#because I know that the technical tag for the series is different | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yannawayne · 4 months ago

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i. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out, Blood, Explosions, Mentions of Child Abuse, Good Aunt-Mom Selina Kyle AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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“Uh, good morning?” you offered weakly, trying to give a casual shrug despite the mess around you. “Mom, this might sound insane. But, I think I might have accidentally discovered superpowers.”

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Before she could finish, your hand instinctively reached out. With a flick of your wrist, a web shot from your fingers and latched onto the door behind her. In a heartbeat, the door was yanked from its hinges, splintering as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall with a resounding thud.

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 9:02 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

SELINA'S DEFT FINGERS SLID over the fabric of the dress, adjusting and smoothing it until it drapes perfectly over your figure. The elegant emerald gown shimmered softly under the dim apartment lights, the material flowing luxuriously against your skin.

"You didn’t steal this, did you?" you murmur, adjusting the necklace that rests delicately around your neck. "I’d rather not end up in jail tonight."

"The dress? No, it’s one of my old ones," Selina scoffed, turning away and handing you a pair of black heels. "But if anyone asks about the necklace, just say it’s a family heirloom. Which, technically, it is."

You shot her a pointed look. She rolled her eyes with a smirk.

"Oh, hush. I haven’t stolen anything in... at least a month," she drawled.

"A month, wow! That’s a new record," you teased, slipping into the heels.

Selina laughed and shook her head. "Don’t get too comfortable. Just because I’m on a hiatus doesn’t mean I’ve gone straight."

"Well, let’s hope your hiatus lasts at least through tonight," you winced.

She smirked, giving you a once-over. "Trust me, darling, tonight is all about you."

You were about to respond when Selina suddenly snapped her fingers.

“Before I forget...” she said, reaching into one of her drawers. She pulled out a thigh strap and wrapped the leather around your leg, fastening it securely.

Then, she slid one of her blades into the strap. You rolled your eyes but accepted the gesture with a resigned nod. It was Gotham, after all—being prepared was always a need.

“Damian’s got me covered tonight,” you say, trying to reassure her. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

Selina paused, her hands still on the thigh strap, and gave you a skeptical look. “Sweetheart, I worry about you all the time. It’s not that I don’t trust Damian—he’s solid. But Gotham? That’s a different story. Where those Bats go, trouble’s sure to follow.”

You chuckled, adjusting the strap to make sure it was secure. “We’ll manage, mom.”

Selina Kyle might not have been your biological mother, but she became your mother the moment you were placed in her arms years ago. In that instant, the blood that bound you was inconsequential compared to the unspoken promise she made to protect you.

To Selina, you were her child. Not because of any legal ties or shared genetics, but because she chose to be your mother every single day.

And to you, Selina was more than just an aunt. She was the lifeline who stepped in when everything else had crumbled around you.

Selina and Maggie, your biological mother, had both grown up in a fractured family. Their father was a vicious drunkard. Their mother, Maria, was a ghost in their lives—emotionally absent and detached.

When Maria died, the world turned colder. The sisters were torn apart: Maggie was adopted by a warm, loving family, while Selina was abandoned to the unforgiving grip of Gotham’s orphanages. Those grim streets, steeped in shadows and danger, carved her into Catwoman.

But darkness has a way of creeping back into the light, no matter how hard you try to keep it at bay. Maggie, who had managed to build a life of stability and warmth, became a target for the shadows of Catwoman’s past.

Black Mask.

Kidnapped, tortured, and left to die, Maggie was nothing but a ghost by the time the attack was done. Her husband was slain in the carnage, and the only remnant of their family was you— barely a toddler, too young to grasp the gravity of your loss but old enough to feel its weight.

With no other family to turn to, she took you in, binding her fate to yours and vowing to protect you from a world that had already taken so much from both of you.

Her life wasn’t easy. She was young, barely in her twenties, struggling to make ends meet in one of Gotham’s most unforgiving neighborhoods. The meager jobs she managed to scrape together were barely enough to cover the rent, let alone the needs of a growing child.

Selina's decision to take up the mantle of Catwoman was never about the thrill of the heist or the allure of jewels; it was about survival—yours and hers. Gotham demanded a price, and she chose to pay it herself, risking her life each time she donned the suit to give you a chance at something better.

You grew up with a keen sense of the world, your intelligence uncovering bits and pieces of her double life. The mysterious disappearances, the luxurious items that mysteriously appeared—each clue painted a picture that you slowly began to understand.

When the time came for the truth to be revealed, it wasn’t easy

Selina’s hand glided across her vanity, fingers brushing over the cool surface before settling on a sleek black clutch. With a flick of her wrist, she turned and handed it to you.

You accepted it with a gleam in your eye, stepping back as you held it close. A playful twirl sent the emerald fabric of your gown swirling around you, catching the light in a way that made it shimmer.

“Well? What do you think?”

Selina’s stern look melted away like ice under a warming sun. Her gaze swept over your outfit, absorbing the delicate neckline, the tailored fit around your waist, and the gown’s fluid cascade to the floor.

In this small, quiet moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. For just a heartbeat, she allowed herself to pretend that the two of you were simply a normal mother and daughter, sharing a simple, beautiful moment together.

“You’ve always had a way of making everything around you look better,” she purred. “You’re going to knock the whole school off their feet. Damian’s going to need a crowbar to keep the other guys away.”

Selina reached out to adjust the straps on your dress, her touch precise and caring. Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the movement as gentle as a whisper.

“Just remember, darling,” she spoke slowly, “it never hurts to stay safe.”

Ruby-red manicured nails tapped your cheek as she straightened up, a knowing look in her eyes.

Pause. Your eyes widened as you caught the hint of her meaning. “You’re not saying I—”

“I was at that age,” she interrupted with a mock-serious tone. “I’m just saying you should be prepared. Especially with the way that boy looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Make sure he wraps something else too.”

A flush of embarrassment rose to your cheeks. You sputtered and fumbled with the clutch in your hand. “Mom! What the hell?! I think that’s enough advice for one night!”

BEEP!

Just as Selina was about to respond, a car horn blared from outside, slicing through the evening’s quiet. Both of you turned towards the window, where a Porsche 911 emerged from the darkness. It looked painfully out of place against the backdrop of your neighborhood—cracked sidewalks strewn with trash, graffiti-streaked walls, and the occasional flickering streetlamp battling the encroaching shadows.

“Looks like your chariot awaits,” Selina said, her hands sliding up your shoulders as she gently nudged you toward the door. “Have a great time, but keep your wits about you. Gotham’s never as calm as it seems.”

With one final hug, you stepped out of the apartment and descended the narrow, dimly lit staircase. As you reached the bottom, you emerged into the cool night air, where Damian stood by his car parked right under a street lamp.

He was impeccably dressed in a deep black suit that seemed to swallow the surrounding light, giving him an almost smoky allure. An emerald button-up shirt peeked from beneath the jacket, its rich hue a perfect match for the striking color of your dress.

Damian’s smoldering gaze warmed as he saw you approaching, a small, approving smile curling at the corners of his lips. He lifted two fingers in a beckoning motion, and though you rolled your eyes, you stepped forward.

“Beloved,” he greeted, extending a hand to you. “You look stunning.”

“Hi, handsome,” you grinned, taking his hand and stepping closer to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Damian responded with a soft hum, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tilted his head slightly. The kiss deepened just enough to make the moment linger, leaving a warmth that held between you.

Just as you were about to lose yourself completely, Selina’s voice sliced through the night air.

“You’re going to be late!”

Damian pulled away from you so abruptly that it looked as if he’d been yanked back by an invisible force. His face flushed a patchy red, a blend of embarrassment and irritation. He shot a sidelong glance at Selina, his eyes quickly shifting back to you.

Damian huffs, releasing a sharp exhale through his teeth. “Shall we go?”

The click of the car door echoed as Damian opened it for you, his lips twisting into a scowl. You settled into the plush passenger seat, the soft fabric of your gown rustling as Damian carefully lifted it to prevent any creases.

While you adjusted yourself in the seat, you glanced back and waved at Selina, her silhouette framed against the windows. A snort escaped you as you noticed the deadpan look Damian shot in her direction.

Damian was always somewhat awkward around Selina. As Robin, his view of Catwoman was clear-cut—she was a criminal to be dealt with. And yet, he still held a deep respect for her as your mother.

Once he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car roared to life with a smooth, powerful purr. The sleek vehicle glided down the streets with impressive speed, Damian navigating through traffic with a confidence that bordered on recklessness.

As he shifted gears, the radio flicked on, filling the car with a soft, pulsing beat.

This may be the night that my dreams might let me know All the stars are closer All the stars are closer All the stars are closer This may be the night that my dreams might let me know

Tilting your head back into the seat, your hair bunching around your shoulders, your thoughts drifted to the first time Damian took you for a drive. Both of you had been sixteen then, and his aggressive maneuvering had left you gripping the seat, your heart racing as if you were in a high-speed chase. Now, though, the thrill was familiar, adrenaline thrumming steadily in your blood.

The ride was brief but exhilarating, and soon the car pulled into the school’s parking lot. Sleek cars and limousines lined the lot, each more extravagant than the last. Students and their dates, dressed in their finest formal wear, mingled and laughed, making their way toward the entrance.

Stepping out of the car, the crisp night air greeted you like a refreshing embrace, carrying the delicate scent of fresh flowers and the faint strains of classical music wafting from the entrance. The soft glow of string lights and lanterns illuminated the path ahead, casting a warm, golden hue over the scene. Damian drew you close, his arm slipping around your waist as you walked together.

The ballroom was stunningly elegant.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their shimmering prisms scattering colorful reflections across the polished marble floor. Tables draped in white linens, adorned with fresh roses and flickering candles, lined the room. The dance floor gleamed under the ambient light, already alive with couples swaying gracefully to the gentle strains of Franz Liszt.

The whole scene practically screamed old money.

You were going to die.

You’d never quite get used to events like these. Over the years, you’d been to your fair share of galas and charity balls, mostly because of your relationship with Damian and that brief, awkward phase when Selina was involved with Bruce.

Each time, you had a knack for stumbling through social minefields, unintentionally insulting high-profile guests or spilling wine on someone’s multimillion-dollar gown And, without fail, the next day’s press would seize the opportunity to spotlight you and your social faux pas.

Gotham Academy, with its glossy veneer and elite crowd, was just another arena

It was a breeding ground for rich fucks, each one more insufferable than the last. The halls echoed with the chatter of kids who had everything handed to them, their lives a far cry from yours. The only reason you’d managed to slip through those gilded gates was thanks to the Martha-Wayne scholarship. Without it, you’d still be stuck in the middle of nowhere with your mother, scraping by on whatever scraps you could find.

“Ya amar, are you going to keep staring at the floor? Or may I have the honor of requesting a dance?”

Damian’s voice cut through your self-deprecating spiral as he snapped his fingers in front of your eyes.

Blinking up at him, you pursed your lips. “I don’t know... this is a really interesting floor.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? Pray tell, what makes it so interesting that you’d rather stand here instead of dancing with me?”

“I don’t know. I could stare at it all night,” you hummed, crossing your arms. “Plus, we’ve got to keep our thing going, you know? I can't give in that easily.”

“Our thing? What thing?” Damian blinked.

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but still want each other carnally,” you said, throwing your head back as you laughed.

"Tt," Damian deadpanned, reaching out to grab you by the waist. He lifted you off the ground, your feet barely brushing the polished marble beneath. You wrapped an arm around his neck and giggled, holding on as he carried you toward the center of the ballroom.

“You never miss an opportunity to mortify me, do you?” Damian scolded, gently setting you back down on the floor. Both of you assumed a waltz stance, your hands finding their places on each other’s shoulders and waist.

“I think I just enjoy keeping you on your toes,” you replied with a grin, swaying gracefully with him as the music enveloped you.

Damian's lips curved into a wry smile, despite his grumbling. "You know how much I despise these games you play, Cat."

“Oh? Cat?” you laughed, the rich, velvety fabric of your dress brushing against Damian’s sleek suit as you danced. “Are we going for the classic Batman and Catwoman trope here? Because once Selina retires, I could always take up the mantle of the next Catwoman.”

Damian’s smile dropped, replaced by a look of exasperation. “Please do not. I fear what will become of you then."

“Why not?” you asked, batting your lashes coyly. “Does the idea of me as Catwoman not thrill you?”

Damian made a noncommittal sound, his ears tinged with red as he averted his gaze.

“Don’t get shy on me,” you said with a grin, your voice dropping to a teasing purr. Your hand glided up his jaw, your touch lingering just enough to be felt.

A shadow of something intense flickered in the depths of his jade-green eyes. Damian’s grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze narrowing into a mock glare that barely concealed the warmth beneath.

“I guess I would not... be entirely opposed to that idea,” he muttered.

He led you into a slow dance, his movements fluid and graceful, reminiscent of those quiet, moonlit nights in his manor’s kitchen. You recalled late evenings when the room was bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the windows. On those nights, the world outside felt far away, leaving just the two of you swaying gently to the soft strains of music playing from his phone’s speakers.

It was moments like these that peeled away his walls. In the soft glow of the ballroom lights, the tender, affectionate side of him emerged—like a rare flower blooming in the quiet of twilight. Each layer revealed a deeper, more intimate part of him, offering you a special kind of attention that made every shared glance and touch feel intimate.

“This crazy, almost maddening attraction I have for you makes me feel like I want to stab myself,” Damian murmured as he spun you around, the fabric of your dress flared out like a blooming flower at his feet.

“Wow, you really have a way with words,” you said with a smile. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. He drew you back into his embrace as he guided you across the dance floor, your bodies moved in perfect harmony, like two pieces fitting together in a delicate puzzle.

The world around you seemed to blur into a gentle haze of soft music and swirling lights. Damian’s gaze, however, remained sharp and vigilant.

“I don’t like how they’re staring at you,” he murmured, his green eyes narrowing as they scanned the crowd. His voice carried the familiar edge of possessiveness. “Perhaps they need a reminder of whom you belong to.”

“Damian, no—”

Before you could protest, Damian leaned in, closing the distance between you with a smooth turn of his head. The kiss was tender yet heated, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip.

Anyone who glanced your way would see Damian Thomas Wayne with his lips pressed against yours, making it clear who he was with. It wasn’t the first time he’d been so overt—there was that incident when you both ended up in detention because he couldn’t keep his hands off you by your locker.

You whined softly, trying to pull away, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips in a delicate, glistening thread. “We’re in public—”

“Shut up,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough yet tender, before diving back in. The breath you had been holding escaped in a slow, shuddering sigh, mingling with his as he drew you closer, his hands firmly cupping your hips.

Damian seemed to swallow every sweet sound you made, chuckling softly as you mumbled curses against his lips, your grip on his tie tightening. The world around you blurred into insignificance, leaving just the two of you enveloped in a bubble of intense sensation. Your breaths came in ragged bursts, eyes fluttering open and then closing again, lost in the heat of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless and flushed, the lingering electric buzz of the kiss still crackling in the air between you.

Damian and you locked eyes, his face blank until a shit-eating grin slowly spread across his face.

"I hate you so much," you scowled. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing whisper. He leaned in, using your own words against you. “Admit it—you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Before you could respond, he tilted your chin up, his lips brushing lightly against yours as he whispered, “Let them see. They’ll just have to get used to the sight.”

The kiss was softer this time, more tender, as you swayed gently against him, savoring the moment of calm.

BOOM.

Without warning, the tranquility was shattered by a deafening explosion.

The sound of shattering glass and a violent burst of energy tore through the ballroom, turning the once elegant space into a scene of utter chaos. Crystal chandeliers swung erratically from the ceiling, their light flickering in disorienting patterns as debris rained down like confetti. The room erupted into a frenzy of screams and frantic movement as everyone scrambled for cover.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, your voice barely piercing through the screams and destruction.

CREAK.

A sudden, ominous groan echoed through the room, drawing your gaze upward. The chandelier, swaying precariously, seemed to shudder as its support gave way. Then, with a heart-stopping creak, the massive fixture began to fall.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Damian’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip.

“Move!”

You scrambled to keep up with his rapid pace, but your long gown snagged on the edge of a flipped table, sending you sprawling to the floor with a jarring thud. Your hand slipped from his grip, and Damian, realizing you were no longer beside him, turned back in a surge of panic.

With no time to guide you gently to safety, he yanked you up from the floor. He pulled you both behind the overturned table, using it as a makeshift barricade.

The chandelier crashed down with a thunderous roar, sending shards of glass, splintered wood, and shattered fragments spiraling through the air. As the debris rained down, you screamed and reached out desperately for Damian. Without hesitation, he rushed to your side, enveloping you in his arms. He pulled you close, pressing your face into his chest and shielding you from the rain of debris with his body.

Finally, the noise of destruction faded into a heavy silence. Damian lifted his head slightly, peering down at you.

“Are you okay?” he panted, voice edged with worry.

Shaken up, you heaved and shook your head vehemently, unable to find the words through your trembling fear.

“What the fuck was that?”

"I don't have a single clue," Damian shrugged, eyes still scanning the room as he peeked over the edge of the table.

From the smoke emerged a middle-aged man, suspended in the air by his mechanical arms—sleek, metallic, and bristling with a variety of intimidating gadgets. The arms whirred and slashed through the air with deadly force, carving through the walls and sending more chunks of debris down.

“You think you can just throw away everything I’ve built?” the man roared. “This school, this place, it’s all been a mockery of my work, my life! I’ve sacrificed everything for this and you’ve repaid me with nothing but scorn!”

Damian cursed under his breath. He settled back down, biting off the fingertip of his glove and pulling it off with a grunt. Pulling up his sleeve, he tapped an emergency button on his wrist, activating a silent alert to his family.

“We have to go,” Damian whispered. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped you in the fabric, pulling you close. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as he sprinted through the chaos.

He carried you swiftly through the building’s hallways, the shrill sound of distant alarms and the echo of your hurried footsteps reverberating off the walls. When you finally reached a safer location, he paused briefly, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any further threats.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, your voice trembling as he gently set you down. You gripped his hands tightly, trying to steady your breath. “Do—do you have your suit?”

“It’s in the car,” Damian grumbled, frustration evident in his voice as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll stay here and start helping with evacuations,” you say, already moving to slip out of your heels, the shoes discarded onto the floor.

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off, shaking your head firmly.

“No,” you said firmly, your scowl sharpening. “None of this again. I make my own decisions.”

Damian’s expression hardened. “You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not supposed to be in harm’s way.”

"It's just evacuations. I’m not going to be fighting," you met his gaze as you stood up straight again. “And I’m not going to stand by while others are in danger.”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, “but stay hidden and keep away from the villain.”

“I know,” you said softly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You met his gaze lovingly before turning to re-enter the chaos. The corridors were now a frenzy of frantic students and faculty, desperately trying to evacuate.

Damian shot you one last look before sprinting back toward the parking lot.

You slipped back into the ballroom, heart pounding in your chest. The smoke swirled around you, as decor and debris lay strewn across the floor. Amid the chaos, you spotted a girl trapped beneath a toppled table, her muffled cries barely reaching your ears. Clutching your dress in your hands to avoid tripping, you hurried over to her.

“Hey, we need to move!” you called out, shoving aside the debris and wrestling with the heavy wood. With a determined push, you finally freed her from the wreckage. She wobbled as she stood, but you swiftly caught her, your grip steady and reassuring. “You’re okay now. Let’s get out of here.”

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Everyone’s heading for the exits. We need to move quickly,” you replied, guiding her toward the nearest emergency exit. The sounds of the villain’s rampage echoed through the room, punctuated by the distant wail of sirens.

Once the girl was able to get back on her feet and run on her own, you rushed to assist another group, directing them towards the exits and making sure they stayed calm.

SWISH.

There was a sudden, sharp slice, and you snapped your head back toward the ballroom. Damian had reappeared, now clad in his suit.

“Robin?!”

With a decisive, diagonal slash, his katana cleaved through one of the villain’s mechanical arms. The blade sliced through the metal with a sharp, resonant hiss, and the arm’s severed end burst into a cascade of dazzling sparks. Pieces of twisted metal flew through the air like shrapnel, their jagged edges catching the erratic light from the shattered chandeliers.

His cape, a deep, blood-red shroud, billowed behind him like a dark wave, trailing in his wake as he moved. The clash of his katana against the villain’s mechanical arms echoed through the room, each strike a precise blur of red and black.

Amidst the fight, your eyes were drawn to a figure huddled in the far corner. The student, paralyzed with fear, was frozen in place, eyes wide and fixed on the destruction unfolding before them.

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards them, nimbly navigating through the scattered debris and overturned tables. As you reached the student, you crouched beside them and gently placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Alright? We’re going to get through this, but you need to move—now!”

The student’s terrified eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope as they slowly began to rise with your help. Their breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, each exhale mingling with the smoky haze that filled the air. You grunted, your muscles straining as you slipped your arms beneath their shoulders, lifting them to their feet.

"Move!" you urged, guiding the student toward the doors. Their feet stumbled over the debris, but you kept a firm grip on their arm, pulling them along through the chaos. As you hurriedly navigated the wreckage-strewn floor, you felt a strange tingling sensation creeping up your leg.

It started as a subtle prickle, almost like static electricity, but quickly grew into an unsettling sensation that made your skin crawl. You glanced down, trying to pinpoint the source, but the shifting shadows and debris obscured your view.

The legs of a spider, sleek and shadowy, crawled up the fabric of your emerald dress. Its tiny, pulsating body was nearly camouflaged against the rich material, and its eight eyes glinted with an eerie green glow, peering out from the shadows of the gown.

Oblivious to its presence, you continued leading the student toward the safer part of the ballroom, focused on ensuring their escape.

The spider’s glow intensified, its eerie green light pulsating with an ominous rhythm as it crawled up your arm. Just as you pushed the student to safety, a sharp, burning sensation erupted where the spider sank its fangs deep into your skin. A piercing scream erupted from your lips. The searing pain surged through your body, radiating outwards from the bite like a fiery wave. In a frantic, instinctive reaction, you slapped at your bicep, your nails digging into the skin.

Panicked, Damian’s head snapped in your direction, eyes widening in alarm as he spotted you writhing in pain. In his moment of distraction, a metal arm swung violently towards him. The arm connected with a sickening thud against his side, the force of the impact sending him hurtling through the air.

Damian crashed into a wall with a bone-jarring slam and his body crumpled to the ground, the force of the impact visibly shaking him. He lay there, gasping for breath, spit and blood spilling from his chin.

Groaning, he raised his head, feeling the crack in his mask press against his face. Strands of dark hair fell over his single exposed eye, partially obscuring his vision. Squinting through the haze of pain, he cursed under his breath as he saw the villain advancing toward you.

The spider's venom surged through your veins, a wave of searing, unbearable pain radiating from the bite. You stumbled and collapsed to the floor, struggling to stay upright. Pain tore through you as you crawled toward a nearby pillar, your fingers clawing weakly at the surface

Through the haze of your deteriorating vision and the throbbing fog that clouded your mind, you could barely make out the figure of the villain advancing toward you. His mechanical arms whirred with a menacing hum, their sharp, glinting edges catching the dim light of the ruined ballroom.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you was a blur of red.

With a snarl, Damian lunged, his katana slicing through the air with deadly intent. The blade crashed into the villain's mechanical arm, the impact resonating like a gunshot. Sparks exploded from the severed joint, showering the room in a cascade of crackling light as the villain staggered, his metal limbs convulsing with malfunction.

Sliding across the debris-strewn floor, Damian executed a perfect skid, coming to a stop on his knees. He positioned himself between you and the advancing threat, his katana held in a poised, defensive stance.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Damian seethes. “A pathetic tantrum because your grandiose plans fell apart? You’re nothing more than a washed-up has-been clinging to your failures.”

“You think you know what it’s like to sacrifice everything? To watch your life's work crumble? You have no idea what I’ve lost! My research was going to change the world!”

The villain’s mechanical arms flared up in response, their whirring growing louder as he prepared to strike again. Just as an arm was about to land, the piercing whir of a batarang sliced through the air. It struck the villain’s mechanical arm with precision, a bright explosion erupting from the impact. Damian grunted as he braced himself, holding firm against the shockwave, his muscles straining to keep steady. One hand instinctively dropped to your head, shielding you from the force.

The villain recoiled in surprise, momentarily disoriented by the sudden blast, his movements faltering as the shockwave threw him off balance.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in darkness. The lights flickered and died, plunging the space into a pitch-black void. Shadows danced along the walls, punctuated by loud bangs and the crackling of debris.

Through the darkness, Batman emerged, his imposing figure cutting through the shadows. The sound of his cape rustling was almost like a herald of doom as he got into a fighting stance.

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was a low, commanding growl, “take the girl. I’ll handle it from here.”

Damian wasted no time, swiftly scooping you into his arms. The icy chill of your skin against his own drove a spear of terror through him. The panic clawing at the edges of his mind was a monster he couldn’t afford to face, not now. He focused on keeping you as steady as possible, though your limp form felt like dead weight against him.

He tore out of the ballroom, his shoes skidding on the polished floor as he barreled into the hallway. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale burning in his lungs, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. The entrance was just ahead.

Bursting through the doors, Damian propelled himself into the open air. The scene outside was pure pandemonium. Parents screamed for their children, kids clung to each other in terror, and the harsh wail of sirens pierced the night. Ambulance lights flickered like distant stars in the dark, red and blue blurs.

Now outside, Damian spotted a group of paramedics and, without a second thought, sprinted toward them. His hands shook slightly as he laid you down on the gurney, the coldness of your skin searing itself into his memory.

“She’s unresponsive,” he rushed out in a pant. “Pale skin, cold to the touch. Vital signs are unknown. She needs immediate attention.”

As he spoke, Selina rushed over, her fur coat billowing with each urgent step. The strands of her short, dark hair whipped wildly around her face, framing eyes wide with fear.

She bent down to your level, her breath visible in the cool night air as she placed a trembling hand on your forehead. Her fingers, warm against the alarming chill of your skin, recoiled slightly at the clammy coldness that greeted them. Selina winced, her gaze hardening as she took in the stark contrast between your deathly pallor.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice taut with concern.

A paramedic, swiftly assessing your condition, replied, “We think she’s in shock. We’ll stabilize her and check for any other issues.”

Selina’s eyes, reflecting a storm of emotions, darted between you and Damian.

“Go,” she urged Damian, her voice carrying a firm edge despite the underlying tremor of her fear. “I’ve got this under control. Go take down that bastard and make him pay for what he did.”

Damian hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on you. Every muscle in his body screamed to stay, but there was still a threat that left no room for hesitation. He nodded and without another word, turned and sprinted back toward the building. His cape flared out behind him, a streak against the night sky.

Selina's eyes followed Damian's retreating figure momentarily before refocusing on the paramedics. She watched them with sharp eyes, taking in every action and every word. Her hand never left your forehead, each pass of her thumb trying to provide comfort that her heart couldn’t.

As the haze of unconsciousness began to lift, you slowly became aware of your surroundings. The dim, unfamiliar light filtered through your closed eyelids, and a dull, persistent ache from the bite lingered in your arm. You winced, raising a hand to your arm to find that the pain had subsided, leaving only a faint, dull throb. There was no scar, just a vague sense of discomfort.

Was that just a dream?

Before you could think about it anymore, your aunt's face was already in your peripheral.

Selina's voice caught in her throat as your eyes began to flutter open. Her grip on your hand tightened involuntarily, a mix of relief and worry playing across her features.

"Hey, there," she said softly. "You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart."

You stared at her in confusion, teeth chattering against the biting cold. Selina’s eyes softened and she shed her coat, the plush fur rustling softly as it slipped from her shoulders. With gentle hands, she draped the coat around you, the dense, velvety texture brushing against your skin. The rich, warm scent of her perfume mingled with the coat’s embrace. As the coat enveloped you, its heat began to seep into your shivering body, gradually easing the icy grip of the cold.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, the words more for her own reassurance than yours.

The night was supposed to be a celebration, a rite of passage, a milestone to cherish. Instead, it had turned into yet another brutal reminder of what Gotham’s streets truly were: a merciless battleground that chewed up hope and spat it out with a sneer.

God, this city was shit.

Selina sighed, pushing those thoughts aside for the moment. The priority now was clear: get you home and into dry clothes.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, her fingers tracing a path along your cheek as if trying to reassure herself that you were truly okay.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled. A soft groan escaped your lips as you tried to shake off the haze clinging to your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, only to snap open again with a jolt as a sudden realization struck you.

“Damian—where—” you gasped, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. In a frantic attempt to sit up, you tried to push yourself upright, but the paramedics and Selina were quick to intervene. Their hands gently, yet firmly, guided you back down onto the gurney.

“Whoa, easy there,” Selina murmured soothingly. “Don’t push yourself. The paramedics said you’re in shock. You need to stay still for now.”

You could feel the gentle pressure of her hands, steady and reassuring, as they anchored you in place. Her eyes, bright green, locked onto yours, conveying more than words ever could. She took a breath, her gaze flickering to the paramedics who were working swiftly around you.

“And Damian is... with his father,” she said, her voice trailing off as she gave you a look, the unspoken meaning in it clear.

Selina’s gaze shifted back to the paramedics with her usual air of confidence. She squared her shoulders, her tone now authoritative.

“Is there a chance I could take her home?” Selina asked, brushing her fingers through your hair with a gentle but firm touch. “It’s getting late, and I’d really rather have her safe in her room.”

The paramedic, a no-nonsense woman named Helen, gave Selina a critical once-over before shifting her gaze to you. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, took in your pale face and the faint tremors still running through your body.

“Well, she’s stable enough for transport, and we’ve done the basic stabilizing procedures,” Helen said, her tone pragmatic. “But she’s still in shock, and it could be risky to move her too quickly. Are you sure you can handle her?”

“She’s my kid. I’ve dealt with worse, believe me,” she replied with a wry grin.

Helen’s gaze softened slightly, though her voice remained stern. “Alright, but she’ll need monitoring for the next 24-48 hours. Light meals, plenty of rest. And no strenuous activity. She should see a doctor as soon as possible.”

Selina’s fingers idly traced patterns on the back of your hand as she listened intently to Helen’s instructions.

“I’ll make sure all of that’s taken care of. Thank you,” Selina said, her voice carrying a rare note of sincerity. Helen nodded, seemingly satisfied with Selina’s response. She handed Selina a card with basic instructions and a phone number to call if any complications arose.

Despite your reluctance to leave while Damian was still knee-deep in the battle, your hazy mind and Selina's insistence eventually led to you being pushed into the back of your aunt's sleek convertible.

The drive was a blur of city lights and concerned glances from Selina. You leaned back, your head resting against the cool, smooth leather of the seat. The gentle hum of the engine beneath you was a steady, rhythmic comfort, a small solace amidst the turmoil.

"Don't worry," Selina murmured, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you. "Damian can handle himself. And the Bat will make sure he's safe. You rest. I'll tell you if anything happens to him."

Her words were a quiet promise amidst the rush of the city outside. You nodded weakly, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing heavily on your eyelids. As the city sped by, its neon glow and shifting shadows blending into a dreamlike haze, you closed your eyes. The fatigue finally overtook you, and you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

༻⊰───⋅

Sunday , 9:02 AM - Your room, Catwoman’s Apartment.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

There was a deep, throbbing ache in your arm, an insistent rhythm that seemed to pulse with each heartbeat, dragging you reluctantly from the depths of sleep. Your eyelids fluttered open to the soft, golden light spilling through the curtains, bathing your bedroom in a warm, comforting glow.

Through the thin walls, the distant murmur of the waking metropolis began to seep in—honking horns, the rhythmic rumble of early morning traffic, and the intermittent chatter of pedestrians starting their day. Occasionally, a siren's wail pierced through the background noise, a sharp reminder of the city's ceaseless pulse.

Faintly, through the walls, the muffled sound of the living room TV drifted to you.

“Good morning, Gothamites! Looking for another beautiful day here in the city. Clouds to start off with, but a pleasant afternoon ahead. Temperature’s in the high 40s—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

With a groan of frustration, you reached out to silence the blaring alarm clock. As you swung your arm toward it, the clock was crushed under the force. It slammed into the table, which splintered and buckled under the impact. Wood cracked and shattered, sending fragments skittering across the floor. The sudden and violent destruction jolted you fully awake. You stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving, at the mess, your arm still extended in mid-air as if it was frozen.

“What the—?” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you inspected your hand. It looked like your hand, perfectly normal and familiar. Just a normal hand.

Carefully, you climbed out of bed, wincing as you surveyed the mess of splintered wood and scattered debris strewn across the floor.

You paused. A sudden, sharp tingle pulsed through your arm, like an electric jolt that raced beneath your skin. It was both invigorating and disorienting, sending a rush of awareness through your senses. Instinctively, you turned your head, your reflexes sharp as your hand darted out to catch a fly that had buzzed too close.

To your shock, your fingers closed around the tiny insect with a reflex you didn’t know you possessed. You stared at the fly, trapped gently between your fingers. Carefully, you opened your hand and let the fly go.

It darted away, disappearing into the room.

“Okay... That was new,” you muttered, shaking your head as if trying to clear away the confusion.

The tingling in your arm surged again, sharper and more insistent this time. You winced, the sensation both alien and unsettling, your mind struggling to grasp what was happening. Instinctively, you extended your hand, your gaze fixed on it in growing confusion.

Then, without warning, your fingers curled involuntarily, and something shot out from your wrist. A thin, silvery thread erupted into the air, glistening with a strange, iridescent sheen.

THWIP.

The web snaked through the room, swift and fluid, before anchoring itself with a solid thunk against the wall. The sight of it—a web, unmistakably organic, stretching taut and firm—left you gaping in shock.

“What the actual fuck,” you freaked out. You took a hesitant step forward and tugged on it, half-expecting it to dissolve under your touch. But the webbing held firm.

You tried to pull it away, but it stayed stubbornly in place. Grunting, you pressed a foot against the wall for leverage and yanked harder. The webbing resisted with surprising strength, and a series of warning cracks echoed before a chunk of concrete broke away, crumbling under the strain.

The sudden release caught you off guard, sending you stumbling backward. You lost your balance and fell hard onto the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of you. For a moment, you just lay there, sprawled across the hardwood, your chest heaving as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

“What the fuck did I just get myself into?” you muttered to yourself, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in your throat.

When you finally moved to stand, curiosity got the better of you. Experimenting, you aimed your hand at different parts of the room, determined to understand this strange new ability.

This time, when you extended your hand, the web shot out with precision, latching onto a nearby lamp. You gave it a pull, and the lamp skidded across the floor toward you.

There was another tingle, and you perked up. The sensation was almost electric, a ripple of anticipation that seemed to focus on your bedroom door. As you turned toward it, the door swung open and Selina stepped in, dressed in her pajamas.

"What's with the noise...?” she trailed off and froze in the doorway, her eyes widening as they took in the chaos of the room. Broken wood and scattered debris covered the floor, interspersed with strands of glistening webbing clinging to the walls and lamp.

“Oh,” Selina murmured in surprise. She stepped cautiously over a particularly large piece of broken wood, her eyes darting around the room. Her gaze lingered on the webs, her brow furrowing as she raised an eyebrow at you.

Selina stared at you, blinking slowly as she processed the scene before her. Her lips twitched as if she were trying to hold back a laugh or perhaps some form of disbelief.

“Accidentally discovered superpowers?” she echoed. “I think you've been around your boyfriend and his family too much. Baby—”

Selina’s eyes widened in shock as she turned to face the now doorless doorway. She blinked at the empty space where the door had once been.

“Well,” she said, “I guess that’s one way to explain things.”

You stood there, face heating up as you tried to pull your hand back. “Y-Yeah, I think I need to work on my control.”

Selina shook her head, a frown on her lips. “Okay. First... Let’s get this mess cleaned up before the landlord starts asking questions. And maybe—just maybe—try not to redecorate the whole apartment with your... spider silk.”

༻⊰───⋅

A warm mug of coffee was placed in your hands as Selina settled beside you. You took a sip, but your knee continued to bounce in an anxious rhythm. She had called the school earlier to inform them that you would be taking it easy for the week, citing sickness as the reason.

You cast a glance at the puncture marks on your wrists with a mix of disgust and unease.

Oh, you felt sick alright.

"Alright," Selina said, taking a sip from her own coffee mug and setting it down with a clink. "We need to figure out what’s going on and how to handle it. The sooner we get a grasp on this, the better."

You nodded absentmindedly, flexing your fingers around your mug.

Selina sat with a laptop positioned between the two of you, its screen a chaotic mosaic of open newspaper articles and news websites. Humming softly to herself, she clicked through the pages, her eyes darting across headlines and images. The rhythmic clatter of her clicks was punctuated by occasional pauses as she focused on key details.

“Am I a meta?” you blurted out, staring at your reflection in the dark liquid of your coffee.

"Well," Selina began, her tone measured, "based on what we've seen so far, you're likely displaying meta-human traits. Though," she added with a wry smile, "I'm pretty sure I’m human despite the whole cat shtick. Same goes for your mother. Your father...well, that’s a different story."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

"Secretive guy. Kind of insane," Selina murmured to herself. "He did genetics research—"

She paused.

"Wait a minute," she said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to piece together something significant. "Your father was involved in genetics research..."

Selina licked her lips before grumbling and typing into the laptop. The screen flickered, and she pulled up a dense academic paper with your father's name prominently displayed. The title read: "Genetic Enhancement through Arachnid DNA Integration: Potential and Pitfalls."

She stared at the screen for a moment, a mix of disbelief and concern crossing her face. "Total nutjob," she muttered, shaking her head.

You squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the technical jargon. "So... what’s it say?"

Selina’s fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling through the dense paragraphs. "It describes experiments involving spider DNA to enhance human traits—strength, agility, and reflexes. Medical use too."

RING!

The sharp ring of your phone shattered the silence, jolting you both. Startled, you fumbled with the mug in your hand, which slipped from your grip and tumbled toward the floor. Your reflexes kicked in, and your foot shot out, catching the mug mid-fall with a swift kick, sending it flying back up into your hand. You blinked.

Selina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her gaze flicking from the mug in your foot to you. She grabbed a notepad from the desk, her pen already poised, and began scribbling furiously.

“Fast reflexes,” she muttered.

You scrambled to set the mug back on the table, your hands slick with sweat as you snatched your phone off the couch.

"Hello?" you answered, nervously wiping your damp hands on the fabric of your jeans. "W-Who’s this?"

"Beloved?" Damian’s voice crackled through your phone, sharp with an edge of worry. Arabic curses slipped through his words. “I’m sorry for calling so late. I didn’t mean to. I was knocked out after the confrontation.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You got knocked out? What happened?”

"Just a minor inconvenience for someone of my skillset," he said dismissively. "I’m fine now. But what of you? Father mentioned that Selina told him about your sudden absences from school.”

You hesitated, glancing at Selina, who shook her head vehemently. She pressed a finger to her lips, urging you to stay silent about the spider situation.

"Fine!" you squeaked. "Totally fine. Just... family matters."

Damian’s voice was laced with skepticism. "Family matters? Are you sure you’re alright?"

"Yep," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the strain. "Absolutely. Just... you know, the explosion rattled me a bit. The paramedics said I needed some rest for a few days.”

"I can head over to care for you—"

Selina rolled her eyes and extended her hand.

“Give me the phone,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. You hesitated for a moment, but the stern look on her face made it clear you had no choice. Reluctantly, you handed it over.

"Damian," she greeted him with a sickly sweet tone, "this is Selina. Everything is under control here. There’s no need for you to come breaking into my apartment."

There was a grunt before Damian responded, "Miss Kyle, I insist. It’s no trouble. I should be there to help. As any partner would."

Selina’s eyes flashed with irritation as she leaned against the couch, arms crossed. "I appreciate your concern, kid. But it’s really not necessary. She’s fine."

"Fine?" Damian’s voice took on a mocking tone. "After a confrontation like that? I highly doubt it. Recovery after such an incident can be complicated.”

Selina scowled. Her voice cut through the phone line with a sharp edge. "Damian, do you seriously doubt my abilities as a guardian?"

There was a pause.

"With all due respect—"

"I've got this!" Selina hissed. "She's safe, she's resting, and you're not needed here right now. Understood?"

There was another pause before Damian reluctantly agreed. "Understood. But if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first to know," Selina assured him "Now, go take care of yourself. I have got this handled."

"Fine," Damian said, still sounding begrudging. "Take care."

Selina handed the phone back to you, her expression exasperated. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“You couldn’t even imagine,” you snorted as you pressed the phone back to your ear. “Hi, baby.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the speakers, the faint static only adding to the gruffness of his tone.

"Tt. Hello," he grumbled, his tone falling flat. You couldn’t help but snicker, the sound escaping despite your best efforts to stifle it.

“Don’t be mad,” you whisper into the phone. “I’ll only be gone for a week. You’ll survive. Mom's right—I’m in good hands. You need to focus on recovering too.”

“Anything at all. Father and Alfred have confined me to my bed, but the window to my bedroom remains open. The sheer ignorance of their restraint measures astounds me—they failed to account for my skills in evading such confinement.”

"Please, don’t try to escape through your window on my behalf. I really don’t need Bruce lecturing us again,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead.

“Very well,” Damian said with a hint of a pout, “but do remember, I am at your disposal if you should require anything.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed. “I’ll see you soon. Take care of yourself, Dami.”

“And you, my beloved,” he said, his voice softening. “Until then.”

There was a beep, and the call ended. You sighed, letting your hand drop.

Selina took a sip of her coffee, her lips curling into a wry grin. “He’s just like his father—equally obsessive and protective. Must run in the genes. That or we just have a knack for ensnaring emotionally constipated men.”

You laughed, a light, nervous sound that filled the room. As you tried to drop your phone back on the couch, you were met with unexpected resistance. The phone stubbornly adhered to your hand, as if it had decided to become a permanent accessory.

“Uh…”

You squinted at the phone, wriggling your fingers and trying to shake it off. No matter what you did, the phone remained firmly in place, glued to your palm.

"Sticky hands?" Selina suggested, glancing at the notepad in her hand now filled with scribbled notes and observations. She made a note with a touch of amusement, her pen moving quickly across the page.

Grumbling under your breath, you made a few more attempts to pry the phone off your hand. “Looks like it. Just another thing to add to the list of weird,” you huffed.

With furrowed brows, you used your other hand to grip the phone, attempting to twist it away. In your distracted state, you failed to account for your newfound strength. The device crumbled under your grip, shards of plastic and glass exploding across the couch.

You stared at the wreckage in disbelief, your heart sinking. Not missing a beat, Selina quickly scribbled down ��Enhanced strength” on her notepad.

You grumbled as the remnants of your phone fell to the floor, a mix of frustration and embarrassment washing over you.

"Can't we—can't we call Batman for this?" you asked, your hand nervously tangling in your hair. "Why'd you stop me from telling Damian anyway?"

Selina’s expression turned severe. Her hands gripped your shoulders firmly, guiding you to face her.

"Listen to me. Batman, Damian, or anyone else cannot know about this right now."

"What—Mom—"

"Not a word," she cut in sharply. "This is meta-level stuff we're dealing with. The Bats don’t handle metas well. We need to keep this under wraps until we fully understand it. The last thing I need is Bruce doing something to hurt my daughter."

Your face fell as her words sank in.

Selina’s grip on your shoulders relaxed slightly, and her gaze softened. Her voice took on a gentler, more empathetic tone. "Power frightens people, especially when it’s something they don’t understand. When they encounter something extraordinary, their confusion often morphs into fear. And fear... well, fear can make people see threats where there are none."

She took a deep breath, her expression grim. "Batman, in particular, has contingency plans for every potential threat, even for his closest allies. We—I can't risk him viewing you as one." Her fingers tightened on your shoulders, a silent plea for understanding.

"Alright," you said quietly, trying to steady your voice. Lying to Bruce was one thing. But Damian... Damian was different. The thought of deceiving him felt like a weight pressing heavily on your chest.

Selina seemed to sense your hesitation. Her gaze softened, and she placed a hand gently on your shoulder. “I know it’s not easy,” she said, her tone soothing. “Damian is—”

“Different,” you finished for her, the word catching in your throat. “He’s always been there for me, and now... I’m just lying to him.”

Selina nodded. “I understand. But you know, that boy looks up to his father. There’s no telling he won’t spill something. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

"I get it,” your lips pursed. “But... what do we do now?"

Selina’s expression shifted from intense to thoughtful as she took a step back, her grip loosening. She glanced at the scattered remnants of your phone, then at the notepad filled with her hastily scribbled notes.

"Well," she sighed, "we need to find another space. I think you've done enough damage in our apartment."

 ༻⊰───⋅

NEXT ->

#the suffering begins!#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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clementine-thedestroyer · 1 year ago

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Miguel O’Hara x reader - Sew cute

Warnings/tags: Miguel getting lowkey horny over his girlfriend knowing how to sew. Also, mentions of marriage.

Part two

I have this head cannon of rich bf Miguel finding his girlfriend’s hobbies adorable and taking every possible opportunity to fule her passion- I might make this a loosely related series, where it’d be the same concept but different hobbies.

I’m so sorry for the pun as the title.

It all started when a line of stitching on your pants began to loosen. The top stitching under the fly, specifically.

You complained offhandedly about it to Miguel, leaning against his side and pouting slightly as you whined about your favorite pair of pants starting to give out. Miguel chuckled softly at your dramatics, scrolling through his phone with one hand and rubbing your shoulder sympathetically with his other, eventually pressing a kiss to your forehead and promising to buy you a new pair next time you two went shopping.

Except, he never gets a chance. Because the next night, he comes home to the sight of you hunched over on the couch, your tongue bitten in concentration as a movie you’re not paying attention too plays on the TV, your head turned to something in your lap instead.

Miguel can’t help his curiosity- coming up behind you and peaking over your shoulder.

Looking down, he sees what you’re focused so intensely on, and it catches him off guard.

You held a thread and needle in one hand and what he assumed to be your pants in the other, carefully sewing a line of stitching into the fabric. Except, you weren’t working on your pants- your pants were sitting to the side of you- the stitching already repaired. Now, you had one of Miguel’s shirts- one he recognized as one he had planned on getting rid of because of a seam coming undone.

“¿Qué haces?” Miguel asks, placing his hands on your shoulders and rubbing loving circles into the tense muscles as watched you work.

You can’t help but shudder as Miguel’s fingers dig into your back, easing the pain from sitting hunched over for so long. You try to keep the shakiness out of your voice as you look up at him to answer his question.

“I’m fixing my pants. The ones that were coming apart- I told you about that yesterday, remember?”

“Love, that’s my shirt. Not your pants.”

“O-oh yeah.” You felt yourself flush in embarrassment, looking back down at the shirt you had stolen from Miguel. “Well- yeah- I finished the pants earlier. Then I found this shirt in with the rest of the clothes while I was putting away laundry. I-I hope you don’t mind that I’m fixing it-”

Miguel smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as he continued rubbing your shoulders. “Of course I don’t mind. But, I’m more than happy to buy us both new clothes. You don’t need to worry about pinching pennies.”

You turn to him, a grin spread across your still warm cheeks as you respond. “Miguel, there’s no reason to replace something so easy to repair! Plus, I’m enjoying myself!”

Miguel nodded, looking down to admire the stitching you had done on the shirt so far. “Hm… I didn’t know you could sew, mi amor.”

“It’s not exactly hard, just moving the needle through the fabric, you know? I haven’t done it in a good while, I forgot how much I liked doing this kinda stuff.”

Miguel was enamored by this new revelation. Before this, he had always seen sewing as more of an old person thing, but he couldn’t deny the warm, fuzzy feeling of domesticity he got from watching you lay in his lap as you delicately maneuvered the needle and thread through the torn fabric of his shirt. He couldn’t help but feel a hint of pride at the sight, it was like you were his little house wife.

Or…house girlfriend? Because he hasn’t married you yet…. But that’s really just a technicality. You’re his house wife, Miguel has decided it.

The next morning, when you handed him the repaired shirt with a proud grin, Miguel couldn’t help but feel treasured and loved from the simple gesture. Before this, Miguel would never have considered wearing something that had ripped them been repaired. He had the money to replace things, so why wouldn’t he? But from that day on, that shirt became his favorite, and he wore it every chance he had.

After that, Miguel started coming home with little handicraft and embroidery kits for you. Whenever he’d get see a kit he knew you’d like- maybe it had your favorite animal or something- he’d toss it in the cart and save it for a rainy day, whether that be a metaphorical or literal one.

And it all stayed like that for a while: Miguel bringing you small hand sewing and embroidery kits, you lighting up and getting started on them right away- usually spending the rest of the night on the couch next to Miguel with a movie or show on in the background.

Until one of your friends asked that you sign up for a sewing workshop with them. It was a relatively basic class, held at one of the local chain fabric/craft stores, but you had agreed to go, mostly for your friends sake.

The workshop was fun. You learned a bit about sewing machine tension and using patterns, and the sewing project given was simple and doable within the time period.

You didn’t realize that Miguel had come early, or that he was standing in the doorway of the classroom, watching you sew with a smile. He would deny it if you asked him, but he had arrived early on purpose to watch the last few minutes of the class. He had assumed the class was hand sewing, like everything else he had seen you do up till that point, and he was surprised to see you hunched over a sewing machine instead of your usual needle and thread.

It was like the first time he saw you sewing all over again: he was fucking smitten, and was going to make you his wife. That was all he could think about, because god help him, you already looked and acted the part.

Miguel was mesmerized by how focused you were as you moved the fabric through the machine. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow in concentration- it was precious, and Miguel wanted nothing more than to melt at how domestic you seemed while doing it.

And when you finished and came up to him? With a wide grin as you proudly presented the stuffed animal you had made during the workshop, insisting that you made it for him? His heart melted, right then and there. He squeezed that stuffed animal so tight and looked down at you with so much love, you were half worried he’d either pounce on you or make the poor stuffed animal’s head pop off (which Miguel might have cried about, at this point).

After the workshop, Miguel didn’t take you home. You and him stayed at the fabric store, him loading your arms up with fabric, patterns, and whatever else he decided you needed. “You like this one? No? You don’t? Well I think it’s just a good basic- like a black shirt, so we should just get it anyways.”

Oh god. And then he found the baby clothes patterns. You could’ve sworn you spent hours at that craft store.

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cleo-fox · 9 months ago

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Conquer

Part 1 of 5

Series Masterlist

Summary: The king intends to take a bride.

You just never thought it would be you.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex (fem receiving), teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: I’m kind of fascinated by the concept of a soulmate AU where Loki wins and this is just another take on that thought. If you've read my fic Surrender, this one is a different universe (an AU of an AU? Is that a thing?)

I am indebted to @infinitystoner, who was kind enough to talk me through some of my doubts about this fic. This one is for you, K. (Also, everyone should go read her work, it's fabulous).

The king intends to take a bride.

At first you think it’s just a stupid rumor, but with time, it becomes clear that it’s not merely a stupid rumor, but a true rumor about a stupid plan. He hasn’t found his soulmate; the speculation is that this is about producing an heir or something similar. Which is also stupid because he’s the one who took over your fucking planet. He can make new rules for succession if he wants to. He doesn’t have to make other people suffer.

You, like most people, still harbor a lot of anger and resentment toward Loki.

You don’t know who he’s going to rope into this plan, but you feel bad for her already. Imagine not only having to be married to that monster, but being in this weird second place to whoever is unfortunate enough to be his soulmate. Imagine having to fuck him, to try and have his kid, all the while knowing you’ll be discarded once he finds his soulmate. Imagine having to go along with all of this and never being able to say what you really think.

The only person you feel sorrier for is whoever turns out to be his soulmate.

Later, all of this will strike you as absurdly ironic.

But you don’t know any of that yet.

You took a job at the hotel because you needed a change of pace after Loki took over. It was just a front desk job—you checked people in and out, answered questions, and said “let me get my manager” whenever there was a serious problem with a guest. It wasn’t glamorous or fun, but it was straightforward and you never had to bring work home with you.

The one thing that you never really considered was whether you were inadvertently choosing a job that would bring you into closer proximity to the man you were trying so desperately hard to not think about at all.

You probably should have considered it—you knew when you took the job that he did a fair amount of travel. You never really understood why—he conquered the entire fucking planet, you think he’d be content to just chill in his palace or whatever. But no. He was constantly on the move, constantly showing up and demanding to be accommodated, and people put up with it because what else are they supposed to do? You can’t exactly persona non grata the guy that successfully took over your planet and made himself king. If that worked, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.

You kind of assumed that he wouldn’t show up to your hotel—it wasn’t conveniently located to anything useful and while it technically had a five star rating, you didn’t think it offered the same caliber of accommodations as the places he was known to stay.

As it turns out, you were wrong on all counts. Hilariously wrong. Because now his steward is here in your hotel lobby. Or his…emissary? You’re not sure what this guy’s official title is. You recognize him from the news—he can often be spotted in the entourage of guards and staff that accompany Loki everywhere, but you don’t know his name. He is rattling off a monologue of sorts—the king requires accommodations, only the finest rooms, and so on. You feel as though you are having an out of body experience as you click through the booking software and confirm that the penthouse is available. You breathe an inner sigh of relief—it would have been manageable to evict whichever rich person had booked it, but it would have fucked up the cleaning crew’s scheduling for at least the next week and you know that corporate is already up Marisol’s ass about your location’s overtime.

You don’t really expect him to show up during this transaction. If you had, you would have said “let me get my manager” and washed your hands of it—you don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with self-proclaimed kings. But as you are booking the room (who the fuck are you supposed to list as the guarantor on the invoice? This wasn’t covered in your training), Loki storms in, followed by a cadre of guards.

You’re not really prepared to see him in person—that’s partly why you freeze. He’s so tall and well…real. It sounds stupid, but it’s jarring seeing him in front of you instead of on a screen or in a picture. He’s not exactly more frightening, but looking at him makes your pulse quicken.

He’s scolding the steward (emissary?) about something—you’re so distracted that you miss exactly what it is that has him so annoyed.

And then you realize that the mark on your left wrist is burning.

You swallow hard. No. Not him.

Loki looks up and his eyes lock with yours.

Fucking hell.

The wedding is a spectacle, to say the least.

Your dress is fucking ridiculous. Instead of the traditional white, you are draped in yards of green fabric covered in thousands of emeralds and diamonds and painstakingly embroidered with thread made of real gold and silver. It is very much a statement about who you are and who you belong to. You don’t care for it, but you don’t really have a choice—the details of the ceremony have been largely left to other people to decide. Part of you thinks they must have been planning for this for years, based on the number of things that are already prepared. Or maybe having access to magic negates the need for planning ahead.

You are much too angry to actually ask Loki about any of this. Not that you see much of him before the ceremony anyway.

You go through the motions of the ceremony, trying to keep your cool. It’s only been a week since he found you at the hotel, so the fact that you haven’t consummated your soulbond is more akin to an annoying itch than anything more disruptive, but when he kisses you at the conclusion of the ceremony, it's…intense, to say the least. The mild ache that settled itself between your thighs last week seems to swell, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core. When he slides his tongue past your lips, all you want to do is release a wanton moan directly into his mouth and rub yourself shamelessly against him. The fact that you’re standing on a platform while the entire world looks on is really the only thing that stops you.

The fact that this is your immediate reaction scares you a bit. You know it’s biology—soulbonds are meant to be consummated isn’t just a saying—but there’s part of you that feels like you should have a stronger handle on that impulse. You are mad at him, you remind yourself. He took over your entire planet, installed himself as king, and then had the audacity to be your soulmate. Focus. Be angry.

You wonder if your family and friends are watching. Your phone ran out of battery the night after he found you and you haven’t had the heart to charge it. You’re barely managing your own emotional reaction—you’re not ready to invite anyone else into it just yet.

The rest of your wedding day is a blur. You meet a bunch of important people and retain exactly none of their names or roles. There is an elaborate multi-course feast and you manage to eat without spilling food on your dress, which feels like a small miracle. You meet more important people and somehow retain even less information. You dance—a few dances with important people whose names you’ve forgotten, but mostly with Loki. The sun sets. They bring out an elaborate dessert course. You dance again. Loki’s hand on your waist fans the flames of desire that you’re trying so hard to ignore.

Finally, you’re whisked away to prepare for bed. It took three people to get you into your dress, and it takes just as many to get you out. They help you into a nightgown that you also didn’t get to pick out—and in fact, it’s the first time you’re seeing it at all. It’s almost too pretty to sleep in, though you suppose that’s the point—you’re supposed to fall asleep naked and sated in the arms of your new husband (god, it’s so weird that you have a husband). You’re not so sure that this is the specific fate that’s in your cards, but you anticipate the nightgown will be coming off at some point this evening. In the interim, you look stereotypically virginal in white lace and chiffon, a glittering emerald pendant resting in your cleavage.

You’ve been staying in a guest suite since he found you, but tonight, they bring you to his rooms. Your rooms, you suppose. Somehow, you doubt he’s the sort who believes that husbands and wives should sleep separately.

The lights are on, but it’s quiet. You wonder if he’s even here.

You approach the couch that sits in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. You can see fireworks and twinkling lights of different celebrations and your stomach clenches like a fist. It’s supposed to be in honor of you. Earth’s new queen. A title that shouldn’t even exist, let alone belong to you.

You turn away from the window and sit down on the couch. You stare at the wall, hands twisting the delicate fabric of your nightgown in your lap.

You hear a sound in the other room—his study, you think—and your heart leaps to your throat, practically buzzing with an emotion that feels like the strange cousin of anxiety and anticipation.

You keep your eyes locked on the wall as you listen to his footsteps draw closer.

“It’s customary to announce yourself when you enter someone’s quarters, you know.”

You pause for a moment before letting your gaze trail to him. It’s a conscious, obnoxious power play on your part—you are trying to show him that you still have agency, that he has not yet won your respect or admiration.

You’re not even sure that it registers, which only serves to irritate you further.

He is still wearing most of his wedding clothes, though he’s taken off the fine surcoat from the ceremony, exposing the soft tunic he was wearing underneath. He is smirking—that seems to be his expression of choice, you’ve noticed.

“Aren’t these my rooms too?” you ask. “Is it customary to announce myself in my own space?”

You are trying to be rude, but it doesn’t seem to matter: he simply laughs.

“You are spirited,” he says, looking you over appreciatively, stirring a wild and burning need in your hips, slickness collecting in the lacy white underwear that had been chosen for you.

“And you intend to break me, is that it?” you snap with more venom than is perhaps wise.

“Of course not.” His answer surprises you, though you are determined to not let that show in your face. “Your will is part of your appeal. I’d no sooner crush a rose beneath my boot.”

You are skeptical of this claim given the amount of damage he did to New York City, but your traitorous cunt throbs at his words nonetheless.

“I’m not happy about any of this, you know,” you say, hoping that your anger will act like roiling floodwaters on the firestorm of lust that’s continuing to build in your hips.

It doesn’t, of course. What’s worse: he laughs. Again.

“I’d gathered,” he says. “You are wonderfully unsubtle when you’re angry.”

“I mean, are you surprised?” you say irritably. “I didn’t even get to pick out my own wedding dress, for fuck’s sake.”

“This is the burden of the office, I’m afraid,” he says. “Your wants and desires are often secondary to the needs of the crown.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from screaming at him. “I think you’re missing the point.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not.”

You let out one long breath. “Are you trying to irritate me?”

Another smirk. “I’m afraid I simply have a gift for it.”

You finally give in and scowl. “Great. This is going about as well as I had expected.”

His eyes drift down the column of your throat to the emerald pendant resting in your cleavage and then to the bodice of your nightgown. “Perhaps it’s time we concern ourselves with activities that require less talking.” He licks his lips and brings his gaze back up to yours.

“I’m not entirely convinced anything would stop you from talking,” you say.

“I suspect letting me bury my tongue in your cunt might do the trick.”

For the first time today, you are entirely speechless. The fire burning low in your hips roars into an inferno, like someone has poured accelerant along your nerves and Loki has struck a match. You take in one shaky breath, your heart thrumming in your throat.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a dark sort of smugness. “To bed, wife.”

You steadfastly ignore the way your stomach jumps when he calls you ‘wife.’ Why is that hot? It shouldn’t be hot.

You’re tempted to argue with him some more—you don’t like giving him even the vaguest impression that you’re following his orders or anything like that—but one smoldering look from him has your heart pounding and another wave of fresh arousal flooding between your legs. You follow him to the bed, trying to keep your expression neutral and indifferent.

He pulls you firmly against him and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no space between you—you can feel his stomach muscles expand and contract with every slow intake of breath, the press of his slowly hardening cock against your stomach.

He tilts your face up to his and claims your mouth in a devouring kiss, and this time, the moan that you’d held back during the ceremony slips from your lips almost immediately. He makes a low growling noise in return, his hands sliding to the row of small pearl buttons that hold up the back of your nightgown.

You suspect that beyond aesthetic and functional value, the purpose of these buttons is to facilitate a slow, sexy reveal; Loki undoes exactly two and a half buttons before roughly pulling the edges of the fabric apart, the remaining buttons snapping from their threads and pinging against the floor.

You pull away from him, immediately annoyed. “Do you make a habit of ruining other people’s things? What if I wanted to wear that again?”

He laughs, tugging the fabric off your shoulders. “Perhaps you forget the extraordinary powers I have at my command,” he says, staring greedily at your breasts as he tugs the nightgown down your waist, pulling it off your hips so it falls to the floor. “I could tear this gown off you every night and remake it every morning with no more than a click of my fingers.”

Fucking magic powers undercutting your goddamn fucking point.

“Yeah, well, you’re still a jackass,” you say sourly, unwilling to concede the point any further.

His smile is sharp in a way that makes you shiver and he slips his hand into your underwear, his smile growing as he feels how slick you are. “It doesn’t seem to bother you all that much, does it?”

You try to keep your expression stern, but his fingers find your clit and you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

“Your sweet cunt is so ready to come.” He slides a finger into you and you whimper. “It’s obscene how wet you are for me.”

You bite back a plea and kiss him instead. His mouth is rough on yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip, tongue plundering your mouth. He slides a second finger into you and you keen.

“Yes,” he groans against your mouth. “Take it like a good girl.”

You clench around his fingers and your hands seek purchase in his hair. You tug on it lightly and he growls with pleasure before he pulls away, his hands moving to the waistband of your underwear and tugging it off your hips.

“Get on the bed.” His tone brooks no arguments. “Now.”

It’s tempting to talk back, tempting to resist. You are still angry about every aspect of this relationship and this stupid fucking wedding. But you know you need this—the dull ache in your hips is only growing more pronounced with every passing moment and the brief feeling of his fingers on your clit was nothing short of heaven. Soulbonds are meant to be consummated and your body seems to be doing everything it can to propel you toward that end.

You kick your underwear the rest of the way off before sitting down on the bed and lying back on the pillows.

He pauses for a moment to look you over, his gaze trailing lazily over your bare skin, his hand absently moving to palm his cock through his trousers. “Spread your legs,” he says. You do and you catch a breath of a groan from him as he stares at you. Your cunt throbs in response and you bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering.

He allows himself one moment before he crawls on the bed to join you. He kneels between your legs, staring greedily at your exposed cunt, running a thumb along the edge of your folds. Your hips rock upward involuntarily, chasing his hand, seeking friction.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he murmurs. “So soaking wet, so desperately needy for my touch.” He pauses again, licking his lips. “I think I might need a taste.”

Your breath stutters in your chest and he kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly licking and sucking his way upward in a tantalizing preview of what’s to come. You’re already soaking and you can feel yourself growing wetter as his sinful mouth draws closer and closer to your aching need.

You’re not entirely sure whether it’s a moan or a whine that passes your lips when he finally licks that first long, lazy stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit. He groans low and wanting against your cunt, his tongue rolling over your clit once more before he catches it between his lips and slowly begins to suck.

There is no getting around it: Loki is a pro at eating pussy.

It would be easier if he wasn’t, you find yourself thinking somewhere in the haze between orgasms. If he were mediocre, it would make it so much easier to be angry at him, to resent your current situation. This is not to say that you’ve abandoned your anger at all—you are still mad. But your anger feels so much less effective when he’s spent a solid ninety minutes with his head between your legs and you’ve lost track of the number of times he’s made you come.

He is—predictably—infuriatingly smug about all of this.

Your first orgasm arrives so quickly that it seems to take you both by surprise. And indeed, he lifts his head moments later, already smirking.

“That was awfully quick, wife,” he says. The glint in his eye tells you that he absolutely noticed how you reacted to that name earlier and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from scowling.

“Maybe you’re out of practice,” you say. Even as you say it, it doesn’t sound convincing (it doesn’t even make sense when you think about it later) and Loki laughs outright.

“I think not,” he says, carefully sliding one long index finger inside of you. “I think your poor cunt has been sorely neglected, either by you or some subpar lover you took to ease the ache of missing me.” He adds a second finger and you bite your lip to keep in a moan. “I think you’ll be begging for me before the night is out.” His fingertips press teasingly against that spot inside you and you take in a sharp breath.

He starts lazily moving his fingers in and out of you and while it feels good, you know it’s not going to be enough to get you there. You suspect, from the way that he’s smirking, that he knows this, too.

“Do you want my mouth again? I don’t think you’re done.”

“You’re trying to be a jerk and I don’t like it,” you say.

He laughs and draws his thumb briefly over your clit. “Darling, I only want you to tell me what you want.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I think you can understand the appeal of hearing a beautiful woman beg for your touch.”

His compliment immediately clashes with the suggestion that you begging for him is a possibility.

He smiles, catlike, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“You need my mouth again,” he says, fingers curling inside you. “You need more. I can feel how wet you are, sweet thing.” His thumb presses against your clit and retreats as soon as your breath hitches.

“I could keep you like this for hours. Days, even,” he says, lazily stroking his fingers inside you. “I could keep you right on the edge, begging for your release. But I don’t think you want that. Even I don’t want that. I think you want to come again right now and I think you want my mouth.”

“I’m not begging you for it,” you say.

“I’ve only asked you to tell me what you want,” he says. “I’ve merely expressed that I find the idea of you begging very appealing.”

You want to smack him. With your luck, though, that would turn out to be one of his kinks and then you’ll really be in for it. Your fingers flex against the sheets.

“Do you want to come, darling? Do you want my mouth again?” he asks with a feigned innocence that suggests it’s not a loaded question, even as the glint in his eyes tells you it is.

You’re silent for a beat and then his thumb returns to your clit, pressing and stroking as his fingers curl inside of you. Your hips rock with his hand and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning aloud when he stops a few seconds later, his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting your answer.

This exchange repeats four more times. On the fifth, you finally break.

“Please,” you whimper. You sound more desperate than you would prefer, but your overwhelming need to come has quickly superseded whatever shreds of decency you have left.

“Please what?” he asks, radiating smugness.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl, which he only laughs at.

“I’m waiting…” he says, his fingers curling in a teasing way.

You know there’s no getting around this. “I need to come.”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, like he’s expecting more.

You resist the urge to sigh. “I need your mouth. Please.”

He barely spares a second for a wicked grin and a growl of praise that only elevates your need before he’s lowering his mouth again to your clit.

Your second orgasm is somehow even quicker than the first, only this time, you’re already whimpering for the next one as soon as you catch your breath.

Mercifully, he doesn’t lift his mouth from your cunt this time, though he does give you a wicked look that more or less says the same thing.

His fingers are wonderful, but you know they’re no substitute for his cock. And while he has made you come so many times already, the need to have him inside of you continues to grow, settling into a dull ache in your hips.

“I need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe as the aftershocks of your latest orgasm fade back to that ache.

He lifts his head for a minute. “I intend to, but I don’t think you’re done yet.”

Your eyes widen as he seals his lips back around your clit.

“I mean, I’ve just—fuck—I’ve just had more…c-consecutive orgasms than I’ve ever had before in my life, you’re—oh my god, yes—you’re not exactly leaving me wanting—oh fuck.”

He stays silent, but it’s because his tongue is working over your clit. You, on the other hand, are in the process of undercutting your own point. A few more strokes of his tongue and you are coming again, your hips jerking hard against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop after that, either—he draws more orgasms from you, groaning into your cunt when you pull on his hair.

Your pleas for him to fuck you become increasingly desperate with every orgasm, until he finally lifts his head.

“What was it that you wanted?” he asks with a smirk that tells you he needs absolutely no clarification whatsoever.

“Fuck me, please. I need to be fucked, I need your cock,” you say. You feel restless and desperate, the ache inside you growing with every passing second.

“Oh, darling, all you needed to do was ask,” he says, his tone overly cloying.

You’re not quite so far gone that you can’t manage a scowl. “I have been asking. Repeatedly.”

He laughs and begins to undress. You suspect he’s doing this to torture you—you know he could remove his clothes in one go if he wanted to.

He peels his shirt off first and your lips part involuntarily as you take in the firm expanse of muscle of his chest and abdomen, your fingertips itching with the need to touch him. You grip the sheets instead in the vain hope that it might make a difference (it doesn’t).

But even the enticing expanse of his chest is no match for what’s to come.

He removes his trousers with achingly precise slowness. You expect him to be hard; what you’re not expecting is the primal response that it invokes in you. His cock is long, thick, and hard, the head already slick with pre-come. It’s not just for you—it’s because of you.

You swallow hard as he turns to face you fully. You’re so distracted by his cock that you almost miss the smug smirk, which he makes no attempt to hide. He knows he’s hot, he knows he has a beautiful cock, and he knows that you are absolutely aching for him. It is profoundly irritating.

He wraps his hand around his cock, wetting his lips as he casually strokes himself once. “Do you want me?” he asks with the sort of tone and expression that tells you he absolutely knows the answer.

You could yell at him. The prospect is certainly tempting. But you’re not sure that it’s worth it, not with the way your cunt is throbbing with the need to be filled with his beautiful, thick cock.

“Loki, please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you’d like, but you decide that you can live with it.

You are treated to a particularly wolfish grin before he starts stalking towards you.

There’s a large part of you that expects him to flip you over and take you from behind, rough and fast and impersonal. But instead, he climbs on top of you and draws you into a kiss. It’s deep and slow and heightened by the heavy weight of his bare cock pressing against your belly, drops of pre-come smearing against your skin.

Your back arches and your right leg snakes around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him to finally ease the ache inside of you. But he takes his time, kissing you slowly, running his hands over your breasts and hips, rocking his cock against you, but not inside of you.

You don’t like begging—it feels too much like offering up a vulnerability—but it becomes increasingly difficult not to give into the urge the longer he stays on top of you like this.

“Loki,” you finally say when he starts peppering sharp, sucking kisses against your throat.

“What is it, my love?” he asks with a faux confusion that you can see through right away.

“You know what I want,” you say as evenly as you can manage.

“Mmm, let me hear you say it just once more,” he says.

“Please fuck me.”

You’re expecting another negotiation, another battle of wits, but instead, he gives you a rather sharp grin and adjusts his hips so he can rub the tip of his cock up and down the length of your cunt. And then, to your surprise, he lines his cock up at your entrance and slowly begins to ease inside of you.

There’s a part of you—a large part of you—that’s surprised by how careful he is. He’s gentle, slowly pressing into you, giving you time to adjust, his movements careful. He does this all in such a way that you might not notice if you didn’t think to look—he wants you to think that he’s not doing any of what he’s doing. He wants you to think he’s not thinking of you when he is, that the care and precision of his movements are merely a pleasant coincidence. You’re not sure how you know this, but you feel certain.

He waits to kiss you until he’s pressed fully inside you, and you realize this is another illusion, another cover so you don’t realize that he’s giving you another moment to adjust to him.

It’s oddly considerate—irritatingly so. The coals of your anger still burn bright in your heart, but they flicker for just a moment.

But then he begins to move and coherent thoughts flee your mind entirely.

He feels so good. You’re not sure if it’s the soulbond itself, the dopamine and serotonin, or if he just knows the perfect way to move, but the first thrust has your toes curling and that warm heat stirring in your belly. You’ve already come so many times tonight that it feels impossible that your body should be capable of more, but you know immediately that he’s going to bring you right back over the edge if he keeps moving the way he is.

And he’s showing no signs of stopping, either.

“Norns,” he breathes, pressing a kiss against your neck, “you feel perfect. So warm and tight.”

You shiver, your cunt clenching reflexively around his slowly stroking cock. He grins and presses his lips up against your ear.

“Do you like hearing how your snug little cunt fits me like a glove?”

You would prefer to be able to lie in this particular moment—instead, your body immediately betrays you and your legs tighten around his waist as your cunt shudders around him.

You can practically feel his sharp, hungry smile as he nips at your earlobe. “I can feel how much you do,” he murmurs. A devastating swivel of his hips has you uttering a gasping whine that you are not at all proud of.

“That’s it.” He’s swiveling his hips on every other thrust now and you know the moment he switches to that exclusively, it’s all over. “You’re so close,” he purrs with confidence that annoys you just a little, even in your pre-orgasmic stupor.

But then he swivels his hips again and you shudder before you can hide it and he notices…and does it again.

And again.

Fuck.

Your orgasm starts barreling toward you at an impossibly fast pace and his eyes glitter because he knows.

“You’re going to come for me.” It’s not even a command—it’s just a statement as he rolls his hips in those devastating thrusts.

You whimper, your back arching.

“Give into it. Let me feel you.”

One more push of his cock against that sweet spot inside you and you can’t fight it any more. Your muscles tense one last time and you cry out as you come hard on his cock.

“Oh, beautiful,” he groans, his eyes closing as he fucks you through it.

It seems to last a long time, drawn out every time the head of his cock drags against that sensitive spot that sent you over the edge in the first place. He pauses briefly to bring your legs up over his shoulders, which makes his cock hit a spot even deeper inside you that feels so good it pulls a strangled sob from your throat.

Loki groans, his pace increasing, one hand falling between your legs to rub at your clit. It’s so much, but it feels better than anything. You feel another orgasm rising in your hips and you whimper.

“Good girl, fucking take it,” he slurs. You can tell that he’s getting close from the way his thrusting is becoming more frantic, how he tips his head back and grips your hips even harder.

“Come for me,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your lovely cunt with my seed. Come for me.”

Your vision whites out and your back arches as you come. If you were capable of rational thought, you would be angry that your body simply obeyed this simple directive; as it is, it’s hard for you to process anything other than how good he feels inside of you.

You can tell he’s approaching his end and he’s utterly captivating to watch. His eyes are screwed shut, brow furrowed and lips parted as he lets out a low groan that makes your toes curl.

His eyes open in the final throes and he surges forward to kiss you. He moans softly into your mouth as he comes, his whole body shuddering.

You feel dreamy and sated as he slows to a halt, lowering his head to the crook of your neck. The restless ache inside you is finally quiet—at least for now.

You expect him to roll off you and fall asleep—the portrait of a cliche. Instead, he stays with you, the warm heat of his breath ghosting over your shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing inside of you.

You should push him away, reclaim the distance between you. You’re angry at him, after all.

But also…it feels nice.

It’s just the endorphins, you tell yourself. It’s hormones. It doesn’t mean anything.

You can feel the lie prickling at the edges of the thought, sharp and needling, like ground glass pressing against bare skin. It means a lot of things; you just wish it didn’t.

Be angry.

His lips brush against your shoulder. More of your muscles relax. It’s nice.

Be angry.

You’re tired though. It’s been a really long day and the bed is soft and the weight of Loki on top of you is oddly reassuring.

Maybe just for tonight. Maybe just this once you’ll allow yourself to fall asleep in his bed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. It feels too sharp, too strident. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. He doesn’t know you, though, not really, and so you can only hope that he misses the subtle catch in your voice, that little note of uncertainty.

“I’d expect nothing less.” His voice is slightly muffled against your shoulder.

Goddammit, why does this have to be so comfortable?

He shifts slightly, easing out of you. You feel the resulting mess vanish before it even hits your thigh. At least he’s considerate.

You scowl at the thought.

“Sleep,” he says after a moment. “You’ll need your strength to rage at me in the morning.”

“I can rage at you in my sleep,” you say as your eyes slide shut.

“I’m sure you can,” he says. “Sleep.”

And despite all your complicated feelings—your anger, the inherent feeling of ease you get from his embrace, your unease with your new title, your homesickness—you find that the pull of sleep is too tempting to resist and the world slowly fades away.

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#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson smut

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harrywavycurly · 15 days ago

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Hey I loved the bachelorette party in Malibu for Lonley series but can u do one where Harry has a bachelor party and yn stuck at home please I’m obbsed 😂💕

Hiii lovey!!! I’m glad you enjoy the series!!! I hope you like this, it was fun to write because the difference in how the two of them handle time away from each other is very funny😂💖

Find all things Lonely series here✨

CW: Language and mentions of drinking

Tag List: @blckburd @fangirl509east @ell0ra-br3kk3r @youngpastafanmug @mattieshattuck1 @outofthisworl-d

A/N: Harry is away for his bachelor party weekend while you’re at home and you get a surprise visitor, enjoy drunk Harry as well as some classic bestie banter✨

You let out a sigh of content as you get comfortable on the couch before bringing your coffee mug up to your lips so you can take a sip, the house is quiet minus the gentle humming sound of the ice maker in the kitchen and the air conditioning that kicks on every now and then and you can’t help but sit there and enjoy the peacefulness of the quiet, at least while you can. You look at the clock on the wall in the kitchen and know that Harry should be landing in Vegas soon, Gemma having booked a morning flight so she could get in a few hours at the spa and a well timed nap before the nighttime festivities begin, most of which you have no idea about minus one little detail but that’s only because she drunkenly let it slip during your bachelorette trip a month ago.

You smile at the thought of Harry being surprised with a spa day, something you know he enjoys and will help him relax and the more relaxed he gets the more fun he will have as the evening goes on. That’s the thing with this weekend, you truly want Harry to have fun because he’s been spending way too much time fussing over you and the upcoming wedding recently that a night out without anything or anyone to worry about is what he deserves. And even though you had to practically drag him down the front steps to the car that was taking him to the airport this morning because he was “gonna miss you too much” and almost bought you a ticket on the spot to join him in Vegas, you know he’s going to end up having a good time.

You take another sip of your coffee when suddenly you hear a light beeping sound signaling to you that your front gate has been opened. You raise an eyebrow as you quickly lean over and place your mug on the coffee table before standing up and heading towards the kitchen so you can look at the fancy little tablet that shows all the security cameras, something Harry made sure to show you how to use before he left since this is technically your first time alone overnight in the house since moving in together. You mentally prepare yourself to see the same black SUV you watched him leave in this morning pulling into the driveway, but when you look at the screen you scrunch your brows together and bring the tablet closer to your face to get a better look at the car.

“What the-”

“Your fuckin’ gate hates me.” You look up from the tablet in your hands as Niall walks through your front door with a duffle bag. “I type in the code it gets all mad and beeps at me so then I type it in again and then it flashes red at me. So then I do it a third-why the bloody hell you got that thing so close to your face? You going blind or somethin?” He stops in the doorway of the kitchen with a slight look of concern on his face as his eyes land on you standing in the middle of the kitchen still holding the tablet a few inches from your face trying to see if that really is Niall’s car in your driveway or not.

“What are you doing here?” You watch him roll his eyes as he walks through the kitchen and into the living room where he drops his duffle bag down behind the couch.

“I live here.” Is all he says as he heads back into the kitchen and grabs himself a mug before going to the coffee pot. You just place the tablet back down onto the counter as you watch Niall make his way around the kitchen while making his coffee.

“Does my fiancé know that?” You ask with a hint of playfulness because you know Harry would have a field day if he heard Niall tell you he lived here, having reached a whole new level of jealousy ever since the two of you got engaged when it comes to your friendship with Niall.

“Oh what that lanky lad doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides it’s just for the weekend because I know he’s gone and you’ve never been alone here before so figured you could use the company.” You know he’s leaving something out as he gives his coffee a good stir before taking a sip of it all while looking everywhere but at you in the process.

“You didn’t get invited did you?” Niall’s face drops as he places his mug on the counter and lets out a sad dramatic sigh making you have to hold back a laugh.

“No.” He says with a groan. “Gem said she didn’t wanna risk Harry not having as good of a time with me there because he might be worried I’d run off and tell you everything but we both know that’s a load of bull because the man is gonna end up drunk off his ass by ten tonight and callin you up and telling on his own fucking self.” You put a hand over your mouth to try to hide your laughter but it’s no use because Niall just rolls his eyes as he grabs his mug and heads towards the living room.

“So you decided coming over here for the weekend was the best alternative?” You question as you follow him into the living room. He just shrugs as he sits down on the couch, placing an arm on the back of it so you can sit next to him and lean into his side for a little cuddle that you know he needs more than you do in this very moment.

“I figured no use in both of us being home alone when we could just be in your house together eating all Harry’s snacks and watching trashy telly.” You smile and you rest your head on Niall’s shoulder as he brings his mug up to his lips. “This coffee is gonna keep me awake for a week you absolute caffeine fiend.” He teases before taking another sip. “Tastes good though.” He mumbles as you reach for the remote so you can turn the tv on allowing the two of you to start your day of watching horrible reality television.

“If she picks him then it proves she’s just after his money because it’s clear she doesn’t even like him she just tolerates him.” You huff as you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance making Niall let out a laugh from the kitchen.

The two of you have spent the day and a good portion of the evening watching some dating show and only have one episode left so Niall decided it was only fitting he make some cocktails to go with watching the finale and honestly having put up with the dramatics of the show and watching the main woman send home people the two of you thought were decent catches has made him need a drink or two. He is in the middle of squeezing a lime into your glass when he hears the sound of something vibrating against the marble of your kitchen counter, he raises an eyebrow when he notices your phone sitting there plugged into a charger near the coffee maker. Now Niall has been your bestfriend for quite a while, so he’s no stranger to checking your phone for you so he doesn’t think twice before he’s drying his hands off and walking over to see who’s messaging you but what he sees on your lock screen makes his eyes go wide.

“You have forty six unread-sorry now it’s forty seven unread texts? What the hell? Oh fuck now it’s fifty.” You let out a sigh as your head falls to the back of the couch while Niall unplugs your phone from the charge and heads into the living room with it in his hand.

“I don’t want to respond because then he’ll keep texting me and I want him to have fun and not be thinking about me.” Niall would agree that in theory your plan would work on anyone else but this is Harry you’re talking about and he knows how obsessed the man is with you and clearly based on the evidence of the amount of texts he’s sent without a single response from you, your plan is in fact not working.

“Right well I think that’s sweet and all that you want him to have fun but looking at these-uh he seems a bit stressed? Like proper freaking out.” You sit up and turn to look at Niall as he begins to read some of the texts Harry has sent and when you watch him roll his eyes you know they are probably a bit on the dramatic side. “Oh he’s totally drunk off his ass and it’s not even half past eleven.” He states as he scrolls down towards the last few messages he sent you.

“What’s he stressed-”

“And now he’s FaceTiming you.” You stand up and walk around the couch and reach for your phone but Niall just gives you a playful smirk and you instantly know what he’s about to do.

“Niall do not answer that.” You warn as you hold your hand out for him to hand you the phone but Niall just ignores you as he heads back into the kitchen and holds the phone up before he answers Harry’s FaceTime call.

“Baby-what the fuck’er you doin in my house?” Harry’s voice is low and a bit rougher than normal and you immediately know he’s working his way towards a nice buzz. “Why do you have my wife’s phone?” Niall rolls his eyes as he places your phone against the sink so he can go back to fixing the two of you some drinks.

“She’s not your wife yet mate and I’m here because that sister of yours didn’t invite me to your little weekend away so I came here to keep my bestfriend company.” You run a hand over your face as you hear Harry let out a groan at Niall’s correction of him calling you his wife.

“You don’t like spa days so you’d’ve hated it so far.” Niall sends Harry a glare as he grabs the bottle of tequila making Harry raise an eyebrow at him when he watches him pour more than a shots worth into each glass. “You tryin’a get her drunk?” He asks as you stand on the other side of the island watching Niall make your drink and making sure Harry can’t see you, at least not yet.

“You’re in the city of sin and all you’ve done is have a bloody spa day? God you’re such an eighty year old nan.” You can’t help but laugh making Niall shoot you a playful wink but that only causes Harry to let out a whine like noise because he can hear you but can’t see you which makes Niall roll his eyes. “I can’t with the sad puppy noises you’ve got to take him.” Niall says as he picks up the phone with one hand and hands it to you but with the screen still facing him. You send him a glare before you stick your tongue out at him making him laugh before he returns the gesture.

“I don’t want to see your tongue Niall-”

“Hi Harry.” You watch Harry’s face go from disgust to pure happiness in a matter of seconds when you turn the phone around allowing him to finally see your face.

“Baby I’m so happy you’re alive.” You just ignore Niall’s laugh as you make your way back into the living room to get comfortable on the couch. “You ignored me all day and s’not nice to ignore someone you love.” His voice is a mixture of playfulness and a bit of sadness as he pokes his bottom lip out in a dramatic pout.

“I wanted you to worry about having fun not about what I’m doing.” You explain as you take a moment to try to get a decent look at him through the screen but the way he has his phone in his hand all you can see is his face and a bit of the collar of his shirt. “Where are you right now?” You ask when you notice red strobe lights in the background, Harry turns his head and looks around as if he’s looking for the name of the establishment on the walls or anywhere near where he’s currently at.

“Uhm m’not sure? S’a bit dark in here but the people are very lovely.” You smile at the blush that appears on his cheeks as his eyes wonder over to something that’s going on in front of him that you can’t see.

“That’s code for the girls are topless and the tits are nice.” Niall whispers in your ear as he leans over the back of the couch to hand you your drink, you just laugh but Harry even in his half drunken state heard Niall’s little joke and sends him a glare through the screen.

“He said people so I’m assuming it’s not just girls in this club.” You explain and Niall just shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Right so the guys are brief-less and the cocks are decent.” You nearly choke on the sip of your drink that’s in your mouth at Niall’s statement making him laugh as he reaches over and rubs your back a bit. “Jesus no wonder you two are getting married. Neither of you can handle your liquor.” He teases before he heads back into the kitchen to give you and Harry a few minutes alone.

“Harry why don’t you go and enjoy yourself? You can call me in the morning if you want?” You don’t want to sound rude but you know if you don’t get him off the phone soon then odds are you’ll be on FaceTime with him for the next few hours or until Gemma notices and takes things into her own hands.

“I took s’mthing of yours to help me get through the weekend without you.” Harry admits quietly as he looks around as if to make sure no one is looking before he reaches into his suit jacket pocket, you feel your whole face get hot when he shows you what he took of yours and you silently thank your lucky stars Niall decided to go back into the kitchen. “They’ve helped so far but still miss you.” He adds as he clutches the item in his hand while staring at you through the phone.

“You are such a freak.” Harry just shrugs one shoulder and gives you a sneaky little smirk as he begins to put the object pack into his pocket.

“Tell me those aren’t your knickers he’s shoving back into this pocket like some sort of sicko.”

“M’not a sicko for having a pair of my fiancé’s-”

“Do not finish that sentence Harry Styles you are in public.” You hear a scoff come from behind you while Harry also makes a similar sounding noise making you send Niall who’s now resting his forearms on the back of the couch next to where you’re sitting, a glare over your shoulder before looking back at your phone to give Harry the same look.

“Babe he’s surrounded by bouncing boobs and swinging pricks you think anyone’s gonna give a rats ass if he’s got some worn out knickers in his sleeve?” You scrunch your nose at Niall’s choice of words regarding your undergarments making Harry chuckle.

“How’d ya know they’re worn? You been in my nightstand you wonky kneed twat?”

“You have a panty stash in your nightstand you lanky fuck?”

“And if I do? S’none of your concern you hobbit sized asshole.”

“Ya know for a family all about treat people with kindness you Styles lot sure love to be mean as fuck to the Irish fella who’s job it is to make sure your beloved future bride makes it down the aisle.”

“The bloody hell s’that ‘posed to mean?” You let out a sigh as you just sit there and let the two of them argue as you normally do, knowing that eventually you’ll have to step in but for right now it hasn’t reached the level of any serious feelings getting hurt. Harry’s eyes are a light shade of red and his cheeks are pink letting you know his drinks are starting to catch up to him.

“It means that you overgrown toddler of a man best start being nicer to me or I might just have her accidentally get lost on the way to the venue or better yet just let her sleep in and be so late you’ll have to cancel the whole thing and reschedule it for next-”

“Okay that’s enough.” You snap when you see Harry’s eyes start to get watery as Niall’s threat starts to sink into Harry’s slightly alcohol clouded mind. “Niall go into the kitchen and make me a snack please.” He just lets out a huff but he does what you say because he can tell by your tone that you’re in no playing mood and besides he is starting to feel a bit hungry himself.

“I don’t want to reschedule.” You feel your heart sink a bit at how sad Harry’s voice is as he looks at you with a frown.

“We aren’t rescheduling anything Harry he’s just being mean that’s all.” You give him a reassuring smile that just makes him nod. “I love you and I want you to go and have fun okay? Do some weird stuff and tell me all about it when you get home or if you don’t want to-”

“M’gonna call you in the morning.” He corrects you and you just smile at his face because you know he’s trying his best to look serious but he’s failing due to the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “I love you so so-so fucking much even though you ignored me.” He half mumbles and you can’t help but giggle at how cute he is when he’s drunk and trying so hard to keep it together.

“I love you too.” He gives you a dimpled grin at your response. “Now go have fun or I won’t answer your call tomorrow.” You know it’s probably not nice to threaten him but you figure it’s a good way to get him to actually do what you want and by the way he rolls his eyes and lets out a huff you know it works.

“Fine I’ll go and find m’sister and have fun.” He says with a sigh while you smile and blow him a kiss before saying you love him one more time and ending the call.

“Has he always been so damn needy?” Niall asks as you walk into the kitchen with your drink in your hand. You just shrug as you take a sip while you take a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island so you can watch Niall cook, he decided a proper meal was what the two of you needed not just a lousy snack since there’s still a dating show finale to watch.

“I don’t know but I also don’t mind.” You answer with a smile making Niall quirk a brow at you as he stirs in the cheese sauce for the Mac and cheese. “I’m happy to be the one he needs.” And it’s the truth because while Harry might be overly clingy and a tad bit more needy than he normally was when the two of you were just friends, you love being the one he wants to cling to and feels the urge to be needy with because it shows the shift that’s taken place and how in love with you he actually is.

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littlejuicebox · 9 months ago

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GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

-----

“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

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yuri-is-online · 7 months ago

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Was Lilia more “Oh my thorn fairy I have another child?! I can barely cast a spell as of now and future me wants a fucking KID?! AT THAT AGE?!”

Or more of a

I HAVE ANOTHER SON?! AND IT’S FROM ME!?

If his Yutu tells him he comes from the future? Because it could imply he does regain his remaining years and magic. Idk how you wrote that problem that even rn it’s giving talk about Lilia surviving book 7 or not.

If it’s the second I already see him passing by Silver’s room really excited and saying “YOU HAVE A BROTHER!” And zooming off, leaving a very confused Silver and thinking he refers to either Malleus or Sebek.

technically anon asked first but this ask is much longer so it was awkward to screenshot for an answer. Here is the link the anon used for reference, I obligated as an elderly hater to let you know it's from SAO. Anon's idea is extremely good and we're going to roll with it for this Yutu's Uniqe Magic because you know he was always going to be a little shit.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. SPOILERS FOR: Book 7, Lilia's back story, and Silver's unique magic. Please engage with this in mind. For more fyuutre kid au, please check out the series section of my masterlist.

I have a bit of difficult time writing for Lilia given how much older he is than the rest of the cast, so I tend to write his Yuu as being a bit older themselves. Maybe they had an extremely difficult childhood and connected with Lilia over their shared sense of robbed innocence. Whatever it was I think this Yuu has a bit of a fascination with creatures of the night and a lot of their weirdo reputation within their community comes from kids telling each other that Yuu and Yutu are vampires. That makes me tempted to say Lilia! Yutu's real name is Alucard or Sebastian, something vaguely vampire themed.

None of those rumors are helped by Yutu finding himself very lethargic when out in the sunlight or his preference for colder temperatures. From his perspective he can't exactly help being who he is, people should really just get over themselves and let him do his thing. It's not his fault that bats really seem to like him for some reason, the neighbors are exaggerating Mr. Animal Control officer he swears.

Because he prefers to spend his awake hours in the dark, he is waaaaay too comfortable doing things and going places he shouldn't. He's real familiar with all the abandoned buildings and sketchy alleys of your town and has tagged quite a few of them. I like the idea of Lilia! Yutu being really interested in street art and Graffiti. I could see him putting up a bunch of bats everywhere and getting in a bunch of trouble for it. He has very fond memories of Yuu letting him paint murals on portions of their house in an effort to meet him halfway. He might like a good prank but unlike his father Yutu is always pulling his punches with Yuu.

Lilia didn't exactly have a supportive parent while he was growing up, something I feel like Yuu remembers and is very conscious of in their parenting of Yutu. Unfortunately for Lilia they also remember that he had another child and was a lot older than them, something Yutu raises several eyebrows at and causes him to ignore the things Yuu tries to tell him about his "great sense of humor" and "desire for different peoples to learn and grow with one another-" yeah that's great can you back up a bit to where you said he had another family? Yutu goes through life thinking he was the product of an affair Yuu had with a much older, married man who was just trying to feel young again. The amnesia stuff... sometimes he wonders if his dad tried to have Yuu killed. He never says it out loud because something tells him he's wrong, but gut feelings aren't as trustworthy as statistics...

So you can imagine his surprise when he tumbles out of a coffin and is told that his dad was a faerie general bound in service to a family of dragons, veteran of an ancient war, and technically the adoptive father of the Prince of the children of the night and the Prince of the rival human kingdom that killed his best friends. One of which is alive and overwhelmed with joy to meet him. Silver wanted Yutu almost as badly as Lilia and Yuu did so to see him alive and awkwardly squirming in his arms? Silver hasn't cried this much since they lost Lilia and Malleus.

Having a proper older brother, not just the concept, is an extreme change for Yutu. He's used to it just being him and Yuu, and he was sort of expecting Silver to hate him just for existing. Nothing could be further from the truth, Silver wants his younger brother to have the same freedoms he did while attending school but he also respectfully requests that Yutu spend at least some of his free time with him. He tried desperately to find his dreams over the years and was never able to make firm contact, but he doesn't want to pressure Yutu into caring about him. Yutu is didn't realize how badly he wanted other family members until he got to have Silver, he's even willing to take up sword fighting so they can get closer.

Sebek is also overwhelmed with tears upon seeing Lilia! Yutu. He is a bit harsh on him for "not living up to Master Lilia's legacy" because he doesn't know anything about fighting. He does applaud him for his willingness to learn. Yutu thinks Sebek is hilarious and messes with him just as much as Lilia does. Something Sebek is completely willing to let him do because it makes him feel like Lilia never left.

All of the Yutus get to see some of the photographs Yuu left behind, but Lilia! Yutu is especially interested in them. He makes a small photo album of all the ones he can find of his dad, especially ones where he's with Yuu and Silver. He's partially driven by guilt for thinking his father was a terrible person, but really he just wants to feel closer to him. He's half fae, and sure he has Sebek to talk about that with but what he really needs is a connection with his father. Yutu doesn't really care about being a faerie. He just cares about his dad's acceptance, everything else can go hang.

I don't have a name for his unique magic, but going off of anon's idea it allows him to overwhelm his target's mind, forcing them to think about their greatest fears to the point they are convinced they are really going through it. Someone hates spider? All over their face and in their clothes. Crippling fear of failure? Suddenly that emotion is all they can focus on. And if it's a mindless creature like a blot phantom or a monster they become overwhelmed with the sensation that they are unable to breathe and about to die. Yutu can't control the illusion the person experiences so usually he tries not to use it on his classmates.

That changes when he goes into the past. Some rando want to shit talk Yuu? Nightmare. Macho NRC guy wants to rumble? Nightmare. Some random guy jumped out from behind him and yells "BOO!" Nightma-

If Yutu had been just a hair slower he would have been in extreme pain, the dangerous glint in those familiar ruby eyes scream that. The short fae smiles almost cruelly, advancing on him clearly upset even though Yutu has dropped the spell.

"Well now, that's no way to great a senior." Lilia's voice is strangely soothing, it occurs to Yutu that this is probably the first time his father has ever been angry at him and he can't help himself. He laughs,

"Yeah sorry about that." He makes sure to try and be cute about it, which helps to diffuse the tension some what. "You really scared me so it was all I could think to do."

Lilia is very impressed by Yutu's reflexes and control over his unique magic. He is even further impressed by how eager Yutu is to train with Silver. The kid has some real promise and fits into Silver and Sebek's dynamic better than Lilia could have dreamed of. He really hopes the two will benefit from having a relatively normal human friend their age to train with. Maybe he and Yuu will stick around and give him some piece of mind about the kids being in good hands when he's gone.

Yutu hanging around Diasomnia gives him an excuse to chat with Yuu more, not that he exactly needed it. Lilia sort of hates the way he's drawn to you, it feels unfair. Unfair to you to give you hope there could be something more and toy with your affections; unfair to him for life to finally allow him to realize what romantic love is like just in time to have to let it go. There is a bittersweet tone to all of your interactions that his housemates are a bit too socially awkward to pick up on but Cater does.

Yutu is surprised how much he likes Cater, he associates him with a terrifying monster he's had to fight multiple times, not a fun guy who is really determined to help his parents get together. And what's even better he's really chill when Yutu asks for stories about Lilia, he has a lot of them and a completely different perspective than his older brother allowing Yutu to glean some more insight to what his parents might have been thinking in the future.

He finds himself spending a lot of time with the pop music club, not as an official member though he's not great at carrying a tune. Kalim, Cater, and Lilia are glad to have another person to chill with, sometimes they'll play music and Yutu will draw something based off whatever noise they made. Cater wants to talk him into doing album art for them... you know if they ever get around to making a recording.

I think Yutu will only tell Lilia who he is if he has no choice. He wants to mess with the timeline as little as possible, but should a monster from his timeline appear in this one, say like an overblotted Yuu another asker was so nice as to bring up, well it's not like he says who he is. He just addresses the monster as his parent and has a very loud meltdown not wanting to fight them again. Something Malleus is more than willing to assist him with.

"Think nothing of it." Malleus's power is truly terrifying, Yutu is torn between sorrow that he wasn't on their side and relief he didn't overblot a second time. "You are Lilia's son yes? That makes you my subject, and a most precious one at that." Not that Yutu has avoided interacting with Malleus exactly, he's just found talking to him exceptionally awkward because well. He's not Yuu, he's very aware of how important Malleus is supposed to be. But the way he's looking at him now makes him think that maybe he was missing out on interacting with another older brother.

Something that's confirmed when he turns to see how big his father's eyes have gotten, the man is shaking as he stares at his face and flicks between him, Malleus, and Silver like he's staring at the most precious pieces of art in the whole universe.

As you brought up Lilia's survival isn't guaranteed, I did not solve that problem at all. I sort of just... wrote that Lilia would age more or less like a normal human and not really be able to use magic on par with what a fae would consider normal but would still be impressive to a human... so while Lilia might be a bit reluctant to show his face in Briar Valley he would still have enough years to have and raise Yutu. He might have actually died around the same time as Yuu if they had lived a normal life.

He is overwhelmingly excited at the thought of having another baby. Lilia might not know what to do with them but he does really like kids. What's harder for him to accept is his relationship with Yuu. Raising a child is something he's done before, being someone's long term partner is not. He is unused to feeling desirable, and unfamiliar with acting on his own desires. Sure Lilia might seem very free spirited, but much of his life has been dictated by a sense of duty. The thought of having something precious to him that chose him specifically of their own free will is... disarming. He's overwhelmed with how helpless you make him feel and how little he despises it.

Yutu's need to be accepted by his father is met and exceeded almost immediately. Lilia wants to cook a big family dinner for Yuu and all of his boys, something that Malleus politely rejects asking if he can instead show his Culinary Crucible skills off to Yutu (it's really so he can make babiest brother promise to never eat anything Paw Paw makes EVER) and it's all so normal Yutu almost forgets that he's listening to a practical god smugly tell him he knows all about edible weeds as his father flies around him cracking jokes and pinching his cheeks. His older brother is asleep on the couch waiting for the food to be done and his precious parent is helping his Uncle Sebek set the table, listening to him sniffle about how beautiful Master Lilia's family is.

Lilia might be practically retired, but his mind is still sharp. The information Yutu is able to pass on to him lands in good hands. When he tucks Yutu into bed that night, long after the boy has gone to sleep so as not to embarrass him he makes sure to take a good long look at the little miracle. He is beyond grateful Yutu exists, not even the Thorn Fairy could have given him a finer blessing (he'll have to make sure to tease you about that later, that's got to be a good pick up line) He will make sure that this risk his son has taken pays off, Lilia Vanrouge wasn't feared for no reason. Something it seems some foolish mortals need reminding of.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #future kid au #i believe in big brother malleus supremacy #he wants to be called older brother but refuses to ask since that would be undignified #but if yutu calls him that he gets so excited the tail comes out and starts wagging

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jinkoh · 7 months ago

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changmin x reader

part of my soulmate series

tags: soulmate au (sharing bruises), smut - mdni, enemies to ?, possessive!changmin, beginning seems angsty but it's rlly just smut lol, fingering & oral (r!receiving), piv sex, edging, (overstimulation), dacryphilia, sliiight choking, praise; warnings: alcohol consumption, no pronouns but reader has a vagina, petnames: babydoll, doll

wc: 3.3k

a/n: i thought all parts of this series would be really angsty but somehow this one accidentally became pure filth instead 🤡 enjoy 🤡 ((also i don't usually write things this explicit so pls bear with me))

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“I think I want to break up.”

“What?” You stared at your boyfriend in utter confusion, unable to grasp what he was saying. For all you knew it’d been going great.

“I just can’t do it anymore. I mean you can’t really expect me to be okay with that, right?” His gaze dropped to your neck and you self consciously covered it with your hand. “At first I thought I could get over it, but I can’t help feeling disgusted.”

“Disgusted?!”

“It’s just—I know he didn’t technically leave those hickeys, but it still feels like he did and frankly, it leaves a gross after taste. It almost makes me feel dirty to touch you.”

You looked at him in exasperation. “It makes you feel dirty?” Sure, it wasn’t ideal to have someone else’s hickeys appear on your lover’s neck, but it wasn’t like anyone had actually touched you. It was just silly bruises, marks that your soulmate had gotten and that transferred onto your skin. It had nothing to do with you. Why couldn’t your boyfriend understand that?

“I’m sorry, y/n. I just can’t.” He shrugged. “But you still have your soulmate, right? It might just work out for you.”

And with that, he left you. You couldn’t even cry about it because all you felt was sizzling anger. You still had your soulmate? Seriously? How could he say that when your soulmate was clearly getting it on with other people? But of course, your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, didn’t know the whole truth, maybe he would have acted differently then. Because you already knew who your soulmate was and there was no way things were going to work out between the two of you. Not when the reason you found out in the first place was a hickey left on his skin, not when he kept getting new ones even after you told him it bothered you. Hell, he probably even encouraged his partners to leave a mark just to get under your skin. Or on your skin, you supposed. No, it was never going to work out between you and Ji Changmin, because there was not even the slightest bit of affection you held for him, and if you could you would cut this connection fate had forced upon you.

But you couldn’t so you did the next best thing: Vent your anger.

Changmin didn’t seem very impressed though, when you confronted him after a shared lecture. He simply shrugged, before shoving his things into his bag.

“The trash carries itself out,” he said nonchalantly.

“As if you hadn’t played a major part in all of this. The trash didn’t carry itself out. You basically showed him to the door.”

“At least you’re admitting that he was trash,” Changmin smiled self satisfied and you hated that you got caught in his trap. He didn’t give you time to argue though before he continued, “I’m just saying if he actually loved you, he would have stayed, marks be damned. It’s not like you cheated on him, so what reason was there for him to leave? Unless of course, he was never serious in the first place.”

It was so unnecessarily mean of him to say. But what made it worse was that you couldn’t even tell if he had a point or not and you weren’t even sure how to feel about it if he did. Because at the end of the day, did you actually want your ex-boyfriend to be serious about you? Had you been serious about him? You didn’t know.

“You’re taking it too far,” you pressed out, at a loss of what else to say and unwilling to address the uncomfortable mix of emotions plaguing you. “Don’t you care about how I’m feeling at all?”

“It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that you don’t seem all that heartbroken. But of course,” A small grin tugged on his lips and he opened his arms. “You’re always welcome to cry into my chest if you’re in need of comfort.”

“Fuck you, Changmin.” You turned to leave, unwilling to give him another second of your attention. He didn’t seem particularly rattled.

“You know I have others who do the job,” he yelled after you, his tone light and cheerful. Somehow he always seemed to be in the best possible mood whenever you confronted him about things like this. A small voice at the back of your mind whispered that perhaps, it would be better to just stop confronting him then. Surely this was only so fun to him because you never failed to give him a good reaction. You knew that so well, and yet you could never help yourself.

When you told your friend Hyunjae about the break up, he insisted he had just the right thing to cheer you up: a party on the weekend that one of his frat guy friends had invited him to. That usually wasn’t really your crowd and Hyunjae knew that well. But he also knew you needed distraction and a place to let off some steam so he wasn’t surprised when you agreed to tag along. It seemed to be working well, your mood drastically improving with the music and games and dancing, and admittedly also the alcohol. But then, while you were looking for Hyunjae in the living room to convince him to team up with you for beer pong, your gaze fell onto someone else: Changmin. He was standing at the other end of the room, leaning against the wall and very busy with some girl. She had her hands in his hair, clinging onto him almost desperately. Meanwhile his arms were loosely resting around her waist and something about it seemed so haughty, as if he was just indulging her and her desire, kissing her because she was available and not because it needed to be her. It made you feel gross.

You knew you needed to look away, or else he was bound to notice your staring, but you just couldn’t. The way he was entangled with her made your blood boil. How could he keep having his fun like this while you were left all alone just because of him? It was infuriating and even more infuriating was his expression when he looked up and met your gaze. For a second there was surprise there, breaking the kiss to look at you with wide eyes. But then he grinned, tilting his head as if to ask what you were looking at and even though you hated everything about it, it also filled you with a strange heat. You glared back at him, trying your best to hide the unwanted feeling in your guts, until his gaze flickered to your neck. He looked smug. You noticed then, that his hook-up had seamlessly moved on to his neck, probably sucking and nibbling on his skin. You instinctively slapped your hand over your neck to cover up before rushing out to find a bathroom, your head flushed with heat. When you reached the bathroom you slammed the door behind you. Without bothering to lock up, you stormed to the mirror to examine your neck—and find it empty and clean, free of any marks. It didn’t make sense. You were sure, he’d looked at your neck, and why would he if not because of a hickey?

“Disappointed?” a voice suddenly sounded from the doorway.

You already knew it was Changmin, even before seeing him through the mirror’s reflection. You turned around to him with a glare. “You’re supposed to knock before coming in. The door was closed for a reason.”

“Right, sorry,” He chuckled, lightly knocking against the door frame. “Can I come in?”

“No!”

He stepped in anyway, pulling the door shut behind him. “Should have locked the door then if you really didn’t want me to come in,” he said with a grin and you heard the lock click as he turned it. You felt your breathing hitch with a weird sense of anticipation that you tried your best to ignore.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you had some basic manners.”

Changmin smiled as he slowly came closer. You instinctively backed away, but just a single step already had you bumping into the sink. He came to a halt right in front of you, only inches between the two of you. “Maybe you have to teach me some,” he suggested in a whisper that made a shiver run down your spine.

“Well, first of all,” you started, but it was hard to focus with his intense gaze on you.

“First of all?”

“Knock before coming into the bathroom.”

“Noted,” his eyes wandered over your face as if he was just going to devour you whole and you wondered if he was listening to you at all. “What else?”

“Don’t—don’t let your hook ups leave hickeys anymore.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, a thoughtful frown on his face. “That poses a bit of a challenge. You see, I just love to see you all marked up.”

You knew you should be feeling angry at him for making you go through hell for his own entertainment. It was hypocritical and cruel how he had all the fun he had with who knows who, while simultaneously trying to make it impossible for you to be with someone. So, of course you should be feeling angry. And yet, strangely, his words made your skin flush with heat, the thought that he wanted to mark you more enticing than it should have been.

“Find another way then,” you breathed more than you really said it.

He looked at you for a long second. “Should I?”

You didn’t reply, but the way you held his gaze without shying away gave him all the answer he needed. He leaned in, and you thought he would kiss you, but instead his lips grazed your neck, his ticklish breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. His mouth barely even ghosted over your skin before he suddenly bit down, making a gasp escape your lips. As if to soothe you, he pecked the spot right after, sweet gentle kisses against the barely bruised skin. Then he pulled away and admired his work for a moment.

“So pretty,” he said with a satisfied smile. When he tilted his head to look at you, you noticed the small red mark on his neck, a shadow of the bruise he’d just given you a second ago. For some reason it filled you with a sense of accomplishment that for once he was the one wearing your mark, even if he was the one who’d left it on you first. You absentmindedly lifted your hand and traced the spot with your fingertips.

“Isn’t it?” He asked.

At his words you snapped out of it, realizing how easily you’d surrendered yourself to him. You flinched away and averted your gaze. “Not particularly.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “Liar.”

His hands found your hips to turn you around, making you look at your own reflection. He brushed your hair out of the way before his fingers traced the mark he left. You couldn’t quite explain, but somehow it looked different from the ones you had before. Maybe because this one was real, an actual bruise on your skin and not just the traces someone else had left.

“You like it too, don’t you?”

He leaned in again and you watched through the mirror as his lips brushed over your skin again. Maybe you should have pushed him away, but instead you tilted your head to give him access, as he left another mark on you. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way he seemed to devour you whole, and the way he met your gaze through the mirror made shivers run down your spine.

“So pretty,” he whispered again. His hands were back on your hips, pulling you into him. “What do you say we take this elsewhere, hm?”

You swallowed thickly at the feeling of him against you, the implications making the air feel heavy. “Yeah. Okay,” you agreed, turning around in his arms to face him directly. “Let’s leave.”

His grin was so utterly self satisfied, like the cat who got the cream, but you couldn’t even feel pissed about it, not when his thumb grazing the skin beneath your shirt made you feel so impatient for more.

“Okay, let’s leave,” he repeated your words before leaning down to brush his lips against yours in a slow kiss that made you feel weak in the knees. Then he reached for your hand, pulling you with him.

Back at his place Changmin didn’t waste any time on small talk or offering drinks. Instead you found yourself falling onto his mattress, his shirt and most of your clothes discarded on the floor not even a minute after walking in. Changmin was hovering above you, a hungry gleam in his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said, his hands roaming over your body. “Have you?”

“No,” you said, your voice breathy from the ticklish feeling of his fingers against your skin.

“Is that so?” He tilted his head. “Well, after I’m done, you’ll be unable to think of anything else.”

You wanted to make a sassy comeback, tell him that you doubted he could change your opinion of him so drastically just because you were giving in this one time. But then his lips were back on your neck and his fingers were dipping into your embarrassingly wet panties and the only sound that came out of your mouth was a gasp. It was unfair how easily he rendered you speechless, your brain becoming muddled the second he touched you.

“See?” Changmin grinned, as one of his fingers slowly pushed into you. “You already can’t think of anything else.”

Your hands clung to his shoulders, when he started moving, quickly finding the right angle. You didn’t want to think about how many girls he must have been with before this to make moans fall from your lips this easily. “Shut up already,” you whimpered.

“Should I use my mouth for something else then?” He asked, pulling his hand out of your panties and licking the wet off his fingers. You felt your skin burn with need and desire, and you almost instinctively opened your legs a little more, making him chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes, hm?” He leaned down to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, before he pulled away again and letting his lips wander further down. His fingers hooked underneath your panties, pulling them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor. He didn’t leave you exposed for long though, his mouth taking their place instead. The moan you let out when his tongue flicked over your clit was straight up pornographic and you felt him grin against your skin. “So needy,” he hummed, the vibrations making you shiver, before his tongue went back to work.

He had you whimpering and shivering beneath him embarrassingly fast, his tongue and lips and hands moving just the right way to make that familiar knot build up within you. Before you could come though, he pulled away, a dirty smirk on his face. “Not yet,” he said, his lips moving to your inner thigh instead and sucking hickeys into your skin until you’d calmed down just enough. He kept you on edge that way, building up your high time and time again without ever letting you have it.

“Why?” you whimpered when he robbed you of yet another orgasm, leaving you a desperate mess. You felt overstimulated and deprived at the same time and it made tears well up in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, babydoll,” Changmin whispered comfortingly, as if your misery wasn’t all his fault to begin with. He came back up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that’d decided to spill out.

“I just wanna—why won’t you let me?”

“Because I need you to come around me, of course.” He rolled his hips against you, and you felt him through the fabric of his pants.

“Then hurry,” you whined. “Hurry up.”

“If you insist,” Changmin grinned, making quick work of his pants.

You let out a whimper when he lined himself up with you, overly sensitive and oh so impatient for him to finally push in.

“Hurry,” you complained again and it drew a chuckle out of him, his eyes twinkling mischievously when he finally granted your wish. He pushed in painfully slow, but with the way you’d been teased this whole time it was almost enough to tip you over the edge. By the time he bottomed out, you had tears brimming in your eyes again, more from being overstimulated than any pain or discomfort.

“Aw, crying again?” he cooed. “You’re doing so well though.” He slowly moved his hips back, pulling almost all the way out, just to slam back in in one quick motion that made you see stars. “See? Taking me so well, like you were made just for me.”

His hand came up to your neck, caressing the bruises he’d left on you. “I guess you were, though,” he whispered close to your ear, as he put just enough pressure on your throat to make it feel exciting. “All mine, meant to be all mine.”

He started thrusting into you then, picking up a brutal pace that took away any coherent thought you’d still had left. “All yours,” you babbled, barely even able to grasp the meaning of the words. “All yours.”

It barely took any time for that familiar high to build up within again and you almost thought he would take it away from you again. But when you met his gaze, eyes glazed over and desperate, he gently cupped your cheek and wiped your tears with his thumb.

“You can come, doll, it’s okay.”

It didn’t take more than that for you to tip over, your nails digging into his shoulders as you let out a string of moans and curses. He helped you ride it out, only stalling when the overstimulation made you beg for him to stop.

“You did so well,” he whispered, his lips leaving kisses on your neck while you were trying to catch your breath. Once you’d calmed down a bit you thought he’d pull out but he showed no intention of doing so.

“Changmin?”

He looked at you through hooded eyes, slowly rolling his hips into you. “You can still go on, right?”

The next morning you stared at your own reflection in his bathroom mirror. You’d been meaning to take a shower and then secretly sneak out while he was still asleep, but now you were finding yourself in too much disbelief to do so. You’d thought the hickeys you’d gotten before were bad, but those were nothing against the marks and bruises that littered your body now. Your shoulders looked especially bad, deep red scratches and even bite marks adorning your skin. With a shake of your head you wrapped yourself in a towel and walked back into the bedroom.

“This is a joke, right?” you complained the second you opened the door. Changmin’s head popped up from somewhere in the blankets, gazing at you with sleepy eyes and ruffled hair. “Mhm?” he grumbled.

“I get it, you like leaving marks, but you didn’t have to overdo it like this,” you said, turning your shoulder for him to see. “Like, seriously? Biting?”

Changmin rubbed his eyes and yawned and you tried to ignore how cute he looked.

“Shouldn’t you at least apologize?”

He tilted his head taking a closer look at your shoulder before a smile spread on his lips. “But doll,” he pulled down the blanket to show his own shoulder that looked even worse than yours, “these are from you.”

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#changmin x reader #the boyz x reader #q x reader #changmin fic #tbz fic #tbz x reader #kpop scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz fanfic #the boyz scenarios #tbz smut #tbz drabble #changmin drabble #tbz writing #kebbis.writing #imperfect connections

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macabr3-barbi3 · 7 months ago

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Alastor/sheep!Reader- Red Riding Hood (Ao3 Request)

I had so much fun with this! And I'm thinking about doing a little mini-series of retellings of fairy tales because of this so 👀

Tags: chase; outside sex; rough sex; predator/prey for like 3 paragraphs; reader is kind of a little shit

2.6k words

<3<3<3<3<3

The woods are dark and dense, and you curse yourself again for agreeing to undertake this journey for your new manager.

“It gets cold!” She had whined, gesturing to the hairless skin of her Sphynx cat form. “ I could freeze, and its really important that this delivery gets picked up tonight! You’re such a great friend,” she had gushed when you caved and agreed to make the trip for her, to the outermost edges of the Pride ring. Why couldn’t she have just air-shipped the package? “The customer doesn’t like modern technology.” Why not have him come get it? “He isn’t really a people person, I don’t want to scare anyone off.”

An idiot is what you were- an idiot that was new to Hell and didn’t have many other options for jobs. You were sweltering under the stupid red cloak that she had given you, swearing up and down that the forest you’d be going through got chilly at night and insisting that you take it with you; the only plus to the damned thing was that it had a pocket into which you could slip the delivery parcel. Even though you weren’t technically properly trained for deliveries yet, the thick wool that coated the lush curves of your sheep-like body apparently made you the perfect candidate for the trip through the ‘cold’ woods.

“Bullshit,” you mutter, throwing the hood of the damned thing back and letting the soft breeze whip past your ears. The trees seem to whistle their displeasure at your presence, your hair swirling around your face as you head in the general direction that the app on your phone directed you.

There’s a sudden growl in the air, and you freeze where you stand. It almost rumbles the ground beneath your feet, and glancing over your shoulder you see a hint of crimson eyes staring from the darkness.

Fuck that. You take off without any further inspection of the glowing gaze, tossing your phone into the cloak pocket as you run- you don’t need to know what it is if it's going to try to hurt you somehow, and you don’t give a damn about the delivery being on time if it means risking your life. Why wouldn’t your manager have told you there was dangerous shit out here? You get that it’s Hell but for fuck’s sake.

Your lungs are aching as you continue on, not willing to slow or stop while you can still hear the crashing of tree branches and snarling behind you, right at your heels. There’s a hand on the hood of your cloak then, pulling you backwards, and without thinking you slam your head back, horns miraculously hitting home right in the creature’s face. It releases you with a pained groan and you don’t look back, booking it as fast as you can in a different direction, stitch in your side growing more and more painful with every step.

The woods are silent as you finally slow and stop, bracing your back against a tree and trying to catch your heaving breath. Your whole body is on fire, physical exertion having never been your strong suit, but you’re still alive and that’s what matters- body aches will heal, but you heard that regeneration was a bitch.

“Are you chilly, darling?”

The unexpected voice makes you whip around, cloak whirling as you turn. “Fuck!” Your heart is still beating like a drum, hard hammering against your chest from the run before you had stopped to rest.

The demon casually leaning against a nearby tree watches you with a wide grin, a trickle of blood from his lips where your horns had slammed into him. His eyes, red and lidded, flick up and down your body. “It’s quite rude to leave a question unanswered.”

“It’s also quite rude to sneak up on people. Was that you chasing me?”

“Why, I’m just making sure that you are heading in the right direction! The number of people that have gotten lost on their way to me is truly a nuisance.” He eyes the shape of the package in your cloak pocket. “I’m pleased to see that this one hasn’t been lost to the forest yet.” He steps closer, holds a hand out to you. “Come along now, dear.”

“R-right. Can you confirm the name on the package?”

A wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Alastor.”

It matches the name on the package which is good enough for you. “Okay, great. Here you go.” You pull the box from your pocket and hold it out to him. “That’s all this needed to be.”

He cocks his head to one side. “Surely you won’t be leaving so soon.”

“I’m just here to make the delivery, sir.” Your hands are trembling with leftover adrenaline as he takes the parcel, inspects it for a moment, then unceremoniously tosses it over his shoulder into the darkness.

“Your work ethic is to be admired!” He exclaims, ignoring your outraged expression. “But there seems to be confusion- you are the delivery, darling.” When you stiffen at his words he chuckles and creeps closer, circling you like a predator. “Let me guess- you’re new to the shop, you aren’t trained for deliveries, and the manager had compelling reasons for why you should come instead of herself?”

“I-”

“We have an understanding, you see.” He trails a finger down the cloak hanging over your arm. “Retail is a hard business in Hell- no one wants to stick around, people are hard to train, they never last long anyway. Your manager has had to run several of my packages herself and the last one was, sadly, lost to the elements by her own fault.” He looks off into the distance, seemingly irritated at the memory. “What could have possessed her to attempt to cross a river with a priceless antique electronic is beyond me but here we are. I would have simply killed her but she has connections I can use to my advantage so we made a deal instead.” He looks back to you, head cocked to one side as he smiles. “An easy meal as compensation for her transgression. Delivered right to me.” His eyes darken, raking over your form, the curves of your body. “I hadn’t expected her to act so quickly but it’s been some time since I last had mutton.”

“I won’t taste good,” you tell him calmly despite the lingering fear from the chase, and an eyebrow raises in amusement. “When I was alive my mom always said I was rotten, I’m sure that doesn’t translate well to my demon form. And then you’ll have wasted your deal on bad meat.” You keep your voice steady while you address him.

“Oh?” He circles you and you can feel his gaze running over your body again. “I’m not so sure about that, dear- I’ve never found any complaints with meat of any kind. I’m sure you’ll be quite tasty.” He smiles when he comes around the front again, the sharp teeth glinting in the light that filters through the trees.

And fuck, the way he said that shouldn’t have been kind of hot. This was a serious situation, definitely not the time to be thinking vaguely inappropriate thoughts about the demon who was quite blatantly threatening to eat you. “Do you want to risk it?” You ask, and his smile turns curious. “I mean, I’d hate to have to tell you ‘I told you so’ but I would do it. The shop has new people like me coming in every week for training that you could have your pick of instead of taking the first thing to come along; what if you missed out on something really delicious?”

Alastor watches you carefully. “I suppose you have a point, darling,” he concedes, his slim shoulders shrugging. “A meal that talks back so much would surely be a poor one. Though I can’t say I’m not disappointed that I won’t get a chance to sample you.” His voice seems to drop, a rolling purr in the strange radio cadence he has that makes your hair stand on end and your heart thump in your chest.

“Maybe I could let you have a taste?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, the air between the two of you suddenly charged with tension. “Just, you know. Show you what I mean, that I won’t be any good. Rotten and all that, like my mom says.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ll be very good.” He steps closer to you, towers over your frame with hooded eyes that track the movement of your throat as you swallow. “But I’ll behave myself since you’ve shown me the error of my ways- a mere sampling of your flavor, nothing more. I suppose there is more that I could get out of your manager if I don’t ‘cash in’ right away, as it were.” He brings a claw tipped hand to cup your face, tilting your head one way then the other. “We’ll start here,” he murmurs, and you close your eyes, wait for the brush of his lips against yours.

It doesn’t come- instead you feel him lick along the column of your neck, the muscle hot and wet where it drags against your skin, a shuddering exhale leaving you at the feeling. One hand comes up to rest on your waist, the other unclipping the clasp of the red cloak you wear and letting it fall to the ground. You shiver without it, not from the cold but from the sensations raging through your body at such a simple touch, and Alastor pulls back, licking his lips at the taste of you.

“My disappointment at agreeing to let you go is immeasurable,” he whispers, pupils blown when he meets your eyes. “It’s just as I suspected- delicious.” The hand that released the cloak winds itself into your hair, brushing against the base of your horns. “Would you indulge me in another taste?”

You nod, not trusting your voice to come out clearly, and he swipes along your neck again, allowing his teeth to press gently against your pulse point before he continues down, snaking the hot appendage between the valley of your breasts and holding you tighter to his body. There’s still adrenaline coursing through your body making each touch feel like an electric pulse to your core, and when he growls into your chest you let out a quiet moan that echoes in the quiet woods.

One hand still tangled in your hair, thumb gently brushing against your horns, he slips his free hand under the waistband of your skirt and into your panties, inhaling sharply at the wetness he finds. Claws absent, he slides a finger inside of you, the press of it slow and steady, making you rock your hips into his hand.

“Someone’s eager, hm?” He presses another digit into the slickness of your cunt, bends his fingers in a way that his you seeing stars as he thrusts them in and out of your heat. You let out a soft cry against him and cling to his shirt, up on your tiptoes to let his fingers reach wherever he wants.

“More,” you whimper, letting one of your hands reach up to his face, a move that surprises him. “Please, Alastor.”

He brings his face up from your skin and devours your mouth, his tongue showing just as much attention to your mouth as he had your neck, licking into it with fervor and enthusiasm you wouldn’t have expected from him. “Would you let me have you, darling? This is hardly an appropriate place, but-”

“Yes,” you tell him, not even letting him finish his sentence, and he gently lowers you to the ground to lay across the expanse of the red cloak. He makes short work of his trousers, shoving your skirt up around your waist and slicing your panties off with a quick swipe of his fingers before he fists his cock and slots himself against you. “Oh fuck-” He impales you with a hard thrust, sinking in to the base with a harsh grip on your hips.

“Lovely,” he groans into your ear, and then he seems to lose the capability for language, his words devolving into harsh grunts and growls as he fills you over and over, snapping his hips against yours in a quick rhythm that leaves you gasping and trying to pull him closer.

A hand leaves your hips to tangle in your hair; you arch up, thinking that he means to kiss you again until his palm wraps around the length of one horn, using it like a handle to pull your head back, throat exposed to him while he rails into you. “Delicious little thing,” he says, and drags his tongue down the column of your throat again, sucking a pattern of bruises along it that you know you’ll spend the next week pressing into with your fingertips. His sharp teeth pinch a bit of skin lightly and you jerk in his hold.

It should have terrified you, instead dousing your body in a liquid flame. “J-Just tasting, remember,” you jokingly reprimand, and his laugh reverberates through your chest.

“How could I forget?” He lets go of your horn, slips the hand between your bodies as he leans back so he can watch you rocking with the force of his thrusts into you. His thumb swipes forcefully at your clit, the ecstasy near overwhelming as he loses some of his rhythm, your cunt clamping down on him. “It's quite selfish to deny me, darling, but I’ll take of you what I can- your pleasure, your body, all of it mine-”

Your eyes roll back in your head as the tension in your lower body snaps, dragging Alastor down with a hand in his hair to meet your lips, desperate and sloppy while you quake and shatter to pieces below him. He spends himself with a snarl in the tightness of your body, slick with your arousal and release as you cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth.

He remains still for a moment, crouched over you, before he pulls back and rests you gently on the cloak. “This thing is hideous,” he says with distaste. “It made it quite easy to track you- which was the intention- but you must have been sweltering.”

You watch what you can see if the sky through the canopy of the trees. “She said it could get cold,” you laugh, “and I’m a fool. What a terrible job.”

“Not a fool,” he corrects, spreading the fabric out to lay on it beside you for a moment. “Nearly a victim of a deal that didn’t concern you- and perhaps I will still pay your manager a visit- but never a fool. You convinced me not to eat you for now, at least.”

You shoot him a smile. “Well, you weren’t that scary once you stopped chasing me,” you giggle, “besides those sharp teeth.”

His nose wrinkles with his amusement. “Keep teasing me, dear, and I’ll acquaint you with these sharp teeth for real.” He leans close enough to nip at your shoulder, the motion more teasing than painful. “There’s always tomorrow, after all- who knows what my appetite will be once I’ve dealt with that manager of yours? Mutton could still be on the menu.”

“Well,” you say, “if I’ll be out of a job soon so I might go apply at the coffee shop around the corner from our place. I heard their manager is a real ass- how would you feel about duck instead?” He laughs into your shoulder, the sound deep and clear, and you think maybe it wasn’t such a bad job after all if this was where it lead for now.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #requests <3 #my stuff <3

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gietterbug · 4 months ago

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Spy x Family Code: White - Highlights

*This post contains spoilers. Scroll away if you still need to watch the movie. **Reposted because it didn't show in the tags.

Since the movie is out and has been circulating on the internet, I would like to talk one thing or two about it. I'm overjoyed about the release and have watched the movie numerous times. So here are some highlighted scenes, or at least the ones that have become my favorites and lingered in my mind for way too long.

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First off, this scene. It's just a small gesture of Loid because apparently he's worried about Yor's mouth due to the "irritating" lipstick she's wearing.

But tell me, what kind of man would give a woman such a pleasant little gift if he did NOT love her. It's not like, "You're nothing to me. Here's a new lipstick for you!"

Loid is not going to declare "I LOVE YOU" explicitly; the hell is he going to, but we have eyes, and we see. Your small gesture and little gift say everything I need to hear, and I won't take your for the mission excuse anymore, Loid Forger.

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I'm fully aware that the "Yor getting jealous" trope is becoming redundant nowadays. Some people say they're overdoing it and no longer find it interesting to talk about. But I beg to differ. I'm still on the Yor's jealousy bandwagon because it's become a crucial element in her and Loid's relationship. Yor does not necessarily have the right to get jealous and upset about the idea that there is someone else in Loid's heart. Heck, I dare say she can't pull out the "wifey" card because we know it's all fake.

But that's not that.

For me, to say that Yor is jealous there might be another woman in Loid's life is an understatement. It's not to say she is being greedy, but she does want Loid, and only him, not just because she's technically his wife—her genuine feelings for him are growing, and we can see that. She does not want to lose him, let alone to be out of the picture. It's Yor being true to herself. It's Yor fighting for her love and affection for Loid.

Extras:

Yor's heart is already shaken at the possibility of Loid cheating. And HE does not help by throwing such flattery and complimentary comments about his wife. This dense man…

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I liked what Anya did in this scene.

Afraid of her family falling apart, she tried everything she could to prevent that, and that is... through her parents' flirting 😏

She's still a little kiddo, but being the telepath that she is, she still wants her family to stay intact. Anya pushing Loid and Yor together to have some kissy-kissy time never gets old, to be honest. I always enjoy it every time she does that. Anya recollecting what Becky said about divorce and the "supposedly" bloodbath also added some comedic sense to the scene.

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This has got to be my #1 favorite.

The only physical intimacy in this scene is just Loid putting his hand on top of Yor's. Nothing more. Okay, we may have moved past that episode where LoidTwilight pulled a honeytrap on Yor, AND we can't dismiss the fact that maybe, there's a definite chance that he just used her.

But this time, he is determined to keep Yor around for real. He even restated his granade proposal to stick with each other—basically their wedding vows—and had no intention to break that promise. What's this smell? It's a whiff of peak romance.

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This scene made me feel warm and fuzzy.

What came to my mind when I was watching this scene was that although Twilight is the best and most renowned spy there is, he's still lacking some things. One of them is, for sure, parenting, which we saw from the earlier episodes of the series, he picked it up from books.

Yor always plays along with Anya to keep her entertained, and it's also one of her ways of parenting that some people may have dismissed. Yor arguably does better in this field than Twilight from her own experiences, the big chunks of which were from when she raised little Yuri. This should eliminate the questionable discourse of Yor "unfitting" for the mother role.

This scene got extended to when Yor told Loid that it was a family trip, that Anya was looking forward to this trip, and that they all should go together.

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This may be the last for now: the Forgers walking hand in hand at the end.

I couldn't imagine the hardships this family went through throughout this movie. (Ok, I know some were absurd, but let's move past them for the sake of this post.) Despite being a fake family, they still came as one and worked hard together to put things back in their place and resolve all the problems. Like... they didn't have to do that; their family is a pretend. But they did. They're complete, and it's so beautiful to see ❤

#spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #bond forger #twiyor #loidyor #code white #sxf code white #sxf spoilers #sxf

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venelona · 2 months ago

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Hi!

Can you recommend any Dazatsu fanfics to read? I really can't find any on ao3 and was hoping if you could share some you really liked.

hello i can mail you a hundred fics

Okay okay if I were to try and narrow them down, let's begin with my top 5 in no particular order). Also mind the tags

'all around is stone, and all is soft inside' by blchwaaan - Read all of their stuff cuz its very good, especially if you like a lot of hurt before your comfort. This one is soulmates but not usual soulmates💕

'open my eyes to everything (there must be something more)' by zinder_fox - Only ongoing fic on the list but its so damn good I only drew like ten things for it. Also read all of their stuff its so, so good. One way time travel fix-it ✨

'Take Me Back To The Night We Met' by Mushroomfields - An absolute CLASSIC if you ship Dazatsu you have probably read it. Time travel fall in love 🙏

'Broken glass can be put together' by Anonymous - I don't really subscribe to Dazai liking pain but this is one exception and that exception is probably like top 2 for me and no I will not answer further questions COUGH

Funeral Bell by chimesDissent - I know this is technically two fanfics but they're the same tale but from different POVs and I love it so much. Read all of their stuff also its so damn good

Those were my favourites, but I'll just give you authors not included above because all their fanfics are bangers and if you read any you won't go wrong:

Hyoushin (so many of those fics live in my he rent-free)

arrrowiee (WATCHING NEWEST FIC LIKE A HAWK)

lostdandelion (the pillar of our community and also writes good o7)

the_port_mafia (if you want lots of cute oneshots this is the house of cutest oneshots)

yaoicean (the way they phrase their words absolutely enchants me)

evil_moo_bunny (MOST ANTICIPATE FANFICS IN MY BOOK their Dazatsu week is probably my fav dazatsu series an I cant wait for the rest of it it's SO SO GOOD i'm very normal about it)

planet_B612 (SOOO MUCH GOO STUUF. My personal fav would be 'tell me (about the shape of his absence)')

Special shout outs to 'Basorexia' by Ruri_Ru, 'Plight of the thornless Rose.' by Lithiamystery, 'The Sun Sets, The Sun Rises' by ChaoticQuill, 'Black Sea' by Technicolour (Lirriel), and 'take half a pint (take half your heart)' by parhelions

These are my beloved I hope you'll find something you like! You can hit me up again for more concrete recs I can talk a LOT

#ask v #bsd #dazatsu #bungou stray dogs #wait did you know i wrote dazatsu too you can also read that-#i also translated some of my favourites in another language because i liked them a lot and wanted to share on AO3 #dazai x atsushi #atsushi x dazai #dazushi

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mikkaeus · 1 year ago

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house md hilson fic rec - medium to long fics (10k+)

Other house rec lists: short fics | episode tags | postcanon | infidelity trope (all of these are mutually exclusive apart from the infidelity one) // Edit: I added the longer postcanon fics to this reclist as well because this one got the most traction!

These are all House/Wilson unless otherwise stated. Before we get into the fics, here are some of my fave authors that have written several house fics.

fourteencandles: im literally in love with them . 10/10 writing no notes. also long fics?? hello???

ictus: this author has the range! from emotional to fluff to funny. very smooth writing. all of their fics have different vibes which was fun to read. they’re all very good.

Transformatron: fics that are transcendent and porny, all featuring a d/s undertone or theme (wilson as the dom)

Namaste (livejournal / ff.net): Some short fics, some much longer ones. Mostly gen focussing on H&W friendship, with some fics on canon pairings. Interesting character studies and discerning prose.

In order of length. *faves, ***underrated faves

*Brain Damage by fourteencandles (8k) (Ok I know this isn’t over 10k but I wanted all of their fics on one post and it’s close enough so.) This was brilliant. Like a real episode of House, with Wilson as the unfortunate patient-of-the-week, with bonus House/Wilson. Characterisation was bang on, and the plot was original and engaging and had a satisfying conclusion. Love to see House taking care of Wilson.

Down to the Water + Bound for Home by blackmare (~10k) Aftermath of season 4. House and Wilson go on a road trip. Quiet and sad and fragile, with excellent writing. This fic appears to have been fairly well known in lj days but I don't think a lot of newer people know about it.

*A Smaller World by fourteencandles (10k) The thing between them works, if Wilson doesn't push for more. God I’m so soft. I have so many feelings!!! In love with this established relationship hilson, still a little precarious, but with Wilson adapting, and House willing to put in effort.

*What's Past by fourteencandles (10k) The guy who used to have Wilson's job comes back for a visit, and it turns out they have more in common than Wilson ever knew.

*Touch Therapy by nomad (10k) It's not that House needs the human contact. It's just that when you're sharing an apartment, these things happen sometimes. Light hearted and funny, canon divergence from when Wilson’s staying on House's couch in s2. This is pretty much the homosexual waters have started flowing in House's direction post. Excellent dialogue.

***not another medical drama series (10k) by captainharkness Retelling of season 1 with House and Wilson as an established relationship. Great slice of life stories! Ongoing. The first is H/W POV, the second is Cameron, and the third is Chase. My favourite is definitely the second one (someone else’s story). I adore seeing H/W through the ducklings’ eyes.

Synchronicity by copperbadge (10k) Dead patients, car wrecks, drug overdoses, journalists, Comatose Charlie, and orange chicken. Must be love.

systemic by ictus (10k) Ever since Wilson moved in, House has presented with some inexplicable symptoms. Fortunately, he has a team of talented doctors to aid him with his diagnosis. Season 2 fic! This one is funny and sweet and overall a great read.

Rush Down Darkness by Starlingthefool (10k) House MD/World War Z crossover. Told mainly through interview dialogue from house’s pov. Engaging story. House/Wilson definitely takes a backseat to the plot — there’s no grand getting together or anything. That's not to say it's not about them though, because there were still lots of good moments (good in the sense that my heart hurts). More succinctly, it has the vibes of an established relationship fic., although it isn't technically one.

Defensive Strategies by Milkshake Butterfly (~10k) (lj) In which Wilson is tired of being asked out by women when he's not ready to date again, and naturally House proposes a simple solution: pretend to be together. An enjoyable read.

******Commonplace and True by celestialskiff (11k) It would be a simple story--House and Wilson meet at a medical conference, have sex, and enjoy each other's company--but nothing is ever easy, or simple. Explores Wilson's relationship with House, with women, and with himself. House and Wilson throughout the years — with the version of canon where Wilson has cheated on every wife and girlfriend with House. When I tell you I am FROTHING!!! Pining while fucking?? The way it’s never the right time?? The greed of wanting to have your cake and eat it too? (That one’s specifically for Wilson, our beloved three-wives guy.) The vibes are immaculate. The prose is elegant verging on poetic. I’m eating this fic whole and it will be on my mind always. It is THE hilson fic for me. It is criminal that this fic has been up since 2012 and it only has 200 kudos. Go read it immediately & give the author some love.

***Declarations of Independence by Namaste (ff.net, also on livejournal) (11k) House and winter, throughout the years. I really enjoyed this. Excellent writing. Copy pasting a part of a comment by bedawyn which articulates why this fic is unique better than I can: “So far, I've seen a lot of focus in the fanfic (and the eps) on the pain and the Vicodin, but very little awareness of the practical aspects of limited mobility and the emotional impact of those even apart from the pain. So this was a very nice change.”

***Rule of Three by Transformatron (11k) (House/Wilson/Foreman) Foreman sees something he shouldn't have. And, maybe, wants something he shouldn't have, too. This was well written and super hot, with fun dialogue and descriptions that do justice to the excellent writing of the show itself. Foreman is faithfully characterised in a way that made me sympathetic. Also H/W outsider perspective as a third is such a treat to read. Lower me into my grave!!!!

*Warning Signs by out_there (12k) Excerpt: House looked to the left, staring down at the open box. Wilson knew that expression on his face: House was torn between denying it all and gleefully acknowledging his schemes. Normally, his ego won out and, like a comic super villain, he'd explain all. Wilson just needed to stay quiet and wait. This fic was fantastic. I am disgustingly fond. Superb characterisation. Light hearted and funny.

The Oncologist Trap by zulu (13k) (2007) House subtly seduces Wilson. Somehow.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium (13k) House and Wilson pretend to be together to play a prank on the ducklings, which is an extremely plausible scenario. From the perspective of the ducklings. Set sometime after 3x15: Half-Wit.

hail mary by ictus (13k) A post-canon fix it! In the weeks since finishing the show and reading this fic there are times I forgot that this wasn’t canon. It’s such a believable (and well-researched) alternate ending that feels like an actual episode.

Son of Mine by simoneallen (14k) Sherlock is House’s long-lost kid. Usually I’m not a fan of cross-over fics but I enjoyed this one. Established relationship on the johnlock side, getting together on the hilson side.

***hearts turn red by ictus (14k) In my head this is the counterpoint to Commonplace and True. When I found it after reading that one it really was a holy shit two fucking cakes?? moment. The delicious infidelity vibes are similar, but the vibes of the writing are pretty different -- whereas the above fic has a more quiet, subdued atmosphere, this one has more snappy prose and it’s more light-hearted with funny moments as well as emotional ones. It’s not just the infidelity theme that makes me crazy about both of them though; it’s how they play on the great tragedy of House and Wilson. In the author’s own words: In a way they do feel a little bit doomed to never quite be on the same page with each other until the very end of the series and by then it's too late. Of course, in these fics, they’re rescued earlier than the end, but the wretched vibes remain. Also, I’m obsessed with this line: By Wilson’s read, House is somehow simultaneously joking and sincere: Schrödinger’s sexual advance. That is the entire fucking show.

An Inconvenient Truth by annathaema (15k) Wilson helps out Cuddy and reveals something about himself in the process. House freaks out accordingly. Also features banana-colored babies, the men's room, and Skee-Ball.

*at the rind by ShanaStoryteller (19k) An AU where Wilson experiences all the near death moments House has in the show as a series of nightmares. Set between 1.19 and 2.05, but spoilers for the whole show. Protective Wilson!! We love to see it. I also like Wilson’s characterisation here - you can very much see how not-normal he is. We love unhealthy co-dependency.

***Esopus Creek by shaycat (24k) An eighty-year-old widower by the name of Eugene Skinner ventures out one September day in upstate New York for his usual morning activity - fly fishing. His leisurely hobby is interrupted by a bickering pair nearby in the river. That chance encounter with Greg House and James Wilson changes the course of his life. Told from the perspective of the last friend the boys make on their final road trip. This was the perfect post season 8, Wilson-still-dies fic. A sad fic but not a depressing one. It’s quiet and heartwarming, in a bittersweet way. Highly recommend. It has great use of outsider POV — I’m always a sucker for it but it worked particularly well in this case to have the angst but not be drowning in it. Also I just really liked the OC.

***Howler Tone by baffledbear (25k) The calls always happen late at night, and they're extremely sporadic, with weeks, sometimes months bridging between them. They talk on the phone otherwise, of course; about patients, or dinner plans, or carpooling. Typical stuff. But the calls that always end a certain way always start a certain way. Wilson is so repressed but so attracted to House. House is taking as much as he can get while still remaining in relative safety. Together they push a platonic relationship to the absolute limits of plausible deniability. Overall totally realistic within the canon of the show — the natural step up from the gay chicken already depicted. It’s just such a perfect scenario for them! That combined with silky smooth prose, faithful characterisation and accurate dialogue makes this fic is a definite hilson favourite and also a hilson-thesis fic.

*The Open Road by Pun (25k) A fandom classic. Road trip fic set in the earlier seasons. It's good; read it.

*He Won't Tell You That He Loves You by hellshandbasket (25k) [In which Nolan pulls at the Wilson thread, and House can't stop it all from unraveling. Repression is a hell of a drug.] Early s6. Another fandom classic that is worth its salt.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare (25k) House makes the mistake of telling his mother he can't join her for Christmas because of his new boyfriend. Somehow, this becomes Wilson's problem. Cute and fun. I put off reading fake-dating fics because I was worried about them being OOC but this one definitely wasn’t!

***Sticks and Stones by Transformatron (25k) (WIP) House has an innovative new idea for managing his chronic pain. Wilson’s not sure he approves - but when has House ever asked for permission? This is such a great concept I am climbing the walls!!! D/s with House as the sub. The story is currently still at pre-relationship stage, with House experimenting with BDSM and Wilson being unhappy with the proceedings (for some unknown reason /s). Also the writing is nice and snappy with some great figurative language that manages to incorporate medical themes impressively well.

Fresh Feeling by justkeeptrekkin (30k) House is tricked into going on a team-building trip with his colleagues. He does far more bonding with Wilson than anyone else. Funny and well written. The team interactions are very cute.

***Tracking Time by Namaste (37k) (ff.net) A look at House and Wilson's friendship over the years and how it has changed from their meeting through the end of the first season. I don’t usually read long genfics but this one was exceptional. I like Namaste’s take on House and Wilson’s characters. And they are a very good storyteller — one thing that you don’t tend to see as much of in fanfiction is the old adage of ‘show not tell’. The writing in this fic is careful and subtle, and lets you read between the lines, making it so that no part of the 37k words is a drag to read.

*The Body Found by fourteencandles (46k) Wilson's missing. When I tell you I cried... Premium angst & hurt/comfort. Excellent dialogue with some alternating POV (House mainly, but you also get the three ducklings & Cuddy).

You Already Know How This Will End by fourteencandles (46k) What if House had gone to rehab right after/around "Merry Little Christmas"? (3.10) This fic was interesting. It’s told in a series of short vignettes with a variety of different perspectives. It’s not really a hilson fic (or a fic for any ship). It just explores the characters. I did wish for more hilson but it’s a good read (I mean, it’s fourteencandles). The one hilson scene near the end where they hire a hooker in Atlantic City lives in my head rent free. Warning that the ending is rather abrupt and I didn’t find it satisfying, but I think it works for this kind of story, in a way. Messy people and their complicated relationships, with a lot of loose ends left untied, because that’s just what life is.

***For Every Closed Door by starlingthefool (around 50k?) (lj) Overview of the chapters (14 with 4 interludes and an epilogue) is on the author’s lj (scroll down). House MD/Dead Like Me crossover. I love this fic a lot! It’s canon divergence from Season 3. House gets killed in a freak accident and becomes a reaper, remaining in the mortal world to harvest souls, able to interact with people but not be recognisable to those that know him. As the author says, this is an Afterlife!Fic and therefore a deathfic. They also said it’s not depressing — which is true, because it’s more plotty than an angstfest, and there are lots of light-hearted parts, but it is definitely heartbreaking at points. I literally cried all the way through the last chapter. Happy ending though!!! Don’t worry about the cross-over aspects. I haven’t seen Dead Like Me, and as far as I can tell, it just takes the premise of the show. I’m glad I found this fic whilst trawling 2000s livejournal because it’s really a hidden gem. Great plot, dialogue, compelling OCs — the whole package! I got so emotionally invested in the story. I think there were maybe a few parts that were a little unpolished but just keep reading. It’s really worth it.

*A Modest Proposal and Involuntary Commitment series by ignaz (98k) The one where House and Wilson get married so Wilson can’t testify against House in the Tritter arc. I have an unfortunate habit of downloading fics and then forgetting to bookmark & comment once I’m done, so I don’t have anything detailed to say about this one, but it’s a classic and a favourite of mine.

Twenty Years of Stealing My Food by hwshipper (100k) A backstory taking place over twenty years, from how House and Wilson met all the way to canon. A reimagining of their fucked up, magnetic relationship, with a straightforward writing style. They get together nearly as soon as they meet and maintain a steady open relationship whilst cheating on their various girlfriends and wives throughout the years.

#house md #hilson #house x wilson #house fic rec #house fic #house md fic rec #house md fic #my rec list

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ruh--roh-raggy · 11 months ago

Text

Stars Look Nice Tonight (Punk William x Fem! Reader)

Hello hello! Welcome back to my lovely little punk Will series, thank you all so much for the love he's been so fun to write! So, this is a technical part 2 to Buzzed, but this series is going to be a little different than Home Sweet Home. I don't plan on following a linear timeline once I get their relationship fully established. What that's going to mean is we're going to have some plot build up with them being all cute and getting to know each other and flirting and all that good stuff, but the rest of this series is going to be published through one shots. I have a lot of ideas for fics with punk Will hehehe. If you have any requests you would like to see with him, let me know! If you would like to be added to my tag list, also let me know! Thank you all so much for reading!!

WARNINGS: Recreational 🍃 smoking, drinking at a bar, age gap (Reader is in early 20's Will is in his 40's/50's), mostly fluff with some suggestive flirting

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 2,782

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“Are you around this weekend?” You smiled against the receiver you had pressed to your ear. You paused for a moment, not wanting to respond too fast and seem too eager. Over your post concert dinner of greasy bacon and fluffy waffles you and Will both realized one thing, neither of you could get enough of one another. He loved how the sound of your melodic laughter made his heart beat faster, the shy smile you would give him as his hand brushed over yours, how every so often he would catch you staring at his lips with a wistful expression on your face. You were too busy getting caught up in his seductive gaze to notice. He asked if he could see you again. Casually, of course, he doesn’t want you to feel tied down. You had to refrain from practically screaming your acceptance in his face. Now, you were standing in your kitchen almost a week from then, the man occupying your every thought on the other end of the line.

“I should be.” You respond coyly. William breathes out a chuckle, he could practically hear the smirk in your voice. “Got something in mind?”

“I was thinking we could go out for drinks… give me a chance to make up for the one I spilled on you at the venue.” You leaned against the counter, listening to the way his deep voice crackled through the phone.

“If I remember right, you weren’t the one who spilled it on me.” You respond in a teasing tone.

“Still happened because the prettiest girl in the room decided to stop and talk to me.” You freeze, your cheeks immediately growing warm at his compliment. After a moment of your silence you hear Will laugh on the other end of the line. “If you want to throw me off my game you’re going to have to do a bit more than fact check me while I’m asking you out.” He jokes.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” You giggle. “I get off at 7 tonight and then I’m free the rest of the weekend.”

“I guess I should plan something a little more special than a grimey dive bar then, huh?”

“I don’t know, sounds pretty romantic to me.” The sound of his laughter makes you smile. “Will… you know I don’t mind seeing you more than one day in a row, right?” Now it was his turn to be quiet for a moment.

“I just don’t want you to feel rushed-”

“It’s not like that.” You twist the long, cream colored spiral cord around your finger. “I had a really nice time with you the other night.” You chew your lip nervously before deciding to just put it all out there. “I like you, Will. I want to spend time with you.” Your hands grew clammy as his end of the line remained silent.

“I like you too.” Will was grateful you couldn’t see him right now. His face was hot, there was no doubt in his mind that he was blushing terribly. He couldn’t believe how ridiculous he was acting right now. But, there was something about the soft way you spoke, your small confession still ringing in his ears, he felt like he was back in college all over again. “Do you want to meet me at Ralph’s after you get off work tonight?”

You were taken aback for a second, ��you know Ralph’s?”

“What, you didn’t think you and your little baby punk friends discovered Ralph’s?” He asks in a teasing tone. “Baby, I’ve probably been going to Ralph’s since before you were born... Do I know Ralph's?” He scoffs.

“To answer your original question, I would love to meet you for drinks.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you attempt to suppress your eagerness to see him.

“8 o’clock work?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“I’m really excited to see you tonight.” You jump as you hear him slam down the phone as he hangs up.

Will groans as he drags a hand down his face. “I’m really excited to see you tonight.” He repeats in a mocking tone. “Get a grip.”

“Well, hey stranger.” Will straightens up at the sound of your voice chirping next to him at the bar. He stood, sliding out a stool for you. His eyes hungrily raked over your frame, you had put on a slinky little black dress that perfectly hugged all of your delicate curves. He swallows thickly as his gaze trails over your pillowy thighs, he could only imagine how soft they would be clamped around his head.

“You look amazing.” He smiles at you, struggling to keep his eyes on yours, the thin layer of gold body glitter you had applied sparkled in the neon lights that covered the walls. He accidentally caught sight of your cleavage as you wiggled your way onto the stool, the sight alone enough to make his cock twitch in his jeans. You were incredibly beautiful, Will couldn't believed he had managed to earn even a fraction of your attention.

“Thank you.” You blush, looking up at him through your lashes. “You're looking pretty good yourself.” Will had opted for something a little more casual, a nicely fitted flannel that he had rolled up to just above his elbows and some jeans. Your eyes trailed down his arm, landing on his massive hand that dwarfed the beer bottle he was holding. The bartender makes his way over to you, a flirtatious smile on his lips that immediately makes Will prickle with annoyance.

“What can I get started for you, beautiful?” He asks with a wink. “Unless you want to just jump straight to getting my number?” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Some things never change. You glanced at Will out of the corner of your eye, his gaze was burning a hole in the side of the bartender's face. But, considering the two of you had agreed to keep things casual, he just sat quietly in his seat. Your delicate fingers slid over Will’s forearm, his attention immediately moving to you.

You leaned into him, wanting to give the bartender a full show in hopes he would leave the two of you alone. “What are you drinking baby?” You see Will subtly mouth the pet name you had decided to call him, pure confusion written in his features. You take the beer bottle from his hand, your chest pressing into his shoulder as you cuddle up to his side. You turn the bottle to read the label, it was some foreign beer you didn't recognize. You slowly brought the dark brown glass to your perfectly painted lips, tilting your head back to take a long sip. Your face scrunches up at the pungent, bitter liquid, you shake your head before putting it back in Will’s hand. You almost blew your cover as your eyes met Will’s. You could see his thoughts loading as he processed having you so close to him, threatening to tear a laugh from your throat.

“She’ll have a vodka cran.” He chimes in, gaze never leaving your face. The bartender hurries off with his tail in between his legs, obviously embarrassed that he came on so strong to someone who was obviously taken. “Not that I'm complaining, but what the fuck was all of that?” He asks with a chuckle.

“I came here to spend time with you.” You explain with a soft smile. “Not to be hit on by some sleazeball who’s probably going to somehow manage to fuck up a vodka cran, good choice by the way.” He laughs at your blatant dismissal of his competition.

“It seemed like a pretty safe option.” The two of you sat and chatted for hours at the bar. William filled you in on the fact that he both owns and operates Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, a place you had loved since you were a kid, and he found out that you have the much less glamorous title of working at a hardware store. “I can't believe it, you've been working there all this time and we’ve never met.” The two of you had managed to huddle close together, you looked more akin to children swapping secrets on the playground than two grown adults having a normal conversation during a night out, but that was part of the fun. There was something about being around Will that made you feel alive. You weren't afraid to be silly, you weren't worried about him judging your interests, from the moment you had met you felt comfortable being 100% yourself around him, and Will would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same. He thought you were incredible, absolutely breathtaking in every way imaginable. He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him laugh this hard outside of Henry, every so often the two of you would have to pause just to catch your breaths. Will was honestly surprised that you seemed to like him, it had been years since he had met someone he didn't need to wear a mask in front of. Eventually, as it grew later, the bar gradually became more crowded. “Would you maybe want to go somewhere quieter?” He practically yells over the wall of sound.

“Sure!” You call back. “It’d be nice to be able to hear you.” You chuckle. Will settles your tab, refusing to let you pay for a single drink despite your adorable protests. You slowly pushed your way through the sea of people, Will keeping a protective hand on the small of your back as he helped part the way. You pushed into the stillness of the night, a shiver running up your spine at the drastic change in temperature. You stood opposite him, you faced each other in silence for a moment as you thought of a way to extend your evening together. “Not to be your stereotypical twenty something year old,” William chuckles as you break the stillness that had surrounded you. “But, I have a bong and an eighth in my car.” Will glances up at the sky.

“Stars look nice tonight.” A small smile spreads across his lips as his attention falls back onto you. “You're going to freeze to death dressed like that.”

You wave him off with a dismissive sound, “I'll be fine, I've been through worse.”

“I think,” he starts as he takes slow steps closer to you, “you should go get that bong ready to go while I go grab you a jacket.”

“I can work with that.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a coy expression.

You pop your trunk, digging through the bags and emergency supplies you had stacked in front of your piece. The glass was ice cold against your palm and you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that you had fully cleaned it after its last use. You let out a small scream as a warm weight falls around your shoulders, the sound of William’s laughter immediately calming you. Your nose filled with the growingly familiar scent, a delighted hum slipping past your lips. You glanced at the denim, a patch you recognized catching your attention. “You know if you keep letting me borrow this jacket I'm going to steal it one of these days.” You tease.

“What a shame that would be.” He responds with a slight roll of his eyes. He carefully takes your hands in his, holding your arms away from your body. “If I'm being completely honest you look a lot better in my battle jacket than I ever did.”

“This is your battle jacket?” Your eyes widen as you ask. He nods in response. “Oh, Will, I-”

“Listen, my days of being a grimy little pit rat whose only purpose is to smoke, fuck, and sticking it to the man are behind me… Well, maybe not that last part.”

“Doesn't seem like you're doing too good at the first part either.” You tease with a small laugh, holding up the bong you had originally been asked to retrieve. “Hopefully I'll find out eventually where you fall in that middle category.” You wink at him before heading to the front of your car, attempting to hide the fact that your cheeks were burning over such a forward statement. You hoist yourself up onto the hood of your car with a groan, sliding yourself back so you could lay against your windshield. Will maneuvers himself next to you, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. He nods for you to take the first hit, flicking the lighter to life and preparing to light the bowl for you. You glanced up at him, stunning silver eyes studying you with a softness you had never witnessed before. You tilt your head back, blowing a plume of smoke up into the night sky. The two of you take turns, swapping the bong between you. A soft smile grows on your lips as you catch Will's lingering gaze. “What's that look for?”

“Can I make a really stupid request?” He asks softly.

“No such thing as a stupid request, but continue.” You turn to him with a smile.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about kissing you since I saw you tonight… I’d like to be able to kiss you again, if that's alright.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, scanning over his handsome features as your pulse thundered in your ears.

“I think that sounds a little better than alright.” You respond in a low, seductive tone. His hand cups your jaw, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. He dips his head lower, his lips just out of reach of your own.

“Has anyone ever told you, you have really pretty eyes?” You breathe out a laugh.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” He shakes his head in response, you notice him swallow, a subtle nervousness in his eyes that you almost missed.

“There are no other girls… only you.” You push yourself forward, a surprised sound escaping Will as your lips land on his. An arm circles around your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer. You set the bong down on the hood of your car before straddling his lap. He pulls you flush against his chest, his other hand tangling into your hair. Your arms rest comfortably over his shoulders, he lets out a small hum as he kisses you, smiling against your lips. You pull back with a small gasp as air rushes into your lungs, your pupils blown as adrenaline courses through your veins.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the concert.” You admit breathlessly. William gives you a charming, lopsided smile.

“Well, I guess we’re both in trouble.” He responds with a chuckle, making you let out a soft laugh of your own. “I just don't want you to feel like you have to rush into anything you’re not sure about.”

“I don't feel like we’re rushing anything.” You reassure him. “It feels right, being here with you like this.” He feels the way your shuddering breath ghosts over his lips, his eyes flicking over your face as he drank in every detail of you. His hands knead at your waist, trying to think of how to respond. It’s not that he didn't want you to be exclusively his, he had thought about how pretty you would look covered in bite marks, showing off to the world that the two of you were an item. But you had so much life in you, so much you had yet to experience, could he really be what you want? At the moment he couldn't really bring himself to care. You were sitting so prettily in his lap, your short dress riding up your thighs, his jacket drowning your tiny frame. Who was he to deny an angel what she wanted?

He sighs out your name as his lips find their way back to yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, his glasses pressing uncomfortably into your cheek. Will tried to elaborate on his conditions in between kissing you. “I want you to set the pace.” He sputters out breathlessly. “If we’re moving too fast… or not fast enough… just tell me…” He slides a hand under your jacked, feeling the soft curve of your back against his palm. His lips leave yours, trailing across your jaw.

“Will?” You ask softly.

“Yes, rabbit?” He pauses immediately, pulling back to make sure you were okay. Your eyes instantly met his, the way they twinkled in the moonlight almost made him melt on the spot.

“Take me home?”

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Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @twelvelevens

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