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houserautha · 2 months ago

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These Destined Ends

Part Nineteen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+. Fighting, Feyd eats ass and pussy, a little humiliation, violent sex, drowning(?)

A/N: I was really in the mood to write some unhinged sex, so, here we are. Surprisingly there is a lot of plot too

“For someone so…prolifically opposed to the Bene Gesserits, you aren’t working very hard to dismantle our ideas.”

Your mother’s voice slips over you, slick as oil. It takes an enormous effort not to keep walking and pretend like you didn’t hear her. She would just stop you, anyway, which is the only reason that you turn around.

“Go ahead and spit out whatever you’re trying to say. All of your riddles bore me.”

Jessica licks her tongue. “Hm, so cunning.” When you don’t say anything else, she draws up her shoulders and sighs. “You claim you don’t want to trick the Fremen and yet you are still dragging them into your fight.”

“This is their fight as much as ours,” you snap.

“It’s all apart of our plan.” Jessica spreads her hands wide. “They will follow you as the Holy Mother, and then they will follow your son as the Lisan al-Gaib. And if you’re successful in your endeavor against the Emperor…well.”

She smiles, the rest of her words going unspoken. We will rule the Known Universe.

A fist of regret forms in your stomach. “I want to liberate them. It is not my intent to keep them…under control.”

“Oh, but you’ll manipulate them to get your way first? Such a noble act. You’re just like your father.”

You tuck away this last insult to examine later, why it cuts you so deeply. Instead, you focus on how Jessica has said aloud your guilt, brought it to life in a way that you had been trying to ignore. No matter how hard you fight against the Bene Gesserits, you somehow end up still adhering to their false prophecy. An inescapable fate.

“What do you want from me?” You ask her. It’s repulsive how efficiently she can crumble your composure.

“To impart a reminder.” Jessica steps closer, sand crunching underfoot. “I did all of this for you, daughter. To protect you. And I will not tolerate your insubordination.”

“To protect me?” You echo, sneering.

Jessica’s laugh is dry and bitter. “You are not as cunning as you think. I married you to a man who would shield you with his life, fill your belly with his children — ensure you a status as a figure to be reveled. I made you a god.”

“You did nothing,” you say back, lacking any real conviction.

“You’ll understand soon. You might already, the depths that a mother’s love will go, and what we’ll do for our children.”

Jessica lifts a hand to touch your face, then thinks better of it. She must sense that this is the most devastating thing she could ever utter to you because she brushes past you without another word, leaving you open and bleeding.

You hate that she’s right.

That you’re playing into the Bene Gesserit’s design. But you see no other way to even glimpse freedom for the Fremen if not recruiting them in this self-made battle. Except it wasn’t self-made, your thoughts scream at you, it was the Baron and the Emperor.

Anger boils under your skin. You’re sick of others telling you what to do, dictating your life while you were pushed along like a leaf in a strong current.

“You need to eat,” Feyd chides you, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Eat.” He indicates your ration, which you haven’t even touched. “You need to be strong.”

You blink. You can’t even fathom eating right now, especially not with this much guilt churning in your stomach. Blurting out, you tell him, “I think I’m going to do something completely absurd.”

Feyd, who had been ravenously devouring his own ration until this point, pauses. He swallows.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” A smile tugs at your lips. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“I don’t care.” He leans back. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. I suspected you were planning something.”

“You are either a wonderful husband or wonderfully stupid, Feyd-Rautha.”

“I’m told that I’m just all around wonderful.” Feyd’s eyes narrow. “Now eat.”

The plan unwinds from you between forced bites of food. It starts as a single thread that unravels itself until it’s all unspooled, leaving you to hold the pieces. A strange calm settles over you. You’re in control. Capable. Powerful.

Feyd gives you his support. Not that you believed he would do any different.

And when you reveal parts of your plan to Jessica, you frame it in a way to make amends with her. To be compliant. You have no way of knowing how convincing you are, but she lets you gather the Fremen to speak to them, all the while her blue-on-blue gaze watching you carefully as you ascend the slab of rock used to preside over sietch-wide meetings.

Feyd lingers a few feet behind you, Gurney not far from him, an uneasy truce between the two.

Beneath you, the Fremen gaze up with looks of awe; even Chani observes the proceedings with a look of interest.

You’ve earned their trust.

And now you’re going to take it away.

"The final days of our siege on the Emperor and his Harkonnen pets are upon us," you call out, voice booming, "I have never been so honored to walk alongside any other people, and I have the utmost faith in our victory."

You’re met with a cheer of approval.

It takes a moment for the crowd to quiet before you can continue. There's an electric current in the air, nearly infectious, the anticipatory thrill before battle. You hope that you're not making a mistake as you say, "To go into battle, you must trust your brothers and sisters, trust your leaders. I must confess that I haven't been honest with you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jessica move to stop you. Feyd, with cotton in his ears and anger in his eyes, doesn't let her get far.

The crowd rumbles, wary.

"I am not the Holy Mother." Sounds of confusion arise, which forces you to raise your voice. "I am a flaw in the plan of the Bene Gesserits. I failed to learn their power, and therefore, my child cannot be the Lisan al-Gaib."

"What? Is this true?" At Stilgar's emergence, the sietch stills.

You regard them as evenly as you can, throat constricting. "Yes."

"But you knew everything. All of the signs of the prophecy —"

"It was a lie. A ruse."

Stilgar's tremulous control of the sietch snaps. The Fremen riot this information, hurling insults, pushing and shoving and jostling like one enraged creature. You stand your ground. You knew this would be devastating to deliver, not nothing could prepare you for the raw portrayal on their tanned faces.

As planned, Feyd and Gurney ward off anyone who tries to get to you — Feyd slides twin daggers from the sheaths at his waist, metal glinting dangerously. The Fremen lurk, circling, but they do not engage, not when the na-Baron has now learned their ways atop his own lethal training.

You bear the weight of their fury as best as you can. Somewhere deep inside, you know that they have to expel this from their minds and their hearts before you can say anything else, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. You commit each expression of betrayal to your memory. If they were going to suffer, then so would you.

The sound of shifting sand is your only warning before someone hurtles past you — Chani, somehow slipping past your defenses, only barely misses you as you step aside at the last possible moment. There's not enough time for you to recover from the surprise before her next attack, sweeping your legs out from under you. You fall, hard, on your ass but have enough forethought to scramble backwards.

"Chani, listen to me —"

"I knew we should've killed you when we found you in the desert," she hisses.

She advances on you and each step she takes you shuttle back, pain ringing out in your spine. Your son is safe, you can sense it, but you don't know how long that will last with Chani gaining on you.

"Chani —"

"We trusted you," she wails, "we trusted you!"

You manage to your feet, one hand going to your stomach. A fierce wave of protection washes over you, and you insist, "You still can."

Chani springs for you.

You gasp with shock as she seizes you, eyes wide with anger. "When will you stop fucking lying?"

"I'm not lying," you breathe out. "I am not the Holy Mother. I am Lisan al-Gaib."

Whatever she expects you to say, it's not that. She pauses, and you take the chance to slam your elbow into her throat. A choked sound escapes from her, but she releases you, and you stagger past her to reclaim your spot at the top of the rock. You don't have much time. If you don't say what you need to, then you'll lose them forever.

"Brothers and sisters!" Gripped with desperation, you shout, "I tell you this because I am not the Holy Mother. I am the Kwisatz Haderach. I am Lisan al-Gain. And I will lead you to freedom."

"She's lying!" Chani roars.

"The prophecy states that the Lisan al-Gaib's mother will be a Bene Gesserit, that the Messiah will take the name Muad'dib, take you into battle for your freedom and for a new Arrakis. Have I not fulfilled that? Have I not promised you those very things?"

The protests subside slightly. It might be to decide how best to kill you, but you seize the opportunity. "I should not have lied. I was afraid. I thought if I told you the truth, you would be mistrustful because I was with child, that I was wed to your enemy. I know my mistake, and I know that I can't retract it, but I beg for you to forgive me."

"How do we know if we can trust you now?" Stilgar asks, expression hardened.

"You don't, and I can't fault you for it. But if you let me, I will prove my sincerity in the following days, by defeating the Emperor and securing our rightful place in the Known Universe."

"Never," Chani snaps from behind you.

You let some of your emotions leak into your voice, "Then what will you do? If you dispose of me, there will be no Atreides bombs. You will have no weapon against the Emperor and the Sardaukar, the Baron and his own army. Do not be so blinded by your anger that you make a mortal error. Only together can we be triumphant."

While Gurney and Feyd work together to fend off the crowd of protesters, Jessica finds you, nearly toppling you from the rock and wrenching your arm from your shoulder. "What are you doing?"

You wrest your arm from her grip. Quickly, you flick your gaze over the revolting Fremen, over all of those you had grown close to, then return your gaze to her. "Making myself a god."

The water lays impossibly still. You stand at its edge, taking in the enormity of the subterranean pool. All of the lives of the deceased Fremen reside within, a watery tomb, untouched. How deep did it go? You imagine your life's water funneled into it, how small and insignificant it would be, barely a ripple on the surface.

Tomorrow, you would fight.

The Fremen returned their water to the sietch to be used one day in their new world, an endless cycle of resourcefulness and unity. How many lives would end here? How many lives to reach the new world that Kynes described?

You sigh, and the sound echoes throughout the cavernous space. There's a strange, tranquil calm here, silent and still when everything else has been a mess of noise. Even now, focused on the depth of the sacred pool, your mind races with worry and indecision. You just want it to stop.

Perhaps tomorrow would offer you peace.

The peace of the battlefield, your body acting on instinct and years of practice. You could handle that — bloodshed, death, being a weapon. You could not handle this new position of power you put yourself in, though. An act against the Bene Gesserits, but at what cost? You alone were to blame now for the inevitable jihad. But you protected your son from this fate, you put a cease to the lying and the deceiving, and now you could wrest the control that you always wanted.

The sound of heavy bootsteps rings out in the death chamber, scattering the handful of Fremen who had been working. You hadn't missed their pointed stares or the wide berth they gave you, but you were grateful nonetheless for their departure, especially since it was prompted by your husband. His presence, even at your back, anchors you instantly.

"You've been here awhile."

"Have you been watching me?" You ask, turning to place him in your peripheral, a sketch of black and white.

There's no mistaking the twitch of amusement on his features. "You're a fool if you think I ever stop."

Since the day that you proclaimed yourself as Lisan al-Gaib, Feyd had taken it upon himself to be your security detail. It's not unlike before, but now with more menacing stares. A second shadow, one that you love more dearly than your own. You smile. "Should I be flattered?"

"If you'd like." The metallic sound of his blades sliding into their sheaths precedes him, then his hand gently sweeping the hair off your neck. Feyd's mouth is warm at the top of your spine, the tiny amount of skin showing.

Your eyes flutter shut. "I can't believe it's finally here."

"Finally being the operative word," Feyd rasps, "I've waited a lifetime for it."

You turn to face him, heart panging. He's so beautiful like this, in this dark light, the blade before its whet on stone. You know from experience that this could change frighteningly quick, but you still appreciate these fleeting moments with him, that they're yours alone.

"Only one more day," you tell him.

His gaze searches you. "We have better ways to spend it than staring into this pool and analyzing our decisions."

Your cheeks burn. Of course he knew what you were doing. Your attention drifts from him to the sacred pool again, the expanse of water beneath the teeth of the stalagmites. "It's difficult when our decisions impact so many."

"I know, jewel."

It's this level of understanding that compels you to him, how he knows better than anyone else the dilemma you have. And he doesn't offer empty words or sympathy. Just...himself. His strength and his solidarity. And you want him, all of him.

Unable to go another second without touching him, you pull him into you and tilt your head, his mouth claiming yours without hesitation. One hand slides behind your head, cradling you, and he deepens the kiss. There's nothing soft about Feyd, nothing done without fervor, and you moan as he bites down on your lip. Taking your open mouth as invitation, he slips his tongue inside, brushing it over your own.

Molten heat erupts in your core. You wend your arms around his neck, matching his intensity and scraping your nails over the back of his head. He shudders, the familiar nudge of his cock stirring against you in response. Wanton, you grind your hips into him, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest. Feyd guides your hand to palm his hardened length. "Let me distract you."

"This isn't an effort to fuck me one last time before we die, is it? Because you only had to ask."

You squeeze his head through his pants.

Feyd inhales sharply, but the intensity on his face never wavers. "You won't die unless it's by my hand. And I'm feeling charitable."

"Is that because I have your cock in my hand?"

"It certainly helps."

You smirk. Although you're both aiming to keep the tone light, his message is clear — he won't let you die tomorrow. It's a promise he's made before, and one that comforts you in your lowest moments. There's other ways to declare your love, but this one was uniquely Feyd's.

You never would've thought that the promise of your death could sound so sweet.

In vain, you make an effort to free him from his stillsuit, but they're infuriating efficient at keeping everything out. You can't help it, you whine. With a chuckle that brushes over your spine, Feyd steps back to relieve you of your frustration, working the mechanisms of his suit.

The first hint of his bare shoulders has you clenching your thighs together like a virgin, wet already. You should've been ashamed at the immediate reaction, but you really don't care. Feyd slowly rolls the stillsuit down his chest. Your stomach swoops. He's corded with muscle, powerful arms flexing as he moves the stillsuit low on his hips. Cunt clenching and pulsing with anticipation, you watch him remove it, noting every inch of your husband's divine physique.

"Have I told you that you're beautiful?" You ask him. There's an array of thin, delicate scars across his skin that you trace with the tips of your fingers — older ones, ones that you've put there, the still-pink wound from the thopter crash.

Feyd's lips hitch. "You've called me many things, but that's never been one of them."

"Well you are," you tell him, "you're beautiful."

"Quit saying things as if you'll never have the chance to again." His tone is brusque. The expression on his face can only be described as tormented, anguished, undoubtedly confronted by the same reality of tomorrow.

It's not your intention to provoke him, but it spills out of you. "We don't know what's going to happen to tomorrow. Anything —"

"I'll tell you what's going to happen." Feyd grabs a handful of hair at the back of your head, pain lancing through your scalp. "We're going to slaughter those that wronged us, and I'm going to fuck you amongst their still warm bodies. But tonight, I'm going to remind you that no harm will come to you unless I inflict it."

Something breaks open in you at this. Feyd yanks your head back and the momentum sends you staggering, falling to your knees. He advances toward you and you eye his cock, curved and throbbing, veins black with his blood.

Feyd fists his shaft, giving it a lazy stroke as he watches you. "You get on your knees and instantly think you get this cock?"

"I —" your face burns. Isn't that what he wanted?

"Filthy slut," he murmurs, still stroking himself.

Heavy lidded, dark eyes swimming with glee, he orders you to turn around. You obey, and the air is snatched from your lungs when he pushes you forward onto your hands and knees, sand biting into your palms.

The water of the sacred pool trembles.

You're utterly vulnerable as Feyd starts to work the clasps of your stillsuit, fingers grazing over your skin in the most delicious way. The suit falls from your shoulders and you lift up each arm as he tugs it off, mouth following its path with open mouth kisses. He snakes around you to cup your breast, flicking one stiff nipple with his thumb.

The action sends a bolt of pleasure straight to your core. You bow into him, and Feyd massages you, alternating between flicking your nipple and rolling it between his fingers.

It's truly torturous when he revokes his hand to continue pulling your stillsuit off, and you whimper at the cool air in his absence. Soon he's tugging it around your knees and finally discarding it, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze. Quivering, whether with cold or anticipation, you bite out a yelp as he traces the seam of your ass, then the tight ring of muscles.

Feyd palms your ass, kneading it, forcing you to spread your legs further. He blows a stream of breath over your sensitive center.

"Shit, Feyd," you mutter, teeth gritting. You hate when he teases you, offering you only a taste of what he plans to do.

In reply, he circles the ring of muscles, then dips his other hand to greet your clit.

"You are the most beautiful," he rasps to you, ministrations making you squirm. "Especially like this, so desperate."

The warmth of his mouth ghosts down your spine, the cleft of your ass, before settling there. He kisses your entrance while applying pressure to your clit, one, then two fingers slipping inside your slicked folds. If you could howl without somehow disturbing the dead, you would, but the sanctity of this place keeps your mouth shut.

A laugh rumbles from him because he knows, he knows that you'll let him fuck you here but you'll still uphold your respect in this way. All of the worry and concern for tomorrow is chased away by the punishing effort of his mouth and fingers, replacing it with a lightheadedness, the predecessor to your orgasm.

He curls his fingers, twisting and turning them with practiced precision. Meanwhile he slurps from behind you, vigorous, eager, his spit combining with your arousal wetting you from front to back. Feyd continues to finger you while he flattens his tongue and licks up, circling the ring of muscles before flickering over it. You can feel yourself spinning closer and closer to your climax, stomach tightening and cunt throbbing.

"Do you want to come, jewel?" He asks, biting at your ass.

You cry out in surprise and then, panting, answer, "Y-Yes."

Feyd withdraws from you. He sucks his fingers clean, the sound driving another bolt of pleasure through you, before shoving your face into the sand and tilting more of you to him, hips shifting. This time he brings his attention to your cunt, implementing the same ferocity, lapping and feasting with dizzying effect.

He seals his mouth around your folds and sucks.

It doesn't take long for you to completely come undone, whimpering, shuddering with each wave of your orgasm. Feyd focuses on you until you're thoroughly spent, then releases you with a satisfying squelch. Gasping for breath, you would've collapsed if he hadn't been holding you upright. There's no time to recover, though, as he slips his hand back into your hair and inches you to the edge of the sacred pool.

Stars are still bursting behind your eyes. You stammer, "Feyd, what —"

"I hurt you because I love you," he rasps into your skin, pressing a kiss between the blades of your shoulders.

And then he forces your head underwater.

The pool is shockingly warm. But it's not enough to ward the chill of shock that washes over you: first, that Feyd would desecrate such a sacred site, then the twist of horror when he doesn't immediately release you. Bubbles escape from your mouth. Your eyes are open, you think, but you can't tell, it's pitch black beneath the surface.

As you expend the last of your air in a silent scream, your lungs pinch with panic — he's going to kill you now, he's going to drown you.

He yanks you back up right when you think that you might never take in another gulp of air. You sputter and gasp, wet hair clinging to you, using whatever measures necessary to keep yourself above the water. But Feyd overpowers you, and he ducks your head under.

This time you have some notion of preservation and keep your eyes and your mouth shut, even when your lungs scream in protest. It's all for nothing, though, when you feel him notch his cock at your entrance.

Feyd wrenches you up again. Through your gasping he growls out, "You are mine. In life and in death, jewel."

He slams into you up to the hilt. You have just enough time to cry out before he's dunking you back under, withdrawing and then slamming into you once more. The pain and pleasure entangle themselves within you, make it difficult to decipher one from the other, entirely infused.

Your survival instinct is yelling at you to fight and you thrash, desperate to rake air back into your lungs. But there's no mistaking the utter thrill of him pounding into your cunt over and over again, quite literally holding your life in his hand while he does it. Only Feyd could straddle this delicate line of control — only Feyd would you let hold such power, one infinitesimal decision away from ending your life for good.

And so it goes, Feyd rutting into you while intermittently releasing you from the pool's watery embrace. Sometimes he keeps you above the water for longer periods of time. At least, it feels that way, there's really no way to tell. Tears leak from your eyes and you cry and beg. No matter how much it makes your cunt clench, you can't turn off the part of you pleading for reprieve. And sometimes he keeps you under the water for eons, the edges of your vision darkening, but he always pulls you back up.

You're suspended in this constant ebb and flow. You have no sense of being, of time, no sense of whether you're coming or not even though there's waves of pleasure beneath the panic.

Feyd's cock swells inside you. You're sore already from his fervent thrusts, thighs quaking, but you know he's close to chasing his own release.

You flop down onto the wet sand as he finishes. Chest heaving, you squeeze your walls around him as he spills his cum in you. He lingers until he's done, then crawls by your side by the edge of the pool, where you're still trying to catch your breath and find some inkling of clarity. Feyd curls up beside you, pulling you into his arms and whispering praises in your ear.

Shivering, you allow him to envelope you, warmed by his rasping voice and the gentle touch of his hands over your bare skin. He brushes a thumb over the slight swell of your belly. You don't know how long you stay intertwined like that, both of you coming down from the high of your passion as the pool returns to its former stillness.

Frankly, you didn't want to know the repercussions you would face for treating the sacred place so vile. No one would know but the two of you, of course, and the countless people who had returned their water there. You say a quick prayer of forgiveness to whoever is listening as Feyd kisses you. At least you would both go to whatever Fremen hell together, which was the least you could ask. Just like he said.

In life and in death.

Part Twenty

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#feyd rautha #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends #part nineteen #I’m so sorry Fremen #I’m so sorry Frank Herbert

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wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

Text

Warmth - Part Three

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

This is just a smutty little thing about being in an arraigned marriage to a certain original vampire.

If you rather read this on Ao3- Link is here

{Part One} {Part Two}

Back in the vibrant streets of New Orleans, relishing in your newfound freedom. Life takes an unexpected turn as the shadows of your past life loom large, pulling you back into the life you just escaped. Yet, amidst the haunting echoes, you find strength in a partner who is ready to go to any lengths for you.

8k words (whoops) - Warnings: Smut, drama & Elijah being a wife guy.

Part Three

The blissful week of your honeymoon unfolded like a dream, each moment seemingly plucked from a fairy tale. The idyllic cottage, delicious food, and fantastic sex painted a picture of a life you never thought possible.

Now, back in New Orleans, a newfound sense of liberation coursed through you. This freedom allowed you to make choices without restraint, doing whatever pleased you without scrutiny.

You spent the day at the record shop, browsing for a particular album that was deeply sentimental to you. When you found it, you almost squealed with glee, leaving the shop with a huge grin on your face.

You decided to walk back to the compound, enjoying the sun on your bare skin. During your time with the human faction, modest dressing was mandatory, even in sweltering weather. Yet, when Rebekah presented the daring silk backless dress for your wedding, you dared to dream of a possible future with true freedom. Now, you were living it.

However, your happiness took a sudden hit when you crossed paths with some faction wives on the street. Their envious and disdainful looks made you feel self-conscious in your short leather skirt and knee-high boots.

"I thought you would be dead by now," one of them remarked with a sneer, scanning your outfit with disapproval.

"Is your husband just keeping you around as a snack?" another quipped, her words laced with sharp mockery.

"Actually, I just got back from my honeymoon," you replied, trying to politely leave the conversation.

Laughter erupted from the group as they exchanged incredulous looks. "Vampires don't procreate, darling. What's the point of all that?" one of them scoffed.

Your patience wore thin, and with a tight smile, you excused yourself. "Well, I have better things to do than…this. Enjoy your day."

As you walked away, their judgment lingered in the air, casting a shadow over your earlier joy. You knew they were victims just as much as you had been; they coped with their circumstances by making others feel as bad as them. With your head held high, you headed back to the compound, trying not to let them dampen your mood.

Klaus stormed up to you in a huff, his accusing gaze piercing through you as you entered through the main gate. "Where were you, and what did you do?" he demanded, suspicion heavy in his voice.

"Uhh, I went to the record store and bought a record?" You replied, a confused look on your face.

"There was an attack on a group of vampires, orchestrated by the human faction," Klaus stated, giving you an icy glare.

"I'm sorry to hear that," you said sincerely.

Klaus leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Are you still involved with the humans? Are you a spy for them?"

"Niklaus," Elijah’s voice cut through the tension, he was standing on the balcony above, giving his brother a stern look. "There's no way she's a spy. She was abused by them, not collaborating with them."

Klaus crossed his arms, skepticism etched on his face. "Abuse could be a convenient cover, Elijah. We both know the lengths people go to achieve their goals."

You stepped forward, a hint of frustration in your voice. "I had a run-in with some of the faction wives. They insulted and questioned me, I'm not a spy."

Klaus raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "What did you talk about?"

"Just casual things," you replied with a forced nonchalance. "The honeymoon, mostly. They threw in some comments about vampires not being able to procreate. It was just a rather short and grating interaction."

Elijah descended the stairs and stood beside you, placing a protective hand on your waist. "When did this happen?" He asked gently.

"Like an hour ago," you replied, looking from Klaus to Elijah as they shared a silent exchange. "Do you think the attack has something to do with me?"

"Possibly," Klaus replied, pacing around with his usual dramatic flair. "The attack happened not long after your interaction with them."

Elijah's phone suddenly rang, and his expression turned dark when he answered it. Klaus was staring at him, clearly listening to the conversation you couldn't hear; his expression changed from serious to frighteningly amused.

When Elijah hung up, a heavy sigh escaped him, and he looked at Klaus with a deep furrow in his brow. "It seems we have been invited to a dinner party with your former faction," he said to you, bitterness lacing his tone.

"Why?" you asked, the word barely escaping your lips as a surge of anxiety tightened your throat.

"Apparently, renegotiations," Elijah replied with a hint of darkness in his tone, his gaze locking onto yours. He gently clasped your trembling hand, planting a reassuring kiss against it. "You will be fine," he assured you.

"I thought as much," Klaus said with a bitter laugh, "Looks like your little alliance isn't going as you planned, dear brother."

Elijah shot Klaus a disapproving glare. "I understand you've never approved of my methods, but everything I did was to avoid further bloodshed."

Klaus rolled his eyes, beginning to stroll away, leaving you both with a sardonic smile. "It appears my methods might be more fitting in this situation, unless you're willing to return her," Klaus uttered darkly, gesturing toward you.

Elijah’s grip on your waist tightened. "That's not an option."

"I know, brother, I know," Klaus laughed as he left the courtyard, clearly amused by the whole situation.

Despite Elijah's comforting words, irrational thoughts flooded your mind. Was Klaus right? Was this some cruel ploy to reclaim you, to drag you back into a life you had just escaped?

Elijah sensed your apprehension, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "I won't let anything happen to you," he vowed, his eyes filled with a protective intensity.

"You don’t know what they are like," you confessed nervously, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if they want to break the alliance? Take me back?"

Elijah's gaze held a steady determination. "They can break the alliance if they please, but that would be remarkably unwise of them," he replied, his tone unwavering. He tightened his embrace, as if shielding you from an impending storm. "You're not a pawn to be traded back and forth; they have no power to reclaim you."

Elijah's confidence gave you strength, calming the waves of anxiety that threatened to engulf you. He would protect you. No one could take you away from him.

A small smile curled his lips as he placed a soft kiss against your forehead. "This might actually be a blessing in disguise," he mused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Perhaps a demonstration of their misguided arrogance is required."

"No," you said firmly, folding your arms across your chest.

"You would look so beautiful in it," Elijah protested, gesturing toward the garment bag draped over a chair.

"It's not really dinner party appropriate," you said with a shrug, not wanting to reveal the real reason behind your reluctance.

Elijah cocked his head, studying you intently. "Is this about the dress or something else?"

You hesitated, glancing away. "It's about everything. The attack, the faction wives, the fact that I'm about to dine with people who treated me like property."

"They have no power over you anymore," Elijah reminded you, gently taking your hand in his. "And where has your rebellious spirit flown off too all of a sudden?"

"I guess I just want to prove them wrong," you said, shrugging slightly. "I want them to see that I've won, that I'm happy. Wearing a dress that is far too risqué would undermine that."

"My dear," Elijah murmured, pulling you close and gently cupping your cheek, "They will never accept you as anything other than an object. No matter what you wear. That is not your burden to bear; it is theirs."

His words pierced through your self-doubt, filling you with a newfound sense of conviction. He was right; your only duty was to be yourself, not to try and live up to their impossible expectations.

"You’re right," you said, looking up at him as a devious smile spread across your lips. "But it will piss them off, and that could make negotiations more difficult."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he replied with a smirk, his arms wrapping around your waist affectionately.

Your eyes narrowed, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "So, you want me to dress up to embarrass them?"

Elijah leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want you to show them exactly who you are and how powerful you have become," he said softly, giving you an encouraging kiss on the cheek.

With a renewed sense of determination, you stepped towards the garment bag and fully unzipped it, taking out a breathtaking silk dress. It was black, with a daringly low back and a slit that would reveal almost all of your leg. It was the perfect mix of sophisticated and sexy, the kind of dress that the faction would completely disapprove of.

You smiled as you slipped on the dress, savoring the feeling of the cool silk against your skin. A thrill ran through you at the thought of what tonight might bring, a strange mix of anxiety and excitement.

Elijah looked at you, a combination of pride and admiration on his face. The hunger in his eyes was palpable, and it made you want to rip his clothes off and let him have his way with you.

But, alas, there was a dinner party to attend.

The car pulled up to the grand estate, and the familiar sight stirred memories you had fought hard to bury. The imposing structure, the opulent surroundings—they whispered of a past that still clung to you. It had only been a few weeks since you had left this life behind, and now you were thrust back into its midst.

Elijah ushered you through the door, his hand offering warmth and reassurance as he drew you close. "Try and relax. I will kill them all before they lay a finger on you," he assured with a grin, sealing the promise with a gentle kiss on your cheek before guiding you inside.

As dinner approached, you found yourself surrounded by your adoptive sisters and faction wives, a gathering of women who had consistently cast you as the family's black sheep. The forced marriage to Elijah was intended to be your punishment, and in the weeks leading up to the wedding, they took every opportunity to remind you of it.

Their eyes, once filled with disdain, now flickered with a mix of envy and fear as they noticed Elijah's presence across the room.

"Isn't he attractive," one of them commented, eyes lingering on Elijah. "I wish my husband looked like that."

"He's a vampire, for goodness' sake. I wouldn't want to be near him," another replied, her tone a mix of fascination and repulsion.

You smiled politely, choosing not to engage in their speculative chatter. The women, fueled by curiosity and perhaps a tinge of jealousy, couldn't resist bombarding you with questions.

"So, how does he... treat you?" one of them asked, her expression a mix of faux concern and genuine intrigue.

"Does he, like, drink your blood?" another blurted out with a shudder, as if the mere thought was enough to make her cringe.

"He must mind-control you, being a vampire and all," another woman remarked, her tone dripping with condescension.

You attempted to change the subject. "Do you ladies know what this dinner party is about?" You asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Our husbands don't share that sort of information with us," one added, giving you a critical look. "It's not for us to concern ourselves with."

"I've heard it's because your husband is not living up to his end of the deal," another added, clearly loving the chance to gossip.

"No, Elijah is a man of his word." You argued, looking around at the women. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

"There is no misunderstanding your recent behavior," the ringleader interjected. "Perhaps the faction is unhappy with your marriage, that it's not meeting their expectations," she added, barely hiding her amusement.

"What was the expectation exactly? That I'd be subjugated by my husband?" you replied harshly.

They scoffed, exchanging knowing glances. "You have been parading around like a whore and out in public without an escort. I've also heard rumors about that honeymoon of yours; you always did have a penchant for the scandalous," one of them commented, a malicious smirk playing on her face.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist returning their insults. "Well, I suppose being miserable is a tradition around here. But don't worry, I'll let you know if I ever need advice on how to be unhappy and unsatisfied."

"Oh, dear," one of them scoffed, feigning pity. "You must be so blinded by the allure of a vampire that you can't see the chains he'll undoubtedly tighten around you."

Another chimed in, suggesting, "Perhaps he inflicts pain in bed, then erases it from your mind with mind control."

"It's only fitting you endure such punishment, since you tarnished yourself before marriage," added another with a venomous tone.

"You know, it's fascinating how you all revel in your misery," you retorted, your words cutting through the whispers of the women.

"I heard vampires get bored easily," one of them sneered. "What happens when he loses interest in you?"

As their petty remarks continued, you maintained your composure, refusing to let their jealousy and bitterness affect you. Just before the conversation could delve further into the realm of absurdity, Elijah gracefully approached, cutting through the toxic atmosphere with his warm presence.

"Ladies," he greeted them with a charming smile, "how delightful to see you all."

They greeted him with forced smiles, their eyes shifting between you and Elijah. The ringleader couldn't resist her curiosity. "Are you happy with your new bride, Mr. Mikaelson?"

Elijah's eyes met yours, a fondness in their depths. "Immensely," he replied sincerely. "I believe I've married the best your faction has to offer."

A collective gasp rippled through the women, and you couldn't help but smirk at their transparent jealousy. Elijah then turned to you, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek that seemed calculated to fuel their envy.

"I must steal my lovely wife away for a moment," he announced, gently leading you away from the disapproving gazes. The lingering resentment from the women was almost tangible as you followed Elijah, escaping the judgmental whispers.

"They implied that they know details about our honeymoon, what a bunch of fucking weirdos," you whispered to Elijah in the shelter of a quiet corridor.

A small, understanding smile played on his lips as he gently pushed you against a wall, leaning in to kiss you softly. "They have spies everywhere," he whispered. His lips then trailed down your neck, each kiss a deliberate act of defiance against the gossiping crowd.

"They are being petty and bitter, still trying to punish me," you admitted breathlessly, your emotions a whirlwind as Elijah's touches sparked a mixture of desire and rebellion.

"What exactly did you do?" Elijah asked, gently pulling away from the delicate curve of your neck, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "You only mentioned that you were not considered pure by them."

You placed your hands on his chest, idly toying with his tie. "I may have been caught, you know, engaging in some activities with a young man in the garden," you confessed, avoiding direct eye contact, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

A low chuckle escaped Elijah, followed by another gentle kiss. "Good work," he teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm sure that stirred up quite a reaction."

"It did," you responded, a sheepish grin crossing your face. "They couldn't proceed with marrying me off to his father after that."

You made eye contact with Elijah and the both of you burst out laughing, the sound echoing unexpectedly in the quiet corridor. Swiftly realizing the need for composure, you both attempted to stifle the laughter.

"We can always try to further tarnish your reputation," Elijah teased, a playful grin on his lips as he leaned in for another kiss.

Your smile lingered, but you gently pushed him away. "As much as I would love that," you replied playfully, "I believe we should consider playing along. Maybe we can still find a way to maintain some semblance of peace."

"If that is what you desire," Elijah responded with a smile. He took your hand and led you toward the dining hall.

The air in the grand dining room was thick with tension as you headed to your seat. This room, once off-limits to you, now hosted a gathering that felt more like a trial than a negotiation. Familiar faces, some masked in false pleasantries, stared back at you. Uncomfortable memories resurfaced, and you wished you could erase the knowledge of these people from your past.

Elijah guided you with a protective hand on the small of your back, his presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of emotions. You sat down next to your adoptive mother, avoiding her icy gaze. The air was thick with tension, and the clinking of cutlery against fine china echoed through the room.

Your former adoptive mother stood, gesturing for the other guests to remain seated. Her stern gaze turned to you and Elijah.

"It is so good to see you both," she began, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. "I'm sorry we haven't had the opportunity to properly catch up."

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing enough. "The pleasure is all ours, mother," you lied. "Thank you for hosting such a wonderful evening."

The dinner progressed as expected, with the usual banal small talk and insincere pleasantries. You could feel the tension in the room, a palpable reminder that no one truly wanted you here.

As the dessert was taken away, your adoptive father stood and cleared his throat, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. "Mr. Mikaelson," he began, addressing your husband with a stern gaze, "It seems that we must discuss some new terms if our alliance is to be maintained."

Elijah, ever composed, inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the formality. "I am open to discussions," he replied evenly.

"When we agreed to marry one of our precious daughters to you, we expected a more old-fashioned approach. There must be a clear understanding of hierarchy. We are aware that our dear daughter may have... unconventional views on equality, but for the sake of harmony, you must maintain a certain level of control over her." your adoptive father continued, his gaze unwavering.

"So, you’ve called me here to discuss… what exactly?" Elijah asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "That I make my wife unhappy?"

The tension in the room escalated, each word carrying the weight of expectations and the unspoken threat of consequences. You gripped the edge of your chair, feeling the eyes of the faction bore into you.

"Our faction values tradition, and you and your wife's... liberal perspectives should not compromise the delicate balance we've achieved." Your adoptive mother added, her tone icy.

"My understanding is that you view me as an evil, degenerate monster, and yet you willingly gave your daughter to my family." Elijah said smoothly, leaning casually in his chair and looking around the table at the cowering faces. "It was you that insisted on a marriage pact, because you wanted to punish her."

Your former adoptive mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "She was always a rebellious child, and we had hoped she would learn some discipline under your watch."

"You have no authority to impose any rules over my wife, and as her husband, I have every right to ensure her happiness," Elijah replied, his voice low and dangerous.

The faction members exchanged uneasy glances, sensing a shift in the balance of power. Elijah continued, sarcasm lacing his words. "I apologize that your punishment didn't go as planned… but that's not my concern. Now do you have anything of actual value to discuss with me?"

Amidst the whispered threats and veiled insults, your adoptive mother leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. "You're nothing more than a vampire's whore, my dear. He'll grow tired of you, mark my words. You'll age, and when you're no longer a viable hole, he'll discard you like yesterday's trash."

The words cut deep, and you shot her a wounded look. It wasn't the first time they had called you a whore, but it stung more this time.

"I'd rather be a vampire's whore than a spineless, miserable woman like you." You seethed. The words were out of your mouth before you could think.

She laughed, her voice sharp and cold. "You truly are a disgrace to the family."

Before you could respond, Elijah placed a calming hand on yours. He smiled, the gesture a sharp contrast to the rage you knew he was fighting to control. "Let me make something perfectly clear. She is a Mikaelson now and you have no control over what we do,"

Elijah's voice, though measured, carried a stern authority that demanded attention. The faction members, accustomed to their position of influence, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Your adoptive mother, however, met Elijah's gaze with a defiant smirk.

"We understand, but surely you can see the wisdom in maintaining a balance between power and freedom. You wouldn't want our factions to go to war because of her actions, now would you?" Your adoptive mother challenged, her gaze fixed on Elijah.

Elijah's lips curved into a sardonic smile. "You seem to be under the illusion that I need this alliance. I agreed to it for the sake of peace, but do not mistake my compliance for weakness. I could easily rip out every single one of your tongues before you could utter a word in protest."

The room fell silent, and a cold shiver ran down the spines of the faction members as they found themselves face to face with the unyielding determination of a thousand-year-old vampire. Elijah's eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint, and the air became charged with an unmistakable tension.

Your adoptive father, attempting to salvage some semblance of control, stammered, "Mr. Mikaelson, there's no need for threats. We are merely trying to establish a harmonious relationship."

Elijah's gaze remained fixed on your adoptive mother, his tone low and menacing. "My family has a tendency to respond decisively when one of our own is threatened."

Elijah's words hung in the air like a dark omen. The grand dining room, once a space for diplomacy and negotiation, now crackled with an impending sense of conflict. The faction members, who had been so assured of their position, exchanged uneasy glances as the weight of Elijah's threat settled over them.

Your adoptive mother, her earlier bravado waning, swallowed hard. The malicious glint in her eyes faded into a flicker of doubt. For the first time, the façade of control she had meticulously maintained began to crumble.

Elijah rose to his feet, causing unease to ripple through the faction members. He bestowed upon them a sinister smile, wide but devoid of warmth, "Well then, it appears negotiations have reached their conclusion." His gaze shifted to your adoptive father, the sinister expression unwavering. "If we are not allies, I suppose we are at war."

With that, Elijah turned to you, reaching out his hand, and together, you walked out of the room, leaving the faction to their fear and uncertainty. The night air was cool and fresh as you stepped out into the garden, the tension finally releasing from your shoulders. Elijah's presence beside you was comforting, a solid reassurance that the night was over.

He pulled you close, his eyes searching yours. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, his hand caressing your cheek.

You smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "I'm fine," you replied, leaning into his touch. His other hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a silent affirmation of unity.

"You didn't have to do that for me," you said quietly, feeling far too vulnerable to meet his gaze.

"Of course I did," he replied, softly, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek. "You are my family."

As you gazed into his eyes, a feeling of longing bloomed within you. "I can't believe you threatened them like that," you breathed.

"Well, they were being quite rude," Elijah remarked, his voice tinged with amusement.

His lips grazed yours in a soft kiss, his arms pressing your body to his. You let yourself sink into the moment, savoring the quiet intimacy. He pulled away from the kiss and looked around the garden, giving you a mischievous look. “You know… I have an idea,"

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden playful demeanor. "Oh, really? And what would that be?"

He didn't answer, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. You followed him deeper into the garden, where he pulled you close and began to kiss you again. His hands moved up your back, tracing your bare skin with his fingertips.

"Elijah," you gasped, his touches setting every nerve on fire. “What if they catch us out here?"

He didn't respond, just kissed you harder, his lips hungry and eager. You surrendered to the kiss, letting yourself fall into the passion of the moment.

The night air was filled with the sound of your breathless moans as Elijah kissed your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. He slowly pulled down the straps of your dress, revealing your bare chest to the moonlight.

His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and inch of skin. He cupped one breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb. Your breath caught as his other hand slipped under the slit of your dress, his fingers exploring the hem of your panties.

“Where exactly did they catch you with that boy?" He whispered in your ear.

"Behind the fountain," you said, the memory making you blush.

A playful smile danced across his lips. He took your hand and led you behind the stone sculpture, pressing you against the wall. He kissed your neck, his lips lingering on the soft skin. You felt his fingers sliding under the thin fabric of your underwear.

You bit your lip, stifling a moan as his fingers brushed against your clit, his eyes fixed on your face. He stroked the sensitive spot slowly, watching your reaction with a satisfied smile.

"Did he touch you here?" he asked softly.

"Yes," you managed to breathe out, your heart racing at the memory.

Elijah's lips curved into a smirk, his gaze darkening. He pressed his body closer, a hand running down your leg and lifting your thigh around his hip. His fingers continued their gentle rhythm before he slipped a finger inside you, his lips inches away from yours.

"And did you enjoy it?" he whispered.

"Yes," you gasped.

He increased the pressure, his fingers moving faster, drawing a gasp from you. You felt the familiar tightening in your stomach, the heat building between your legs.

"I bet he was clumsy and inexperienced," he teased, his voice a low purr.

You moaned in response, your eyes closing as his fingers slid deeper.

"I bet he didn't know how to please a woman like you."

His breath was hot on your skin as his fingers continued their slow rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

"Elijah," you whimpered.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked.

"I need more," you pleaded.

His lips curved into a smirk. "More, what?"

"Stop teasing me," you moaned, gripping at his shoulders.

He chuckled and slid a second finger inside you, curling them at the perfect angle. You gasped as his fingers began moving faster, his thumb circling your clit. Your breath came in short gasps, your body trembling under his touch.

You felt the pressure building, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for release.

He withdrew his fingers and his lips captured yours, kissing you deeply. You whined into his mouth, desperately frustrated by his denial.

“Please fuck me," you begged, your hands gripping his hair, keeping him close to you.

“Where is the nearest bench?" He teased, a wide lustful smile on his face.

You pointed to a nearby stone bench behind him and he scooped you up and in a flash you were seated in his lap upon it.

His lips claimed yours again, and his hands gripped your hips. You straddled him, your hands roaming his body, feeling his muscles flex beneath his shirt. You could feel his cock straining against his pants, and you rubbed yourself against it, desperate for friction.

"So impatient," he teased, his voice a low growl.

You reached down, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. You took him in your hand, stroking him slowly. His breath hitched, his hips bucking against your touch.

“You know, I had this particularly naughty idea of fucking you right on the dining table," he purred, gazing at you with admiration.

You moaned at the thought, imagining him taking you on the grand table, surrounded by the shocked faces of the faction members. You lifted yourself slightly and lowered onto his length, savoring the way he filled you.

His eyes closed, a soft groan escaping his lips. You began to move, riding him slowly, taking him deeper with each thrust.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you rocked against him. You moaned, feeling the tension building again. You leaned forward, pressing your breasts into his face.

He began kissing and sucking your nipples, his teeth gently scraping against the sensitive skin. The sensation sent shivers through your body, and you cried out, arching your back.

You quickly covered your mouth, afraid of getting caught. He smiled, his hands pulling your arms away, allowing your moans to fill the air.

"Let them hear," he growled.

He gripped your hips tighter, thrusting up into you with a fierce intensity. You leaned forward, burying your face in his neck, muffling your cries. You began to tighten around him, your body shaking with pleasure.

"I told you, sweet wife, don't be quiet," he commanded.

You let go, moaning his name as the orgasm rocked your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you felt him tense, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum.

You collapsed against him, breathing heavily, and his arms wrapped around you. He kissed your temple, holding you close.

"Are you ready to go home?" He asked softly.

You nodded, still catching your breath. "Yes."

He smiled and picked you up, his arms cradling you. You felt safe and content in his embrace, the stress of the evening fading away. He set you down near the car, some of the faction members had gathered outside, watching you with disapproving glares.

“They definitely heard us," you whispered as Elijah opened the passenger door for you.

He leaned down and kissed you on the cheek, the gesture full of warmth and love. "Good," he said. "Let them hear how happy I make you."

As you sat in the car, watching him walk around to the driver's side, a thought crossed your mind. This was what real freedom was, the freedom to love and be loved. It was not the absence of boundaries, but the choice to cross them when it suited you.

You gazed at Elijah, his eyes shining in the dim light of the car, and your heart swelled. It was in that moment you realized that you had truly fallen for him.

When you arrived at the compound, Elijah went off to discuss matters with Klaus, and you returned to your bedroom. You were still getting used to the place being your home. Elijah put in a lot of effort to make you feel comfortable, even suggesting renovations. You laughed at the idea, the entire concept so foreign to the life you had always known.

You eyed the record you had purchased that morning; after the day's events, you had completely forgotten about it. You smiled and unwrapped it, placing it on the new record player Elijah had bought for you.

You smiled as the music filled the room, pulling off your dress and changing into more comfortable clothing. Then you settled by the fireplace, sinking into the sofa and letting out a soft sigh of contentment. Feeling relaxed was something you had to practice. Living back with the faction, you were always on edge, and even when you slept, your dreams were fraught with anxiety. But somehow, here, surrounded by the deadliest family on earth, you felt safe and calm.

You heard a knock at the door and expected to see Elijah, to your surprise it was Klaus, leaning in the doorframe with his usual causal arrogance.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if we could have a little chat," he said, a sly smile playing on his lips.

Curiosity piqued, you invited him in and he took a seat next to you.

"Now that you're part of the family, I thought it was high time we got to know each other better," Klaus began, his tone surprisingly genial.

You seized the opportunity to address the lingering suspicion. "Do you still think I'm a spy?"

Klaus brushed off the question with a chuckle. "Let's leave suspicions behind for now. I'm more interested in hearing about your honeymoon, the one I so thoughtfully planned."

“It was lovely," you said sincerely, giving him a kind smile. “But the lingerie was a bit presumptuous of you," you teased.

Klaus chuckled, "Well, I thought if you two bonded, such undergarments would be appreciated."

You rolled your eyes at his comment, “well, the rest of it was very nice," you replied politely. “But I'm confused as to why you planned it in the first place,"

Klaus leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why not? I enjoy orchestrating delightful surprises, and what better way to test the strength of your newfound alliance than a romantic getaway?"

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I thought you hated the alliance,"

He smirked. “I just wanted you two lovebirds to have a memorable time."

You sighed, realizing Klaus's motives were often shrouded in layers of complexity. "Fair enough. It was, indeed, memorable."

He leaned in, his tone turning more serious. "I hope the robbers didn't rough you up too much,"

Your eyes narrowed. "Elijah told you about that?"

Klaus shrugged coyly, "I just hope it didn't dampen the mood,"

You frowned. "Are you saying you orchestrated that?"

“When Elijah told me he was to marry, I did my research," Klaus gave you a knowing grin. “I was confused as to why the human faction would marry one of their women to a vampire, they loathe our very existence. They treat their women like livestock, to be traded and bred, so why would they insist on a marriage when they gain nothing from it? Then, I learned you were a bit infamous for being promiscuous."

You blushed, hating the knowledge of your poor reputation spreading. “Great," you said sarcastically, unable to meet Klaus’ gaze.

“I knew Elijah would treat you with the kind of respect you had never experienced before and the faction wouldn't be pleased, when they obviously handed you over as a way to hurt you," Klaus continued, giving you a wicked grin.

“How perceptive of you," you replied sardonically. “I fail to see why having me attacked on my honeymoon factors in,"

Klaus leaned back, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "You see, my dear, Elijah has a weakness. He can't resist saving a pretty face, and most women can't resist his heroic charm. It was meant to be a bonding exercise."

“So you saw a way to break the alliance, by using me to manipulate Elijah," you responded, a mixture of disbelief and frustration coloring your tone.

Klaus's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, my dear, alliances in our world are as fickle as the wind. I merely set the stage for the inevitable. The human faction, their minds poisoned by centuries-old prejudices, would never truly accept a truce with vampires. This little ordeal was just the spark needed to set the powder keg ablaze."

You sighed, realizing that in the world of vampires, alliances and betrayals were as common as the moon in the night sky. "And what if I had been seriously hurt?"

Klaus's expression turned serious, a rare glimpse of sincerity in his eyes. “I compelled that robber to rough you up, not kill you,"

Despite the reassurance, a lingering unease settled in the pit of your stomach. "So, what now? Are we on the brink of war?"

Klaus chuckled, the sound carrying a hint of danger. "War, my dear, is inevitable. It's just a matter of when and how. I'm merely expediting the process. The human faction will never peacefully coexist with us. It's in their nature to fear what they don't understand."

You leaned back, grappling with the weight of the revelation. The idyllic honeymoon, orchestrated by Klaus, was nothing more than a chess move in a larger game of power and dominance. You were a pawn, unwittingly playing your part in a conflict that seemed destined to unfold.

"And what about Elijah?" you asked, your gaze piercing Klaus's calculating façade.

"Elijah will do what he must to protect what he loves," Klaus replied cryptically. "As will I."

“Well, just so you know, what you did wasn't even necessary," you replied, the flames from the fireplace dancing in your eyes. “Elijah and I had already bonded before the attack,"

Klaus let out a soft chuckle and stood up, “Elijah generally has that effect, I was just ensuring it," he teased. “Welcome to the family love," with that, he departed, leaving you equally annoyed and amused.

Elijah returned shortly after, wearing an expression of irritation. He settled down beside you, casually draping his arm over the back of the sofa behind you.

You smiled at him. "Bad meeting?"

He let out a tired sigh. "My brother has decided to be insufferable. But that's nothing new… I heard him come by here afterwards, what did he want from you?"

You turned to him, giving him a teasing smile. "Oh, you know, just trying to find out how the honeymoon was."

Elijah raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Did he mention how he set us up?"

"Yes," you replied with a chuckle, “he definitely gives interesting wedding presents."

Elijah's gaze softened. "I am sorry for my brother's antics."

"Well, I suppose it all worked out, except that we are now on the brink of war," you said with a teasing smile, leaning closer and kissing him.

Elijah brow furrowed and he sighed deeply, not returning the kiss. You gave him a concerned look, cupping his cheek as he avoided your gaze. “Care to go for a walk?" he proposed.

You nodded, a hint of anxiety bubbling within.

The journey led you to a quiet park bench overlooking the water. The night was still, the sky painted in inky black hues, and the only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the gentle waves hitting the rocks.

"I want to discuss something important with you," Elijah spoke quietly, avoiding direct eye contact.

“The breaking of the alliance will have consequences, and you will be in the crossfire," he explained seriously, his hand finding yours. "This marriage puts a target on your back. I offer you your freedom—you can leave. I'll provide all the money you'll ever need, and you can make a real life for yourself, far away from this world."

In contemplative silence, you looked at Elijah. His expression held profound sadness. Though you hadn't known him for long, you understood the depth of his selflessness, doing what he believed was right, not necessarily what he desired.

"Elijah," you said softly, reaching out to cup his cheek. "You are the first person in my life who actually cares about me, and in return, I care about you. I'm not going anywhere."

"You won't have the life you deserve with me," he asserted, placing his hand on yours. "You can go, find a love you choose, have children, do whatever you want."

With a deep breath, you gazed into Elijah's eyes, unwavering in your determination. "I take my vows as seriously as you do," you asserted, your voice steady. "I choose you, Elijah."

He nodded to himself, his gaze shifting to the tranquil water. In a sudden, graceful move, he moved off the bench and dropped to one knee, looking at you with a serious expression, his eyebrows slightly raised. Elijah removed his daylight ring, extending it towards you.

"What are you doing?" you asked in surprise, chuckling at his gesture. "You are ruining your pants, kneeling in the dirt."

"Will you be my wife?" he asked, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

"Pretty sure I already am," you laughed, reaching out to pull him back to the bench, but he playfully slapped your hand away.

He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with affection. "This time, it's your choice,"

A warm smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized the sincerity in his eyes. "Yes," you answered, your voice filled with a mixture of joy and affection. "I would be honored."

Elijah's eyes softened, a genuine happiness reflecting in them. He slipped the daylight ring onto your finger and then pulled you into his arms. In the warmth of that park, surrounded by the night's stillness, you kissed him. Then, you uttered those three powerful words for the first time. "I love you, Elijah."

His eyes, already soft with affection, seemed to deepen in emotion. A wide smile spread across his features, and he pulled you even closer, as if wanting to etch this moment into eternity. "And I love you."

Epilogue

The sun streaming through the curtains roused you from sleep, and as you turned, you found your husband still in peaceful slumber. His serene expression intrigued you, wondering about the pleasant dreams that might be occupying his mind. You rested your head on his shoulder, snuggling close and listening to his deep breathing. He let out a soft sigh and a gentle grunt as he woke, kissing the top of your head sleepily. His arms wrapped around you, as he rested his head on yours.

Your fingers traced a path down his chest and torso, igniting a warmth that intensified between your legs. Slipping beneath the blankets, your hand settled over his boxers, sensing his arousal growing beneath your touch.

"Hmm," he mumbled, his finger gently lifting your chin, tilting your head upward, and capturing your lips in a kiss.

A smile played on your lips as you returned the kiss, your hand continuing its slow, teasing strokes through the fabric.

Elijah responded with a low, appreciative hum, his hands exploring the curves of your body as the intensity between you two escalated.

With a subtle movement, he guided you onto your back, breaking the kiss only momentarily. His eyes locked onto yours, a deep intensity reflecting in them.

“What does my lovely wife desire so early in the morning?" He teased, his lips mere inches from your own.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the warmth of the morning sunlight creating a cocoon around the two of you. "Mmm...I have a few ideas," you whispered, your voice carrying a hint of playful mischief.

He grinned, his eyes brightening as he lowered his head, his lips grazing your neck. Your eyelids fluttered closed, as you sighed in contentment. The sensation of his mouth and hands elicited a series of breathy moans, a warm ache building between your legs.

“Does my wife need me to fuck her into our bed?" he asked in a soft tone, his hands parting your legs.

You bit your lip, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that mirrored the desire growing within you. "Desperately," you admitted, a playful gleam in your eyes.

Elijah's hands traced a tantalizing path up your thighs, and his lips met yours in a hungry kiss. “Already so wet for me," he murmured in your ear, his finger brushing over your clit, causing your hips to twitch. Elijah continued to touch you with slow deliberate circles, each movement bringing you closer to the edge.

Unable to resist any longer, you tugged at his boxers. Elijah positioned himself between your legs, the anticipation in his eyes mirroring your own. Eagerly, you reached down, freeing him and rubbing the head of his cock against your wet core.

“Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice a sultry invitation.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as you met his intense gaze. "I want you," you admitted, desire lacing every word.

Elijah's eyes darkened with a mixture of passion and possessiveness. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly entered you, and a simultaneous gasp of pleasure escaped both of you.

He set a pace of slow, deep strokes, the soft, wet sounds of your bodies colliding filling the room. His eyes were locked onto yours with such intensity that it made your heart skip. The love you shared being conveyed through the physical.

You both moved to a familiar rhythm, his fingers intertwined with yours, pressing them next to your head. The pleasure mounted with every movement, and the warmth from the sun beaming through the curtains covered you in a comforting embrace. He captured your lips again in a soft kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, as he continued to fuck you at an agonizing pace. The combination of his kisses and the slow, steady thrusts were driving you wild.

“Elijah," you moaned as your climax began to build, the intensity of it threatening to overwhelm you.

Elijah lifted his head, a smug, satisfied grin spreading across his face. "You are so beautiful when you moan my name like that," he commented.

Elijah kissed you again, and then his lips grazed your neck, his teeth nipping and sucking gently on the sensitive skin. Your breaths came in short gasps as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

You let out a low moan, as his cock began to hit your sweet spot with every stroke, a wave of pleasure running through your body. He continued his movements, his hand finding its way between your bodies, and his thumb stroking your clit.

"Come for me, darling," he murmured, you could feel his warm breath against your neck.

Your head fell back and your eyes closed, as you focused on the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you. A tingling sensation ran through you, and the familiar warmth spread across your body, as you climaxed.

Elijah groaned as you clenched around him and he leaned back, tossing the blankets off of you and splaying his hands across your thighs and pushing them wider. He increased his pace, rolling his hips into you to maintain his deep strokes.

“I can't believe you are all mine," he said in amazement.

Your body trembled with the aftershocks, and you could already feel another orgasm building within you. Elijah continued to rock his hips, and you whimpered with pleasure. He pulled almost completely out, and then thrust back into you, hitting your sweet spot, and making you cry out.

The sensations were overwhelming and you were desperate to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.

“Elijah, please," you begged, not even knowing what for.

He leaned forward as his fingers tugged on your hair, tilting your head back and exposing your throat. His lips grazed your skin, then he began sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He moved to your mouth, capturing it in a rough, possessive kiss, his tongue tangling with yours.

The sensation sent shivers through your body, and you were so close to the edge that you felt your toes curling.

"I want you to come for me again," he whispered, his words sending a thrill of pleasure through your body.

"Oh, Elijah," you moaned.

“No pretty wife, that's not what I want you to call me," he said teasingly, slowing his pace down and grazing his fingers over your clit once more.

"Husband ," you moaned, feeling a rush of heat through your body as the word slipped from your lips.

"Good wife," he praised.

He continued to move his hips in a torturously slow rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. His thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing circles, and you writhed, moaning as he brought you closer to your second orgasm.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you, needing him, craving him, wanting him more than anything in this moment. Your breaths were ragged as you kissed him, your body trembling as your eyes widened and your back arched as a second orgasm washed over you. You tightened around him and you felt his hips buckle, his thrusts becoming erratic.

He let out a deep moan, burying his face in your neck. Your hands ran through his hair and you pulled his head up, pressing your lips against his. You moaned into his mouth, and you felt his hips buck as he emptied himself into you, the sensation causing your hips to rise and meet his, the waves of pleasure consuming you both.

He collapsed beside you, breathing heavily, and pulling you close, as you both bathed in the warmth of the morning sun.

You rested your head on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comfort.

You felt Elijah's lips brush against your forehead and his fingers tilt your chin upward. His eyes were soft, a tenderness reflecting in their depths.

"I love you, my dear wife," he murmured.

You smiled, your lips meeting his. "And I love you, my dear husband."

Thanks for reading Part 3!

if you have any requests or want to be tagged in my future works please comment below or send me a message!

Likes are wonderful, but reblogs and comments make my day! ❤

{Part One} {Part Two}

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totallybakedcake · 6 months ago

Note

I saw your Wind Breaker post! What if the Furin boys meet a reader connected to the Shishitoren boys (like a sibling or something) after their fight in the beginning and it goes from there?

Love at first sweet~

Today's day was off to a horrible start. Just knowing Choji and Shishitoren had engaged with Furin for a fight was making you want to leave your own cafe.

"Name- chan!" Feeling a pair of arms wrap around you, you knew it was time for Choji to drop by again. "What is it, Choji?" Flicking him on the forehead, you walked away to clean the tables.

"Is this a way to treat your brother like that? Also, why are you sounding like the old grandpa across the street?" He spoke in his usual fun voice, stuffing his mouth with a cake. "

Sighing, you went towards him and asked in a gloomy tone, "Why did you trigger Furin to have a battle? It was a harmless thing, and you took it way too far. What if you get hurt?" It was a desperate attempt to stop Choji and Shishitoren before they got hurt or worse.

"Ah, ah, name-chan, you worry so much. It is just for some fun and a test of Shishitoren's strength; nothing more lax, a little okay. Or else you might start getting headaches." Togame casually shrugged it off, placing his hands on your shoulder to calm you down.

"You know fighting for fun isn't fun." "Aah, name-chan, stop lecturing your older brother, hm? I want to eat in peace, isn't that right, kame-chan?" Choji ran to get other sweets as you just looked down on the floor, gripping your shorts tight.

"Don't worry. I will make sure we both come back safe and sound. Till then, how about we eat some pastries?" Togame rubbed your back in a comforting manner as you came closer and gave him a hug. "I wish you were my brother more than him. I am trusting you to keep yourself safe, okay?" As you whispered that to him, Togame grabbed your hand as you two went to Choji.

~Time skip~

"Come on, Name I said sorry more than 30 times, and you are still here, not replying. I really am starting to think that you are turning old and more grumpy." Choji tried to lift your chin up and make you calm down, but all he got was you turning your head in the other direction. How could he? After all the times you tried to stop, you tried to warn them, asking them to be careful, but all they did was injure themselves badly.

"Togame Ni-san wasn't expecting this from you." Choji was reckless all the time, but Togame? He wasn't someone who would break a promise.

"Name I am sorry, but really, it was a good fight. We are now planning to change Shishitoren into a better place. You should also now be happy."

"Happy, are you freaking kidding me?" You yelled at them. All this time, you let go of anything they did, but today was not it." The day you became the leader of Shishitoren Choji was when I started getting more and more paranoid. The day when you beat up the members was when I wanted to stop you, but you wouldn't listen. All the times when the members and you both came to me bruised and bloody, I held myself back. You looked fine, but inside you were turning into a goddamn monster. I don't know; I don't know why I didn't stop you. I just wanted you and the others to be happy, to just enjoy yourselves, but heck no, you guys turned into monsters." Tears were flooding down your cheeks as you covered your face in embarrassment. It felt horrible to see Choji taking things so liberally.

All of the students at Furin felt terrible seeing you cry so much. Togame and Choji could not even comfort you properly as your sobs got louder. All of them were bothered, but Umemiya was seemingly the most out of his mood. To him, seeing you cry reminded him of the time he was a kid. Helpless and crying. He knew he had to help somehow.

Your cries didn't seem to stop. Another pair of arms pulled you in for a warm hug. It was Umemiya hugging you tightly as she stroked your hair and rubbed your back. Choji and Togame also came towards you, squishing you. Nirei found it so great that he pulled Sakura and Suo to hug you too.

All of them kept telling you various things to comfort you, even though they were completely random. It made you laugh. "You make deliciosious sweets; how about opening a cafe in our area too so we can also enjoy your cooking?" Umemiya's big grin made you accept his offer and give sweets to everyone.

It was all because of these lovely sweets that you and Umemiya are now the cutest couple in Makochi.

This is the first request ever I have done and I hope it was decent. It sort of feels rushed and not that complete, I feel like I could have done better but overall It was pretty fun to write this work. Idk what else to say other than this is going to be my only umemiya fic for sometime as I am writing 3 other fics where he is not included so..

Have a great day :D!

#windbreaker x you #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #windbreaker x reader #choji tomiyama #wind breaker choji #hajime umemiya #hajime umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #windbreaker umemiya #umemiya fluff #haruka sakura #nirei akihiko

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 2 months ago

Text

Beneath the Bookshelves | BakuDeku 🌶

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya 💋

Summary: A humble repost of my work b/c I think this one flew a lil under the radar when I posted a few months ago! It's Class A's 3rd year at UA, and Bakugo & Izuku are 18 years old. Katsuki and Izuku have been hot for each other for years, but have never discussed it. Katsuki asks Izuku to accompany him to the library during finals week, and the two do some *studying* amongst the shelves.

Genre: Smut, Romance, S*xual Tension

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, hand jobs, dirty talk, teasing

💕Link to My Master List 💕

Beneath the Bookshelves

“Hey, nerd. I need something from the library – let’s go.”

Katsuki is leaning against the doorframe of Izuku’s dorm room, arms crossed. It’s a Saturday evening towards the end of the semester, so most of their classmates are in their rooms studying or training for the practical exams. Up until this moment, Izuku has had his head buried in his math textbook, trying desperately to wrap his mind around quadratic equations. He was just thinking about texting Ida or YaMomo for help when Katsuki appeared.

“Oh, hey Kacchan.” Izuku says brightly, looking up at his friend. Over the past 3 years of school, Katsuki has really filled out. He’s less wiry, more muscular and solid. His jawline is more defined than ever, and now sports a soft layer of blonde stubble. His mouth is set in its typical hard line, a sure sign that the young hero is in a bad mood. Izuku’s stomach does a summersault as he pries his eyes away from Katsuki’s soft cupids bow. “For sure, I could use a break. What do you need?”

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get going.” Katsuki jerks his head in the direction of the library and Izuku scrambles up to stow away his math books before following along. They walk through the dorm and out onto the quad in silence, Izuku looking at his friend quizzically.

It’s a nice night out – the stars sparkle up above them and a light breeze dances through Izuku’s recently cut hair. He’s feeling nostalgic as he looks at Katsuki walking ahead of him, watching as his friend angrily stomps towards the UA library building up ahead. How many times have they walked like this – Katsuki marching irritably, Izuku a few paces behind? He smiles softly as they cross the library’s threshold and the warm light of the building bathes them both in gold.

At this hour of night, the library is practically devoid of life. The only soul in the space appears to be the elderly librarian who sits sorting books at the front desk. They nod at her as they make their way towards the stairs and to the upper floors. Izuku pauses at the second floor, looking towards the math section. It’s their first final, so naturally he assumes that’s the sector Katsuki needs to visit. But he’s wrong – Katsuki rolls his eyes at Izuku and continues to stomp up the next flight of stairs. They continue like that – up, up, up until they are at the fifth floor.

The fifth floor of the library is an area Izuku hasn’t spent much time exploring. It’s where all of the oversized books are kept – the art books, the cookbooks, the graphic novels. It’s a space that, unfortunately, the Hero Course students don’t get to frequent. Sure, he’s taken a liberal arts course or two at UA, but the Hero course does not put much emphasis on the arts or culture. So Izuki is surprised when he sees how easily Katsuki navigates the floor and its various rooms, booths and study sections. It’s as if he’s been coming here consistently over the past three years.

The explosion hero leads Izuku to the back of the floor, past a few study rooms and rows of books. Finally, Katsuki looks over his shoulder at Izuku to ensure he is still close behind. The green haired boy is surprised to see a slight blush of embarrassment heating up his friend’s face. Katsuki stops in the architecture section, taking care to push a large shelf slowly to the side. Izuku is surprised when the shelf reveals a small, secret alcove hidden amongst the rows of books. There’s a red cushioned loveseat hidden amongst the shelves. Art and architecture books line the space floor to ceiling. An All Might plush blanket is folded across the side of the couch, and as Izuku enters the space he notices a few pictures and mementos stashed here and there within the shelves. It’s shockingly private and cozy.

“What is this place, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, running a finger along the book spines closest to him. Katsuki rearranges the loose shelving unit, effectively sealing them into the cozy space. Izuku is suddenly hyperaware of how alone they are. He feels Katsuki staring at his back, and a faint flicker of arousal zings up his spine.

“This is where I come to study and get away from all the damn distractions of the dorms.” Katsuki says, deliberately not looking at Izuku as he sits down on one of the loveseat cushions. Izuku looks back over his shoulder and drinks in his friend – Katsuki is sitting comfortably, his long legs crossed casually on the couch. He’s wearing baggy grey sweatpants and a tight fitting black band tee. He looks so casually gorgeous that Izuku feels his heart flutter up to his throat.

“I always wondered where you went off to when we had group study sessions.” Izuku says thoughtfully, peering over to look at a photo of Katsuki and All Might from their first Sports Festival. All Might is grinning and posing – giving the camera two thumbs ups. Katsuki is chained to the podium, the gold metal from the festival clutched in his angry jaws. Izuku reaches out a finger to trace across the photo, touching the photo Katsuki’s harsh jawline. He chuckles before turning back to his friend. “This place is awesome! You deserve a quiet spot with solitude. I know how annoyed you get when everyone is noisy.”

“Yeah. I can dish it out, but I can’t take it.” Katsuki grins, referring to his ability to yell and be a dick around their friend group.

“Thanks for showing me this place.” Izuku sits down next to him on the couch. He’s hyperaware of how his hand is just inches from Katsuki’s. “So what do you need? Did you forget a book here or something?”

Katsuki shifts uncomfortably. “Not exactly. I’ve been really stressed about exams lately. And this being our final year at UA, I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure.”

Izuku nods, he’s definitely been feeling the same way. The pressure and expectations of the future are weighing heavily on all of their shoulders this year. They are Class A – the class that defeated Shigaraki. The class that helped win the war. There are expectations for each of them – they are the new symbols of peace. At times, it feels like the weight of the world is resting upon their young shoulders.

“I understand.” Izuku says empathetically. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, I’ve been having similar feelings lately as we start to wrap up our first semester as third years.”

“There’s just so much happening right now. I wish I could slow everything down. Do some things over.” Katsuki is deliberately avoiding Izuku’s gaze now. He’s shifting uneasily in his seat, his hip accidentally bumping Izuku’s.

“What would you do over?” Izuku asks blankly. Katsuki ignores him.

“I brought you here because I kinda want to blow off some steam, and you’re the only one who I want to do it with.” Katsuki says, a rosy red blooming in his pale cheeks.

Izuku’s not sure if he’s hearing correctly. Katsuki’s voice has dropped a few octaves, and Izuku can’t imagine how they would possibly “blow off steam” in the cramped quarters of Kacchan’s hidden library den. Unless…?

Izuku turns to his friend, confused. “What do you - ?” But he’s cut off when Katsuki grabs him by the collar and pulls him into a searing kiss. Izuku did not anticipate this, and so he’s caught by surprise. He tumbles backwards with the force of Katsuki’s momentum and ends up awkwardly leaning against the arm of the couch. Katsuki is half on top of him and getting as close as humanly possible. His mouth is hot and wet and impossibly soft as it moves against Izuku’s with a ferocity that only Katsuki can dish out.

It doesn’t take long for Izuku to recover and then respond enthusiastically, throwing his arms around Katsuki’s neck and winding fingers into his soft blonde hair. Katsuki is kissing him desperately, mouth moving and sliding fervently against Izuku’s willing mouth.

“I’ve wanted this…for so….long.” Katsuki huffs out between kisses, his hand moving up to ghost along Izuku’s throat.

“Ah! Kacchan…” Izuku moans as Katsuki moves to kiss down his neck, carefully sussing out the most sensitive spots of Izuku’s skin. The green haired hero is in absolute heaven, enjoying each soft kisses and caresess that Katsuki is kind enough to share.

After a few minutes of desperate kissing, Katsuki realizes what an uncomfortable position Izuku is in. He pulls himself off of the One For All wielder and offers out a hand to Izuku. The green haired teen takes it, and allows Katsuki to pull him out of the plush couch until he’s sitting upright again. They both spend a moment catching their breaths before Izuku turns to face his friend.

“W-what was that?” He asks, breathlessly. His eyes zero in on Katsuki’s plush mouth, practically begging the explosion hero to get back to kissing him.

“I just need to do something physical right now to get out all my energy. And I’ve been wanting to kiss you for God knows how long.” Katsuki leans forward and kisses along Izuku’s flushed freckled face. “Let me keep going?”

Izuku nods, for once he’s not babbling. He snakes his hand up to cup Katsuki’s cheek and pulls the blonde towards him. Their lips meet again and he lets out a soft moan of contentment.

Katsuki brings his hand down to rest on Izuku’s chest, appreciating the toned muscle that’s taught even under his friend’s thick All Might t-shirt. He smooths his hand down towards Izuku’s waist, and dips it under the navy blue t-shirt fabric so that he can fully appreciate his friend’s washboard abs.

“Oh!” Izuku pulls away in surprise at the contact, not used to being touched in such a way. Katsuki takes advantage of the break in kissing and moves to suck and bite at the One For All wielder’s smooth neck. He continues to spread his fingers wide across Izuku’s stomach, sliding his fingers up to feel his strong chest. Izuku is absolute putty in his hands, melting into each touch and kiss. As Katsuki kisses down his neck he glances down to see Izuku is hard in his comfy joggers. Izuku’s cock is outlined clear as day in the thin material. Katsuki smirks and lifts his friend’s shirt up to reveal pale, lightly scarred skin.

“Take this off already.” He practically growls, helping Izuku to pull the fabric over his head. Izuku can’t get it off fast enough, he just wants Katsuki’s hands and mouth back on him as soon as possible.

Katsuki has seen Izuku shirtless countless times – in the locker room, in the dorms, in battle. And each time he’s caught a glimpse of his friend’s unclothed body he’s quickly looked away. Not this time. Katsuki just wants to look and look and look until his eyes no longer work.

Despite the criss-cross of scars across Izuku’s torso and arms, Katsuki thinks he looks absolutely goddamn beautiful. He wonders for a moment if he should say so, if that’s something that people do in these kinds of situations.

“You should take off your shirt, too.” Izuku says huskily, shaking Katsuki from his inner thoughts.

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki says challengingly, a bit more harsh than he intended. Izuku meets his gaze with a level stare. He’s gotten so much tougher in the past few years, his quirk lending him a newfound confidence that he had lacked in their childhood.

“It’s only fair.” The green haired man states, moving to pull Katsuki’s tight shirt off by the sleeves. He doesn’t fight back, allowing Izuku to whip the band tee over his fluffy blonde hair. Izuku’s bright green eyes grow wider as he’s faced to face with Katsuki’s rippling muscles. The blonde is a little more built up than Izuku, but not by much. Katsuki is almost ashamed at the way he goes red under Izuku’s thirsty gaze.

“Kacchan…you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Izuku says reverently, reaching out gentle fingers to caress Katsuki’s exposed flesh. He runs a fingertip down from Katsuki’s collar all the way to his bellybutton, and then bravely traces down the fuzzy blonde happy trail that disappears into his waistband. Katsuki shivers at the contact, having never been touched so lovingly. He bites back a smile.

“And what about you? Looking like a goddamn dream over there.” Katsuki pushes his friend into the couch and moves to straddle him, kissing every bit of exposed flesh he can reach. Izuku is laughing now, wrapping his arms around his friend loosely so he an enjoy the closeness.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do to you for a while…” Katsuki whispers as he lightly bites the shell of Izuku’s ear.

“What’s that?” Izuku asks, breathless. His eyes are hazy and he cups his hands around Katsuki’s cheeks and pulls his friend back into a searing kiss. Katsuki all but dissolves into the kiss, sliding his mouth against Izuku’s in the most delicious way.

“You taste so damn good.” He whispers in between kisses, bringing their mouths together again and again. He revels in the feeling of their bare chests pressed flush together. He can feel Izuku’s hardness collide gently with his own through his sweatpants, bringing out a breathy moan from his throat.

He gives Izuku a few more kisses before shifting to sit next to him on the couch once again. He slides his hand down from his friend’s neck, to his chest, and then down his stomach until he reaches the waistband of Izuku’s soft All Might branded joggers.

“I wanna get you off.” Katsuki hisses, sliding his hand on top of Izuku’s hardness and giving him a tantalizing squeeze through his joggers. “Shit, are you not wearing underwear? I can feel you right through these.”

Izuku’s face turns impossibly redder and he splutters out “I had no idea I was going to be whisked away in the middle of studying quadratic equations to hookup with my best friend! Had I known, I would have worn something sexier.”

Katsuki raises his eyebrows. “You own a sexy outfit?”

Izuku looks at him indignantly. “Of course. I own plenty of hot outfits. I exude sexiness at all times.”

Katsuki barks a laugh and slides his hand across Izuku’s clothed cock again, drawing a squeak out of his friend. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I have, like, 5 other All Might shirts that are considerably sexier than this one.” Izuku manages to say, watching as Katsuki’s hand begins to trace up and down his length. This makes Katsuki belly laugh, he quickly runs through every All Might outfit he’s ever seen Izuku wear in his head.

“The Silver Age shirt is my favorite.” He says, leaning forward to lick a hot stripe up Izuku’s exposed neck.

“Yeah, that is a particularly sensual one.” Izuku grins and then lets out a harsh moan as Katsuki tightens his grip on his dick.

“You okay with this?” Katsuki whispers, all joking aside.

“Y-yeah. Only with you.” Izuku shifts to get more comfortable in the love seat, eyes transfixed on Katsuki’s strong hand. The blonde runs his hand along the edge of Izuku’s joggers again, ghosting a finger beneath the waistband. He brushes his fingers lower and lower, finally caressing the tip of Izuku’s dick with a delicate finger. Izuku makes an embarrassingly high sound in the back of his throat as Katsuki caresses his cock.

“Lose the pants.” He says in a hushed voice, tugging at the joggers with his empty hand. Izuku shifts his hips and makes quick work of discarding the joggers, they land in a heap on the carpeted library floor. Katsuki absentmindedly licks his lips as he takes in the scene - Izuku is now sprawled across the loveseat, stark naked.

The blonde hero can feel his heart beating incessantly as his eyes roam over his friend. In all of his fantasies, he never pictured Izuku looking this goddamn hot. He’s so toned and freckled and lovely. Katsuki sucks in a deep breath as he wraps his hand back around his friend’s heavy cock. Izuku’s biting his lip as he watches his friend start to work at his hard member. Never in his wildest dreams did he think studying would lead to this insane display of intimacy from Katsuki.

Katsuki has never touched someone else’s dick before, so for a moment Izuku’s hardness feels foreign in his callused palm. But as he begins to pump lightly at his friend’s member, he realizes this is really no different from pleasuring himself. He knows his way around his own cock, so of course he can figure out how to work at Izuku’s. He thinks through what he likes when he plays with himself and mimics it on Izuku. He works his way slowly up from base to tip, concentrating on the expanse of skin right below Izuku’s blunt tip.

“Fuuuuuck Kacchan.” Izuku groans out. Katsuki spares him a quick kiss, reveling in the way his friend’s adorable freckles contrast against his blushing skin.

“Yeah, you like that?” Katsuki says smugly, smiling at the way he’s making his friend arch into his touch. He suddenly has a thought. “Oh – hold on.”

Katsuki draws his hand away and Izuku cries out at the loss of contact. “I’ve got somethin’ that’ll make this even better.” Katsuki reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny bottle of hand cream. He grins sheepishly at Izuku, who recognizes the bottle as a specialty item the Support Course cooked up to keep Katsuki’s hands from getting too chapped from his explosion quirk. Izuku has seen his friend use the lotion on many occasions, usually on days when he’s stressed with sweaty palms. The lotion helps sooth the hero’s tough skin.

Izuku watches with wide eyes as Katsuki flips open the lotion cap and pours a small dollop in his open palm.

“I bet this’ll make you lose your mind.” Katsuki says, voice low. He closes the bottle and tosses it so that it lands on top of Izuku’s discarded joggers. “Now let’s see…”

Katsuki brings his hands together and rubs the lotion between them, warming it up before he reaches out to smooth it over Izuku’s hardness. The noise that escapes Izuku’s mouth as Katsuki begins to stroke him is sinful. The explosion hero grins mischievously as he works his friend from base to tip, hand gliding along the velvety expanse of Izuku’s cock.

“Kacchan…faster…” Izuku lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch, his eyes half lidded. Who is Katsuki to deny him? He speeds up the pace, feeling his own boner twinge with need in his sweatpants. This is literally the single hottest thing that has ever happened to the two of them.

Izuku is looking absolutely wrecked, and it’s turning on Katsuki more than he ever thought was possible. Izuku opens his eyes a bit and surveys Katsuki lustfully, his gaze tracing the heavy outline of the explosion hero’s cock in his soft grey sweatpants.

“Take off your pants, Kacchan.” Izuku slurs, punch drunk on the way that Katsuki is pleasuring him.

“Nah, I want to put all my focus on you.” Katsuki says almost sweetly. Even he’s surprised at how syrupy his tone has turned. But he’s so blissed out and fucking pumped that he’s finally getting some that he can’t help but let his happiness radiate into his voice.

“Pants off. Now.” Izuku sits up, authority slipping into his voice. For a moment, Katsuki almost forgot about how strong his friend is. The tone Izuku’s using calls back to his dark phase during the war. It causes a shiver to zigzag its way up Katsuki’s spine. He would never admit this, but he was so incredibly horny for his friend’s “Dark Deku” phase. Of course, Katsuki wants his friend to be healthy and happy. He would never want Izuku to relapse back into the emotionally repressed and exhausted vigilante that he once was. But the energy of Dark Deku was so intimidating, so feral. When Izuku dips into that strange and terrifying well of energy, it leaves Katsuki feeling electrified.

“You think you can boss me around Deku?” Katsuki decides to push his luck, throwing around the childhood nickname that he used to use to bully Izuku a few years ago. This elicits exactly the response he was looking for – Izuku sits up, eyes bright. Small flashes of green energy roll across his body in waves as he holds his quirk at bay. Izuku presses his mouth into a hard line, his brows furrowed. His hair stands on end with electricity.

“I said: Pants. Off.” Izuku intones, an untamed energy crackling around him.

Katsuki’s cock pulses at being bossed around and he quickly complies. He stands up and yanks down his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion, stepping out of them with practiced skill. His erect dick kisses his abs and leaves a sticky smear of pre-cum across his thick muscles. Izuku takes him in, licking his lips as his eyes all but devour Katsuki’s 7 inch monster of a cock.

The explosion hero shifts nervously under his gaze. Izuku is so turned on he’s not even trying to hide his interest in Katsuki’s fit body.

“You like what you see?” Katsuki asks, sticking out his chin defiantly and placing his hands on his hips.

“Oh, yeah. I definitely do.” Izuku says brightly, eyes shining. He looks like he wants to lick Katsuki up and down. He switches back to his devastatingly sexy vigilante voice as he says: “Fuck. Come here. I need to touch you.”

Katsuki rejoins him on the sofa and Izuku reaches over, hovering his hand above Katsuki’s leaking cock.

“Can I - ?” He asks, eyes flashing up to meet Katsuki’s as he waits for permission. Katsuki grins and reaches down, taking Izuku’s hand and moving to place it around his cock. He lets out a hiss of satisfaction as Izuku starts to jerk him off.

“You know, I’ve thought about touching you like this for what feels like forever. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this now.” Izuku babbles, letting his fingers roam across the expanse of his friend’s testicles. He gives him a light squeeze and Katsuki sees stars. “I’ve always thought you were so goddamn beautiful. Your face is so perfect. I love the way your chin dips into a sharp point, the way your hair shines like starlight when you’re flying through the air and activating your quirk.”

Katsuki’s heart squeezes at the words. “I didn’t know you were a fuckin’ poet.” He says, trying to posture. But it’s Izuku – the person who knows him better than anyone on Earth. There’s no need to keep up appearances. Not when his dick is in one of Izuku’s hands, and his heart is in the other. “That means a lot.” He amends, sighing as Izuku starts to pump at him slowly. They sit like that for a moment, eyes locked as Izuku enjoys the feeling of Katsuki’s hardness in his palm.

Soon, the green haired hero realizes that he needs some lubricant to keep the good vibes going, so he spits cleanly into his free hand before adding it to the mix. Katsuki gasps, his soul almost leaving his body as he watches Izuku slide two hands onto his cock. He twists them lightly in opposite directions, pumping as he goes.

“Have you done this before?” Katsuki groans, almost afraid of the answer.

“No.” Izuku says truthfully. “But I’ve imagined all the things I’d do to you if I had you naked. And this is one of them.”

“God fuckin’ dammit.” Katsuki throws his head back at the comment, letting out an easy moan as Izuku continues to pleasure him. “That’s the single hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Izuku’s smile shines throughout his face, his eyes beaming down at Katsuki.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” He says as he works at Katsuki’s balls again. “I’ve been wanting this for forever.”

“Beats me.” Katsuki groans as his friend tightens his grip. “Move over a little, let me touch you.”

They find a comfortable position that allows them to stroke each other in tandem. They’re both smiling stupidly at each other and kiss lazily. Eventually, the tension and pleasure becomes too great and they can’t concentrate on kissing. Izuku leans forward so that he can touch Katsuki’s forehead with his own in an intimate touch. They’re both gasping and breathless as they bring each other towards completion.

“You gonna cum?” Katsuki intones, speeding up his pace as he jerks off his friend. “I wanna make you cum.”

“K-Kacchan!” Izuku moans out quietly as Katsuki hits a particularly wonderful spot. Katsuki grins and uses his other hand to trace around his balls. He pulses them softly and the green haired hero cries out with pleasure. He tries to keep up a steady pace as he pumps at Katsuki in return, but feels himself getting distracted and sloppy.

“Come on, ‘Zuku.” Katsuki encourages, shortening his friend’s name endearingly. “Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

Izuku is feeling absolutely wrecked and over stimulated, fat tears leaking out of his bright eyes and down across his cheeks.

“Always fuckin’ crying.” Katsuki says huskily as he continues his brutal pace. “I love that about ya.”

At this comment, the build up of pleasure is too great for the One For All wielder.

He loudly cries out “Katsuki!” as he cums hard, thick ropes of cum leaking across Katsuki’s fist and splattering across his pale freckled abs. Katsuki smiles as he continues to pump at Izuku’s cock, pulling him through his orgasm and helping him to come back down again. Izuku’s hand spasms around Katsuki’s dick, bringing the explosion hero to the point of no return as well.

“Ah, shit!” Katsuki sputters as he finishes hard, white sticky cum flowing around Izuku’s hand like a volcanic eruption. He forgets to breathe as his lower body seizes up and then relaxes, pleasure coursing through his veins in a way he’s never felt by jerking off alone. They continue to pump each other’s cocks to completion until they’re both spent, sticky and over stimulated.

They lay there for a moment, naked and trying to catch their breaths.

“Fuckkkk Izuku.” Katsuki finally sighs out, hiding his face behind an arm as he processes what they’ve just done. “That was so fucking hot.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to pick up a math book from the library.” Izuku laughs out weakly. “You tricked me, got me alone, and then seduced me.”

Katsuki laughs at this – lightly at first, and then he’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe. He reaches out and pulls Izuku bodily towards him, interlocking their sweaty limbs and torsos as they both laugh and laugh, entangled in each other. When they finally calm down, Katsuki kisses Izuku’s cheek sweetly.

“You know I wasn’t expecting you to moan my full name there. What a treat.” He teases, noting the way that Izuku avoids eye contact at the comment. “Am I gonna get that treatment every time I make you cum?

“Every time?” Izuku says slowly, as if he can’t believe his ears.

“You didn’t think this was only a one time thing, did you?” Katsuki barks out a harsh laugh, pulling Izuku closer into his embrace. Their both smeared with cum, sweat, lotion and spit – each is desperately in need of a shower. But Katsuki couldn’t care less. “We’re going to need to do this at least ten more times.”

“Right.” Izuku says weakly, he can’t believe his luck. “We’ll need to do this until we truly master it. And that could take weeks.”

“Maybe months.” Katsuki says with a smile, mussing Izuku’s wild green hair.

“Years, even.” Izuku agrees, and he’s beaming. His face is bright and alight with joy as he turns so that he can kiss his friend on the mouth.

“You nerd.” The affection in Katsuki’s voice is so genuine, it makes Izuku’s heart squeeze with fondness. “You know you’re stuck with me now.”

“Always have been.” Izuku says easily, settling into Katsuki’s arms and letting his eyes slide closed as he basks in the afterglow. “Always will be.”

FIN.

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ruershrimo · 7 months ago

Text

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 8: late

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool. '

---

You meet the girl of steel, though you've yet to get closer to her. Luckily, you have friends around the corner like Yuuji— and Megumi, too, but it's a little different with him.

word count: ~7k; tws: none for now :)!!

short a/n: hi i’m sorry i was away for so long!! life got a little busy and this chapter took a while to write. I will preface it by saying that this one is quite boring, though, but the chapters to look forward to a bit more are the two next ones!! lots will happen there :). thank you for your patience and i’m so sorry again!

25-6-2018

By the time you’re back in Jujutsu High’s campus, night time has already shed its shadow against the world, black over Tokyo's fulgid skyscrapers like a veil, the sky devoid of any stars. Tokyo is a metropolis of glittery, coruscant lights that litter the land, with parks and crepe shops and cafes galore. And oh, how you love it every time you come back, from its 90s movie mood to its futuristic innovations.

Dr Ieiri really had planned everything, as if she’d always expected you to be here: she’d got you a room near her office, even helped to clean some of it up, and promised you that you’d still be merely a room away from the one other female student currently in the school. Once the last first year— a girl— arrived, she’d be staying right next to you.

“So? How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Dr Ieiri asks, “I know you’re planning on just giving someone something, but you’re going to be here for much longer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, but I’ll give you a heads up first. Staying here and operating as an actual sorcerer here, or a doctor for sorcerers like me or your father— it’s a far cry from the last time you were there. I won’t force you to help me when I need it, but you’re still going to be demanded of at almost all times, and I know you’d be the type of person to try to save people as much as you can. You have to be ready for that— the strain and all.”

So she knew what you wanted better than you did. “I am.” You’ll ask that of your father later, to tell Sugisawa Third that you’re transferring to a religious school in Tokyo. They knew too little of you to think of whether you were religious or not anyway.

“I’ll help you so you can still take things easy, okay?”

“...okay. Thank you, doctor.”

26-6-2018

Dr Ieiri smokes less than you thought. Really, the night that you first met her was the first time she’d smoked again in five years, according to her. She attributed it to nostalgia and reminiscing on old memories before asking you to just go to bed— it was almost two in the morning. But you thought it made sense that the ones who were made to heal were the ones who mourned what was unhealed the most; you weren’t the only one stuck playing long-gone memories like a panoramic film on loop, a permanent backdrop in your mind.

“You need to get a good night’s rest,” she’d said, but now you’re walking down the desolate hallways again. It’s fine— if there’s one thing about actually going against your parents for the first time instead of solely refuting them verbally in heated, mangled arguments, it’s that it’s insanely liberating. Before this, you’d have never even considered it an option, yet now it suddenly exists— that autonomy; suddenly, there isn’t a need to follow whatever order you’ve been given. And yes, you do respect Dr Ieiri and probably everyone else in your life, but you can choose not to abide by what they tell you just because you don’t want to— you decide it. No justifications, no reasons or polemics. Just pure responsibility and autonomy of yourself. You can’t fathom now, why you’d been scared of it before, or whether you’d even realised you were. It still feels unfamiliar, like a thrill, like adrenaline from treading on a tightrope above pits of deep, all-encompassing water, but in a week or so you’re going to have become used to it.

From your room, if you walked all the way to the end of the hallway, you’d see the first year boys’ dorms. You don’t take the letter with you— that’s a bridge to either burn or cross another time, when you’re not right about to sleep.

Careful to make as little sound as possible, you knock the door, hoping he’s awake.

You hear his groggy steps as he seems to trudge himself along, before the door opens with a creaky whine. “—it’s one in the morning,” he frowns, “What do you want—”

“Hi, Megumi.”

He closes the door. You wait outside for a moment.

Megumi opens the door again.

“...I should’ve told you I was here, actually,” you say.

“It’s one in the morning,” he goes, “Why aren’t…” he blinks his eyes awake a little, groaning as he rubs his temples, “Why aren’t you asleep? —no, why are you even here, really…”

You’re going to regret your replies come morning, probably; they’ll sound stupid by then. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that doesn’t really bother you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, um, I actually wanted to give you something, I mean— I’ll give it to you tomorrow or one of these days, but I was just bored. I just got here, and I’m just going to help Dr Ieiri with some things, um. …sorry, did I wake you? You should rest, actually, it helps your injuries heal faster; sorry for waking you—”

“—no, not… not really. Don’t worry about that,” he states, “But you should still go to sleep anyway. It’s late.”

“I can’t sleep.”

He opens the door and heads inside. An invitation for you to enter, it seems, because he turns and waits for you, the door ajar as you hesitate in front of it.

You come in.

His dorm room seems quite similar to the one in his old home, actually, the only difference being how his room now is only just a little larger than the one you were in at fourteen. (You wonder what happened to it, whether Tsumiki still lies on her bed with her phone for a maximum of five minutes at the same time every day.) The two of you sit on the foot of the bed, the lack of light unquestioned. Just like things were two years ago. With the lights outside his window, the bustling city still abuzz with their izakayas and night clubs, your eyes can trace over an outline of his sharp face and spiky hair.

“How long will you be staying?”

“Quite a while, I think.”

“...which is?”

“Probably more than a week.”

“Wh— then what about school?”

“Oh, I kind of, um… threw it away. I don’t know, um. My parents knew I’d be here for a long time. I think I’m just going to transfer here. I’ll leave it all behind that way.”

He sighs, “I know, but that… that just sounds like a thoughtless decision.”

“The only part of it that I put thought into was whether I’d run away and live or stay and rot there. So when Dr Ieiri gave me a chance I just took it. And I’ll keep taking what she gives me. If not, then… I’ll be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of my life, I think.” For so long, you’d been trying not to do so; to not take that life-determining chance, to decide to dwell yearningly instead of live, and to appease your parents so at least your mother would have that sliver of assurance, but not anymore. They wouldn’t be in your life forever.

“So you’re doing this just so you won’t live a life of regret? You’re doing this just for yourself?”

“It’s the same thing as doing this so that I can help people. It’s two sides of the same coin. Not everyone has what I do.”

“You sound like Itadori,” he says. The way he does so makes your chest ache slightly and you don’t know why. But nobody is as selfless or as much of an unstoppable force as Yuuji is. Nobody, ever. You turn your eyes away from him even if he can’t see you do so in the dark.

“But Yuuji takes that to the extreme, I’m…pretty sure. I’m just trying to do what I can because I can.”

You move your right hand to the side, fiddling with yourself, empty hands trying to find something to do. It bumps into something— something warm and soft. Skin.

With imaginary chills running along your body, you feel Megumi’s left pinky finger loop itself around yours. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, and you look at him again, at the vague shadow before you. “—that’s…that’s my hand.”

“Oh. Ah, okay,” you say. It feels right this way— comfortable, nervous, jumbled, calm—

Your hands move slowly, your fingers trying to steady it like steering around an old, shaky wooden boat with only a paddle, set and ready to embark on a journey. Quivering, you pull your right pinky finger away before your hand is fully enveloped under the hold of his. The heat from his palm on the back of your hand transfers itself right to your face and neck. It’s summer, but it feels cold and hot in the best way possible. “Do… do you want me to let go? Do you want me to stop?”

“...no. I don’t think so. Do you?”

“No. I want to stay.”

“Okay. Me too.”

He does.

In the silence you sit up, biting your bottom lip, your nerves like jelly and your brain probably fried if not for the lack of sleep. For a moment you decide to look at him, and you see him swifty turn his head away from you as soon as you do so.

(—so he’d been looking at you?)

What wakes you up is the sunrise, an early morning. It’s been embedded into your brain to wake up at seven sharp no matter how late you slept.

He’s sleeping, his face down, water in his eyelashes— you suppose that’s why he has such crystalline eyes, viridian ones that remind you of summer and life and protection. Jade and grass. Shifting into rather uncomfortable positions so as to not wake him, you pull yourself away.

His hand still remains snug over yours.

‘Just friends’ don’t do things like this, you think. But at the same time, ‘just friends’ don’t fight curses or heal those who do so, and ‘just friends’ don’t have a third person they had better relationships with before they broke apart while constantly thinking of each other and decided to at the very least become active figures in each others’ lives again.

This is scary, moving all too quickly. You’re being grabbed by the waist and thrust into a paraglider; you’re flying in the vast expanse of a boundless, unnavigable sky, manning a paramotor with no previous warning or idea of how to do so.

But he's very beautiful like this. Hair so black it’s blue, eyelashes woven of silk, a jaw so sharp yet so smooth. The sun greeting the sky as it ejects itself from the inky-hued horizon. You don’t know if there’s a creator, or if there’s a god— you’ve heard of Christianity and many other kinds of faith, though you’d never really dabbled in any of them. But you’d definitely thank someone like that, because scenes like these are proof that someone like that exists, and that that someone is an artist, a masterful artist. So he must have created you and given you an apt appreciation for beauty and art, too, as well as someone like Megumi who was beauty and art.

‘Just friends’ don’t think like that.

But you still will anyway. You can allow yourself that.

He makes a tired little noise as he wakes up, taking in a deep inhale. “...did we really—”

“Yeah. Um. —wait! I should, um, probably brush my teeth first, my breath probably smells horrible right now, sorry—”

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I should too—”

“Yeah, I think I’ll go back to my room too; I don’t want doctor suspecting anything, ah—”

“Oh— okay,” he releases his hand.

It’s strange to have things like these— little snippets and moments that remind you to just have fun and be a kid. For years— maybe your whole adolescent experience so far— every day hailed with it a new matter to tend to and worry about, and every day you subconsciously wondered if you were wasting your life away, doing nothing but fantasise of a faraway fancy in which you could use the only potential you had for something.

But who knew that it was so simple, yet so profound: that the excitement and memories that you yearned for could be obtained just from wanting to do so? That if you wanted to do something, you could just up and do it?

You like it, though. The paralysing, dizzying feeling of it all, breaths caught in your throat and you can’t say anything without stuttering. The last time you’d felt it, it was Yuuji: you’d had yourself emotionally constipated to the point you choked it all up within you, toned things down and muted the intensity of it all before you even felt it. But it was fun then, and now this is much better. It would seem delusional to hope for anything else. There’s not much of a fantasy for you to look to and put yourself into a deluge of daydreams about, but for once you want to feel something without the implications. That must be what being a teenager is like— you’d seen it time and time again in movies, with cliques and girlfriends and gossip sessions, but you’d never had the luxury to have them yourself and be a girl like that. So this must be what it’s like, at least a semblance of it, with its fun and frivolities and feelings straight from familiar flicks.

Not quite the time to put a name to it just yet, but it’s fun. At least, you can do it a little longer. It feels like a breath of fresh air after chaining yourself down like an anchor to the seabed.

You rush to the door. “I’ll see you later? For breakfast,” you try to smile as calmly as you can while you turn back to look at him again.

Thank goodness Dr Ieiri wakes up at eight whenever there isn't much work for her to tend to.

You set a mission for yourself: hold Megumi’s hand again at least once in your high school career.

Now that’s how to live without regrets, be a teenager, and have fun.

Are you being delusional?

You don’t know what Fushiguro Megumi is to you now, because ‘friend’ doesn’t sum it up well enough, ‘stranger’ doesn’t do the two of you your deserved justice, classmates isn’t the actual term, and ‘boyfriend’ is way too far from the truth.

So to have dreams like that; thoughts like that, you think as you brush your teeth, you’re probably making a fool of yourself again.

There’s something going on here and you don’t know what it is. And even if you’d told yourself you were fine with it, you don’t know how long everything else will be.

It makes you feel like an idiot.

But in your head you're filled with thoughts and, for a lack of a better term, hindrances. Did he sleep well? Do friends do that? Or was it just the two of you who’d do that? Was there even any meaning behind it all, any implications on your relationship due to this? This way you’d drive yourself insane before you could even get to breakfast.

Did he like it, though? Could he have liked it, the sight of you sleeping next to him? Of vulnerability? No, he couldn’t, right? Yet, if he did, then—

You needed to calm down.

(What about the letter?)

Maybe this was adrenaline: you’d run and take a few bites of breakfast before anyone else did, heading back to your room after you had done so. This way, nobody would see you. (You weren’t calm enough to do this, what made you think, in your sleep-deprived mind, that you’d be mature enough to handle this the next morning?)

Just as you’re planning strategies to spend the whole day holed up in your room and avoid contact with anyone for it all, there’s a knock on your door.

“Took so much to talk to the dad alone—” he says, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else, “I could never stand that old geezer! If he’s like that I’m glad I never had to know how much worse his wife is.”

It’s Gojo, you can tell. There’s a slight mocking tone in the way he does everything, in the way he says and laughs about the most out-of-pocket shit ever— this is one of those times, because you can almost hear what you think is a feral maniac with the voice of an idol laughing like a loon as he bangs against your door as if he’s trying to kill it.

“You probably shouldn’t hit it so hard.” Dr Ieiri’s voice.

You open the door. “Yes?”

“He’s saying that you should come as backup, and I thought it would help you be put on the spot. It’ll teach you how to operate with clarity as you work,” Dr Ieiri explains.

“Besides, you won’t even need to help that much. It’s just that this way, you’ll be able to do so if it’s needed while we’re here to guide you. Think of a baby taking its first steps with the help of its parents. If it gets dangerous for them, I’ll step in and you can heal them, but if you can’t heal them enough, we’ll just bring them back to Shoko,” Gojo cheerfully adds. Dr Ieiri nods along with him.

“Ah… okay.” Your first “actual” lesson as an “apprentice”, then.

“But first, you should change,” Gojo tells you, handing you a set of clothes, “Here. It’s a spare standard uniform that we keep for special cases. Now you can match with Megumi!”

Your eyes widen, unsure of whether to laugh nervously or slap him or dash in the opposite direction— shawty a runner, she a track star.

“I’m so sorry that he’s like this,” Dr Ieiri goes. Joking or not, she’s right. You’re sorry she’s dealt with him for so long, too.

“...thanks.”

“Don’t bully my student, Satoru,” Dr Ieiri orders, and you kind of like the sound of your new title.

You wonder how Gojo got used to teleporting with his cursed technique, but you suppose that it comes with the innate ability to switch from one scene to another so rapidly without feeling at least a little sick— like how the shift from the quiet of the dormitories to the bustle outside of Harajuku has you feeling right now. The brightness of the summer sunlight feels like an intrusion as Gojo sets you down and you open your eyes again.

“Wow.”

“Oh, it’s [Name]!”

Megumi looks away. He’s probably embarrassed to hell and back right now— angry at you, even, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore; you couldn’t even think. You try to let the heat rising up to your face subside without fanning it, steadying yourself beside Gojo, swearing that you’d like to be invisible just this once.

“Sorry for the wait! I had to take up a call. I brought [Name] over here for backup too to get a grasp of the on-field experience.” Gojo says, waving at them, “Oh! Your uniform made it in time.”

“Yeah! It fits great! Though I noticed it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s. Mine has got a hood.”

It does fit him, you think, as you look at Yuuji. It looks better on him than it did when he sent you pictures of it over text. It’s easier to look at him now than Megumi.

“That’s because the uniforms can be customised upon request.”

“Huh?” Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “But I never put in any requests.”

“You’re right!” Gojo smiles, “I was the one who put in the custom order.”

“Huh… oh. Well, cool!”

“Be careful,” Megumi goes, “Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. So why are we meeting up here in Harajuku?”

“Because,” Gojo clarifies, “That’s what she asked for.”

“Oh!” Yuuji starts as the four of you walk out of the station, “You’re wearing the uniform too, [Name]. Looking good!”

“Really? Thanks. I mean, I like the skirt. The uniform makes me feel like a fancy princess in a fancy school or something, but the skirt looks a little like it belongs to an elegant office lady.”

“Uh, yeah,” Megumi follows, “You… look good. In the uniform, I mean.”

You force out a laugh— “Haha, uh… you too. I mean, everyone would look good with these uniforms, right?” Wow…

“...I guess so,” Megumi replies, looking in the other direction.

If you see Gojo stifling his laughter in front of you, no you don’t.

“We- we should get popcorn. I read online that said you could get really tasty popcorn at one of the shops in Takeshita Street.”

“Yay, popcorn!” Yuuji exclaims, “I want some!”

“Sure,” Gojo chuckles, “The shop’s pretty near here anyway. This is your guys’ first time in Harajuku, right, [Name] and Yuuji?”

“Ah… yeah, and now that I think about it, Yuuji had never been out of Sendai until recently, actually. Right?”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have been to Harajuku before.”

“I mean, I used to live in Tokyo, but I didn’t really move around. I think the most famous place I’ve been to is Shinjuku-Gyoen. Really pretty garden…”

“Oh… then we should go around Tokyo one of these days!”

“Yeah,” you smile, “We should! But you could spend a whole week exploring and you still wouldn’t see all of it,” you remark, “It’s a good idea, though.”

“Fushiguro, wanna come along?”

“Uh, sure…” Megumi goes, avoiding eye contact with you. You do the same.

“...hey, is everything okay between the two of you? How come you’re so shy with each other all of a sudden?”

“H-huh? Ah, no, no, it’s okay.”

“You said ‘no’ twice. You usually only repeat words like that when you’re really worried about something,” Yuuji says. Curse his affinity for knowing you.

“But it’s fine, though. Don’t worry.”

“Uh… yeah. What [Name] said.”

“You sure?” Yuuji asks again, a bit concerned. “Okay, then.”

The rest of the walk mostly goes in silence— Yuuji excitedly heads for things to buy, from funky accessories to buckets of snacks. By the time it’s over and all of you are near the 400 yen corner, he’s decked out in all the Tokyo tourist gear, there’s popcorn in his hands, and sunglasses with frames spelling out “ROOK” on his face. (Maybe because he’s a rookie?)

There’s a well-dressed girl in front of you— you wonder if it’s her, but she isn’t wearing the uniform, so it probably isn’t— and a man most likely bald and wearing a wig with his black-and-white business suit. “Well, hello, there!” the man says to her, “Are you on the clock right now?”

“No, not right now,” she replies.

“That’s great! You see, I’m looking for potential models. That’s what I do! Would you be interested?”

He’s scouting for models?

There’s a sliver of hope in you that he looks at you next and asks you that question. You’re sure it isn’t going to happen, but you suppose you would like being told you were pretty by having a job associated with people who were— there was no chance, though. In Tokyo, the vast metropolis that it is, there are so many with better looks; better faces, prettier hair, nicer bodies— or people who dress better, walk more confidently; people who are adequate in all the ways you aren’t.

The thought slightly shocks you, in reality— you haven’t thought about how you may not be able to compare with others since the time when you really did realise that Yuuji would never like you (not in that way, at least, and it still hurts to think about it). You never thought you’d feel that way again, and you never thought you would have to be surprised by such thoughts that had been brought in by something akin to envy or jealousy.

“I’m in a hurry right now,” the girl denies.

At least she probably knows just how beautiful she is.

“Hey, you!” another girl calls. This one is just as beautiful— prettier than you, with brown (probably dyed) hair, and pretty brown eyes to match. She’s wearing the same uniform as you save for some titivations at the skirt, and she looks way better in it than you do. “What about me?” she asks, pointing at herself, “For that modelling gig. Hey, I’m asking what you think about me.”

She’s so confident, it’s so cool…

“Oh, well uh… I’m in a hurry at the moment,” the man says. Little bitch boy.

“What the hell?” she asks, holding the man by the collar, “Don’t run, come out and say what you think!”

“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to? This is real embarrassing,” Yuuji says.

Megumi mutters under his breath, “Yeah? So are you.”

“I think she’s an icon,” you express.

Gojo waves at her, amused, “Hey, we’re over here!”

The girl slams the locker door shut after she places her backpack— a really tiny, cute pink one— into its pit of shopping bags. Probably to buy pretty clothes. She’d look really good in them.

“Right, so now we have our three students! Oh— [Name] here isn’t really a student, by the way, I’ll explain later,” Gojo informs the pretty girl, “I’d like you to meet—”

“Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool.

Oh, she’s judging them, you think as she stares at the boys.

“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m from Sendai!”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Ugh,” she lets out, “This is what I get to work with? Great, just my luck.”

“She took one look and sighed— that can’t be good,” Yuuji says.

“Are we going somewhere from here?” Megumi asks.

“Well, we do have all three—”

“All four—” Megumi interjects.

“Ack— no, no, Megumi, I’m not a student, hold on—” You don’t want to be something other than a ghost, not right now, because then you’ll have to deal with whatever you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours that you’d rather beat around the bush and eventually forget about than anything.

“Okay, we do have all four of you together, and since three of you kids are from the countryside, that means…” he pauses for effect— were you really “from” the countryside, though, if you’d moved around so much that you had no sure idea where your roots were? “...we’re going to Tokyo!”

You and Megumi watch as Kugisaki and Yuuji chant the city name over and over in unison before arguing over where to head to. But this is Gojo— so there may be a catch somewhere that you just haven’t found yet.

Megumi looks as annoyed as ever, much like the expression his younger self used to have when his eyebrows crinkled in exasperation from your antics.

“If you quiet down, I’ll announce our destination,” Gojo begins, and the newly formed pair quiet down, “Roppongi!”

It’s probably just something like an abandoned building in Roppongi, not Roppongi in all of its glamour itself.

It’s an abandoned building in Roppongi.

Gojo explains the situation after Kugisaki and Yuuji’s outrage— “There’s a big cemetery nearby. That, plus an abandoned building, and you’ve got a curse.”

Kugisaki stops her raging when she finds out that Yuuji is still learning about how curses are formed. “Wait, hold up here. He didn’t even know that yet?”

“To be honest…” Megumi starts to explain.

She looks horrified after.

(If you could, though, if you were anything other than a ghost right now— you’d tell her of how selfless and brave Yuuji is, of how incredible he is that he stopped at nothing to help his friends. You’d tell her that this was what made liking him as easy as breathing air.)

Before the two of them head into the building, Gojo hands Yuuji a cursed tool— you’d never actually seen one before. You wonder if he’ll be able to wield it well enough: you know he has it covered, but you’re still worried about him anyway. (You always are.)

And he gives Yuuji a challenge, too, though it’s more like an ultimatum. “Don’t let Sukuna out, okay?”

Soon the three of you sit down near the building— there’s a block of concrete that you wonder why it was placed there for, and Gojo gestures for Megumi and you to sit down there.

“Hey, you should be sitting here. I’m fine with standing.”

“Nah, just take a seat. I’ve got to be on standby anyway.”

“But you’re the teacher. You should get a better seat. And I’m not injured like Megumi, so I’m fine with standing.”

“Pft,” he snorts, “You think I actually care about that sort of stuff?”

You pause. “I… guess not. Thank you. Sorry again.”

Gojo squats down instead, only his feet on the floor. “See? It’s better this way. Just you and Megumi in your own little world—”

“—please stop.”

Megumi turns away from you again in embarrassment.

“Anyway…ah, Kugisaki is really pretty,” you state, “And she seems really strong. I’m still worried, though. What if the curse inside is stronger than anticipated…”

“...I think I’ll go in too,” Megumi says, “Someone needs to keep an eye on Itadori, right?”

“You should rest and let your injuries heal, though. I mean, I could help you with that, but I’m supposed to wait for their injuries first—”

“Well, the one we’re testing this time is Nobara,” Gojo highlights, “That Yuuji… he’s got some screws loose: he’s fearless— these things take the form of terrifying creatures who try to kill him, yet the guy has no hesitation at all. And he doesn’t have the familiarity with curses that you have. We’re talking about a boy who used to live a normal high school life. By now you’ve seen plenty of sorcerers and you’ve seen them give up because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, right?” he explains to Megumi.

He’s right, though. For someone who had no idea what curses were just a bit more than a week ago, it’s amazing how he can acclimatise himself to such a new life so quickly. When you’d first learned about curses and jujutsu sorcerers, the only reason your life stayed that way was because actually becoming a victim of it seemed like merely a faraway hypothetical, something that couldn’t affect you— up until your father revealed his cursed technique and you exorcised that curse in the store a while after. That was when the ghastly figure of reality that was jujutsu society reared its head and pricked you with its cold finger. As happy as you were after you’d exorcised it, you could feel that empty pit forming in your gut— you did it, thank goodness, but what now? And as your heart raced while you helped that lady, you didn’t address it.

You supposed the benefit of your position was not having to at all.

“Hasn’t Kugisaki already dealt with curses before, though?”

“As we know, curses are born from human minds, so their strength in numbers grows in proportion to the population,” Gojo teaches, “Do you think Nobara understands? Tokyo curses are of a different level than those in the countryside.”

The curse you handled before would be on the weaker side, then. “In what way?” you ask.

“Their cunning— monsters that have gained wisdom will force cruel choices upon you where the weight of human life hangs in the balance. [Name], when you fought that curse last time, did it seem to be sentient or self-aware?”

“...I mean, I guess it seemed like it couldn’t really see the other person there. It was just me and the lady who worked there, so… no.”

“Well, to put it into perspective, [Name], the curse, had it been one from the city instead, could have done something like take the lady hostage to sort of threaten you and keep itself at large. So this test is to see if Nobara is crazy enough.”

It wouldn’t matter, though— you were the healer, the medic, the doctor. Whatever level of martial prowess you were supposed to have didn’t concern you.

“And speaking of tests, [Name]…” Gojo begins, “One of these days, you’ll have to get one too. As someone about to take Shoko’s role, this is your first test as a medic— every mission you get sent to will be a test in that aspect. But as a sorcerer…”

“Hey. I’m not an actual sorcerer, though, remember? And you should speak with Dr Ieiri first if you want me to expel curses like one and all.”

“Well, I didn’t speak to Dr Ieiri. I spoke to your dear old dad!”

“What?”

“Took a lot of convincing, but—”

“He didn’t tell me anything about this. I’m sorry— I know you just treated me well and gave me a better seat, but why didn’t you think to ask me first? It’s not like I ever really wanted to fight, either. And they were on-board with that. It’s just— why would you change that?”

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, “Seriously, what is this?”

“Yeah! What is this, Gojo?”

“Okay, okay: I’ll share a secret with the two of you, then. You’ve always been tied together, so there’s no use in me telling either of you just to not tell the rest. Keep it between yourselves, okay? Think of it as another part of your shared bond,” Gojo says.

You purse your lip. (Your mother did that a lot. There is nothing you can do that your parents are not entwined in even now; the roots of them have been planted so deeply into your life, ingrained so deeply into your psyche.) “Look, I just want you to answer me, Gojo. Why did you do it?” Why ruin a consensus that took years of compromise and arguments to settle on?

“...because you can. I mean, it’s your philosophy to be like that, right? If you have the ability to help someone, do it.”

“I mean, in essence, yeah, but what kind of point are you trying to make here?”

“That I think with that mindset you’d make a pretty good teacher. You know,” he sighs with a faux furtiveness, “Your father had that same mindset, with his strength and his intelligence and his kindness, and he was one of the best teachers you could ever have. He wasn’t an actual teacher, but… he was the kind of geezer who people thought were wise and would seek guidance from. A great guy, actually. But to cut to the chase, what I’m saying is that I want you to be a sorcerer who knows how to fight, too, instead of just the doctor in the corner that you believe will be the peak of your potential. I think you can do better.”

“So? I mean, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to.”

“That’s why I just want you to try. I want you to have that test and become an actual student here. Shoko doesn’t mind you not becoming one because she thinks they won’t send you on missions if you’re considered ‘too valuable’ by the higher-ups. But I want you to become my student— I’ll give you time to think about it, but look at this way: you have abilities that exceed what you think of yourself— imagine how it sounded to other sorcerers when they heard of you back then, a thirteen-year-old with a late-blooming cursed technique grasping control of it instantly and defeating a grade two curse, even healing the person left behind. Face it: you’re technically a prodigy. The only thing that separates you from others like you is your humanity that troubles you with a reluctance to believe you can actually do anything.”

Harsh. “...I’ll think about it. But why spring it up on me now?”

“Maybe you know too little. O-kay, children, listen carefully. Little [Name]’s father would be a relatively famous sorcerer just because of his partial position as a healer, right? For all your life, you were sheltered and protected by your parents who never wanted you to enter into the jujutsu world. I even spoke to your mother herself, remember? Told her that you’d probably be a window but that you could still use cursed energy. You hadn’t shown signs of a cursed technique yet, but we hadn’t considered that it was because prior to that you never had to use it— the countryside areas you grew up in were practically devoid of any curses that your mother and father wouldn’t have already killed themselves. So, with your father’s quote-en-quote ‘fame’, what makes you think that people wouldn’t have wanted you as a jujutsu sorcerer from the start?”

Just like that the worlds in your head have had worlds of meanings added to them.

“So? What do you think, [Name]?”

You turn to Megumi. When you’re backed out into a corner, your eyes scrambling for a place to put them, you turn to Megumi.

His hand moves hesitantly to your shoulder, ghosting over it like a teapot over a china cup. “...whatever it is, you’ll do well. Gojo just likes to pull stuff like this.”

It feels warm. You won’t be in trouble if you don’t run away from this. It’s nice. It’s calm, his steady hand on your shoulder as your heart feels like it’s about to take a nosedive. “...thanks.”

“Give me some time, Gojo.”

Yuuji and Kugisaki come back with a little boy in tow.

“Ah— you’re back!”

“No injuries, [Name]! We’re all scratch-free! The kid has a bruise on his knee, though.”

“Oh. Can I see it, please?” you ask the boy, kneeling to his height.

The boy pulls the left hem of his pants up, revealing a fresh violet blot on his skin.

“Would you be okay if I touched your knee? I can take the bruise away for you.”

He nods and soon it’s gone, his skin pristine and new. “Woah,” he goes, “Thank you! Was that magic?” he asks, eyes full of childlike wonder.

You giggle. “Something like that. Could you keep it a secret?” you make the best welcoming and kid-friendly grin you can as you place your index against your lips.

“Okay!” he whisper-shouts, smiling wide.

Kugisaki and Yuuji rest by the building while Gojo, Megumi and you bring the kid back home.

“You know, I wanted to say, big sister,” he starts, looking up at you, “You’re really pretty!”

(So cute!!) “Ah, really? That other girl is really pretty too, though.”

“You too! You could be like a model on a poster!” he exclaims, “Oh wait— I live over there! Thanks again!” he points to the turning on the left.

“Haha, thank you,” you reply as Gojo waves at him, “Take care of yourself!”

“I will! Bye-bye, big sister!”

“Are you hungry?” you ask Gojo and Megumi. “Ack— I feel lightheaded.”

Megumi turns to you in an instant— “You didn’t eat enough for breakfast?”

“Guess so,” you reply, “I should be fine, though. I think I just had something on my mind the whole day and I couldn’t feel the hunger or something.”

He whips his phone out.

“Oh, there’s a famous tonkatsu restaurant back in Omotesando,” you suggest as he scrolls through restaurant options. “I think Yuuji may want to eat something like steak, though, and I don’t know what Kugisaki likes. Is there anything you want in particular?”

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, “But it’s Gojo’s money we’re going to be using, so we should probably make the most of it.”

“Mm… we can eat beef steak in Ginza, I think… ah— Yuuji’s grandfather always called it beefteki. I’m surprised I can still remember.”

27-6-2018

“Hi. It’s one in the morning, Megumi,” you greet him as he stands outside your room’s door, “Can’t sleep?”

“...yeah,” he admits sheepishly, “Sorry about this.”

He sits down on the bed. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s like we’re going to keep doing this,” you start, “Our special ritual. Something like that. I mean, we help each other in this way, right?”

Your hand strays upward a little, nervous as it inches toward his shoulder.

He brings your hand there and places his own hand on top of it. “Yeah,” he replies contentedly, “But I… wanted to ask,” Megumi begins, “What Gojo said. Are you going to become a student?”

“I don’t know. I mean, looking at how things are going now, I may. It seems like things are leaning more towards me being a full-fledged sorcerer. Haven’t had the time to think about it.”

He seems to pause for a moment, to reconsider something one last time like a record in his head.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I should take you to see Tsumiki first.”

You nearly gasp. “She wants to see me?” After all this time? “I’m happy, but… wouldn’t she be busy, though?”

“No… I mean… you really should take a look at her first. Then you’ll see what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, but I just— I really should have told you sooner.

“Told me what?” you frown. Learning of this feels a bit like restarting and going back to square one somehow.

“I’m sorry, can we just… do something else for now? Just… please be patient with me a little longer. I’m sorry you have to do that so much.”

“…okay.”

You wake up to his figure being illuminated shyly by the light of dawn. In the tiny bubble that the two of you share— of intertwined paths, secrets, lives— and the sensation of waking from a late night, you realise just how much you want to stay there forever.

This morning, you don’t rush back to your room and hastily go through your routine. All you do for a while, for what feels like it lasts for a century yet lasts for too little time, is look at him, at his steady, quiet breathing as his eyes are shut comfortably tight.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

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thespringtimeofmylovin · 23 days ago

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🍋 Loves & Hates of Robert Plant (Jan. 1970) :

I LOVE - Home-cooked curries—especially those done by my wife Maureen and even those I cook myself - The adventure stories of Jules Verne—my favourite being "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea" - The paintings of the 15th-century artist Bosch—usually vast, horrific pictures with fighting men, skeletons, and many things more - Indoor games—like dominoes, draughts, Newmarket, and Monopoly—all of which help me relax - Walking through the countryside—taking my time, favourite being along the banks of the River Severn - Reading about India—the country I most want to visit - Cleaning the car—which most blokes hate and I dig - West Coast groups like Arthur Lee and Love, Poco, and the old Buffalo Springfield - Sitting on the sand and letting the sea wash over me—when it’s nice to let the vast beauty of the sea close to your Creator.

I HATE - Liver and kidneys—which I hate the more I try to eat them - Jangling of the telephone—which is why I refuse to have a phone in my private hide-out - The memory of losing £5 to our drummer at cards on a plane to New York - Housework—and no amount of prodding by my wife will get me at it - Industrial smoke in the heart of Birmingham—though sometimes it gets me in a blue mood where I can write songs - Stuffy, nose-in-air people who can’t accept change even if it’s for the best - Litter louts who spoil the countryside for others - Kids with scruffy haircuts who think it’s fun going around trying to beat people up - Obnoxious English bands who try to play down everything with the least feel for it - That Radio One isn’t as liberal and varied as it should be. I’d like a whole station doing nothing all day but provide a meeting place for musicians of all kinds—from classical to soul.

#robert plant #ledzeppelin #music #classic rock #rock #hard rock

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pmaxshay · 7 months ago

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Love Conquers All

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader (Fem)

~ Part 1 ~ ~ Part 3 ~ ~ Part 4 ~ ~ Part 5 ~

~ Part 6 ~ ~ The End ~

~ Part 2 ~

Benedict sat in the Bridgerton drawing room, doing exactly that. His sketchbook on his knees as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. His back leant up against the opposite arm. His pencil scribbled furiously over the pages, little by little though every page was ripped up and thrown.

Every so often he’d reach over and throw a handful of grapes into his mouth, chewing furiously.

“Benedict. I did not expect to see you awake so early.” Violet jumped slightly as she walked into the drawing room, seeing her second eldest sprawled out.

“Apologies Mother. I could not sleep.”

Violet watched him as he continued to scribble and get frustrated at himself. She placed a hand on her abdomen and one hand on her hip.

“Is something troubling you dear?” The worry evident on her face.

“Not at all Mother. I am just dandy.” Benedict faked a smile, wanting to hide his sour mood from her.

However, if anyone knew him best, it was his mother.

She moved closer, towering over him as he lay on the chair.

“Benedict.”

“Mother.”

“I know you. You are not yourself. Are you well?”

“I… am…” Benedict hesitated when he looked up to see the emotion written all over Violet’s face.

“I have… no muse. Okay. I am a failed artist. What with Anthony buying my place in the Academy and having absolutely nothing to draw.” He sighed, leaning his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Violet sighed softly, reaching out her hand for him to hold. He obliged and held it tightly.

“My dear Benedict. You are more than you know. Whatever this is, it will pass. You will find that spark again. I am sure of it. Maybe what you need is…”

“If you say love Mother I swear…” Benedict huffed but had a small smile on his face.

“I know you are very… liberal… with your views on such matters but believe me, love can do wondrous things. Do not count yourself out yet. I thought I was out but I have Lord Anderson…”

“Mother please I do not need to know details of you and Lord Anderson.” Benedict rolled his eyes.

Violet chuckled before pulling at his hand to get him to stand up. His sketchbook falling to the floor along with the pencil. Violet placed both of her hands on either side of his face.

“My wonderful, wonderful boy. Your father would be proud of you. All of you.” Violet cooed, tears forming in her eyes.

“Are you well Mother? You are… more emotional than usual.” Benedict placed his hands are her upper arms.

“I am. I’m just a proud mother that is all. However, there is much to do today to prepare. I need to get Eloise and Hyacinth to the Modiste in one piece.” Violet sighed before clapping her hands to pull herself together.

“Good luck Mother.” Benedict rolled his eyes before planting a kiss on her cheek. He then proceeded to pick up his sketchbook and pencil, making a swift exit before the chaos inevitably began.

Across Mayfair, Y/N was sat in her own drawing room. Her nose buried in her latest read.

“Y/N my dear. It is a beautiful day today you should be out. Can you not go and call on that Bridgerton girl you were talking with at the ball?” Richard chimed from behind his paper.

“I could say the same for you Father.” Y/N gestured to the paper with a smirk.

“And also her name is Eloise. But I believe she is busy today visiting the Modiste.”

“Oh well that’s perfect. You are due some new dresses are you not?” Richard chimed once more. Trying with all his might to get Y/N out of the house.

The secret talk he had, had with Lady Danbury at last nights ball, while Y/N was distracted, had hit home. He wanted Y/N to fly the nest and have a life outside of home. It is what her mother would have wanted also.

“Ugh fine.” Y/N huffed.

“I’ve lost my place now anyway.” Her book was slammed shut and held tight against her chest as she stormed out of the room.

Richard just chuckled to himself before going back to reading his paper.

The Modiste houses Mayfair’s finest dressmaker, Madame Delacroix. Her designs were incredibly sought after. Especially after Lady Whistle… Penelope Bridgerton started to write about her.

Eloise was filling Y/N in on such news and gossip of the Ton.

“So… Penelope was your best friend but she wrote these awful things about you and your family or well the whole Ton and you were no longer friends and then she married your brother?” Y/N asked, confusion laced in her words.

“I know. It’s still incredibly confusing to me too. However, it is nice to call her a sister now. I would’ve longed for such a relationship with her when we were younger.” Eloise chimed.

“I wish I knew the feeling. It is lonely being an only child. You are lucky.” Y/N whined.

“I believe it is you to be the lucky one. A whole house to yourself. It must be so peaceful. We don’t get a minutes peace at Bridgerton house.”

“I must agree, the quiet does have its advantages. Feel free to come and make use of them. Any time.” Y/N offered with a smile.

“You don’t know how much that means to me. Y/N Pembrooke. Thank you. Thank you, thank you!!” Eloise exclaimed.

“Eloise! Behave yourself.” Violet warned.

“Sorry Mama.”

Hyacinth turned and stuck her tongue out at Eloise in jest. To which Eloise did it back.

“See that! That is what I have missed out on.” Y/N whined once more.

#benedict bridgerton #Bridgerton #benedict Bridgerton x reader #fem reader #x reader #Bridgerton fanfic

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unlikeable-female-character · 8 days ago

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This is the first fic I have written for many many years. After rediscovering this place earlier last year and finding all the amazing Logan fic I was inspired to try my hand. This is part of a larger story that I can’t quite work out - I have bits and pieces of it but can’t quite weave it together. But I wanted to post something just because I feel quite proud of having written anything at all

This is an Old Man Logan! X reader story, set in some alternative universe where Logan doesn’t die at the end of ‘Logan’

it’s pure fluff with an allusion to sex and mention of pregnancy. Hope that you like it!

***

It was fair to say that if Laura could have floated away with sheer joy she would have done. Several times you and Logan have to sit her down and try to calm her. It lasts for a few minutes before she begins bouncing again. You give Logan a look and he just shrugs, smiling but defeated

‘Let’s get dressed then we can head down to the chapel,’ you suggest

‘You think that’s going to calm her down?’ Logan says

‘No not at all,’ you laugh, ‘but we need to get changed and the mood she’s in it’s going to take twice as long’

You grab Laura and take her off into the adjoining room, looking back over your shoulder at Logan

‘Your suit is in that bag,’ nodding towards the garment bag hanging in the open closet

Just over an hour later you and Laura come back and Logan can barely breathe at the sight of you both. The 50s style tea dress you’d found in the thrift store hugs you in all the right places, the colour a dusky pink. You have pinned your hair up and placed a few flowers liberated from the hotel room vases into the messy bun. Laura’s normally tangled hair has been pulled back into a slightly wonky French plait (she couldn’t sit still long enough for you to finesse it) and is wearing a dress with a skirt made up of more layers of tuile and flounce than either of you could count. She twirls in front of Logan, making the skirt puff out. He smiles, for the first time in a long time the smile reaching his eyes

‘You look beautiful,’ he says, then looking over at you, ‘both of you’

You walk to him and reach up to adjust his tie, dark blue against his crisp white shirt, a match to the dark blue suit you had found him. A little tight across the shoulders maybe but not enough that anyone would notice. He’d trimmed his beard, not back to the mutton chops you knew he used to sport but just to make himself a little tidier. You run your fingers through the soft hair and pull him towards you for a kiss

‘You look incredibly handsome,’ you whisper against his lips.

You swear you see him blush. Plucking one of the flowers from your hair, you tuck it into the button hole on his lapel.

‘There,’ you say, smoothing your hands down the front of his jacket, ‘Well troops, are we doing this?’

‘Yes!’ Laura yells and grabs your hand.

Logan gives you his arm and you link yours through it

‘Looks like we are,’ he says softly.

***

And then - you’re married. Logan slips the pawn shop ring on your finger and you swear you can feel him tremble. You’re sure you fare no better as you slip the matching one onto his finger. At that point you’re fairly sure Laura would have popped with excitement.

‘You may now kiss the bride,’ you both hear and Logan wastes no time in doing so. In fact the kiss possibly goes on for longer than is comfortable for the others in the room. But you don’t care. You can faintly hear Laura cheering but otherwise, your entire focus is on your new husband

Back in the room, you order room service - burger and fries for you and Laura, a steak for Logan, ice cream sundaes and brownies for dessert. You aren’t sure when you’ve ever felt happier. You keep glancing over at Logan, constantly reminding yourself that he is your husband now. Laura is your daughter. And this life of yours, together, is a whole new adventure

***

Finally Laura flags. The excitement of the day has finally worn her down and she’s finding it harder and harder to stay awake. Logan picks her up and you follow him into the adjoining room.

‘She can sleep in her dress,’ you say, ‘I’m not waking her up now’

You do pull off her shoes, and then tuck her into the bed. As you wander back towards the door to your room, you see Logan reach out his hand. You take it with no hesitation and he pulls you to him, planting the softest of kisses on your lips. You smile into the kiss and the excuse yourself to use the bathroom.

Logan is pouring himself a drink and gestures the bottle at you as you return. You shake your head

‘No thank you, but don’t let me stop you,’ you smile

Logan quirks and eyebrow but pours himself a good measure. Into another glass he pours a can of soda and hands it to you, clinking his glass against it.

‘Congratulations Mrs Howlett, you made an honest man of me,’ he grins, and circles his arm around your waist, pulling you to him

‘Honest, huh?’

‘Well,’ he smirks, ‘we can work on that’

You both drink then Logan leans in to kiss you again. He tastes of whisky, the cigar he smoked earlier, the sweetness of the chocolate he’d eaten. As much as you love when he fucks you, sometimes just his kisses are enough. He kisses like a man who doesn’t know if he’s ever going to experience it again. Putting his glass down, he takes your face in his hands and deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your arms snake around his neck and you mould yourself against his body.

Breaking apart, with reluctance, you smile at him.

‘I guess we should get on with the wedding night,’ you say

Logan smirks

‘Think we might have practised that a few times already,’ he says sighing, ‘it’s been a long day, we don’t have to’

You smile up at him and then reach a hand down to where there is a definite bulge in the front of his pants. He shifts a little as you squeeze him

‘Oh don’t we,’ you smile

‘Well…,’ he grins, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, ‘I guess we could..’

You turn and Logan helps to unzip the dress, pushing it down off your shoulders, over your hips until it puddles on the floor around your feet. You stepped out of your shoes earlier in the evening but you’re still wearing the stockings you bought. Logan is looking down at your legs, brushing his fingers over the lacy stay ups

‘I can keep them on if you like,’ you say, your voice huskier than you expected it to sound. The look on Logan’s face makes you think that he would like that very much.

***

After, you and Logan lay in the crumbled sheets of the bed, spent but happy. You have your head resting on Logan’s chest, running your fingers slowly up and down his stomach as his arm snakes around your waist holding you tightly to him.

‘When were you going to tell me?’ He asks after a long silence

You raise your head and look up at his face. He’s staring down at you under lidded eyes

‘Tell you what?’

He brings his other hand from where it has been resting behind his head and spreads it over your belly

‘This’

You move your hand to cover his and look down at them both

‘I wasn’t..i wasn’t deliberately keeping it from you…I…’

He lets out a small laugh

‘I know. I’m just amazed you didn’t think I would work it out. Well…eventually’

You grin at him

‘I should have known better I guess.’

He smiles back

‘Yes you should’

You place your head back on his chest but don’t move your hand from his

‘I was scared. Not of what you’d say but…’

‘I know I’m not ideal father material,’ he says , ‘nor husband material. This whole thing, since you came into my life, it’s been…’

He stops, not sure what to say next. You stroke his cheek and sit up to look directly into his face

‘If I didn’t think you were the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, Logan Howlett, do you think I would be laying here now?’ You touched his hand still resting on your belly, ‘and this is just…just a miracle I never expected to happen’

Logan sighs and pulls himself up to sit against the headboard of the bed

‘I’m 200 years old, sweetheart. You and Laura and this one,’ he stroked the barely there bump, ‘are the best things that have happened for me in all that time….but I think…I know…I’m dying. I shouldn’t…’

You put your hand over his mouth and stop him from saying anything more. You further stop him with a kiss

‘I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it. I would not be here, in this room with you, wearing this ring. I don’t care if I have a day with you or another hundred years. I just want to be with you for as long as I can be.’

Logan pulls you closer to him and holds you tight. You aren’t sure if he’s crying until you feel the dampness on your neck. You just hold him, let him cry. Let him realise he is worth all this. Because you know that he is.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #old man logan x reader #logan howlett x you

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thisuserislilsilly · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: Angron is interested to see how far does the will of a man can go before it breaks

Save me Angron smut, save me from writers block

Pairing: male original character x Angron (Enemies to lovers)

Genre: SMUT/Drama

TW: Smut, rough...ahem...partner, non-con, just....just Angron shenanigans, self degrading thoughts, foul language

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia @echo-of-damnation

@meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock @druidwolf21

Crimson desires

Angron fist slammed against the metal, groaning in frustration and liberating the stress in something else that wasn't a poor bastard face or one of the Conqueror's machinery. The rest of serfs and crew of the command deck looked at each other doubtful, not knowing hat would happen next or to whom the Primarch would unleash his anger next; the only two people not intimidated and with their arms crossed waiting for Angron's fit to end was Khârn and Lotara Sarrin.

It was the third day Alexos had refused to join the Primarch in a friendly reunion, as soon as he had boarded the Conqueror, the knight had made it very clear to anyone who attempted to speak with him that he was not there out of his own will and definitely not in the mood to make friends. The man considered himself more as a prisoner than another member of the World Eaters fleet, despite the countless efforts of Iterators, preachers and officers of the Imperial Army had tried to make Alexos see the positive side out of his new living conditions.

"My Lord I need an answer rather soon on what to do with him..." Khârn was more uncomfortable than nervous, hating he had been the one to inform Angron about this

"And I need the Primarch to stop making damages to my ship!" Lotara scoffed, hating the Primarch usual whining

"I KNOW! But that bastard cannot simply do as he pleases....! I could have his head for this! I oughta-!" Angron mumbled, stomping the ground and making the whole ship shake "I am the Primarch, I AM who he needs to obey, how could he-!?!?!"

The worst of it all was that Angron could understand the rebellious attitude, he sympathized with it, after all his Father had done practically the same to him whenever the Emperor took his son with a transport beam unto His ship; now, years later, Angron had taken Alexos out of his world and had left it burning. There was one thing, though, that was different this time: Angron wanted to make amends with the knight, he wanted to begin again this time with the right foot, but Alexos repeated negatives placed Angron on his nerves and made the Nails sing in his skull of the thousand ways the Primarch could dispose of the insulting man. No matter how. any gifts, speeches and different people to reason with the Primarch had sent, nothing worked.

"I guess he leaves me no other choice but to go MYSELF!" Angron suddenly spoke up again, roaring while beginning to head out towards the barracks deck

"My Primarch please, if you may, think about this. We could leave the man in any other Feudal World we find in our journey, you wouldn't need to worry about what would happen to him, just-" Khârn attempted to walk beside Angron

"I am NOT going to give HIM the satisfaction of getting rid of ME SO EASILY KHÂRN!" The Primarch roared, pushing Khârn away with a strong fist and causing the Captain to stumble back, falling on the ground and hitting his head hard.

The knight's rooms were located at the far end of the deck, a huge set of quarters that resembled an old medieval dorm, specifically modified at the orders of the Primarch in an attempt to sway his guest into being more cooperative, a scheme that had failed just like all the others. The room had a large bed, a huge bath, and an extra-large closet for the knight's belongings. It was all for nothing, Alexos had not even set a foot on the place, preferring to sleep in the ship's corridors or, as some reports said, in the engine room.

Lotara and a couple of officers ran towards the Captain, helping him stand up while a medic checked for any signs of injuries. Lotara had a furious expression, one that didn't take a genius to know was directed towards the Primarch, yet she was a smart woman, so instead of shouting, she just helped the Captain up, dusting the back of his armor and glaring daggers at the retreating figure of the Primarch. Angron kept heading in the direction of Alexos quarters, not once glancing back at that he had done to his first captain.

When Angron finally arrived at the door, the Nails were singing louder in his brain, urging the Primarch to kick down the door and just get it over with. To make the knight pay for the humiliation, for the mockery, for the disrespect. The Nails were telling him that Alexos deserved no better than be thrown off the ship into the nearest sun, they would enjoy and praise Angron at the sight of the man burning.

With a loud sigh, Angron closed his eyes and placed both hands on the door, taking deep breaths. He knew what Alexos was thinking, how his mind must have been turning at the thought of everything he had lost. His family, his friends, his life and his planet, everything had gone away in a matter of hours, leaving behind only memories and a feeling of emptiness that would never fade. Angron knew that pain and, perhaps as a reflection of his old self, had tried everything he had in his power to make the man not think of all what he had lost.

"What's wrong with me…?" Angron whispered to himself, the Nails had made him angry and bitter, unable to forgive, to love or to even care about someone else. The Nails had made him into a monster, just like his father had wanted him to be. But he didn't want to be that, not for Alexos at least, if he could make one single person not see him as a monster, Angron would know the Nails hadn't won the battle on his mind yet.

After repeating himself that trail of thoughts for a couple of minutes, Angron decided it was enough, if the man would not listen to him then perhaps Alexos would hear what the Nails had to say. The Primarch pushed and began to slowly wait for the door to slide open, the metal creaking loudly from the motions. The Nails were urging him to smash the button, to grab the door and slam it open, but the Primarch took his time, waiting patiently for the click of the locks to secure the door in place. With a sigh he looked around, seeing Alexos stripped of his armor, in a robe, with his back turned to the wall reading something on the small desk that had been set up in the room.

"May I come in?"

Alexos' shoulders jumped at the sound of the voice, yet he did not turn to look at the Primarch, just nodding his head as a gesture of consent. Angron sighed and entered the room, closing the door behind him and moving to sit on the bed, looking down at the floor while Alexos turned his seat around. Angron tall figure reached the ceiling, having to look down at Alexos just to fit in the room, his presence alone demanded respect and admiration, yet the knight had been refusing to meet his eye.

"We need to talk," Angron stated, looking up at the man's face, finding nothing but the reflection of the light from his reading "And, no matter what you do, I'm not going anywhere until you look at me."

Alexos tensed and clenched his fists, taking a deep breath before he looked up at Angron. His eyes were tired, puffy and red, yet he had a fire in his eyes, something that was ready to fight for anything. Angron smiled internally at the sight, a warrior spirit, the same that was reflected in the mirror whenever Angron looked at it every morning on his quarters.

Alexos growled, showing his teeth in defiance; he wanted to punch the Primarch right in the face, at least have a chance to release his anger in some way against that cruel, stupid, uncivilized fool; the frustration of the height and strength difference was killing the man on the inside. They stared down at each other for another tense minute, Alexos thinking of the thousand things he wanted to do to Angron.

"Was that so hard?" Angron asked, raising an eyebrow at the man's reaction.

"I was reading…"

"You've been doing that ever since you've got here," Angron leaned back, the wall of the room creaking as it held the weight of the Primarch

"Then I'll keep doing that," Alexos huffed, turning his seat back around "Now leave"

"No," Angron simply replied, crossing his arms over his chest "I'll leave when I have decided to leave."

"And when would that be?" Alexos' head snapped back to look at the Primarch, glaring at him.

"When you decide to listen to me"

"So you're holding yourself hostage on my room" Alexos stood up, slamming the book shut and throwing it into the table, making a few papers fall.

"If you insist" Angron chuckled, shaking his head.

"How did I ever get myself into this mess!?" Alexos rubbed his face, walking in circles and mumbling a few curses under his breath.

"You didn't"

"What?"

"It wasn't your decision, it was mine," Angron's tone was dry, he chuckled

When the knight attempted to throw a punch, the massive hand of the other stopped him mid air, squeezing the hand and twisting it; Alexos grunted in pain and threw his other fist right at Angron jaw, the Primarch smirked as it allowed it to connect with his face leaving a barely noticeable mark in the sea of bruises and cuts. With his hand still tightly gripped, Angron pushed Alexos onto the bed, making the man fall flat on it, the Primarch soon stood above him, the shadow of Angron blocking the only light source of the room. He grinned once again, looking at the panting knight, who glared back up at him.

"You really want to kill me huh" Angron said with a grin

"You have no idea" Alexos huffed

"Try it" Angron leaned forward until he was on the same level as Alexos

"You don't stand a chance"

"I hate you" Alexos snarled

"I know"

"Let me go"

"No"

"I'll rip you a new one"

"Go ahead, I'd like to see you try"

Alexos attempted to push himself off the bed, only to have Angron knee press down onto his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs. He was trapped, unable to move from his position, the pressure of the Primarch's knee not allowing him to do so, even the slightest. Angron licked his lips and felt the Nails singing, this time differently, not wishing the man's death, but his submission, making Alexos "his" by any means necessary.

The man thrashed under the knee, trying to get free of the crushing weight of the other, Angron sighed and decided to help the man a little, sitting on the knight's lap and keeping him down with the weight of his body. Alexos gasped as the knee was removed, coughing loudly as he tried to take a deep breath, while Angron ripped his armor off and tossed it aside.

"What are you doing!?" Alexos panicked, attempting to push Angron away

"You don't want to talk, I get it. So we're going to do something else," Angron's tone was dead serious, grabbing Alexos wrists and pinning them above his head, he leaned down, his warm breath hitting the exposed neck of the other man "Something I think we both would enjoy"

Alexos opened his eyes widely, his face flushed red as he finally understood what Angron was doing, the Primarch lowered his head until it was at the same level as the man's neck; he opened his mouth, his tongue brushing against the soft skin of the knight. The other man tensed up and looked away, his heart beating fast inside his chest, as if it were threatening to escape his rib cage.

"Relax" Angron mumbled against the neck, placing kisses along the throat.

Alexos had no idea what to do or say, the Primarch was practically eating him alive, and he did nothing to stop him. A part of him wanted to be left alone, but the other pulled hard in the direction towards Angron, wanting this to happen no matter what. Alexos closed his eyes and felt the rough hands of Angron exploring his body, grabbing the loose fabric of the robes and ripping it open, exposing his torso. Alexos gasped and opened his eyes again, seeing Angron looking down at him, his eyes glowing with desire and hunger, he could see himself reflected in those eyes.

Angron groaned, his fingers brushing against one of Alexos' nipples, making the man squirm in place. He could feel the knight growing hard under him, his cock pressing against his own through their robes. The Red Angel felt proud of himself, having the man at the palm of his hands, ready to be molded at will and shape, he smiled at the idea of claiming Alexos, of making the knight his alone.

The Primarch moved his knee up, his thigh rubbing against Alexos' crotch, earning a low moan from the man. He grinned, enjoying the reaction and repeating the movement, again and again, Alexos covered his mouth to muffle the sounds, but it didn't work when Angron removed his hand from his mouth and replaced it with his own lips. The kiss was sloppy, wet and uncoordinated, Angron bit Alexos lower lip and slipped his tongue into the other's mouth, their tongues exploring each other's mouth.

The Nails were singing, demanding more of Alexos, to claim the knight whole, to give the Primarch what he wanted, and Alexos was slowly bending to the desires of the Primarch. They kissed and kissed, the air slowly disappearing from their lungs, the kiss broke apart only when the need for air was too much, both men panting heavily. The Primarch quickly recovered, giving enough time for Alexos to brace himself before the other man returned to claim his mouth once again.

The kissing soon became a game to Angron, he would keep Alexos occupied while his hands traveled down the man's torso, his fingers exploring every muscle, scar, and curve of the man. His hands then moved to the man's thighs, moving upwards until they found Alexos' member, wrapped tightly inside the clothing; Alexos out of instinct moved his hand to slap Angron approaches away, only to have the Primarch grab his hand mid air and pinning it above his head once more.

"You want this…" Angron said against the lips of the knight, rubbing his erection "You know you want this… You just don't want to admit it"

Alexos turned his head to the side, closing his eyes and biting his lip as Angron continued to rub the bulge in his pants. The Primarch chuckled, seeing the man trying to keep a straight face, his efforts failing as Angron pushed the clothes aside and grabbed the man's cock, stroking it slowly. Alexos grunted and moaned, turning to look at Angron, the Nails demanded Angron to keep going, to continue touching the knight, to claim him completely.

"Stop-" Alexos huffed, moving his hips upwards "Stop!"

Angron stopped his hand movement, his eyes traveling from Alexos' face to the other's dick, throbbing in his hand. He licked his lips and returned his gaze to the knight, who was looking back at him with a pleading expression.

"What's wrong?" Angron asked, raising an eyebrow "Don't you want this?"

Alexos remained silent, his mind torn between the desire of his body and the hate towards the Primarch. He didn't want this, but he also did, it was wrong, but it also felt so right; he had no idea what to do or say, and he hated Angron for leaving him so confused.

"I-" Alexos whispered, his voice cracking "Fuck you!" He desperately cried out, feeling the arousal growing on his stomach.

"Gladly" Angron smirked, moving away from Alexos and standing up, making the man shiver at the sudden lack of contact.

The Primarch grabbed Alexos by the wrist, pulling the man up and pushing him against the wall, his face flat against the cold metal. Angron placed his hands on the other's back, running them downwards until he reached the hem of the man's pants, he pulled them down, exposing Alexos ass. He growled at the sight, spanking one of the cheeks hard, earning a loud groan from the man. Angron slammed himself against Alexos insides without mercy, earning another painful sound from the other. Alexos whimpered and tensed at the intrusion, trying to find comfort on the wall.

Angron groaned, pushing his cock further into Alexos, earning more pained sounds from the knight. He pulled out only to thrust back in, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, their moans and groans mixed together, creating a symphony of pleasure. Angron leaned forward, placing his head on Alexos shoulder while grabbing the man's dick and pumping it in rhythm with his thrusts. Alexos was a mess, moaning loudly and moving his hips in a desperate attempt to gain more friction.

"Didn't you hate me sooo much? Huh? Come on…let me hear it" Angron taunted, speeding his thrusts.

"I-I hate you so much…" Alexos huffed, trying to keep his voice steady "I hate you…! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

Alexos clenched his fists and closed his eyes, the pressure in his lower stomach growing tighter and tighter by the second, his body screaming for release, his mind begging for more, for everything Angron had to offer.

"Look at you…" Angron chuckled, biting down onto Alexos neck, earning a yelp from the knight "So fucking desperate for me"

"I-I am not-" Alexos moaned, slamming his hands against the wall.

"I want you to beg…beg…BEG! TO MAKE YOU REMEMBER THIS ALL OF THE COLD NIGHTS YOU WILL TRY TO REJECT ME AGAIN!" The Nails bit into Angron skull harder than before, driving the Primarch to act more roughly than he intended to.

The Primarch looked almost...pathetic. His pants were halfway down his legs, his member hanging there, the top portion of his armor had been thrown to the left corner of the room and had stayed there for a while. He had completely frozen in place, staring at his hands in total shock. Angron had hit Alexos, he had actually done that while under complete control of the Nails; that godforsaken contraption had in an instant not only taken Angron agency away from his acts, but also hurt whom he had told himself never harm, Alexos.

Alexos grunted in pain when Angron sped up even more, the pain of being rammed over and over again making the man's legs shake, unable to hold his own weight anymore. He felt dizzy, his mind turning blank as the only thing he could focus on was the pressure building up inside him, begging to be released, all that pent up tension came to an abrupt end as he felt Angron backhand him so hard blood came out of his mouth while his body was tossed to the other end of the bed; ending the lock between their bodies. Alexos coughed, raising a hand to his face and feeling totally dumbfounded, his ears were ringing still from the heat of the moment and the new injury, he was pretty sure his mouth had been dislocated; he stopped everything he was thinking when his eyes finally met Angron's.

For the first time ever, the gaze of Angron was soft, warm and calm. There weren't any other words spoken at that moment, just the Primarch lifting a hand to caress the injured mouth of Alexos and, softly, placing a kiss on his lips that did not last longer than a couple of seconds.

Angron started to whimper, his lipless mouth shaking as he knelt and cried, hitting his head over and over in punishment for what he had just done, his knuckles soon bleeding from the self-inflicted injuries. The Primarch's whines turned into screams as he began to slam his hands against the metal floor, denting it and cracking it, the ship shook under his feet. The knight waited until the banging had stopped, seeing the Primarch covering his face with his hands; it was a sad departure from the cold and bitter men he had seen before, the contrast between the way he handled Alexos and now was day and night. The knight wanted to hate the Red Angel, yet...

He had stopped, as soon as Alexos had been hurt, the Nails did that to him, not Angron. Feeling the need to do something, to not stare at the weeping Primarch like a fool, Alexos slowly and shyly placed a kiss in the bald forehead of Angron, pulling away as soon as he heard the Angel stop crying and lifting his eyes to met Alexo's.

They laid there again, purposely going slower this time as to not trigger a sudden reaction from the Nails; now Alexos was smiling, his hatred had subdued for now, no longer thinking about killing Angron or making him suffer, the Primarch had suffered enough already, gone through too much because of the Nails; despite not entirely forgetting how he was ripped away from his home and leaving everyone he knew behind in a pile of bodies, Alexos had known another side of Angron and, as painful as it was to admit it, the knight did not want to leave that go.

"I" Angron opened his mouth to talk

"Hush, don't say a word..." Alexos moved Angron arms away from his face, trailing with one finger the scars of war in his face "If you finish what you were doing before this whole thing happened, I'll agree to go eat with you in the hall like you wanted me to, deal?"

"Deal..." Angron grumbled, leaning forward to hold Alexos again tightly in his chest.

#fanfiction #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40000 #warhammer headcanon #warhammer 40k #fanfic writing #oc space marines #wh40k oc #primarch x oc #angron #tw smut

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