, Klaus. And the thought of leaving him behind, of never knowing what could have been, filled you with a sense of dread you hadn’t expected. When you were with him, you felt more like yourself than you had in centuries. He made you feel alive in ways that weren’t tied to your vampiric instincts. He challenged you, but he also supported you. He saw you for who you were, not just the person you used to be or the vampire you had become. And that was terrifying yet exhilarating.

After another night of pacing and weighing your options, you knew you had to confront the reality of your choice. You needed to speak to your brothers, to make them understand where you stood. You found Damon and Stefan in the parlor, just as you had anticipated. They were both quiet, sipping on their bourbon, when you stepped inside. Damon glanced up first, his gaze sharpening as he saw the determined expression on your face.

“So, have you finally made up your mind?” Damon asked, raising an eyebrow.

You took a breath and nodded. “I have,” you said, and the words came out steadier than you felt. “I’m not taking the cure. I’ve decided to stay as I am.”

A flicker of relief passed over Stefan’s face, though Damon’s reaction was less encouraging. “Good,” Damon replied dryly, “glad you’ve come to your senses and aren’t throwing everything away for some idiotic human fantasy. I guess that means you’re done with the whole Klaus thing, too, right?”

“No. I’m staying a vampire, but I’m also choosing to be with Klaus.”

The room seemed to grow colder, the silence stretching taut as a bowstring. Stefan’s relief evaporated, his brow furrowing with concern. Damon’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as if you had just confessed to the most unforgivable sin.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Damon spat, standing up so quickly the couch scraped against the floor. “You’re really choosing that monster over your own family? Do you even hear yourself?”

“It’s not like that,” you argued, feeling a surge of defensiveness rising in your chest. “This isn’t about choosing him over you—it’s about choosing the life I want. I’m not going to keep living the way I have, pretending things are fine between us. We haven’t been a real family for a long time.”

“So you think the answer is running into the arms of a psychopath?” Damon shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Newsflash, little brother: Klaus doesn’t know how to love. He’s a manipulative bastard who will use you until there’s nothing left. He's incapable of it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you as you met his gaze head-on. “And who are you to lecture me about love, Damon?” you shot back, anger seeping into your tone. “The man who fell for Katherine—twice? Or maybe it’s Stefan, the one who has been tangled up in an endless cycle with Elena for years, pretending that it’s love instead of just addiction?”

Stefan recoiled at your words, and Damon’s jaw tightened. The room was thick with tension, the brothers struggling to form a response. "I'm not some pawn in his game, Damon. Nor does he have me under a spell. Klaus has been honest with me, more than you have! When was the last time any of us truly cared about each other without some kind of ulterior motive?”

Stefan stepped forward. “We’re not saying you can’t choose your own path,” he said softly, “but Klaus is dangerous. You can’t deny that. You know what he’s capable of.”

“And we aren’t?” you shot back, your gaze moving between your brothers. “Let’s not act like we’re saints. We’ve all done terrible things, and we’ve all hurt people. Just because we did it for reasons we thought were justified doesn’t make us any better than him.”

Damon clenched his jaw, his expression dark with frustration. “You’re going to regret this,” he warned, his tone low and threatening. “You’re choosing him over us, and when it all falls apart, don’t expect us to come running.”

The weight of his words hit you harder than you’d expected, but you refused to show it. “If that’s the way you see it,” you replied quietly, “then maybe we were never truly brothers to begin with.”

The walk to the Mikaelson mansion felt like shedding an old skin, leaving behind a life that no longer fit. When you arrived, Klaus was there waiting, as if he had sensed the moment you had made up your mind. His expression softened the instant he saw you, a mixture of hope and relief glimmering in his eyes.

“So, you’ve come to a decision?” he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of vulnerability underneath.

You took a step closer, meeting his gaze with determination. “I have,” you said. “I’m staying.”

Klaus’s breath seemed to catch in his throat, his eyes darkening with an emotion that you had rarely seen before—something close to joy, but tempered by the shadow of all the years he had lived without it. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands with a tenderness that defied his reputation.

“Then you’ve made the right choice,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “And I promise, you won’t ever regret it, love.”

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mint-yooxgi · 5 months ago

Text

Dreamer - Yandere!Vampire!Yeosang

Yandere AU & Vampire AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Yeosang X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,771

Warnings: Hunter/Prey dynamics, Invasion of dreams mentioned multiple times, Possessive and sexual thoughts, violence and blood mentioned. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: It's been a while... sorry for the delay in posting things, like I said, life has been crazy! I hope you all enjoy this one, something short and sweet for you all. Dedicating this one to @anyamaris hehehe... As always, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

The Sixteenth and Final of The Feral Drabbles

The loud chiming of the clock tower rings through my ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds. Golden light filters in through the widows, filling the stone walls with the last rays of the setting sun. If I listen closely, I can still make out the faint sounds of your heavy breaths. You cannot escape me, Starling. No matter where you hide, no matter how far you run, I will always find you.

I don’t know how many times I have told you how futile it is to try and get away from me, but you never seen to want to listen. I’m starting to think you rather enjoy the chase. Something about the imminent danger I pose simply gets your blood thrumming with excitement. I can just tell.

Of course, I could end this all in an instant. I could appear beside you at any given moment. My speed and tracking abilities are unmatched, especially when I have what I want in my sights. Yet, where would the fun be in that? I love listening to your heart race because of me. I love knowing I can make your scent spike suddenly with the slightest of sounds. You can sense me getting closer, can’t you? You know that I always get what I want, and what I want is you.

You smell amazing… Have I said that already? That pungent aroma of fear, permeated with the slightest thrill of excitement. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. After all, I know you better than you know yourself. In time, I’ll show you just how perfect I am for you, just as I know how perfect you are for me.

For months I’ve been studying you. The shadows have always been my friends, but when it comes to you, I am the shadows. All those dark and lonely nights I watched you, longing to be beside you, and finally be able to hold you in my arms. I longed to be able to brush my fingertips over your face, tracing loving patterns into your skin that only I can see. I wish to be there for you, and I so badly want you to be there for me.

Your soul called to me. The scent of your blood intoxicates me. Your laugh enchants me, and your smile sets my long dead heart aflutter. Just the sight of you has brought me back to life in ways I never thought possible, and I will cling to that essence of vitality for as long as we both shall live.

There is no me if there is no you.

Now, if only you could see that.

I’ll admit, knocking you out and bringing you to an unknown location was probably not the best way to properly introduce myself. In my defence though, I did overhear you talking to that one friend of yours about certain particular fantasies you’ve always had. You’ll have to excuse me for jumping the gun. I got too excited, and besides, it’s not like you don’t know me.

For months I’ve been appearing in your dreams. It started out small, just in passing at first. A glance of my face here. A hint of my voice there. You seemed to be reacting positively to me, too! I noticed a few times you seemed to be looking forward to my slight visits. Sometimes, you’d even go so far as to continue searching for me in your mind when I passed by. A fact of which made me happy beyond doubt.

Then came the nightmares.

You’re prone to them, aren’t you? The darkest recesses of your mind which you hide away in the light come creeping out of the shadows to torture you while in your most vulnerable state. They’re relentless, and unforgiving. A hindrance to your livelihood which dulls your shine, and petrifies your strength.

You can see why I couldn’t have that. I vowed to keep you safe, and that will always include keeping you safe from yourself.

Which is why I had to step in. I couldn’t leave you to suffer all alone. Not only could I prove to you how valuable I could be to you in your dreams, but it let me interact with you. Even on a subconscious level, I could tell it was going to benefit me greatly. I could talk to you, protect you, keep you interested…

And interested you were! I can still recall the way your eyes felt raking over my full visage for the first time. I could tell that you liked me, and that only made me know stepping into your subconscious mind was the right thing to do.

We were finally making progress! You could see me for who I was, and I could finally see you without hiding myself away. I could interact with you on a more personal level, even within a dream.

Everything I said, everything I did, was real. There’s no question about it. I would never deceive you like that, anyways. You deserve my truth, for it will soon become yours as well.

Those nightmares, though recurring, also let me understand you better. Those monsters stalking your dreams will never be able to hurt you again. I made sure of it. I showed them what a true beast looked like. Though, I will say, feeling their blood drip from my hands after rendering them limb from limb is immensely more satisfying in real life than within any dream your mind can conjure. I only wish I could have inflicted more damage on them while they were still alive…

They didn’t suffer enough. Not after what they all did to you. Nobody hurts you, cheats you, lies to you and gets away with it. No one.

I’ll tear them all to shreds. I’ll rip their pathetic flesh from their bones and feed their mangled corpses to the sea. Hell is a blessing compared to what I have prepared for anyone that crosses you. After all, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you…

Oh, look at me… getting so caught up in my thoughts of you again that I nearly missed the sound of you changing your hiding place. It’s adorable how you think you can get away from me. As if you really want to. Why else would you have ran up the clocktower rather than out into the streets the first chance you got?

What will I get once I finally catch my prize? I’ll finally be able to properly feel your skin beneath my touch. Will you hold onto me as tightly as I’ll be holding onto you? Will you whisper my name so sweetly, granting me a long since desired wish? Or maybe, just maybe…a kiss?

Oh, how I’ve longed to feel your lips pressed against my own, My Sweet Starling. Ever since that one fateful night, that glorious dream we shared, I’ve been longing to know what you taste like in real life. You’ve already let me touch you once before, now all there’s left to do is make your whole body shake in ecstasy in real life.

I know it was simply a dream, but fuck- I can still hear the way you cried out for me. The way your thighs wrapped around my head as I worshipped you between your legs… as I buried myself deep inside of you… I want to feel it again. This time, I want it to be real.

I want to hear those sinful lips of yours crying out my name. I want to hear you gasp as I sink my fangs into your flesh, and drink my fill of you. I want to feel your nails cutting into my back and pulling me closer because you cannot get enough of me. You already know that I can never get enough of you, and I will always prove that my love for you is true.

Oh, Starling… you’re going to make me moan if you keep smelling like that…

Delectable. Sinful.

…Mine.

Already I can feel my mouth salivating at the thought of catching you. My fangs are nearly pricking my lips. Starling, I don’t know if I can hold myself back for much longer…

I can hear your heart racing nearly in time with mine.

Tell me… are you as excited as I am right now? There’s something about the thrill of the chase, isn’t there? Knowing that I’m hunting you, wanting to catch you and finally make you mine. I swore to you that I meant you no harm, and that fact will always hold true. I will never hurt you. You are mine, and I am yours. That’s how it should be. That’s how it shall always be.

See! I knew you wouldn’t be able to deny me! We’re meant to be!

Look at you trying to be quiet after purposely giving away your location. It’s extremely endearing, you know. Try to hide all you want, but you can never escape the inevitable.

You may be able to lie to yourself, My Glorious Starling, but you cannot lie to me. Like I said before, I know you better than you know yourself. I can smell the excitement pouring off of you. You want me to catch you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to forget all that I’ve done for you in your dreams so easily. After all, my actions have always been, and will always be, as real as I am.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

The longer I let this go on, the more excited you seem to get. Just listen to your heart racing for me! It’s getting louder with each step, and this time, there’s nowhere you can run. This will be the last place you can ever hide from me. Or rather, should I say, the last place I’ll let you hide from me.

From now on, you’re mine.

Fuck- I haven’t felt this excited in centuries. Do you realize how special you are? My blood feels like it’s lighting a fire within my veins, and my hands are shaking. Do you see the effect you have on me?

And, oh, when I finally get my hands on you…

There will be no part of you untouched - unloved - by me. I plan to spend however long it takes worshipping you and showing you just how loved you are by me. Mentally, physically, spiritually… Nothing is too much for you. You deserve nothing but my best, and my best is what you’ve always deserved. Nothing less.

Tick tock, My Glorious Starling… Your time is up.

#cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #yandere ateez #yandere yeosang #yandere kpop #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #vampire au #chubby reader #kpop au #ateez au

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starstruckgrrl · 1 year ago

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MORE TAMAKI🙏🙏🙏

who am i to deny you 🫡

ꕤ*. synopsis: tamaki doesn’t do so well at hero events, but he’s grounded with you there. not to mention you give him the perfect motivation!

↳ ♡₊˚.warnings: smut, car sex, he says “i love you”, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, sub!tamaki, pet names, established relationship, lil bit of edging, cute tamaki naps for aftercare :3

a/n: sorry if the way i capitalize some stuff has changed, i want to make it easier to read!! i really hope you like it, give me some feedback or suggestions pls!!

ever since he’s met you, tamaki has been doing a lot better at handling any event that comes his way. his friends take notice, praising him for sticking around “this long!”

he owes his success to you, who he will often scamper off to. you’re always with him at every event, keeping him grounded and confident(ish).

usually, he’ll take you everywhere with him, making you become his bodyguard against awkward conversations or slightly passive aggressive behavior. however, you know that it is good for him to do some things on his own so he won’t feel so horrible when you’re busy and can’t escort him everywhere.

so the pro-hero Suneater is here, after several minutes of you gently pushing him, at a table with Deku, Dynamight, Lemillion, Red Riot, Nejire Chan, and a few other names from high school. while he does feel much better that nejire and mirio are there with him, the potential comfort he might have had is ruined when everyone delves into questions about his personal life.

tamaki mentally curses mirio, who asks first, “Suneater! i haven’t met that girl you’ve been parading around yet? when will i get to meet her?”

“her name is ——, and you can meet her soon, i guess? she said she would follow me over soon.” tamaki replied.

“she’s very nice, Lemillion! i met her once while getting a drink at an event a week or so ago, and she was nothing but kind!” Deku shot out, happy to have met a nice person.

nejire never passes up an opportunity to talk about something happy, so she began her rambling, “she’s so preeeetty! can you ask her about what products she uses in her hair? does she have extensions? does she wear wigs? if so, where does she get such natural ones?”

the indigo-haired hero you cherished began to sink in his seat, visibly overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions that had begun after the mention of his date, but felt better when he felt your hand pat him on the shoulder.

“hi, baby. are you doing okay?” you asked, loud enough for people sitting near him to hear, but to him nonetheless.

he began to sit up in his seat, the pet name being comforting enough to help him regain some composure, “yes, i’m okay, how are you?”

you gave him a small smile as you sat in your spot next to him, confirming that you were feeling alright.

mirio was the first to speak to you, “are you ——?! i’ve heard so much about you!! well, pieces about you, tamaki is kind of private about your relationship, but pieces nonetheless!!”

“yes, that’s me! it’s lovely to meet tamaki’s best friend!” you replied, recognizing tamaki’s description of his grade-school friend.

“AWWW, Suneater, you’ve told her about me!” mirio shouted.

tamaki smiled up at him, how could he ever think that he wouldn’t tell everyone about the person who motivated him so much?

as the evening went on, you had been asked plenty of questions, mainly by nejire. you had no complaints, as you found everyone thoroughly entertaining and sweet.

the whole time, you were keeping physical contact, even in small ways, with tamaki. it was the best way to make sure he knew you were still there for him and thinking about him, even as you conversed with the others.

over time, your small touches turned into something else. clasping his hand turned into rubbing his thigh, slight pokes turned into tracing soft circles on his bicep. the little things meant the world to this man, so you knew he was getting your idea.

about 3 hours in, tamaki’s social battery had been completely sucked dry. he gave you a special look and squeezed your hand twice to let you know he wanted to go, a signal the both of you had come up with.

you cleaned up your area at the table, stacking your used dishes neatly for a waiter/waitress to pick up with ease, and stood up. you patted yourself down as your lover stood up, and you all exchanged goodbyes as the both of you walked out, your arm wrapped around his.

the both of you walked out to the car, and tamaki slid his hand down to your waist and pulled you closer. you were stunned, he rarely initiates things, especially in public.

“tama” you cooed in his ear.

tamaki led you to the backseat of the car, opened the door for you, and sat next to you. he kept the door slightly ajar for what he would call “ventilation” when you questioned him later.

you kissed him first, a small but sweet kiss. your partner, however, kissed you again. longer, deeper. he grabbed you and held you close to him, and he leaned against the back of the seat. he began to unzip his pants when you stopped him.

“are you sure, baby?” you asked, knowing his fear of having all eyes on him.

“yes, i love you too much, please.” he replied, asking you to please continue.

you nodded at him, and got on top of him. you gave him kisses on his neck and bit him softly as you pulled down his pants to let his cock spring out.

you flipped up the dress he bought you special for this event, and moved your underwear to the side. tamaki brought his hand down to rub small circles on your clit, getting you wet for him.

you softly pushed his hand away, then brought yourself up, then down onto his dick. he let out a small whimper and you shushed him, “shh, baby, we don’t want anyone to see, do we?”

tamaki swallowed thickly, and stuttered out, “n-no”

“maybe you’d like that, dirty boy.” you teased, and he whined in response.

you bounced up and down softly on him, the friction of the base of his cock teasing your clit.

then, suddenly, you heard voices outside, a mere 10-15 ft away.

“oh, hey, someone’s car door is open. should we close it?” said one of the voices.

tamaki’s eyes widened, but he never stopped bucking up into you, and you never stopped riding him. he whimpered quietly, and you put your thumb in his mouth to silence him.

“nah, let’s just leave it. someone might be coming back to it in just a minute.” said another voice.

the both of you heard their footsteps trail away, and you looked at each other. tamaki leaned up to kiss you, and you could tell he was getting close. he was rutting into you from below, and it made you giggle.

“don’t cum until i say, tama!” you reprimanded.

he nodded quickly, confirming his submission.

you were also getting close, and tamaki always knew that you should cum first. you slammed down onto him harder, making his tip kiss your cervix every time. his cock was rubbing against a sweet spot inside you the deeper you went, and you came with a moan of his name.

as you were going through the aftershocks of your orgasm, tamaki began to beg.

“please, can i cum? please.” he whimpered out, his legs shaking slightly.

you kissed his forehead and gave him permission, and his cock twitched as he finally let go of the orgasm he had been holding. his cum warmed your insides and gave you an extra, satisfying feeling as it began to leak down.

“i’ll drive us back home, sweetheart, you rest. i know you’re tired” you told him as you slowly got up, grabbing a blanket that rested in the back pocket of the car seat, special for any sleepy car rides.

you laid tamaki down in the backseat and covered him in the fluffy blanket. you adjusted his pants and his underwear to make him as comfortable as possible.

you got out, adjusted your dress, and closed the car door. you got into the front seat and turned the car on and the heating up so your partner would be cozy on the ride home.

#anime smut #mha #mha smut #my hero academia #tamaki amajiki smut #sub tamaki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki smut #tamaki amajiki #tamaki x reader

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brackishkittie · 8 months ago

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flatline, abby anderson

— abby anderson x black!reader

“I was out there on the road, life out of control.”

synopsis: due to the fact that your girlfriend is an extremely busy woman, you grow distant from her and she doesn’t know why until some events occur and now she’s too late.

c/n: angst, suggestive but nothing happens, mentions of sex, cursing, and abby being extremely oblivious like an idiot.

a/n: hi everyone. :) I’ve been gone for months and I finally got a bit of motivation and time to post. I don’t know if this’ll have a sequel or anything of the sort but we’ll see. also listen to the song while reading this. ( makes more sense when you listen. )

daily click | ways to help palestine | important tlou post

it was late. very late. abby hadn’t called nor texted you to update you about her whereabouts or how long she was gonna take to come back home, so naturally you were pissed. you looked at her location and saw it pinning towards her job. “of fucking course..” you mumbled to yourself. you called abby, the phone ringing for what seemed like forever. no answer. you try again, and again, and again..and then silence.. “hello?” she answered, sounding gruff and stressed. “abigail, what the actual hell are you doing?” you say, irritation clearly in your voice.

“I’m working, y/n. this is pretty a bad time. what’s wrong?” she sighs softly. there was never a good time. “what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s fucking wrong. you’re barely at home anymore. it’s rare that I even wake up to you in the bed next to me.” you say angrily, getting mad at the fact she made it seem like it was nothing. she remains silent as you put your head down in disbelief. “y/n I’m trying..but—” she finally says but you cut her off quickly, “you aren’t trying, abigail..you aren’t. you said last time would be the last fucking time that something like this were to happen and you’ve done it again? ” you pinch the bridge of your nose as you wait for her response.

“baby I..I promise I’ll try harder. I’ll take a week off for me and you.” she mutters, trying to make the situation better somehow. you think about it carefully before taking a deep breath and replying to her, “fine.” you reply monotonously, hovering your finger over the red button to hang up but abby starts speaking again, “that’s my girl. I love you.” she utters into the phone. you take a few seconds to respond but give in, replying with a small ‘love you too’.

the new week came pretty quickly. as you sat up in your bed, expecting to start your day alone again, you heard a groggy voice call out to you. “where are you going? come back to bed..” it was abby. you whipped your head around and looked at abby, who was now sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “morning.” she smiled at you, reaching over to you and pulling you into her arms. she places a gentle kiss on your forehead while rubbing your back comfortingly.“you’re here..thank you.” you whispered to her. “of course I am. anything for my girl.” she said. this is all you wanted. all you ever asked for. her time. as happy as you were though, it just didn’t feel the same..but she was here now and you were gonna make the most of it.

☆

you placed her plate of breakfast onto the table and sat down across from her. you watched her take a few bites of her food before her phone rang. you watched as she let it ring out twice but the call seemed inevitable. she finally picked up the call and went into a different room, leaving you alone. you sighed, realizing what was about to happen. she comes back about 5 minutes later, her face clear with guilt. “my boss called..he said I have to come in.” she muttered quietly. you clenched your hands and shut your eyes, not even asking if she told him no because deep down..you knew the answer. you would always be a second choice for her. “go.” you say sternly. “are you su—” you cut her off once again, “just go.”

abby rubs the back of her neck, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry.” she says quickly before walking back into your shared bedroom and getting ready to leave and head to her beloved job. “un-fucking-believable..” you scoff, standing up from the table and heading into the living room. you fall back onto the couch, closing your eyes and sighing as you throw your head back in agitation. you were so angry and frustrated but at the same time sad and understanding. you knew abby cared a lot about her job and being a manager to a company is something you’ll never understand..but she would always pass up a chance to miss work. on weekends she would go in too, even if she didn’t have to.

it was a never ending cycle with abby and for some reason she just didn’t understand why you were so mad. the whole house felt so gloomy. there was so much tension and unspoken things that seemed to be lingering. abby came out the room and stopped to look at you, frowning slightly as she fixed her collar. “baby I promise I’ll try to make it home early tonight. I mean it.” abby bites the inside of her cheek while she waits for your response but all she’s faced with is silence. she takes a deep breath and grabs her keys, opening the door to leave but not before saying ‘I love you’ and closing the door. you feel your eyes sting, tears threatening to leave them. it might’ve been selfish but you missed when abby wasn’t a manager. back then, she used to make her schedule as flexible as possible to accommodate the both of you but now her schedule was just mainly work. everything was becoming too much and you were fed up.

☆

3 days had went by since then. barely any words had been exchanged between you two since you rarely see her and when you do, she’s “too tired to argue” and goes to bed. abby genuinely thought that you didn’t want to talk to her..at least civilly of course. she questioned a lot about why you were distant but never got the chance to ask you. you gave up on calling her and asking about where she was because you knew where she was. though this night was different. abby actually came home but..out of it? she seemed tipsy or almost completely drunk. she looked like she had been crying her eyes out for hours and when she spotted you on the couch, she basically lost it. “baby…” she murmured as she stumbled towards you. her hair was extremely disheveled and her breath reeked of alcohol. “abigail, are you drunk? how did you even get home? are you ok?” you bombarded her with questions immediately, standing up and inspecting her carefully.

“I’m fine. I had a co worker drive me home.” she looked away from you, obviously sounding ashamed of herself once again. “but don’t worry about me, I just wanna make things up to you..” she looked back at you before wrapping her arms around you and kissing you passionately. you almost gave in but pushed her off of you gently. “abby..no. I’m sorry but you can’t keep thinking that sex can fix everything…and you can’t keep brushing everything off like it’s nothing. you’re literally drunk and you’re telling me not to worry? forget about it.” you turn around and walk into the bedroom, abby following close behind you. “y/n, wait please. I can make it up to you a different way..I’m sorry.” abby sounds desperate now. her voice strained and raspy, you almost feel bad for her but you were at your limit. you grab a small bag and throw some clothes into it, as well as any other necessities you had needed and turned to finally face abby.

“abby I— I can’t do this. you don’t have time for me anymore and you always think that fucking me will magically make me forget about how you treat me. I’ve tried so hard make things work but every time I think you finally realize how I feel, you show me that you clearly don’t.” you pick up the bag swiftly and go to leave the room but abby blocks you. “y/n, baby, please..we can fix this..I can fix this.” she’s hysterical now. her face red and wet from her tears. you can tell she’s probably sincere but you were too angry to care. “it’s too late, abby. I’m done.” you move her off of you and shove past her. “I’m gonna stay by a friend. please don’t call me. I don’t wanna talk to you for a while..or at all. I’ll have the rest of my stuff out of here by the end of next week.” you look back at abby who looked so distraught yet wasn’t saying anything. abby had now realized what was wrong. not like she didn’t before but she had been oblivious to the severity of the situation and never bothered to actually have a conversation with you about anything.

you took up your car keys and left. abby rushed over to the front door and watched as you got into your car and drove away. and although you were pissed, abby was someone you expected to stay with for eternity. you two were together for so long that you would’ve never guessed that your rival would be her job. as you drove up to a red light, you could feel yourself slowly unraveling as you screamed in the car. you hit your steering wheel harshly as you cursed and wailed to your hearts content. you knew you still loved abby badly, but you couldn’t even keep up with her. despite the times you would see her, all she would do is eat, sleep, and leave for work. this was your breaking point. you heard the vibration of notifications coming from your phone and ignored it, continuing to drive even while wildly crying behind the wheel.

☆

when you finally pulled up to your friends house, composed and collected, you looked at your phone and felt your heart sink. abby called you over 10 times and only now had resorted to texting. you felt yourself gradually becoming reckless again as you read the few messages she sent you.

‘I’m so sorry. I feel like I just lost everything.’

‘we can work things out. I promise. please come home.’

‘I never meant to hurt you baby. I never wanted the relationship to end because of me.’

‘please respond. at least let me know that you’re ok.’

you can sense yourself getting sick by the second. you felt horrible. but if abby wouldn’t put you first, then you had to. you didn’t respond to her messages and for great measure, you made the harsh decision to block her. you had to stand your ground. you felt better. at least you thought you did. you made the right decision right? you couldn’t turn back now anyway. this was for the best.

tags: @softlysunrays @mariefilms @aouiaa 🎀 ( I love u guys )

#brackishkittie #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby x you #abby x black reader #abby x y/n #abby tlou #abby x reader #live laugh abby #abby angst

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defectivevillain · 5 months ago

Text

broken vessels

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used. there's one mention of glasses, but that's the extent of my self indulgence.

summary:

You sit down across from Hannibal. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it, judging from the smile pulling at his lips.

You had no idea just how drastically your life would change after becoming Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

word count: 7.8k | ao3 version

author's notes: This fic has been rotting in my drafts for too long. The transitions are a bit choppy, but I just had to realize this into the wild. So... yeah.

The focus of this fic is Hannibal Lecter/Reader; there is no explicit romance, but I am a diehard fan of the inherent homoeroticism that is Hannibal Lecter. If you’re looking for a happy ending or romance, you won’t find it here. Also this won't be canon compliant, since Sam and Hannibal are very different. You have been warned!

And if you aren’t familiar with The Patient… Well, you’re in for a wild ride. For now, all you need to know is that the reader is a therapist and Hannibal visits them for a session. (And you should also watch the series when you get the chance, because it's very good.)

warnings: canon-typical violence, depictions of mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, hopelessness, kidnapping, captivity/imprisonment, blood and injury, cannibalism

Hannibal Lecter is an interesting patient. You’re not sure what compels him to come to you one dreary morning, when the sky is muddled with grey and there is nothing but the threat of a storm on the horizon. You just know that your doorbell rings at exactly 10:00 a.m., and you open it to find a fine-dressed man with perfectly coiffed hair and an easy smile on his face. The expression is nothing short of polite, yet you feel as if there is unspeakab;e malice dripping from the corners of his lips. You invite him in and urge him to take a seat wherever he feels comfortable. The man regards the room for a moment, before sitting in the armchair you typically sit in. Unperturbed by the seating change, you move to the couch parallel to your usual chair.

For a while, there is only silence. You get the feeling the man is surveying you, scrutinizing you in his mind’s eye. You watch him and he watches you back. While you’re content to let the silence settle over the room, after a few minutes, you decide to speak up and ask him why he decided to come for a session with you.

The first session doesn’t prove to be entirely eventful, but it rarely is. Since it’s your first interaction, you spend most of the time trying to get to know him better. You learn that the man—Hannibal—was a surgeon and is now a psychiatrist, rather renowned for his research. Idly, you have to wonder how he came across you—and why he’s giving you a chance. Surely Hannibal has access to any of his colleagues, who are distinguished scholars. Maybe he needs a break from that, you then think.

Ultimately, your first session with Hannibal isn’t cause for concern. Your attention instead falls to your third session together, when you begin to realize that he’s being deliberately vague with his answers—and that he seems to favor dishonesty over truthfulness.

“Hannibal,” you remark, your heart thudding steadily in your chest, “I get the sense that you haven’t been quite honest with me.” You feel unreasonably apprehensive, as if this single accusation will ruin the little progress you’ve made with him. Yet, you can’t even call your past two sessions “progress,” can you? You spent the entire time attempting to stay afloat amidst the fluid conversation, feeling somewhat frustrated and confused all the same.

“I’ve been perfectly honest with you,” Hannibal responds. The look on his face is seamlessly calm. You’re nervous, but you continue. Therapy conducted under pretense is pointless, after all. Besides, this man knows what he’s doing. His behavior has been purposeful.

“You haven’t been,” you say, “and I think we both know that.” Hannibal looks at you—really looks at you—for what feels like the first time. His eyes are a glittering maroon and a slight smile rises on his face. Somehow, you can’t shake the inexplicable feeling that you’ve just made a grave misstep.

You continue to recall that third session as you stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom, your vision slowly growing fuzzy. You’re tired, but it’s taking you a while to fall asleep. Your mind is racing, recalling several different moments scattered across your lifetime that you’d rather forget. You try to focus on your breathing and, eventually, your eyes fall shut.

Your dreams are weird—which is saying something, since dreams are usually weird. These particular dreams feel like omens for the future and, if that is the case, then your future can’t be very good. You dream of sharp mirrors, harsh corners, and neatly-carved lines. You dream of an infinite winding labyrinth that you can’t escape from, of a puppet-master watching you stumble through a never-ending maze with amusement, of your tattered visage reflected in the jagged shards of a broken mirror.

You jolt awake with a gasp on your tongue, your throat feeling extremely dry. It takes you a few moments to internalize that you’re awake and no longer dreaming. There’s a cup of water on the bedside table and you reach for it, wincing at how heavy your limbs feel. Eventually, you reach the water and take a sip. The glass is cold against your skin and, when you put it back, you nearly miss your nightstand entirely. That’s a little strange—the nightstand has occupied that position for years. Why would your muscle memory fail you now, all of a sudden?

You swing your legs to the side of the bed, only to hear an ominous rattling sound—almost reminiscent of metal clinking against the ground. You reach down and try to feel your way around in the dark, grabbing your glasses from the nightstand and putting them on. The darkness momentarily sharpens and a sense of foreboding prickles along your skin. Your surroundings look strangely unfamiliar. Unease pulling at your gut, you reach down, down, down—only to find a thick chain secured around your ankle. You tug at it, panic rising in your chest as you realize it’s not coming off. You then push yourself to your feet and walk a few steps, testing how far the chain will go. It doesn’t reach far enough for you to thoroughly explore the unfamiliar space—just barely getting to the small room that looks to be a bathroom. Upon further investigation, there’s nothing in the bathroom that would help you get the chain off. The toothbrush and disposable toothpaste resting inconspicuously on the counter throw you off guard. Was this planned? It’s abundantly clear to you now that you’ve been kidnapped. Did your captor plan this out and configure this bathroom for a captive?

You manage to convince yourself to move back out to the main room, only to find a meal placed on the small plastic table situated past the end of the bed. You don’t recognize the food and, frankly, you don’t want to know what it is. The thought of food right now is enough to make you nearly throw up. You instead decide to continue testing how far you can move with your chain. It turns out you can’t move very far at all: you only have access to the bed, the nightstands, and the nearby bathroom. There are a set of glass doors across from the bed and hints of the morning sun illuminate the room in a hazy glow, revealing polished furniture and elegant decorations. It seems your captor has rather distinguished tastes.

In hindsight, seeing Hannibal Lecter come down the stairs moments later is more of a shock than it should be. Your eyes widen and you blink a few times, convinced your mind is conjuring illusions. Hannibal stares at you in return, before sending you a small smile—as if sharing an inside joke.

Meanwhile, you’re panicking. There’s a good chance Hannibal is the one who trapped you here. “Hey, where am I?” You ask apprehensively. Seeing Hannibal simultaneously provokes relief and dread within you. You tug at the chain on your ankle, but it doesn’t budge. “Hannibal? Why am I here?” “This is my home,” Hannibal answers. You feel your heart drop to your stomach. It was a foolish thought to think Hannibal would be here by mere coincidence, but it kept your hopes alive. Now, you’re left to the bleak despair that clings to your ankle like a vice. “I need to speak with you.”

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend that statement, in the wake of all the thoughts running through your mind. “You could’ve called me to book an appointment,” you eventually point out, struggling to keep yourself calm. You’re trapped here, and the chain on your ankle is extremely thick and sturdy. Not to mention, you can’t reach the door; you don’t have your phone; and you have a bad feeling Hannibal is the sole occupant of this house. How on earth will you escape?

“This is… an ongoing concern,” Hannibal interjects. It takes you a few moments to process that statement. Then, at your disbelieving look, he continues. “Our typical environment was not suitable.”

“Not suitable?” Panic is beginning to seep through your voice. You know you should probably be maintaining your composure, but it’s rather difficult to do so when you’re faced with the inevitability of your captivity. “What part of this environment is suitable? I have a chain around my ankle and I can’t leave!” You try to take a deep breath and manifest a level of composure that you certainly don’t have at the present moment. You look eyes with him and attempt to get through to him. “Hannibal. Take this chain off my ankle.”

You don’t expect your attempt at persuasion to work and, indeed, Hannibal is silent. He regards you for a moment before stepping forward, momentarily fooling you into thinking he may genuinely release you. Then, he takes another step and pulls a chair out from the table to take a seat. He motions for you to take the other seat. You shake your head and remain on the bed, opting to keep as much distance from Hannibal as possible. Unfortunately, it still doesn’t feel like enough—as his eyes pin you in place.

You’re not sure how long you spend trapped in your spiraling thoughts, before you attempt to speak to your captor again. “Hannibal,” you say, trying to maintain your composure. You’re grasping at the sheets of the bed with shaking hands. “Whatever you have to talk about, I am willing to listen to you. But not like this.”

There’s a beat of silence. You aren’t deluded enough to think this conversation is getting you any closer to an escape. Instead, Hannibal regards you for a moment, clasping his hands on the table. He holds his utensils in a strangely tight grip, as if they’re weapons. The knife makes you particularly nervous, but it pales in comparison to his next statement. “You would be legally required to share the information I divulge.” Therapists have a firm code of ethics, which dictates that information must be brought to the local authorities if it involves harm to oneself or others. The thought makes an ugly feeling stew in your stomach. You inhale slowly.

“This is your last chance,” you warn, despite knowing you have no power in this situation. “Let me go, and I’ll pretend this never happened. We can go back to the way things were. I won’t press charges or anything. Okay?” You think that’s a pretty generous offer, all things considered.

For a moment, the air is entirely still. Then, the expression on Hannibal’s face flickers. “Would you like something to eat?” he eventually responds.

You stare at him in disbelief. It seems you underestimated Hannibal and his cruelty. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth, and you take a deep breath before shaking your head silently. You move back on the bed, your back finding the headboard. You pull your knees up and rest your arms, clasping your hands and closing your eyes. Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed for long enough, this scenario will simply… disappear.

Hannibal takes a bite of his food, ignorant of your internal conflict. The small clinks of his silverware against the plate are the only noises in the otherwise tense air. Even when Hannibal’s gaze is focused on something else, you feel as if he’s watching you. You don’t dare to move a single muscle. There’s an uncomfortable silence settling in the air.

“I met with many different therapists,” Hannibal remarks, apropos of nothing. He levels you with a scrutinizing gaze. You blink and you see your head on his dinner plate. You shake off the grotesque thought. “I chose you.” Is that supposed to make you feel better? It only makes you feel more uneasy.

After some time eating silently, Hannibal gets up from his seat and takes his empty plate. You watch as he steps towards the hallway from which he came—leaving you suspicious and wary as you wait for something to happen. In the time after his departure, you’re still tense. Will he be back soon? You’re not sure how long you sit there, dreading his return.

Eventually, after what must be at least two hours, you conclude that Hannibal won’t be returning. You decide to lie down, curling up on your side. Perhaps if you close your eyes, you’ll wake up from this nightmare.

…But the universe isn’t that merciful, and you wake up hours later with a helplessness that clings to your skin. This wasn’t some twisted nightmare—it’s reality. And your reality is inescapable. You’re a bird with clipped wings, trapped in a gilded cage.

Hannibal visits in the middle of the day. Your eyes follow him the moment he enters the room; as if recognizing this, he seems to take delight in moving as agonizingly slow as possible. Despite the deliberate slow pace to his movements, you recognize the show for what it is. Hannibal is a predator on the prowl. You are his prey, left baring your bleeding flesh before a salivating maw.

It’s not helpful to think about what you could have done instead of pushing him to be honest. But you think about it anyway. If you had let him have his lies, his understanding but strained smiles… what would have happened? The self-defeating part of you wants to say he would’ve left you alone, but you know that’s a desperate thought. No. Somehow, you piqued Hannibal’s interest from the moment you found him on your doorstep.

Realistically speaking, he could’ve been watching you long before that. You’re not sure if he’s the type to stalk people; then again, you didn’t characterize him as the kidnapping type at first, and look where you are now. The thought drags a wry laugh from your lips, inadvertently drawing Hannibal’s attention towards you. He motions for you to join him at the table, where he’s prepared some sort of meal. Despite your growling stomach, you refuse the offer. Hannibal only raises a brow, as if he sees your fleeting attempt at resistance and views it to be a waste of time. Your refusal does give you an illusion of control. You feel as if you have power—however slight—over this situation.

You don’t think you’ll cave so quickly, but by the time he returns that night with a late dinner, you’re fighting off the instinct to join him at the table. As if recognizing this, Hannibal stares at you with twinkling eyes. You grit your teeth. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice anymore. If you want to navigate his mind games, you need to be completely focused. Your hunger and aching stomach can’t serve as distractions.

You sit down across from him. It feels like a surrender. The food is quite good, but that realization isn’t enough to keep your despair at bay. The chain around your ankle fixes you to this room, to this meal, to this man sitting across from you. And he knows it.

As you’re eating, you realize you’ve been given a knife. You frown and look at the meal before you. There’s meat on Hannibal’s plate, but not on yours. Why were you given a knife, if you didn’t need one? Initially, you want to think it’s just a mistake. But you don’t think your captor would overlook something like that. Nearly every action of Hannibal's so far has been purposeful, even if that purpose was beyond your understanding. It’s very hard to believe that the knife is a simple oversight.

But the knife’s purpose doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that you have a weapon. Hannibal is well within striking range, since the table you’re eating at is rather small. You could easily reach out and stab him in the hand, but then what…? You would still have the chain on your ankle. If you dealt him a powerful blow, you could incapacitate him at the very least. You’re not familiar with knives, though, so an attempt to incapacitate him could quickly become a murder. That’s a risk you think you’re going to have to take. You’re not sure when you’ll have another opportunity like this.

You reach out and take both your fork and knife, pretending you’re going to cross them on your plate to signal that you’re finished with the meal. Your hand doesn’t want to relinquish its awkward grip on the knife, though. Something about the blade’s steady pressure against your palm is grounding. You realize you’re drawing blood when droplets fall to mark the wooden table. Hannibal’s eyes follow the movement, as if he actually heard the sound of your blood hitting the surface of the table. He’s momentarily distracted.

So you strike.

At least, you try to. When his attention is captured, you slide your grip down to the handle of the knife, winding back and aiming at his neck. But Hannibal is inhumanly fast, and he quickly grabs your wrist with bruising strength until the utensil clatters back to its place on the table. Your eyes meet and you see only raw, unadulterated fury. A shiver crawls down your spine as a bone-deep fear settles past your skin. You’re going to die.

Seconds drag on and, while Hannibal is still holding your wrist, the strength of his grip slowly fades. The silence is almost more painful than the white-hot irritation of the gash on your palm. With bated breath, you watch as Hannibal lets your wrist fall. Dread churning in your stomach, you’re frozen as he leaves the room. Terror stews in your chest at the anticipation he’s leaving you in. What weapon will he choose to end your life?

Hannibal returns moments later with a clear container. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch silently as he approaches you, setting the bin on the table before taking your wrist and studying the minor gash on your palm. Something close to disapproval passes over his face for a quick second, before it’s replaced with a clinical gaze.

Your hand is trembling ever so slightly. If Hannibal notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he obtains ointment from the container of medical supplies and spreads it along your scrape—before wrapping a bandage around your hand and wrist. His movements are precise and practiced; even if you were unaware of his background, you’d know he had experience as a medical practitioner.

“Don’t try that again.” His voice is deceptively light; you don’t need to look far to see the anger coiled in his tight shoulders. You nod silently, your throat burning as you’re overcome with your own helplessness. With that, he walks back to the table, collects the dishes, and leaves the room. You stare down at your newly-bandaged hand, a renewed anguish promptly replacing any hope for escape. That attempt just now was a colossal failure. You didn’t think you were too obvious about your intentions, but he had reacted as if he expected you to stab him. Maybe that knife was placed there purposefully. Maybe, for reasons beyond your current comprehension, Hannibal wanted you to threaten his life.

You really don’t know what to do with that information. You settle for reclining on the mattress and closing your eyes, still fighting off that foolish hope that you’ll wake sweat-soaked in your own bedroom, breathing hard from the fictitious nightmare you just experienced.

Not much is born from your failure to escape, save for a few things: 1) a downgrade to plastic silverware, which makes you laugh in hysterical defeat; 2) pervasive hopelessness; and 3) a need for a new coping mechanism. Planning to escape no longer seems like a productive use of your time—trying to create something out of nothing is just insanity. Instead of maniacally going through every physically possible way to escape—a list which currently has zero items on it—you find yourself meditating.

You were never the meditative type; you had many therapists who told you to meditate on your problems, and you promised yourself that you would never give that kind of advice to your patients. Mindfulness itself isn’t a bad suggestion, but the suggestion of meditation—crossed legs, pinched fingers—always felt like a slap in the face.

You were so desperate once that you gave it a try. Predictably, your skeptical nature prevented it from actually working. But, ironically, when you tried it again a few days later, you found that you were able to compartmentalize your thoughts better. It didn’t necessarily make you feel calm in the way everyone claimed it did, but meditation helped you sort out the seemingly infinite tangle of problems in your mental cobweb. And if that cobweb was tangled before, it’s an absolute wreck now. Trapped in a man’s basement with no means of escape is a never-ending fountain of dread, regret, fear, and stress.

At first, you just try to count to large numbers in your head. It helps you pass the time, in a room with no other form of entertainment. You slowly work your way up to tackling actual thoughts from there, and you find that, with time, you’re able to suppress unwanted feelings slightly. It’s nothing ground-breaking. But coping with your situation is one hell of a difficult task, so you’re proud of yourself for making any progress at all.

This meditation becomes somewhat of a routine. You find yourself retreating into the depths of your mind at least once a day, if not two or three times. It’s a welcome escape from the unfamiliar room around you. Everything fades away, until you’re submerged in an endless void. Memories flicker before your eyes in brief flashes of light, visible but intangible.

This meditation has one flaw: it leaves you entirely unguarded and defenseless. You were preoccupied with this notion during your first few attempts, but after you returned to the empty room each time, you began to forget your fear. But losing that fear made you complacent. You soon found yourself entirely ignoring the room around you—ignoring footsteps, ignoring shadows passing across the walls. While you often returned to reality to find yourself alone… that wasn’t always the case.

When you’re finished with meditation one night, you open your eyes to find Hannibal standing in front of you. You immediately flinch and suck in a startled breath, nearly falling backwards on the bed as you create more distance between the two of you. It doesn’t take much contemplation to understand what he’s doing here. He was watching you, observing you. You never noticed him cross the threshold of the doorway; you didn’t notice him approach you with intrigue in his eyes as he regarded your vulnerable form. You were lost in the workings of your mind palace, your eyes closed and hands clasped in your lap.

“Hannibal,” you say, when you regain the ability to speak. “You scared me.” That’s an understatement. Your heart is positively racing in your chest. Hannibal has that damned smirk on his face, suggesting that your terror only amuses him. You grit your teeth and pretend not to notice the satisfaction practically radiating off of him.

He finally stops looming over you, turning on his heel and walking over to the table. When he takes a seat, he immediately looks at you expectantly. “Take a seat,” Hannibal verbalizes, when a few seconds pass and you don’t make a move.

You do as requested, albeit with a lot of restless fidgeting. Whenever the two of you sit at the table and there isn’t any food, you know a therapy session is beginning. Admittedly, your interactions so far barely qualify as sessions—Hannibal has still been frustratingly vague with what he’s experiencing, leaving you with virtually nothing to give to him in return.

This session is nothing new. His ambiguity is still infuriating, but you find yourself grappling with a newer impatience. When it becomes clear that the conversation isn’t going anywhere, you hear yourself speaking. “I thought we promised to be honest with one another.” You wait with bated breath. Hannibal looks tightly coiled, as if ready to strike at any moment. But he remains silent, which pushes you to continue. “You’re still not being honest with me.”

“Very well,” Hannibal nods. You both know it’s true. Hannibal has only spoken of ambiguous urges that nearly consume him. These urges are evidently negative and almost mirror compulsions. However, from what you’ve seen of Hannibal so far, he has finely-regulated emotional control. Is he really a victim to these negative urges, or is he their puppetmaster? Your instincts gravitate towards the latter, but you aren’t prepared for the verbal confirmation he gives you. “I am a serial killer and a cannibal.”

You immediately scrutinize him, looking for the signs you’ve grown to attribute to dishonesty. But there is only unapologetic candor… and an almost boundless hunger. You loathe how quick you are to believe such an outlandish statement. But, in the wake of your captivity, you’ve grown somewhat used to outlandishness. After all, Hannibal went so far as to kidnap you indefinitely—it’s been abundantly clear since you woke in this room that he is not a good person. His thinly-veiled fury has always been present—it is only now that you are able to attribute it to something.

Your gaze is then unwittingly pulled down, past his neatly-ironed suit and to the wooden table before you. You think back to all the meals you’ve been fed and you look back up at him, unable to hide your fear and revulsion. “Have you…?” You’re at a loss for words.

“I have not fed you anything untoward,” Hannibal answers. You’re briefly grateful, before you chastise yourself for the emotion. Why are you grateful to your captor for showing you the smallest of mercies? You are still trapped here. You have been shown the most basic of human decencies: food and water. Privacy and safety are distant memories, at this point.

“You’re a serial killer and a cannibal,” you hear yourself repeat. Your voice sounds foreign and unrecognizable, in the wake of this horrifying revelation. “That’s…” You choke out, entirely unsure of what to say.

Hannibal tries to keep talking, but you place your hands on the table and get to your feet. The chain on your ankle clinks menacingly as you move away from the table and towards the bed. You know better to turn your back on the man, so you instead perform an awkward side-shuffle until you’re seated on the bed. Hannibal finishes his meal in silence and leaves you alone in the basement. You break down soon after.

Each time you blink, you see eyes glazed over in death; limbs stiff and unfeeling; lips parted but unbreathing. Every morning, you’re brutally torn from your sleep and forced to wake up in a nightmare. You are rotting behind these nondescript walls and no one has seemed to notice. What of your family and friends? Where are they now? Is anyone looking for you, or have you been banished to the uncompromising soil and cold headstones in a barren field?

You haven’t caught even a trace of happiness throughout your captivity here. Fear, unease, and desperation have forced you into compliance. There’s a constant burning sensation in your throat and behind your eyes, as you mourn for the tragedies of tomorrow. Your life here is dictated by Hannibal’s whims. And, worst of all, your death is completely inevitable. You have no sense of the passage of time, yet the threat of your end seems to come ever closer with each passing moment.

There are only so many mind games you can subject yourself to before you have to face the grim reality: you are trapped here, and you likely will be trapped here for the remainder of your life. Whether that’s several weeks, eight months, or a few years… You will be confined here until Hannibal grows disinterested. Whatever the source of his interest, one thing is certain: this intrigue persuades him to spare you. But, as patient as Hannibal seems to be, you know it will only be a matter of time before he snaps.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear your own bones cracking and snapping under his grip. Sometimes, in the light of day, you can see bright patrol lights reaching out to you through the screen door, beckoning you back to your life. But none of it is real. Nothing is tangible, save for the chain suffocating your ankle and the fear that keeps you from acting out or attempting to escape again.

In light of Hannibal’s confession, you feel… empty. A part of you is almost hopeful—even desperate—for an end to your confinement. That part of you longs to test the limits of Hannibal’s patience, in the hopes of breaking it and triggering the final chapter of your life.

Safe to say, you aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore. Everything feels completely pointless. You’re just waking up to fall asleep again the next night; eating to put off the gnawing feeling in your stomach; living to die. Each day simultaneously feels like a victory and a defeat.

One question still begs your attention: why are you here? In your first session, Hannibal had maintained the illusion that he wanted to get better. The same can’t be said anymore: he shows no regret for the things he’s done. There isn’t even a hint of remorse in his answers to your questions, which only confuses you more. He does not want to improve.

One particular morning, you decide to ask him. After all, you have virtually nothing left to lose. You would welcome an escape from this situation—any violence from him would only provide a merciful end to your suffering. “Why are you still entertaining all of this?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Hannibal is entirely static as he stares at you, no hint of emotion in his eyes. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. “You don’t want to get better. You show no remorse for your victims. Therapy is conducted under the pretense that the client wants something. As you’re aware, that is often support, self-actualization, or even just someone to listen to them… What do you want?”

“I’m glad I chose you,” Hannibal says, his eyes glimmering.

“You haven’t answered my question,” you frown.

“Company,” he answers.

You study him for a long moment. “Do you feel unsatisfied with your current attachments?” You ask, squinting at him. “You once told me you host dinner parties frequently. You’ve never expressed difficulties with making friends, but you also never speak about the ones you do have.” You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal didn’t have any friends—he doesn’t seem the type.

“Perhaps I think them to be beneath me,” he remarks casually.

“Sure,” you say. That sounds about right, but you know things are rarely so simple and straightforward. “But then how do you fulfill your basic interpersonal needs? Are you constantly pretending?” You push.

His silence is enough of an answer. Something ugly stews in your chest. You hate that you’re entertaining this—that you’re even pretending this man is redeemable. Yet what other choice do you have? When it comes down to it, you don’t want to die in this basement. You’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you escape that fate. Even if that means asking questions that you really don’t want the answers to. Somehow, you manage to push the off-putting words from your lips. “How do you choose your victims?”

Hannibal raises his brows, evidently surprised that you asked. He almost looks impressed. The recognition nauseates you: why are you so desperate for his approval? “I exchange business cards with people I meet,” Hannibal responds. That uneasy feeling is only increasing, continuing to prickle along your skin. “The cards of those who are particularly rude… are set aside.”

You force yourself to maintain some semblance of composure, even if you know the effort will be obvious. “And then?” Your voice is deceptively light, despite your pulse practically thrumming with uneasy anticipation. “What pushes you to make a move?”

“Anger,” he answers. His eyes gleam a foreboding crimson in the dim light of the basement. Every nerve in your body is screaming at you to stop talking, yet you continue relentlessly.

“No,” you immediately argue before you can stop yourself. “It’s not anger.” Hannibal raises a brow, challenging you to provide a better explanation.

You pause to review everything you’ve learned about Hannibal so far. His secretive, elusive nature suggests that he isn’t killing for attention or pride. Sure, anger could be a motivator, but above that… “It’s boredom,” you realize aloud. “You’re bored. Very little interests you, especially when you have so few genuine relationships. Killing actually makes you feel something—an emotion you’re unable to find elsewhere.”

You’re gripping the arms of your chair hard enough to send bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. One wrong move and he could lash out at you, ending your escape attempt before it can even truly begin. “Try as you might to replicate that feeling… You can’t.”

You’re not sure what reaction you’re expecting. Yet you’re still shocked to see Hannibal smile—a twisted, malicious thing that tears your breath from your chest. You’re immediately overcome with the inexplicable conviction that you’ve just supplied the last nail in your own coffin.

“My whole life, I have been thinking…. thinking… trying to figure myself out so I can help other people understand themselves.” You say some time later, staring up at the ceiling. Your fingers twitch restlessly in the plush brown armchair you find yourself sitting in. The room is warmly lit, with bookshelves lining the walls. Across from you sits your old therapist. “And here I am,” you continue wryly, “Talking to my dead therapist.”

There’s a healthy glow to Charlie’s warm brown skin; he looks entirely at ease. “Why do you think that is?” He asks. Irritation floods through you. Charlie is just a figment of your imagination—a device your mind is using to attempt to cope with the trauma of this situation. But even this manifestation of Charlie is unrelenting, just as he once was.

“Come on, Charlie,” you groan. His expression says, Humor me. You take a slow breath. A thump from upstairs draws you to look up at the ceiling, before you’re returning your eyes to Charlie and the space around him. “Fine. I was kidnapped by a serial killer and I have no chance of escape. No one is going to find me and I’m going to rot down here.”

Speaking on your thoughts ushers in a new sense of finality and it’s greatly unsettling. Charlie, on the other hand, is entirely unaffected. Whether that’s because he’s already dead or simply because he has a firm handle on his emotions, you’re unsure.

You’re not sure how long you spend falling apart on that armchair, nor how long it takes for you to pull yourself back together. All you know is this unfamiliar feeling that tugs you back up above the roaring waves, pushing you to try again when all feels pointless. “I can’t die here,” you announce. The words linger in the air long after you utter them.

“So don’t,” Charlie replies simply.

“I wish it were that easy,” you breathe. Faint traces of voices break you from your reverie and you stare at the basement wall intensely, before abandoning the gesture moments later when nothing happens. You look back at Charlie, whose eyes snap back to you as if he was also distracted by the sound. “Hannibal… He’s too perceptive. It won’t work.” You’re forced to think back to the rapidity with which he disarmed you.

You sense what Charlie’s going to say before he says it. “You don’t know that unless you try.”

“There’s no point,” you sigh frustratedly.

“How long will you perpetuate this cycle?” Charlie asks, a worried frown on his face. “You give yourself hope, only to take it away again. You are the one in control here.”

That’s not true. You’re not in control—Hannibal is the puppet master. But you suppose your therapist is correct, in a sense: your emotions are your own. “Fine,” you acquiesce. “I need to put an end to this. I can’t be trapped down here for the rest of my life. I need to try, at the very least.”

Somehow, the placating smile on Charlie’s face still looks smug. You put it down to your imagination. “What are your options, then?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. “I could fashion a weapon out of something in the room. But I’ve been downgraded to plastic silverware since the fork incident…”

“I could also try to reason with him. That definitely wouldn’t work, because he’s already convinced and can’t be persuaded. Hannibal shows no remorse for his actions and he will likely spend the rest of his life killing.”

You find yourself faced with the same troubling conclusion that has provoked your inaction. “I have no power, no authority in this situation.” It doesn’t take long for the reality of the situation to set in once more. “He’s not trying to get better.” Only in the depths of your mind, before your conjured visage of Charlie, does your voice betray the defeat you feel.

“But he brought you here,” Charlie reminds you. You tap your fingers restlessly against the arm of the chair. “He must’ve taken you for a reason, even if it wasn’t for you to help him. What do you think that reason is?” He prompts.

“He’s…” You break off. “He enjoys being in control and exerting authority.” That explanation sounds flimsy, even to you. The truth of the matter is staring you in the face, but you’re too unsettled to acknowledge it.

“You’re grossly underestimating your value,” Charlie hums, perceptive as always. “You are valuable to him.” You’re unwittingly reminded of his gentle touch as he bandaged your palm; the intensity with which he gazes at you (especially when he thinks you don’t notice). You can deny it no longer.

“Somehow, I interest him.” You say. Charlie nods; you’re on the right track. Something pushes you to shake your head and abandon that thought process. Inexplicably, you know you won’t like what you find there if you push any further.

“I need to focus on how to get out of here,” you announce. Charlie arches a brow, but gracefully allows you to change the subject. Yet the unspoken sentiment adds a tension to the air that wasn’t present previously. You both know just how far Hannibal’s intrigue goes, yet you’re not comfortable with addressing it.

“You’ve looked around the room,” Charlie then prompts.

“Many times,” you acquiesce. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look again. There are two padlocks—one on the bedpost and one on the chain around my ankle. The lock on the chain could be picked with a pin. I doubt he has a pin lying around, but a nail or something like that could work…”

Charlie nods approvingly. You roll your eyes and willingly retreat from your mind palace, returning to the room around you with renewed resolve. That resolve slowly wanes when you don’t find anything in the main room. But when you walk into the bathroom, you realize there’s a landscape painting on the wall. It must be secured with a nail. Surely enough, when you remove it from the wall, a single nail is left behind. It looks bent already, but it’ll have to do. Studying the room, you decide to stuff the painting in the cabinets beneath the sink. You’ve never seen Hannibal use this bathroom and you’ll have to trust that assumption. Hope brews in your chest, but you can’t quite bring yourself to trust it.

When you leave the bathroom and enter the basement, you sit on the bed in silence—waiting for Hannibal to stalk in and thwart your escape attempts. After an immeasurable amount of time spent holding your breath, you manage to convince yourself to work on the padlock around your ankle. The nail you found is rigid and uncompromising, which forces you to exert an unnecessary amount of strength to manipulate it into a suitable shape.

The chain is rattling ever so slightly as you attempt to free yourself from it. Your breathing is extremely loud in your ears and you’re frantically fighting off the growing potential for Hannibal to walk in and catch you in the middle of the act. Your heart is thudding steadily and quickly in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’ve waited for this chance and you’re not going to blow it. Your fingers calloused and throbbing, you firmly maneuver the nail and the padlock finally pops open. You place it on the bed gently, before shakily taking off the manacle. Your ankle is bruised and irritated, but it’s not broken and you don’t feel too much pain. After a moment, you decide to hide the padlock under the comforter. It doesn’t really matter if you hide it—Hannibal will notice your absence regardless.

You take a deep breath and get off the bed, stealthily walking towards the glass doors at the other side of the room. You’ve been staring through them for so long now, but you were never able to get close enough to open them—let alone see your surroundings. Now, you find that it’s afternoon—as the sun casts a warm glow on the sky. You slide the lock of the door and pull up on the interior pin, before gently sliding it. Of course, the door catches on the track and shudders—but you manage to put it back as quietly as you can.

Your shoes finally meet the pavement and you’re free. You’re actually free.

You take a deep breath of fresh air and survey your surroundings, only to see a never ending expanse of trees on all sides. You’re in the middle of the woods.

Fuck.

You had a clear plan in your mind: escape the house, run down the populated street, and find the nearest approachable stranger to ask for help. The second step of your plan has already failed: there is no street or neighborhood—only forest as far as the eye can see. It takes everything you have not to fall to your knees and cry. Crying won’t do you any good.

At first, you take silent, measured steps away from the house—afraid to make any sound. As the house shrinks in the distance, however, you break into a jog and, eventually, a full-out sprint. You don’t know where you’re going—you just hope to put as much distance between Hannibal and you as possible. (Of course, it’s likely that he knows these woods a lot better than you do. That’s only another reason to prioritize speed over getting your bearings.)

In hindsight, you wish you had attempted to sneak upstairs and steal something from his house: a wallet, a phone, a weapon, anything. But you just couldn’t risk it. Not to mention… you had banked on finding yourself in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, not in the middle of nowhere.

You’re not sure how long you’re running. You don’t stop until your legs threaten to give out. Then, you brace yourself against a tree and try to catch your breath for a few minutes. The pain in your chest fading and your breath restored, you remove your hand from the tree and stand upright—only to see a figure a short distance from you. You squint and try to make it out. For a moment, it’s stationary and you’re fooled into thinking it’s an object. Then it moves, and you’re forced to come to a nauseating conclusion: Hannibal followed you.

“No,” you say. “No, no, no, no.” Your shoe slides back as you step backwards, leaves and sticks crunching under your feet. You’re hardly able to believe your eyes—frozen in fear as Hannibal strides towards you. Your survival instincts don’t kick in until he’s far closer, and you immediately whip around and run.

You don’t get far before he’s tackling you to the ground. The sharp edges of his body press into you and you try to throw him off, bucking underneath him. His grip is insistent and he stares down at you with a blank expression. You manage to pull your knee up far enough to hit him, causing his grip to slacken and giving you an outlet of escape. You shove him off of you and kick at his side, but he manages to maneuver to the side and dodge.

Something at his side catches the light. He’s holding a knife. You’re holding your hands out in front of you, as if that will somehow stop the killer in front of you from making you another victim. With blinding speed, Hannibal is lunging towards you and sinking the knife into your thigh. You scream and manage to push him away, though your attempt at disarming him is futile. You immediately clamp a hand against your bleeding leg, gritting your teeth as stars pass across your vision. Hannibal continues his pursuit, forcing you to stumble backwards.

“Hannibal,” you choke out, your voice thick. You think you taste blood in your mouth—probably from biting the inside of your cheek too hard. There is almost no emotion in Hannibal’s eyes, save for one confusing one: betrayal. Did he expect you to stay? “Please.” What are you begging for? Do you want mercy, or do you want an end to this madness?

Either way, Hannibal extends his hand towards you. You’re shaking, blood dripping from your lip as you stare at him. The gesture is a peace offering of sorts: come willingly, and I won’t hurt you, he’s trying to say. You’re not so easily fooled. You never had a choice.

You still shake your head, a pained whimper wrenching its way out of your lips. You instinctively step backwards. In the blink of an eye, the world is spinning around you and you’re falling to the forest floor. (If a tree falls in a forest with no one to hear it, does it make a sound?) You blink dazedly, your vision slowly blurring. Leaves crunch near your cheek as Hannibal draws ever closer. You try to reach out a hand to resist, but you can only twitch for moments before your eyes are slipping shut.

When you can finally fight off the exhaustion seeping into your form, you blink past dry eyes and stare up at an achingly familiar ceiling. You push yourself up weakly, only to find yourself in Hannibal’s basement once more. There’s a sturdier chain around your ankle, and a new, bulkier padlock securing the chain. All you can hear is your ragged breathing and the awful ringing in your ears. Taking a shuddering breath, you bury your head in your hands.

endnotes: Here's some dialogue I couldn’t find a place for:

“I don’t particularly care.” “That doesn’t sound like you,” Hannibal responds. “You don’t know me,” you feel the need to remind him. “And I haven’t felt like myself in quite some time.”

Hannibal's boujee ass definitely has a state of the art security system in his home… Methinks the reader triggered the alarm system in their escape and it sent Hannibal's phone a notification…

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cinnoasch · 5 months ago

Text

Charmed [2] (March x Reader)

A/N: Here is part 2! Once again extremely fun to write. I have received requests and am working on them, so they will be out soon! Story under the cut!

Charmed [1] Here

Word Count: 2852

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March runs a hand through his hair as he tosses another balled up piece of paper behind him. He had already finished his orders for today and now he was hunched over his desk, drawing. Papers are scattered across the desk, many of them have scribbles across them or large X’s drawn on them. He knew what you had said, that you didn’t care if his drawing was good or not. But to him, it mattered. Everything he did, he put his best foot forward. It had to be perfect.

“Woah, it’s like a tornado came through here.”

March glances behind him. “Oh, hey Ryis.”

“Hey.” Ryis replies, walking into the shop. He approaches the back of the shop, peeking over March’s shoulder. “Oh…those aren’t blueprints.”

March jolts and in a frenzy pushes all the papers and pencils off his desk. He looks up at Ryis, face burning in embarrassment. “...there was no point in me doing that, huh? You saw?”

Ryis grins, chuckling. “Yeah, I saw. So, I’m guessing things went well last week?”

“...I mean I guess.” March mumbles. “The only thing that’s not going well is this.” He gestures at the state of the room. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but I’d rather work on nails than this.”

“It’s troubling you that much?” Ryis asks. He picks up a few papers off of the ground, looking at each of them. “These aren’t bad, you’re definitely progressing.”

“Yeah… but it’s not perfect.”

“It doesn’t need to be.” Ryis replies. He sets the small stack down on the table, and the portrait you gave March catches his attention. “Hm, don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.” March says as he leans back in his chair. He sighs slightly, his gaze wanders over to the portrait. “...I don’t want to give them something half-assed. Not after receiving something like that.”

“I get that. You want to give them something that invokes the same feeling you had, right? In my opinion, I don’t think it has to be a drawing. As long as it’s from the heart, I think that makes all the difference.”

“From the heart?”

Ryis nods, “Mhm. Just think about it. You’ll figure it out.” He gives a wave as he walks out of the shop. “See ya.”

“What the hell…?” March shakes his head. He stands up, stretching slightly. From the heart…? What did that even mean?

When you drew that portrait, was that from the heart? Heat slowly rises on his cheeks and March pushes that thought away. It was embarrassing to think about. Even more so, it was embarrassing to think about how happy he was whenever he looked at it.

March already knew why that was. Even Ryis had mentioned it last week. Was it because of these feelings that he wanted to give you something that expressed that? Something that was perfect?

Just then the shop door opens and Valen walks in, greeting him. “Good morning March. My, it looks like you’ve been busy. Practicing drawing, I see.”

His face turns red as he quickly starts gathering the papers and pencils off the ground and tucks them away in the desk drawer. He clears his throat, leaning against the desk. “Did you need something, Valen?”

“Yes, actually. I’m in need of some new medical tools. My old ones have dulled considerably.”

“Okay, I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you, March.” Then Valen adds, “You look…distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

March blinks a couple of times, then he sighs. “...sort of.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Don’t you want me to get started on your tools?”

Valen smiles. “Those can wait. Go on, tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help.” She leans against the wall, waiting for March to respond.

“...If you wanted to give someone a gift…” March starts slowly. “What would you give them?”

“Hmm, that depends on the person I’m giving the gift to. Though I assume you’re giving something to a certain someone… say Y/N, for instance?”

“You…better not say anything to them.”

Valen chuckles, “I won’t, you don’t have to worry about that. Let’s see here…” She hums in thought. “Ah, well why don’t we rely on your strong suit then? Y/N did mention in passing that they recently lost a bracelet of theirs while in the mines. Maybe you could do something with that?”

“A bracelet?” He mumbles. He did recall a copper band that dangled off of your wrist, though you haven’t been wearing it as of late if he remembered correctly. “I could make them a new one… maybe silver?”

“I think that would be a perfect gift.”

March nods in agreement, “Thanks, Valen.” He takes a seat at his desk, grabbing a pencil and a blank sheet of paper from the drawer. He glances back at her. “I’ll have your tools done soon, promise.”

She lightly smiles. “I’m not in a rush to get them, so no worries. Good luck, March.” With that, Valen leaves the shop.

March starts to sketch out a few designs. It was no different than working on blueprints. He could do this. This could be just the thing that would tell you exactly what he wanted you to know.

--------------------------------

Friday night rolls around and March walks into the inn, fiddling with the finished silver bracelet in his apron pocket. Now that the day was finally here, he was slightly nervous. Did he go overboard with this? The past few days he had been working on the bracelet, even starting from scratch at some points because he wasn’t satisfied with it. Yesterday he had finally finished it though, the bracelet adorned with a few gems he bought from Balor, as well as some small designs March added himself. It was just some flowers and leaves, though he had to admit adding them was harder than he thought, especially on such a small piece of metal.

Would you like it? Hell, would you even accept it?

“March!”

The sound of Olric’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Come on over, we’re waiting for you, bro!”

March makes his way towards the back of the inn, seeing that he was the last one to arrive. You’re standing in front of the table, your assortment of tools on the ground beside you. Elise, Hayden, Landen and Valen chat amongst themselves, greeting March when he reaches the table. He takes a seat next to Olric and Elise claps her hands together.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, we can get started! Now, as we all know, Y/N has offered to be our model for tonight. I see you have all your tools with you.”

You nod with a smile. “I figured you guys might ask me to do different poses so I thought I might as well bring some props along.”

“Oh, can you pose with the pickaxe first?” Olric asks. “Like you’re in the mines!”

“Then the ax next.” Landen adds with a grin.

As everyone continues to give out suggestions, March rests his arm on the table, lost in his thoughts once again. He hated feeling nervous. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, hell he rarely ever felt nervous until you moved into town. But at the same time, March felt excited. He never gave someone a gift that was this special, let alone someone he liked. Yes, liked. He was certain of this now. He liked you.

“March?”

He blinks, seeing you wave a hand in front of him. “What?”

“Did you have a suggestion?”

“Uh, no…” He replies, glancing away from you. “Let’s just…get started.”

With that, the group gets to drawing, small conversations popping up here and there. Mainly about your adventures, how you were liking life on the farm, the drawings you brought to show.

“Oh, Y/N. May I ask you a question?” Valen speaks up.

“Yeah, sure!” You smile, leaning on your pickaxe.

“This drawing here.” She says, pointing at one of the papers on the table. “This is the bracelet you mentioned before, right? The one you lost in the mines earlier this week.”

You take a few steps forward, nodding. “Mhm, that's the one! Actually that was given to me before I set off on my first adventure, a present from someone in my hometown.”

“Oh, was it your lover by any chance?” Elise asks.

March lifts his head slightly at that question as you laugh, waving your hands in front of your face. “No, nothing like that. Just a childhood friend of mine.”

“Childhood friends! That reminds me of one of my romance novels. Do you still keep in touch with them?”

“Here and there. We send each other letters every now and then.”

“Do you ever think about going home?” Landen asks. “You must miss it.”

“I do…” You say. “But, I definitely think Mistria’s a place I can call home now.” Your gaze wanders over to March as you continue, your eyes meeting. “The charm of the town, you all…I guess I just fell in love.”

Valen chuckles, “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure everyone agrees that you’ve become an important part of Mistria now.” She then glances at you and March, posing another question. “That reminds me. Y/N, I had an… acquaintance, we’ll say, ask me what I would give someone if I were to give them a gift. I told them it depended on the person, what do you think?”

You turn your attention to her, thinking for a few seconds. “Well, I do agree that it depends on the person. The gift has to fit their personality or things that they like. But, I do think as long as the gift is meaningful, it still holds value.”

Valen hums in response, smiling as March also turns his gaze towards her. “So…if the gift was homemade and… let’s say from the heart. Would you accept it?”

“I would.” You laugh a bit. “Are we still talking in hypotheticals here? These questions are awfully specific.”

“Of course. I was just curious.”

March lets out a small sigh of relief. He was never telling Valen anything ever again.

Your conversation continues as you continue posing and switching out your tools. Eventually, everyone finishes their drawings and just like last time you go around the table showing them.

All of them had little details added here and there, whether it be crops, animals, even rocks. But each of them had their own appeal. And now came March’s drawing.

“March, your turn.” Valen says.

March slides his drawing to the middle of the table then crosses his arms as he mumbles. “I wasn’t finished with it yet… but there you go.”

You all take a look at the drawing. You could definitely tell that he improved, even if you only had a tiny glance at the drawing club’s work when they first started. You notice he drew you while you leaned on your pickaxe, a soft smile on your face. It was heartwarming, and carefully drawn.

You nod smiling. “I really like how you drew the expression here. Soft, warm. You put a lot of practice in, huh?”

March’s face heats up as you stare at him. He avoids your gaze, looking at the ground. “I just had spare time on my hands, that’s all.”

“Well, keep at it. I want to see a complete drawing one day.” You reply. Then you begin packing up your tools, turning your attention to the rest of the group. “This was fun! I’d love to join again next time.”

“You’re always welcome here, Y/N. You’ve made these past two Friday nights very enjoyable.” Valen says. “Are you heading back to the farm now?”

“Yep, early day and all. Good night everyone!”

They all say their goodbyes as you leave the inn and March hurries after you, drawing in hand.

“Y/N, wait a sec.”

You turn as you stand beside Balor’s cart, seeing March jog up to you. “Hey, March. I didn’t forget anything did I?”

“Well, one thing.” He says, handing you his drawing. “You wanted to keep it right?”

“Oh, right!” You take it, tucking it away carefully in your backpack. “You could’ve given it to me tomorrow, but thank you.”

March nods, then he hesitates with his next question. “You’re welcome… uh, can I walk back with you to the farm?”

“Oh, um, sure.”

You turn on your heel as March follows behind you silently. Within a few minutes you arrive in front of your house.

“Thanks for walking with me, March.” You say with a small smile. “Well, good night.”

“W-wait!”

You freeze as your hand hovers over the door handle and you look at March.

“I…” He averts his gaze as he pulls out a silver bracelet from his apron pocket. “This is for you.”

You stare at the bracelet, watching as the moonlight reflects off of it. The gems on it sparkle and you can see small flowers and leaves carved on it. “Did you make this…?”

“Yeah… I heard about you losing your old one, so I just thought you might like a new one.”

“Oh, so you’re the acquaintance Valen was talking about!” You laugh. “I was wondering why you seemed so interested in the conversation.”

March scoffs slightly. “She just happened to visit the blacksmiths and mentioned it.”

“Uh-huh… you are a bad liar, March.”

“… are you going to take it or not?” He sighs.

“Can you put it on for me?” You ask.

March freezes for a second but to your surprise he takes your wrist with one hand, and slips the bracelet on with the other. You were joking when you had asked but you didn’t think that March would actually comply.

“Mhm, perfect fit.” March mumbles quietly. He begins fiddling with the bracelet, turning it around your wrist.

“Uh…March?” You speak up.

He doesn’t respond, though you do see a small smile appear on his face. Then suddenly, he lets go of your wrist, stuffing his hands in his pockets quickly. He clears his throat, “Sorry, I was just… making sure it wouldn’t slip off.”

“It’s okay.” You reply. You chuckle slightly as you smile. “Say, if I made you a matching pair, would you wear it? Ah, but it might get in the way when you work… what about a ring then?”

Then your eyes widen as you quickly realize what you had said. You laugh nervously, averting your gaze. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t-”

“If it’s from you, I’ll wear it.”

You look at March, the moonlight illuminates your surroundings so you can see the blush that appears on his face.

“W-what?” He asks. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that is all…but if you’ll wear it, I’ll make it.” You reply as you look at the bracelet on your wrist. You smile gently as you hold your arm up, letting the light reflect off of the silver band. “I love it, March. Thank you again. I think this is the best present I’ve gotten in a while.”

March only nods, staring at you quietly. In his mind, he could make this moment better, if he just closed the gap between you two. He could hear his heart beating, loud and fast, almost as if it would jump out of his chest. If he made that move, would you reciprocate? Would things change between you if you didn’t? He was aware of how unfriendly he was at first when you moved into town, but slowly you somehow changed that. You had undeniably charmed him.

His gaze flickers to your lips. If he couldn’t say it in words…actions would do just fine, right? Screw it. March gently takes your wrist and lowers it, his hand slides down to hold yours. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It was quick, chaste, and it was over just as quickly as it happened.

March pulls away, the blush on his face even more apparent now. You’re still trying to process everything, not quite believing what has happened.

“Um…I guess I’ll see you later.” He mumbles quietly, letting go of your hand.

He was slowly regretting going based off of instinct, but in his mind, it felt like the right thing to do. The perfect thing to do in a moment like that.

March begins to walk away, leaving you standing alone in front of your house. But you call out to him and he turns around, seeing you smile.

“I feel the same way.”

He returns the smile, laughing slightly. He doesn’t say anything, only giving a wave as he walks off. He knew you’d visit him tomorrow to talk. His smile only grows larger as he walks home, a slight bounce in his step. A smile that was carefully depicted in a portrait. A smile that everyone had mentioned never seeing on March. A smile of someone slowly falling in love.

#fields of mistria #fields of mistria x reader #fom march #fom march x reader #march x reader

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slimybeth69 · 2 months ago

Text

Thirst: Part 3

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 3 of 10: Slick

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. I do introduce characters from the movie in the next couple chapters (plus a surprise guest), but they're based more on the historical Geta and Caracalla, and what I thought each character was going to be like based on the trailer and a quick wiki search on who everyone was.

This is cross-posted from my AO3. (there is one more chapter up now if you can't wait for me to post it here)

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. Mentions of being a whore. Oral (f receiving).

It’s been several days since you’ve seen the General. Several— you’ve lost count of how long it’s been since he brought you gifts that could be inserted into you. You inserted that alluring glass toy into your forsaken ass so many times you’re basically a professional.

Where is Marcus Acacius? Hmm? Where is the man that paid for your freedom from that brothel— only to keep you locked up here in this room? Where is he? Gone for days at a time and you have no idea where he goes or what he does? That doesn’t seem fair to you. Not at all. He gets to go gallivant around Rome, and you get locked away from the world?

You’re not upset about being locked away. You don’t mind it at all, actually. Everything you need is brought to you and you visit the bath house once a day to clean and relax. You’re fed very well and given more wine than you know what to do with.

It’s the General that you’re yearning for. You need him more than you ever thought you could need another human person in your entire life…

Now here you are pining for a man who…leaves… do what?

Go find other brothel women to fuck while you rot in this room?

Your heart pangs.

Marcus cannot be out fucking other women without you! No, he hasn’t even fucked you yet. How is he going to go and fuck someone else while you’re waiting for him right here?

As your thoughts are flooded with him and the idea of where he could be, the doors to your chambers swing open and crash against the wall loudly.

“Morning Dove… the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.” Marcus’s voice booms and echoes in the large space.

You cringe and pull your shoulders up to your ears at the sudden but not unwelcome intruder. “What do you want?” You snap at him, the shock from his entrance still shivering down your spine and settling into your toes.

He looks at you sadly, his brows furrowed gently in disappointment. “You’re not happy to see me?” He stands at the end of your bed with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You look like a vision , as always.” Marcus winks at you.

You raise an eyebrow and look at him with suspicion. “Are you drunk?” You question, pulling the satiny sheets up to your chin, not wanting him to see your nakedness.

Marcus grins down at you and shrugs his shoulders.

You blink at him and then squint your eyes as they dart between him and the balcony outside… where the early morning sun is just starting to peek out over the horizon. “It’s so early…”

“Or very late!” Marcus corrects you with so much vigor it makes you jump in shock.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?” You eye him, his crimson tunic looks slightly disheveled and his hair is a mess. “You’re…drunk from last night…still?”

Marcus blows a raspberry at you and waves a dismissive hand your way. “I am not drunk. I indulged and then went to go to my chambers to rest and couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You roll your eyes at him. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you. Weeks, Marcus… and you barge in here before the sun is even up and for what—”

Marcus smiles and grips the sheets that are covering you in both fists and tugs at them gently. You grasp them tightly in your hands and widen your eyes.

“What? You want my blankets?” You hold them closer to you as Marcus pulls them back towards him. You two are now pulling the sheet tight.

“Let go.” He growls at you but it is playful and lighthearted… there is a flash in his eye when he says this like it might be some kind of game to him.

“No.” You snap just as playfully as him. His eyes flash again…something you’ve never seen them do before. His strong arms flex before he yanks the sheet with more vigor. You weren’t expecting as much force, so you lose your hold on the blanket in one hand. It slips and one of your breasts, the peak hardened, is now exposed to him. His tongue dances across his bottom lip as gives the sheet another good yank.

“Marcus!” You scold him as you get your grip on the silk sheet and pull it with all your might back to your chest.

You get a foot of fabric to cover yourself with, but you think it’s because he let you have it.

“Dove!” He scolds you back but there is no aggression in his tone. He is playing with you.

Marcus has a stupid smile on his face that you’ve never seen before and now, he wants to play tug-o-war with your favorite blanket?

“If you rip this sheet I will be—”

“Gifted a new one? That is softer and more comfortable to sleep on? Is that what you will be? Showered with gifts and comfortable while you sleep, little Dove?” He gives you a handsome smirk, and in your distraction he jerks the sheets back and both your hands lose their grip.

“Marcus!” You scold him again in your newfound nakedness, remembering the brothel in which he ‘rescued’ you from.

The General is still smirking as he waits at the end of your bed with the sheets in his hands. “ Dove .” He coos to you softly.

You cover yourself the best you can with your hands and arms, and you glare at him. “Give me my blanket back.” You snap, the thought of him fucking other men or women without you rush back to your head. “Go fuck one of the other virgins you buy and hide away all over the city of Rome. I’m sure they’d be glad to see you.” You humph loudly and turn your body away from him.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Marcus drops the sheet and then eases himself onto the bed. “Cara Luna, why do you say those things?” His voice is much softer and his rough, calloused fingers trail up your spine.

You turn further away from him and arch your back at his touch and scoot closer to the edge of the bed. “Go away. Go find comfort in one of the other women or men you choose to spend your time with when you’re not with me.” You feel the sting of tears coming.

Marcus sucks his teeth quietly as you wipe your eyes before they can fall. “I don’t find comfort in others.” His deep, calm voice does nothing to soothe you.

“I don’t believe you.” You scoff and roll your eyes even though your back is turned to him and he can’t see. “You haven’t fucked me— and you’re a man! Men need to fuck.”

Marcus inches closer to you and now you can smell the wine on him. “Aurelia, are you jealous?” His voice is velvet as he presses his lips to your upper back. You can feel the heat of his body behind you now. His hands rub the outside of your upper arms as he plants gentle kisses along your shoulder blades.

You scoff softly and roll your eyes. “Jealous of what? The other whores? No.” You tug your arm out of one of his hands, but he finds his hold quickly and grips you.

Marcus leans in so his lips are pressed to your ear. “Who is locked away in a tower where no one can reach her but me?” He growls softly, his massive hand sliding forward and over your shoulders.

You snort quietly but find yourself leaning against him and saving the feeling of his muscular chest against your back. “How many other people have you locked away all over Rome?” You huff softly as Marcus settles behind you, supporting your weight as you lean into him.

The pads of his fingers graze your collarbone while his lips move down to the nape of your neck. “Do you want to know why I bought you, Dove?” His voice sends a tingle down your spine and you do your best to suppress the shiver it creates.

“Because you want to take my virginity.” You roll your eyes again as his hands move lower and cup your breasts completely in his palms. His skin is so rough against the soft, suppleness of your tits. “Fuck.” It’s moaned under your breath as he adds weight to his touch and begins to drag his hands across your sensitive flesh. Your nipples pebble under his touch.

Marucs chuckles and nips at the curve of your neck gently, his teeth tease you and make your cunt throb and you can feel the wetness pooling between your legs. “Wrong, my Luna Flora.” His voice barely whispers. “I paid for you…” He pauses to kiss your neck gently and you tilt your head to give him more access. “I keep you locked away…” He murmurs with his mouth still pressed to your skin, “I come here and tease you…” He trails off now, his lips gliding up the soft skin of your neck and to your jaw.

This is the most he has ever touched you. The most his lips have ever been on your body and every nerve ending you have inside you is on fire. “Why do you do it?” You whine softly as he bites down on your flesh with a possessive intensity.

Marcus squeezes your tits and he pushes his chest against your back. Marcus unleashes your neck from his teeth and licks the spot gently. “ Because I can,” his voice is steady and confident now. “As the General, I have power and influence that stretch far beyond what you think you know.” He’s growling softly and his hands are still groping and squeezing at your breasts.

“What does that—”

Marcus pulls you into his warm, strong body tightly. “You weren’t given permission to speak, Luna Flora, you’ll remain quiet until I tell you to talk, understood?” His tone is firm and serious and you bite your lips between your teeth and nod. “Good.” His grip on your chest softens and he returns to massaging his hands across your breasts. You feel every callous and every line on his palm across your nipples. “Apologize…” His tone is softer now too, just above a whisper.

You turn your head to gaze up at him, his brown eyes are dark and glassy from the wine he had indulged in before he came here. “I’m sorry, General.” You mew to him softly.

Marcus respires softly through his nose and his eyes fluttering almost goes unnoticed but you’re so close to him. You feel the rumble in his chest before you hear him speak. “It’s a privilege to be in my company, did you know that?” He asks this as if you didn’t already.

You don’t respond. You just gaze up at him as his right hand leaves your chest and slides slowly down your stomach.

“You might not fully grasp the depths of my influence,” Marcus sounds like he might be mocking you, but you’re not sure– his words aren’t really registering to you right now as you watch his hand slide lower down your torso. “But, know that when I’m here–” His hands and words pause.

“What?” You whisper as his fingers scrabble at the patch of curls sitting atop your mound.

“It’s because I couldn’t resist temptation anymore—” His giant hand slides down between your legs and he palms your cunt gently. “I needed to come look…” Marcus flicks his tongue against the shell of your ear. “I needed to hear your voice,” his lips find your jaw and he kisses you gently. “I needed to taste you…” His two middle fingers part your folds and you gasp softly, feeling his intense warmth against your pussy for the first time.

“Marcus…” You plead quietly for more.

“I needed to give in to temptations… which I’m not allowed to do as a General.” Marcus pulls his fingers from between your thighs and there is a clear string of your slick arousal connecting your swollen, aching pussy to his fingers. It glistens in the morning light and your entire body blushes and starts to tremble against him in anticipation.

You watch as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them hungrily, moaning softly at your taste. “Move.” He demands with a low growl and nudges you to the side of the bed so you’re perched with your ass barely on the edge.

His warmth and strength is gone from behind you and you sit back on your elbows as he climbs off the soft, pillowy mattress and onto the floor between your legs.

Your breath catches in your throat as he hauls your left leg up on to his shoulder but you reach out for him and run your fingers through his mess of loose, dark curls.

He hesitates and looks up at you with a hint of annoyance in his expression. “What is it, Luna?” His voice mirrors his frustration as he kisses the sensitive skin on your inner thigh.

“I want to see you— really see you…” You murmur, gripping his hair gently and tilting his head, guiding his kisses down your upper leg. “Please, take your tunic off, General… let me admire you…” You coo to him softly as his teeth graze your skin.

Marcus chuckles and his lips curl up into a smirk. “Little Dove wants to see me?” He questions you with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod and feel your heart start to race. “I’ve never seen you… really.” You admit to him breathlessly as his fingers glide across the skin on your other thigh.

Without a word he stands before you with the smirk still on his face, and with practiced fingers he unties the belt cinched around his waist. His eyes never leave yours as his fingers pull the fabric up over his thighs and then his hips.

You want so badly to look at his cock but you don’t, you gaze stays locked onto his as he slowly lifts the tunic over his stomach and chest.

Finally, once his face is covered by the tunic, you take in the sight of him. Every naked inch of him. His chest is broad and strong and covered in scars, old and new. His tight, muscular stomach, also marred with battle wounds, looks so soft. His entire body is sun-kissed and perfectly golden.

Marcus drops the tunic on the floor beside him and stands there so you can take him in a little longer. His left hand gently rubs his lower abdomen while his right hand hangs at his side lazily.

Your eyes trace every line and contour of his body until your gaze rests on his hardness, jutting from a thatch of dark curls. Your eyes linger on him, even though you’ve seen his cock before, it still makes your mouth water. The very tip of him is flush– almost purple and he’s already drooling.

Marcus takes a step towards you and is between you legs. He wraps his right hand around his cock and starts to stroke himself slowly. “Are you satisfied?” He asks, but you’re too focused on his dick in your face to answer him. You reach out and with your index finger swipe the bead of precum from his slit. Marcus shivers and sighs softly as you suck your finger into your mouth. He’s salty and bitter, but you’ve been dying to know what he tastes like.

Your eyes flick up to him and then back down to the sight of his fist wrapped around his throbbing cock. “Can I touch it?” You whisper, eyes darting between his face and his groin.

Marcus shakes his head and his hands fall to his sides as he sinks to his knees. “You’ll get to touch it, Dove. Soon enough. Patience.”

You want to protest but he’s inching closer to your cunt. Now you’re panting and he’s barely touched you, he’s just breathing against your slit.

His eyes flash to yours, “You smell so fucking good, Flora,” Marcus dives in, his tongue wasting no time to part your folds.

You gasp as the feeling of his mouth on you for the first time. He moves slowly but deliberately and with pressure around your clit as he positions your legs how he wants them; both knees bent with the ball of your feet on his shoulders. You push against him and arch your hips against his mouth.

Marcus groans as you roll your hips against his tongue. One of your hands finds his hair, grips it tightly and uses it as leverage to grind against his face. His hands find your waist and pull you against him, putting more pressure behind his tongue.

“Oh fuck, Marcus.” You groan loudly, unable to close your eyes or look away from his face. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. It's everything you pictured it to be when you'd lay here at night, thinking of him. His cheeks hollow and he’s grazing your sensitive flesh with his teeth as he sucks on your clit. “Fuck fuck fuck.” Your hips move with the guidance of his strong hands.

Marcus pulls away from your pussy with a loud, wet smack and leans back in to deliver one last lick of your entire slit. “Fuck, you taste just as I imagined.” He pants softly. “Are you ready to touch me?”

You nod up at him, not even upset that he left you on the verge of an orgasm and dripping.

Marcus stands and straddles your hips and inches himself up until he’s practically sitting on your chest, the tip of his cock presses against your chin.

"I want your hands on me," He growls, his voice low and rough.. "I want to feel you stroke me. Worship me." He makes his cock flex and bounce, the head of it tapping your chin gently.

You wrap your fingers around his girth, marveling at the hard weight of him. It was everything you had thought it was going to be and more. He pulses in your grip, his skin silky and hot to the touch. Slowly, you start to stroke him, your hand gliding up and down his length. Marcus hisses in pleasure, his hips rocking into your touch.

"That's it," he pants, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. "Just like that. Fuck, your hands feel so good..."

you pick up your pace, pumping him faster. Your thumb swirls around the head, smearing his leaking precum. Marcus groans, his thighs trembling on either side of your ribs. His cock throbs in your fist, growing even harder.

You bring your other hand up to join the first, alternating your grips. One hand pumps his base while the other works his tip. “Do you like this? Are my hands very soft?” You coo up to him.

Marcus is panting now, his head thrown back at your ministrations. “So soft… don’t stop.” He moans.

There is a knock at your chamber door and it makes both of you jump.

Marcus growls quietly and his eyes snap down to yours. “Were you expecting a visitor?” He questions, sounding annoyed with you.

You pinch your brows together, your hands still moving on his cock and you shake your head. “I never get any visitors. Just you.”

The General bats your hands off his dick and you whine loudly in protest as he crawls down the length of your body. He quickly pulls the tunic back on over his head and creeps to the door with quiet feet.

There is another knock, more urgent this time. Marcus’s upper lip curls in distaste and he opens one of the two large doors as you scramble to cover yourself with the sheets.

It’s a man you don’t know, but he’s wearing full Roman army attire. Sword and all. Marcus eyes him and his nostrils flair. He says nothing to the man in front of him.

“Sorry, General… but Lady Lucilla has asked to see you.” The man says shakily.

Marcus doesn’t say goodbye. He doesn’t even shut the door when he leaves.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Sorry not sorry for the slow burn/ cliff hangers. I love you all so much <3 All the likes and the reblogs on the last two chapters has me reeling. Thank you, I didn't think I'd get one single like, so I appreciate you guys all so much, honestly.

I'd also be willing... to like... take requests for lil one shots (under 2-3k) fluffy/ or smutty if anyone wanted to toss some into my inbox. <.<

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal characters #smut #fanfic #x reader #marcus acacias x reader #ao3 writer #marcus acacius takes your virginity #maybe #reader insert #unbetaed

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ghettogirly · 8 months ago

Note

how do you think armando would react if He is too much in love with the reader, but she is younger than him (I mean Armando is obviously twenty-eight but the reader is still in his 20s) I would appreciate it very much, I love you 💗🌷✨

I don't know how many times I've ordered, but here I am again 🛐🙃♥️

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍:

𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑!𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: how would armando be when loving a girl who’s 10 years younger than him? armando is 32 and the reader is 22.

-> theme: age gap, comedy, suggestive.

-> format: headcanon/drabble.

-> warnings: mention of age gap relationships, mature language.

-> authors note: i’m going to be putting updates out slower since I’m not that well guys. nevertheless i hope you enjoyed! I love your requests!! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! 🌸

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆:

-> older!armando would literally first meet you when he picked his son, Alejandro, up from class.

-> it would be the first time meeting you as you’re a new teacher in the school.

-> so when he came to pick up his son, it’s safe to say you was utterly shocked at the resemblance and at the way they both acted.

-> Armando displayed the same cheekiness Alejandro did, smiling at you as his son was going on about his day.

-> “Parece que realmente disfruta de tus clases.”

-> “he’s a lot like you.”

-> “they say that, gotta come see from the source though, eh?”

-> oh.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:

-> you found out that Armando is divorced ,

honestly you was kind of happy.

-> it may be inappropriate to admire your own student’s father but what can you do if he’s the most attractive man you’ve saw in your life.

-> he noticed your staring but didn’t mind, he thought you was the most beautiful woman to exist too.

-> so he took his chances and asked you out.

-> to which you accepted.

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐀.

-> he took you to an 90s themed restaurant where old school rnb was playing, wanting you to hear the music that was around when he was younger.

-> getting to know each other, you found out that he was a business owner. Having multiple offices around Miami helping those to build their perfect house.

-> “all those beautiful houses you see in Miami, i’ve built most of them.”

-> “i never would’ve imagined that’s the work you do.”

-> seeing him laugh and smile literally made your heart warm. “what can i say? i like getting my hands a bit dirty.”

-> you nearly choked on your drink. Armando was definitely enjoying seeing you flustered, making these tiny comments from even the moment he met you.

-> ordering food, you both ate and enjoyed each others presence.

-> “¿Te importa que sea mayor que tú?”

-> your eyes widened at the question. Putting your utensils down, you looked up at him to which he waiting for your answer.

-> “You would be the oldest man i’ve ever spoken to romantically but i don’t object to the idea of it.”

-> He smiled at that. “Good.”

-> after the date, he drove you back home as it was a little bit after 9pm. You thanked him and then kissed his cheek as a thank you.

-> wanting more, he lightly turned your face to his and gave you a peck on your lips. Making you blush at his bold advance.

-> “Hopefully i’ll see you again soon.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄:

-> it’s been a couple months into yours and Armando’s relationship.

-> Honestly one of the healthiest relationships you’ve been in.

-> he always picks you up from work, not wanting you to walk back anymore, especially after a long day.

-> you always stay over at his on the weekend, relaxing with him and Alejandro by watching some movies or even going out to the park.

-> The age gap between you and Armando can be visible at some points, especially when it comes to social media.

“Nena, ¿sabes qué es tiktok?”

-> You nearly laughed at him even mentioning it. “What do you know about tiktok?”

“My employees told me to download it but i just don’t get the app.”

“Stick to facebook babe.”

-> even with things like his email, you noticed that he was using @yahoo.com

“Who uses yahoo email?!”

“Me.”

-> nevertheless, you wouldn’t trade the relationship for anything else, inheriting both a family and a man who loves you for you. Bombarding you with compliments everyday.

-> “You look absolutely stunning today babe.”

“New hair?”

“Looks great on you.”

-> Life was great, even with a man who’s 10 years older than you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Parece que realmente disfruta de tus clases.”: he seems to really enjoy your classes.

“ ¿Te importa si soy mayor que tú?”: Do you mind if i’m older than you?

“Nena, ¿sabes qué es tiktok?”: Baby, what is tiktok?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @dyttomori @tyneshaaa @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @sarcasticbitchsblog @armandosbabymama @thedarkworldofhananerea @amplifiedmoan @deadpool15 @wizewhispers @5tarlan7

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ohmyamor · 2 years ago

Text

he’s kinda hot | K.HJ

Pairing: Demon!Hongjoong x reader

Summary: After a decent run with your boyfriend, you finally decide to end it when his paranoia becomes too much. Except, maybe he wasn’t crazy. And now you have a demon who refuses to leave you alone.

w.c. 4.6k

Warnings: fluff, slight angst if you squint, minor character death he’s a dick don’t worry, mentions of blood and icky sounds but nothing is seen directly, suggestive content, cursing, desire hongjoong lives in my mind rent free

There’s something wrong with your boyfriend.

You first began to notice his odd behavior a little over a month ago, but for the past week, it’s gotten progressively worse.

What started off as slight jumpiness and anxiety has now turned into full fledged paranoia, to the point where he refuses to ever leave the house, having breakdowns over this ‘person’ who’s after him.

“What do mean you can’t go with me?” You sighed exasperatedly, crossing your arms and staring at the sad excuse of a man standing in front of you.

A few months ago, you might’ve cared about how tired and worn-down he looked, but now? At this point in your relationship?

You really couldn’t care less.

“Are you crazy?” Your boyfriend all but shouts at you.

You feel your jaw clench at his tone.

“Do you know what’ll happen if I go out there?” he continues shouting like a madman. “He’s going to get me! They’re all going to get me! It’s not safe for me out there!”

There’s a crazed look in his eyes and you feel a slight chill run up your spine.

You don’t think you want to stick around any longer to find out what his tipping point is going to be.

“Okay, then stay,” you spit, marching over to the couch to grab your wallet and keys. “Stay here and rot for all I care because you have been nothing but a paranoid piece of shit lately and you refuse to get help.”

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for this episode or whatever you want to call it,” you wave your hands around, “to end, because I have a life and I am not going to sit around waiting for you to get it together.”

“So this relationship ends here,” you glare at him.

“Good luck getting by without anybody who cares about you,” you let the words hang in the air as you walk to the front door and exit the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you.

Huffing, you shove your wallet and keys into your pocket and begin the trek to the grocery store.

After spending a few hours running errands and killing time, you’ve calmed down significantly.

You had called your close friend Seonghwa on the way to the market, telling him what had happened between you and your now ex-boyfriend.

“He sounds crazy,” Seonghwa had said over the phone.

“I know Hwa, which is why I decided to end it because I refuse to stay in another relationship where the other person expects me to solve all of their problems,” you groaned.

He hummed over the line.

“Plus,” you continue. “There was this look, in his eyes and on his face, like he genuinely believed there was something out to get him.”

Seonghwa is quiet.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It just gave me a really bad feeling and you know how I feel about gut instincts. I’d rather trust myself and be safe than sorry.”

“Yeah of course. Honestly honey, I think you did the right thing. I never liked him from the beginning, but you were happy and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, but I agree, if you have a bad feeling about something, you should always trust your intuition,” Seonghwa reassures you.

You let out a small laugh.

“And don’t worry,” he continues, “You’re an amazing person and a great catch, so it’ll be no time before you have someone else falling at your feet.”

You roll your eyes.

Even if he can’t see you, Seonghwa’s known you for long enough to anticipate your habits.

“Thank you Hwa,” you smile into the phone.

“Anytime.”

The two of you chatted on for a little bit more after that, with Seonghwa letting you know he always had an extra room in case you needed to crash at his place for a while.

You thanked him once again but refused his offer. After all, the lease on the apartment was under your name, and you paid most of the bills, so if anyone was going to be leaving, it’s going to be your ex.

The conversation was definitely much-needed, and after the reassurance that you weren’t crazy for ending your relationship, you felt much more confident to head back to your apartment and kick out the man living there.

Once you finally made it back to your building, you exited the elevator and walked down the corridor to your apartment door. Taking deep breaths, you began to steel your nerves in order to prepare for whatever breakdown the male might have.

As you approached your door, you noticed that it looked slightly open.

You pause in your footsteps, narrowing your eyes to see if the door was truly open or if it’s just a trick of your eyes.

Dread begins to build in your stomach when you realize that your door is, in fact, open.

It’s fine, you attempt to reassure yourself in your mind. Maybe he finally got the hint and left.

Cautiously, you approach the door and push it open with your foot.

Stepping inside, you notice how eerily quiet it is.

Normally when you come back from work or running errands, your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself, is doing something to keep himself busy in his self-appointed quarantine. Whether it’s playing a video game or watching T.V., there’s always some kind of noise echoing throughout your small apartment.

But now, there’s nothing.

It’s also incredibly dark.

Dropping the grocery bags onto the floor softly, you reach into your pocket to pull out your keys. You move to the turn on the light switch that’s on the wall, but freeze when you hear whimpering coming from somewhere in the room.

You opt to not turn on the light, unsure of where the noise is coming from and also slightly terrified of what’s going on.

You keep one hand on your phone, ready in case you need to call the police.

Quietly and ever so slowly, you make your way to the bedroom where the whimpering noise is coming from.

The door to your room is slightly ajar, allowing a few rays of light to peek through. On the carpet in the hallway is a dark trail of something.

You swallow thickly, hoping it’s not what you think it is.

You stop in front of the bedroom door and strain your ears to listen to the noises coming from the room. With your heart pounding loudly in your chest, you come to the realization that the whimpers are coming from your ex-boyfriend.

“Now, now, now,” a voice that is certainly not your boyfriend’s rings out.

“Crying isn’t going to get you anything,” the voice chuckles. “You knew what the price of the deal was, and yet, you still tried to double-cross me.”

There’s more muffled crying.

“Silly human,” the voice says sinisterly.

“Didn’t anybody ever warn you to not make deals with the devil?”

The sound of flesh being torn reaches your ears along with pained crying, and you feel sick to your stomach when a metallic smell reaches your nose.

You bring your hands up to cover your mouth to prevent yourself from gagging. You have no clue what you should even do at this point. Whatever’s in there with your ex is either an incredibly deranged human being, or something not even human.

You don’t want to find out which one it is.

After what feels like forever, the muffled crying stops, and your stomach sinks when you come to realization that your ex might now be dead.

The person inside the room sighs.

“Open the door sweetheart.”

Your blood runs cold.

Raising a trembling hand, you move to push the door open, bracing yourself for whatever gruesome sight awaits you and whatever monster you’ll see standing in your room.

Except, you see neither.

There is no body in your room, nor is there any blood or gruesome mess.

There’s also certainly no monster.

Instead, a man sits on a single chair in the middle of the room.

He has bright red hair and a slightly pointed nose. Jewelry adorns his ears and hands, and he wears a pair of dark dress pants with a white shirt that’s tucked in. His sleeves are rolled up on his arms.

If it weren’t for the small splatters of a red substance on his otherwise pristine shirt, you might’ve thought that what you heard before never happened.

Your eyes drag over his figure before coming to rest on his face. The two of you make eye contact and a shiver runs down your spine at the wicked smile he sends you.

“Did you enjoy our little show?”

You say nothing.

The man sighs and places his hands on his thighs, pushing himself up off the chair. He takes a few steps forward until he stands less than a foot away from you.

I’m going to die, you think.

I’m going to die a horrible and gruesome death and no one will ever know and i’ll never see my friends again and i’ll never say goodbye to my parents and-

The man chuckles.

“You’re not going to die.”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man reaches his hand out to gently grab yours. He bows slightly, bringing your hand up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand while maintaining eye contact.

“My name is Hongjoong and I’m the demon who just took care of your pesky little boyfriend problem.”

Was laughing out loud to the man’s, demon’s?, introduction the best choice?

Probably not.

But you cannot be blamed for your habit of laughing in awkward situations.

After all, here is this man, who just admitted to killing your ex-boyfriend, introducing himself to you as a demon and also kissing the back of your hand like the two of you were in the 1700′s.

What sane person would have a normal reaction to that?

As soon as the sound made its way out of your body, your free hand immediately slapped itself over your mouth and your eyes widened in horror.

If the demon didn’t have any plans on killing you at first, he’s definitely going to now.

The man doesn’t say anything, simply raising a brow as a small smile takes over his face.

“I’m glad you found my introduction so amusing sweetheart, but I can assure you, this is certainly real.”

As he said that, you watched in slight horror as his eyes faded from a soft brown color to dark pools of black. Swallowing, you attempt to tug your hand out of the demon’s grasp to try and back away, but his grip only tightens.

He clicks his tongue and within a fraction of a second, his eyes have returned to brown.

“Why are you here?” You finally muster up the courage to speak. Despite your attempts to sound even the slightest bit brave, the waver to your voice was obvious.

Hongjoong sighs, annoyed.

“That sorry excuse of a man you called your boyfriend was in my debt. I made it clear to him when he made a deal with me what the price would be, and he still attempted to evade me.” He rolled his eyes and for a split second, the demon reminded you of a parent whose child wouldn’t listen.

“What deal did he make?” You question, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The demon looks back at you.

“Nothing that concerns your pretty little self,” he winks.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his actions.

“Considering you just killed him, I think it’s safe to assume it was a pretty important deal,” you challenge.

A grin creeps onto Hongjoong’s face.

“So you have the looks and the brains to accompany it,” his smile widens.

You try to fight back the heat that was rising to your cheeks.

Yeah, maybe he’s a demon who killed your ex-boyfriend, but he’s also an incredibly attractive demon who just called you smart and beautiful. Who are you to deny his compliments?

“But,” Hongjoong continues. “If you must know, he wanted to become wealthy and successful.” He takes a glance at your reaction. “And he wanted lots of women.”

You can’t hide the disgusted look that makes its way onto your face.

“That piece of shit,” you mutter under your breath.

After everything you did for him, he still had the audacity to go behind your back, make a deal with a demon, and wish for wealth and women?

I really know how to pick ‘em, you think bitterly.

Hongjoong continues, noticing the look on your face.

“But no need to worry, sweetheart. I’ve taken care of your little problem, and I do think you come out of this fiasco the winner.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you stare at him in confusion.

Hongjoong leans in close, close enough where you can feel his breath on your face and his lips are mere inches from yours. His eyes have slowly begun to bleed black and another wicked smile makes its way onto his face.

“Now, you have me.”

It seems as though demons share the unfortunate similarity to human males where they seem to be extra sensitive in between their legs.

Unfortunately for Hongjoong, you had taken advantage of his proximity to knee him where the sun doesn’t shine. While he doubled over in pain, you take the opportunity to run out of your bedroom and head straight for the front door.

I just need to get out, I need to call someone, I need to call Seonghwa-

Right as your fingers brush against the door handle, a hand grabbed at your wrist and yanked you back.

Grunting, you land harshly on the floor, the breath being knocked out of you. A weight over your body makes you wince. Opening your eyes, you watch as Hongjoong straddles your waist, his hands coming down to rest near your head.

He clicked his tongue.

“Nice try cutie, but you can’t get away from me that easily.”

Struggling, you attempt to shove him off of you, but despite his slightly smaller stature, the stupid demon won’t budge.

“I didn’t make a deal with you!” You cry out, punching his chest. “You got what you wanted, so leave me alone!”

Hongjoong lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t think you get it sweetheart. I want you.”

“Why?” You pant, your adrenaline slowly fading and confusion taking over.

Hongjoong shrugs.

“You intrigue me.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“How romantic,” you say sarcastically.

“See, this is what I mean,” he gestures down at your body that is still laying on the floor. “When I was dealing with your boyfriend, you heard what was going on and instead of leaving, you stayed behind the door.”

He knew I was there the entire time?

“When I introduced myself, you laughed, and even after our entire conversation, you still had the gall to hurt me to try and run away.” He stares into your eyes so deeply that you can’t help but squirm slightly.

“It’s called a fight or flight response.”

Hongjoong giggles, and if it weren’t for the fact that you are currently pinned down beneath the demon, you honestly might find it kind of cute.

Sighing, you let your hands fall to the floor next to you. Hongjoong looks at you slightly amused.

“So what, you’re gonna stick around and when you eventually get bored, you’re gonna kill me and take me soul?”

He tilts his head to the side.

“I can if you want me to.”

With wide eyes, you shake your head no.

“That’s what I figured,” Hongjoong chuckles. “No, you haven’t made a deal with me, so I won’t take your soul. You’re just stuck with me now.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“Great,” you sigh.

In Hongjoong’s defense, having him around isn’t that bad.

For the most part, he sticks to himself, observing you as you go about your day.

“That’s really creepy,” you mentioned offhandedly one day.

“What is?” Hongjoong questioned.

“This whole, standing and staring thing you have going on,” you waved your hand around.

“Would you prefer me to be up close and personal with you?” In the blink of an eye, Hongjoong is standing directly against you.

Taking a step back, you raise your hands in front of you.

“No, I’m fine, you can continue with your staring.”

On occasion, he can be pretty helpful, too.

You slam the door to your apartment open, stomping inside and throwing your bag on the floor. You throw yourself face-first onto the couch and let out a muffled scream.

From where he sits at the dining table watching Netflix on your computer, Hongjoong stares at you, amused.

“Is everything okay sweetheart?”

“No,” comes your muffled reply.

If Hongjoong didn’t have incredibly sharp hearing, he would have a hard time understanding you.

“Stupid Eric from work thinks he can just treat all the women like pieces of meat and get away with it because he’s the boss’s son,” you spit.

You miss the way Hongjoong’s face darkens.

“Did he do something to you?” He questions.

You’re silent for a moment, debating if you want to say it out loud.

“It’s just,” you trail off, unsure how to say it.

Hongjoong hums, letting you know that he’s listening.

“He’s always made comments to all the women in my department, and those are easy to ignore, but today he got really close to me when we were in the break room.”

You can feel your body tense up as you relive the moment.

“Honestly, I thought he was going to try and do something, but luckily, one of our coworkers walked in before he could do anything,” you admit.

It’s silent for a few seconds.

“I’ll be back,” are the only words that come out of Hongjoong’s mouth.

You sit up abruptly from the couch.

“Huh?”

Before you can even finish speaking, Hongjoong is gone.

“So much for moral support,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the couch.

It’s not until late that the demon returns.

You’re sitting on your bed with a face mask on, scrolling through work emails when Hongjoong appears suddenly at the foot of your bed.

You jump slightly, only calming down when you realize who it is.

“Fuck dude, you can’t keep doing that,” you chastise him, trying to calm your racing heart.

Hongjoong says nothing, staring at you.

It’s only then you notice the way his eyes are completely black and he’s breathing abnormally hard.

A shiver crawls up your spine.

“Are you okay?” You ask hesitantly.

Still, Hongjoong remains quiet for a moment before rolling his shoulders back, a deep exhale escaping him.

“You don’t need to worry about that Eric anymore,” is all he says before walking out of your room.

Although you’re slightly horrified at the implications of his words, you also can’t deny the fuzzy feeling in your chest over his actions.

The most annoying part about having him around, though, is the teasing.

Hongjoong seems to have made it his mission to fluster you.

Constantly.

You had just stepping out of the bath, a satisfied sigh escaping you as you wrapped a fuzzy towel around your body.

After a long week, the long, warm bath was incredibly needed.

Softly combing through your hair, you hum slightly as you go through your nighttime skincare routine, being extra thorough and gentle.

Once you finish, you open the door to your bathroom and step out into your room, only to gasp when you see Hongjoong laying on your bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You exclaim as one of your hands reaches up to tightly grab the towel that’s wrapped around your body.

Hongjoong glances over at you, drinking in the sight of your damp body.

“Enjoying the view,” he winks.

You roll your eyes, walking over to the bedroom door and opening it.

“Get out.”

The demon pouts as he sits up on your bed.

“C’mon, don’t you think I’ve been good lately?” He stands up slowly and begins making his way over to you.

Hongjoong gets closer, a small smirk making its way onto his face.

“Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

You stand completely still against the wall, gulping harshly. There’s a heat that builds in your lower stomach as you stare into his hooded eyes.

One of Hongjoong’s hands creeps up to gently toy with the edge of the towel that lays against your chest.

“If you ever feel so kind,” Hongjoong leans in to whisper against your ear. “You know where to find me.”

He leans away from you, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Wordlessly, he walks out of your bedroom and shuts the door.

You quickly place the lock on it before sitting down on your bed. Placing a hand over your chest, you feel it beat harshly against your chest.

What the fuck was that?

Today is a particularly bad day.

From running late in the morning, missing your normal bus to work, and being reprimanded for a mistake you didn’t even do, you think your last straw is when it starts pouring on your way home.

Of course, the weatherman certainly did not predict this today, so you were left umbrella-less and with only a thin blazer to shield yourself from the elements.

And, with your incredible luck, a call from your mother nagging about why you haven’t visited in a few months and how you need to start thinking about a more serious career really seemed to tip you over the edge.

You don’t even make it all the way home, instead opting to go to the nearby park to sit and be alone for a little while.

The rain hasn’t stopped, but it no longer bothers you. In fact, you welcome the harsh sting of water against your skin. It’s the only feeling you seem to be able to comprehend at this moment.

You sit on the swing and stare numbly at your feet. There are tears making their way down your cheeks, but you cannot distinguish them from the rain.

You’re not sure how long you sit there alone.

Only the sudden lack of water pelting down on you causes you to look up.

Standing next to you in casual clothes is Hongjoong. He holds an umbrella over you, the rain beginning to soak his left side.

You hadn’t even notice him approach.

“You know, if you wanted to get killed or die from a hypothermia, this is a for sure way to do it,” he jokes.

You don’t respond.

Hongjoong notices your lack of response and furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?”

His tone is gentle, probably the softest you’ve ever heard him speak.

You can’t stop the sobs that leave your mouth at his words.

Without hesitation, Hongjoong drops the umbrella and falls to his knees in front of you. He brings his arms up as you fall into the chest, your face burrowing itself into his neck.

He says nothing as you cry, rubbing his hands softly against your back and stroking your hair.

It takes a few minutes for your sobs to die down and when you do, Hongjoong gently pulls your body away from his to look at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He questions, eyes searching your own.

The look of despair on your face breaks Hongjoong’s heart. His chest physically hurts at the way you seem to be in so much pain, and him, unable to do anything about it.

He can’t remember the last time he felt so distraught over a human.

“I’m so tired,” you breathe out, closing your eyes.

A few stray tears make their way down your cheeks and Hongjoong cups your face with his hands, gently brushing them away.

“Then use me,” He says.

“Rest on me, take your anger out on me, hurt me, laugh at me, I don’t care.”

The raw honesty in his voice causes you to open your eyes and stare at him.

“It hurts me to see you in pain,” he frowns.

You let out a weak chuckle.

“I didn’t know demons could feel pain,” you attempt to joke.

Hongjoong doesn’t reply, only continuing to stare at you as if he’s trying to commit every inch of your face to memory.

“I feel so strongly for you it hurts,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen and you stare into his, trying to search for any inkling of deceit that will let you know he’s lying.

You can’t find any.

Your mouth parts, but no words come out. Hongjoong runs one of his fingers over your bottom lip.

“If you let me,” he glances from your lips up to your eyes. “I want to be your everything, the same way you are mine.”

The only thing that leaves your lips is a breathy sigh of his name. He leans in closer.

“May I?” He asks lowly.

You barely have a chance to nod before Hongjoong is crashing his lips onto yours.

The kiss is passionate, slightly desperate in the way he clutches onto your face and pulls you closer, as if you’ll disappear from his hands if he leaves even an inch of space between your bodies.

Hongjoong lightly nibbles on your lower lip and you let out a soft sigh. One of his hands has moved to your hip, where it rubs soft circles.

Eventually pulling away from each other, you lean your forehead against his.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” Hongjoong admits to you.

You let out a small laugh and shake your head.

“You’re like a million years old, I find that slightly hard to believe.”

He shakes his head no, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to rest against his chest where his heart is. Underneath your palm, you feel the way his heart pounds.

“This is all for you,” Hongjoong smiles.

“Only for you.”

bonus!

You and Hongjoong were enjoying a night in, laying down on your bed as a movie played on the T.V. Hongjoong had draped himself over your lap, resting his head on your stomach as you gently combed your hands through his hair.

“You know, for a demon, I thought you would have horns or something,” you mumble, eyes focused on the screen. Hongjoong’s body shakes with slight laughter.

“Just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I have horns. That’s kind of stereotypical of you to assume,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, lightly smacking him on the back of his head.

“I do have fangs though,” he mentions after a couple of seconds.

Your eyes widen.

“Really?”

Hongjoong hums, leaning up slightly to face you. He opens his mouth and you watch as his teeth slowly become pointed. Gaping, you bring your hand up to softly run your fingers over the sharp edges. Your breath hitches slightly when you press the pad of your finger on the point of his tooth and it leaves a small wound.

Grinning, Hongjoong crawls on top of you.

“Do you like them?” he asks.

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s leaning down and leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck. You let out a breathy sigh, moving your head to side to give him more access. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes when he drags the tips of his sharpened teeth against your skin.

Pulling back to look at your flushed face, Hongjoong smirks, black seeping into his eyes.

“Oh sweetheart,” he purrs. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong imagines #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong imagine #hongjoong au #demon!hongjoong #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #ateez au #demon au

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