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reidmania · 2 months ago

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in the absence of you | s.reid

summary; to find out you're pregnant and then experience a miscarriage while spencer is in prison, is a lot, trying to figure out if you should tell him when he gets home is just as much.

warnings; fem reader, hurt x comfort, mainly hurt, a lot of angst, miscarriages, pregnancy, guilt, withholding information, post prison spencer, mentions cat, probably inaccurate medical information, messy timeline, relationship struggles, imma say 18+ because there is very strong mentions of sex, and bad sex experience, emotional deattachment, grief, guilt, reader strongly believes she did something wrong, spencer blames himself for her dettachment, insecurities, trust issues, established relationships, hopeful ending, (happy ending would be inaccurate bc theres nothing happy about this fic!) feeling alone, yeah man idk this is just sad.

an; um.. so this was suppose to be fic 5 but i wanted to post it sooner, and its BEARtober so i can actaully do whatever i want.. thank you, i know i posted fic one two hours ago.. but its technically day 2 bc its 12:30am.. im so sorry in advance. 4.7k... YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME!! if this will trigger you, please don’t read.

beartober masterlist

You remember the moment clearly: the world was grey, the air heavy with the scent of rain, when you stumbled upon the truth in a small, sterile bathroom. It had been two weeks since Spencer had been taken away, wrongfully convicted and trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t fathom. You had just returned from a visit, the echoes of his voice still dancing in your mind like a haunting melody. You stood there, staring at the little stick in your hand, the two pink lines appearing like a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded you. Your heart raced, a mixture of joy and fear spiralling within you. You were pregnant. Spencer’s child was growing inside you, a tiny miracle nestled in the shadows of despair.

In that moment, you could almost picture his face—the way his eyes would light up, a smile breaking across his face as he wrapped his arms around you. You imagined the joy of sharing this news, of planning a future together even in the midst of chaos. But as the excitement bubbled within you, a chill settled in your chest. Spencer was in prison, suffering through an ordeal that felt cruel and unjust. You couldn’t bring this news of a new life into the turmoil that enveloped you both. What would it mean for him to hear such news in a place where hope felt like a distant memory? No, you decided. You would wait. You would hold this secret close until he was home, until you could see the joy reflected in his eyes, not the shadows of despair.

Days turned into weeks, and each passing moment felt like a tightrope walk, balancing on the edge of your own joy and the weight of his suffering. You became adept at hiding your secret, slipping into a routine that felt increasingly fragile. You took prenatal vitamins in the morning, their presence a constant reminder of the life blossoming within you. You attended appointments alone, tracing your fingers over the growing bump that would soon signify so much.

But with every visit to Spencer, every moment shared behind that glass, you felt the joy dimming under the weight of your choice. You didn’t want to add to his pain; his world was already dark. You watched him struggle to hold onto hope, and you couldn’t bear the thought of placing another burden on his shoulders. You knew if you told him he would be happy, and then feel horrible because you were pregnant, and he wasn’t there, he deserved to hear it when he could process it. That was something else you worried about, the timing was horrible, not unwelcomed on your behalf but unfortunate. When Spencer got out he would need time to adjust, you would need time to adjust.

When you touched your belly, you whispered promises, vowing to keep this little one safe until he was free. But it wasn’t long before the joy turned to an ache, a sense of loneliness creeping in. You would lie in bed at night, tracing your fingers over your bump, feeling the small kicks and flutters, and wishing desperately that he could be there to experience it with you. The silence felt oppressive, filled with unspoken words and unshared dreams.

Then, just two weeks before Spencer came home, everything shattered. You found yourself crumpled on the bathroom floor, the world spinning around you as the pain hit like a tidal wave. You didn’t want to believe what was happening, didn’t want to accept that the life you had held onto so tightly was slipping away. The miscarriage was both a physical and emotional unravelling, a gut-wrenching reminder of how fragile hope can be.

You spent the following days in a fog, the echo of your loss drowning out everything else. Each moment felt surreal, like you were watching life unfold from behind a glass wall. You wanted to scream, to let the world know that you had lost something precious, but the fear of burdening Spencer kept you silent. You couldn’t tell anyone, nobody knew you were pregnant beforehand. You kept the joy away from the world until it could reach Spencer, and now it was gone. In the quiet of your apartment, you felt the walls closing in. The space that had once been filled with laughter and love now felt hollow, echoing only with your grief. You avoided places that reminded you of the joy you had once felt, the memories of what could have been cutting deep into your heart. You wandered through your days in a daze, wearing a mask of normalcy for the world to see. Friends reached out, concern etched on their faces as they noticed your distance. You offered polite smiles and reassurances, your heart aching at the thought of revealing your pain. They didn’t know what you had lost, and you didn’t want to pull them into your darkness.

At night, when the silence was deafening, you would curl up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest, tears streaming down your face. You replayed the moments you had spent with Spencer, the way his laughter would fill a room, how he would hold you close and make you feel safe. You missed him fiercely, but you also felt an overwhelming loneliness, the grief a reminder of everything you had kept hidden from him. You thought about telling him, about sharing the weight of your sorrow, but the thought made your chest tighten.

Every time you looked at him when you visited, your heart twisted with guilt. He deserved to know, but you feared his reaction, the possibility of seeing that flicker of pain in his eyes. You wanted to protect him, but in doing so, you found yourself carrying this burden alone. You acted the best you could when you visited, but you knew he could tell you weren’t okay.

Two weeks have passed since Spencer’s release, but the warmth of his return hasn’t settled into your bones. Instead, it feels like a lingering chill, a shadow that stretches over your heart. How could you add to his pain when he had just returned to a world that felt foreign? He had faced horrors you could only imagine, and you didn’t want to push him deeper into the darkness. You stand in the kitchen, staring blankly at the dishes piled high in the sink, each one a reminder of how normalcy feels out of reach. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a golden hue across the room, but it does little to brighten the dark corners of your mind.

Spencer is home, yet he feels distant, a haunting echo of the man you once knew. You watch him move around the apartment, and while he wears a smile that is both familiar and foreign, his eyes reveal the weight of the trauma he carries. You want to comfort him, to wrap him in the warmth of your love, but the grief of your loss sits like a stone in your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s been so easy to slip into the role of caretaker, to push your own feelings aside for the sake of his recovery and adjustment. The truth is suffocating.a secret you’ve kept locked away, tucked into the recesses of your heart. You want to scream it, to let the world know, but the fear of burdening him with your sorrow keeps your lips sealed.

Every time you meet his gaze, you feel the weight of your silence pressing down on you. Spencer is still adjusting, still fighting to find his place in a world that has changed around him. You can see the flickers of his old self—the gentle humour, the way his laughter dances in the air—but the shadows linger. You can’t shake the feeling that by holding back your truth, you’re pulling him deeper into the void. Spencer’s presence was a comfort, but the weight of your secret loomed like a dark cloud. You started to withdraw, spending long hours lost in thought, feeling like a ghost haunting your own life. In the two weeks Spencer had been home, you had sex once, a few nights after he got home– and honestly it was probably the worst sex you’ve ever had, not because of him, he did everything perfectly, you felt good, physically, he was gentle, and focused. Three months is a long time without sex, and physically it felt good, really good.

But the physical pleasure didn’t compare to the mental disturbance. You felt like the world was crushing you, there was so much guilt and disgust flowing through your veins because it felt so wrong. You kept it together and you didn’t blame him for not noticing, you kept your eyes closed throughout the entirety of it, too scared that if you let them open the tears would fall. He was focused on being gentle. It was messy, and fast, and you were almost thankful. You waited till Spencer fell asleep before you hid yourself away in the bathroom and spent hours crying. You didn’t wake him, you refused to. He deserved rest, good rest in the comfort of your shared bed. Anytime he tried to initiate more you tried, you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of his lips for a while but you couldn’t do it when the feeling bubbles in your chest again and you felt the struggle to breathe, not from the kiss but from the pure weight of your guilt.

You hardly slept, the one way to escape your burden taken away when your dreams of what your life could’ve been turned into nightmares of what you had lost. Most nights you’d lie still in Spencer’s arms, his body warm against yours, yet it provided no comfort, only reminding you of what you were keeping from him. You felt guilty, guilty that the ultrasound photos sat in the bottom of your handbag untouched since the day you lost the baby, you couldn’t look at them, it felt like torture. You felt like it was your fault, no matter how many times the doctor told you, it wasn’t, it was a thought you couldn’t shake. You felt like you were constantly battling the idea of telling Spencer, which would only put more on his shoulders, more that he didn’t need, but he deserved to know, you knew he would want to know.

You were pulling away, He noticed, of course, but he attributed it to his own struggles.

“Hey, you okay?” Spencer asks one evening, breaking the silence that has settled like a heavy fog between you. You look up from your coffee, the steam curling into the air like the thoughts you can’t articulate.

“Yeah, just tired,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You wonder if he can see through it, if he senses the turmoil beneath the surface.

He nods, though uncertainty flashes across his face. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I know things have been rough, I- I know things are different- I’m different. I'm sorry, but I’m here..” The sincerity in his voice hits you hard. You want to believe that you can lean on him, that you can share the weight of your grief, but the thought of adding to his burden paralyses you. He’s already been through hell; how can you throw your pain into the mix?

“It’s just… adjusting to everything,” you say, your voice wavering. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all that’s happened.”

Spencer steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating into the space between you. “I know. We will be okay.. Are we okay?.”

Your heart aches at the earnestness in his gaze. You want to reach out, to let him pull you into the light, but the chasm of your grief feels insurmountable. It feels silly trying to act like everythings fine, it would be useless to lie, the colour drained from your face and the emptiness in your eyes spoke words louder than a lied ‘im fine’ ever could, so you gave in to his knowledge. You nodded, “ We’re okay– I- I just need time,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. “I’ll be okay.” You move away towards the couch, he follows, sitting next to you as you bury yourself in the sofa.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and unacknowledged pain. Spencer nods slowly, his expression one of resignation mixed with concern. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the thoughts he’s too afraid to voice. As the days pass, the emotional distance between you only grows. You drift through your routines, performing the motions of daily life—cooking meals, doing laundry, going to work, avoiding the deeper conversations that tug at your heart. You want to talk about it, want to tell him how devastated you are, but every time you think of opening your mouth, the words stick in your throat. Each time he reaches out, trying to connect, you feel a pang of guilt. He deserves to be wrapped in the comfort of your love, not burdened by your sorrow. You keep telling yourself it’s better this way, that it’s noble to protect him, but deep down, you know it’s a lie.

“Let’s watch something together,” he suggests, his tone light but laced with worry. You nod absentmindedly, your mind elsewhere. The sound of laughter from the show fills the room, but it feels hollow. You can’t shake the heaviness that clings to your heart.

“Do you remember the last movie we watched together?” Spencer asks, attempting to lighten the mood. “The one with the ridiculous plot twist?” He offers, shuffling his body to face you a little more, you continue picking at your nails, keeping your gaze on the tv, honestly hardly hearing his words

You force a chuckle, but it doesn’t reach your heart. You don’t remember, not in the slightest, maybe if you thought about anything besides the weight in your chest you would be able to, but everything was distant, you were distant. “Yeah, that was… something.”

He turns to face you, and you can see the concern in his eyes. “You’re not really here, are you?”

His words cut deep, and the truth behind them wraps around your throat like a vice. “I’m trying,” you manage, feeling the tears threaten to spill over.

“Just… talk to me,” he pleads, and there’s a desperation in his voice that makes your heart ache. “Is it too much? Baby, tell me what you’re thinking.” He shuffles closer. You tense.

And yet, the silence persists. The weight of your loss feels too heavy to share, like a storm cloud hanging over both of you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing the flicker of pain in his eyes, the guilt that would inevitably follow. You feared saying it aloud would make it too real, telling him would make it too real. He didn’t deserve that, not after the months he spent being put through unimaginable things. He was trying here, to make this as easy for you as possible, showing empathy in the time he needed it most. That plagued you with guilt you couldn’t shake because no matter how hard you tried to be present, your heart remained in pieces on the bathroom floor.

“It's not you.” It came out quiet and if your sense of self awareness didn’t feel thousands of miles away you would’ve cringed. It wasn’t him, he was trying his best and dealing with stuff and turmoil you couldn’t even begin to imagine, you expected a change in him, that wasn’t the issue. Your head dropped as your fingers moved a little rougher, now picking at the skin around your nails, a horrible habit Spencer had helped you stop when you first started dating, you subconsciously picked it up again when he went to prison.

He moved closer, if you looked up you would’ve seen his brows knitted in concern and a frown on his face as he reached out to depart your hands from one another, taking one on his own to stop your assault. “Then what is it?” He was pleading for an insight into the mess in your head, that was terrifying because you knew there was a similar mess in his own, for a completely different reason. You were both silently fighting emotions impossible to articulate. Spencer was slowly adjusting, slowly. It took time for him to even begin to talk about what had happened in his time locked up, you never pushed. He was trying to let you in, and you were trying to push him out, but you could see it in his eyes, he knew there was something, and you could push him away and try to handle this alone, but you didn’t want to be alone.

You looked up at him, tears lining your eyes. You chewed at your lip before you let out a harsh breath, “I got my period.” Your voice broke, then the tears followed as a sob left your lips. Then your hands were reaching to cover your face as the tears continued, falling as if you hadn’t been crying everyday for the last month. Waking up to your period was maybe the worst feeling you had ever experienced, the reality washing over you again, and the sight of blood filling you with a memory you didn’t think you could ever forget. It was painful, so painful.

His eyes widened when you started sobbing, each sound leaving your lips causing his heart to weigh heavier as he moved closer to wrap his arms around you. He knew you, he knew you on your period. Sure you were more emotional than normal but not this emotional. His hands threaded through your hair as you buried your face in his chest, still covered by your hands. He didn’t want to admit that this was the closest he had felt to you since his release. “Is that what's wrong, sweet girl? Are you in pain?” He asked, and you shook your head as sobs ripped from your throat followed by wet hiccups. You were sure there were probably wet stains on his shirt despite the fact your hands were in the way, your tears would not stop, you couldn’t stop them, you couldn’t carry this alone. Not anymore.

It was muffled by your hands and his t-shirt, hardly coherent through your sobs, “I was pregnant,” You felt him stiffen slightly and you knew he heard it, but once the truth was in the air, once the words left your lips, the others followed almost instantly. “I was pregnant and I lost it – I killed our baby.” It was all broken words, the ugliest side of your guilt travelling through in your words.

He was quiet. That was the worst part. You knew he wasn’t mad, actually you didn’t know that, deep down maybe, but right now you truly believed he could have any sort of reaction, even the most unlike him. Right now your brain was absent of any ability to process what you were doing. Your chest was so tight it hurt and you were genuinely struggling to breathe.

When he heard your slight hyperventilating against his chest he seemed to snap out of whatever state he was in, he pulled back to look at your face, his hands moving to cup your cheeks to pull you to look at him, the sight was heartbreaking. “Breathe, Please. Deep breaths” He guided, his voice gentle but you could see emotion in his eyes, something less gentle, not so much anger, maybe hurt, maybe confusion, maybe guilt. You couldn’t see well enough through your tears to figure it out.

You listened, the air you breathed in deeply was so cold it made your throat burn, it was just as cold when you breathed it back out, then again. “I’m sorry,” You whispered, the tears were still falling, you didn’t bother trying to stop them anymore. It was useless.

“That’s a lot–” He shook his head, “--You were pregnant?” It was the same whisper as yours, as if he was trying to make sure he properly understood what had left your lips, as if this was a reality he didn’t want to be. He was confused, of course he was.

You frowned as you looked up at him, you knew he would want to know everything, and as much as you knew he deserved that, explaining and reliving it felt like a punishment, as if you needed more of that. “Spencer” it was pleading. You were pleading with him not to dig, not to ask, selfishly so, because you knew he deserved everything, that he needed to hear it just as much as you needed to not talk about it.

He frowned, his thumb reaching to brush tears away from your cheeks, the movement useless because the tears kept falling, “I know it hurts. Can you tell me when?” he asked, he was being so gentle, it only made the guilt in your chest burn more, his kindness was cruel because you didn’t deserve it, not in your eyes.

You hiccuped as you looked down, he lifted your face a little more, encouraging you to look back at him, you did. You “Um– A month after- you uh” You trailed off, a month after his life was ruined and he was wrongfully convicted, he knew what you meant, you could see it in the way his eyebrows furrowed further. He was quiet, the silence thick with so many questions and needed explanations, he needed to know what happened, he needed to be walked through it because he wasn’t there. You knew the guilt was probably eating at him for that, you partly wished you hadn’t mentioned it, that you had been more sensible before blurting it out.

“How far along were you?” He asked, another question tumbling out so gently. He was trying to be careful, despite his hundreds of questions. There was no backing out now, he deserved to know everything just as much as you deserved to be able to tell him everything.

You hiccuped as you answered, “Eight and a half weeks.”

His eyes closed as a harsh breath left his lips, his hands dropped from your face to drag along his own. You weren’t sure what he was feeling, you weren’t sure what you were feeling. He did the maths in his head to figure out when you miscarried, he didn’t want to make you answer it. His hands dropped from his face to his lap as he looked back at you, then you saw tears in his eyes, ones that mirrored your own. “Did you find out what happened?” He asked, voice strained.

You dropped your head and looked down at your hands, “Genetic abnormalities” you whispered. Saying more seemed impossible as your throat felt like it was closing.

You remembered the appointment after like a scene on repeat. There were so many tears, so many ‘it's not your fault, there's nothing you could’ve done' and even more ‘Do you want me to call somebody?’ from the doctor, the question would only make your tears harsher, because there was nobody to call.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked with emotion as he searched your eyes. He wasn’t angry, he was hurt, processing, overwhelmed, anything but angry with you. He wanted to know, he wanted to know everything, especially something like this.

Your head dropped further as you whispered and ‘im sorry’ which made him shake his head, and remind you that he asked you why you didn’t tell him, he wanted to know what was going on in your head, he wanted to know, he wanted you to let him in, to let him grieve this loss with you. He wanted to know what it was that made you feel like this was something you had to carry alone.

“You’ve been through – You’re going through so much” You mumbled out, every word seemed harder to get out, but there was no out of this conversation, no running or hiding from the truth, from him. “I didn’t– I didn’t want you to have to deal with this as well.”

His frown deepened, and you swore your heart broke in half when a sound so sad left his lips, as if what you said physically wounded him. “You-” He let out a harsh breath, “That's not fair.” He whispered, and you knew he was right. You withheld information he deserved to know, that could affect him just as much as it did you, and he understood your intentions, and your fears but that didn’t make it any easier to process. He wasn’t mad, he was hurt, maybe a little bit mad, but not so much with you, with everything else. “You don’t– Angel, you can’t choose that for me. This– this is just as much on me to deal with as it is for you. I want to deal with this with you.”

“I know.” You were silent after that, because the only words you could think of was ‘I’m sorry’ and you knew he didn’t want that. You knew he didn’t want you to be sorry, he wanted you to trust him to let him in, to not treat him like he was fragile. He wanted you to have faith in him, to be able to rely on him, he wanted to be there. He hated that he hadn’t been there. He was right, it wasn’t your job to dictate what he could and couldn’t handle, and while maybe with the right intentions, you were taking away such an important part of your relationship from him, you were hiding something so important to you, and you knew it was just as important to him.

Maybe I’m sorry was all you could think of, because that's all you were. So sorry. Sorry that you hid it from him, sorry that you let him down, sorry that you lost the baby. You were so filled with guilt and grief it was consuming you. No matter how many times you were told it wasn’t your fault, the wonder of what if took up too much space in your mind, what if you just did one thing differently, it was useless, because it was out of your control, that felt worse. That there was nothing you could have done to change it. Spencer was just as silent as you were. The weight of what happened caused a crack neither of you wanted there, you didn’t know how to fix it, you didn’t know how to let him into the mind you didn’t even want to be in.

“I love you” He muttered.

The sob followed. You didn’t realise how much he was holding back emotion till this moment. Till he leant forward to wrap his arms around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck, seeking your comfort just as much as you seeked his. You shuffled closer and wrapped your arms around his, easing into his touch. “It's not your fault.” He spoke through his sobs, His hand trailed up to cup the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer, at his words your mind swirled, hearing it from him made you think about it, it didn’t shake the guilt, but it softened it, your sob followed his.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, crying in the comfort of one another, at some point you had moved so you were on his lap, his arms around you like he needed it to breathe. Telling him didn’t ease the grief you were carrying, you didn’t think anything would, but you were feeling it with him, and you weren’t alone in it. There were many more conversations to be had about it, probably hundreds of more apologies between the two of you, probably a lot more crying and days just like this, tangled in shared sadness and maybe that wouldn’t fix what you were feeling, ore take away the grief and maybe it would be just like this for a while.

But you trusted him, and you trusted that you would be okay, that your relationship would be okay.

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wandasaura · 1 month ago

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IMGONNAGETYOUBACK

summary — after you push wanda to her limits at the pumpkin patch, she returns the favor once you get home

warning(s) — dom/sub dynamics, slight mean!wanda, punishment, spanking, pussy spanking, thigh spanking, flogger, spreader bar, condescending tone, light degradation, slight dumbification, praise kink, aftercare, men/minors dni

kinktober

The position she had you in was nothing short of compromising, definitely beyond humiliating, but it had been more than earned after your attitude carried on throughout the nice day of fall activities she had planned for you both, you could see that now, even if you whined behind your hands that concealed your flush cheeks from her dominating stare. There was no reason for your constant complaining and grumbling, bratty remarks and sarcastic quips slowly twinging her smile into something forced and sad, even as she dragged you through a pumpkin patch filled with perfectly round pumpkins for picking and whimsically shaped gourds with amusing bumps and ridges. You hadn’t had a reason, merely not being in a good mood when she’d dragged you out of bed before your social battery was ready. That wasn’t an excuse for your behavior, you’d told her that in your apology on the car ride from the pumpkin patch to the apple tree farm, but still you needed to be punished, reminded of your place beneath her; she’d already made her mind up on that.

Your back was flush against the plush gingham print comforter, its sweet vibe reflective of the equally devine aesthetic of fall with its burnt orange stripes and murky cream patches, your legs held taught by the spreader bar suspended from the headboard, keeping you exposed to her view with your legs above your belly and your cunt unhidden despite any efforts made to gain back some modesty. The cool air blew against your center wickedly, provoking goosebumps to rise along your skin as you anticipated the next blow to come from what could either be her hand or the flogger she held tightly. Her previous hits had been interchanging, a pattern only identifiable by the movements of her body reaching and grabbing, letting go and holding on. She was in no mood to warn you about which type of sting would come from her swats, nor did she feel pity enough to keep her strikes the same harshness. Some were soft, pleasant, welcoming, others were crippling spanks of blinding pain that left a powerful, slightly unpleasant sting behind that you would feel for days. Tears pricked your eyes as her palm clashed against the globe of your ass again, right in the spot that the last three had fallen. You wiggled vehemently, desperate to get away, to lighten the sensation of pain that was becoming more agonizing than pleasurable, but the spreader bar and rope bound you in place, and her hand only further emphasized your vulnerability when it fell upon your thigh with an equally cruel spank, pushing your legs closer to your chest, only opening you more for her eyes to drink in.

“You were so bratty, my love, so testy, and now you’re trying to run away from my hand. Haven’t I told you, never bite off more than you can chew.” Her tone is inflated with that sickly cold condescending tone that dampens your cunt even against your best attempts to remain unaffected, and a lewd whine slips off of your lips, mingling with the tear tracks that have slowly begun to dampen your palms that still cover your mouth and cheeks. She allows you this much control, this slightest ounce of modesty, but its not without her ministrations practically tripling on your ass. “How pathetic you look, reduced to nothing but a sobbing pet on my bed. Tell me, darling. Will you try that attitude with me again?”

“No!” You sob, unprepared for the next strike that comes, but it falls onto the center of your ass just after you’ve answered, and it leaves you writhing, thrashing for security that isn’t prohibited, not until she’s done with you anyways. “No! I promise! I promise!”

“Hm.” She coos, and you can feel her jostling the bed as she reaches for the flogger discarded near your hips. It’s a strike that feels like a peace offering, the instrument not nearly as severe as the pain her hand is capable of bringing upon you. “I don’t know if I believe you, darling. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you remember what happens to little girls who want to catch an attitude after this.”

Your blood runs cold as you feel the flogger trail across your most definitely scarlet red ass, it kisses your skin with its leather delicacy, cooling the patches that feel so painfully warm from where her palm had struck the most, but then it trails upward, higher and higher, past the dip of your ass, up to your thigh and you know you’re in for it now. A weak plea falls off of your lips, strained and muffled by your hands, but Wanda has made her mind up already, and your desperate attempt to earn yourself pity falls flat. The first lick of the flogger clashing against your sensitive skin is pleasurable, and a breathy moan fills the air at the same time as another lands in the same spot. That isn’t pleasurable, not anymore. You whine, subjected to the harshness of her assault with no escape, but Wanda doesn’t seem to care that you’re writhing and wriggling about, whining and whimpering so daintily sweet that it nearly contradicts the cruelness of her actions as she rotates between her palm and the flogger deliciously so. You’ve stopped counting how many strikes stain your skin with tingling, stinking pain, but when you think its over, when the blows lighten, she only starts again, high and lower, in the middle, on the side, assuring that every inch of your skin is red and bruised for days to come, wanting to assure you remember your place beneath her each time you sit or brush against something.

A sharp cry falls off your lips when the flogger trails lower once more, the official marker of where her next destination will be. When it falls between your legs, catching on your clit that's pulsating and erect despite the pain that warps your senses, you’re hysterical, a babbling mess of pleas and whines. The once pleasurable sensation has ebbed away, and yet Wanda’s cruelness remains intact. You’re not sure how much longer you can take before it becomes too much, before you’re trying out your safe word and begging for forgiveness and comfort. She’s pushing you to your limit, the same as you pushed her.

“Shh.” She concedes, her tone soft and light as it floats through the room and lands upon your ears, somehow feeling a million miles away despite her close proximity to your body that's ablaze with sensations beyond simplistic definitions. “Almost sweetheart, almost. I know you want to cum, do you think you can cum from me spanking this cute little cunt. Mmm, you’re all spread out for me, all drippy and soft. You’ve been tempting me, teasing me with this little clit that jumps anytime I hit you. It’s only fair I get to play with you how I want, isn’t it, sweet girl? You’ll let me play with you? Spank this pretty cunt raw?” There’s a subtle undertone to her taunting, a gentle easiness in her words. She’s asking if you can take more, promising that she won’t overdo it, bringing you back down to that pit of pleasure despite the stinging pain that still shoots through you.

Unable to form the words on the tip of your tongue, you simply nod your consent, your hands finally falling away from your face as they grab onto the comforter beneath your back, sodden with sweat and arousal that has dripped down your body from your weeping entrance that remains empty and untouched.

“My hand or the flogger, sweet girl. You can pick this time. No surprises.” She cooes gently, her fingers delicately spreading your folds, massaging the skin that hasn’t been striked yet. Tauntingly, she dabs her finger against your entrance only to pull away when you moan in sought after pleasure to instead marvel at the ropes of arousal that cling to her digit red from the impact of her palm clashing with your ass.

“Hand.” It’s a weakly mumbled decision, but one that Wanda hears and accepts with a pleased hum. The position she has you in is beyond perfect, your entrance and clit unhidden and so spankable. It doesn’t dawn on you that this had been the plan all along, but it had been. Wanda had wanted to reduce you to nothing but a desperate submissive, wanted to remind you of your place, and selfishly she’d been waiting for the right time to truly spank your cunt, more than just the few soft teasing taps she gives whenever you ask her to go down on you.

The first hit is soft, but the second is hard, and the third is harder. She’s not trying to break you anymore, but there’s still an ounce of punishment in her movements, although you can’t help but gasp and writhe in pleasure each time she strikes your clit so perfectly with her palm. You’re not counting how many times she’s strikes you, but before you know it, your back is arching off the bed and you’re pleading with her for permission to let go, to cum from her spanking your cunt with her hand, as dirty as it sounds.

“You want to cum, darling? Go ahead, cum for me. Make a mess on my hand, it’s okay. You’re forgiven. Just let go, let go. Shhh, there you go, so good for me. Such a good girl.” She coaxes you through the powerful orgasm that laps at your being with immense intensity, not easing up on the spanks she delivers to your sensitive, abused skin. When you calm down, desperately tapping at the bed for her to stop, she’s undoing the cuffs around your ankles, placing the spreader bar aside and collecting you into her arms. You cry weakly, nuzzling your face into her neck as you mumble apologies and soft, indistinguishable things that equally break her heart and heal it. “All is forgiven. You took your punishment so well. Such a good girl. My good girl. Let me get you cleaned up, huh? Put some lotion on you, get you in some comfortable clothes, and then well just lay here and cuddle, okay?”

“Hold me. Please, just hold me for a little bit.” You plead, your voice scratchy and hoarse.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll hold you for however long you need.”

#[ kinktober ] — ⟡#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fic #minors dni ৎ୭

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astralis-ortus · 6 days ago

Text

when it's less-than-ideal

✱ boyfriend!bc x gn!reader

— you can't judge a relationship only based on its good days.

w.count → 0.9k genre → comfort, a dash of comedy at the end warning → chan referred to as chris, babe, my love; reader referred to as baby and babe; kind of sad but it ends well♡ a.n → basically i'm projecting what kind of relationship-slash-communication style i want in a relationship, so... yeah. think i'll be on my own for quite a while, lol. anyways! i also have an announcement here about requests, commissions, and fanart shop, do check it out♡ ⋆ see masterlist

chris has been acting weird lately, and you don't know why.

you're usually not one to mind—given the way his schedules these days barely even spare the time for him to rest, you understand that your boyfriend is bound to be less like his usual self. you've sat down with chris to talk about it early in your relationship—the expectations, the ideal and less-than-ideal situations, the how-tos, and 4 years in, everything has all worked out just fine.

lately, however,

chris has been acting really strange.

"babe, i'm home," chris' voice softly echoed through the apartment, followed by the rustling of what you could assume is the layer of jacket and hoodie you got him to wear to battle the dropping temperatures of november seoul. "where are you?"

"kitchen!" you chirped, swiftly rinsing off the pots and pans you've been battling against for the past 10 minutes, "i'm still washing the dishes. are you hungry? i made some curry for dinner, it's in the—babe? are you okay?"

the cheeriness in your voice immediately turned into worry when you felt chris' arms around your waist, holding you tight as he allows himself to melt onto you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

after all the years of being at the receiving end of chris' special mix of physical affection, you've naturally learned to differentiate the meaning in your boyfriend's touches—is he just being affectionate? or is he trying to tease you? is he jealous of the interaction you had? or did he sense something and is trying to keep you safe? you have always been able to read chris just from the way his skin grazes upon yours, and so far you've barely ever been wrong,

but god, you sincerely hope you're hitting far from the mark this time.

"hey," you softly called out upon the absence of chris' response, quickly disregarding the dishes to rinse your soapy hands before turning to face chris' tired features, "is everything alright, my love?"

instead of an answer, chris simply leaned onto your touch as soon as your hands came to cradle his cheeks—ones freezing from the cold weather he just escaped moments ago, and only then, you realized just how long it has been since you've properly seen your boyfriend.

how come you haven't noticed the dark, looming shadow in his eyes? or the way his skin had lost its usual glow and instead grew dry with the season? how come you didn't see the way the corner of his lips had grown heavier, or the way his curls you oh-so adored had adopted its long forgotten frizz?

how come it took you so long to properly see chris?

"i'm sorry, baby," running the pads of your thumbs across chris' cheeks, you forced yourself to swallow the lump of guilt lodged in your throat, "i just realized i've been too inattentive to you, and i'm sorry. have you been wanting to talk it out with me?"

and only then, you saw the faint glimmer you fell in love with, peeking between the grey clouds in chris' eyes.

"yeah," despite the hoarseness in his voice, you could hear the warmth returning in the words chris uttered as he nodded, "but i just… i didn't know how to bring it up since i knew you've been dealing with your own stuff as well."

chris quietly exhaled, soft breath grazing your lips when he leaned his forehead onto yours and let his eyes fluttered close, allowing his walls of self-protection to finally crumble as he speaks, "i'm sorry, baby. it was never my intention to let this fester for this long or to make you feel bad in any way. i just didn't know how. i promise."

you know you're not perfect, and neither is chris—but you also know chris has always made it his life mission to make sure you're the happiest you've ever been when you're with him. one honest mistake will never erase the efforts and sacrifice chris has ever made for you, and you'll never let that happen.

"i know, baby," you hummed, lightly dragging the tips of your nails against his scalp when your fingers found the dark locks of his hair, "i don't blame you. i shouldn't have assumed about your condition and let it slip too. i won't let it happen again, i promise."

and you can feel the way chris' shoulder relax at the words you utter,

because just like him, he knows you'll do everything in your power to keep every single one of your promises.

"thank you, baby," chris pulled you into his embrace, completely engulfing you in his warmth while he pressed his lips on your forehead. "i promise i'll try to be better at this too, and thank you for being patient with me. i love you."

it didn't matter how many times have you heard chris whisper those three words in your ears, or how many times have he held you like you're everything that ever mattered to him,

chris will always make your soul feel the most alive it has ever been.

"i love you too, baby," you finally allowed yourself to smile as your arms found their way around your boyfriend's waist, holding him close as you listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat—

"…babe?"

"…yeah," chris sheepishly nodded while rubbing his stomach, "i haven't had lunch too, actually…"

a protest involuntarily slip past your lips along with the forming lines of frown between your eyebrows, perfectly portraying your disapproval of chris' course of action.

"go sit down, i'll fix your plate for you," shaking your head, you turned towards the pot of warm curry on the stovetop in faux disappointment before you continued,

"and we'll talk about whatever's been stressing my christopher out, okay?"

oh, you can definitely confirm,

the sound of chris' soft chuckle will never fail to bring a smile to your face.

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

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dollfacefantasy · 8 months ago

Text

Kiss It Better

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: on a day planned to be just for just you and leon, he gets called into work. it dredges up some old memories, and upon returning home, he wants to make it better by taking extra care of his baby bunny.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, cockwarming, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, hurt/comfort, reader copes with her past at the shelter

word count: 6.1k

a/n: yay leon and his baby bunny finally return. i hope this lives up to the first part lol which can be found here. i have another part planned as well if people are interested. as always reblogs and comments mean the world <3

“I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny.”

A statement Leon had said off-hand in the heat of the moment. Something he’d told you as a comfort, a way of warming you up for your first intimate moments together. He hadn’t put much thought into it before it rolled out of his mouth.

But damn, if only he’d known how true it would prove to be.

The words were ringing through his head right now as you dragged him through the mall on another Saturday he dedicated entirely to spending time with you. He’d already bought you a fair amount of stuff from cute frilly socks to pretty pink panties to some tiny t-shirts he knew he’d regret as soon as you used one to get your way. And now you were heading towards a shop tucked away in the farthest corner of the shopping center. His only hope was that the location meant it was the end of the line, the last stop on your trip.

From what he could see, it sold stuffed animals amongst other items that could clutter up his house. Luckily, the small plush toys seemed to be the only things drawing your attention. Your eyes scanned the rows before fixating on a specific one that sat on the bottom shelf. You crouched down to get and pulled it to your chest, standing up again so Leon could see your selection. His eyes soften as he notices your little cottontail twitching with excitement.

He can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at the sight. His sweet girl standing there with a small plush cow in her arms. The tufts of black and white fur jutted out the top of its head near a set of foamy horns. You looked up at him with puppy eyes, which he’d come to view as unfair since he’d chosen a bunny for a reason. But they worked on him all the same.

“Baby-” he starts, but you interject, predicting his argument.

“I don’t have a cow yet,” you plead, “It’s just one more.”

“Yeah, this one is just one more. And so is the next one, and the one after that, and the one after fifty more of these things,” he teases.

“C’mon, please,” you beg, stepping close to him to lean against his chest.

“Is this your way of telling me you want your own bed again? You’re just gonna fill the one we share with more and more of these until there’s no room and I’m pushed to the floor,” he jokes.

“No,” you deny, “Plus I put them away at night anyways.”

“Most of them,” he corrects.

“Cause I need my bear to sleep,” you say with a little pout.

He swears he almost swoons. You’re too fucking cute. He knows he’s spoiled you rotten. You’re treated better than the average hybrid to put it lightly, but he was past the point of paying that any mind. That shelter he’d picked you up from never let you have stuff like this. In his mind, he was righting their wrongs, burying those sad memories with as much cute shit as he could afford. And if other people didn’t approve, if they thought he should keep you silent and on a leash, he couldn’t care less.

Looking down at you now, playfully pleading with him for that stuffed animal, he knew he could never treat you like that. He rolls his eyes and messes with your hair, gently scratching the base of your floppy ears.

“Fine,” he says, “One more.”

You all but cheer with your excitement, bouncing up to give him a fat kiss on the cheek. He takes the stuffie from you and walks to the register to pay for it. You walk, lacing your hand with his and swinging your arms back and forth.

He looks over at you and instantly remembers why he always ends up giving in. Why he can never say no. Now that you had opened up, he couldn’t get enough of you. He’d loved you before that day a few months ago, the day when he’d caught you during your attempt at self-soothing with his pillow between your legs. But since that day, a whole new layer of you had been revealed to him. The sweet and shy bunny he’d met at the shelter touched his heart first, but the affectionate and needy girl you’d allowed him to see owned it now.

He pays for your little cow, adding another bag to the collection hanging from his arm, and leads you out of the store. You tuck yourself under his arm, clinging to his abdomen.

“Thank you, daddy,” you say quietly and press a kiss to his chest.

His heart throbs at the sound of the sweet name you’d attributed to him months ago. He has to remind himself that you’re in public before any other part of his body reacts.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says and strokes one of your ears with his free hand.

Once the pair of you reach his car, he loads your stuff in before giving you a pat on the ass as you climb in the front seat. You’re all smiles, and he couldn’t feel better. He gets in the driver’s seat and switches the car on. Your hand goes for the controls to the music right away. He always let you pick when you were with him. Each song acted as a little glimpse into you and what you liked.

As you’re selecting one you like, he feels a buzz in his pocket. He fishes his phone out as you share some of the stuff you like about the song you put on. You then start asking him where you’re going next, but the plans slowly begin to unravel as he reads the message displayed over the picture of you he had as his screensaver.

“Shit…” he mutters to himself before looking back up at you. Your ears droop in tandem with his face dropping. “Baby, I gotta drop you back at the house. I gotta take care of some stuff at work for a bit.”

He sees the disappointment in your eyes, and it kills him.

“But… I thought you took the day off,” you say. Your mood rapidly depletes. It wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be a day where he was all yours. Twenty four hours where the D.S.O. laid no claim on him.

“I did, but I’ve told you how it is sometimes. I can’t get out of it some days,” he says.

“But you already stayed late all week. What else do they even need you for?” you ask. It may be irrational, but you can’t help how your mind floods with a sense of abandonment in the moment. You knew Leon would never do that, but the years you spent in that shelter had done a good job of convincing you otherwise.

“Just some formality stuff. I’ll be as quick as I can. You know I wouldn’t choose working over being with you,” he says.

Now he’s the one pleading. Your ears are flat on your head, and your eyes are fixed on your seat below you. He knows you feel wounded now even though you’re holding it in.

“If you’re mad it’s ok,” he whispers and reaches out to stroke your jawline, “You can be upset, honey. I won’t get mad at you. I know you were excited about today.”

As much as you had opened up, he could tell you still shied away from showing too much negative emotion. He knew you’d gone through some punishments at the shelter you were still too scared to talk about.

“It’s not your fault,” you say and shrug, dejection all over your features.

He sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking space, and heading towards the house. “I know it’s not, but you can still let out some frustration. I wouldn't think you’re ungrateful if that’s what you’re worried about. You wouldn’t get in trouble,” he says, keeping his tone gentle.

You bring your feet up onto the seat and retreat into yourself a bit. With a simple shake of your head, he knows the topic has closed.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he drives down the road. It drips with the frustration that he’s letting you down. He can’t reach inside your head and pull out the negative effects of the shelter. He can’t tell the D.S.O. to fuck off and let him spend as many hours as he wants with his precious girl. All he can do is pull into the driveway and watch you get out of the car, your posture slightly slumped with the encroaching feelings of loneliness. You pull your shopping bags from the car. At least you give him a little parting kiss so he doesn’t feel completely emaciated.

He watches your sad trudge into the house before taking the car back out of the driveway and down the same road in the opposite direction.

Inside the house, the silence dominates you. You pad down the hallway to the bedroom that had once belonged solely to Leon. Dropping the bags of clothes near the door, you then hop on the bed and toss your new little cow up near your other pillows. Your eyes linger on the ceiling. You’d become familiar with the insignificant bumps and ridges above that provided a distraction on sleepless nights. Nights where you just needed to tune everything out and count them to avoid being haunted by the past.

Before Leon had taken you in, you always imagined you’d enjoy the quiet of a real home. The shelter always echoed with loud cries of sorrow, screams of anger, and whimpers of hopelessness. You’d lie on the thin mattress tucked in the corner of your area and try to dream of the days your bed would be lush with pillows and blankets, decorated how you liked and surrounded by the peace of you and whoever had chosen to love you.

And now those days have come. They’re real. You didn’t have to deal with the constant atmosphere of despair or the looming threat of punishment for acting like a human being. So why was it so easy for you to tumble into sadness like this? Why did the quiet no longer mean sanctuary but rather the absence of the person you loved most in this world? You could never work it out. It was too hard. Any time you tried you ended up spiraling into even more self loathing. Because there’s nothing to be sad about anymore. There’s no reason to feel like this. That stuff shouldn’t bother you; it’s nothing more than a collection of ugly memories at this point. Why couldn’t you be grateful for the life Leon had given you? The man gave you just about anything under the sun you could want, so why did one minor inconvenience have to throw you off this badly?

The bags by the door didn’t make you smile anymore. They only brought guilt. You didn’t deserve them. All the gifts and love he lavished upon you would never make you into what you were supposed to be.

Your thoughts consume you for longer than you notice. The sky darkens outside, tinting the room with a violet haze. You lie on the bed under your self-made cloud of gloom for hours, not noticing how much time has passed until you hear the garage door closing and footsteps getting closer. You glance at the bedroom door as it opens silently.

Of course, it’s Leon. His eyes fill with concern at the sight of you. He’d seen you down before but never so deflated. His face now resembles how he looked when he caught you humping his pillow all those months ago, but it’s also distinctly different. He still has curiosity in his gaze, not able to pin down what exactly is the reason for the present circumstances. Though the reaction this time is more worried than surprised. Your present state doesn’t shock him; instead he feels a protective instinct flare within him.

He approaches the bed and sits next to your limp form. His palm rubs up and down your arm slowly. “Hey baby,” he says softly, “You doing ok?”

You look up at him and nod. Sitting up, you scoot to him and align your side with his. Your legs extend out in the opposite direction of him as your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. “I just missed you,” you say softly, your arms encircling the circumference of his bicep.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and starts rubbing your back. “You do anything fun while I was gone?” he asks.

“Nothing special,” you respond, “Think shopping made me sleepy.”

You speak with a soft tone of voice, attempting to further the idea that this was merely a bout of tiredness. His eyebrows rise with suspicion. As cute as you look with your cheek squished against his shoulder, he pulls your body around and seats you on his lap. His fingers sweep down your jaw and guide you to look up at him.

“You sure you’re just tired? Nothing else? We weren’t out for that long. I just wanna make sure you’re alright,” he says, trying to show you with how he speaks that it’s not an accusation.

But you remain firm in your convictions and nod. “Mhm, I’m already feeling better. I just needed a little rest,” you assure him and tuck your face against his neck.

It’s not a lie. You were feeling better now that he had returned, each passing moment had little improvement for your mood. But he knew something still wasn’t right. He strokes down the silky expanse of your ears while his other hand massages the base of your tail.

“Well, I missed you too, y’know? Couldn’t stop thinking about my sweet baby bunny the whole time I was at work,” he says.

You were already melting against his chest from the physical contact, but now a smile graces your features. “Really?” you ask, looking up at him again.

“Really,” he confirms, “I felt pretty bad leaving you all alone when it was supposed to be our day.”

“Oh, you don’t have to fe-” you start before he interrupts.

“No, I told you the day was gonna be for us. So how about this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your chin, “How about instead we make it a night for us? I’ll give you a nice bath, put you in some of the new stuff I got you.”

He kisses your head again, then your temple, then your cheek.

“Maybe daddy’ll even give you a special treat before you fall asleep,” he murmurs before kissing your lips.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. You’re helpless when he treats you like this, disagreeing doesn’t even seem like an option.

“Will you get in the bath with me though?” you ask.

He grins and rises off the bed with you in his arms. “Of course. Anything for my baby bunny.”

The two of you head to the attached bathroom. He sits you on the counter while drawing the bath. Steam drifts up into the hair from the hot water pooling in the tub. He lights some candles, dims the lights, and lets you pick out the scent of bubbles you want.

You sit on the laminate countertop, lazily swinging your dangling legs as you watch him. He checks the temperature of the water multiple times and stares at the clear liquid coming from the bottle of bubble bath. Once that’s taken care of, it’s your turn. He slips your shirt over your head and your bottoms down your legs like you’re the most delicate thing on the face of the earth. Kisses land on your jaw as he pulls your panties off too and drops them in the hamper with the other articles of clothing. So meticulous about everything, at least when it came to you.

He scoops you up again and brings you to the bath, setting you down in the water before twisting the faucet off and discarding his own clothing. Then he climbs in behind you, slotting his body between yours and the cool marble.

“C’mere, baby. Nice and close to daddy,” he murmurs as he pulls you onto his thighs.

You sink into his chest. The feeling of his skin against yours is almost enough to make it all better, enough to make you forget about earlier. You nuzzle into his muscular front, making him smile. He strokes your face and takes care to avoid getting your ears wet.

Both baths and showers used to make you anxious, and he knew that. One of the details you had shared with him about your life at the shelter was having to share the space with all the other hybrids, including the bathrooms. You’d told him how much you hated it, and he could only imagine. He tried extra hard now to make both as comfortable for you as possible, pampering you like an absolute princess.

Thinking about all this, him going above and beyond for you like he always did, makes you turn more into his body. Your arms loop around him, and you place your head beside his, obscuring your downtrodden expression from his vision. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he returns the embrace and holds you closer.

“My perfect girl,” he whispers.

The words are complimentary, but right now, the second in particular stings like a blade. You nestle your face against the warmth of his throat and tighten your limbs around him, trying to drown out the bad swirling inside of you with the feeling of his flesh on yours.

He knows you’re still acting a little unusual. Maybe your heat was right around the corner and it had you feeling extra needy. Maybe you were just still a bit sad about missing out on a day with him. He wasn’t totally sure, but he just wanted to make it better. And the way you were starting to press against him, breasts flush against his chest and the warmth of your thighs pressing against either side of him had his cock starting to stiffen up.

“Sweet thing… you wanna feel a little closer, hm?” he murmurs, fingertips rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back.

You weakly nod.

“Is this close enough? Or should daddy get even closer? I think being inside would feel even better,” he whispers.

You nod again, this time with more motivation. “Please daddy,” you mumble.

“Of course. All you had to do was ask,” he says. He lazily strokes himself a few times beneath the water, getting himself a little harder before he lifts you slightly and slides in.

A soft moan drifts out of you as he lowers you again. You put your head back down on him and sit with the comfort of being full.

“There’s my baby bunny,” he coos in a low voice.

He also takes in the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. The feeling of your warm, wet embrace wrapped around him.

The two of you sit quietly for a while more, the bathroom silent except for the occasional trickle of water when one of you shifts. Flickering lights from the candles paint the walls in dim orange as the scent of the bubble bath takes over the air completely.

But to Leon’s dismay, your mood doesn’t seem to be brightening up. You don’t start squirming with the need to ride him like you normally would. You don’t get extra sappy with him and start going for more kisses or longing looks.

He reaches for the wash cloth resting on the brim of the tub and soaks it in the water. He squirts some soap onto it and gently rubs it up and down your back. He can feel your muscles losing some of their tension, but you’re still withdrawn. He continues tenderly cleaning you off while you sit with him inside you.

After a few moments more, not knowing becomes unbearable. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing, I’m-”

“You’re not just sleepy,” he interjects. His voice is still loving despite the confrontational manner of the conversation.

He gently guides you away from his body so you’re kneeling straight up in the bath. His eyes scan you over, trying to make this easier by figuring out what it is, but he can’t. He brings the wash cloth up to your chest and starts brushing it against your chest, between your breasts, and down your belly.

“I know something’s wrong, and I know you’re scared of talking about things like this. But I would honestly prefer you telling me what it is, even if it comes out harsh, to sitting here and trying to figure out what’s bothering you,” he says as he rubs your skin with the soft cloth.

“I don’t know,” you say timidly.

“I’m only asking because I care. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is. Seeing you hurting hurts me too, baby,” he responds.

“I’m not lying. I don’t know,” you say again, some defensiveness seeping into your words, “I don’t know why I feel bad. I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong. I just- I felt sad earlier, and I know I shouldn’t feel sad which makes me more sad.”

He sees the panic rising in your eyes and hears your words becoming more rushed. In an effort to keep the situation controlled, he pulls you back to his chest, hushing your worries by engulfing you with his arms. You reciprocate the motion, eager to retreat from your emotions. He takes a pause to grapple with what you had just said.

“What do you mean you shouldn’t feel sad?” he asks.

“Because… because there’s no reason to be sad,” you answer.

“If you’re sad, then there’s a reason to be sad,” he says and looks down at you with growing concern.

You shake your head. “No, there isn’t,” you whimper. You start to feel tears collecting in your eyes while your throat feels like it’s constricting. “You make everything so perfect for me, and I can’t do the same for you.”

He’s beyond confused at this point. He feels a couple tears fall against his neck, and all he can do is hold you tighter.

“Woah, woah, baby, c’mon,” he says, trying to prevent more tears, “What are you talking about? Perfect? I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

“Yeah, exactly because you are perfect. You never push me. You never ask for too much. You never do anything bad, and I still get like this,” you cry.

“... Is that a bad thing?” he asks, still lost.

“No, but I just wanna be perfect for you too. You work so hard all the time at your job, and then you come home and you have to deal with me,” you weep and cling onto him more, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he says in a hushed voice, “You’re exactly what I want. I couldn’t ask for anything more than you.”

“Yes, you could. You deserve someone who can give you what you give. You deserve someone who’s not fucked up by stupid stuff from the past,” you cry, “I’ll never be a perfect pet, and I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

His chest aches and tightens up when he hears that. He starts to pull out, figuring this wasn’t the time to be balls deep inside you, but you stay locked around him so he stays put.

“Sweetheart, you’re not… I don’t see you as…” he starts, being careful with his words.

You continue your quiet crying against him.

“You’re more than a pet to me,” he decides, soft but firm, “You don’t disappoint me ever. You can’t disappoint me because I don’t have expectations of what you should be. You’re not some dumb animal that I want to mold into a fantasy. I know you were treated like that before, but that’s not what you are to me. You’re my baby bunny. My little love.”

More tears spill out onto him. The bathwater ripples with the shaking of your body.

“You’re not fucked up,” he whispers, “That stuff you went through at the shelter, that’s a big deal. I don’t expect you to just be able to move on from that like it’s normal. You need some extra care, and I’ve known that since the first day you came home with me. It’s not a bad thing. It’s something I love about you. I’m not dealing with you when we do things like this. You’re not a burden to me.”

“Promise?” is all you can choke out right now.

“I promise, baby. Cross my heart and hope to die,” he murmurs and kisses your temple. He sighs and squeezes his arms around you before saying a little more amidst the quiet of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly how you feel. But I know how it is to get shoved into a life you didn’t ask for. To get expectations put on you that you can never meet. I don’t want you to feel like that with me. I love you, and I’m gonna love you whether you’re a perfect ‘pet’ or not. That’s not what’s important to me.”

You know he’s being genuine. You hold yourself closer and press a few faint kisses to his throat. “I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, “Just try and calm down for me, sweet girl. Take some deep breaths.”

You do as he says and work towards settling down. Your breathing slows, and the tears slowly stop. He grabs another washcloth and wets it. He guides your head up and gives you a small kiss before dabbing at your cheeks and cleaning your face of any remaining sadness. Your eyes flutter shut and relax under the loving care of his movements. He tends to your hair next, caring for it how you need.

Once your bath is done, he pulls out of you. You give him a little pout, bringing a smirk to his face.

“Patience, little one,” he teases before standing up with you in his arms.

He taps the stopper with his foot, draining the bathtub as he steps out. He sets you down so he can wrap a towel around his waist and then bundles you up in a big fluffy one. He dries you off and brings you in front of the mirror. He applies some product to your ears, something he’d gotten to keep them from drying out. You can’t help the smile on your face as his fingers gently rub down your long, fluffy ears. You can feel his love through his motions. He follows it with your hair routine, going through each step with precision and making sure to do it just how you like.

Before he takes you to the bedroom, his arms curl around your waist and he slots his head next to yours, gazing into your eyes through the reflective glass of the mirror.

“My baby bunny,” is all he says before pulling you out to the bed and laying you down on it.

He gets some of your lotion, a scent he’d become so familiar with. He rubs it all up and down your legs, taking time to lightly massage as he works. His hands glide all over your body, over your hips, up your sides, across your chest, and down your arms to your hands. Every inch of you was going to feel soft as silk if he could help it. The soft sighs of pleasure that come from you are enough to keep him thoroughly invested in the process.

When he’s finished, he plants a kiss on your lips and gets up. He heads to the door where you had dropped the shopping bags from earlier. He’s rifling through them, pulling out some new items you could wear to bed. He fishes out a cute t-shirt and some smooth panties when he hears your voice call to him.

“Wait, daddy?” you say.

“Yeah, baby?” he responds immediately, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Come back,” you request.

He looks at you curiously but stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed where you were sitting. Looking down at you lovingly, he holds your jaw and squeezes your cheeks. “What is it?”

“I don’t wanna get dressed yet… Maybe I could still have my treat… if you want to,” you initiate timidly while grabbing the hem of his towel.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh. “Yeah? You’re feeling better and need daddy again?” he asks teasingly, letting you tug the towel loose. It crumples to the floor behind his legs and unveils his cock to you.

“Always need my daddy,” you say, looking up at him.

“Don’t I know it,” he teases.

He pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you. Leaning down, he kisses and nips at your neck. His hands squeeze your hips. You nuzzle the side of his head affectionately. Out of the corner of your eye you see him swat away the plush cow that sat nearby on a pillow from when you’d thrown it earlier.

“Hey,” you say, feigning protest, “That’s mean. He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” he says with a grin.

Your body is already exposed from the bath, and he takes advantage. He kisses down along your collarbone towards the valley of your breasts. His palms cup them at the sides as his lips coast over them. He always took his time with you when he could. He’d get to rush when you were in heat and soaked just from being in the room with him.

Your fingers lace through the strands of his hair as you draw in a sharp breath. He laves at your nipples and the sensitive flesh of your breasts. His tongue caresses along the curves slowly, building your anticipation and causing your tummy to start fluttering.

His hand slides down your body, dipping between your legs to seek out your center. His fingers brush against the velvet folds and feel how they’re beginning to grow slick with your arousal. He swirls around your clit before pressing down on the sensitive nub and rubbing. Your lips part as you mewl.

“Is daddy already making you feel good, baby?” he coos.

You nod as your face starts to morph into that pouty look you get when you’re worked up. He loves every second of it and continues flicking his middle finger against the bud.

“You gonna let me show you how perfect you are, hm?” he asks.

You simply whine in response and tilt your head back against the pillows.

“That’s my girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you get like this,” he says.

He swipes his fingers up and down some more until he feels you're wet enough and ready to take him. He was certain you could take it without as much prep. Over the last couple of months, you’d you’d shown him the phrase “fucking like rabbits” was true after all, but he liked making you feel like you needed it. He like dragging his tip against your entrance, teasingly prodding the head of his cock at your hole. He savored the way you whine and squirm for it. Just like you were doing right now.

He pushes it in you, a deep groan coming from him as he sinks in all the way to the hilt. The way your eyes flutter and droop drives him crazy. His arms cage you down on the mattress as his knees sink into the plush blankets for leverage so that he can start thrusting.

“Perfect fit, that’s for sure,” he grunts, “No one else can take my cock like you can.”

You nod, whimpering and holding onto him. “Made for my daddy,” you say before gasping.

“Yeah you were. My perfect angel bunny. Sent down just for me,” he says and starts rocking his hips.

You writhe within the confines of his arms. Your breasts push up against his chest as your back arches. He fucks into you deep as he can, just how he knows you like it. Gripping your wrists, he pins them on the mattress, keeping you secure and in place so that he can piston his hips against you without interruption.

His own head tilts back, eyes shutting and lips separating the smallest bit. You gaze up at him like he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Every bit of him makes you clamp around his length.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, “This is just what you needed. Just needed daddy to breed you and get you nice and calm again.”

That word makes your fuse burn faster, and you nod vigorously. “Can’t help it daddy,” you whimper, “I’m just a bunny. Don’t know any better.”

“Oh, I know, baby. Sweet little bunny like you needs to be bred. You need daddy’s cock to function, don’t you? Nothing feels right if you haven’t been bred,” he says, picking up more speed.

“Mhm,” you squeak.

Your legs start trembling hard as he hammers into your sweet spot over and over. To stabilize you, he lets go of your wrists and places his palms on the back of your thighs. He’s pressing you so hard into the mattress it feels like you might drop through straight to the floor. You cry out for him again and again, spurring him on.

“Good girl. I gotta breed my perfect little bunny. Fuck you nice and full like you deserve,” he grunts. The bed creaks with the force of his movements.

He pants as he drills into you. His head eventually falls forward to your shoulder again, but his hips don’t stop rolling.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, you’re gonna end up with a whole litter,” he moans.

Your eyes roll back and your legs lock around his waist. “Need it, daddy. Please,” you whine and clutch at his shoulders.

“I need it too baby. Need to knock up my sweet baby bunny. Gotta get you nice and full so everyone knows you’re all mine,” he says.

You’re both almost at the peak, gripping each other as tight as possible, sucking in air like there’s a limited supply. Both of you are moments from snapping when Leon’s eyes screw shut, his mind clouded by images of you pregnant with his babies. It’s too much, and he’s snapping into you like he’ll die otherwise.

“You’re gonna be the prettiest mama to our perfect babies,” he moans against you before his body starts sputtering.

The feeling of his cum flooding into you is enough to throw you over the edge with him. You seize up, back arching off the bed like you're possessed. You babble out some words of love, but all of it gets lost. You’re so jumbled up from the high, you both can only cling to each other as you ride it out.

You’re still breathing heavy as you come down, and so is he. Puffs of his breath come out right next to your ear. He lazily kisses below the lobe as you come back to reality.

“You see how important to me you are? See how much I love you?” he murmurs as he carefully rolls over and brings you to rest on his chest with him still buried inside you.

You nod and peck his jaw as you settle against him.

“Good. I never want you thinking like that again. If you ever need a reminder of what I think of you, I want you to tell me, and I’ll give you this same reminder.”

“I will,” you agree softly as he strokes your back.

You’re both exhausted from the exertion and the long day. He’s content to just melt into the bed while tangled up with you.

“Gonna keep you plugged up for a while, baby. Gotta make sure it takes, my sweet girl,” he mumbles as his eyes start drooping.

You gaze up at him, pretty sure you have hearts in your eyes. Your doubt and sadness had been abated for now. You nuzzle him and kiss his chest before trying to get some rest yourself.

“Love you daddy. So so much,” you whisper.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 month ago

Note

Could I pretty please request a cregan fanfic, where he gets jealous/possessive over the reader? I adore the way you write him! Thank you so much for your time❤️❤️

A/N: this has been in my drafts for a while now. i did a birthday poll and cregan did not win by any means but its my birthday and its storming and im sad and i just want someone to be kind to me. i hope you like this nonnie

Flicker

One could easily say that Lord Cregan Stark was a fair person. He is just and generous with the decisions he makes for his people. But if the matter is with his bride, there is no just or generous, only selfish and greedy; he has no inclination to share.

Cregan Stark x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, irrational!cregan lol, fluff?, typos, etc.

Cregan clenches his jaw at the sight of you from across the yard. Not one, but two young lords are hot on your heels. They have not let up tailing you since they've arrived and, what's worse, is that you have been so terribly temperate with them.

The Lord Of Winterfell is beside himself in jealousy, and as the hour grows later, the cloud over him grows darker.

He could not blame those... young lords for acting a moth drawn to flame, in fact, he understood perfectly, but he can blame them for taking up your time. This was a harvest festival after all. How can Lady Stark make her rounds with two shadows weighing her down?

Just as you giggle at whatever nonsense was spoken to you, you turn and find not two faces but one broad back. Cregan grumbles, "boys."

The young lords, with their grins, nod at their liege lord, "Lord Stark."

"I'm sure my wife has enjoyed your company, but, it is nigh time for her to entertain other matters."

You come to your husband's side. He turns to you, seeing your smile's been replaced with raised brows. His own furrow.

"Come now, my lord," one of the two speak, "we were just telling our dear lady the folklo-"

"My dear lady had much else to do," Cregan interrupts, voice louder than necessary. He rolls his shoulders back, and suddenly the great sword on his back is more apparent than it was moment ago.

Though the two knew the Lord was not quick to resort to violence, still, they understood that it was time for them to depart, so they do.

Your face contorts as you watch your husband's nostrils flair after the two leave, his hot breath condensing with the cold air. He turns to you and you expect him to give you a talking to. You are frozen in shock when he merely nods and walks away.

Confusion holds your features, so you follow him. Cregan simply goes back to what he was doing, however, which was speaking to one of the farmers about the colts in his stables.

You are left confused, and honestly hurt by the strange treatment from him. After realizing he did not actually want you around him, you find something else to do. Cregan, though kept constantly preoccupied, keeps a close watch, and he is glad that no one lingers longer than they should this time around.

By the end of the day, when you are home eating supper, there is a tension between you two that only you can feel. Cregan is happily finishing his meal when you call out to him.

He averts his attention from his nearly empty bowl to you, "yes, my love?"

You press your lips together, doubting the otherwise plain way the pet name falls off his lips. You procure the gift you'd ben keeping on your lap the whole dinner, pushing it across the table to your husband.

Cregan's brows quirk at the wrapped object. He unfolds it, finding the gift to be a handful of candies. He turns back with a smile, "sweeties."

You return his smile with a softer one, "your favorite."

He pushes the sweets to the middle of the table, "dessert."

You turn to your bowl; you've only eaten half of your food, but your appetite was no longer present. Your husband takes a sweetie, then pushes it closer to you, urging you to take one. So, you do, popping it in your mouth.

"Thank you, love."

You release a breath, finally finding it in you to relax upon receiving the expression you did, "I take it you are no longer cross with me."

"Cross?" his brows knit, "whoever said such a lie?"

You raise your brows, "you ignored me the whole time after telling off Lord Caplan and Derby."

Cregan clears his throat, straightening up in his chair, "aye, I told them off, but I was not ignoring you. I told you I would be preoccupied greatly today."

You deflate "... Yes," you look around aimlessly, "you did."

Cregan's face hardens. He sighs, pushing his chair back, "come to me."

You stare at him for a moment. Part of you wishes to be difficult but you decide to slowly come over to him. Once you were within arm's reach, he scoops you into him and seals you against his chest.

You instinctively adjust atop him, arm coming around his shoulders while his own circle around your torso. He presses a few kisses on your neck before you lean into him. He rubs your sides, "forgive me if it appeared so, my heart."

You turn to him, frowning, "it did appear so, my lord."

Cregan's brows quirk. My lord? What horror. What pain. He frowns back, eager to set things straight, "how might I make it up to you?"

You ghost your fingertips down his cheek, examining his distraught expression. You lean your forehead against his, "I don't know."

Cregan tightens his hold on you, sighing out, "please. I do not wish to be your lord."

The faintest of chuckles slip past your lips, "mmm, but you are my lord, Lord Stark."

His one hand squeezes your thigh, "do not insult me so cruelly, my love."

You giggle under your breath and cup his cheeks.

Cregan relaxes slightly, but he still urges you with his eyes.

"Very well," you hum, "first, you must confess... were you jealous of the two lords?"

"Yes," he admits unabashedly quick.

You are taken off guard by it. You knit your brows and tilt your head, "w h y ?"

"Why?" he tilts his head the other way, "my person smiles at another. Need I say more?"

You raise a brow in disbelief of his explanation.

Cregan nuzzles against you neck, "I cannot help my feelings. Do not hold it so bitterly against me."

You chuckle and clutch the back of his head, leaning your cheek on him, "now... my dear—"

He perks, pulling away to look at you.

"—why ever would I do such a thing?"

Cregan grins, then peppers kisses across your jaw, "my thoughts exactly."

You push him away, gaining his full attention again, "but there is another thing you must do, silly pup."

His nostrils flare. It is not his favorite pet name, but he'd rather that than my lord. "Name it."

You trace his nose before tapping the tip, "take me to bed."

You yelp at the immediate reaction, as does the chair that crashes behind your husband when he jolts to his feet to carry you back into your quarters.

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fic #cregan stark fluff #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan #creagn fic #cregan fanfic #cregan fluff #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader

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bea-does-stuff · 5 months ago

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𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐇𝐒𝐑 𝐱 𝐘𝐍)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 696

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: 𝙎𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘿𝙧 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩𝙮, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙮𝙣'𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩 ^^

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎

Arguments with him are nothing less than common, with his genius complex and snappy attitude, you both end up initiating an argument about something neither of you truly care for, and of course, you're the one who usually ends up apologising, even when he was in the wrong

This being said, one time, there was one time, he went too far

“God! I truly wonder how you manage to exist and function with that sad excuse of a brain!” veritas snapped, you were use to him saying stuff like that, and you knew he never truly meant them, but it was getting so repetitive you had enough

You didn't even bother responding, you simply slammed the door and headed outside for a break, and as for veritas, he probably cooled himself off with a relaxing bath

It was only when he was done destressing, when he realised the horrible way he spoke to his dearest partner

Upon your arrival, he initially tried to give you space, he stayed in his library reading, as you did your own thing, but the guilt stabbing through his chest slowly became too intense for him, and he quickly rushed to where you were

“Dearest,” he mumbled, you didn't give him an answer, he didn't deserve it

He huffed at your comment and left house, which left you stunned initially, until he returning home with a bag full of your favourite foods, as well as flowers and a plush of your favourite animal

It was so clique, but he didn't know much about this topic, he was always superior, he never had a need to apologise to others, but he wanted to apologise to you, out of respect for you

You sighed and nodded “its fine, veritas” he looked away, scoffing as his cheeks bloomed a faded pink

“Good. that is good.” he whispered, you had to know dr ratio pretty well to sense the relief in his tone

“I must say, this is a very thoughtful way of apologising, 5 points” you teased, he rolled his eyes, fighting back the small smile crawling up his face

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

He is prideful, very prideful, and when he has an opinion, he leaves no room for others input or objectively wrong opinions, which makes it almost impossible for him to apologise

Arguments with him feel like speaking to a wall, on very rare occasions will he say anything, almost making it seem like this situation was…meaningless to him, like your feelings were meaningless to him

This one day made you snap, and you actually began to sob quietly while you were arguing

This made him glance back at you, a look of surprise and…dread on his face

“My angel…” he mumbled, but you rushed out before he could say another word, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts

Despite being a cold, rational and controlling serafin, he is a very paranoid individual, and his mind began to flood with possibilities of you leaving him behind to find someone better, or thoughts of you growing to hate him and seeing him as the control freak others label him as.

Because of this, he let you have your space, and spent an hour or two asking his dear sister robin for advice, she was a lot more well versed in tending to people's feelings and apologising for making someone hurt

Once robin was done lecturing his brother, sunday returned to the house, finding you buried under a layer of cushions and blankets

“Angel…i…” he took a deep breath and looked at you with those…piercing yellow eyes

“The way…that i disregarded your feelings…it..it was unacceptable and cruel” you slightly lifted the blanket on your face, staring at him, still slightly upset

“I…deeply apologise, you don't deserve such cruelty from a man who dares call himself your lover”

You sighed, a sad yet relieved smile on your face “you apologising is a strange occurrence, so i know you mean it”

He brought you to his arms, his wings fluffing up due to how happy he was to have finally worked up the courage to apologize and make you smile

Robin would indeed be proud

#fluff #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #dr ratio hsr #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday fluff #sunday x reader #hsr angst #angst #angst to fluff #comfort #hsr comfort #gn reader

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dearharriet · 9 months ago

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Sunday-Side-Up; James Potter 🍳

summary: you’re worried on the morning after a hookup with your friend, james

word count: 2.3K

warnings: pg-13 smut, sexually implicit content, fem!r, beefy/gym!james, pre-relationship, getting together, hurt/comfort(ish), fluff

note: this is technically an addition to sunday, another gym!james fic that I wrote, but u can read it as a standalone if u wish! u can find the request here

An egg simmers and pops in the buttery pan on the stove, mirroring your calamitous heart. It’s all you can look at. A rogue explosion of butter lands on the skin of your hand, but you hardly even flinch, just staring and staring at the pristine yolk in its sea of bubbling white.

Back in your room, harbored by your stuffed animals and rumpled sheets, is your good friend, James. Though you aren’t sure if you could call him as such anymore, considering the less-than-friendly activities you’d partaken in the night before.

How had you let yourself cave like that?

Outside, the sun is calmly rising, paying no mind to your frivolous human thoughts. It scores over the trees surrounding your apartment and lands sharp and warm on your cheeks. You ignore it as best you can, putting all the early energy you have into protecting the little sun you’re cooking.

Your attraction for James was never much of a secret, nor was his for you, but you always assumed there was nothing to be done about it. He’s one of your best friends and most coveted confidants, and losing him includes losing the other two of him, too. It was a silent agreement, you thought.

Until last night, of course, when he’d finally broken and asked to kiss you over a box of takeout.

“I really can’t stand to be alone with you and sit on opposite sides of the couch and pretend that that’s normal,” said James, one hand fisted over his knee. “I feel I’ve gone mad, a bit, trying to dance around this.”

You’d have liked to say you found that a little bit dramatic, but you felt the same way. Being with James was like walking on eggshells, sometimes. Even though you felt quite at home with him, there were still boundaries to maintain. You constantly had to double back, to reel yourself in before you said something too flirty or touched him longer than was necessary. It was exhausting and disappointing. You were tired of being disappointed.

So upon your permission, James had followed you to your room, and he hadn’t held back.

You can’t say you regret it, but you’re certainly worrying. There’s reasons you had boundaries in place, reasons that both you and James resisted the magnetism that pulls you together, and they’re all in the wind now.

If you lost James, lost your friendship…

Carried away with emotions, you push at your fried egg too hard, shaking the buoyant yolk out of its membrane.

“No,” you whine, gripping the offending spatula in your hand. It’s all you can do to watch the yolk seep over the crispy whites surrounding it, spilling onto the hot pan with a sizzle.

“What’s a’matter?”

Your eyes whip over to the kitchen entryway, finding James in a sick state of undress, a pair of boxers low on his hips and glasses crooked where they perch on his nose. Like he’d gotten up to find you before getting dressed, hardly remembering he’d need glasses to do so.

You tell yourself you’re projecting, returning your greedy gaze to the sad situation on the stove. James�� broad chest and muscled thighs creep into the back of your mind for safekeeping anyway.

He comes up behind you, peering easily over your shoulder to gauge what the problem is.

“I broke the yolk,” you tell him, as if it’s not obvious.

James grunts darkly, as if to agree that this is a very grave occurrence. Still, his voice is as comforting as it is gravelly when he responds.

“Well, flip that one and it can be mine. I don’t like sunny-side.”

Turning to glance up at him, you frown. “I thought you did?” You could swear you’ve seen him eat his eggs that way before.

Lips pursing in a shy almost-smile, James relents. “Well, yes, I do. But not strictly. I’ll eat whatever—‘specially if you make it.”

You turn your frown back to the pan, saying nothing. James takes the moment of silence to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest. The sleep shirt you’d thrown on feels thinner than the broken yolk membrane, letting all of James’ warmth strike you right in the heart. It’s almost too much for you to handle.

Correction, it is too much for you to handle.

Reaching down, you peel James’ hands off of your torso, wincing the whole way through. He backs off, easily taking the hint, but when you glance his way he looks befuddled.

“Um.” James averts his gaze to the floor, clearly knocked down by your rejection. “Have I misread something?”

“No, I’m sorry, I—“

You sigh, realizing this discussion needs more attention than you currently have to spare. In quick movements, you flick the stove burner off and move the pan to one that’s not hot, and then you turn your full effect on James.

Standing in front of you, undressed and muscled and reproachful, James looks embarrassed beyond measure.

“It’s nothing you did, James, I just—I’m not sure last night should’ve happened, is all.”

Picking at your lips worriedly, you await his response, but it’s nothing like you expect. You thought he’d turn sly or charming, convince you that it was worthwhile. James’ eyes blow wide and concerned instead.

“You didn’t want to?” The dread in his voice is thick, knocking you back with the sheer force of it. You almost reach out to comfort him, but think better of it.

“James, of course I did, yes. I wanted to.”

James’ broad shoulders relax from their anxious hunch, but his guarded posture still remains.

“What, then? You didn’t enjoy it?”

You huff. “No, James. Will you stop putting words into my mouth? Of course I enjoyed it, it was—“

You pause, trying to describe exactly how it was, but then shake the entire thought off, realizing you’re getting sidelined. James looks hesitantly amused at your clear flush, the short reminiscing enough to fluster you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you assert. “We can’t do it again.”

“We can’t?” James asks, but it sounds more like a challenge.

“No, we can’t. It’d be irresponsible. There’s a reason we held off on this, and you know it.”

“I know why I held off,” says James, and he’s stepping closer, to your dismay. “Why did you, sweetness?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, set off by his name calling and proximity. Bum pressing back against the counter, you suspect the only way to ward James off now is with a long, pointy stick, threateningly waved back and forth.

“Because,” you start, mouth dry, “it would ruin our friendship.”

A laugh booms forth from James’ throat, making you dizzy. You can’t help but watch his chest shake with it, his boxer elastic slipping ever-so-slightly lower, revealing more coarse hair and golden skin.

“Well,” James says, calling your attention back to his face, “I should hope so. I don’t want to be your friend, love. I thought I made that clear last night.”

You open your mouth and then shut it again. This time, you don’t redirect your thoughts as they amble back to the way James touched you last night, to the overwhelming sensation of finally having him, of being had.

James’ hands find purchase on the counter behind you, caging you between his arms, and you’re sure he knows exactly where your mind’s gone.

“Is that what you want, hm?” he asks, voice rasping with pure desire. “To be friends?”

You swallow. James’ heady scent is spilling over you in waves, which you typically have no trouble with, but you're not prepared for your smells to waft off of him, too. One night in your bed and he’s covered in you, head to toe. You can’t deny how much you enjoy the thought.

He’s so fit. It’s all you can think about with his tanned chest in front of your face, his big arms skimming yours. You know James likes the gym, but you never expected him to look like this.

Now that you’ve touched him, it’s like a dam broke inside you for good. It’s all too easy to reach for him, brushing light fingertips over his soft stomach and his v-line, the happy trail that’s bewitched you.

Finally, your hands push up, up, up his chest, over his pecs and shoulders until you’re looking into his expectant gaze. Had he said something?

“No,” you mumble, voice distracted. “No, I don’t want to be friends.” An incredulous laugh escapes you. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” James repeats, grinning like a child with candy.

You run your hands down his front again, intoxicated with the feel of him under your fingers.

“I guess I’m just a little worried about how this will change things,” you tell him, anchoring yourself to his waist. Pulling him closer.

“It doesn’t have to change anything, if we don’t want it to.”

That makes you smile a bit, his talking about the two of you like a pair, a unit. Still, it’s misguided.

“That’s a bit naive, don’t you think? I mean, something’s changed.” You make a point to emphasize the state you’re both in, the proximity.

James grins wickedly. “Well, that’s the good stuff, love. I only meant we don’t have to tell Remus or Sirius, at least until we’re ready. We don’t even have to go on dates, if you don’t want. We can just be like really, really good friends.”

This simultaneously makes you want to laugh and cry. Your expression settles on what is probably pensive, or indistinguishable.

“I’d want to go on dates…,” you mumble, suddenly feeling very bashful.

James’ whole demeanor seems to flip on its head. Before, he was feigning casualty, like he’d be down for anything. Now he’s all business, locked in on you.

“Yeah?” James asks, his voice unbearably tender. His hands abandon the counter for your hips, kneading the soft skin hidden under your sleep shirt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, breathless. “James, I want this to be more than sex.”

Brows furrowing, James levels you with a curious look.

“Is that what this is about? You think I only want to shag you?”

Embarrassed, you start to shrink away from his examining eyes, only to remember he has you cornered. You settle for the alternative and shove your face into the crook of his neck, groaning.

“Don’t tease me about this, James. Not this.”

“Not teasing, lovely, no. I only want to understand.” James' hand takes up in your hair, spinning it around his fingers and releasing it again and again. His voice is a calm wash now, quiet and raspy. “Is that what had you so worried?”

Reluctantly, you nod as best you can without braining yourself on his jaw or yanking your hair in his grip. James clicks his tongue.

“Can I have a look at you?”

His hand encourages your head back carefully, until his hazel eyes have yours pinned under them, like moths under a kitchen glass. Your face fits between his palms, hot-cheeked and sensitive, hoping he’ll say something to make you feel like less of a fool.

“D’you know why I didn’t try to do this before?” James doesn’t let you answer, bulldozing right through with a nervous sort of energy. “It’s ‘cause I knew I didn’t deserve you. I mean—what?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’re doubled over into James’ shoulder again, laughing like a prick while he’s trying to be vulnerable with you, but honestly, could you blame yourself?

“What are you talking about, ‘not deserving’ me? You’re so bizarre.” You pull back from him, rosy and amused. Despite being made fun of, James seems to be in light spirits, smiling along with you.

“What’s so bizarre about it? You’re gorgeous and funny and good for me and I don’t deserve it.” He shrugs. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I’m good for you, am I?” you repeat oddly, feeling admittedly tingly and giddy from his admission.

“Well, yeah, love. You make me happy.” James’ voice drops a decibel, dangerously sweet and whispered close to your lips. “Even when you’re laughing at me while I tear my chest apart to make you feel better.”

That only makes you laugh again, and this time James presses his smiling mouth over yours.

You soak in his kiss, coaxing his bed-warm body as close to yours as possible until you’re two sides of the same coin. James pushes his hands further up the back of your shirt, relishing in the expanse of bare skin there, and you take his bottom lip between your teeth in response.

Heaving a sound between a laugh and a moan, James takes his bitten mouth down your throat, laving over marks he’d left mere hours before.

You tilt your head, happy to give him more access, only to find your sorry abandoned egg where you’d left it.

“Oh, we forgot about breakfast,” you stress, reaching for the stove with no real purpose. James catches your hand to bring back to your scene together.

“Forget about it,” he mumbles into your skin, “I’ll cook you som’thin later. Right now I want you back in bed.”

You hum, easily agreeing, though you can’t help your other needs, even as James hikes your legs up and around his waist.

“A sunny side egg, please? With jam on toast?”

Laughing into your mouth, James walks you both out of the kitchen blindly.

“Yeah, pretty girl, whatever you want.”

He aims for another kiss, hot and barreling fast around the corner into carnal, but you pull back one more time before he can get carried away.

“And James?”

“Yeah?”

You can’t believe how handsome and strong he is, or that his strength and good looks are quickly becoming yours to enjoy. Splaying a wide hand over his cheek, you make sure he catches the full weight of your next statement, sweetly murmured into his reddened lips.

“You make me happy, too.”

James’ responding smile outshines the rising sun.

thank you for reading! xx

masterlist

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yuusishi · 2 months ago

Text

. . . exchange student drama !

synopsis : you get chosen as the exchange student from NRC to NBC ! How will these two take it…?

pairings : Malleus Draconia , Rollo Flamme (sep.) x gn!reader

genre : fluff & angst, can be read as platonic

a/n : this has literally been in my drafts since Rollo’s SSR EN release and I only finished it cuz my math class was so stupidly boring 😭 I may have gone a little overboard with Rollo’s part :3

ROLLO FLAMME !!

Upon the announcement during an orientation at Noble Bell College, his face remained stoic, but a feeling of excitement overcame him for a split second when he heard your name as one of the transferees for the exchange event.

Rollo won’t admit it, but you caught his attention during you and your unfortunate mage friends’ stay at the college. Your curiosity with the city brought him a special joy, especially coming from a non-magic user from an entirely different world.

There is a slight chance he’ll try to indoctrinate you into his beliefs of hating magic and all its users. I mean, what can you really expect from him after what happened at Fleur City?

It was hard to get along with him after that entire spectacle, even harder to avoid him since he’s the student council member assigned to watch over you during your stay. He’s prideful and judgmental, though you noticed he shows that side of him slightly less when he’s with you.

He shows his care through actions that can be justified as “just the work of the student council president” such as reminding you to eat during lunch breaks, walking you to your classes, and making sure you get to your dorm room safely. He never dares to show anything that can seem beyond simple formalities.

Rollo knows better than anyone that you’re, at the very least, displeased with his actions and would prefer he stay as the student council president when interacting with you. So he does, he doesn’t try to entertain or be overly friendly with you unless you make the first move.

Though occasionally if ever you choose to sit next to him in the courtyard during lunch, he would let his curiosity get the better of him and start asking you what your home world was like.

When it's time for you and the other exchange students to leave and return to NRC, he walks you to the mirror of the school. He's just there to bid farewell as the student council president is what he says to himself.

But he can't shake off even the smallest feeling of sadness watching you pass through the glass back to your rightful school.

MALLEUS DRACONIA !!

Oh, he was utterly miserable. If it wasn't for Lilia's intervening there would've been thunderstorms around the school for the entire week you were gone.

(that's probably a hyperbole but we never know with this man)

He, obviously, still attended to class and his duties as a housewarden like normal. He can't just neglect them because he was missing someone. There was just a strange air of melancholy that surrounded him whenever one of the diasomnia students or even any one of Lilia, Sebek, and Silver came up to him.

His nightly walks around ruins and ramshackle lasted a little longer than usual, trying to take in the scenery to tell you about any changes he observed once you've returned. You would want to hear about anything new outside your home, right?

If he's not particularly busy he goes around Sage's Island in search of any new ruins to take you to, an indirect way of saying “welcome back, I missed you”.

He's constantly debated with himself whether it would be better to leave the history of the place to discover together or to learn it in advance and tell you during your walk there.

By the third out of seventh day you were gone, he has 100% resorted to writing you love letters (that he won't be sending, he knows you're coming back anyways). He's just silly and misses you like that.

But once you're back he's beyond overjoyed. He won't be tackling you once you pass through the mirror, he still has to maintain his reputation as the prince of briar valley and diasomnia's housewarden, but he will be requesting more of your time than usual. Maybe even a little clingier if either of you spends the night at each others’ dorms, his hug just being a little bit tighter and basically latched onto you once you’re both off in bed cuddling.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #rollo flamme #rollo x reader #rollo flamm #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia

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baelarys · 4 months ago

Text

THE WOLF

Lord cregan stark X reader targaryen

word count : 2669

Warning : Fluff :)

The war had ended. Rhaenyra had perished, Aegon had died, and the dragons had ceased to exist. The letter you received from King’s Landing confirmed these events and proclaimed Aegon III as the new king.

The Stark army had already taken the capital, and ravens were sent to every lord in Westeros, urging them to bend the knee to the new monarch. Storm’s End was the first to submit. Lord Stark, who had assumed control of King’s Landing until the culprits of your brother’s poisoning were captured, ordered that you and your niece, Princess Jaehaera, betrothed to Aegon and the future queen, travel back to the capital.

The journey was long and tedious. Accompanied by Jaehaera and some daughters of Lady Baratheon, who had been sent to serve as the queen's ladies-in-waiting, you arrived in King’s Landing. Though these young women were likely hostages, their presence ensured that House Baratheon would not rebel again.

Upon arrival, the city felt both familiar and foreign. The people cheered for their new queen, hailing her as you and Jaehaera were transported in the carriage towards the castle.

The little girl clung to the sleeve of your dress as she observed the crowd. It was no wonder she was not an ordinary child; she had witnessed the death of her twin, lost her siblings, mother, and father. Though just a child, her gaze reflected a depth of sorrow acquired at a great cost.

You thought of your mother, the former Queen Alicent, now consumed by hatred and madness, according to what you had heard. Concern and sadness mingled in your heart as you prepared to face her.

Lord Corlys Velaryon greeted you at the entrance, accompanied by the young King Aegon III and Lord Cregan Stark. You could not deny Lord Stark’s imposing presence; his grand furs, despite the sweltering heat of the capital, spoke of his northern heritage.

Aegon III, at eleven years old, displayed a seriousness beyond his age. His features, inherited from his mother and father, bore the marks of ancient Valyria: dark violet eyes, almost black, and platinum-white hair. Beside him stood his cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair, the bastard of your brother, who was derisively called the "Rabbit King" by the people and his mother when they took the castle.

“My king,” you said, bowing to the young monarch.

“Princess,” greeted the Sea Snake, stepping forward. You observed Corlys, whose face, though lined with age, still radiated the authority and wisdom of yesteryears, qualities he had shown when your father was king. “Welcome back to your home.”

Corlys’s tone was firm but warm. The Red Keep, with its towering walls, seemed to whisper tales of glory and tragedy, and your return was just another chapter in that vast history.

As you moved into the castle, you hoped Lord Stark would say something, but he remained in quiet reserve throughout the journey. His presence was imposing yet unobtrusive, allowing you to acclimate to your surroundings in peace.

Everything looked as familiar as it was distant. The corridors, now enveloped in constant silence, were the same ones where you and your siblings used to play, filling them with laughter and voices now reduced to echoes of a distant past.

You were escorted to your former chambers. Before entering, you exchanged a final glance with Lord Stark. His eyes, filled with a silent understanding, seemed to offer you a tacit comfort amidst the confusion of your return.

Upon opening the door, you were met with a poignant sight: your belongings remained in the same place where you left them when you had to flee the day Rhaenyra took the city. The room seemed frozen in time, a sanctuary of unaltered memories amidst the ravages of war.

Every object, every detail, evoked a fragment of your past life. The childhood toys, the books you had eagerly read, the fabrics and adornments you had carefully chosen to make this space a reflection of yourself, were all there, waiting for you.

You hoped Aegon III’s reign would be peaceful. He and Jaehaera were to be married in two days, giving the realm something to celebrate. As you immersed yourself in your thoughts, one of your new ladies-in-waiting entered the room, announcing that you could see your mother now.

To be honest, the news did not excite you; rather, it filled you with dread. You nodded as you followed the lady to the Maegor’s Holdfast, where two guards stood watch over your mother’s chambers.

Queen Alicent appeared haggard. Her room, once adorned with greens and the Hightower sigils, had lost all traces of its former splendor. The tapestries and decorations that had once symbolized her power and status had vanished, leaving behind a coldness that reflected her current state.

Alicent turned to look at you, her eyes sunken and dim. You did not know what to do. The contrast between the mother you remembered and the figure before you was striking. The strength she had once shown seemed to have dissipated, leaving you face-to-face with a woman consumed by pain and despair.

“Mother,” you said softly, taking a step towards her.

Alicent regarded you with a mix of recognition and distrust. Her lips moved slightly, as if attempting to form words that refused to emerge. The room was in a deathly silence, broken only by the faint murmur of the guards in the hallway.

“Daughter,” she finally responded, her voice a faint whisper laden with contained emotion.

You approached her cautiously, unsure of how to comfort her in her current state. You sat beside her bed, taking her hand in yours. Alicent’s skin was cold and rough, a reflection of her suffering.

“I am here, mother,” you said firmly, trying to convey the strength she so desperately needed.

Alicent closed her eyes, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. The pain of past years was palpable, and you knew that recovery would be slow and difficult. But in that moment, your presence was a small ray of hope in her darkness.

The conversation with your mother was brief and fragmented, but each shared word was a step towards reconciliation. When you finally rose to leave, you felt a small bond had been restored between you.

As you descended the stairs, you encountered Lord Cregan Stark in the vestibule. His presence, though silent, exuded a quiet strength. His eyes, serene but vigilant, regarded you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

“Princess,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

“Lord Stark,” you responded, returning the nod.

The silence settled between you, creating a tense but not uncomfortable atmosphere. The men of the North were not known for their friendliness or talkativeness, and Lord Cregan Stark was no exception. However, his presence conveyed a seriousness and commitment that did not go unnoticed.

“Are you enjoying your stay in the capital, Lord Stark?” you asked, attempting to break the ice with a question.

“I would enjoy it more if the circumstances that brought me here were different,” Cregan replied with a cold tone, his face as serious as ever.

You nodded. “I understand, milord. The circumstances surrounding us are far from ideal.”

Cregan looked at you for a moment, his grey eyes scrutinizing yours. “Do you not wonder who was responsible for your brother’s death?” he suddenly asked.

The question took you by surprise. The truth was, you had not deeply considered it. Aegon deserved that end; he was your brother, but perhaps it was for the best.

“Anyone could have done it, and besides, what purpose would it serve to torment myself with that?” you sighed, lowering your gaze. “Aegon III would have been his heir after all.”

Cregan nodded slowly, his expression showing a hint of approval. “True, the succession was clear. But justice is important, and the guilty must be found and punished.”

“Indeed,” you responded, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “And will you be the new Hand of the King?”

Cregan shook his head. “No, my place is in the North with my people,” he replied firmly. “I will leave once I find someone to manage the realm until the king is old enough to fully assume his responsibilities.”

"Understood," you said, feeling a mix of respect and admiration for his sense of duty. "Your commitment to your people is truly admirable."

Cregan nodded, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "The North has its own needs and challenges. I can't stay here forever, but I hope things stabilize soon."

"I hope so too," you replied. "The situation isn't the easiest, but with the right cooperation, I'm sure we can move forward."

"I hope so," Cregan said. "In the meantime, I'll ensure the kingdom has the necessary direction until I can return to the North."

"That's all anyone can ask for," you said. "I appreciate your willingness to help in this transition."

The conversation, though brief, was quite gratifying. You retreated to your room to resume your old duties, those you had set aside during the war. It was a moment to take up the tasks that once were part of your daily life.

A month had passed since your return to King's Landing, and life in the capital was beginning to find a new balance. Aegon and Jaehaera's wedding had taken place without incident, and most seemed to accept this new chapter in the kingdom's history. Lord Corlys Velaryon had taken on the role of Hand of the King with an efficiency that surprised no one, while Lord Cregan Stark and his men prepared to return to the North.

However, among the new debates in the council, a matter arose that directly affected you. Marriage was a topic that, in times of peace, was treated with the same seriousness as in times of war. You were already of age to consider a suitable marriage, and several lords had shown interest in your hand.

The council actively discussed the best path forward, considering both your personal needs and political ones. Marriage, in the context of nobility, was not simply a bond between two people but a strategy that could affect the balance of power and alliances within the kingdom.

Meanwhile, you found yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, there was a desire to preserve your autonomy and make decisions based on your own desires and aspirations. On the other, the reality that a marriage could be a crucial strategic tool to consolidate alliances and strengthen the position of your House.

You had shown interest in several knights, though your attention had particularly focused on the lord of the North. The encounters in the hallways and conversations in the gardens had revealed a connection that went beyond mere courtesy. The mutual attraction between you and Lord Cregan Stark was evident, though kept with the discretion that court politics required.

When Lord Cregan made the formal proposal of marriage, no displeasure was shown on your part. On the contrary, the proposal was received with a mix of pleasure and expectation. The connection you had established with Cregan, combined with the political stability that a marriage with the lord of the North could provide, made the idea a logical and acceptable option.

The council, upon learning of the proposal, recognized that this union could strengthen relations between the North and the rest of the kingdom, creating a valuable strategic alliance in times of reconstruction.

You prepared to travel to the North, bidding farewell to King Aegon III and your mother. The journey promised to be long and challenging, but you were determined to move forward with this new stage of your life.

The North greeted you with the cold welcome characteristic of the region. The cold was intense and penetrating, a stark contrast to the warmer climate of King's Landing. Despite the harshness of the weather, Lord Cregan Stark was attentive and ensured that your stay was as comfortable as possible. His efforts to provide warmth and comfort were a tangible sign of his care and concern.

The wedding ceremony was scheduled for that night. The atmosphere in the castle was imbued with a mix of solemnity and anticipation. The ceremony would take place before an imposing weirwood tree, a symbol of the ancient tradition of the North. This majestic tree, with its wrinkled bark and evergreen leaves, would witness your vow to spend the rest of your life alongside your new husband.

The preparation for the ceremony was meticulous. You dressed in an elegant wedding gown adapted to the cold of the North, decorated with embroidery reflecting the region's tradition. Every detail was carefully considered to honor both your new family and the customs of the place.

As night fell, the castle filled with a warm and soft light, contrasting with the cold outside. Guests gathered around the weirwood tree, while bonfires created a cozy and ceremonial atmosphere.

When the moment came, you approached the tree, feeling the weight and importance of the commitment you were about to make. Lord Cregan, beside you, was equally prepared for the exchange of vows. In the presence of the men of the North and the gods they worshipped, you would pronounce your oaths, hoping that this union would bring both stability and a new beginning for both of you.

"In the Presence of old gods, I bind these two souls, joining them for eternity. Look at each other and say the words," ordered the maester of Winterfell with a solemn voice.

Lord Cregan, holding your hands with firmness and tenderness, recited the vow with a clarity that resonated in the cold night air:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

You, with a pounding heart and a voice full of emotion, followed the ritual:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

As you recited your vows, snow fell gently around you, creating a charming contrast with the warmth of the ceremony and the glow of the bonfire lights. The snowy landscape and the cozy atmosphere of the castle fused into a scene that seemed straight out of an ancient tale.

At the conclusion of the ritual, Cregan looked at you with an expression of deep emotion and devotion. Slowly, he leaned towards you, his eyes reflecting a bright intensity under the torchlight. With infinite delicacy, he placed a hand on your cheek, and his lips gently touched yours.

The kiss began with palpable tenderness, a light contact filled with promises for the future. It was a kiss full of the promise of support and unconditional love, one that extended and deepened over time. The connection between you was evident in every caress and in the way your lips moved in perfect harmony.

The cold night breeze, combined with the warm glow of the ceremony, created a magical atmosphere. The kiss, besides sealing your commitment, seemed to absorb the essence of the night itself, symbolizing the start of a new life together, full of hope and a love that promised to grow with each day.

When you finally parted, Cregan looked at you with a smile that spoke of his joy and commitment. The ceremony, although marked by the winter's cold, had been warm in spirit, and the future that awaited you seemed full of promising possibilities.

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storiesoflilies · 3 months ago

Text

as we fall, time is broken

synopsis: from the sea you came to me, and to the sea you shall return, for you cannot hate the place you once called home. w.c: 6.3k.

pairing: vampire!toji fushiguro x vampire!f!reader

warnings: major character death, angst, toxic relationship, allusion to smut, blood consumption, language barrier, pirate vibes, religious themes. sfw but MDNI!

a/n: an extra special fic for the wonderful @bungalowbear this piece is also written as a tribute to ‘the odyssey’ by @lovenona <3

divider / ao3 / playlist / @ficsforgaza

she used to have it all once, and more.

and not so long ago, she even used to dream. maybe she still did sometimes, but it certainly never meant what it used to.

perhaps that is why she came back here all the time, to the place where it all began to try and relive it all again. to turn back time, attempt to break through a metaphysical barrier and maybe – just maybe – she could see him again.

it was a cathartic, toxic, addictive cycle.

this is what pain is. this is what love is.

the rain was coming down hard on the sand, little water angels falling down from heaven to try and comfort her.

(that was a place she could never go.

this was as close as she could get.)

she tipped her neck upwards to the blackness of the night, letting them pass through her like a blessing she could not accept. it was too late for her to be worrying about that now. life had already hurt her so, and she’d already paid her dues. still, she raised her arms above her head, imagining a halo of starlight and moonlight was there.

she was doomed to be here, you see, all alone and trying to make sense of how it all began. like the start of a book she had to keep re-reading over and over again to try and understand the past. she couldn’t give up now, no. no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t, not after all this time.

something was broken, she could feel it.

sighing, she flicked open the cover.

and the memories spilled out onto the weather worn pages again, incoherent inky letters slowly swirling into something legible.

this is the last time, she swore.

(even though,

that is what she said the last time.)

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

the sea was in her lungs, filling her with salt and death.

(no, not death.

that was already upon her.)

she was washed up on a beach, that much she knew. there was the smell of fresh seaweed and something fishy, and the waves were moving backwards and forwards in their dance. she stayed put, unable to move or do anything at all. the silver sky had its eyes on her, and it seemed to pity her.

no.

calling it silver made it beautiful, and it was not. it was like ashen skin kissed with coal dust, and she pitied it instead.

she tenderly rubbed the wet sand of the shore with her fingertips, feeling its somewhat smooth grainy texture run over her skin, and tried to loose herself in a tender fascination to escape how bone weary she felt. her throat burned ferociously, and her lips were cracked and sore from the salt grains embedded in every groove. she weakly looked up, and did not recognize where she was, or how she got here.

(there was a boat. the smell of oil and rum, and screams of bubbling blood.

she did know, she just did not want to remember.)

her back was to the sky. she could feel the heat of sun bearing down upon her with a vengeance she had never known it could possess. it kept her beaten and downed, unable to do anything at all as the waves rushed over her again and again. the sea was disgusted by her, she thought. and after spitting her out, it was trying with all its might to push her far away from it – a petulant child pushing away it’s dinner.

how very sad it all was.

she just wanted to lay there and dream.

the roaring and crashing of the waves was deafening. it hurt her ears and head more than the sun did, made her deaf to everything else around her.

a squelch on the sand, and hard boot pressed into the side of her cheek.

her salt crusted eyes cracked open.

it was a man.

(no, he wasn’t.

he was just like her.)

tall and built, his hair dark like smoke. she could tell he was strong, it poured from him like wine from an overflowing goblet. it was in his hands and in his eyes of emeralds and forests. there was a green fire in them that could burn her alive if he wanted it to. he looked down at her like she was scum, an ugly barnacle leaching off the bottom of his ship, and she wanted nothing more than to shrivel up into nothingness.

his mouth moved, saccharine words spilling out from between them like honey and lavender.

she thought he sounded like an angel.

but she couldn’t understand a thing.

a green flash of annoyance, and he repeated much more slowly what sounded like a question. the weight of his boot left her cheek, and she clicked her jaw painfully. he pursed his lips, and sighed in a way that let her clearly know she was already an inconvenience to him.

she wanted to cry.

(she could never,

there was no water left in her anymore.)

her voice tried to claw its way out of her dried throat, but nothing more than a pathetic, raspy wheeze came out. he raised a thick brow at her, and something sarcastic flew out of his mouth. what little interest he had in her was quickly waning.

she was to him like sand in an hourglass.

please don’t leave me here like this.

but he had already turned around. she saw the worn leather of his tanned boots walking further away from where she laid in her mausoleum of salt. she almost choked on the shoreline in fear, sputtering as a desperate strength seized her. her fists plunged into the wet sand as she pushed herself up ungracefully, falling almost immediately back in again.

she was a lamb learning to walk, and he was the wolf who had decided she wasn’t even worth his effort.

he stopped and turned, watching her stare up at him with a naive expression and sand plastered on her face.

clearly, he would not be helping her.

and so she got up sluggishly, stumbling through the sand dunes, her legs crisscrossing with every shaky step. every time she fell roughly straight on her chin, he did not budge an inch forward, did not seem to care at all.

and yet, he was still waiting for her.

her spent body was alight with renewed vigor, and the last few steps were easy, like her new body knew exactly what it was supposed to do now. she stood in front of him now, breathing in the scent of leather and his smoke.

was it disgust or pride that was making his lips curl?

his face was marble, beautiful and utterly unreadable. this was a man that did not want anybody breaking through into his soul. she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she slipped through a little crack.

(she was good at that.

after all, that was how she ended up like this.)

he roughly gripped her chin, calloused fingertips scratching her water wrinkled skin. his green eyes became slits that peered into her, trapping her in his spell. she gasped, a wet noisy thing, as she felt herself being pulled under into his depths. he was trying to dull her senses, to keep her dumb and overwhelm her in a dancing forest of kelp to drown her.

but the side of her that was logical and predatory knew that he was testing her. to see if she could resist him or not, to surmise if she could be of some use to him and his purposes after all.

but oh, this feeling.

she teetered dangerously on a knife edge between insanity and mortality, stuck in an infinite loop that was him and his green.

there was only this, them, here and now.

his gaze slid down and settled on her bare chest. she became hyper aware of her own nakedness. something ancient, a feminine violence, stirred her unfeeling heart. she slapped away his hand and bared her fangs of pearl at him.

it was a woeful display really.

she knew it, and he certainly did too.

still, something in it had made him smile.

he offered her his hand like salvation, his palm facing the heavens.

(the first woman from long ago screamed.

you will not survive this – him.)

but she was already dead, and he already seemed to know everything there was to know about her. she had already decided that she would follow him wherever he went.

she slid her palm into his.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

his name was toji.

he’d pointed a finger at himself, slowly repeating the two syllables between his blood-stained lips until she understood what he meant.

toji.

she swiped her tongue over her teeth, licked her lips, and said it back to him tepidly, like crystal water trickling from a jug. his name was sugar dusted over her cupids bow, the most precious and sweet thing to her. she said his name like a prayer, and he seemed pleased by it.

toji was by far the most interesting creature she had ever encountered. a prince of mysteries, shrouded in royal mist and smoke.

(but he could never be king.

for there was already one, and he did not share.)

even though she had seen much and more of the world, nothing compared to him. not the great glaciers of the poles, for all their silent sorrow and imposing grandeur. not the swarming godly manta rays, nor the iridescent palaces of rainbow coral. not even the green flashes of death when the sun was just beginning to sleep or rise for the day.

and yet, toji had been there in glimpses within all the world’s greatness.

she had just been blind to him.

below the deck of toji’s ship, they lay there on the dusted-covered wooden floor in absolute silence, waiting out their penance. the sun was the vengeful michael, its rays of light a sword of justice, ready to bear down on them. if they dared to even show a sliver of skin during the day, then they would boil and blister and pop until they returned to the refuge of darkness.

toji’s ship was anchored a little way from shore, but far enough that ordinary creatures could not get to it without a boat. it had once belonged to fishermen, she knew because their smell still clung faintly to the wood; of grease and sweat and their catch. the oversized clothes toji had scrounged for her amongst the forgotten treasures on the ship still reeked of them too. the lingering sweet smell of lobster and crab shells still clung to the worn threads, even though they had been disused and covered in dust for perhaps decades.

her body could do things like that now.

it was easy to marvel at her extraordinary changes during those times of silence. how her skin was made of diamonds and moonstone, stronger than it had ever been before. no matter how hard she tried to pierce it, whether with her own nails or sharp bits of metal lying around the ship, nothing could even scratch it. but when she had attempted to use a splintered plank of wood, toji had grappled her before she could blink. the suddenness of it sent her into a hissing, flailing mess, but his overwhelming strength and stern glare in his eyes had stilled her, even frightened her.

she knew then to never try that again.

between the cracks in the boards, she could see far out into the distance. could make out where the world curled, where the sea kissed the land, and the humans that gathered mussels between the rocks. she could even tell how dirty and grimy their clothes were, how soaked they became as the waves crashed into them, and their reddening skin glistening beneath the sun.

her hearing had sharpened too, and she knew that if not for the deafening roar of the sea filling her ears like white noise, she would be able to hear things moving from miles away.

but her favorite thing?

that was to run.

for hours, she would race beneath the ship, from one end to the other, touching the stained wood with her finger tips as she pushed off each wall. toji would sometimes watch her with one eye cracked open, completely unamused. she would not stop running until her throat burned with thirst, fierce and hot. only then then would she would stop, collapsing in a heap on the bare floors, blankly staring up at the decking.

it was then that their silence was all consuming, unbearable.

she couldn’t help but think she had traded her tomb of salt for one of wood. sleep was but a memory of life now, an escape neither of them could indulge in anymore. there was nothing she could do but be consumed by thought and time. she was surprised by just how much she could feel. her veins ran with pure emotion, from the most euphoric joy, to merciless, crushing sadness in the space of a few minutes.

what was her purpose now?

immortality surely had to mean more than being a slave to blood magic.

she imagined what toji thought about. he, perhaps wisely, never moved an inch when he settled beneath the ship, arms crossed behind his thick head of hair. she wondered if he was just as painfully thirsty as she was, and was just able to perfectly hide it. what little movements he made were never careless, because toji was far too calculating for that and hated anything unnecessary.

she knew better than to antagonize him.

but the restless part of her was just so incredibly bored.

one day, she couldn’t help herself. she wanted to see just how close toji would let her get. she crept towards him on her hands and knees, knowing full well that he could hear her skin scraping against the wood.

still, he didn’t move.

she was beside him now, gazing down at his face. toji looked serene like this, perfectly still. like death, wonderful and mysterious, not at all what she thought it would be like. he was not unfeeling and cold, there was something beneath his marble stone. she knew that toji was older than her, much older. there was something beautifully ancient about him. the sort of grace that was as timeless as the giant blue whales that used to sing to her of the histories.

but toji was her home in a way the seas had never been.

she reached out into the space between them, wanting – yearning – to feel his skin beneath her fingertips.

when she finally felt the cold touch of his death, toji opened his eyes, bathing her in molten emerald. she melted under his gaze, letting out the tiniest, pathetic whimper. her palm cupped the apple of his cheek, and she worshipped his ichor and perfection. she traced the scar on his lip, memorizing it smoothness, then trailed it along his lips. she smiled widely, childishly, at how freely toji was allowing her to do this.

his green fire spread to her undead heart, and she wetted her lips, throat burning ardently, as her hand settled over his neck.

what would his blood taste like?

would it be cold and sweet? she imagined its ruby redness trickling from between her lips, and–

toji gripped her wrist, a warning blaze setting her aflame as he snarled and flashed his fangs at her.

she stilled, crippling shame filling her.

for a moment, the universe watched with bated breath as the two creatures stared each other down. she submitted to him instantly, dragging herself with haste to the other end of the ship, groping for apologetic words that toji would never understand.

eventually, he grunted dismissively. he slowly pulled himself upright, and nudged his head toward the exit. she turned and stared out through the cracks in the boards behind her.

it was finally night.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

wherever they were in the world, it was the most unremarkable of places.

the humans here were stones hardened into the mould of this desolate place, with no hope of ever leaving. they all lived and died in their sad, grease-riddled town that made its living from the fish in the sea. she knew this because toji had taken her there one day to observe them all from a distance, when the storm clouds were heavy enough to shield them from the sun. their buildings were stained with guts and old blood, and the acrid smell of their oil lamps rose high into the air. the rhythmic sound of fish scales being scraped away was the beating heart of it all.

(she would have cried for them once,

but she did not belong to their world anymore.)

there was a port too, with sullen ships and even more sullen crew sailing them. pirates came and went with the wind, their unmarked sails pitifully flapping in the breeze. they stopped to indulge in whatever bars and brothels were there, always wiping their hands clean on their weather-stained pants when they were done, before hastily escaping back into the sea. perhaps they knew they would be doomed to remain here too if they stayed even a moment longer.

how toji ended up in a place like this, she did not know.

after swimming to shore from his ship, he would leave her on the beach. everytime she attempted to follow, toji would pin her down, shoving her arms deep into the sand and baring his alabaster fangs as a warning. she would pout her lips, petulantly crossing her arms like a child, and he would mumble what she knew were the blackest of curses before stalking off in the direction of the town.

she had no say in the matter.

all she could do was wait there for him to return, and such had been their routine for decades now.

even when her thirst was painful, she would still sprint along the beach, the adoring motherly moonlight kissing her skin. she would wade into the ocean and dive beneath the blackened waves, holding her breath between puffed out cheeks. the darting squid would watch her with their bulbous, intelligent eyes. they used to speak to her once, wrap their tentacles around her throat and tell her stories of creatures from the depths even she had dared not go to.

and now?

they spat their thick ink at her in disgust.

and then she would resurface, relishing in the loneliness of the world, and she would sing again.

to the ocean, and ode to its life and all its cruel misery.

she would sing to the moon, for its silver death and all its mystery.

(and to the king with red eyes.

for it was by his hand that the cards had dealt her a prince.)

her songs for toji came from someplace deep within her. something boundless like fire, or the mist hovering over the sea on the grayest of mornings. she would sing of how he curled over her skin like a storm rolling in from the distance. how he made her emotions rise and fall like the waves, and how she wanted to breath in the dust on his marble skin and keep him inside her forever.

her body would prickle with something unfamiliar.

she wanted to call it love.

but could creatures like them even feel such a thing?

they were predators, killers. they snuffed out love like it was nothing, fed on the ardor in the blood of their prey until the bodies shriveled and there was nothing left but dust.

thud!

she ceased her melody, and turned to face who she already knew was toji returning from the hunt.

there was a man sprawled on the sand reeking of piss and terror and rum. she watched as the moonlight mixed with the bead of sweat running down his temple, dripping down to mix with the crushed shells in the sand.

she tilted her head curiously.

in all these long years, toji had never once brought her a live human.

thump! thump! thump!

her pupils dilated, inky blackness invading the milky sea of her eyes at the sound of the man’s heartbeat.

she had not killed a living thing in so long.

(the red king had sat at the helm,

smiling at the bloody carnage spilled over the oak decking of his ship.)

toji’s eyes were green lanterns in the night, his worn leather boot pressing down hard on the man’s back. she wondered if this was a test – it had to be. toji never did anything without reason, even if she never knew exactly what went on in his mind. he was too cunning for mindless havoc, because then the resulting mess would be uncontrollable, unpredictable.

and toji did not like things to be messy.

the man looked at her, and she cooed at the fear etched into his features like scratchings on a rock. she opened her arms wide like a messiah, her body half-swallowed by the sea.

and started to sing again.

toji’s eyes widened a fraction, his fists tightening into boulders. he lifted his foot from the man’s back, stepping once, then twice backward, his mouth set in a thin line.

(he has heard you sing, and now he shall never let you go.

cried the first woman from long ago.)

she knew the magic was no longer imbued within her voice, because that had been a gift for the living. but death had not made it ugly. it was still a pretty voice, made from ice instead of salt. while she may not be able to drown the mighty ships of pirates any longer, it was still enough to captivate those who would kill for something more beautiful than the dirt they were born in.

the man stumbled forward, much like when she had first emerged from the sea. she smiled fondly as the wind carried her song over the sand dunes. still, the poor human crawled and crept towards her desperately like she was his salvation. the only rone who would soothe away all his troubles, and save him from the doom and demons in the shadows.

was this how toji had felt when she came to him? it was something more than power – godlike, perhaps.

she decided that she liked this feeling.

the man collapsed ungracefully into her arms, tears and snot streaming down both his cheeks like rain, babbling nonsense she could not understand. she cradled him to her chest, hushing him soothingly with a mother’s honeyed tongue. she met toji’s gaze, hoping that he could see just how deliriously grateful she was to him for this gift.

and with that, she fell backward into the sea, the man’s last sound a choking gasp of salt.

the squid darted frantically all around her, the only witnesses to the man’s fate in the darkness of the night sea. they had seen this dance a thousand and one times before; she killed in the death the same way she had in life.

when she had had her fill, she let the man’s body sink and hoped that at least the sharks would be somewhat thankful to her.

even if she would never be able to hear it.

she emerged from the sea, her clothes clinging to her skin like scales. to her surprise, toji was there to greet her, knee deep beneath the waves. he was a haunting vision of an angels grandeur, more than all that was considered beautiful in the world. breathlessly, she smiled at him, sinful blood coating her teeth and tongue.

he took a step toward her, and she to him.

toji moved his head to the side, his marble jaw flashing in the moon, and hummed. she could tell he was pleased by the tremble of his lips that threatened to curl upward, and the flare of his nostrils as he breathed her in.

his hand reached out to her, cupping her jaw, and quickly pushed his thumb between her parted lips. she gasped against his skin as he rubbed it over her teeth and the pearly points of her fangs, and removed it from her mouth with a provocative pop!

slowly, toji brought it to his own lips.

and sucked.

she watched him, utterly transfixed as the midnight moon, as he relished the taste of iron and salt.

in that moment, she decided to give toji her soul to him if she had one. she would submit herself to the justice of michael’s sun and fire to be with him forever, even if was just for a chance to be loved by him until the end of time on this miserable land in the vast world.

“do you want me to sing again?” she asked, hoping he understood.

toji only hummed in response, the faintest hint of a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

she did it anyway.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

to love toji was to love a storm.

its chilling anticipation, waiting for it to hit her so she could feel something. to be in its green eye, for the rain to carelessly slash her skin, and the waves to bash against her – and still love and endure it regardless. because to weather a storm was to be strong, to be worthy enough, and it would love her all the more for it.

(or perhaps,

see her as a challenge to break.)

and when the storm passed, it meant they would thrive together.

toji had continued to bring her one starved man after the other, sometimes even two at a time, all far too eager to take their chances with her rather than him. they were pirates, forgettable and disposable, and all met death in the sea that they claimed to love more than anything. toji had noticed quite quickly how easily they came to her, how willingly.

there was no struggle, no mess.

and so, that was how they hunted.

together.

something in her haunting song had cracked through toji’s wall. before dawn, satiated from the hunt, they were a tangled mess of limbs and panting breaths – dancing, wandering hands of liquid gold looking for a crevice to settle in. when they made love, toji never faced her, hissing if she tried to look at him, and a small part of her soul would wither into a burnt, blackened rose. still, she desperately drank in whatever he decided to give her, and that was decidedly good enough.

(you are nothing in the grand schemings of the green serpent in the garden,

sighed the first women from long ago.)

their days were still spent mostly in silence, though sometimes he allowed her to rest beside him. she did not understand toji, how his passion only seemed to awaken after his bloodlust had been quenched – after she had led the sailors to their deaths. the very moment the sun appeared, that part of him was locked away in a chest and thrown to the bottom of the sea, only to be dragged back to the surface when the moon returned.

she began to loathe the sun for entirely different reasons.

still, love for toji was where she found herself. if anything in this mortal world could make her undead heart beat once more, it was that love. so, she took all his faults and smothered them in sugar, and swallowed them down anyway. if toji did not love her, then he wouldn’t make her feel so alive when the moon came out to play. he would not have bothered with anything at all if he did not feel something, even if it was just a flicker of candlelight.

at least, that is how she rationalized it to herself.

they were both lying below deck, with her running through those very conflicting thoughts in her head when she heard it.

thump! thud, thud… thump!

she parted her lips and tasted the air on her tongue.

intruders.

on their ship, in broad daylight.

she sat up abruptly and whirled around to look at toji.

but he had already disappeared.

he was much faster than she, and was probably already tucked away somewhere in between the dusty maze of crates and chests. the footsteps grew louder as the stranger passed directly over her head, and she swallowed nervously. her mind raced, and throat burned viciously with thirst.

where could she hide?

rattle! clink, clink!

the metal latches on the doors were being disturbed.

there was nowhere to go, but she knew that when those doors opened, the holy sun of heaven would surely kill her. she spied a large chest, half-open and draped with worn sheets covering it, and dove toward it.

and not a moment too soon.

the doors swung open, and she winced as a dull beige light filtered through the sheet. there were three of them, their figures outlined as blurry browned shadows through the seams. one wore an ostentatious hat with a feather peeking out from the top, and something about his sword, sheathed in a black leather scabbard, set her teeth on edge.

something menacing.

something that could hurt her – toji.

her lips curled back over her gums, baring her fangs in a silent snarl.

they were moving deeper and deeper into the maze of crates, their backs gradually turned to her and their doom.

she pounced.

michael’s sword of light seared her exposed neck and arms, but it did not deter her from latching onto one of the smaller intruders and sinking her teeth into his neck. the man screamed, clawing desperately at her face as he slipped backwards in surprise. the other two whirled around, and the one with the hat unsheathed his sword to reveal gleaming, cruel silver.

together, the four of them danced around each other to the tune of blood and silver. for every weeping bite she left, the captain slashed her with his sword. she didn’t know it could be possible, but the pain from his strikes hurt her more than the sun did. it was a chaotic scuffle, born from instinct and the sheer will to survive.

but still, the humans could never hope to endure salt and ice.

with a final thrust, the captain twisted his sword into her shoulder, his life force fading violently as his essence poured down into her throat. she slumped down to the ground, holding the human close as she took in the aftermath of their fight.

the ship was a mess.

blood was splattered across the crates and boards, with the mangled bodies of the three men scattered and sinking down into every crack in the ship, spilling straight down to the sea beneath them. she clicked her locked jaw, and detached herself from her assailant, and hurried to tuck herself away into a half-open crate, whimpering from the pain of the burning sun blisters and stinging silver.

she was not healing.

there was a rustling of sheets somewhere, a great rush of wind, and the doors slammed shut with a loud bang!

she collapsed forward, her eyes bathed in cooling darkness, gasping and coughing as the wood uncomfortably scraped her open sores. she blinked, and saw toji’s crinkled boots in front of her.

her love was perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, looking down at her with his hands and face clean of both blood and worry. she whimpered pathetically at toji, begging and pleading with her eyes for him to do something, anything.

he sighed.

gently, toji turned her to face him, and tipped her chin back. he pushed the base of his thumb past her parted lips, settling it in between her teeth. he gave her an encouraging nod, soft clouds behind the green of his iris, and pressed his thumb a touch further into her mouth.

she froze.

her fangs grazed his marble skin, and a pearl of toji’s blood spread across her tongue.

what was that look in his eyes?

it was something almost like pride.

she took a deep breath in, and took a long slow drag from him.

she was then lost in a sea of tumbling emeralds. his blood had ignited something feral and dangerous in her, working her up into a wild state as her wounds sealed and smoothed out like nothing had happened. somehow, toji’s lips had found hers, and they kissed and bit each other’s lips in a frenzied madness.

was it all just for a taste?

she couldn’t tell if toji was life or death.

(she was too far gone in her sin and indulgence,

that she could not tell the difference anymore.)

there was something inherently intimate about blood sharing. she could not explain it, but it was more profound than when they fell into each others embrace every night. toji was gripping both sides of her face, her lips bloody and bruised as she tasted herself on his tongue. perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt toji’s soul running through her – raw and angry and full of smoke.

she wondered what he thought she tasted like.

and hoped that he enjoyed it.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

immortality was not truly immortal.

death still hovered over them with his scythe, a mere inch away from their waiting, vulnerable throats. nobody knew that he was there, always watching, never knowing exactly when he might urge his midnight stallion just a little closer.

she certainly hadn’t known it either.

not until it was upon her.

they were on a beach sometime during the summer, a thick storm cloud hanging over the sea and shore. it was a taunting, teasing thing, making her jump as the thunder rolled through her bones and made her marrow tremble.

toji was lounging beneath a lopsided palm tree, its trunk bent and twisted so that its leaves draped to the side and covered him. even when the clouds cover was as thick as it was now, he still opted to stay in the shade, squinting his eyes as if the sun was burning him. he would watch her play in the waves, grunting dismissively when she would teasingly curl her fingers at him, urging him to come closer.

when that didn’t work, she would sing for him.

and the creases and ripples in the marble of his forehead would soften and smooth – only then could toji relax in the sun.

she turned her back to him and the shore, spreading her arms to the heavens as she sang to the jealous sea, declaring how grand immortality and their love was.

but she should have remembered where she was in this unfeeling world.

so loud was the call of the birds on the summer breeze and the waves beating against the sand and her ears, that she did not hear them until it was too late.

those horrid, vicious humans.

they had grabbed her by the arms and legs, with what seemed like twenty men still struggling against her strength. she spat and cursed at them, hissing and snarling as they pressed their silver crosses and flaming torches to her skin, marring her forever.

she wanted to cry, but remembered she could not.

toji’s green flames were upon her, she was sure of it. she could feel his presence was near, and could still smell him and his leather boots through the sour stench of the rotten fish from the townsmen surrounding her.

he was watching.

and doing nothing.

would toji be proud of her in this moment, as he had been when she defended him all those years ago? when she took the lives of those that had threatened him and his peace. she felt the flames soften and knew that he was – he had to be. she was sparing him from the fire and silver, so eager to take his place and save him from haunting the seas.

it was better that toji had not said any sort of goodbye at all, that they had not shared any sort of special last moment together.

but still.

a part of her hoped that he would sweep in to save her. that the part of him that had perhaps loved her could not bear to be parted from her. that immortality was worthless without her love and song.

but she knew that was not in his nature.

he was a survivor, through and through.

(how could it have been love? you were just as blind as i was,

wailed the first woman from long ago.)

she wondered if he would come to her after she was gone, as a stake was driven into her chest, shattering and splintering her ribcage. would he pluck out her heart and suck it dry from all the love it had for him? even though toji had taken everything and more from her, she wondered if he had at least realized he had been selfishly incapable of putting her out of her misery.

“お許しください”

but the fragile, momentous realization she had was that if immortality was true, and she had to choose to relive all of this – toji – over and over again.

she would.

and she did.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅

if anybody would like to pop into my inbox to discuss the fic and share their interpretations, please feel free to do so! <3

#toji x y/n #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n

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salix-babi · 1 month ago

Text

Still Yours

[ Dan Heng x Reader | SFW | Masterlist | AO3 ]

Synopsis: Dan Heng reunites with the group at Scalegorge and seeks to sooth a tension that's developed between the two of you.

Notes: Had another version of this I wrote to completion then completely scrapped it because I was dissatisfied with the ending. Perfectionism is a burden I must overcome. Writing this just happens to coincide with the return of IL's banner but I'm lowkey hoping it blesses my pulls. I need him. If he comes home, I'll work on a nsfw part 2 so PLEASE. GIVE ME YOUR BLESSINGS.

cw: SFW, some suggestive themes in the latter half, gn!reader, lil angst, plenty of cuddles, reader is a tease, established relationship, reader can be perceived as TB, spoilers for Topclouded Towerthrust Trailblaze Mission.

Word Count: ~2.5k

The two of you hadn’t exchanged a single word since Dan Heng managed to reconnect with the departed expedition team on the Xianzhou Luofu. Not as he parted the oceans. Not as they traversed the ruins of the Scalegorge Waterscape. Not as they fought Phantylia’s vessel of Abundance. Every time his gaze landed on you, you were looking elsewhere. Occupied with murals or enemies that stood in your path. In all fairness, there wasn’t much breathing room with the destruction of the Luofu so close at hand but the absence of your gaze felt… empty. Like he was still apart from you even though you were only a few feet away from him at any given time.

There was only one moment as you traversed through the Scalegorge Waterscape that the two of you were alone. He had caught you by a vidyadhara egg, eyes seemingly transfixed by either its iridescent sheen or the individual within. A back part of his brain recognized these few seconds, however brief, as a window of opportunity to talk. But in the moment, he found his breath caught in his throat and his gaze intent on observing your reactions, instead. He watched your hand rise from your side, a gentle palm placed gingerly against the egg’s scaled outer shell. Your eyes flutter closed as you listened to the echoes of a past life slowly shedding away, expression contorted in a way he couldn’t quite identify. Not from the distance currently held between you. Was it… sadness? Melancholy? Relief? Did you grieve a life’s end or celebrate its rebirth? Or did you see one’s past and future united in a single entity.

“…”

He wanted to speak up then. To acknowledge the silent questions that lingered between you two. To quell his own growing anxieties. However, before he could even gather the words to broach such a topic, your gentle hand pulls away from the egg. Your attention bestowed not upon him, but March 7th calling your name in the distance. Apparently, you had lingered too long and Mr. Yang was advising against getting separated. It made sense. Dan Heng watches as your fingers retract from the egg, the flow of memories fading from your mind as you reconvene the group and once again you’ve wandered out of his reach. He can only follow silently, his gaze lingering on the egg for a fraction of a moment as everyone regroups.

There was a tension between the two of you, of that he was certain the both of you felt. Unknowns left unanswered, lingering uncertainty about where they stood with not a single moment where they could be soothed. He shouldn’t be surprised. In one crashing wave the entirety of the sins he had tried so hard to run from had engulfed him once again, and this time it’s caught his Express companions within it. The only thing he didn’t know was how much of Dan Feng’s crimes you’d really discovered.

It’s not until they were hurriedly leaving the Scalegorge Waterscape with an unconscious Xianzhou general in their arms that he noticed you pause again. As the others tended to Jing Yuan, there you stood at the base of the high elder’s statue, scrutinizing its stone features. Dan Heng, in turn, stared at you. So caught up in trying to decipher your expression that he nearly jumped out of his skin when your gaze turned to him for the first time in what felt like an eternity since his arrival. The vidyadhara stiffens, heart spiking to his throat. You seem equally shocked, but a sudden nervousness darts his eyes away from you in an instant, and he’s back to aiding the others. Somewhere in the commotion Mr. Yang suggests they return to the mainland to get the general proper care and the group moves obligingly, sweeping the two of you back into the residual excitement following Phantylia’s defeat and once again snuffing out any opportunities to talk.

It seems an eternity before you’re finally saying your goodbyes to the Luofu officials for the night. Jing Yuan was in the hands of trusted individuals of the Alchemy Commission and Fu Xuan gives you the barest skeleton of a debrief, the remaining group agreeing a more in-depth discussion can be reserved for the morning once all had at least had a chance to rest properly and the general’s condition has stabilized. Even so, Mr. Yang opts to remain a moment longer with the intention of discussing the nuances of their plan to handle the stellaron, and March had long ago left for her hotel room the moment everyone stepped back on the mainland, the usually peppy girl understandably. You had no doubt she’d be out like a light well into the following morning. However that, in turn, left you and Dan Heng alone to traverse the path back to your hotel. The starskiff ride was silent. The walk from the docks to the hotel, soundless. If you had something to say you weren’t saying it yet, and Dan Heng had no idea where to even begin.

It’s only as you’re reaching for the handle of your own assigned room that you free hand is suddenly snatched in the grip of another. The motion was so tempered in movement but desperate in speed, that it nearly drew a startled sound out of you. You turn to meet Dan Heng’s gaze for the first time since Scalegorge. His eyes are pleading, stirring with questions and uncertainties barely held behind stoic lips. “…” There’s a second of silence before you acquiesce, fingers retreat from your door, and Dan Heng nearly sighs with relief right then and there. Instead, you feel his grip loosen a fraction around your hand. His shoulders lose a bit of their stiffness, but he doesn’t let you go, and you allow him to silently lead you further down the hallway to his assigned room.

The silence between you persists.

Your eyes were trained on the back of his head, on the flow of dark hair down his back, and the teal tips of a set of semi-translucent horns. Idly, you wondered if you could touch them. Would he feel it if you did? Or would your fingers just pass through nothing at all. Even as the battle had ended, Dan Heng remained in this form for reasons yet known to you. You’re brought back from your thoughts to the telltale click of an unlocked door and with a gentle tug of your hand in his, he leads you inside, only letting go once you’ve stepped in to close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the room in the meantime. A standard unit no different from your own on the first night here, though considerably untouched. You wonder if Dan Heng has slept at all since arriving on the Luofu. No doubt he couldn’t walk around openly on the streets without drawing unwanted attention. The thought has a slight frown tugging at the corners of your lips.

There’s a bit of an awkward moment as Dan Heng tries to figure out how to broach the subject, something you recognize as a common habit from the poor man despite looking so different from how you remember him. So, you attempt to bridge the growing gap between you by making the first move. You settle on the edge of the bed, giving your best attempt at a reassuring smile despite the worried tick in your brows, and holding out an inviting hand. You’re grateful when he takes it, stiff as he moves to sit beside you, though you don’t draw attention to how he keeps holding your hand afterwards. “How… much,” he starts tentatively, keeping his eyes on your intertwined fingers rather than you, “did you learn about the previous High Elder?”

A long sigh leaves through your nose as you ponder the question. You wonder if you should relay everything. But looking over at the sullen expression already spread across a face you’re so familiar with, you understand there’s nothing you could say he didn’t already know. “It’s certainly a lot to wrap a head around,” you settle on. He winces anyways, but you press on gently. “A… vidyadhara, right? That’s what you are?” It’s stiff, the way Dan Heng nods in response. “When we first saw you today… you looked so different I almost didn’t recognize you.” Now it’s your turn to look away. “For a bit I thought…” You lean against his side and hug his arm close, “…maybe you weren’t there anymore.” Dan Heng aches with the trepidation in your tone, squeezing your hand tightly.

“…I know.”

“But you’re still Dan Heng, right?”

“I…”

He swallows the building pressure in his throat. “Yes. So long as you’ll have me, I want to be – I am Dan Heng.” He feels you shift beside him and this time, he turns to find you looking back at him with a scrutinizing stare. Eerily reminiscent of the way you had regarded the statue earlier. Nose scrunched and eyes slightly narrow. He’d find it cute under any other circumstance. “Hmm…” Your spine straightens for a better vantage point, slipping your hand from his to poke at his cheek and tug gently at the sleeves of his clothing. “May I…?” you ask, perhaps too politely to Dan Heng’s anxious mind, but he nods all the same and you take his permission to raise yourself higher on the bed and gently settle yourself in his lap. Your legs straddle his on either side like you would any day before this one, and you let yourself look at him – really look at him – for the first time in this new form. Your familiar weight on his thighs is already doing wonders in quelling his nerves a bit. He’s thankful for the firm pressure there to ground him, and without thinking, he’s moved to rest his hands on your waist as he usually would.

Dan Heng holds his breath under your scrutiny. He allows you to explore his more draconic form as you wish, using all his self-restraint to remain still as delicate fingers glide across his features. There’s a visible bob of his throat as digits rise from his neck and follow the curve of his jaw, brushing faintly across his lower lip before moving to press warm palms against his cheek. He wants more than anything to lean into your touch right now, nerves begging to feel more than just the trace of your touch against his lips after being apart for so long. But he’s frozen in place, more fearful that any sudden movements would scare you away. You’ve already been distant from him for far too long both physically and emotionally, and he doesn’t think he can stand you being so far for much longer.

You trace along the red marks lining his eyes, two now instead of the one mark you were used to. Your eyes catch his for a moment, finding piercing teal orbs staring back at you with an inherent intensity. Even unintentionally, his gaze demands your attention, longing and uncertainty swirling behind widened pupils. He was taking you in just as much as you were him, it would seem. So, your fingers continue their journey. Across his features, trailing up from his neck, along his jaw, and past his cheek until ghost-like fingertips reach the auricle of his ear. The quiet breath he sucks in is adorable, even more so the brief flash of teal in your peripheral signifying the movement of his tail. Soft fingers curl around the pointed tip of his ear to massage the cartilage gently between a thumb and forefinger, taking note of how his body stiffens a fraction. However, it’s only when he feels your touch travel upward to trail soft pads along his horns that he fails to hold back a small, shuddering gasp.

“Sensitive…?” you ask as if it were nothing at all and there’s a slight hesitance in the shake of Dan Heng’s head, red beginning to visibly dust his cheeks. “Just… unexpected,” he settles on. He couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. Were you aware of what your touch was doing to him? Did you approve of all these differences in his appearance you were exploring so thoroughly? Or did you find it strange? Distasteful? Briefly, he finds himself regretting not reverting back to his more familiar form the moment they had left Scalegorge. He hadn’t needed to call upon the powers of the Imbibitor Lunae once Phantylia was dealt with, but every time he had glanced your way in this form, you had been looking elsewhere.

“Still mad at me for leaving without a goodbye kiss?” Your voice pulls him back to the present, but it takes Dan Heng a moment to register your words. “W-what?” He blinks owlishly at you, half confused and half dumbfounded by the question. You smile impishly, arms coming to rest around his shoulders. “You always get grumpy when I leave without a kiss. So… are you?” The man frowns. You were teasing him. Dan Heng wants to get in your good graces. But… he couldn’t lie to you. On top of worrying about your wellbeing in the entirety of the week you’ve been apart, he’s also grown accustomed to spending his nights with you. Warm in the archives or out on a mission. He can understand a few days away, but to be without you for a week was… “I’m not mad, I just-…” His eyes flicker off to the ground beside you, hesitating as he finds his footing in his words. “I missed you.” Had he inherited the floppy ears of the Permanence along with those horns, you imagine they’d be sunken flat against the sides of his head with how saddened he looked in this moment. But then you giggle, and he suddenly perks right up in surprise.

“Then you’re still my Dan Heng,” you hum softly and the relief that immediately floods the vidyadhara has him melting into your arms. The chime of another laugh from you makes him question if you had done all of this simply to tease him, wound up as he was. He’d think it cruel but, in the moment, he’s wanted nothing more than to hear those words. “Yes,” he breathes, unthinkingly. Arms wrap tighter around your waist, wanting you closer, and Dan Heng finally gives in to his desires. His head tilts forward, closing what little distance was left to capture you in a kiss. Your lips were so soft, so perfect against his. Warm and gentle, the sensation all the sweeter having been without you for so long. Too long. You reciprocate with ease, a thumb stroking his cheek soothingly while your other hand slides down to rest at the side of his neck and he’s on cloud nine, sacrificing a hand of his own from your waist to reach for the back of your head and pull you closer.

“Yours.”

#salix-writes #sorry i write like an academic #or a victorian maiden #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #imbibitor lunae

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago

Text

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it.

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin.

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress.

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away.

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look.

“We’re in for one.”

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head.

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel.

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely.

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant.

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment.

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing.

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.”

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said.

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you.

“Taking my 15.”

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile.

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered.

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.”

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot.

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.”

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?”

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food.

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh.

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift.

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.”

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you.

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.”

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation.

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off.

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it.

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town.

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.”

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock.

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.”

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway.

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered.

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.”

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded.

“How was the chief?”

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?”

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest.

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?”

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!”

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all?

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!”

“You seen my phone?”

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there.

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water.

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use.

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table.

Right onto the stove.

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand.

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!”

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained.

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else.

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee.

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said.

“She what?!”

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car.

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say.

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest.

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted.

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting.

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor.

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said.

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted.

“I don’t think-”

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded.

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat.

“I had coffee spilled on me.”

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason.

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him.

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him.

“A stove did this?”

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.”

“And that’s okay?” You nodded.

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him.

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.”

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently.

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off.

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book.

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you.

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head.

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body.

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.”

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again.

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb.

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?”

“Five.” He applied more pressure.

“Now?”

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit.

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.”

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there.

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.”

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly.

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.”

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained.

“Son?” you asked.

“Edward.”

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger.

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described.

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away.

“Sounds like a task.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner.

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle.

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?”

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.”

“You’re such a wingwoman!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.”

Part 2

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x fem!reader #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x fem!reader #carlisle cullen x reader x charlie swan #charlie swan x fem!reader x carlisle cullen #twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction

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