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somnoir · 7 days ago

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Prodigal son beyond Time - part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Damian first met his great uncle Danyal when he is three years old. His mother says he's met him long ago, when he was but a babe with a memory too fuzzy to remember. But the man before him is his grandfather's favorite child. The son that scowls at his father as he cradled Damian in his arms.

"What have you done?" His uncle scowled, a gentle hand pressed against the back of Damian's head. "He's a child!"

"Danyal!"

"You weren't like this with me." Danyal spat, keeping Damian in his arms and pressing his lips towards his nephew's forehead. Damian notes how cold his uncle's skin felt like, but more welcoming than that of his grandfather's.

"Danyal, he is to be trained like a proper Al Ghul." Grandfather said, frowning at Danyal.

"You trained me like a proper Al Ghul when I was older than him!" Danyal immediately protested, "He's three!"

"Danyal—"

"Ukht, I understand that you wish the best for your son but this is not it." Danyal immediately said, looking apologetic for interrupting Talia, but went back to glaring at Ra's. "I've tried to tolerate the fact that you handle an assassin league, father but this? You taught me to be loyal to the family. You taught me to cherish the family, you're blood—why the fuck aren't you giving the others the same treatment you gave me?!"

"Because they are not you!"

Damian doesn't recall what truly happened that day, but he does remember how his uncle's eyes went from soft blues to the same shade that the Lazarus pits glowed.

Damian remembers everything going dark.

Damian grows up differently.

He continues on his training, but everything is kinder to him. The world is kinder when his uncle is home, having tea with grandfather and overseeing his training. Mother loves him and uncle Danyal the most, claiming that they are blessings to her life.

Grandfather is quieter nowadays, almost docile with his uncle around.

It's a little more peaceful. The assassin's continue to train, to fight. But their reign of terror fall upon those that are corrupt and destroying the world. It's one of the compromises uncle Danyal and grandfather have led too.

Damian grows up differently.

Damian's arrival to the Bats' lives was unprecedented and quite confusing. He was a child raised by assassins, a child raised to become the next leader of the league. But he was... Strange. Strange for that kind of standard.

Damian was rather sociable, hostile but not downright murderous towards them.

His uncle did make sure that he had friends in the league.

Ra's had been utterly ecstatic to find out that he had two more grandchildren while Talia was quite pleased to know that she had a niece and nephew.

Damian had a pair of strange cousins who snuck him out of training to go watch the stars, often getting them scolded, but it was worth it. Dante was older than Damian by five years. He was what other would call an angsty teen with how he often rebelled against his father. Meanwhile, Janelle—preferebly Ellie—was only a year older than Damian himself. She was a mischievous person who made sure that everything around her was swallowed by her own chaos. So when he entered the manor, suddenly struck with the reality that he had multiple siblings instead of just one elder brother, Damian knew what to do.

Murder was not the answer.

But by the words of his gracious uncle and the wisdom of his excellent cousins: fight your siblings like a feral child but defend them by being even worse to others.

So Damian's first act as Dick Grayson's younger brother was to bite him.

The undead were restless, rising from their graves or haunting their own corpses. It wasn't something they usually dealt with, forced to call upon magicians.

But even Constantine was bewildered by just how cursed Gotham's lands were. To bring back the dead. Jason was a miracle but this was like an abomination, a literal zombie.

No one really knew how to properly deal with the dead...

Well...

"My uncle would be willing to provide his assistance in this matter." Damian piped up, examining the contained zombies from a safe distance. All eyes were quickly drawn to him, bewildered and questioning.

"I hardly think that Dusan would be suitable for this." Bruce sighed.

Damian scowled, "Not him. My grandfather's first-born is whom I speak off. He is knowledgeable in the occult arts of the dead."

"Damian... Ra's Al Ghul only has one son."

"Untrue. Grandfather's greatest pride was always my uncle. He is precious to grandfather and ensures that no one knows much off him. I expected you and Drake to be aware of the first born."

Tim stiffened, "They weren't rumours?! Ra's actually has some cryptid son?"

Bruce, who had heard of the old tales of the Demon head's beloved heir, had always thought they were stories to scare the assassins. He's never seen the man, nor has he found any evidence of him in the league.

Jason finally started paying attention, "So the league's golden boy can help? Dami, I don't think Al Ghul will even let his favorite kid anywhere near us."

"You underestimate my uncle's love for me."

"You met him?" Bruce quickly interjected.

Jason shrugged, "He helped me out back then. Patched me up when the pit madness got worse and helped me manage it. But his face was usually covered and no one really knew his name."

"Aside from myself, grandfather, and my mother."

Bruce frowned, "Nyssa and Dusan don't know their brother's name?"

"Grandfather says that they do not have the privilege of knowing his name. Mother was the first of his other children to have met my uncle."

"And what about you? You won't give us his name?"

Damian scowled, feeling rather displeased with his father's choice of words. "Names are powerful, father. My uncle taught me this when I was young."

Constantine narrowed his eyes, "You're uncle some kind of fae, kid?"

"Watch your mouth, hellblazer. He does not like you." Damian hissed, having heard all his uncle's rants about the Laughing Magician, especially whenever he'd just randomly pick up Talia and walk around Nanda Parbat like she was a kitten rather than a deadly assassin. "But I shall call upon my great uncle and ask him for assistance. This matter with the undead shall surely pique his interest."

"Tell the old man I said hi!" Jason cheerfully added, sounding quite pleased to hear about the mysterious uncle.

"No." Damian blatantly denied. As much as he loves Todd (and he will never admit that), he was not going to let anyone threaten his status as his uncle's favorite child. Over his dead body.

Damian was quick to walk away from all of them, quickly retrieving all the materials he'd need to summon his uncle. Dark green paint for the summing circle, five candles, and an astrology book.

"Bats... Why the hell is your son performing a summoning ritual? For a ghost of the realms too." Constantine's tone was strained, clearly disturbed and wary of Damian's actions.

"Damian." Bruce warned but Damian just waved him off. He watched as Jason started lighting up the candles, humming an unfamiliar tune.

"D'you think the old man will help us?"

"Of course! Uncle adores me."

"You think he'll give me his name?"

"I will gut you, Todd." Damian immediately responded with the most nonchalant tone he could ever give.

Jason shrugged, before taking a step back.

"Damian! Whatever you're summoning—"

"I'm summoning my uncle, father. He's the best person to go to with these issues." Damian insisted, before muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Bruce was startled when Constantine grabbed him, eyes wide and rapidly turning pale. "Why the hell does your son know how to speak the language of the—"

Fire burst forth from the circle, slowly morphing into an icy blast.

"Dead." Constantine's breath hitched, "Holy shit, your brat just summoned the ghost king."

Bruce grabbed Damian the moment a hand emerged from the blast of cold. He shoved his on behind him, suddenly feeling frightened as his entire body felt goosebumps. Fuck. Did Damian really just perform a summoning ritual for such a powerful being? He never expected for Ra's to brainwash his son into believing that such a powerful thing—

"Nephew!"

Bruce blinked, suddenly blinded by the light.

"Uncle!" Damian escaped from his grasp, rushing into the circle. Constantine practically screamed once Damian ran into the arms of what was supposedly his uncle and the ghost king.

In front of Bruce was the most gorgeous man he's ever met.

The floating hair that reminded him of snow and the green eyes that were purer than the Lazarus pits. He couldn't help but swallow thickly, blinking. Damian was held up by the ghost king, allowing the boy to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"Hello, dami (my blood)." The king cooed, his pronunciation of the nickname much different from the shortened version of Damian's name. "I was not expecting you to call me. What's happened, my dear?"

Damian hummed, but before he could speak, he was immediately interrupted.

"Long time no see, old man!" Jason yelled, waving his arm as if he wasn't in the same room as the king.

"Jason! Hello! How are you? The corrupted ecto hasn't returned, has it? If it has, just tell me. I'll schedule a check up with Frostbite." The king quickly fussed, not minding the way Damian was baring his teeth at Jason. "Damian, behave!"

Damian just seemed to whine, refusing to behave and opting to pestering the king.

"I'm good, uncle. Haven't gone out crazy since you took me to the doctor." Jason smiled, already ripping of his domino mask to show that his eyes were green tinged with blue, not glowing green like the pits.

"Good, good. But I really must know why I've been called." The king softly said, directing his words to Damian who was already trying to wriggle our his grasp. Gently, the king settled Damian back on his feet.

"Right. Uncle, my father, Batman. Father, this is my uncle." Damian introduced, his tone hurried and a bit hesitant.

The king, Damian's uncle, smiled at Bruce. "Hello there, Mr. Wayne. I've wanted to meet you for a long time." The king hummed, "My name's Danny, but the Al Ghuls call me Danyal."

"Uncle!"

"Hush, hush, Damian. I can give my name to anyone I want. I don't suppose that your father is worthy of it."

Bruce really should be more concerned about the fact that the king knew his name.

"But what of the others?"

"Little one, I sent Nyssa and Dusan letters ages ago. But rest assured, dearest Talia is still the first to earn it." Danny—Danyal—the ghost king softly spoke and patted Damian's head. "And... Oh, it's you."

"Your majesty!" Constantine enthusiastically greeted while Danny scowled.

"Tax evading bastard." Danny huffed, shaking his head before promptly ignoring the tax evading bastard in question.

"Damian."

"The dead are rising."

Danny blinked, blinked again, before he groaned and shook his head.

"Okay, sorry. That seemed to be caused by an error on my side. Some prisoners of my realms started a riot and some of them managed to break out. Some have most likely decided to overshadow their old bodies." Danny sighed, "I'll have this taken care of. Apologies for the inconveniences."

"These... Zombies have been wrecking havoc across my city." Bruce frowned, "They've been harming people."

"Vengeful spirits do that. They're criminals meant to be in prison. It's rare for breakouts to happen, in all honesty." Danny paused, just long enough to run his fingers through Damian's hair. "But if you wish to take charge, by all means. These are corpses being possessed by their own spirits and... Well... They're out of their minds. Not really considered revenants since the possession isn't quite permanent."

"Alright, Bats. We've gotta make a proper deal here. His Majesty was summoned so we've gotta offer him something—"

"That's not necessary." Danny immediately waved Constantine away, evident displeasure from the man. "The sigil I gave Damian was just to call me to him. No need for an exchange."

"Seriously?" Constantine blurted out.

Danny just shrugged, "He's family. And my favorite nephew."

Damian smirked, absolutely smug. "I am your only nephew, uncle."

"Mm... Jason's also my nephew." Danny chuckled softly, easily stepping out of the circle and removing it from the floor—leaving not a single stain. "Now... Shall we deal with the dead?"

Bruce Wayne has made many bad decisions in his life, especially when it came to his relationships. Damian's ghost king of an uncle might be one of them.

Masterpost

#Prodigal son beyond Time #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #batfam #jason todd #batman #crossover #damian wayne #bruce wayne #Damian's favorite parental figure is his amazing uncle #this boy was raised as best as Danny could #Danny went feral after that but cause this boy knew what being compared felt like and hated it #he loves his family even if they're kinda fucked uo #Ra's is a little nicer here cause he genuinely loves Danny like a son #Bruce: This man is not good for me and I know it #Danny Phantom who's cradling his son like it was him who gave birth to Damian #Bruce: But I am fucking blind HELLO SAILOR #Tim's time in the league resulted in hin hearing about the eldritch horror that was Ra's son and supoosed heir apparent #he thought it was all stories #Jason likes his eldritch uncle the most cause he made the pit madness go bye-bye #constatine is a tax evading bastard and Danny has heard enough complains about him to hate the guy himself

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yandere-wishes · 5 months ago

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Alice in Marvel-land

𐙚Yandere! Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Reader x Yandere Wolverine (Logan Howlett)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ In some worlds, you were Logan's little darling. In others, you were Wade's starry-eyed lover. But here in the void, there is only one of you and two of them.

⁀➷ GORE, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Deadpool being Deadpool.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ IDK, probs the Deadpool and Wolverine soundtrack

Logan feels the world slipping away.

Piece by piece, atom by atom.

In a blink, he's falling down darkness.

An endless rabbit hole.

What was the name of that fairy tale you liked so much?

The one with the girl who gets lost in splendor?

The dust is kicking up, framing the sunset portrait along the horizon.

The envoys are nearly home, this time they've brought someone back. The cage balls chime along the unsteady road. If you squint just far enough you can almost make out vibrant specks of red and yellow.

Strange, the void tends to wash out bright colors. Well, it tends to wash out just about everything.

You scrape your nails along the skeleton's sockets. Leave crescents in the decaying cartilage. "They're almost here" you call out awaiting Cassandra's next move. You watch dolefully as she's transfixed on a portal. The sparky thing unfurled like a fresh wound, strewing salt on persistent lacerations. She watches her brother, or well some variation of her brother. Surrounded by his new family, surrounded by those he loves. He's forgotten her, or maybe never even knew her. You think that the latter would hurt the most.

"Cassandra" Your voice rises in octave, this time getting her attention. "They're here".

"Coming" She sings, voice so chip it almost sounds like unshed tears. You send a final glare at the portal before it collapses on itself.

If you tried hard enough, maybe you could bring yourself to understand her pain. Those pesky notions of desperation for someone to love. But it

doesn't matter now everyone you've ever loved is dead anyway. And unlike Cassandra, you've long since given up on the childish dreams of being rescued by someone who would offer up love so freely.

"Maybe shut up now"

Logan's nerves are frying. Thin strings snapping with every syllable that leaves the red merc's mouth. He's starting to appreciate Stryker in a way he didn't even know he could. The man was a psychotic sadist but at least he knew when to sew someone's mouth shut. Maybe he can convince this Cassadra chick to do the same.

Logan's eyes are almost at 90 degrees of a roll when they stop. He stops, frozen. In the gaping mouth of the rotting skull, something all too familiar stands.

Or rather someone.

Someone he knew.

Someone he loved.

Your name tastes bitter on his tongue. All death and whisky.

Maybe cause it's been so long since the attack. Since he walked off for the night and left his family to die. Cause the last time he saw you, you were a mangled corpse laying in an open grave. Deadweight as he cradled you in his arms.

You walk closer. Face painted in too many shades of confusion.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Damn, he's started quoting that stupid book again.

"How do you know my name" You ask. You look just as beautiful as he remembers. Spine carved straight in pride with perfect lips, perfect eyes. His talons itch to glide across your soft skin, to feel you so intimately once more.

"LOOOGAN did you see what the bald chick just- HEY!!"

It takes too much effort to pull his gaze away. To stare at red and black and be reminded of cruel realities. But Wade has a tendency to be a persistent ache, some unwelcomed anchor to every problem he's ever had.

Only this time when he actually looks at him. Looks at the jittery body that's stilled abruptly. He can't help but be glad that he did. A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat. Maybe Wade's shut up for good this time.

He always knew you were special but this is truly a miracle.

"IT'S YOU!!"

Nope, didn't work. He knew he couldn't be that lucky.

Wade whispers your name, a forgotten prayer. Logan didn't even know the loudmouth knew how to pray. But he seems to almost soften when he sees you. That feral, cheeky killer, looks so so soft when he stares into your doe-eyes. Reaching out zealously to twirl a lock of your hair around his blood-soaked finger.

He can almost feel Wade choking on your essence, heart erratic, like a child finding a lost toy. He's drowning in ecstasy, and Logan is almost tempted to join him. You're here, a breath away. So close it's taking every ounce of self-control not to pull you to his chest and keep you locked between his arms until he finally dies too.

"Penunt look that's my girl!!"

"Your girl!?"

He had taken you for granted as he tends to do with most peaceful things. The realization had occurred a little too late. Right as he had been emptying a round into the target of the week's head.

He lands.

Arms high like an Olympian pleasing the crowd.

He wonders if he can make you cheer for him.

Clap and shout his name as he twirls around the mess he's made.

He wants to feel loved, although he'll never say it out loud. He's only ever been good with words when they're laced with sarcasm and profanity.

And maybe 'I love you' is just about the most obscene thing he can ever say to someone as sweet as you.

Wade plays the white rabbit, fluffy coat stained red from every kill. Tricking poor Alice into following him down cruel rabbit holes. Making you chase him through labyrinths then leaving you at every turn. He leads you to every kill, makes you watch as he dances in slaughter. He can even feel your eyes right now. Starlight slicing him open to quench vulgar interests.

Alice always follows the rabbit.

He stalks closer, white eyes fixated on your deliciously bewildered expression. Precious thing caught in a warzone. He can almost taste you on his tongue, the sharp tip of a star slivering the inside of his mouth, soft hands painting crescent moons along the back of his neck. He needs to carve his essence across your lips, to pour the after-kill adrenaline into your soul. He needs you.

Only this time...

This time he'd been too distracted. So caught up in claiming you as his victory prize that he didn't notice the grizzled man clinging to life...

And a pistole.

The bullet punctures his shoulder. An afterthought.

But the lead keeps going.

Penetrating the air until it lands bunglingly between your eyes.

You fall into his arms.

Deadweight.

Did the white rabbit ever miss Alice?

Did he ever realize how truly special such a curious girl made him feel?

He doubts it.

Doubts that a stupid rodent would have better emotional stability than him.

He's been given a second chance. A whole plethora of them actually. He's been deemed holy, righteous. And aren't gifts of marvel bestowed upon the truly blessed? What better blessing than the sight of you standing amongst the sand and skulls?

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

He lets the blood trickle down his claws.

What else is there to do but dream of you?

It's the fourth day of his massacre and he's lost count of how many humans he's killed. Maybe cause after the first hundred the faces tend to blur.

He leaves your pleasants in between the rotting carcasses and broken glass. Only taking the torturous parts of you. The things that can hurt him. The sharp edges that he can slit his pulse point on, the vague memory of your glare before you cried. The soft skin of your neck between his jagged teeth.

Enough to keep the hate burning.

He wonders if the creatures of Wonderland wept after Alice left. He wonders if Wonderland lost its wonder.

But now you're standing here.

Alive.

And he wants so badly to remember the sweet taste of your lips. The soft push against his chapped lips as he swallows you whole. Even desperate rabbits can go a little feral. His eyes take in every breath, every scowl.

Alive.

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

Aliath skids forward, mystified in lightning and smoke. You feel your bones collapsing under the rugged man's, Logan's, vice grip. You thrash and scream trying to break free but he only barks out orders to his friend before they take off running.

"Your safe, don't worry we got you." There's a comedic cadence to every word Wade says. You can almost fool yourself into enjoying it if the two weren't actively attempting to defy Cassandra, to defy Aliath, to defy deities and absolutes. To ripe you away from the only semblance of opulence you've come to know.

"Let me go, you custome-wearing freaks." His gripe tenses. "Don't struggle so much, we said you're safe, now hold still" Logan's anger ripples through you. It's almost muscle memory to still, to obey.

Did you know him? Know them?

In some past life too out of reach?

The ground shutters to a jagged rhythm. You're flying up, escaping the misty horrors of the ground. Your head pounds with the force, air slapping across your body as you taste the cotton of the clouds between your teeth.

Is this how Alice felt as her head hit the roof?

Wade mutters about the stars and educated wishes. About people who live and matter. Logan slices through his thigh, the mercenary's optimism making his body ring with phantom pains.

No one matters.

And when they start to, they die.

There are cruel absolutes in this world. He's tasted them all. Let them slice his tongue and heart and danced to every tune they've sung. He rips his claws out and digs them into Wade's chest.

Again

And again.

Wade savors the salty tang of blood inside his mouth.

Licks his teeth and runs his tongue over the gaping holes.

He's sitting in the front seat head rolled back.

High off the blood and adrenaline and the thought of having you so close.

"I take it all back, the Honda odysseys fucks hard"

Bones crack, interrupted mid-heal as Logan turns his head to glare. "Shut up" he rasps and Wade almost, almost, hears approval.

There's a low moan reverberating across the broken car. Late night sleepy mumble that's half 'I love you' and half 'I need you'. Neither one has heard it in such a long time.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty? Kinda surprised you could sleep through all of that" Wade shimmies to the back, only to be greeted by your foot smashing into his face, cracking his nose open, and sending a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He pins your knee to the seat and wiggles himself between you. caging you with his elbows as he stares down at your pretty face. "Miss me, angel baby?"

"Wrong fairy tale" Logan turns around in his seat, claws out running them across your cheek "Please stop, just let me go" you've never begged before, never fallen so low. But these two things, mutants, mutates, or whatever they are, scare you. Reckless, suicidal, dangerous. You feel so helpless in their presence. Never knowing you're to be kissed or killed.

"You're as lovely as I remember" The melancholy colors him in a monochrome of sympathy. Here is a man who's gone through every horror and still gets out of bed. Or maybe he has to, maybe he can't quite die and can't quite reach heaven. So he gulps down his immortality with black coffee to at least pretend he's being buried six feet deep. "Even after all this time I still love you" You almost melt in his brown eyes. So lonely, so desperate.

Kill or kiss

You want him to do both. Want to kiss extinction on his lips while being impaled by the claws. Kill or kiss.

Both, both, both.

"You know~" Wade pushes himself up, "I think your dress should be red...and black. To match your favorite man."

"Who the hell said you were the favorite?" Wade leans forward, in a blink he's gripped Logan's wrist and lunged the Wolvarine's claws into your abdomen.

You writhe, the bones and metal feel almost heavenly inside of you. When he retracts the claws you moan out, it's too saccharine to hold back. Everything feels so much lighter, colorful. You feel your essence slipping out, gushing over the back seat.

Red waterfall, so pretty.

Dress stained red.

"Told ya so!"

Wade pulls you roughly by the shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. He's so cute, fickle Cheshire cat, tongue dancing across your mouth, slitting itself on your peaked teeth, and filling your mouth with thick red caterpillar smoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You really are God's perfect idiot" Logan's anger is tangible, sweet, and bitter like hatter tea at midnight.

"S'okay Logan, it feels nice" Your words slur, slipping gauche from your tongue as you giggle profusely. You feel like Alice cracking open Wonderland's ribs, crawling inside, and smearing the wonder across your face.

"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one" You've heard these words before, Alice's words. she's right. Your fairy tale is painted red with pretty, crazy, princes who think that slicing open a princess is easier than kissing her. You reach out for Logan, desperate for a kiss. "eat me" you mutter, and Logan's face morphs into pure terror "Wade what the hell have you done to her?".

"What? It's better this way trust me"

"I hate you"

Logan bends, meeting you halfway. He kisses you with all the wary of a dead man walking. All teeth and heart and bitter memories left to rot three lifetimes ago. He pushes himself between your bones, trying to carve out his ethos in your body. He'd burn the world so long as he gets to keep you.

You squeeze your thighs around Wade's muscular thighs and hips unlocking a gibby giggle from the man. His mask is half pulled up as he trails sloppy fervorous kisses across your neck and chest. The nostalgia slithering under your skin has you squirming, you've been through this all before. In a past life somewhere where storm monsters and voids don't exist. "Remember how good this feels?" Wade mumbles as his fingers dig into your puncture wounds, drawing slow, desperate moans from your puffy lips. You don't dare answer you don't know what would be worst admitting to liking the loudmouth ministrations or admitting there were other versions of you out there, other happy versions.

"Oh for hell's sake," Logan reclines the front seat and shuffles closer. Pulling down the back of your dress. His kisses are bite marks in disguise rabid and feral, the two things the man will never escape. His name rolls across your tongue, you let it slip in an airy moan. "No fair " Wade complains "I want you to say my name too." He pulls out his baby knife and etches the skin of your thighs. Scribbling doodles of stars and half hearts and the little symbol he wears on his belt. "W-wade" you gasp never knowing whether to scream in pain or giggle in bliss.

Logan laughs into your neck. You didn't even know he was capable of such a gentle thing. You bite his lip playfully. Dragging your fingers across his muscular arms. Your thumb pushes into the space between his knuckles asking for the claws. For the most macabre parts of him. You glide your tongue across the parish where flesh meets metal. Kissing the metal and bones and lapping at the blood. Watch curiously as he draws out a long airy sigh. "Good girl" he mumbles voice marred with ecstasy and you almost see the ghost of a smile smear across his pretty lips.

Wade's thumb gently rubs against your hips. Softly usering you into peace, tranquility. Your eyes get heavy, the car gets blurry. The grotesque realignment of their bones steering you into a deep, content sleep.

"Hey Peanut, you think Alice in Wonderland here would mind if we keep going? "

"Shut it, moron "

"Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if only I knew how to begin.”

🎀Bonus

Deadpool: "Do you think the author's going to write about us again? Or is she planning to finally write that Dune fic she keeps talking about?

Wolverine: "I have no fucking idea what the hell you're even talking about.

🪐@yandere-romanticaa @bad4amficideas @sugarplumz100 @oscarissac2099 @facelessfionna @siphite @tocotuesday69 @linoleunm @mei-simp @shamelessdarkprince @gabriqllas @lovely-liliacs @shiroi-asashin17 @failinguniversity

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moonlight-prose · 3 months ago

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nameless as a river undiscovered underground

a/n: i really wish october could last longer than a few weeks, because i simply want to keep writing spooky stories and logan fics. i keep posting them late, but i'm doing them last minute (bad i know). this one is more a drabble than a fic, but i loved the idea of logan and his leather jacket. especially the thought of him loving you wearing it.

logan promptober: day eighteen - leather jacket

summary: his leather jacket remained a tie between your love and his. the weight of it, the smell of your intertwined scents, all revolved around a relationship he never thought would happen.

word count: 1.2k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, p in v sex, reverence, love, fluff, the soft vibes of logan being in love.

You were clad in his leather jacket—swallowed by the heaviness of it—the first time he kissed you. In the rain a mile out from the mansion, beside a broken down car and cell phones that wouldn't work. He'd never seen true beauty until you smiled at him. Drenched to the bone, laughing, and luminant in the dark of a night gone wrong.

At one point in the past, he swore to himself he was safer never falling down that unknown pit. That heart devouring thing that made his insides twist and heart turn inside out. It terrified him. Knowing he could one day lose it all in the blink of an eye—become a shell of himself without the presence of another. Solitude kept him safe, kept him from causing destruction to innocent people hell bent on showing him love.

But then he kissed you.

Mid laughter, with eyes still alight in that angelic glow, Logan Howlett put his heart on the line and pressed his lips to yours. The rain pelted your faces in a cold icy wave of brutal weather. Yet neither of you cared. You dug your hands into his hair matted down with too much water and dragged him close enough to give life to that ache in his chest.

You kissed him without conviction. Instead putting your faith—your entire being—on the steady beat of your heart that echoed loudly in his head. The heat of your mouth, the wet slide of your tongue, killed him on the spot. He was a dead man walking—a corpse without a soul.

All because you decided to steal it away with a grin before kissing him once again.

The leather jacket became a comfort in your relationship with a man who ran hotter than a radiator. He didn't need the heavy weight of it, but he liked it. The color, the detailing, the story encased in the frayed thread that lined the insides.

You still remember discovering the small polaroid kept in the inside pocket, tucked away from sight yet pressed to his heart. It was you. Dressed up for the very first time. Storm took the photo on a whim, Logan stole it from her study two days later. You'd later ask him about the messy heart drawn on the bottom white strip—a scribble of the word sweetheart placed underneath.

He turned fifty shades of crimson the second you brought it up, but the photo still remained in place. Stuck to his body whenever he wore his jacket—a familiar piece of his heart whenever you wore it instead.

Tradition was embedded in the stolen item of clothing. The way he draped it over your shoulders on nights out, the times he spent bundling you up when you conveniently forgot your own sweater in his bedroom. You'd burrow your face in the collar, breathing in the musk of his cigars. He'd drop his head against his shoulder at the fragrant scent of your perfume still stuck to the lining.

Each of you placed your mark on the fabric, intent on leaving small reminders of who wore it last. But his favorite memory still remained in the pocket that still held a little rip on the outer edge—the time he clawed at it to grasp you close until the audible echo of destruction turned pain into laughter.

"You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me," he grunted, fingers sharply pressed into the bare skin of your hips.

You smiled, half lidded eyes glazed over in a cloud of darkened lust. "I thought the Wolverine couldn't be killed."

"That wasn't for you to test."

"Can't say you don't like me like this baby," you sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table placed in your very own house.

A home shared with him.

The cracked groan brought satisfaction right to the top of your chest—love beating its own drum in the depths of your body. Logan came home early to a welcome surprise of you in his jacket...and nothing else on. The plan was to get dinner, go walk the city to find a bit of romance tucked away in the corners of cafes and the lowlights of bars.

Neither of you made it to the car.

"It'll smell like you," he gasped, dragging his cock through your dripping cunt. The head nudging against your clit with each stroke. "I'll smell like you."

"Logan–" You clawed at his shoulders, lifting your hips in the hopes of enticing him to move. To put you out of your misery and slide home.

"It'll drive me crazy." A messy kiss overflowing with the love you felt flicker to life in your chest was pressed to your lips. Messy and needy and filled with the soft moan of his gravelly voice.

You sucked his tongue into your mouth, grinning at the brittle sound that cracked at the base of his throat. "Now you know how I feel."

Sinking into you felt like home. The hot slick grip of your walls clamping down around his cock broke something in the back of his mind. A wire that connected common sense with intellect. He watched it unravel before his very eyes—your lips coated in his spit curling into a grin. A smile that left him breathless and begging for more.

You were rapturous. The embodiment of what he believed hope looked like; the light at the end of his cracked and unstable road.

"So fuckin' pretty," he muttered, his eyes flickering between where he thrusted into you and your breasts covered by his jacket. "Should dress like this all the damn time."

"I'd get cold," you laughed, slinging an arm around his neck.

"You got me to keep you warm."

A harsh thrust sent you higher up on the table, pulling free a high pitched moan that sunk into his skin with a warmth that bloomed towards his chest. He wanted to pour out each emotion and watch you drink it down like the ichor of the gods. The life he led before suddenly felt as if there was a purpose to all the suffering he endured—all the pain that still lingered in phantom wounds long since healed.

You were the purpose he sought.

The person he was always meant to find.

He'd do it all over again if given the choice as long as you were there waiting for him—holding out a hand to bring him home.

You came with a garbled shout of his name, your walls sucking his cock back into you to keep him close. Each stunted thrust lit a fire in his body, his hands gripping any bare part of you he could reach as you fell back against the table. Your eyes glazed over and your mouth parted in a silent scream.

A few more sharp thrusts and he followed you quicker than he expected—practically toppling onto your body as he fucked his cum deep. Enough to have it spilling out and coating the inside of your thighs. He was half tempted to drop to his knees and clean you up, but the tight grip you had on his shoulders kept him in place. The close proximity of his body all you craved in the rolling aftershocks of your orgasm.

"All mine?" you whispered, still gasping for breath.

He smiled, lips brushing across yours. "All yours sweetheart."

This was how he loved you.

Thoroughly, harshly, yet with every part of his being.

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing #logan promptober

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actuallybridgetjones · 2 months ago

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so long (worst!wolverine x reader)

warnings: +18 minors do not interact, smut, fluff, female!reader, worst!wolverine, change of events, after d&w.

a/n: hi! since d&w got on disney+ i just had to rewatch it and had this idea. please note that this is my first fic ever and that english isn’t my first language. also, i can’t write wade accurately so here is my messy attempt. sorry in advance for any mistake (or if this seems to messy) and feedback is much appreciated. love, carol ♡

you and logan had a life together, both teacher at charle's institute. your relationship with him blossomed through late sleepless nights in the kitchen, when you listened to the older man, appreciating the little he shared with you everyday.

it was evident that you two grew close as each day passed. after lingering touches and stares, stollen kisses in empty classrooms, you eventually got together and boy, were you happy.

you had it all, you knew each other like the palm of your hand. you were logan's harbor and he was your safe haven. you saw how he would get when the nightmares were too much, feeling the urge to drink his worries away. you saw his flaws and his sins and still you stood by.

that's what made logan wonder at first. it made him wonder how a girl sweet and kind like you wasn't terrified by the thought of him. he would often even wonder what kind of good thing he did to have you only listening to him in the first place.

so, when that tragic night came, logan got reminded of how he didn't deserve any good, how everything of his always had a way to be taken, ruined. he was coming home from the bar, a solo mission went wrong, he decided to stop to drink it away before collapsing in your arms. he knew you would be home, you were always home.

until you weren't.

he got to the mansion to find it filled with dead bodies, jean, scott, storm, hank... everyone, it was a blood bath. logan's first thought was you. running into your shared bedroom, he searched, spent days looking through the damn corpses but there were no traces of you, nothing for him to mourn over.

logan turned to alcohol and self hatred, his healing abilities now appearing as a curse, as if nothing was hard enough to numb him from the pain of it all.

the day wade (or whatever was his name) came in saying that he would take him out of there, logan didn’t even flinch. if he didn’t have you, there was nothing holding him back to his timeline.

here he was now, storming in to help deadpool, the guy who gave him a second chance, stoping cassandra with the time reaper. his mind was filled with memory of the journey he had gone through, but not only.

through his head flew images of you. your smile, your eyes, your small almost unnoticeable freckles, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed and the way your cheeks always seemed to turn a warm pink shade around him. images of you underneath and on top of him, holding him or sleeping tightly in his embrace. memories of slow mornings tangled on each other and late nights spent panting.

after all was safe and sound, after wade’s world was no longer endangered, logan gave himself a second chance too. he let himself be friends with wade, agreeing to live with him until he figured something out. he always did.

wade, cheery as ever, took logan to his building, wanting him to meet blind al, the so infamous roommate. after climbing up the stairs logan feels a perfume he hadn’t felt in years. he turned to see you shuffling through your keys, trying to enter the apartment. you didn’t even have to turn his way.

it was you.

logan stood frozen, trying to figure out if this was another one of life’s tricks to him.

“peanunt, that’s y/n, she’s a sweet girl, but you’re literally drooling you nasty dog” wade says, and that’s when you turn to the two men, hearing your name coming from the mouth of your chatty neighbor.

the sight in front of you made your heart stop. was it your logan? could it be? or was it just another nightmare about the love of your life, just for you to wake to an empty cold bed?

your brows furrow as you look at him. he was older, thinner even despite his still very defined muscles. you were sure this was your logan from the way he looked at you, his hazel eyes seeming worn over but with the same love inside of them.

“lo-logan?”

“y/n?”

your breath hitched on your throat as tears fall down your face. you run to logan, wrapping your arms tightly around him. if this was a dream, you wanted to hug him for one last time, to atleast try to feel his embrace, his touch.

logan hugged you back, bringing your smaller body to his chest as he crouched to whisper, crying too. “is this really you? y/n, oh god”

you pull your head back to look into his eyes, meeting his hazel orbs.

it was your logan.

“i-i can’t believe…” your voice comes out shaky, small even as you look at the man. dirty, rugged and with stains of blood everywhere, but he was your man.

“oh darling… god darling girl” his voice is small too, contrasting with his own appearance. you wrap your arms securely around his neck once again, crying in pure bliss as his large arms came to wrap around your waist.

“i missed you so much” you say between sobs against his neck. “how-how did you get here?” he asks, finally finding all of his worries dissipating in your embrace.

“on the night of the attack… a portal opened and I came here, I had no idea how to go back, how to go back to you lo-” you say almost out of breath, feeling his hand now softly combing through your hair.

logan pulls back to look at you in the eyes, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he whispered “beautiful” and brings his lips to yours.

there’s no point in denying the hurry of the kiss, the desperation and the longing cursing through your veins. of course there’s always someone to wreck the party.

“peanut? honey? am i missing something or are we starting to make out with greasy strangers in the hallways now?” deadpool’s voice interrupts.

logan grunts and turns back to him, giving him a glare. “she was, is, the one i told you about” the wolverine says surprinsingly soft.

you smile and add shyly “he’s the one i told you about”, logan looks at you tenderly, a reminder of the love still in him. the love that he had burried deep down after that night.

“honey? you had no will to tell me that THE MAN YOU WERE FUCKING NASTY BACK IN YOUR TIMELINE WAS THE WOLVERINE?” wade adds excitedly.

you and logan both roll your eyes, you blush and turn to your neighbor. “i don’t know if he was going up to meet blind al, but i’m going to keep him for the night”

“don’t make too much noise”

before you pull your long lost lover inside with you into your apartment he turns back. “hey, wade… thank you”.

after that he was on you, door closed as he pinned you against it, arms wrapping around you, your own traveling down the hoodie he was wearing. your lips meet in a searing kiss, his tongue not taking much time in entering your mouth, joining your own in a slow and long known dance.

this was home.

“my bedroom his down the hall” you say between kisses and logan pulls you to wrap your legs around his torso, bringing you to your own bedroom. once you’re there he lays you against the bed gently, taking off his hoodie and moving to remove the tank top you were wearing, nothing underneath.

“what a fucking sight” he whispers, the rough tone contrasting with the love his gaze held, his eyes turning a deep shade of forest greeen now. reaching down, he kisses your neck, bitting and nibbling on the tender skin under his mouth.

"i- i need you logan" you say gravely, voice filled with need and passion. you remove your jeans and panties, laying bare under him now. "what a sight, princess" he hums against your hear, letting out a soft groan as he feels your desperate hands fumbling with his pants.

not longer after that, logan was moving inside you, his movements desperate as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his back. his hands travel sloppily down your body, massaging the soft skin.

"i love you logan, i love you" you manage to say between moans, head thrown back in pleasure as you feel your high approaching. his hips grew more erratic, your words making his need grow "you'll be the death of me darlin' " he says between pants.

you feel the familiar stretch of his large cock on you, the familiar pleasure his calloused hands bring you. but you also see the depth of his eyes. the love and longing they carry. he shifts, now kneeling as his hands grasp at your hips, tight enough to bruise.

from the new angle it all feels too much and you can't even begin to process it until it's happening. "oh logan..." you almost scream in pure bliss, your whole body convulsing as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your juices spilling all over him.

the sight is too much for logan as he cums inside of you, the feel of his warm seed filling you up, making you squirm. he collapses on top of you, his hands anchoring his body as he looks you in the eye, still inside of you. "i love you so much princess"

you can only smile, new tears threatening to roll down your cheeks as you looked at the man that was, is, everything to you. in that moment you know it'll be alright, and he knows, feels it too.

as long as you've got each other, it'll be alright.

#worst!logan howlett #worst!wolverine #worst!wolverine x reader #worst!logan x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett comfort #logan howlett fluff #logan howlet x reader #logan howlet smut #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you

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ghoulbrain · 8 months ago

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Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear.

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you.

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat.

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm.

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them.

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it.

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click.

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room.

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets.

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you.

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet.

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece.

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out.

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses.

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time.

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be.

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it.

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic #x reader #x reader smut #fem reader #my writing #smut

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sealedsanctuary · 2 years ago

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霹靂兵燹 Pili: Military Conflagration · 2002 - Heng Qian Qiu ties the gang up to a tree and forces them to listen to his hilarious jokes.

#pili #pili fantasy #pili military conflagration #霹靂兵燹 #thunderbolt fantasy #taiwan #taiwanese hand puppetry #budaixi #橫千秋 #Heng Qian Qiu #秦假仙 #Qin Jia Xian #Real Fake God #蔭屍人 #Yin Shi Ren #Shades Corpse Man #業途靈 #Ye Tu Ling

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slightly-knot-insane · 14 days ago

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I Insist

Monstertober 2024 - day 20 + 31 [ Fear of the Dark + Creature Feature ] by @/ozzgin

[ m!psoglavs* x fem!reader ]

*The quite literal translation for 'psoglav' is 'doghead'. They are nasty creatures, scavengers that eat corpses. They are described having human bodies with a dog head, one eye, iron teeth (and possibly hooves)

content: dub-con, gangbang, knife play, p in v, bukakke, biting, oral (both) tw: dub-con, (mention of) discrimination, racial fetishization

You look behind yourself. The street is very poorly lit and the gangs of psoglavs have been an issue in this area for a while. You click your tongue in annoyance. Calling groups of protesting psoglav "gangs" is very disrespectful. They've been discriminated for many years. Only working the worst jobs and suffering constant repression. The recent case of a psoglav child being refused treatment by a racist doctor sparked protests in the city. And they also ignited the darker side of psoglavs, especially at night.

But you know how much people have been unfair toward them. You've been working as a social worker for ten years and the amount of times you had to fight, yell and scream at authorities and your co-workers to stay professional and fair is alarming. And disappointing.

This is not your usual route of going home. The train stopped outside the station since it broke down and you had to walk through this unfamiliar district or go around following a quite longer path. It's an industrial zone and it's completely abandoned this late at night. You, admittedly, didn't think about that or about the lack of street lights. Which is very foolish.

You use your phone's flash to illuminate your path, but it feels like you're in a horror video game. You push your chin deeper into your jacket and walk faster. You don't get far before hearing a familiar sound of iron hooves ringing against the pavement. A group of psoglavs are following you. Shit.

You stop and turn around and your flash illuminates their impressive teeth and whites of their glaring eyes.

"I'm sorry for walking through here," you say. "I had no idea this was your area."

"Oh don't worry, we don't mind," one of them replies. You count four almost glowing eyes surrounding you. "We can help you get through here."

You take a step back, noticing the dangerous note in his voice. "I'm f-fine."

One of them pulls out a knife. "Oh but we insist."

"Wait..." The one whose eye is shining in a deep green shade steps forward. "I know her. She's one of the social workers who helped my nephew stay with my sister. She's... really nice."

The amount of humans and psoglavs that go through your office is too high for you to remember everyone... but you actually do remember this young man. A few weeks ago, he was sitting in the hallway comforting his little nephew while his sister was nervously pacing in front of the office. An immediate thought flashed through your mind - how caring and sweet he was. Not to mention you have a bit of a... thing for psoglavs and their lanky bodies and elongated arms.

"Is she?" The one with the knife relaxes. "That's okay... But she's still a human. I just... don't like them. Not anymore."

Being surrounded with these tall psoglavs fully electrified with conflicting emotions, aggression and frustration - got you sweating. And wet.

"Well, in any case, too bad such an opportunity go to waste." The next second the knife is at your throat, tip pressing against your pulse. You are too scared to swallow. "Unzip, darling."

One of them takes your phone and illuminates you as if you're on the stage. You remove your jacket and it falls to the ground. The knife slides between your breasts as it cuts your blouse. The tip burns your skin as it lightly enters your skin.

"Not even a little yelp?" The one with the knife mocks. "You are so brave." He proceeds to rip and cut your clothes, and his sharp knife makes a few cuts here an there. Soon you're left in your undies, exposed and trembling, covered in small lacerations. Psoglavs lick their lips and growl.

The knife dances across your stomach and ends up pressed just above your clit. You gasp from anticipation. "You're wet, darling. Your panties are soaked. Such a filthy slut you are." He lifts his knife and pulls it to his mouth. The slow dragging of the blade across his moist, steaming tongue sends a throb right into your core. You're no longer sure that the cold is making you tremble.

"Cherry boy!" You're surprised by his bark. The psoglav you know unglues his eyes from you and looks at his most likely leader. "Would you like to taste a human cunt?"

The cute psoglav seems flabbergasted at first, like he didn't understand the question, but then his bright green eye flashes. In one quick jump he's behind you, pulling you backwards with his long arms. He is squeezing your tits and pushing his hand between your legs, rubbing your damp underwear against your moist lips. He is too rough with you and you jolt.

"Ah... sorry!" His voice is less deep than the leader's, less rough, almost velvety. "You are just so... gorgeous. I really want to... fuck you... I've watched so much psoglav and human porn..."

His friends giggle. The young psoglav growls and fondles you harder. His eager, impatient, raspy pants tickle your exposed neck. He is drooling down your bare back. You can only imagine the state this youngsters is in - and that excites you. Especially the hardness pressing against the small of your back. His bony long fingers pinch your nipples. "So pretty... so soft..."

"Bend her down," the leader instructs him. "She is too short for you so I will help you. It's a shame not to use that delicate mouth of hers too."

He pulls out his semi-hard cock out of his jeans just as the young psoglav pushes your back, bending you forward. "I love human asses," he growls and slaps you. "They are so fat, so soft, I just.... nggghh..."

You feel his hot breath on your ass. The first bite is unpleasant and you yelp. "Hey, easy!"

"S-sorry... I just can't control..." His sharp teeth will definitely leave bruises but you're sure he could do a lot worse if he wanted to.

"Let's keep that mouth of yours busy." The leader takes you by your shoulders and lifts you right in front of his red and swollen cock. He doesn't need to tell you anything and you slurp that thing right in your mouth. You always wondered how does psoglav cock taste like. The leader hisses through his teeth, surprised by your action. "Fuck..."

The young psoglav behind you moves your underwear to the side and the next thing you feel is the long and slimy tongue hitting your g-spot like a torpedo. You whimper and wriggle around, but strong arms hold you in place. "Keep sucking my cock you slut, and let my friends have fun with you."

"You taste so good..." Youngster is slurping and humming against your pussy, eating you out like a juicy watermelon. You knees tremble and you have to grab the leaders jeans just to stay on your feet.

"Come on, cherry boy. Get your cock out. We don't have all night."

With an annoyed grunt, the tongue retracts from your core, just as your orgasm was starting to build up. You whimper and buck your hips wanting him to continue. And fast. The two other psoglavs get their leaking cocks out and stroke them on each of your side.

"Fuck..." The nervousness almost breaks young psoglav's voice. He lifts your thigh high up to position himself, lifting you up with his other arm cupping your stomach. He misses once, twice... but the third time your soaked pussy almost sucks him in. "Oh fuck, I'm inside...." His excitement is so adorable. "I... oh fuck... oh fuck... this is so good..."

His thrusts are insecure for mere seconds before they turn impatient and vigorous, catching a delightful rhythm. Your g-spot gets rubbed by his thick cock, the pressure sending pulses of irresistible pleasure. You get slightly dizzy, two strong psoglavs holding you horizontally almost completely lifted in the air, and you just buck your hips chasing your release before it washes over you. Your scream is muffled by a cock shoved down your throat and they barely notice it from all their panting and growls.

"Great job!" the leader praises the ex-virgin. "You made her cum. You will be an excellent lover."

The young psoglav doesn't say anything, but his thrusts become erratic and irregular and, with a low growl ,he grabs your thigh and pushes himself inside your pussy as far as he can go and releases his load into a body for the first time. Probably turned even more on by his and your panting, the rest of psoglavs shoot their loads on your face and back, covering you with their thick and sticky seed.

"Well..." The leader is breathless. He suddenly releases you and you would've fell onto the ground face first if the young psoglav behind you didn't grab you by the hips and helped you up. "This was fun. Thank you for being on our side, human. We'll keep an eye on you."

The three of them push their cocks inside their jeans and walk away. The young psoglav stays a bit longer to make sure you can stand on your own. After fixing himself up, he removes his jacket and places it on your naked shoulders and runs after his friends. But you see his green eye flashing back toward you, at least one more time.

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uchinagai · 2 months ago

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Your endless love - ningning

➢Synopsis: once, teenage sweethearts, y/n and ningning, now meet each other as full-grown adults, expect, one life had to take a different, much harder patch. will they reunite? Or did ningning only return for a different reason?

➢Pairing : CEO!ningning x artist!y/n

➢Genre: angst, fluff but maybe only past... slightly suggestive almost there but a man has to interrupt, I really wanna point out it's angst! but gets better ...?? maybe

➢warnings: heavy topics, such as - suicide, death, arranged marriage or self-hatred, miscommunications, blackmailing, suggestive/smut, mention of a corpse but not g0re, mention of murder/possible murderer, 18+.

➢wk: 5.1k+

➢note: well... kind of inspired by my childhood Turkish drama I forgot the name of but till this day remember the heartbreak my 10-year-old ass went thru. I think that's all I have to say, hope you guys will enjoy it. :3 I'm not the best writer, I do this only for MY pure entertainment. not proofread. will there be pt.2? maybeee...

You lost five years of your life to keep your younger brother free, to save him from going to jail after he accidentally took the life of a woman. Given the choice between covering up his crime and your own freedom, you chose him. You loved your brother dearly, but the cost was far greater than you ever imagined.

They married you off to a man you could hardly stand—a man who seemed obsessed with you, and not in a way that felt like love. Yet, he called himself your husband and flaunted you like a prize that made you disgusted each day that passed. Five years had passed with the weight of that ring around your finger that was more of a rope, tightening taking away air from you.

But now, staring at your brother's pale body lying on the hospital bed, you felt a hollowness eating at your insides. Is this what you meant to waste your five years to?

Your fingers trembled as they traced over the red scar on his neck, feeling your own throat tighten as though a rope was there, suffocating you, too.

He looked ghostly, eyes closed, lips an unnatural shade of blue. You gripped his limp hand, sobbing and begging him to get up. It was all for nothing; your life was ripped apart, sacrificed to save him, only for him to take his own life out of guilt. In his last words, he admitted as much. A note lay beside him, neat and careful, explaining everything. He couldn’t bear the weight of watching you wither under the demands of a loveless marriage, sacrificed to protect him. He couldn’t stand hearing you cry through closed doors as he walked by with food for you, feeling helpless to fix what he had caused. And he couldn’t stand to see your parents throw you away, to a man who saw you only as something to possess. And it mostly saddened him knowing you were only capable of loving a person you met on a bus.

You were just 19, running to a bus you were going to miss at any second. The door closed right into your face as you banged on the door, begging the driver to open it. He did, thankfully. You thanked him as you tried to catch your breath.

‘That was a hard run’ you thought.

You looked around for a seat, but there was none.

‘Great. Just my luck.’

You tried to take a breath as you clutched onto the pole next to you. You set your canvas to a safe place and look around the bus, trying to spot the next muse of your art.

There you lock eyes with a girl. A beautiful one, looking right at you, with slight interest written on her face.

‘Woah she’s pretty’ you thought.

The girl stared back at you, not breaking eye contact. Her blonde hair fell in sleek, straight as it could be, as sunlight hit her eyes from the window. The light color framed her features in a way that made her look effortlessly striking. Her eyes held an intense, yet steady gaze, focused onto you, like you’re the only one in this crowded bus.

Your eyes roamed around, taking in her appearance.

Her lips painted a rich, dark red, stood out beautifully against her fair skin. God, she was pale—not sickly pale, but pale to the point that it was beautiful and reflected light off of her body.

She wore a simple outfit, a denim cropped jacket, with a black tube top perfectly sitting around her body. Her jeans matched her denim jacket.

As you stared, you felt an unfamiliar turn to the left as you broke eye contact that felt like it lasted ages. You looked out the window and realized that the bus you got on was not the one you thought it was, so here you were—going off in the wrong direction.

All you could do was panic and turn to the driver, asking when the nearest stop was. He reassured you it was soon, but you were already late.

It did not take a while to get to the stop, as you rushed off the bus.

But fuck! The canvas!

You turn, seeing the bus already off.

‘What a horrible day to be alive’

You mentally cursed at yourself as you were about to break down till an unfamiliar voice, filled with a sweet tone to it, broke you out of your thoughts.

You open your eyes that you closed due to stress hitting your nerves to be met with the same beautiful face, looking at you with a smile.

“I think you forgot this,” says the stranger as she reaches out your canvas.

‘What a great day to be alive’ you changed your thoughts in a second.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much!!” you say as you grab it and hug the canvas.

The girl giggles at the sight as you sigh.

“I can’t explain how grateful I am”

“It's not a problem, really”

“It should be! You had to get off of your ride to bring this for me”

“Oh yeah…” she says as you both chuckle at her lack of thinking.

“Well, I wasn’t rushing anywhere, seems like you are tho, need help?”

‘Is she an angel sent from the heavens for me?’ you thought as you nodded at her request.

“I was trying to get to my house… but seems like I got on the wrong bus,” you say defeated.

“Where were you headed off to?”

“Cheong-dong..”

It felt like you were rubbing into her that you were from a wealthy family.

The blonde looked at you, slightly taken back but she covered it with a smile.

“And you were trying to take a bus… there?”

You nod.

“Well, I forgot my car keys…”

“Let’s get you there then”

She says as she grabs your wrist without thinking, dragging you along with her back where the bus made a turn.

“So what were you doing out here?”

“I was in my studio... Painting”

“Figured,” she says as she chuckles.

“Oh right, what’s your name… at least got to know what’s the name of a beauty that is about to kidnap me” you say as you both burst into laughing.

“Ningning, it's Ningning, and I'm not gonna kidnap you,” she says as she reassures you. “Yours?”

“y/n”

“Pretty name, just like your face.”

And that is pretty much how it all started. Was it too cheesy to say you both fell in love at first sight? Maybe. But god she had you whipped.

Every little thing she did made you feel butterflies all over. The way she looked at you, waited for you in front of your studio and surprised you with a bunch of balloons attached to your car. How she played music that she loved while doing her homework in your presence. It was a matter of time and you two were official.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her. The way her blonde hair fell to her face, the way her nose would scrunch up when she couldn't get the answer right. It made you all fall for her, and she was just as much in love with you.

You would always sketch her at different times while working or writing music. She was beautiful every single time. You mostly loved sketching her while sleeping, that’s when she looked most relaxed and calm, without a care in the world. You were always at her place because you didn’t know how your parents would react to… someone from the lower class.

But it did not matter.

You were in love.

You decided it was a good idea to tell your mom about it since she was always supportive of your decisions in life - painting? She got you a whole studio and the best paints in the world. Music? She installed speakers in the studio to enjoy it. So you told her, and at first, she easily accepted you and supported you.

Till she wasn’t.

You remember it like yesterday, calming your little brother from what he had just done. You couldn't believe it either? Your brother, hurting someone? But before you could even process that, you were pulled by your parents into a security room.

There he was, again. With that smug of his that made you feel uneasy with everything.

He pressed space. And there was your brother, with a gun, laughing and giggling, pointed at the girl. He thought the gun girl brought along for ‘roleplay’ was just a toy till he fired.

He pauses the footage.

“I delete this footage and do not turn it to the police… on one condition”

“Whatever you want!” your mom pleaded.

Then he looked at you and it all clicked. He wanted you. Then you looked at your parents.

Your mom was looking at you full of hope but your dad… He seemed just as against the idea as you were.

“We will have to talk this out first,” Your dad says as your mom looks at him unpleased with his decision.

But there was no point.

Your life was already decided

Now here you stand, watching as they lower the casket as you can only think about Ningning.

Your ‘husband’s’ hand was holding u firm against him. Like he was holding u for support but it suffocated you even more.

You couldn’t even cry, you felt numb. All of those years for what? For him to kill himself because he felt guilty? Bullshit.

As the time passed after the death, you felt yourself grow angrier than sad and the only person to be able to shut it down was Ningning. You kept looking back to old pictures, missing her, her touch, scent, everything.

At some point, you would stalk her socials, and try to keep up with her till she completely vanished from all social media. Her account was up but her last post was when she left back for her home country - china, and that was years ago.

Was she still in China? Did she come back? Does she still live in the same house?

It was another day, staking her dead account which was too much for you because most of the pictures that were posted, were taken by you, so you just went on a night walk by Han River, after another argument with Kai He always found a way to drain you, was it either verbally, physically, or mentally.’

You put on your earphones as you enjoyed the specific scent the water had. It was pretty chilly, so you dressed up warmly, a puffer jacket with a black scarf around your neck, wore simple black baggy jeans, and went on the walk. It calmed you down for sure and music playing in your ears that distracted you from unwanted thoughts.

But you stop in your tracks.

As the music was about to switch and earphones went silent for a few seconds, you heard it.

Honey-dripped voice giggling. All too familiar.

You couldn’t have mistaken that. It was basically recorded in your brain.

You shut your music off in an instant as you start looking around, searching for the familiar blonde hair… but it is nowhere to be seen.

Were you just imagining it?

But there was no way… right?

And then you heard it again, you were not going crazy.

You tried to follow the sound only to be met by a black-haired haired turned away from you. What was going on?

Till you saw it.

That beautiful side profile of hers, her nose scrunched up in laughing.

She went black… you thought as you just stood there, looking but not moving an inch. She was with a bunch of three other girls that you paid no mind to. It was just her, standing in front of you to reach but being so unreachable. Everyone was out of the picture like the world had stopped where it was her voice filling it up.

God knows how long you stayed there, watching, but it definitely caught the other three's attention as they nudged the black haired whispering something to her as she turned her head right at you.

It was like a spark went through you as her smiley gaze landed on you, but it quickly died down as her face dropped.

‘She hates me’ you thought due to her facial expression dropping as you felt tears forming. You wanted to run, hide, and never show yourself but it was like you were stuck in a quicksand, unable to move from your spot.

She stared back right at you till she turned her head towards her friends. Saying something that made them all look at you and then back to her.

You wanted to reach out, call her, touch her, explain yourself, but the lump stuck in your throat made it all impossible.

“Ningning!!” you choked out as she was about to start walking away, making her pause in her tracks making her turn to you, standing what felt like kilometers away. You were at a loss for words… she changed, in a good way, but everything about her was different. The way dressed, the way she did her makeup… the way she looked at you.

The last one hurt the most. Her expression was almost unreadable but it was full of hurt and hatred, and you understood her more than anything. You had no idea what to say to her. You haven’t even planned out how to talk to her, thinking she was still in China.

“Can we talk?” you say after a decade

“What is there to talk about?” she says, almost mocking you. Her honey voice was completely replaced with venom. It hurt but you couldn’t blame the girl either.

But she moved against her words because the next thing you knew, she was walking towards you.

‘What the hell is going on right now?’

“What are you gonna say? I’m sorry I ghosted you? Or are you gonna tell me you’re married, because I already know that, everyone in South Korea knew about y/n l/ns marriage BUT me.”

God, it hurts so bad, you couldn’t respond to her. You just stood there while Ningning looked at you like she hated your guts. It made you feel like you were trapped, with the door right in front of you, but it was locked away.

“Answer me y/n!” She yells, demanding an answer from you, knowing you physically couldn’t utter a word. You choke on your sob as you start crying. All you could do was cry.

As she stood there her scent was right in front of you, all you wanted was to grab her into a hug bury your head into her, and never let her go.

For Ningning it almost felt like an instinct to reach out and cup your face, wipe your tears away, and tell you everything was fine when it wasn’t fine, but she would do anything to stop you from crying in front of her. It ate her from inside as she saw your hand reach up to your face, covering your tears away.

The ring.

It should’ve been her who you were married to, not some guy Kai that she knew very well was from a very well-off family.

“I never meant it to get this bad,” you say between sobs as you fall to your knees in the middle of the bridge.

Ningning instantly went down with you as she held your head.

“What do you mean y/n, for god's sake speak to me at least once. Tell me you don’t actually love me so I can let you go”

That was your biggest fear as you looked up at her and clutched onto her wrist “No! No, that's not true!” You yell, desperate for her as she looks at you. Her eyes slowly welled up with tears as she bit her lower lip.

“You’re making everything harder than it should be y/n…”

“I had to Ningning, I couldn’t pick…-” you say as the lump in your throat chokes you from saying anything else.

“What you couldn’t pick”

“My own future…”

Ningnings heart hurt. She didn’t know what you meant at all but one thing was clear to her - everything was against your own wishes. That was enough for her to grab you into a long overdue hug as she held you tight against her.

You melt into her arms as you wrap your arms around her neck, clutching onto her shirt as you sobbed into her. You two stayed this way for a long time till you finally calmed down and steadily started breathing, enjoying her arms around you.

It made you feel complete.

Like you were missing a part of you, and now that it’s back, you would give anything to keep it with you.

She took you to her new place—one that, to your surprise, was just a street away from your own house so near that you almost thought she got it on purpose to stalk you. You could step into the driveway and you were able to see your own house clearly.

‘Seems like she built herself up’ you thought as you stood out in the driveway, staring at your prison perfectly on display while having a blanket wrapped around you.

The younger girl stepped out with two cups of hot chocolate. As she reached one to you.

You guys left her friends behind as she drove you to hers, even though she knew where you lived. She wanted you to be with her only.

Only then you were gonna be able to tell her everything.

You grabbed the cup and held it with you.

“If you’re wondering, yes. I did buy the house to be close to you.”

You felt it coming. You knew it was her dream to live at least close to you, if not with you.

“It’s pretty”

“Yeah, it is.” She says as she slowly turns her head to you. “Care to tell me, properly?..”

“My brother is dead.” You said as you looked back at her. “He’s gone while I suffered for five years because of him.”

‘Suffered’ made Ningnings's ears perk up and feel uneasy.

“You know my… husband, kai. He threatened me that he would leak footage of my brother accidentally killing a woman. To stop him from doing so, I married him.”

“Y/n I’m so—“

“You didn’t know, nobody does, so don’t stress yourself” You smile at her as she sends you a weak smile back at you.

You take a sip from your drink as you turn your head back, now seeing movement in front of your house. It was Kai, slamming his car door and screaming at the staff.

“I couldn’t make sense why you would marry him when I saw him act like a spoiled male brat, but now it all makes sense,” she says as she giggles at his outburst as you crack a smile.

“He’s a boy, seriously. He might be leading his daddy’s company but it will go downhill with his outbursts in around 1-2 years.”

“Then another rival company down,” Ningning says as she turns back to her house and you instantly follow her in.

“CEO Ningning?” You question with a teasing smile as you lean against the kitchen island, next to her.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” She says as she leans on the counter, playing into your game.

“Maybe… you always looked… good working,” you say as you lean towards her now.

It was like something flipped in her as she grabbed your waist and trapped you between her and the counter.

“You’re playing with me, aren’t you”

You looked at her, like a prey trapped with a predator. God, you missed her, the way she touched you, or looked at you. You couldn’t even answer her as you wrapped your arms around her smashing your lips on her, which she responded to immediately.

Her hands went down to your waist, placing herself between your legs as your hands went to her hair, thuggin' at it which caused her to whine into your mouth.

You break the kiss as you look at her with hooded eyes, telling her everything just by looking at her. In an instant you switched positions as now, you were trapping her.

“Let me make up for all the times we missed..” you mumble against her lips as you lay wet kisses from her jaw down to her neck.

The girl was sensitive and you were kissing all of her right spots so all she could do was whine and clutch onto the counter behind her.

Ningning was very impatient with you because it seemed like you were taking an awfully long time with her, so what could a girl do?

She positioned herself on your thigh before so now all she could do was grind against it, searching for some friction, but to no avail. You held her hips down, not letting her chase her desired feeling.

“Getting slightly impatient now are we?” You tease her as she looks at you with her.

At that, you both froze at an incoming doorbell, from the entrance of the driveway, which was guarded with a getaway. It causes both of you to groan as she looks at the security camera installed:

It was your husband, looking as if he's composed and calm but you can read him like an open book: a hint of anger in his left eye, a slight dent in his cheek on his right, which means he is biting on that side, clenched jaw and car in the background messily parked by him. He was mad, for whatever reason.

But how did he know you were even here? And what was he even doing here, in front of Ningning's house?

What confused you even more was, why was Ningning seemingly all okay with it?!. It was like she was expecting him so she opened the gate for him as he walked up the driveway, taken aback by seeing you from the ceiling-tall window.

“Mr. Kai,” she says as she greets him offering her hand to shake, but there is no point in it, he is staring dead at you, not even glancing at Ningning waiting for a handshake. She takes her hand back and chuckles seeing the staring battle between the two. You were staring at him, without any emotion showing, scared that he might suspect something between the two of you.

“We are childhood friends, Mr. Kai, no hard feelings”

“Oh are you guys now?” he says as he turns his head, eyes still on you, but then he looks at Ningning and sends her the psychotic smile that made your skin crawl every time you saw it. You knew he was mad and in an attempt to calm him down, you took a step towards him grabbed his upper arm, and looked at him. The touch was gentle, and that did not go unnoticed by Ningning. Now she was the one clenching her jaw as she looked away.

“Kai don’t cause a scene, she's my friend, we were catching up,” you whisper as he looks down at you. He glares at you but looks up masking it perfectly.

“And here I was, wondering where my wife went,” he says and giggles which Ningning can only manage to send him a fake smile.

‘My wife’ coming from his mouth made Ningning livid. She should be the one saying it. She should be the one you wake up next to but here she was, in front of him.

“We have to go back,” you say as you turn to Ningning “ We are having lunch, right?” you say to him as he nods and grabs your wrist.

“We will talk another time, Ning Yi Zhuo” It was probably your first time hearing her actual name from someone other than her or her parents. But the question was… why would Kai and Ningning even speak about and how did they know each other?

It didn’t take two weeks for you to figure out why would they speak - they’re basically rivals in their job.

Both your husband and Ningning were law firm CEOs and the rivalry between the companies was pretty much known to mankind. So here they were, standing, a drink between their finger at a dinner party, hosted by someone you did not care slightly about.

But what you DID care about, was that the invited person had a chance to bring a plus one. You, as Kai’s wife, were his plus one. But who was Ningning’s plus one? She would never go alone to these kinds of parties, so you hawked around the big room full of people, trying to spot someone you had no idea about.

Till your eyes landed on a familiar one from the day on the bridge with Ningning. The girl had pink hair - very unusual for this kind of dinner, so she stuck out like a sore thumb. You trailed her movements before she approached Ningning, making you clench your jaw.

The way she leaned in, whispered into her ear, backed away, looked at ningning, everything, made your blood boil, why the hell were they so close? But then again, you shouldn’t be the jealous one, you were the reason for the breakup, after all.

You looked away, not wanting to anger yourself with the scenery unfolding right in front of you, that you had no control of. It made you feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

And to top it all, Kai walked over. ‘Great’ you thought, as you mentally got ready to brush off his arm around your shoulder, a move you mastered he loved. But before you could do that, he leaned down to your ear, whispering:

‘Ning yi zhuo is approaching, act like a loving wife, for once, goddamit’

All this caught you off guard, and you looked straight ahead, seeing he wasn’t lying. Ningning was slowly making her way over you two, arms hooked with a pink-haired stranger, as you decided to use this moment.

Be lovely-dovey with your ‘perfect husband’.

So you put your arm up to your shoulder, Kai expecting you to brush him off, even after he asked but instead, you held his hand, as you looked up to him with a reassuring smile, that completely caught him off guard and softened up with his touch around you.

As that happened right in front of Ningning, she wanted to break a glass on his head that he was holding. But what confused her more was, why were you smiling back at him? Didn’t you hate him? Did you just lie to her?

She approaches you two as she reaches out her hand to shake Kai as she looks at him, trying to maintain her composure, that you saw right thru of. ‘It was working as you turned your head towards the couple in front of you two. You send them a small smile as a greeting and watch the two of them shake hands.

“Mr. Kai, so nice to see you,” she says with a smile, you noticed how the left side of her cheek slightly shivered which was obvious she was not having any of the things that were unfolding in front of her.

“Same goes for you, Yizhuo,” he says as he smiles, which you knew was genuine, probably due to you letting him hold your hand. He shifts his gaze onto the pink-haired girl. “Who is this girl? First time seeing someone with hair like… that. Here” he paused, wanting to point out it was not normal to have hair color as bright to a place as honorable and noble as this dinner.

“This is Aeri, my friend,” She says, annoyance visible in her tone. “I think we should go somewhere private, No?” she suggests as you notice the change of posture and stiffness of your husband around you.

Was he always like this?

You didn’t know, you never let him close enough to feel his emotions thru touch.

He slid off hand from your shoulder as he grabbed both of them and turned you towards him, gently as he layed kiss on your forehead, whispering ‘don’t go too far’ as you nodded and smiled up to him.

What were you even doing?

You watched to walk away, as you let out a breath you did not know were holding in as you turned to the aeri girl, sending her a smile as you excuse yourself but you stop when you hear someone call out your name.

You turned realizing it’s Aeri.

“y/n!”

“Yes?” you say as you smile at her, to be polite.

“Be careful.”

“What?”

“I said, be careful”

“Okay? Thank you?” you say confused as you turn on your heel and walk away, replying her words over and over. You walked mindlessly as you arrived to womens restroom and by the corner you hear muffled sounds, what seemed like two persons talking, but they sounded angry at one another. You didn’t wanna be involved but it was right near the bathroom so you walked over, clearly hearing the conversation.

The low whisper-yelling made it obvious to you, who was one of them.

Ningning.

But who was she arguing with???

“Yizhuo stay out of my fucking business!” another whisper yell, but louder.

Kai.

What the hell is going on?

“Your little precious ‘wife’ needs to know the asshole and murder you are, kai.”

Murderer.

It rang in your head, the same feeling of air slowly being taken from you came back, just like when you heard about your brothers passing, but before you process all of that you hear him bite back.

“And you need to stop messing with her head. You only came back to get revenge on me, leave her alone, we both know you don’t care about her, Yizhuo!”

Things just kept getting worse.

She only came back for… revenge? That’s what you only were to her?? A plaything for her to get revenge on your, alleged murderer husband??

What was going on, you had no idea but need to get away was huge so you ran.

You ran out, crying, causing everyone to look at your running figure, confused and taken aback.

You ran till you own legs couldn’t support you.

You fell on the street sidewalk, staring at your own hands, hands that held his in your own.

hands that touched Ningning.

‘She was just using me’ is all you could think and repeat over and over.

Till your own mind shuts off on you.

finished.

god, this has been in my drafts for a while, heh..

#aespa #ningning x fem reader #ningning x reader #kpop gg #kpop wlw smau #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #wlw #kpop fluff #kpop angst #ningning angst #ningning #aespa smau #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x you #ningning x you #ning yizhuo

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immoralimmortals · 8 months ago

Note

I READ THEM TAGS OFFER EM UP MY LEIGE I NEED MARRIAGE HEADCANONS FOR THE AKATSUKI

(EDIT: this is by far my most popular post! If you like this, I have a longform akatsuki x reader fic pinned on my blog and linked here!)

You water my crops and put the stars in the sky. I'm madly in love with you. I'm bringing this post to your feet much like a cat does their favorite toy. I have caught it. Be proud of me, mother.

Even if it's less about the whole life of being married and more about the actual act of marrying, hope that's ok!

Akatsuki Marriage Headcanons, for real this time:

Pain:

I am a huge proponent of the popular fanon opinion that if this man takes you so seriously as to express a label for it (love, spouse, etc.), he is at the brink of worshiping your feet. Don't get me wrong, in terms of the arrangement of proposal and marriage ceremony, the leader is still in charge; however, he is dictating with every detail painstakingly about you. If there is decor, it is your favorite color. If you expressed you like a certain gemstone, he tracks it down for proposal and gets the finest cut upon your finger. You don't want an actual wedding? No problem, you're just going to come home to several thousand lit candles and a profession of commitment as deep from his heart as a corpse is in the grave.

The idea is that it is necessary for this bond to be formalized, at least for his own sake. Pain would refer to it as something you need to hear. If he is nothing else, he is serious about whatever he experiences emotionally; that goes for both his immense suffering and his most delicate of joys. He declares you his, neigh: commands...but only after you assure him yes.

If a traditional proposal is done, it must be in private. He dares not be too exposed. It's already so much that he has become vulnerable to you.

It is a hard privilege to earn. And so, the Akatsuki leader pays you back in kind. As long as you both shall live, you are his deity. You will never want, not as long as he is allowed to bask in you.

Pain kisses you firmly, one hand on your wrist and one on your back. You are to feel both his presence and his commitment.

A wedding song for you: Take me to Church by Hozier (yes I am a sucker for this song, yes yes and yes) or Ship in a Bottle by fin

Konan:

All at once, her heart aches in the best and worst ways, as it is such a curse of the Akatsuki to have had their loves taken too soon. Up till this point, she has been passive, letting you lead the relationship, but now- despite how much she yearns for the same- the angel stands her ground.

"Why?" you ask her in retaliation. She's thin-lipped as she refuses the real answer. It takes a couple tries over a few, staggered moments in private for the truth to tumble out:

She does not want another person she loves to die because of her. It's irrational; your death is not predetermined by the commitment. And yet it remains. She is scared, and the closer you get the more she stings.

But you have to press closer. You have to assure, promise, fight your way back into her heart as it tries to close you out in self protection. You succeed, thanks to one of the reasons you adore Konan: her capacity to hope, no matter the circumstance. Reminder her of that, and she can only be yours.

The wedding is small, the two of you and whomever you deem precious enough to witness. (I imagine probably not even a full handful). It is twilight and the color of the world is shaded blue. Blue as her hair, blue as she feels whenever you're away, blue in the same way the purest of whites are to the human eye. You are pristine. The paper that folds the bouquets that drape around you are spotless and glow in the moonlight in such a way they're almost lanterns. Their starkly pale and crisply folded nature surround as if it is her prayer that everything that is good may stay that way.

Konan kisses you in such a way that no part of you but your lips touch one another. It is chaste, it is soft, it is a seal.

A wedding song for you: Saturn by Sleeping at Last (I cry every single time I hear this in full. I sincerely think there are few songs that have so viscerally touched me like this one has.) or Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Obito:

You cannot get his single-mindedness off of Rin. There is no way around it, and anything meant as distraction will not only fail but backfire on you. Therefore, if you are this deep into a partnership, you are there not in spite of her but thanks to her. You will be compared and contrasted to no end; this is not cruel, it is merely how he shapes his worldview in regards to goodness and love. You are his second chance. You are his solitude.

You don't get opportunity to propose. He will tell you first.

It is every definition of a ceremony, almost ritualistic, almost like they're crowning a king/queen. The ceilings are tall and decorated with the visage of ancestors and gods. Incense is lit and the setting sun sets the room on fire with orange and red. You are presented to him, ornate in the way he demands. A masked face cannot hide the lust and satisfaction in his voice. His hand reaches out, and you take it. For perhaps the first time, the mask is tilted to hide from their audience while still showing his scarred face to you.

His kiss is hard. Not sloppy, but hard. His hand is on the back of your head, and he going to press you into him until your soul enters his body.

A wedding song for you: Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake or Sick of Losing Soulmates by dodie

Bad relationship songs because I can't control myself: Anybody Else by Dom Fera (THE song of all time for me, I love it) or Sex with a Ghost by Teddy Hyde

Zetsu:

Marriage? That's a fascinating concept. He's never had the desire for this kind of relationship before, but as you talk more and more of it, the more he grasps. In the end, it is a concept that matters to you, and he can appreciate the sentiment of it.

The weirdest part, honestly, is that you reserved such a thing for him.

Though he follows along (you must guide the entire arrangement), he quietly, curiously doubts the whole time. But your guiding hand is so soft as you take him and lead, so nice onto his skin as you select two rings and slide one on each color of hand. You make no mistake: it is both you are marrying. It is both you are committing to. That recognition is his first step into a hesitant acceptance of your eternal love.

When the time comes, you walk him to the first place you met, beside a large tree in a clearing with no human settlement in sight. None of the "don't see the bride/groom" tradition, it has no room here. Any amount of people you want are there, regardless of if it is everyone or no one. (He would prefer no one, but this is all for you, after all). As you're about to kiss him, he makes one request. It is the only thing Zetsu has asked for in all of this time:

Let him taste you.

How can you tell him no?

So his bi-colored lips part, taking your bottom lip into his first, and then rounded teeth gently drag the flesh into his mouth. Pressure is applied and you taste your blood, though fleetingly as he drinks it in. In all the time you've known him, this is the closest Zetsu has ever been to you. In this symbolic action, you have finally gained his full and complete trust.

Zetsu's kiss is metallic but it is not cold. It is pensive, meditative, doing his best to understand that which you crave, and so he does his best to crave you. He cups your face in both of his ringed hands so he need not focus on anything but your taste.

A wedding song for you: & by Tally Hall or Yes to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood

Hidan:

At first he's going to make fun of you. He's going to tell you that this is the dumbest idea he's ever heard. And when you go quiet and don't bring it up again, he is going to pin you down and demand to be told why you changed your mind.

This man wants you so much, he can't fathom it. What is marriage if you must slaughter your neighbor? Well...a lover is a step above neighbor, isn't it?

Thank Jashin he doesn't need to kill you to get married.

If you do a traditional wedding, he will drag his feet but he will do it. It's to your detriment alone, really, how obnoxious he'd be. If you pin a flower to his lapel, he'll rip it off. He'll spit to the side in disgust at any mushy gushy talk done in front of others in this bastardization of another religion's ritual. This isn't a real ceremony. Let him show you what a wedding really is:

It's going to end up with your blood on his body and his blood on yours. He makes you straddle his lap, in the middle of the symbol of his lord that he's drawn upon the floor. The same sigil is dangled from a chain, his necklace held between you, from your view right between his intense violet eyes. The metal is cold as it plays a barrier between your lips and his.

Hidan's kiss is reverent. If this Jashinist is marrying you, he fucking means it. Do more than tolerate the cut a knife makes into your palm; pray to it.

...And then he will pray to you.

A wedding song for you: I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin or Misanthrapologist by Will Wood

Bad relationship song I can't help but add: This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Kakuzu:

Despite popular belief, this is not a man who fusses over money the way Scrooge does over every last coin. By the contrary, it is that he is a man that does not have much to give. This is in every sense, it turns out. Kakuzu is a man that has had all hope in humanity and for himself beat the hell out of him, so it's a shock to him if you hint at a desire for marriage. A mistake, that's what you're trying to make, here. At first he'll rebuff with few words but still sure, but it'll hitch onto him like a tick. A traditional man at heart, you know best to let him propose himself.

And so he does. It is the only time you've ever seen him doubt himself, but of course you tell him yes. As you throw your arms around him, that's when reality hits in the best of ways.

He does not wait, not if you don't oppose him. He takes you to a temple, middle of nowhere with no one either of you or your nations will know. For an old man, it's such a romantic, young man's task to arrange to elope. The priest marries you, as you sit side by side at the break of dawn upon his stoop. He wears his mask, still wears long robes to cover his stitches, but his silky brown hair drifts so beautifully with the wind; he will say this compliment is one he had of you and yours, when he looks back upon today. You are his world, intertwined in an immortal and mortal life.

Kakuzu does not kiss you at the wedding. That comes later, when no one else is there. He pulls down his mask and takes your mouth upon his, tangled until one of you can't breathe anymore.

A wedding song for you: Vanilla Curls by Teddy Hyde or Budapest by George Ezra

Deidara:

A flirt he may be, but a guy of commitment? Hell no. At first he's really flattered, chuckling and letting a large smirk trail up one side of his face. It falls when he realizes you're being serious. "Wait, really?" You nod, and his always-intense stare seems a bit closer to concerned.

"My dear...you're getting carried away, aren't you?" he offers like a second chance to not embarrass yourself.

Everything, as it always has for Deidara, has happened so fast it hits him before he recognizes what it is. Love is included, even and up until the point he's in this deep. Honestly? It terrifies him. He'll laugh and walk away, but it'll fucking haunt him.

A couple days of flying on a bird, all by his lonesome, and he returns with a bit of a different view. Life is short, beauty is fleeting: the opportunity is here and damned if he don't take it. He offers your hand- both in marriage and for a ride- and you soar into the sky.

There's no such thing as a traditional wedding, no need for it when the most beautiful things in the world are you and his art. Explosions and fireworks alike light up the night sky and he leans over to whisper his dedication upon your lips.

Deidara's kiss is, of course, bombastic. It's intense and with tongue and repeats, over and over, never lasting too long as he can't keep his love-drunk words to himself for longer than two seconds. Streamers and confetti flutter around your heads, grander than any parade for any newly wed prince or princess.

A wedding song for you: The Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience or Fear and Delight by The Correspondents

Sasori:

Only someone who knows him as well as you will pick up the subtlest shifts of the scorpion's expression, the way brown eyes barely widen. You bring it up, nearly like a dream you had, nearly like you're talking to yourself in your sleep, but he hears it. Sasori continues with his work, the monotony of woodwork allowing him to chew on the idea. A marriage isn't necessary, of course...but he also will lie to himself about how downright alluring the symbolism of a wedding is.

If the most beautiful things are eternal, why not your love?

If you've gotten him so far that Sasori will consider whatever form of affection he can manage in his barely organic heart, then he will make every second of your life never-ending bliss.

He decorates you, almost like one of his dolls, in the finest patterns of fabric and sleekest of jewelry. He pains over every inch of skin on top of muscle and bone, the way the ring slips on your finger and the way your wrist bends to do it. The ritual is an art piece, and you gaze upon him so marvelously... Your lips part with such slight but sure poise...

The venue is silent and you both are alone. Not even a bird caws, no insect chirps. Pure, clear as glass silence. You are the only two beings in all of existence. You will ascend time itself. A single candle is lit as you sit in the deepest depths of this cave, where no one may interrupt.

Where no one can hear him confess to you.

Sasori's kiss is soft, far too soft. He holds both of your hands so delicately, like they're on a string. Lines of chakra help you move into him in a way that is just right, just utterly perfect.

A wedding song for you: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert or Dark of the Matinee by Franz Ferdinand

Kisame:

Shockingly enough, this guy is going to be your hardest sell. Perhaps predictably, it isn't because he dislikes marriage, settling down, falling in love. Disliking and opposing are very different things.

He panics, at least just a little the first time you mention it. "I'm a shinobi, you know. You won't see me very much." Time passes on, and your desire appears again:

"I'm a rough guy. Just take a second to think about what you're asking for, alright?"

More time, and more desperation on his part with your persistence:

"I am meant to die alone," he finally tells you outright. "Don't bother with me. You could be spending your time so much better than fussing over someone who isn't going to last."

But you do, and he does last. Unfortunately, he does last. It gnaws him to the bone.

"Alright," he'll ask you, a long time since you first expressed your wants, "Are you certain?" You say yes, of course you say yes. Bittersweet, sharp teeth smile. "Very well," the swordsman concedes.

You marry traditionally, though very small. A hood drapes over him, hiding his face as the priest speaks the seal of marriage. His hand clings to yours, so very afraid of losing you. Or worse: making you lose him.

With the formalities out of the way, his own way begins. Finally alone, you both plunge into deep water, a loud splash quickly muting to flooded ears. He holds your face as your hair drifts past him in strands noses nearly touching. Kisame gets a good look at you before he changes everything forever, closing his eyes.

Kisame's kiss is a leap of faith. It tastes like lake water and seaweed and his love. He presses all of you into him like a shell holds a pearl, limbs climbing around you as you suspend in water and sink. Breathe into him, breathe deep. Every last breath in his lungs is just for you.

A wedding song for you: Against the Kitchen Floor by Will Wood or If I'm Being Honest by dodie

Itachi:

The implications of this circumstance are astounding. He loves you- yes, of course he does- but what's more is that he loves you enough to be so selfish as to gift himself to you, even knowing the fate he's reserved. It is both impressive and heartbreaking. Have hope, you ask of him. That is all you ask of him. Give it a chance. It is what he wants, isn't it?

Of course it is. But are you okay if the inevitable comes true?

You pause, and he studies your naive, innocent eyes. But you know more than perhaps Itachi has realized. You know it is okay to treasure. It is okay to enjoy. The journey matters more than the destination. Yes, it is okay, you tell him, you love to love him all the same.

Dark eyes close. Then he will give you what is desired.

Kisame is present, of course, as well as the ancestors of the Uchiha clan in spirit. You are radiant, and he tells you so. You return the compliment in soft earnest. A single hand cups your cheek as he approaches, pausing to feel and taste your breath as it drifts into his mouth.

Itachi's kiss is barely there, like he's afraid of breaking glass. If you want to kiss deeper, you'll need to go in and get it yourself. Just don't mistake delicacy for a lack of interest. This is the most of his body he has ever given in his entire life. Just give him time.

A wedding song for you: Herbal Tea by Velvet Moon or Here For You by Good Co

#akatsuki x reader #akatsuki imagine #pain x reader #konan x reader #obito x reader #zetsu x reader #hidan x reader #kakuzu x reader #deidara x reader #sasori x reader #kisame x reader #itachi x reader #it took me three hours to make this potato salad...THREE HOURS #and i loved every second of it thank you for indulging me <3 #akatsuki

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 7 months ago

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Hello,

could you write a Hannibal fanfic soulmate AU. Soulmates can only see colour after they‘ve touched their soulmate.The reader is on a FBI case and meets Dr.Lecter, a few days after being introduced, they accidetanly brush and realise they are soulmates. The reader initially „rejects“ Hannibal, because she‘s scared/ doesn‘t want a soulmate. Habnibal get‘s jealous, because he thinks there is another man in the picture, shows up to her house and then maybe nsfw (Smut) If you are comfortable

Hannibal x Reader: Everything is gray

Warnings: smut, kissing, drinking, roughish sex, p in v, oral (f receiving), female anatomy, male anatomy, fluff, cursing.

Word Count: 3,9K ( whoops 😀)

He looks oddly out of place in his suit. You can’t help but stare at him as he moves around the room. You’ve become used to Hannibal's presence but it usually meant Will Graham was nearby. That wasn’t the case anymore. Not seeing that he was currently locked up in some cell at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. You’d been shocked when you’d found out but you’d been even more shocked when Jack told you Hannibal would be helping you with your current case during Will's absence.

“So he’ll be helping me indefinitely?”

“What makes you say that?”

You give Jack a look that says 'Do you think i’m stupid?’. He lets out a sigh, his hands moving across his face. You can practically see the frustration seeping from his pores. It's one of the reasons you agreed to Hannibal's help without a fight. Jacks going through enough shit as is. He doesn't need you making his life any more hellish than it already is.

You look over to your left, eyes catching the way Hannibal bumps into Beverly and Brain. You look up at the ceiling trying to calm yourself before going over to them. Quietly you move the pictures they’d been observing to another table. They give you a confused look.

“Now you have more space. No need to be all up in each other's business.”

You can’t help but look at Hannibal as the words slip out of your mouth. They are directed to him after all. Something about the way he looks at you tells you he got the message: you’re here to help not to hinder. You move back to your original spot, eyes searching for the right door before pulling it open. You tug the tray out of its confines revealing the corpse of your current case. You don’t realize Hannibal is near you until it's too late. You bump into his body, causing his hand to rest on your back to steady you.

“Dr Lecter you really should be more careful…”

Your words die on your lips as you stare at his eyes.

His brown eyes.

You glance down at his suit instinctively, eyes widening as you realize it's not its usual mixture of gray and black but instead a mixture of reds and oranges you’d never seen before. Your mouth has gone dry. You try to breathe in but it feels like there is no air in the room. Hannibal stares at you, taking in the color of your hair and the beautiful shade that makes up your eyes. A smile threatens to appear across his face but the feeling weakens when he notices the scared look you have plastered on your face. Your head snaps to the corpse near you, noticing the purple bruises that cover its body and its unusually pale tint. Before Hannibal can stop you you’re racing out of the room.

You bust through the doors of the department attracting a lot of attention to yourself. You don’t care though. There is nothing in this world more important than the fact that you can see color. You finally reach the door that leads to the outside. Your legs ache as you run to it, arms reaching for the handle as you push it open in desperation. A broken sound makes its way out of your lips as the world fills your sight. Your eyes move from one side to the other trying to take it all in at once. You can see the green of the trees and the blue sky. Tears stream out your eyes as you allow yourself to revel in the beauty of the world. It's at that moment you realize what this means.

Hannibal is your soulmate.

Your breathing speeds up at the realization. You’d always hated the thought of having been “assigned” to someone from the moment of your birth. You thought it was ridiculous you needed to find your counterpart to be able to fully see the world as it was. And the thought that you had no say in the matter made you even angrier. For so long you’d wished to find your match but only if it meant it was someone you were interested in. Every time you met someone you enjoyed being around you tried to come in contact with them to see if you were soulmates and everytime it didn't work. And now here you were, standing in front of the FBI and trying to understand how Hannibal could possibly be your soulmate. You didn’t even know him! You had nothing alike. And yet he’d been made for you.

You shoved your hand into your pockets searching for your key. Once you’d found it you stomped over to your car noticing for the first time the awful shade of yellow it was.

“Oh fuck me. I’ve been driving around in this?”

You groaned, tugging at the door and jumping into the driver's seat. You close the door, hands going to grip at the steering wheel. Your breath came rapidly. You wanted to scream. And that's exactly what you did. You belt your heart out inside your car until your throat feels raw. Once the anger seemed to have dulled down you moved the mirror so that you could see yourself. You took in the way you looked like in color. Your hands moved over your face as you took in your beauty, a small smile making its way to your face.

Hannibal watched you from the outside of your car door. His heart flutters as he watches you take yourself in. You seem to enjoy what you’re seeing which makes him happy. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t also enjoy the sight of you. Before he can signal to you he’s outside you turn your head in his direction. The scream you let out is dulled due to your door being closed but Hannibal can still hear it well enough. You place a hand on your chest trying to recover from the fright he’d just caused you. When you open your eyes again they are full of anger. You stare at him with a rage he’d never seen before.

“Can we talk?”

“No. Now move.”

“Please we have to-”

“Hannibal, I swear if you don’t move I'll run over your foot.”

He can tell you mean it. Against his wish he takes a step back. You turn your car on, quickly shifting gears before slamming your foot down on the accelerator. Hannibal watches your car speed out of the FBI parking lot and onto the street. He stays out until your car is out of sight. Once he can no longer see the yellow dot in the distance he makes his way inside. He walks back into the morgue and is met with curious glances.

“What the hell was that about?”

Beverly's shocked tone makes him turn to look at her, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“Some kind of emergency. She didn't say what.”

“Must have been in a hell of a rush. She forgot her phone.”

Hannibal's eyes moved over to Brain, gaze falling on the mobile in the other man's hand. An idea entered Hannibal's mind. One he simply couldn’t deny.

“Oh well you could give it to me. I’ll bring it over to her.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you live in the opposite direction of her house?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Okay then. Well back to the matter at hand. Who is this guy?”

Hannibal's mind wondered as Beverly and Brain continued to speak of the corpse in the room. His pocket felt heavy due to the weight of your phone. He welcomed the feeling. It meant he’d get to talk to you after all. But not before he did some snooping of his own.

You’d stopped at the market on the way home. You left with a bottle of wine and a tub of ice cream. The second you made it home you uncorked the bottle and began drinking, not even bothering to grab a glass. It was only then that you realized your phone was missing. You tried to gather your thoughts, a task that you found difficult due to the alcohol in your system. When you finally remembered where you’d left your phone you were in no state to drive over to get it. You accepted the fact that you’d have to grab it tomorrow morning. You settled on the couch switching on a random chanell as you stuffed your face with ice cream. It was then that the doorbell rang.

Hannibal managed to guess your password on the fourth try. His finger moved over your phone, eyes moving over the various apps you had. He found your message app, opening it. He scrolled a bit until a name called his attention.

Will Graham.

You’d put a dog emoji next to his name. Hannibal couldn’t help but scoff. He opened the conversation noticing the last message was dated on the day prior to Will’s arrest. He read over your texts with Will. You two talked quite a lot. The messages were of various topics. Things of your life, things about Wills day to day. A lot of the massages happened at late hours of the night, a consequence of Will's nightmares. Whenever Will had a bad dream he’d text you to see if you were up. It seems you usually were because whenever he texted you in a few minutes you replied. Hannibal's heart ached as he continued to read your conversions with Will. You two seemed quite close. Far closer than mare coworkers. Was Will the reason you’d reacted so dramatically when you’d found out Hannibal was your soulmate? Were you in love with Will Graham?

There was only one way to find out.

You stumbled over to the front door groaning as you opened it. You leaned on the doorframe vision slightly blurry as you looked at the figure before you. Hannibal noticed the exact moment you recognized him. Your face scrunched up into a grimace as you looked at him.

“What do you want?”

Despite your intoxicated state the words came out without slurring.

“May I come in?”

You stared at him for a moment, arms crossing over your chest. You looked into his eyes once again, finding their beautiful brown shade. You nibbled at your bottom lip before letting out a sigh. You step to the side, allowing Hannibal to enter.

“Mi casa es su casa.”

Hannibal strode into your living room, his eyes falling on the movie that was playing. You made your way over to the coffee table grabbing the bottle of wine.

“You want some?”

“No thank you.”

“Great cause there’s none left.”

You broke into a laugh, stumbling across the living room into the kitchen. Hannibal went after you, taking in your drunk state. He figured now would be the best time to get an honest answer out of you.

“Have you been fucking Will Graham?”

“What? The hell makes you ask that?”

“You two text quite a lot.”

“And how would you know that….”

Your eyes widened as your brain jumped into action. Hannibal watched the emotions move over your face. You opened and closed your mouth as you struggled to think of what to say.

“So you haven’t fucked him?”

“No i haven’t fucked Will Graham! In case you’ve forgotten he’s locked up.”

You turned to grab a cup of water, the need to sober up suddenly hitting you.

“Oh wait yeah, he's locked up thanks to you!”

You spin around expecting Hannibal to be on the other side of your kitchen but he’s not. Not anymore at least. He’s standing a couple of steps away from you. You gaze up at him with frightened eyes.

“I didn't hear you move.”

“You scared?”

“Of you? Please.”

You said it in a dismissive tone but Hannibal could see the way your hand shook. He grabbed the glass from your hand and placed it on the counter. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth that radiated off him.

“Gosh you smell good.”

Hannibal froze at your words, his head moving to look in your direction. You had your hand covering your mouth, a small look of regret plastered on your features.

“Sorry I'm a bit drunk.”

“But you meant it. Didn’t you?”

Hannibal could see the battle that was currently happening in your head. You wanted to push him away just as much as you wanted to tug him closer. He felt the same way about you but he was going to let you decide the next move. You allowed your hands to rest on his chest, a small gasp leaving your lips as you felt your body hum from the contact. Hannibal felt it too, an indescribable feeling of completion washed over him. The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Hannibal reached into his pocket pulling out your phone. He handed it to you. You grabbed the phone from his hand, your eyes never leaving his. He could feel the lack of your touch on his body. It was driving him insane. But as soon as the feeling came it went. You’d put your phone on the counter and guided your hands back to his body. He watched you move your fingers over the fabric of his suit jacket. Your fingers traced over the pattern that made up his suit.

Hannibal's hand made its way to your face. He curled a piece of your hair around his finger. You glanced up at him. You’d been mad when you found out he was your soulmate but you didn’t really know why. Sure, you had very little in common but Hannibal had never done anything to make you dislike him. Well, other than getting Will locked up that is. You had been really mad at him for that but now, looking up at him as he took in your beauty, all that anger just seemed to slip away. You pushed yourself up a bit, hands gripping onto the lapel of his suit. Hannibal stood still as your face came closer to his. He could feel your breath on his lips due to the proximity. You batted your eyelashes up at him, pupils slightly wide as you tried to convince yourself this was a good idea.

Something in the way he was looking at you seemed to break the last bit of hesitation you still had in you. Your lips met his, eyes closing at the feeling of his soft skin beneath yours. Hannibal's hand moved to grip the base of your head, deepening the kiss. You opened your lips to him, allowing his tongue to slip into your waiting mouth. Hannibal groaned into your mouth, his free hand moving to grip at your waist. He felt your teeth clash against his as the two of you fought for dominance. He knew you were a strong willed person but he wasn’t going to let you win that easily. You bit into his lip trying to regain control. Hannibal winced, the sudden metallic taste filling his mouth. You gasped as you realized what you'd just done.

“Hannibal i’m so sorry i din-”

Before you could finish your sentence Hannibal let out a growl, his hand moving to lift you up onto the counter. You let out a yelp as you felt the cold marble beneath your barely covered ass. You looked up at him, eyes widening as you took in the wild look in Hannibal's eyes. He moved a step away from you, removing his suit jacket. You watched him push his sleeves up before beginning to sink to his knees. Hannibal looked up at you, his hand resting on your thighs. He could tell by the shocked look you were giving him that you weren't expecting to see him on his knees for you.

“Open your legs from me dear.”

Without even thinking you did as he asked. Hannibal grinned as he caught sight of the wet patch on your shorts. He let out a small “tsk”, his hand moving to rub against your clothed cunt. You gasped at the feeling, eyes closing. The doctor smiled at the sight, his hand moving to wrap around the waistband of your shorts.

“Lift your hips.”

Once again you follow his instructions, allowing him to tug off your shorts and underwear. You watched him carefully fold your clothes before placing them beside him. You pant as Hannibal inches himself closer to your bare cunt. His warm hands move over your thighs, stroking them gently for a moment. He can tell from your body that you're desperate from him but he won't give you what you want.

Not until you ask him, that is.

Something in your mind seemed to understand what was happening. The hand that was griping at the marble counter moved to cup Hannibal's cheek. He looks up at you, observing your chest move up and down quickly as you try to maintain composure. You call out his name, tongue jutting out to wet your lips before speaking again.

“Hannibal, please give me what I want.”

“Oh now you want me huh?”

It wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't fair but he wanted to hear you say it. No. He needed to hear you say it. Needed verbal confirmation that you had accepted you were his. Then, and only then, would he give himself up to you. You let out an annoyed sigh, closing your eyes and shaking your head before looking back down at him. Your brows furrowed dramatically as you moved your body forward, allowing Hannibal to get a glimpse of your breasts. You didn’t miss the way he licked his lips at the sight, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Please Hannibal. I want you.”

“Say it again.”

“I. Want. You.”

You barely had enough time to grab onto the marble beneath you, before Hannibal was dragging to the edge of the counter. You gasped as his tongue made contact with your folds. You threw your head back, hands moving to latch onto Hannibal's hair. He had his eyes closed, completely focused on the task at hand. You were a mess above him. Your mouth was open wide, pants and moans slipping from your lips like a symphony composed only for Hannibal's ears. Your hips bucked up onto his face,causing his nose to rub up against your clit.

“Ah Hannnibal i-fuck-like that.”

He almost couldn’t breath due to how desperately he was eating you out but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Your hands moved to grasp onto his shoulders as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over you. Your body tensed as you gushed all over his face. Hannibal continued to lap at your cunt even as your body sagged backwards, head moving to rest on the wall behind you. Once he was fully satisfied he removed his face from your pussy, his hands moving to the floor as he lifted himself off the ground. You watched him grab the handkerchief from his suit pocket before using it to wipe off your cum from his chin. It was one of the fucking hottest things you’d ever seen.

You wanted to kiss him but your body felt like mush. You put your hand out to him in a silent request for him to come to you. He did as you asked, his large frame moving to you in a calm manner. You groaned as you pushed your body off the wall, arms moving to wrap around his neck. Hannibal looked into your blissed out face, waiting for your next move. You pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was a lot less desperate then the first kiss you’d given him but he could still feel the need in it. He pulled away resting his head on your forehead. Hannibal listened to you breathing for a moment before pulling away so that he could look at your eyes.

“Can you stand?”

“Wow, overconfident much?”

He hadn't meant it that way. Sure he knew he was skilled and you had just covered his face with your juices but he didn’t mean to brag. It was a genuine question. You hopped off the counter, your hands moving to rest against his chest once more. He was getting used to being this close to you.

“See? I still have control over my legs.”

“Not for long.”

You gave him a quizzical look but before you could retort he’d flipped you around. You let out a grunt as he pushed your body on the counter, his hips slotting against your ass. You could feel the hard outline of his dick against your pussy. The thought alone made you clench around nothing. You heard him tug his zipper open before leaning his body over yours. You whined as you felt his dick against your pussy, head moving to the side so you could look at him. He placed a kiss on your cheek.

“This might hurt a bit.”

“Nothing I can't han-ah-shit!”

His size shocked you. You’d never stopped to think about that factor until now and it was safe to say you were truly surprised. Hannibal bottomed out with a groan. His hands moved against your ass caressing it for a moment before giving it a harsh slap. You let out a yelp, your cunt clenching around his dick. A laugh made its way out of Hannibal's lips.

“You like it rough?”

“Fuck you.”

“You already are.”

Without so much of a warning Hannibal pulled all the way out before ramming back into you. Your mouth slacked open as he pistoned into you. Your nipples rubbed against the cold counter, the feeling only making you more aroused. Your orgasm started to creep into you again. It was alarming how fast he had managed to get you to cream around his cock. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop. Oh no. Hannibal would continue to fuck into you until his name was the only thing you could remember.

Still even he had his weaknesses.

So even though he wanted to keep you wrapped around him for days on end after a while his own orgasm started to wash over him. Your body was already sagged over the counter, the conteless of orgasms he’s pulled out of you making you weak. You were beginning to become over-stimulated but you wanted Hannibal to cum. You moved your head so you could see him. He was laser focused on the spot where your body connected to his, brows furrowed as he watched his dick move in and out of you. You called out his name with a broken moan. His head snapped up, eyes finding your tear stained face.

“Please give it to me. I can’t- uhm- take it anymore.”

The look on your face was enough to get him going. You felt his seed fill your cunt as he moaned. His hips continued to buck against you as you milked him. You felt him lean forward, his chest coming in contact with your back as he tried to steady his breathing. His lips moved over your neck placing small kisses to the skin.

“My girl.”

“All yours.”

You’d been hesitant at first but now you are sure. You were made to be Hannibals. Your body knew it and your heart did too.

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