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martiniluvr · 1 year ago

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18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

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A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

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gaza-giving-tree · 2 months ago

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Imagine the pain and fear of giving birth in a tent without medication or proper medical supplies. Imagine your infant son taking his first breaths under skies haunted by drones and warplanes, each rumble overhead a cruel lullaby that keeps you awake, heart pounding in the dark. When the ordeal is over, your beautiful newborn swaddled in the only blanket you can find, you struggle through rubble-strewn streets to reach a crowded, poorly equipped hospital, praying it hasn't already been bombed.

Images: (Top) The displacement camp and tent in which Samah and her family lives. (Bottom) Samah's children celebrate Ramadan in the displacement camp.

@samah-2

Story written by @rumiandroses

Samah is a mother of three—two young daughters, aged nine and two, and a baby boy just six months old, whose world so far has been nothing but tents, ruins, and the ceaseless thunder of shelling. Her husband now carries the weight of not only his own family but also his three siblings—one has a child of their own, and another who dreamed of studying medicine abroad. Those dreams, like their home, have crumbled into the dust of Jabalia camp, destroyed by war.

The devastation is absolute. Their home in northern Gaza, a sanctuary built with years of hard work and sacrifice, was leveled in an instant, leaving behind only debris and memories. Every attempt to find safety leads them to new dangers: from Khan Younis, to Rafah, back to Khan Younis—a relentless cycle of displacement where each new camp is promised to be safer than the last but never is. Airstrikes and snipers are not the only threats; the tents themselves are prisons of misery, offering no protection from the elements or the nightmares that lurk beyond the canvas walls.

Essentials are scarce. Food, when it can be found, is a bitter triumph, and clean drinking water is a rare luxury. Bathing has become a memory, and baby formula is almost impossible to obtain. Each time Samah leaves in search of supplies, she knows it might be the last time her children see her. But what choice does she have? Hunger and thirst do not wait, and neither do the relentless drones that circle above, hungry for new targets.

In winter, they endured the biting cold inside the tent, their breath misting in the dark. As the summer approaches, the summer heat will become a merciless oppressor.

Sweat and grime cling to their skin. The children cry, their voices hoarse from thirst. Rashes spread from the unsanitary conditions. Mosquitoes carry diseases through the stagnant air, and the risk of polio is a shadow that haunts every drop of water. Medical care is a distant dream.

Samah was forced to give birth to her son in a field hospital without medicine or supplies, and even then, reaching the overcrowded, poorly equipped hospital afterward was a battle of its own.

In spite of all the pain and loss, her faith has not been shattered. Despite everything, Samah clings to her belief in God’s mercy and the hope that someone, somewhere, will hear their cries.

But hope alone cannot open borders. To escape this nightmare, Samah’s family needs $86,500—to cover evacuation permits, living expenses in Egypt, medical care, and education for the children. Time is running out, and every moment they remain is another chance for danger to find them.

Samah’s plea is simple: to save her children from a future in a war zone where every breath is borrowed and every sunrise could be their last. She needs the world to see, to care, and to help.

Their survival depends on the kindness of those who refuse to look away.

You can donate to Samah’s GoFundMe campaign [HERE].

This campaign has been vetted by @bilal-salah0.

#free gaza #gaza #gaza genocide #free palestine #gaza strip #palestine #gofundme #signal boost #humanity #the human family

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ovaryacted · 2 months ago

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ENDLESS LOVE

─ Old Man! Logan Howlett x fem! mutant! reader || WC: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: Running out of options to save what was left of his family, Logan escapes to Canada and seeks refuge in a stranger's home. Once he arrives at your doorstep, beaten and bruised, he gets more than what he bargained for as your lives become intertwined.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST/SMUTTY/FLUFFY. Fix-it fic. Found Family. Strangers to Lovers. Budding relationship. Emotionally constipated Logan. Yearning. Mutual pining. Flirting. Kissing. Mentions of smut. Mentions of marriage & pregnancy at the end. Valentine's Day mention. Reader is an empath/telepathic mutant/mind bender. Mentions of Laura & Charles Xavier. Canon-adjacent to Logan (2017). Logan doesn't die and gets a happy ending!

A/N: Hi! This is my entry for the Loveuary Challenge hosted by @lubdubology & @yxtkiwiyxt (yes a month late, I’m sawry!) I was given Old Man Logan/Wolverine paired with the song Endless Love by Lionel Richie & Diana Ross, and this was what I came up with. I rewrote this like three times, so it was hard getting through it, but I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to my twin @joelsdagger for the proofread, love you to bits. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

He remembers what it felt like. Loss. All-consuming loss. He’s lived through it more times than he could count, escaping the narrow grip of death for all of his very long, undeserving life.

So much blood had spilled on his hands that his pale skin was permanently stained in crimson, losing track of whether it was his own or someone else’s. The burdens of the world weighed heavily on his shoulders like the rest of him, dragging his feet through the Earth, searching for a safe haven, a home, a reason to keep going.

There was never enough time. No time to grieve. To beg for forgiveness. To find the light at the end of the tunnel. The suffering from the two centuries he’s lived through was imprinted on his psyche, doing reruns of the wars he fought in his sleep, the sound of cannon fire and dog tags dangling around his neck haunting him in his nightmares.

Logan was as much of a monster as people made him out to be despite his dwindling strength and delayed regenerative health saying otherwise. He was ready to throw in the towel as soon as Charles’ seizures started; losing his loved ones in one fell swoop was enough to break whatever was left of his fading spirit.

Years spent scavenging, fighting, surviving off of scraps…mending the broken pieces of the man he saw in the cracked mirror. The Wolverine, a fable tale like the rest of the mutants and the X-Men, lost to the ravages of time and the severed mind of their savior.

Of course, that all changed when they met Laura.

A feisty, angry, defiant young girl that flipped Logan’s life upside down. Really, he was initially putting up with her for some money to stretch over the next couple of months. He could get Charles his medicine, maybe get them out of New Mexico and into a house with steady walls, real plumbing, and a yard. It was a fantasy, dreaming of something other than the dust that polluted his sights so frequently, choking him up more often than the blood that clotted at the base of his throat.

Realizing she was his, his family, revived the dormant beating encased in his ribcage. From the scowl on her face to her nose scrunches, the furrow in her eyebrow when she was frustrated or in deep concentration, the way the side of her mouth curled upwards in a smirk. It was all irrevocably him; it couldn’t be questioned, and he didn’t think to do so.

Laura redefined what family meant to Logan, another chance at having the very thing he lost long ago.

They almost didn’t make it to Canada; the dreaded journey to the other side of the border dragged on far longer than any of them anticipated. The irony that Logan would find himself in his “home” country again after so long brought memories he could’ve sworn he had forgotten. Charles had told him before to prioritize getting there first, that everything else would work out on its own. That there were things Logan didn’t yet understand, and that he didn’t need to.

A second chance. A new life. It’s all within his reach, his and Laura’s. All he had to do was get there.

Logan had lost count of how many times the old man had been right, how Xavier’s wisdom wasn’t entirely clouded by his terrorizing Alzheimer’s, still locked somewhere deep in that dying brain of his, guiding his loved ones—the ones that remained—to safety. He wouldn’t allow the same mistake to repeat again; he couldn’t bear losing any more people because of his shortcomings.

He just had to get them to Canada.

Apparently, the journey led them right to you.

You were already walking out of your home and onto the porch when Logan’s truck pulled in the driveway, eyeing him closely as the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rose. He stepped out first, guarding a younger girl standing behind his broad figure, and none other than Charles Xavier in the backseat.

You were waiting for them, distantly remembering years ago the professor had come to you in your dreams with a message, mentioning that he would need your help in the future, that you’d know when you were needed. He didn’t tell you anything else, didn’t say exactly who would be coming to you, just that you were to help them at all costs. Not one to disagree, you continued on with your life in Canada, assimilating into society despite the isolation you felt carrying a responsibility you didn’t know what to do with. Until now.

As you observed the older, scarred man, it dawned on you exactly who you were dealing with. You’ve heard of him, of the Wolverine; this first impression of him is different than what you expected. He watched you, body stiff, riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, a protective hand over the little girl’s back, keeping her close.

Staying in place, you kept your stance relaxed, showing no sign of a threat to the three individuals before you.

“You must be hungry.”

All sat at the dinner table, you didn’t say anything as you offered some hearty tomato soup, warming your guests from the inside out. The young girl, Laura, whom you’ve come to know, didn’t hesitate to hold her empty bowl up and ask for more. With a smile, you served her twice without question, more than happy to give whatever they needed, Charles and Logan included.

The first night in the new space threw Logan off-kilter, saying goodnight to Charles after you administered his new meds, the stronger dosage knocking him right out with no additional assistance. You helped in settling Laura to bed without needing to be asked, guiding her to the bathroom for a shower, spare clothes at the ready, and your comforting presence at the door.

Tentatively, Laura roamed around the other spare bedroom you had in your home, plopping on the plush bedding prepared for her, already claiming the bunny plushie you figured she might’ve liked. She murmured a thank you, shutting her eyes, and you stood by the entryway as Logan placed a kiss on her forehead, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.

He didn’t give you a chance to make any suggestions of where you wanted to put him, mumbling that he would take the couch in your living room. You figured he wasn’t ready yet. He’ll keep the walls he had spent decades building, the ones that nurtured his fears and worries, the ones that kept him alive. There was no need to push him further, offering the shower if he wanted to wash off the dried blood from his undershirt, along with clothes you guessed would fit him, telling him you’d wash the rest in the morning.

You leave him standing in the living room with a curt smile and a promise of safety, that Logan didn’t need to sleep with one eye open anymore. Surely, he’ll come to understand that. Retreating back to your bedroom, he cleaned up and lay back on the pillows you gave him, his body shutting down before he could finish his next breath, eyes closing as he plunged into a deep sleep.

For the first time in years, he slept through the whole night without jolting awake. Actually, he slept well into the next day. Whether that was because of exhaustion or because he felt comfort for the first time, that was for him to figure out later.

He remembers what it felt like. What love was—is.

His love towards his family, with Charles and the other X-Men, and now with Laura included; his daughter in more ways than he thought possible. He can faintly remember the traces of love he had towards Jean before she made her choice to stay with Scott, though he doesn’t think his feelings for her ever went away, loving from a distance despite letting her go. Over the course of his 200 years, he’s had that “spark” more than once, many happening when he wasn’t graying and knocking on death’s door, some lost in the deep mess of his scattered memories. Though, Logan didn’t anticipate feeling that same spark another time when coming to Canada, seeking refuge in your home.

It started off slowly, as it always did, through acts of kindness that came naturally to the both of you. He figured it was easier to make himself useful as a way to say thank you when he couldn’t find the words. You were very hands-on with Charles; whatever medicine cocktail you had been giving him kept his seizures at bay, and frankly, he’s the calmest and happiest he’s ever been. Logan almost thinks he could see the old Charles come back, stopping by the foyer to listen to the professor share his memories with a toothy smile. He had never smiled so wide, not in a very long time.

Logan tried to keep himself busy around the new space, doing repairs as much as his body would allow, and really, you didn’t need him to do anything. All you worried about was his health and well-being, which was easier said than done. He didn’t let you fuss too much over him and told you to focus more on Laura and Charles, who were more than happy to occupy your time. Still, always one to care for strays, you could never really leave him alone.

He often watched you take care of Laura, how patient you were with her despite her little temper tantrums as she adjusted to her new surroundings. He did his best in raising her initially, doing what he figured was best, but he couldn’t give her the softness he knew she needed at her age, the other half of what she didn’t know was missing in this dynamic.

Laura liked your cooking, especially the pancakes you’d make for her in the mornings. She was also fond of bubble baths, the ones you’d set up for her after a long day of running around in your open yard. She really liked her room and the privacy it gave her, along with the toys you had gifted her. Sometimes when you both could, you’d read her to sleep, and he’d pass by the hallway to see Laura snuggled up against you, dozing off as you whispered fable tales she’d carry into her dreams. She felt safe with you; happy; it was all Logan could ask for.

It was then that he first felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

With time, that internal pulse spread to the rest of his body as the both of you were given more opportunities to get to know each other. It wasn’t easy for him to open up to you, and you didn’t blame him for it. With everything he had been through, you’d be closed off too, and the last thing either of you wanted was more unnecessary tension.

He’d often say how grateful he was for your attention towards Charles and Laura, and you shrugged it off as if it was no big deal, as if you hadn’t saved their lives by taking them in. Logan didn’t drag it out too long, but you knew he meant well even if he didn’t say it as clearly as he’d like.

His hands, scarred and calloused, would graze yours when you handed him the bowl of freshly baked rolls at dinner, the faintest of sparks flying between you. You liked enjoying silent mornings with him while drinking coffee, staring out of the window, and basking in the sun. Similarly, you’d share the labor of doing the dishes when everyone was stuffed, switching positions between washing and drying every other night. On grocery runs into town, he’d always be behind you pushing the cart as Laura tugged you through the aisle, dumping anything she could find into the buggy, and all either of you could do was laugh with her.

Logan never complained. Never requested or asked anything from you. Yet you gave him everything without question.

By October, they had been a part of your life for 5 months, and it felt natural to be living under the same roof as a family unit. You all had claimed your relative spaces, Charles and Laura in their own bedrooms separated from yours. And Logan? Well, he still preferred the couch, still wanted to stand guard when you were all asleep. It worked in the newfound system that was your household, and you never questioned him on it. So long as he stayed here, that’s all that mattered to you.

But the faint glances and moments of brief intimacy were beginning to drive Logan crazy. He kept it to himself as much as he could, refusing to look deeper into things and keeping the bond friendly to keep the peace. Eventually, it got to the point where he started purposefully looking for you in the mornings, admiring you from afar when you were doing anything. He liked the attention you gave him, the way you looked at him as just a man and not the monster he became. There was always a gleam in your eyes when your gaze was locked on his, the same quirky smile gracing your features when you flustered him just a bit.

He joked about whether or not you were a mutant one night over some beers once Laura and Charles had gone to bed, and in your tipsy confession, you may or may not have let it slip that you were a mind reader of sorts. In reality, your empathy was one aspect of what you could do; the other dealt with manipulating people’s thoughts and memories, what they chose to see or forget. Telling him you could get into his head was an easier way to say it.

How else would Charles have been able to contact you all those years ago? Logan thought you were bluffing, but at the touch of your hand wrapping around his wrist, his mind calmed instantly; the noise that kept him up at night was gone momentarily before you pulled your hand away. After that, he got a few tidbits about your origins, where you came from, how you’ve had your “skills” since you were born, and they’ve only gotten stronger with every birthday.

Logan marveled at you; it was easy to sense it on him with how the corners of his eyes creased as he looked over at you, reading your face. You mimicked his expression, peacocking at him over the rim of your beer bottle and listening to the stories from his past as part of the X-Men. It was nice to be with him like this, just two people enjoying a drink and enjoying the moment without worrying about everything else. The time had flown by after your second bottle had run empty, calling it a night and tossing it in the bin. Turning to face the older man, he caught the flirtatious edge to your words when you stepped out of the kitchen, heading to your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I won’t read your mind unless you let me. Promise.”

By the holiday season, Logan had reached his limit; the back-and-forth teasing and banter had gone on for long enough. After the hearty feast you had cooked up for everyone, you both enjoyed some warmth by the fireplace. Snuggled up against his broad figure under a blanket, he had a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Your head rested on his left pectoral, listening to the steady beating of his heart, a calm rhythm that soothed your cautious nerves, a reminder that he was still alive and kicking.

It was already quite late, the clock striking past twelve, and the festive punch you made in the fridge with the rest of the leftovers. Logan absentmindedly ran lines up and down your spine, eyes on the red embers that crackled every few seconds. Despite the comfort of the moment, the air was tense, coming directly from the man who held you.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” You raised your head to glance at him, your hands on his shoulders in light caresses. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.” Logan shrugged, but he knew what was plaguing him. It was you, your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you conquered the empty space that was left in his head, mending the remaining pieces of his broken heart since he first stepped on your doorstep.

“You want me to help?” You suggested, as if your sole purpose was to tend to his every wound, to take away his pain and share the burden of his existence alongside him.

You’d think he would’ve said no, told you that he’d be fine and eventually leave you alone for the rest of the night. To your surprise, he brought one of your hands to the side of his aged face, his bearded cheek nuzzled into your palm, seeking the security you offered out of the kindness of your heart.

“If you’re really that curious to find out what’s bothering me so much, go ahead, sweetheart.”

With trained practice, you search through the tormented chasms of his consciousness, looking over every nook and cranny for the thing that troubled him to such an extent. There were certain parts of his mind you refused to look into; Charles had given you the rundown a while back that there were parts of Logan you should avoid, too dark and extreme even for the professor to handle. Yet the last thing you felt was Logan’s despair. When he first arrived here, his stress would radiate over him and spill into any room he walked into; at least that was your first impression of him. But at the moment, all you felt was a giddy spirit, something that pulled you towards him and encouraged you to dig deeper.

Once you did, all you saw were images of yourself, memories of your budding companionship presenting before you. You never searched through Logan’s mind; you knew better than to do that or to question him on his intentions or emotions, and now you think you may have been oblivious to how he saw you the entire time. He may not be a man of many words, but you knew what he felt, how he felt about you in particular, and it ran through your body like an electrical current, shocking you to the core.

The moment ended when you moved your hand away from his face, or attempted to when he held on to your wrist with firm hands. Your pulse spiked; surely he had to be aware of that. All you could do was stare at him with raised eyebrows, eyeing him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You kept his attention on you as you thumbed the scar on his cheekbone, the raised skin growing hot under your touch from his faint blushing.

“Didn’t want to scare you off. Couldn’t ruin one of the good things I had left…” he replied nervously, the shift in his demeanor bringing goosebumps to your skin. “You’re too good for me. Always have been.”

In an attempt to prevent another self-deprecating speech, you shut him up with a kiss, softly meshing your mouth over his, your heart pounding from the brief contact. For once, you had stunned The Wolverine and taken him by surprise, and the pure look of disbelief on his face caused you to smile mischievously.

“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, Logan.”

He grinned at that, leaning to steal another kiss that led to his large hands roaming over your body, palming your chest and pinning your hips to his on the couch. Like young lovers, you recommended moving this to the bedroom, snuffing out the fire and muffling your giggles into his shoulder when he carried you to your room. Your clothes were tossed to the ground, passionate touches exchanged between you as you welcomed his body into yours for the first time.

Merging as one, your limbs entangled with his, nails digging into his back as he finally claimed you for himself, nipping at his neck to keep your sounds down to a minimum as he brought you to the edge over and over again. The sun threatened to peek over the horizon by the time you were done, leaving Logan to snore behind you with your bare body secured under his grip. You were able to rest easily for the few hours you had before Laura would wake up, granting yourself a late start to the morning for once.

That was the last night Logan slept on the couch.

The relationship change between you and Logan was not something unexpected; Charles was mentally placing bets on when it was going to happen. Safe to say, when the grumpy mutant came down from his prolonged nap to wrap his arms around you like it was within his nature, Charles wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the day. To Laura, it was new seeing the two adults that cared for her together, and perhaps there will be a more serious conversation to be had in the future when the time is right.

For now, all that mattered was the four of you together, in this blended family that had found each other in the strangest of circumstances. It might’ve been fate, or your destiny, so to speak, to meet each other in this broken world. Had you known this was how you would be rewarded for taking them in, you’d have taken on the burden of Charles’ prolific message much sooner.

February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Two years later.

A firm hand remained on the steering wheel of the car, rolling into the familiar driveway with practice. Logan sat in the driver’s seat for a moment longer, taking a second to exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shouldn’t be nervous; usually he never is, but he took one look at the calendar and realized he better not come home empty-handed.

Home. It was a funny concept, something Logan often didn’t think he was deserving of after the countless times it had been painfully ripped away from him. He’s lived so many lives, many of which he’ll never get back, but he likes to think that the old versions of him will live on in the far traces of his memories, scattered across time and space. Maybe in another reality, he could share a slice of this heaven he had been blessed with after suffering for so long.

Mentally he never stopped thanking Charles for convincing him to make the trip to Canada a few years ago; he doesn’t think they would have made it this far without your help and love. Logan owed him everything, from the life and family he was given with the X-Men to the one he has now, smaller but just as loving.

Taking the bouquet of flowers that was in the passenger seat, Logan stepped out of his car, clicking the lock and stepping to the front door. He noticed your car parked in the front when a familiar whirring filled his head, the one signal he knew meant you were expecting him on the other side of the door.

Twisting his key into the lock, his nostrils were hit with the accustomed scent of cranberries and citrus, something tart wafting through the lower level of your home, a sign you were probably busy in the kitchen. Dropping his key in the dish set by the foyer, he was careful to hold the flowers behind his back in case you spotted them first, going to the threshold of the living and dining room and turning the corner to see your figure whisking over a bowl.

Logan tries his hardest to be quiet in a sad attempt to surprise you, but you could sense him anywhere he went without trying. Still, you give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he knows with your sixth sense nothing slips by you so easily.

He was quick to curl an arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder and the side of your neck, satisfied at the light hum you released at his attention. Turning your head to view him, Logan didn’t hesitate to give you a loving smooch, one that made your knees weak every time he stole your breath.

“You’re home early,” you stated, a peaceful smile on your face, content now that he was here. “Thought they were never going to let you go.”

“We had a light day today on the site, said I had better places to be.” Logan answered with full confidence, a lighthearted chuckle slipping from you.

“Ain’t that right? You have a missus I don’t know about?” you teased. He’d never get over your quick wit, one of the many qualities he fell for over the past two years of living together.

“Only one. A real pretty thing I snagged up, she keeps me young.” At that, you laughed, a deeper rumble Logan felt through your back.

“Sounds like a keeper, that one,” you smirked at him, receiving a perky wink on his end.

“Definitely is. Had to make sure she wouldn’t run away from this old man.” That got him a playful slap to his chest, relishing in his frisky attitude way too much.

You enjoyed toying with him like this; the never-ending innuendos and flirtatious remarks were solidified by the golden band on your ring finger, the clear diamond sitting pretty on your digit to match with the rest of you. In the midst of your conversation, the bouquet of flowers hidden behind Logan was presented to you, and you lit up instantly at the tailored mix of roses, peonies, and lilies.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He appeared almost sheepish when he spoke, and you leaned up to kiss him sweetly; nothing else needed to be said other than—

“I love them. And I love you.” Logan still remembers when you first said those three words to him, how they echoed in his mind for weeks after the fact. To this day, he never gets sick of you reminding him how much you cared for him and Laura, how you served as a healing balm to his weathered soul, and loved him as he was.

“I love you too, so much.”

You held the flowers in your arm while he cupped your cheek, his other free hand drifting down to palm your lower stomach carefully. It hadn’t been that long since you surprised your husband with the news that you’d be having a new addition to your family, and to say Logan was both excited and terrified was an understatement. Though you think Laura is the one that’s more ecstatic about getting a sibling.

“How’s junior doing? Still being a pain in the ass?” he asked, curious as ever, caressing over your small bump protectively.

“Unfortunately. I think they want me to suffer; keeping me nauseous and having me piss so frequently is a sure way to do it.” Your hand joined Logan’s, growing quiet as you rubbed your thumb over his fingers. “He would’ve loved this, you know? Wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut until the end of time, probably trying to guess our odds of having a girl or a boy. God, I miss him.”

“I know, honey. I miss his nosy ass always in my head, miss hearing his voice. I’m pretty sure with this he’d probably slip up and tell me before you had the chance to surprise me.”

Logan’s joke helped lighten the mood a bit despite your eyes watering at the notion. He wiped at the tear that streaked down your cheek, the moment of silence hanging heavy above your heads. You both knew Charles would end up passing eventually; his condition had stabilized significantly thanks to your care, but you all knew he was on borrowed time. The professor was able to enjoy the last few months of his life surrounded by the three of you, knowing he was loved and would be remembered regardless of where he thinks he’d end up in the afterlife.

In the eerie calmness of his bedroom with his impending death looming over him, Charles privately spoke to you of Logan’s origins, of the man he was and became once he had taken him in, much like how you had done. He finally confesses why he sought you out all those years ago, why he knew you’d be the one to save them and give Logan the life he deserved, the one he had always dreamed of when he thought nobody was listening. You held his words to your heart, holding onto his wrinkled hand, and like he had done before, he made you swear you’d take care of your newfound family with everything you had.

You didn’t plan on breaking that promise anytime soon.

“Where’s Laura? Thought she’d be home by now.” Logan asked, wondering where your daughter had wandered off to.

“She’s out with some friends from school having a Valentine’s Day get-together of sorts. She’ll be back before dinner.”

Pacing around the kitchen to fill a vase with water, you submerged the fresh flowers in the narrow glass, arranging them to your liking. You place the bouquet on the round breakfast table towards the side of the room, stepping back to appreciate them with Logan coming to hold your hips, swaying you tenderly.

“Means we have the house to ourselves for a while…” His voice dropped an octave, a hushed whisper beside your ear. Your body responded instantly, a pulse blooming between your thighs.

“Are you proposing something, Logan?” Pivoting to face him, your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first two to stroke along his collarbone.

“Depends. What are you in the mood for, hm?” He nipped at the side of your jaw, your scent overwhelming his senses, his mouth watering with the sweetness he could taste on his tongue thanks to your hormones changing.

“Well, I was kind of busy making the lemon loaf you like so much,” the cheeky glint in your eye couldn’t be missed, gesturing over to the batter you started whisking before he came home. “But I’d really want you to show me why you like keeping me around, old man.”

Logan stares down at you with darkened eyes, a ball of heat twisting in his gut and simmering low under his belt. You were the only one that could get him this riled up so quickly, having him wrapped around your finger in more ways than you can imagine. A sharp canine sinks into his bottom lip, already imagining how he plans on having you later on, a sneaky hand reaching to greedily knead your ass. You didn’t need to read his mind to know just how explicit he was envisioning you two together, as he usually did, and the confirmation of it only intensified the desire growing inside you.

“If you wrap that up in the next five minutes, I’ll show you exactly why I slipped that ring on your finger.”

With a giggle and an affectionate swat to your behind, you were quick to cover your bowl with some saran wrap and clean up as best as you could before Logan grabbed your hand and dragged you towards your bedroom. You couldn’t stop the laughter that poured out of you as the man practically tackled you into bed, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and running his hands over your thighs that opened for him with ease.

This life you had built was far from where you imagined you’d be a few years ago. If you were told that you would safehouse a trio of mutant runaways, you’d laugh and think this is far from something you’d do. Yet these three strangers you welcomed into your life granted you with purpose and taught you how to love, showing you what it was like to finally find your village. They saved you like you saved them, and the life you carry and nurture inside is proof of this new beginning with your family.

This love I have inside

And I'll give it all to you

My love, my love, my love

My endless love

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minh907 · 13 days ago

Note

A YANDARE JINWOO WHO GETS OBSESSED WITH A ERANK HEALER READER WHO DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHO HE IS OR BIG HUNTERS ARE LIKE SHE JUTS WANNA SAVE LIVES.

(idk if u do yandare though😓)

Whatever this feeling is.

Yandere!Jinwoo x E-rank Healer!Reader.

____________________________

You never thought of becoming a hunter.

In fact, if you could, you would rather live a normal life like everyone else: go to work in the morning, come home in the afternoon to eat with your family, read a few pages of a book and go to sleep.

But this world is not for 'normal' people. When the gate appears, when monsters start to flood across the border, you are forced to choose: either become prey, or become part of the war. You are an E-rank healer - not enough power to fight, cannot lead any party, and are often left behind in raids.

But you don't care. You don't need the power to kill monsters.

You just want to save as many people as possible.

___________________________

The first time you met Jinwoo was in a C-rank dungeon. The party was short of people, and you and Jinwoo were thrown in to 'make up the head count.' They didn't expect anything from you. It was only natural, you were weak, healing magic was like a drop in the ocean.

Then everything became chaotic when a high orc suddenly appeared. The party disbanded, everyone ran away. In the chaos, you saw a person with a severe injury on his arm, curled up near the stone wall, blood pooling at his feet.

No one came to help.

They didn't want to help him. You knew that he was someone of the same rank as you. Jinwoo was only an E-rank, even called The weakest hunter of all mankind, so everyone thought it was useless to save him.

But you didn't think so.

Your determination to save everyone never wavered even though hope was barely visible to you because you valued each person's life as if it equaled one thousand pieces of gold. Your belief in saving him compelled you to rush toward him before you dropped to your knees. Your hand trembled from anxiety while you pressed it against his bleeding wound to stop the bleeding and save his life.

Stay motionless and wait patiently for only a short time because everything will turn out fine. I'll heal you," you said, not looking up at his face.

A light glinted from your palm - weak, small, but strangely gentle.

You didn't see the way he looked at you - as if you'd opened a crack of light in his thousand-year darkness.

"Are you...a healer?" He spoke in a raspy tone which made his question sound like he had not interacted with anyone in days.

"Yeah. E-rank, nothing special." You gave him a small smile, as gentle as a touch to a wound.Then you give him your handkerchief so he can wipe the dirt off his face.

And he didn't say anything else. He just looked at you. Silent. Silent to the point of suffocation.

__________________________

After that day, you didn't think too much about it. The dungeon ended, you went home, took a shower, ate instant noodles, and went to bed early for tomorrow.

And yes, everything was still going on normally, you had also gradually forgotten about the E-rank hunter who was on the brink of death and was saved by you.

Little did you know that from the moment you bent down among the blood and stone dust, the faint light from your hand touched the body of a person who seemed to have been abandoned by the world, you became all he had left.

Little did you know that Jinwoo wanted to die that day.

He entered the dungeon to earn money, to support his family, to try to earn at least some money to make his life better. But that day, after being attacked by the high orc, he lost his faith in life. The title of 'weakest hunter' hung over his head like a curse, turning him into a shadow of himself.

Until you came. Not with a weapon. Not with a look of disdain. Just with trembling hands and a choked voice, you said "I will save you."

No conditions. No expectations. No matter who he was.

For the first time in his life, Jinwoo felt alive.

____________________________

Weeks later, things continued as usual.

You took on a few healing missions for low-rank hunter groups, or simply went whenever someone needed another hunter to fill the space. You ate cheap sandwiches for breakfast, drank cold coffee, and then went to the guild to sign up for the next mission. Life was simple, steady.

You didn't think about Jinwoo.

It wasn't that you tried to forget - it was that you never thought you were important enough for anyone to remember. In this world, an E-rank healer like you - no one remembered your name, no one bothered to notice.

And at that time, the whole country was buzzing about the appearance of the country's 10th S-rank hunter.

You don't know who he is. And you don't really care.

Honestly, you don't really care about the names of famous hunters. To you, names like Choi Jong-In or Baek Yoonho are just wind. The same goes for this new S-rank hunter. After all, you're just an E-rank healer, and those stronger than you aren't interested in a lowly rank like you. Right?

The moment after that incident you began to experience unusual feelings.

The feeling of being watched accompanied you throughout your time outside the house. Your steps became trapped by a weighty stare which clung to you as if it were an endless moonless darkness.

______________________

Snow falls lightly outside the window, creeping through the thin curtains like white ghosts. You tighten your coat as you step out of the subway station, the cold air stabbing your neck like hundreds of needles. You exhale a thin puff of smoke and walk quickly towards the training area where an F-rank team has asked you to help them recover today.

A normal day. A normal mission.

...It's just that the feeling doesn't go away.

It feels like an invisible gaze is watching. The behavior remains neither threatening nor welcoming. You feel trapped inside a glass enclosure while an unseen observer watches you from outside.

You turn around again.

It's still the same familiar street, a few people walking by in a hurry, an old woman selling fried fish balls is playing an old radio. Nothing strange. No one.

You tighten your lips while reassuring yourself before keeping your stride.

A hazy dream awoke you during the night although you could not recall its contents. During your dream you ran through a dark corridor while behind you heard slow footsteps following you. No matter how you ran, it was still behind you, each step, each breath close to your ear.

You turned on the lights in your room, trying to find peace. But the warm yellow light couldn't dispel the cold feeling that had clung to your spine from deep within.

Little did you know, at the same time, in another part of the city, a man stood in the darkness, looking at you through the eyes of a shadow soldier in your shadow that you couldn't tell when or how he had placed it.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, as if if he left, you would disappear. Jinwoo had found you. A long time ago. He just hadn't shown up yet.

Because he was waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting until you couldn't run away. When you have nowhere to run.

Wait until you belong to him.

_________________________

Today's job is to support a new group of hunters. You stand by the dungeon entrance wearing a light cloak while holding your elbows tight to stay warm. A gust of cold air passes through your collar opening while you shiver although the real cause of your goosebumps stems from something else.

It's the feeling.

You feel someone standing near your back although no one actually stands there.

You turn around. There are only a few hunters checking their weapons, passersby walking by, and a stray cat sitting under a tree licking its paws.

No one is there.

You exhaled, reassuring yourself. 'I'm just tired, maybe I need to rest.'

You had no idea that a dark figure remained hidden in the building shadows just meters behind you while keeping watch with shadow soldier eyes.

From his position in front of the big window, Jinwoo gazed down at the city below while fixating on a spot only he could perceive.

He whispered softly "My angel" with a broken voice.

His hand gripped the cold coffee cup. Not because of the cold. But because his palm was shaking.

Not because of fear. But because of desire.

From the first time you touched him - with that trembling hand, that faint light - something inside him had cracked. Or rather, woken up.

No one had saved him. No one had ever taken him seriously. Just you.

Just you.

______________________

You get used to the feeling of being watched.

You accept it in a way that does not provide comfort. You learn to accept the marks that will never heal like bruises or scars you wish to forget. You don't tell anyone, because who cares? E-rank healers have no power, no reputation, and no one around long enough to listen.

Your dreams will not allow you to ignore what is happening no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.

Someone stands near your bed while you sleep in your dreams. You dream of a shadow moving in the corner of your eye every time you turn your head. Someone whispers your name in a gentle voice which sounds confident just like a thousand previous times of naming you.

You woke up during the night to discover a slightly open window even though you had double-checked its locked position.

Your world shows signs of reality merging with dreams because each day makes the distinction harder to discern.

A strange event occurred to you when you embarked on a D-rank dungeon quest.

The monsters avoided you.

You realized it while hiding behind a tall warrior, shoulder to shoulder with your comrades in battle. A spider-like monster suddenly rushed forward, its legs long and sharp as blades, its sound echoing like a knife scraping on stone. The group readied their weapons, preparing to receive the attack. But then it stopped.

The moment its red eyes met yours.

In that brief moment, you saw the monster freeze. Its eyes widened, not from predatory instinct, but from fear. A primal fear, almost desperate. A shrill howl escaped from its mouth before it turned to flee while its feet pounded against the stone surface creating a loud echo in the dark hallway.

The group was stunned. You were also stunned.

"What the hell?" someone exclaimed.

A hunter turned to look at you, his brows furrowed. "What did you do?"

"N-No, I just stood there," you stammered, not understanding what was happening. Your heart was pounding. You looked down at your hands, nothing out of the ordinary. No aura, no new abilities, no strange signs.

But deep down, a strange feeling began to creep in. It felt like something that didn't belong to you was following you.

You began to notice.

The single spider was not the only one. The monsters that emerged in the group's progress chose to observe you instead of their typical assault behavior. Each of them made a turn before fleeing from the scene. The creature took refuge in a corner while trembling like it sought mercy from an unseen power.

It was then that you truly felt something was wrong.

You look down and this time, in the flickering light of the torch, you catch a glimpse of your own shadow.

Not in shape, but in temperament. A dark undefined form resembling a wild creature rests behind you with its half-open black eyes observing the world through darkness.

A blink, and it's gone.

You swallow. A chill runs down your spine like a silent stream of water filling your chest.

Little do you know that, from the moment you entered the dungeon, all the monsters inside have been marked by an ancient power, a mark you can't see, can't feel, but that's covering everything you pass by. It's not coming from you but from another being that's in your shadow, or worse, watching through you.

________________________

Sung Jinwoo stood in the middle of a dungeon filled with chill – not because of the wind, but because of the presence of death that surrounded him. Hundreds of shadows swirled silently like a silent storm, not a sound, but all focused on him, loyal, absolute, and alert.

He stood alone in the center.

He held a small object in his hand, an old handkerchief, the edge of which had a friend's name embroidered in silver thread. A sign of ridiculous gentleness in this hellish space.

"Do not touch her," Jinwoo said, his voice as deep as the abyss, each word as sharp as a cold knife. "Only observe and protect."

The shadows said nothing, but one stepped forward, Beru. Beru knelt on one knee, his wings folded, his eyes glowing like two turquoises under his black mask.

"My King..." Beru hissed softly, "May I ask?"

Jinwoo did not look at Beru. His deep eyes gazed at the handkerchief while showing an unusual softness.

"Why don't you come to see her?" Beru bowed slightly. "I can feel your heart screaming for her."

The pale blue illumination of shadows fell upon Jinwoo's face. He held the handkerchief with gentle pressure while feeling each individual thread without causing any wrinkles. He whispered. "...She's not ready."

Beru raised his head, his eyes flashing with confusion, a rare emotion for a Shadow.

"Your Majesty, but she's weak. She's alone. You can protect her. You have to go-"

"No."

Jinwoo's voice cut in, soft, but the room froze. Jinwoo breathed slowly. His eyes closed for a moment, as if forcing himself. "If I come now, she'll hide."

There was a moment of silence, then Jinwoo raised his head. Those eyes, the color of night, but burning, like a furnace without oxygen, were now locked into nothingness, as if looking through time, through space at you.

"But soon."

He lowered his face to gently kiss the border of the handkerchief.

"She will understand."

Beru said nothing more.

He just nodded, then turned back to the darkness, where the Shadows silently continued to circle Jinwoo, who was holding onto a small piece of cloth as if it was the last piece of his soul that kept him from going insane.

____________________________

You never intended to join this raid.

Today was supposed to be your day off, a rare luxury, when you could sleep until dawn. But then the guild called, the voice urgent on the phone. "We need a healer. Just one more healer. This is a C-rank dungeon, easy to clear, high pay."

You hesitated, but the mention of high pay made your empty wallet feel lighter. Rent was due next week, and the cures weren't much cheaper.

A new group of strangers were standing at the dungeon entrance and you too were standing there. Upon your arrival no one took the effort to learn your name.

"Just stay behind and don't get killed," the leader told you with a dismissive wave.

You nodded silently. You had already experienced this kind of treatment before.

A jagged opening in the mountainside serves as the entrance to the dungeon which appears dark and foreboding. You feel unease rising in your chest as you enter with the group.

Something's not right today.

But before you can voice your concerns, the entrance slams shut behind you with a loud bang. The group freezes, weapons half drawn, eyes wide with shock.

"What the hell?" someone shouts.

Then it happens.

The walls around you glow an ominous crimson, illuminating shocked faces in a bloody light. The earth trembles as you stand on it. A terrifying ancient sound resonates within the cave which produces no resemblance to any known animal roar.

The leader's arrogant tone fades as he utters "A red gate. It's a fucking red gate."

Everyone knew what that meant. There was no escape. There was no rescue. Either clear the dungeon or die trying.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a caged animal. Red Gates were deadly traps. Even S-rank hunters avoided them if they could.

"Move!" the leader barked, regaining his calm with trained discipline. "Regroup, stick to the plan. We'll get through this."

But you could see the fear in his eyes. He didn't believe his own words.

The C-rank dungeon was said to have transformed. The hallways expanded into darkness while the atmosphere became heavy with rotting odors. Deformed monsters emerged from the shadows instead of typical goblins or wolves because they moved too quickly and attacked with brutal force.

The warriors formed a wall of steel and flesh while the mages rained destruction from behind. You do your part, channeling every ounce of your healing power to close the wound and numb the pain.

But it's not enough.

One by one, they fall.

First the youngest warrior, then one of the mages. The leader holds out longer, his sword flashing like mercury until a barbed tentacle pierces his chest. You watch, paralyzed with horror, as the life drains from his eyes.

You run.

It's shameful, it's cowardly, but your body moves on its own. Your lungs burn as you run through the winding passages, the screams of your companions fading behind you.

Finally, you collapse in a small cave, your legs giving out beneath you. Your body hugs the freezing wall as you attempt to minimize your size. Your healing kit lies forgotten beside you, barely used. What good is a healer who can't save anyone?

In the dim crimson light, you see your own hands shaking. Useless. Weak.

You close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable. The monsters will find you soon. A lone E-rank healer in a red portal - there is no happy ending to this story.

That's when you hear it.

Footsteps.

Not the sound of fleeing monsters or the frantic running of survivors. Deliberate steps moved through the tunnels with controlled pace and sound.

You kept your breath trapped while pushing your body against the wall to avoid detection. The footsteps grew closer. A shadow fell across the entrance to your hideout.

You expected death. You expected pain.

You heard a familiar voice which had been absent for months yet constantly disturbed your sleep.

"Found you."

Jinwoo waited at the dungeon entrance beneath the red light. But he was different from the wounded E-rank hunter you had saved. His power emitted like scorching furnace heat which felt dark and powerful. His eyes which had previously shown fatigue displayed an unnatural blue glow which penetrated deep into your spiritual core.

"You're...Sung Jinwoo!!?" You whispered.

He stepped closer, and you noticed something strange. The shadows surrounding him displayed themselves as more than simple shadows as they became animated with glowing eyes and sharp edges. His body produced these fluid entities which functioned as extensions that moved with purpose just like natural limbs.

"My Angel," His voice sounded deeper than you remembered while expressing an emotion which escaped your understanding. "I've waited so long."

His gaze produced a deep primal dread within you that differed from disgust. These weren't the eyes of the broken E-ranker you'd saved. The predator's eyes stared at me as he had finally caught his prey following a prolonged hunt.

"This is a red gate!!" Your voice shook as you struggled to understand his arrival "Everyone's dead. How did you get in? The gate was closed-"

"I turned it red," he interrupted, his voice cold and calm.

Your heart stopped for a moment. "What?"

"I turned the gate red." The shadows moved excitedly as Jinwoo approached. "I want to find you. Alone. Undisturbed."

Horror washed over you as his words sank in. "Y-You killed them? All of them?"

His expression didn't change. "They were in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"Us."

The solitary word remained suspended between us with deep significance. Your legs trembled as you pressed against the wall to stay upright. "Jinwoo, this isn't right."

His face brightened with a disturbing expression that seemed unnatural. "I had specifically wanted this outcome." He revealed his true nature as the person he wished to become. He reached out to you. "And you made it happen."

You shook your head, backing away until you hit the wall behind you. "No. I didn't do anything."

"You saved me," he insisted, eyes narrowing. "When no one else wanted to save me. When everyone else left me to die because I wasn't worth saving. You were the only one who chose to stay."

His next step brought panic as you understood there was no escape. The only escape was behind him.

He spoke in a soft voice while saying "I searched everywhere for you."

A cold realization hits you. "It was you. You were watching me."

His smile widens. "Always. My shadow follows you everywhere."

All the previous experiences in the dreams along with the sense of surveillance and abnormal monster behavior now seem meaningless.

"Why?" Your voice cracks with fear. "Why me? I'm nothing."

Jinwoo makes a swift forward movement with remarkable speed. The wall next to your head receives his first blow as he stands before you then he grabs your chin with brutal force. He glares at you as he says through clenched teeth "You will never say that to me again. You're everything. The only light in my dark world."

His eyes fix directly on yours as his pupils expand showing a strange blue light. His eyes reveal the madness which transforms into his delusional belief of love.

He whispers. "I'll protect you. Keep you safe. Forever."

You struggle to break free from his grip. "Jinwoo, please. You're hurting me."

He maintains his position yet lets go of your chin right away. His touch on your face becomes so delicate that it creates a feeling of unease. "I'd never hurt you. Never on purpose."

Pushing against his chest, you muster the last of your courage. "Give me a break. I want to go."

His face briefly flashes with what appears to be pain. Then it hardens into determination. "You don't understand yet. But you will."

The moment he stepped away you felt a tiny bit of relief but the shadows appeared. These icy chains started at your ankles before they began their slow ascent up your legs.

"What are you doing?" You panicked while attempting to shake off the shadows yet they refused to budge. The objects felt strange because they remained unbreakable as if they combined smoke and stone properties.

"Make sure you don't flee." Jinwoo's head tilted slightly as he watched you struggle with mild curiosity. "I have exercised patience. I can't wait anymore."

A deep rumbling noise spread through the dungeon before the dungeon floor creaked from approaching footsteps. Monsters, drawn by your fear and Jinwoo's strength.

"They're coming," you said desperately. "We need to go!"

"Yes," he agreed calmly. "We must leave."

The cold darkness enveloped you completely when the shadows that surrounded your feet disappeared. Your spinning head combined with blurring vision led to unconsciousness.

Your last vision showed Jinwoo's face with shining eyes while he displayed an evil look of victory.

He said softly. "You can sleep now, my angel. We'll be home when you wake up."

__________________

You come to in a nurturing surface with dim light penetrating the heavy drapes. A few seconds of disorientation sweeps over you regarding which place you have landed. The building you are in does not resemble your cramped studio space with wet roofing and noisy flooring.

An avalanche of past experiences surrounds you. The red gate. The massacre of your group. Jinwoo's confession.

You bolt up, heart pounding in your chest.

You crawl out of bed, running to the window. It doesn't open. Of course it doesn't. Next, you try the door. It's locked. You use your fists to knock on the door while yelling for help but the heavy wood remains unmoved from your strikes.

You beg for help before you drop to the floor with your back against the door. "Someone. Anyone."

Someone behind you responds with "There's no one here anymore."

You turn around with a startled yelp. Jinwoo stood in the middle of the room, though you were sure he hadn't been there a moment ago. He had changed - now wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that made him look like the CEO of some shady corporation.

"Just us," he continued, flashing that gentle, terrifying smile. "And my shadows, of course. But they won't bother you unless I tell them to."

"How did you get in? The door's locked."

Jinwoo's smile widened. "This is my territory. I can go wherever I want."

You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to put as much distance as possible. "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"

He moved toward you with the gentle pace of a person who wanted to avoid disturbing a wild animal. "I want exactly what I've always wanted in life. You."

"You can't just take people," you said, your voice shaking. "This is kidnapping. This is wrong."

"Wrong?" Jinwoo appeared confused as he examined your perplexed expression. "The protection of personal belongings seems inconceivable to you."

"I don't belong to you!" Your words escaped before you could recover.

You saw a flash of dangerous predatory energy cross his face before it disappeared again. A quick move had him standing directly in front of you.

"Yes," he said softly and dangerously. "You do."

His hand reached out, surprisingly gentle as it cupped your cheek. You flinched but couldn't pull away - the solid wall behind you.

His words continued "When your light shone on my darkness, your beauty claimed me from that first touch of your hand on my wound. You used to remain beyond my possession."

Shadows curled around your ankles, cold as a winter stream. More shadows gathered in the corners of the room, watching with countless shining eyes.

"But now," Jinwoo's thumb traced your lower lip, "I have all the power in the world. I finally can show my love to you."

You tried to reason with him. "Jinwoo, this isn't love. This is obsession. You don't even know me."

"I know everything about you," he countered immediately. "I know you drink coffee with two sugars but no cream. I know you read science fiction when you can't sleep. I know you volunteer at the pediatric ward at Seoul National Hospital every other Sunday." He looked you straight in the eye.

You experienced a feeling of terror when you understood the full extent of his surveillance. "Did you observe me during this entire period?"

"Since the day you saved me. Every moment. Every breath." His whispered words came closer to your ear. "You're never alone."

Your legs gave way and you slid from the wall onto the floor. His gaze never wavered as Jinwoo sank to his knees beside you.

"Why?" you whispered. "Why this obsession? I barely did anything."

He explained that people had never seen him before because they only looked through him. "People ignored me as if I did not exist. I was invisible. Worthless." His hand squeezed your face lightly. "But you saw me. You touched me without repulsion. You saved me without expecting anything in return."

The desolate quality of his voice approached a state where you almost sympathized with him. Almost.

You began to speak with deliberate intent to Jinwoo "Your current actions destroy all the kindness I have ever extended to you."

Something changed in his expression, hardening like concrete. "You don't understand yet. But you will." He stood abruptly, pulling you to your feet. "I will help you understand."

You pled for freedom while desperately trying to escape his hold. "Please. I will keep this secret between us both. Just let me go."

"Let you go?" He looked genuinely confused by the offer. "Back to what? Poverty? Danger? Being used by groups of people who don't even remember your name?"

He clenched his fists. "I can give you everything. Safety. Comfort. Power."

"I don't want power," you said. "I just want freedom."

"Freedom is an illusion in this world," he said disdainfully. "The strong rule. The weak must serve or die. That's the truth I've learned."

His eyes softened a little. "But you will never be weak again. Not with me."

Tears welled in your eyes because the worst part was that he was right. In this world of hunters and monsters, of daily survival and constant struggle, you had become isolated. Alone. The perfect victim.

Your voice weakly emitted a single pleasless request. "I just want to go home."

Jinwoo stated in a firm voice "You are already at your home."

You pushed against Jinwoo's chest, breaking free from his embrace. "This isn't home! This is prison!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have bestowed upon you comforts which surpass everything you have experienced before. Safety. Protection. What more could you want?"

"Choice!" you shouted, anger finally overcoming fear. "My own life! Not to be a pet or a possession!"

Something snapped in Jinwoo's expression, the careful control giving way to something darker, more primal. Shadows exploded from his body, filling the room like smoke, eyes flashing from every corner. A sudden temperature drop resulted in condensed breath vapor forming in the air.

Despite the surrounding shadowy scenes he spoke with a composed voice to ask "Do you know what I am?"

Shadows writhed around him like an aura of living darkness. "I command an army of the dead. I can flatten cities. Destroy countries. I am becoming something beyond human."

He moved toward you, each step leaving frost on the expensive hardwood floor.

He whispered as he continued "But you are the one thing I want most even though I cannot acquire you with ease. Your willing acceptance. Your..." he hesitated, searching for the word "your heart."

The darkness retreated a little, shrinking into his body as he regained control. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above your cheek, not touching.

"I could force you," he said softly. "I could use my darkness to bend your will. Make you think you loved me. Make you forget everything else." He let go. "But that would be a lie. And I've waited too long for lies."

You looked at him, trembling. "Then let me go."

"No." The word was absolute, excluding any objections. "You'll stay. You'll learn. And eventually, you'll understand that this is where you belong."

He turned away, walking toward the door. "This room is yours. This entire floor, actually. You'll find clothes in the closet, food in the kitchen. Books. Entertainment. Anything you need."

Jinwoo paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "This world is changing faster than you know. The portal is just the beginning." His eyes met yours, burning with that strange blue light. "War is coming. A war unlike any humanity has ever seen."

He opened the door. "When it happens, you'll understand why I did this. Why I need you to be safe."

"Jinwoo," you called as he stepped through the threshold. "This isn't love. Whatever you think you feel for me - it isn't love."

He paused but didn't turn around. "What is it?"

"Obsession. Possession. Control." You swallowed. "Love doesn't imprison people."

He was silent for a long moment. Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear. "Maybe you're right. Maybe what I feel isn't human love."

Finally he turned, his eyes shining in the darkness of the door. "But I'm becoming less and less human. And whatever this feeling is, it's the only thing keeping me clinging to my humanity."

The door closed behind him, and you heard the lock click.

You found yourself locked inside your elegant prison while an unknown beast used his obsession toward you until he became a grotesque entity.

You crashed to the ground while hugging your knees against your body. Outside your window, Seoul went on as usual, unaware of your situation. Somewhere out there, you are being declared dead, another victim of the red gate incident.

No one comes to save you.

And the scariest part? A small, shameful part of you wonders if Jinwoo is right. In a world filled with monsters and gates, daily death and constant danger - is freedom really worth more than his absolute protection?

You push the thought away, disgusted with yourself.

But in the corner of the room, the shadows watch with shining eyes, patient as the grave.

They have all the time in the world. And so do you.

Because Sung Jinwoo, the Shadow Monarch, has decided that you are his. And what Jinwoo has declared, he will keep.

Forever.

__________________________

I'm tired and exhausted af but I can't stop writing

I already know what will happen after this, no inspiration to write -> can't stop writing -> no inspiration

Anyway, hope you like this 💗

#sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #jinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling #sung jinwoo x y/n #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung #yandere jinwoo

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liberalsarecool · 6 months ago

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From Professor Christopher Robichaud, Senior Lecturer in Ethics and Public Policy, Harvard:

“I'll say this, and then I likely won't be saying much more on here for quite some time, to the relief of some, I'm sure. But my farewell warning is this.

Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good, hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be. The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years, [which] was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural. America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational, and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will, therefore, in hindsight, be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”

The least evolved. The most paternalistic.

The bully. The liar. The most resentful.

This is the reality we are in. FOX and Republicans have been repeating the script for decades.

The Dark Ages are conservative aspirations.

The abdication of values/principles is complete.

'Good faith' no longer exists on the Right. The more reprehensible the action/person, the bigger the addiction. Trump proves this.

Anti-paternalism, anti-fascism and anti-bullying are my paths forward. Join me.

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vervainandspritz · 3 months ago

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LOVE YOU WITH MY EYES CLOSED

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part one Part two Part three

Summary: At a young age Y/N was given away for marriage, years later the dust began to settle and her life caught a rhythm she stopped fighting. Is Tommy, the man she once knew too well, ready to play along and let her go once again?

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: depression, heartache, mental and physical abuse

A/N: Slow introduction, next chapter will pick up on pace. Enjoy

Coming back to Birmingham ignited more mixed feelings than Y/N expected it ever would. Pushing through the difficult changes back in the day caused her to stomach so much pain and.. distress at the inability to make her own choices. She thought there was nothing in her to cause fear anymore.

A weird kind of fear it was, this time. Looking out the window as the train plummeted through the fields, shaking and groaning under the weight of people all heading to the city she couldn't shake off. Four years passed so quickly, in a pace she didn't understand when she looked back at the first months of constant struggle she endured. Leaving everything behind. Becoming nothing more than a tool to life of.. prosperity for her family.

She fought it for so long, back then. Much to her father's misunderstanding, her unbreakable spirit made everything so much more difficult.

Yet eventually everything must come to an end though, in a reality where her value was tightly connected with how pretty she was, and how aesthetically pleasing she looked, hanging on the arm of a man she barely knew.

It was much easier to ignore from the distance, but the closer she got to Birmingham, more wounds began reopening, hurting and itching despite her neutral expression and unmoving figure.

One of his hands rested on her thigh, the other one holding a newspaper. The lack of communication was nothing short of normal between them. After all, when nobody was around, they didn't have to pretend as much. Nickolas Winterbourne, a man coming from a life where nothing ever ran out, where pantries were never empty and clothes never dirty. He existed in a controlled environment snuggly clothed in money at every corner, shielding him from any difficulties life planned to throw his way - unaffected by the simple disdain of modern times they happened to live in.

For what it was worth, Y/N considered herself lucky. He was… polite, usually gentle which was way more than she could have ever asked for from people in his social class. His hands were smooth, untainted by physical labour that he never had to do. His disposition contradicted his father's, a man purely self-absorbed and cruel with one purpose – wealth.

Y/N was grateful for the person he was deep down, even though he was forcing her into situations they could avoid, yet rarely violating her physically or mentally.

Nickolas was… indifferent. His demeanour calm, collected and bordering on bored most of the time. His eyes looked at her with a never ending patience and neutrality she grew to appreciate, after watching the way many of his brothers treated their own wives. She was lucky.

The mindset she worked so hard to build, throwing away the values she dreamed of as a little girl, the warm dreams of having a loving marriage with several kids, conversations that would seem to go on forever sprinkled with tender kisses on the forehead and warm touches that would warm her up on cold nights. She exchanged those hopes for expensive dresses and a mansion much too big for any amount of wood to warm. There were continual expensive dinners and meaningless conversations with people she wouldn't care to see ever again with fake seemingly polite smiles. These people never stopped beckoning for their service, acting like the simple action of pouring themselves tea was too much to burden their minds with.

So she was grateful, playing along with the quick pace of life they had. Dressing up quickly, perfecting the empty smile she got used to wearing on a daily basis.

“Be grateful, because you could have had it much worse” she mentally repeated to herself.

A soft squeeze of his hand tore her out of her thoughts, his brown eyes watching her patiently. He witnessed the difficulties she struggled with back then. So her silence rang louder than ever.

”We will spend two days in Birmingham and be back on our way. Tomorrow is the day of the gala, and the day after you will spend on your own matters.” He spoke quietly, reading the troubling emotions in her eyes. He always saw through the mask of neutrality he taught her how to wear like her second skin: a mutual understanding.

Her eyes slowly followed along the lines of his face, finally settling on holding eye contact. Slowly nodding, she covered his hand with her own before forcing out a small smile.

”Thank you” She responded, straightening her back before the train started slowing down before coming to a full stop.

Patting her thigh for the last time, he pulled away.

”Come on. It's time to go”

After getting out of the train, Y/N watched how after stepping out her boots immediately covered in mud.

Some things never changed, she thought with a smile as the scent of smoke filled her nostrils.

”Christ” Nickolas muttered, his face twisting in disgust. Birmingham was nothing like the London they were used to, first expression of the city obnoxiously underwhelming for Winterbourne.

Standing by the road sign they waited for a moment before the designated car pulled up, halting by their feet as the driver opened the door, offering to help in packing the luggage.

Y/N seemed distraught, looking around as she immediately recognized the streets despite small differences and the fact she didn't leave even remotely close back then. A city centre it was, fair distance from Small Heath. A place she used to call home.

”Come on, get in the car” Nickolas whispered, noticing her distracted gaze, grabbing her arm lightly and nudging her towards the vehicle, bringing her out of memories thick like smoke. Looking at him she nodded, obediently getting inside before the car took them to the hotel.

One she had never been in before. This whole situation felt suffocating in ways so weird, she was barely able to look him in the eyes. Even as they moved to the building, getting all the formalities done she couldn't help but let her mind wander towards the ghosts of her past.

Loud, obnoxious laugh filled her head bringing a little smile on her red lips. One that definitely belonged to John, his eyes glimmering with mischief like most of the time. Through the eyes of imagination she saw Ada's long, dark hair she constantly complained about, sighing dramatically in a way that never ceased to make Y/N roll her eyes. Suffering from success, she used to call it, teasing her friend with whom she grew up so close.

A sound came to her ears as lift brought them to the right level, she moved seemingly on an autopilot when her husband fumbled with keys, looking for the right one.

As the door swung open she let out a silent sigh as she remembered. The memory she worked on suppressing so long caught up randomly, big, blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes. Colour so dynamic, swiftly changing with the feeling simmering beneath his tough exterior, yet always so bright and clear when he looked at her. She felt like she saw him for the first time, despite it being nothing but her exterior shell shattering at the unwanted memories flooding back in.

Suddenly, she felt out of breath and barely an hour after checking into the hotel, she was in bed facing away from Nickolas. The wall she put up between them nearing the height of one he tried to shatter after getting to know the girl. She seemed so small as she lay on her side, every inch of her body hidden under covers. Hair scattered on the pillow, keeping his gaze away from her features.

They just got here, and he was already losing, Nickolas thought, before remembering the small detail that could shatter his reality if ease if looked into.

”Goodnight” He whispered, pressing a kiss onto her shoulder before turning away and giving her space as the lights went out.

It was only so long he could bend reality to his will, he thought, before closing his eyes and allowing Morpheus' embrace to swallow him up.

In contrast to him, Y/N didn't fall asleep once. The unknown anticipation swirled around in her stomach, pushing her even further away from the man sleeping by her side. Something was coming, and she knew it.

”Do you really trust what you're saying?” Her voice came to his ears, quieter, less confident than usually she'd speak to him.

Leaning forward on his arms, he let his head drop in defeat for a moment before lifting him up. Strong, unyielding gaze meeting her worried, slightly anxious eyes.

Her position in the family and in company made her learn how to deal with emotions on her own for years.. which was never an issue. Woman could only be so vulnerable after raising that many kids and protecting them from the disgusting reality with her fragile hands and soul on her shoulder. But she managed.

So the rare vulnerability she displayed that evening, looking in her nephew's eyes was nothing short of special. The string of responsibility connecting them in ways none of his siblings would understand.

Staring blankly for a moment, he ended up nodding.

”I know, Polly.” He spoke up, his voice heavy with exhaustion and the fear he tried to bury somewhere between his ribs, to never be seen again. But it was there, alive as ever, making his heart thump in an unnatural rhythm. Reminding him of one of survival. Desperate attempts to stick to life even when the dirty earth in the tunnels tried to swallow him alive.

”You need to trust me when I say things will go back to normal. I waited for long enough.” His voice came out sharper than he'd like it to. Blue eyes soothing the damage his voice has done and Polly understood.

Being a witness to the struggles he faced on daily, responsibilities piling on him like layers of clothing, giving no space to grieve the loss of someone who was never supposed to be gone.

…and so he didn't. Instead building an empire on his bitterness and pain, trusting that… whatever was up there would provide if it was meant to be.

That day for once in his life Thomas wanted to pray.

“You need to pick up your pace, Y/N. We can't afford to be late to such an event.” Nickolas snapped, his usually calm and collected demeanour dishevelled with stress as he watched time ticking away on his watch.

She didn't sleep, almost at all. Putting on the mask was more difficult than usual, having to layer the makeup on her tired face, exhausted eyes. The years of struggles managed to catch up in the nine hours she spent on trying to fall asleep. Dreamless nights and loveless days connected with the anticipation in her stomach making it impossible to close her eyes.

”What will they think of us if we show up late, Y/N?” He shot once again watching her movements with his chin higher than he usually carried.

In moments of distress Y/N saw his father in him, usually perfectly hidden away lack of spine showing through the wounds of what the perfect life did to him. Minor inconvenience making him furious.

”Put on your jacket and smoke a cigarette, Nickolas. By the time you're done I will be waiting.” She responded in a neutral way, already taught to not feed into his bitterness in such situations. Not because he was right, but rather to avoid making him cranky as he would surely ruin her already difficult evening.

Watching her with contempt for a moment, he let out a heavy breath before stepping away.

”Five minutes or you will walk there. I'm not going to be late because of your irresponsibility.” His voice faded with the distance growing between them.

Y/N sighed looking at her reflection.

A man that was never supposed to be a husband.

All eyes were on them as soon as they arrived. Y/N smiled, nodding along to the people she saw for the first time as they spoke to Nickolas. She was to not speak unless spoken to, Mr. Winterbourne taught her four years ago. Smile, look pretty and watch your husband. Be attentive and elegant at all times.

Entering the event took them about fifteen minutes with all the pleasantries Nick kept giving away to his associates. Deep down she hated it. The constant need to pretend, not a single movement one of her own.

”Mr. Winterbourne!” A voice came from behind their back as they walked into the main room. An older man with jet-black hair approached quickly, his arm wrapped around the waist of his wife. Glancing at her, they exchanged a joyful look before standing right by Y/N. “Long time no see” His voice was low, but not threatening. Something about the tall and broad man was inviting, friendly.

”Indeed, it's been a long while.” Nick responded, straightening his back before greeting the older woman, getting a hold of her hand gently and kissing the temple. ”How is life treating you, Sir?” His tone mannered and calm, just like always whenever he was in a public eye. After getting a response, he began talking about the details of the gala before the woman suddenly interrupted him.

”...and who is this beautiful woman?” She spoke completely relaxed to which Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. If she interrupted her husband or any man he was currently talking to in such a manner, she'd get severely punished if not slapped at the spot. Nicholas raised his eyebrow but quickly put on a collected exterior again.

”This is my wife, Y/N” He introduced her, slightly embarrassed that he forgot to do so in the first place. What would they think of him? The older man reflected, kissing her temple with a smile and his wife took her hand in her own.

”Oh, I see” She said, looking at the ring on her finger. ”Absolutely beautiful, how about we get something to drink while men talk about the important matters?” She suggested light-heartedly, winking at her husband who chuckled, shaking his head before giving a simple nod.

”Great idea. I will find you in just a few moments, Precious.”

The way their interactions took place made Y/N truly shocked, she's never seen such behaviour among people in their class before. Were people of Birmingham different than them?

Waiting for his approval obediently Y/N only moved when he gave her a stern nod, clearly not pleased with his own performance, yet he would never admit it.

His behaviour was different this time, she could clearly see it. He was more emotional in the wrong way, every little detail making him visibly angry.

”I’m Meredith” The seemingly fourty year old woman stated, glancing at Y/N sideways. ”You seem to love these kind of events, don't you?” She joked, seeing the way Y/N’s smile dropped as soon as they turned away from their husbands. Internally she panicked hearing the elegant woman's remark, her eyes widening with fear. ”Oh, no worries. We're on the same page… besides. They serve really good drinks, so soon enough it will be bearable.” The tone of her voice was light and amusing as she gave Y/N a little shove. Her demeanor was relaxed and open, matching her husband's which was… refreshing.

”Better get to it then” She mustered a smile in response.

To be fair, time did start passing faster as they settled by the table, slowly sipping on tasteful drinks and talking in a way that allowed Y/N feel much less comfortable than she was at first. A breath of fresh air.

”We’re local. My husband, Christopher, is the owner of several businesses passed down through the family. That's how he knows Winterbournes.” She explained eventually before leaning in closer. ”He doesn't get along well with your father in law. Tradition and peace are the only things keeping them tied together.”

Y/N listened carefully, appreciating that after a couple drinks Meredith's tongue got a bit loose. Usually she'd never hear a single detail about her husband's business or family. She wasn't family by blood, so her access to information was very restricted.

Getting lost in her thoughts again she zoned out for a second before Nickolas’ voice came to her ear from close proximity.

”This is my wife, Y/N Winterbourne.” He introduced her and it took a second to stand up, smooth out her dress before her eyes met the guests.

…and just for a second, her heart stopped, mouth slightly parting as she met the blue gaze she dreamed of for so many years.

”May we dance, Mrs. Winterbourne?” Thomas Shelby asked, standing side to side with her husband. Slightly shorter yet visibly towering over him.

For once she forgot her manners, not able to tear her eyes away from him as she gave a quick nod and without another word, he grabbed her hand pulling her towards the dance floor among other couples. Completely stiff and frozen, her vocal chords were not cooperating as she was on the verge of a panic attack.

His hands grabbed her own, setting them on his shoulders as he pulled her closer.

”Breathe” He said quietly in a husky tone as his scent almost made her faint.

#cillian murphy #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby imagine #cillian murphy meme

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azsazz · 1 year ago

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Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,217

Notes: Love this tbh!!!

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You feel him before you see him.

You can feel him all the time; even when he’s courts away there’s that connection humming blissfully in your chest. It’s comforting, to know that your mate is alive and well, that there’s a surety you’re aware of him and how he’s feeling. When he’s content in a warm bath with a glass of fae wine smoothing the creases between his brows. When he’s squaring his shoulders and surging with pride for the sparring with his brothers he has won again. When he sends a warmth so suggestive down the bond late at night when he’s sure there’s no one around. The very one you feel deep in your soul, that makes your core melt like his fire-filled hands are working your center. The one that leaves no questions whether he loves you or not.

Of course, there are times when you can’t feel him. When he’s blocked the bond from ever reaching you when his father brings his wrath down on him like he’s young and defenseless again. He always hides that from you. When the distance from you becomes too great and there is no choice for him but to block the bond because he knows that there is nothing that can be done in the current state of Pythian. No way for the both of you to be together, no way for him to seize you from the control of your older brother. If you were lesser than the High Lord’s younger sister, he’d sneak across the border lines on a whisper of autumn winds and find his way into your bed.

It’s been ages since you’ve seen your mate, since you looked into those warm russet eyes, ran your fingers through his auburn hair, counted the freckles dotting the pale skin of his cheeks.

Your breath catches in your throat as Eris is escorted into Rhysand’s office and your eyes meet.

A sense of relief floods the bond as his eyes move over you in an intentional sweep that to everyone else in the room looks like he’s wondering why you’re here, but you know your mate is assessing you for injuries even though you’re nowhere near injured. Not even a scratch or a bruise on your perfect skin.

No one notices the slight falter in his steps. All Eris wants to do is rush over to you and sweep you in his arms and press you into his chest, feel your heartbeat against his own. He wants to taste that smile you’re trying all too hard to hide from him, move his mouth across the color dusting your cheeks to feel his fire dancing underneath your skin. He wants to strip you bare, devour every inch of you. He wants to hear you scream his name, whisper that you love him, cry for him to take you away, admit that you never want to be apart—

But he’s not even allowed to sit next to you.

Across the large table is as close as he allows himself to get. It’s not close enough that he can accidentally kick his foot against yours and he doesn’t like that you’ve been meticulously placed on the opposite side so he can’t even walk past you and brush his fingers against your hand or the back of your neck.

His bond keens in his chest and he tries his best to stifle it, ripping his gaze away when he’s drawn to you like this.

Eris is flanked by Cassian and Azriel, and even though he feels as if he’s on the best terms he’s ever been with the Night Court, this feels like a set up. A trap.

You allow a caress of reassurance down the bond to your mate. Your brother doesn’t know, no one in this room, in this court, in this continent knows of your connection to the heir of Autumn. Eris’ throat works as he swallows, and you turn your attention away from him as he sends a feeling of understanding back to you.

“Eris.” Rhysand gestures to the autumn born royal to sit. He’s lounging in his own chair at the circular table, an arrogance to him that irks you. It’s all a front, of course, one Rhysand has carefully crafted to perfection from centuries as High Lord. You don’t like that it’s directed at your mate, and you’re feeling more protective than ever, flickering a glance over to the males sitting on either side of your mate, as if they’re caging him in.

Not unusual for an untrusted male in your court. You’ve seen your brother pull this same maneuver more times than you can count, but there’s a charge to the air that feels different. Your spine lengthens and you flare a warning down the bond, praying your mate doesn’t react but readies himself.

He follows your heed with unfaltering trust. Eris’ fingers flex where they’re resting on the arms of his chair, and you watch him unhinge his jaw only slightly, so that he doesn’t flex it. The scalding look on his face stays directed at your brother.

Your lips part and the muscles of your legs tense, ready to jump out of your chair in the next moment, when you catch Rhysand’s smirk, the one that spells trouble. His violet eyes are dark with the promise of violence and his shadows are quick to strike, tendrils of nightmares winding their way around Eris’ wrists, trapping him to the very chair he was offered.

Eris shifts his hands in a nonchalant motion, testing out the strength of the sentient darkness Rhysand uses to hold him hostage. They don’t give an inch and he wonders for a fleeting moment if he can burn them away. If your worry wasn’t heavy in his chest, the beat of your heart spiking double, he would try it. But with you here, he’s not willing to try anything that could potentially put you in danger.

Plus, a part of him wants to hear what Rhysand has to say. The other part of him wants to get you the fuck out of here.

The High Lord of the Night Court plants his hands on the table. High Lord, because there is no ounce of your brother in his eyes and actions right now.

The chair scraping against the floor as Rhysand stands is the only sound in the room. Cassian nor Azriel moves from their seats, but they pin your mate with the menacing kind of looks that mirror Rhysands, ready to follow his every demand, no questions asked.

“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice is not its usual purr as he leans forward. A strand of hair falling across his forehead is the only sign of the crack in his facade, the utter rage filling the room with an unbearable tautness.

The words are sticky in your throat. You can’t move, can’t seem to take your eyes off of your brother as your heart splinters in your chest like it’s his own shadows tearing you to strips. You’re only able to manage a quiet, “Don’t,” that’s filled with too much desperation.

Rhysand ignores your words. He hisses at Eris, dark and low. “How long have you and my sister been keeping this little mating bond of yours a secret?”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris angst #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar

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heartinhyacinth · 6 months ago

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Listen, I love the idea of Hua Cheng finally getting to propose to his beloved special someone after 800 long-awaited years (and correct his previous blunder haha), but hear me out…

After Hua Cheng’s year of absence, hualian reunite, spend some blissful days soaking up each other’s company at the small cottage Xie Lian built on mount taicang, then decide to take a trip to ghost city. They could use the dice, of course, but it’s such a nice autumn day and days as such have become dear to them.

They’re snugged up close in the step-litter when Xie Lian casually asks, “San Lang, wanna get married?” He wears his usual gentle smile—the one he would use as if he were asking if Hua Cheng was feeling hungry or if he’d like to take a stroll through the maple trees.

But there is also the unmissable twinkle of amusement that is present, which Hua Cheng uses to convince himself that Xie Lian is in a silly mood and surely this is just payback—Xie Lian will confirm it any second now. But it doesn’t come. Five seconds, ten, fifteen, and the confirmation does not come.

So Hua Cheng simply sits there, expression bordering between pure terror and pure ecstasy as he tries to dissect the situation for any sign of its true reality. With breathy giggles, Xie Lian finally has mercy on the poor ghost, “You don’t have to say yes, San Lang—I can take it.” Despite his words, it’s exceedingly obvious by the humor in his tone that they’re both aware heaven and earth would sooner turn to dust, and with that, Hua Cheng finally regains control of his brain. “It would…” he takes a deep breath, nearly a millennia of longing crowding his throat all at once, “It would be my greatest honor, your highness”. Xie Lian’s smile brightens and he takes Hua Cheng’s hands in his own, “good—because no more dying, okay?”

The idea of Hua Cheng’s heart and soul asking him to spend their existence together—of Xie Lian affirming that he chooses Hua Cheng and wants him as his beloved forever and always, wants to walk by his side till the end—it’s just…too much to handle. (Him saying yes to Hua Cheng’s proposal would also achieve this but you get the idea).

Bonus: Hua Cheng fully planned to ask him during that same trip but Xie Lian beat him to it

#hua cheng would never say no so xie lian asking would not be a question at all #but rather a declaration of his own #I would malfunction too #tgcf #tian guan ci fu #xie lian #hualian #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng

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solspina · 6 months ago

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We Should Stick Together

sanguinius ⋆˙⟡

have a very small sangy blurb that is literally just me braindumping! not proofread and a little fulgrim x reader if you squint :)

sanguinius has very clearly taken interest in someone, and fulgrim is quite tired of watching sanguinius collect offerings for his beloved rather than taking any productive action. through a little teasing and perhaps creating a lie great enough to form genuine jealousy, the phoenician can make something happen.

warnings: n/a

Fulgrim takes yet another sip of his 4th glass of wine, holding back a pout as he draws the glass away from his stained lips. To say he is bored - and also quite clueless - would be an understatement bordering insult. The wine he holds in his hand is absolutely delectable, a fine luxury piece from his own personal collection, smooth on the throat and incredibly enjoyable when not paired with second-hand embarrassment. He sighs as he notices his supply is dwindling rapidly, not feeling even the slightest bit drunk.

Throne, he should have brought something stronger.

"What do you think of these?" His white-winged brother shoved two sparkling stones into his hand, smiling like a childish idiot as he did so.

"They are.. nice..." Fulgrim claimed as he inspected them closely, attempting to hide his annoyance as he swept over the gems with violet eyes. "However, this one seems brittle, like it will crumble the moment it is grinded upon, and this one seems quite lackluster." His voice did not hide his disinterest in the subject, but he was at least honest.

"And what about the color? Do you think she will prefer quartz? Or perhaps red? Ah, but red makes it seem like it's about me..."

"Sanguinius..." Fulgrim whispered, trying to interrupt his brother, or at the very least return him to his senses before he went on yet another incoherent ramble about his potential courtier.

"And its about her, not me. I would hate to bring home something that is to her distaste. I don't wish to put her off, I think I've done well so far acquiring her interest, I really-"

"Sanguinius!" The Phoenician finally exclaimed in more of a yell than a speaking voice, his annoyance with his brother no longer confined behind a glass of chilled wine. He released the tension from his shoulders upon seeing the blond angel's wide, shocked eyes.

Taking in the final sip of his wine, he sighed yet again. "I don't think any number of my wives have had me in as much of a chokehold as this woman does you, brother. You are smitten, and hopelessly so."

Sanguinius' wings betrayed his feeble attempt at releasing his embarrassment. They fluttered at the mention of her, and so he turned away from Fulgrim, his cheeks dusted a light pink and a small amount of his feathers puffed up upon the top of both wings. A body language display familiar of most birds, but unfamiliar to the palatine phoenix. The angel's voice shook the very slightest as he attempted to maintain his composure.

"Hopeless, Fulgrim?" He paused, his shaking irises evident of trying to collect his thoughts. "Has she told you something she has not told me?"

Was there… anger? in his tone? Maybe it was jealousy fulgrim had heard, possessiveness even, he could not tell.

Regardless, this sort of reaction from the angel was something he had not heard from his perfect and composed brother before. A piece of him felt confused at the fact that his brother had become so quickly offended in regards to a mere human, and yet another piece felt curious, entertained by the possibility of whether or not he could strike a nerve within the brightest one.

Sanguinius saw a sinister smile creep across Fulgrim's perfect features. His shoulders raised at his brother's gentle laugh. "Defensive, are we, angel? Protective, perhaps?" The phonecian placed his wine glass down upon the rocks next to the two of them, taking note of Sanguinius' clenched fists and slightly narrowed eyes. He could tell the great angel was doing his best to mask his infamous inner wrath, but he simply couldn't at the mention of some mortal woman. "Worry not, I've already told myself that you would be the one marrying this one... Should you not take too long I would not make my move."

With a step toward Sanguinius, he moved closer, brushing a few strands of blond hair behind his brother's ear so that his whisper would fall directly on his ears "That being said, clock is ticking. Drop the stones you wish to bring her, take her your words instead… lest i take her my words first.”

The sound of ruffling feathers filled the air alongside a slight expression of jealousy from Sanguinius, brows downturned and eyes slightly squinted. “I know you only tease, Fulgrim."

"And if I don't?" The Phoenician replied, his tone simultaneously teasing and serious. He wished for nothing more than to confirm his suspicion, for the angel to fall from grace and admit the painfully obvious, that he was jealous.

"You best keep your hands off. It is I who loves her. It is I who will see to it that she marries me.”

Sanguinius would be lying if he said he was not slightly afraid of Fulgrim attempting his interest’s hand in marriage.

On one hand, the poor bachelorette had a winged mutant, a man with a pair of massive wings accompanied by two sharp canines and an insatiable thirst for blood buried deep within him.

On the other was a man who was perfect in every way. Silky, smooth, gorgeous white hair cascaded over his shoulders the same way his robes fit the contours of his slender body in a noble shade of purple. His face, in every way, was nothing short of youthful and beautiful and every positive word that a human could conjure from their lips.

In other words, if Fulgrim made it to her first, Sanguinius knew he would stand no chance.

…Would he?

Would she choose the man who had experience caring for women? Or the one who she would have to teach? Did she have the patience for him?

"Say it with your chest than, oh great angel."

"I love her…”

“Hmm…” Fulgrim smiled, aware that his dear angelic brother was completely lost in thought. He knew how to hit where it hurt, for no one could turn away from Fulrgim’s perfection.

He knew Sanguinius would doubt himself, and he knew that he had to force him to confess before he lost the confidence to do so.

Of course, Sanguinius was a mutant with fatal flaws, but just like Fulgrim did his hair flow off of his shoulders and down his back, framing his chiseled face like a golden halo as piercing amber eyes shone like the sands of Baal under its suns.

Fulgrim had witnessed the girl weaving small and intricate jewels into chains that would drape themselves beautifully over Sanguinius’ wings, if the two of them had just attempted to replace their distanced pining with the intimacy they both intensely longed for.

“What she told me was that she desired you just as much… But I told her your eyes were set on someone else.” He smiled deviously at his brother, watching his expression turn into one of horror as he realized Fulgrim had probably shattered her heart into shreds with his false news. “So she and I made a deal. If you confessed to her within the week, you could have her. But if you failed to…”

The Phoenician raised one of his hands, opening his palm to a ring made in approximately the size of a tiny human finger. Sanguinius’ expression filled with anger as he fought the urge to strangle his brother right then and there. His teeth were clinched together with enough force to shatter a diamond in two.

Fulgrim's smile spread completely across his face before he turned upon his heels, flicking a head full of white hair toward Sanguinius before he broke out into a full sprint for the imperial palace. "And who is it that will tell her the news, brother?!”

With a single thunderous beat, the angel shot into the air, his speed in flight incomprehensibly faster than Fulgrim was on foot.

He smiled once more, his winged brother gone in the blink of an eye. None of what he said had been true, of course, but he too enjoyed some lighthearted teasing every once in a while. The expression upon the face of the great angel had been priceless. How could one be so jealous over someone they were stuck longing for?

He hoped that the angel would return with positive news and without the urge to slap him, and that he would still be invited to the wedding.

#primarch x reader #sanguinius x reader #fulgrim x reader #40k x reader

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beckyninja · 7 months ago

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At First Sight

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: some suggestive content

Thought I'd try my hand at a longer, more story-based fic. You can consider this a prequel of sorts to Comfort. Guilliman meets the woman who will become his wife.

You gazed up at the towering figure before you: Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man. His armor gleamed, reflecting the light around you until he seemed to glow from within. You felt the weight of the fabled Aura. The rest of the delegation, your bodyguard and attendants, had long since fallen to their knees.

Doubts flooded your mind. Your family, so ancient and proud, was a mere spark compared to the nobility before you. Your entire homeworld was but dust in the cosmic winds. How dare you think you could treat with such a being?

No.

You knew the fate of your people rested on the success of these negotiations, even if they did not. You could not, would not, crumble.

So, you stood. Your eyes traveled up the magnificent form: breastplate, pauldrons, gorget. You had to lean your head back when they reached his face, your heart battering against your ribcage.

Could he hear it? Your research suggested he could.

Oh Light! Oh Stars and Void and all that lies between, give me strength!

Your eyes reached his face. And your mind went blank, all your carefully prepared speeches and arguments draining like blood from a severed artery.

His face seemed sculpted of the golden marble mined in the mountains of your homeworld. Every line clean and hard. The strong chin and aquiline nose spoke to his fabled resolve. The golden hair above his temples reflected light from the thousands of candles filling the massive audience chamber. He looked every inch the indomitable demi-god.

And yet…

The hollows of his cheeks and eyes gave an appearance of gauntness you hadn’t expected. The skin under those eyes was the color of a fresh bruise. You could see cracks in the marble of his face, deep lines etched across his forehead.

Your eyes met his.

You hoped your gasp wasn’t audible (a vain hope, if he could hear your heartbeat). You’d read of his eyes, how they were cerulean pools of liquid fire. How the superhuman intelligence within scalded the minds of lesser beings. Bright and calm and calculating.

The eyes you stared into reflected all of that, but very differently from the ancient records’ descriptions. What might once have been bright pools now seemed deep wells, sunken and surrounded by impenetrable shadow.

You saw the weight of worlds in those eyes. You saw weariness. You saw grimness bordering on despair. You saw loneliness.

The terror and awe that filled you mere moments before faded. Weariness and despair, your heart too had felt their frigid touch. And loneliness…

Ah, loneliness was a dear friend of yours.

Perhaps it was foolish to hope you could ever empathize with such a being. One whose burdens were infinitely greater than your own. But, as compassion welled within your soul, as the urge to comfort rose irresistible, you wanted to try.

Before you stood more than a being of awesome power. Before you stood a man.

***

Guilliman scrutinized the woman seated at his side. Try as he might, he could not discern the source of your… for once he could not find the correct word. Your strangeness, perhaps. Uniqueness. Unusual strength of will.

After all, few could stand so resolutely in his presence. Fewer still could meet and hold his gaze. And the way you’d looked at him, as if all the shields he’d spent centuries erecting around his mind and heart were nothing but sodden parchment to be brushed aside!

Who are you, truly?

A blush bloomed across your neck. He knew you felt his stare and, with concentrated effort, looked away. Mechanically, he raised a goblet of wine to his lips. It tasted of nothing.

The past day replayed like a vid in his mind. The arrival of the delegation from a previously unknown human colony on The Macragge’s Honor. The appearance of their little ambassador. Your surprising level of erudition and intelligence. The hours of negotiations. All culminating in this diplomatic dinner.

Like a magnet, he found his eyes once again drawn to you. You’d adapted to his, and his sons’, presence with astonishing speed. Now you sat, listening to a high-ranking Imperial official prattle on with a practiced smile on your face. The man’s hand reached out to brush yours.

Guilliman’s hand tightened on his goblet.

“Ambassador.” He spoke without thinking.

The official glanced his way and paled, before mumbling some excuse and turning away from you. You looked over at him, once again meeting his eyes. The blush spread from your neck down your decolletage.

For an instant, Guilliman’s eyes followed it.

An internal voice that sounded distressingly like his mother’s chided him, and he jerked his eyes back up to your face.

Throne damn it, what is wrong with me tonight?

“Excuse me, I ah,” he fumbled, “I would know more of your homeworld, my Lady.”

You began to speak once again of the resources and long-thought-lost technology your people could provide the Imperium. Your voice settled into the placid cadence of a diplomat. For some reason this irritated him to no end.

“We have already discussed this.” You flinched, and he softened his tone. “I would know more of its people, of your people. How have you managed to stay hidden all these millenia? Why come forth now?”

You paused for a moment. “We are a proud people, my Lord. The ancient records tell of our struggle to survive after contact with the Mother World, what you call Holy Terra, ceased. These stories passed into the mythology of my people: self-reliance and independence are seen as the greatest of virtues.”

He could respect that. He nodded for you to continue.

“For many millennia we built and thrived, half-believing we were the last bastion of humanity amongst the stars. When word of your Emperor’s Great Crusade finally reached us, there was excitement and relief… but also suspicion. Though some argued we should make ourselves known then, the greater majority advised caution. We would watch, and we would wait.”

***

You hesitated, remembering your Grandmother’s words before your departure.

“Since you are bound and determined to go through with this mad escapade, remember this: Reveal nothing. Admit to nothing. Lie, if you must. And, by the Light girl, remember that they are barbarians who will slit your throat at the slightest provocation.”

Now, pinned under the gaze of the Primarch, you realized the folly of such advice. You met his eyes and told the truth.

“Our archives tell of the time you call the Heresy. We watched the infant Imperium tear itself apart and congratulated ourselves on our caution. Then the isolationists amongst us rose in force and demanded the utilization of technology that would hide us from the rest of the galaxy.”

You paused again, considering your next words.

To your surprise, the Primarch snorted. “I admit, I can find little fault in their reasoning. Those were… dark days.”

Encouraged, you continued. You told of your near-complete isolation from the rest of the galaxy. Indeed, for millennia, your people had nearly forgotten there was a “rest of the galaxy”. They built, grew, bickered, and warred, all amongst themselves, secure behind their impenetrable barriers.

Only the arrival of the Tyranids caused them to lift their heads from the proverbial sand.

You leaned forward, lost in your enthusiasm. “For the first time, we must understand the existential danger humanity faces. We must rejoin our brothers and sisters as a united force in order to survive, no matter our differences! We can no longer hide and-”

You realized you were shouting. All eyes in the near vicinity turned to you. You even swore you felt the gazes of the towering superhuman soldiers standing guard. Blood rushed to your face.

“I, I apologize, my Lord. I forgot myself.”

To your utter shock, you saw Lord Guilliman smile.

“No need for apologies, my Dear.” He gave a quick glance around the room, and all eyes turned away. “I so often find myself surrounded by apathy and ignorance, your passion is refreshing.”

You blinked. For a moment, that smile had transformed the Primarch’s face, like a ray of sunlight piercing dark clouds. You felt your stomach quiver.

None of the archives had mentioned how handsome he was.

***

Days passed. Then a week. Then a month. And still negotiations continued.

Guilliman began getting odd looks from his sons, especially Sicarius. Usually such matters were settled in a matter of days. Receive the supplicants. Listen to their demands. Reject or accept. Absorb or conquer. Move on.

Throne knew he had a thousand other matters to attend to. Yet, he delayed.

Part of him enjoyed the simple logistics of it all: how to transport the resources this new world offered, which officials to put in charge, the opening of new trade routes and lines of communication, etc.

There were also more troubling problems. You had insisted your own scientists were more than capable of overseeing and installing the technology your people offered. This would not please the Mechanicum. And, while you assured him of your religious leaders willingness to synchronize their beliefs with the Imperial Cult, curbing the fanaticism of the Ecclesiarchy could prove difficult.

Throne, I have not even begun to consider how the Inquisition will react.

He groaned softly and rubbed his temples. It was late in the simulated night cycle. Still, sleep eluded him. Not so surprising, perhaps. But the reason for his insomnia most certainly was.

You.

It had begun with the simple pleasure of conversation. Once again, the speed with which you’d conquered the trans-human dread astounded him. Diplomatic formalities frayed, revealing the bright, thoughtful woman beneath, your opinions untainted by the blind fanaticism of the Imperium.

An outsider's point of view.

Then there was the way you spoke to him, without abasement or religious mania. You spoke to him as a man.

In your presence, he felt human. The feeling intoxicated him. He began to look forward to your visits and arrange them with increasing frequency.

One incident in particular stood out to him. You’d just entered his office, your smile already brightening a day filled with monotony. The serf carrying a tall stack of new parchment hadn’t seen you. Sheafs of paper filled the air as he collided with your back, sending you both to the floor.

The poor young man had been nearly catatonic with terror. You had only laughed, kneeling and helping him re-stack the papers. His stammered apologies were waved off with a smile and a self-deprecating comment.

That was the first night he lay awake, re-playing your kind words over and over again in his mind.

Far too late he realized the nature of his obsession. Desire. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of you: your smile, your laugh, the soothing rhythm of your voice.

How your skin would feel under his hands. How you’d taste if he…if he….

“Throne!” He snarled, “Enough of this!”

Sicarius snapped to attention when he burst out of his quarters. “My Lord? What-”

“Be silent and follow.”

Perhaps Chaos had sent you as a curse. Or perhaps some benevolent force in the universe had finally taken pity on him in the form of a gift. Either way, his torment ended tonight.

***

You lay in the quarters provided you, atop your bed, staring at the ceiling. Your mind whirled. In some ways, the negotiations were more successful than you’d ever dreamed. Lord Guilliman had indeed lived up to his reputation as a reasonable leader. He’d considered each of your requests, sometimes praising your insight, sometimes pointing out flaws.

In the end, he’d agreed to almost every one. Your world would be admitted into the Imperium, while still being allowed a modicum of independence. You should be ecstatic. You should be reveling in the thought that you’d succeeded when everyone back home thought you mad.

So much for the bastard granddaughter you pretended didn’t exist, Grandmother. My actions have ensured our people’s survival!

And yet.

You should be on your way home by now. The details could be worked out later. Formal diplomatic relations established. The few attendants you’d been permitted already chafed to be gone. You should feel the same.

So much about the Imperium repulsed you. From the butchered servitors, to the monomaniacal clerics, to the glares of the Ultramarines who considered your presence a source of irritation.

No, not all of the Ultramarines. You corrected yourself.

Many had been polite. Some had been downright cordial. But the ones who hadn’t….

You sighed at the thought of Commander Sicarius’s unrelenting disdain. Oh, well. Disdain you could handle. Light knew you got enough of it back home.

Your mind wandered to him.

He was the reason you lingered. The reason sleep eluded you. Like a simpering maiden you quivered in excitement at his summons. You felt more at ease in his presence than you’d ever felt amongst your own family.

You could laugh. Especially when he made one of his terrible jokes.

A smile flitted to your face at the memory of the first time he’d revealed his sense of humor. You’d been playing a game he called Regicide. Rather, you played, and he indulged you.

He’d been discussing reforms he planned to put in effect when his hand closed a little too tightly around one of the game pieces. The King’s head had gone flying across the room and smacked into the wall.

You both had stared at it for a minute before he sighed. “It seems I have taken the name of this game a bit too seriously.”

The way his eyes lit up when you giggled. The memory still warmed your heart. And made your stomach tremble. He was so damned handsome when he smiled. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips and wonder what they would feel like pressed to-

You pulled a pillow over your face and screamed. What right had you to think things like that?

Just because he smiled at you without pretense. Just because he listened when you spoke. Just because he looked at you like you had value. You’d gone and lost your head and heart to a man as far above you as the stars above the dirt.

Enough was enough. Tomorrow you’d request leave to go. It would hurt. But it was for the best.

A booming knock at your door made you jump.

***

Guilliman stood before the Ambassador’s door. He’d already shooed away the bleary-eyed attendants. Sicarius stood just behind him, emanating confusion.

The door slid open, and there you stood. A robe covered your form, your hair hung loose, and your feet remained bare. He knew you came directly from your bed, though your eyes were unclouded.

“I see sleep eludes you as well.”

“It, uh, it does, my Lord.”

“May I come in?”

You gave no response, but stepped aside to allow him passage. He felt Sicarius crowding in behind and turned to him.

“Stay here. See that we are not disturbed.”

He didn’t bother to dwell on the Commander’s stunned expression before ducking his way into your room. A few candles did little to alleviate the night-cycle gloom. But what he could see assured him his insistence on your comfort had been obeyed. Cushions and dyed fabrics covered most surfaces. Soft and bright.

Like you.

“My Lord? To what do I owe this honor?”

He forced a stiff smile. “I thought we had moved past such formalities?”

You huffed. “As you wish. Roboute Guilliman, what in the name of the Light are you doing here at this time?”

“I love it when you say my name.”

Your eyes widened and you looked about to speak, but he pushed on. “No one says my name anymore. Not my subjects, not my sons. Only you.”

“I…I…”

“This last month has been the happiest I can remember since my re-awakening. I have enjoyed, no, relished every moment of our time together. Your companionship, your kindness, your hope for the future. All these things have fulfilled a need I did not know I had.” He searched your eyes, desperate for you to understand.

“You do not know what it is like, to not be seen as a person. To be always held at arm's length, so close and yet so far from everyone around you.”

“But I do.” You whispered.

He fell silent.

Your voice grew in strength. “I know what it is to be forever on the outside. To be alone.” You gave a sad smile. “Though my loneliness stems more from unwantedness than reverence.”

Guilliman saw a chance and poured every ounce of his desire into his next words. “I want you.”

***

Your head spun. This couldn’t be happening. This demi-god of a man, this commander of millions, couldn’t be pouring his heart out in your quarters, in the middle of the night, looking like he was a moment away from falling to his knees before you. You tried to summon some sort of intelligent response.

“What?”

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming your senses. You flinched back in sheer, animal reflex and your legs bumped into something hard. With a soft cry, you collapsed on your bed.

In a movement too fast for your eyes to register, he leaned over you. His massive hands framed your head. His face lowered to yours, eyes two burning wells of blue light in the dimness.

“I want you.” His voice lowered into registers no mortal man could reach.

You trembled. A thousand perfectly reasonable objections to your situation screamed through your head. You ignored them all, reaching up to cup the face above you. His eyes closed and his head turned to press a kiss into your palm.

“Roboute….”

His lips pressed against yours. It was tentative, at first. You could feel his inexperience. Truth be told, you had little experience yourself. But you tried to make up for it with enthusiasm. Your hands roamed his body, stroking the hard muscles beneath his tunic. You grasped the cloth and tried in vain to pull him closer. A rumbling laugh sounded from deep in his chest.

He scooped you up as if you weighed no more than a scrap of parchment, holding you to him as his mouth took yours with ever growing intensity. You were lightheaded when he finally moved his lips from your face down to your neck.

“Roboute…Roboute…”

He groaned your name and pulled back for a moment. You felt the ache of new bruises upon your throat.

The intensity of his gaze stole your breath. “Your people will be given every privilege within my power. Governors of worlds will bow in your presence. My sons will guard you day and night. You will be Lady of Ultramar, Consort of the Lord Regent, the closest thing to a Queen I can make you. Anything you desire I will-”

You placed a hand over his mouth.

“Roboute,” you whispered, “ask me.”

He smiled. “Will you marry me, my love?”

Everything would change, and you had no illusions that it would be painless. But you looked into the eyes of this Primarch, this demi-god, this man who loved you, and realized you’d somehow known this would happen.

At first sight, you’d known.

“Roboute Guilliman, I will.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

(Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in any future work.)

#warhammer 40k #roboute gulliman #roboute gulliman x reader #primarch x reader #this man is going to be HAPPY damn it!#primarch

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keeryhours · 4 months ago

Text

girls on film - jonathan byers

Jonathan Byers x shy! female! reader

Main Masterlist

ST Characters Masterlist

Summary:

When you get assigned a photography project with Jonathan, you end up trying something…experimental.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving)

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N:

So excited for my first Jonathan fic! I’ve been working on this for weeks so I’m so happy it’s finally done 😅

You adjusted the settings on your Nikon F3. Attaching the 55mm lens, you held the camera up to your eye, focusing on your subject - your dog. You were grateful for the fast shutter speed on your new camera, because the Border Collie did not sit still.

“Lucy, stay!” You commanded, hoping you could just get this shot for your photography class. The long haired black and white dog looked at you with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She listened, but you knew you had only moments before she took off, ready to run the 5 acres of land your family lived on, chasing after the livestock.

You snapped the photo just in time before she stood and ran. You hoped you got a good one, but there was no way to tell until you developed the film. You did not want to get an F on this project just because your dog wouldn’t cooperate.

You sighed as you removed the lens from the camera body, storing both back in their bag. You loved photography - it had become a passion of yours your freshman year of high school. It was your favorite form of art. And you could do it completely solo - you honestly hated interacting with your classmates. Not that there was anything wrong with them (well, not most of them, at least), you just preferred your own company.

You slung the camera bag over your shoulder and walked through the yard and back to your house. The smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen, but you headed up to your room instead. You carefully sat your camera bag on your desk and fell back onto your full size bed.

Your room felt childish. Nothing had changed since middle school. There weren’t photos with friends decorating your mirror, no gifts from your nonexistent relationships. Your bed was still covered with stuffed animals (though you’d never admit you still liked sleeping with them). The walls were painted a pale pink. The only recent decorations were the prints you made of your photography.

Lucy, the farm animals, your family, school events you were asked to photograph for the yearbook. Flowers, photos from finally trips, anything interesting you’d found with your camera on you - which it usually was.

You hoped these photos of Lucy turned out so you could add them to the collection. The left side of your room needed something new. Hell, your life needed something new. Something fresh. Something exciting.

The next day at school, you snuck into the dark room during lunch. You had the space to yourself, which you were grateful for.

Firstly, you mixed together your chemicals so they would be ready, pouring them into their respective trays. You then unloaded the roll of film from your camera. You looked over the negatives, finding some photos of Lucy that turned out great - thank god. You turned the negative around, placing it in the carrier before carefully removing any dust. You placed the carrier in the enlarger. You adjusted the size, using the focusing wheel to make sure it was completely in focus. You adjusted the lens aperture to F8, sliding a filter into the enlarger.

Next, you took a sheet of the photo paper and placed it into the easel. You exposed the photo onto the sheet of paper for about 5 seconds. You moved the sheet to your tray of developer, sliding it in quickly and carefully, then moved the tray gently, watching as the chemicals moved and your photo of Lucy developed in front of your eyes. After 60 seconds, you used the tongs to remove the photo and place it in the stop bath. You slid this tray around, too, using a separate pair of tongs to remove the print and place it into the fixer. After 30 seconds, you checked the thermometer in your tray of water, finding it perfectly at 68 degrees Fahrenheit. You removed the photo and placed it in the tray of water for 2 minutes, emptying and refilling the water a few times to make sure to wash away all the chemicals. When you were done, you hung the black and white photo to dry and continued with the others you wanted to print.

When you were done, you flipped the lights back on, gathering your prints. You checked the clock on the wall and were relieved to see there was still a decent chunk of lunch left - hopefully there would be some pizza left to grab. You pulled the door open and immediately smashed into something - or someone. You stumbled back, your photos falling from your hands.

“I’m so sorry! Here, let me help,” the guy said, crouching down to gather your stuff for you before you had the chance to. He stood, handing your stuff back, and you found yourself looking into the brown eyes of Jonathan Byers. He looked down at your photos as he handed them over. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “I just finished up in here.” You brushed your hair behind your ear, feeling shy now that you were no longer in the safety of the darkroom alone.

Jonathan gave you a small kind smile, one that had your heart beating a little harder in your chest. “Your photos look great, by the way,” he added, gesturing to the prints clutched safely in your grasp.

“Oh, thanks,” you said, avoiding his gaze. You cursed yourself for the way you always got shy around other people. It was Jonathan, he was probably the nicest guy in your senior class.

Maybe it was the fact that you’d had a crush on him for forever, watching him in photography class, noticing the beautiful photographs he produced every single time. He was quiet, kind, kept to himself just like you. You had to admit you wanted to get to know him better, but you were scared.

“I’ll, uh, see you in class,” Jonathan said, that same friendly smile on his face. You nodded and slipped by him out of the door. You heard it close behind you as you quickly walked to the cafeteria, hoping there would be something left for you to eat.

You walked into 7th period Photography, taking your seat at your usual desk in the back. Mr. Howard was at the front of the room, talking with another student from last period as the rest of the class filed in. Jonathan gave you a small nod when he walked in, and you returned it before turning your head to hide the blush on your cheeks, again.

You turned in your work as class began, pleased with how the photographs of Lucy had turned out. About halfway through class, Mr. Howard clapped his hands together, commanding the attention of every student.

“Alright, class.” He drummed his hands on the desk like a drumroll, a mischievous smile on his face. “It’s time for your portrait partner project assignments!”

The whole class let out a chorus of groans. Mr. Howard only laughed. “Your partner assignments are posted on the bulletin board. Please check after class.”

Class went on as usual, but you couldn’t focus, too worried about who you would be paired with. You hated working with others, honestly. You preferred being alone whenever possible.

When class was over and most of your classmates had already left, you tentatively made your way over to the board. You scanned the list with your finger tracing down the list of names until you found your own, and the name beside it - Jonathan Byers.

It could definitely have been worse. Jonathan was nice, and he was talented. But he was also…really cute.

“Looks like we’re working together,” a voice came from behind you, and you turned to see Jonathan smiling politely with his bag over his shoulder.

“Looks like it,” you agreed, unable to make eye contact with him. “Do you…want to work at my place or yours?”

“Uh…” He thought for a moment. “My mom has work until late and my brother has his D&D campaign, if you want to come over?”

“Sounds good,” you said. You hadn’t exactly been thrilled at the idea of Jonathan in your middle school style bedroom.

“I can give you a ride, if you want?”

The thought of riding in Jonathan Byers’ car alone with him terrified and excited you. You’d never been alone with a boy before.

“Okay,” you agreed, looking down to hide the blush on your face. You were pretty sure he saw right through you, though - you weren’t exactly being subtle.

He nodded towards the hallway, indicating for you to follow him out of the classroom. You did, and the two of you walked out to the school parking lot together. No one paid you any mind.

He led the way to his rusted Ford LTD. After unlocking the doors for you both, you slid into your respective seats. It took him a few times to get the car started, but eventually it did.

The Byers lived a bit out of the way, a good distance from the main part of Hawkins. So did you, but you had never been out this way. He drove up the dirt driveway of the small house, parking off to the side to leave room for his mother’s car.

You had never been to any of your classmate’s houses before - not since middle school when you were best friends with Chrissy Cunningham, before you drifted apart. It was strange being here alone with him, and the fact that you liked it was even stranger.

Jonathan unlocked the front door and led you inside, walking down the hall towards what you assumed was his bedroom. His room was tidy, his bed made and no clothes strewn across the floor. He had a turntable with stereo on his dresser with a large collection of records and an Evil Dead poster on the wall, which you noticed immediately.

“That’s my favorite movie!” You said, suddenly excited. “I love Ash.”

Jonathan smiled, gently setting his bags on the bed. “It’s a great movie. One of my favorites, too. You like horror?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “My favorite genre.”

You started browsing through his records. He had a lot of great music. You picked out The Smiths’ debut album. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. He began pulling his camera out of its bag and getting it set up while you lifted the cover of the turntable and placed the record down gently. You turned it on and lowered the arm to the record, the music beginning to fill the room, quiet enough to just fill the background while you talked.

Jonathan turned to you with his camera in hand - a Pentax MX, you recognized. He fiddled with his settings a little, then smiled at you. “Ready to get started?”

“Yeah,” you said, suddenly shy again. “Where do you want me?”

“Um…” He thought for a second, looking around the space. “How about just against the wall here? Just a plain background. I’ll open the curtain.”

You moved to the wall, adjusting your hair as you walked. Jonathan held his camera up to his eye, making sure he was ready to shoot.

He directed you in a series of poses as he took photo after photo. It was extremely awkward - you were always the one behind the camera. You didn’t like being in front of it. But Jonathan was a complete professional, making you feel as comfortable as possible. You started having fun about the time the song switched to Pretty Girls Make Graves.

“Let’s take a little break, then we can switch,” he said after a good 30 minute session, lowering his camera. “You did great.”

As Jonathan put his equipment away, you wandered around his room. You spotted several books on photography on a shelf, and you reached for one, opening it up and flipping through it.

It was filled with black and white photographs, all of them beautiful portraits. You slowly looked through the book, admiring the stunning work, until you reached a section that made you stop, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“I don’t know how people have the confidence to do this,” you said, looking down at the tasteful nude photos. Women posing with their breasts fully exposed to the camera, each looking absolutely beautiful.

Jonathan looked over your shoulder. “It’s just art,” he said, a small smile on his face. “If you’re working with a photographer you’re comfortable with…I imagine it’s easy.”

You shook your head. “I can’t imagine.”

It was silent for a moment as you both gazed down at the photos. “Would you…ever want to try?”

Your head snapped around in his direction, your eyes wide. “What?”

“You- you could try it,” he said, suddenly very nervous. “We could try it. If you want to.”

You felt yourself blushing all over your entire body. You slowly closed the book, turning around to look at Jonathan. “You…want to take these kinds of photos…of me?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jonathan said with a shrug and that shy smile. “I’m a photographer. You’re modeling. And…you’re beautiful. You’d do amazing.”

You couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. Jonathan wanted to take nude photos, of you?? But you had to admit to yourself…you were intrigued. You hadn’t had any exciting experiences in your life. It was about time for something to happen.

And did he just call you beautiful?

“O…okay,” you said, trying to find your confidence. “How…do we do this?”

“Well,” Jonathan started. “You can, uh…undress, and I’ll get my camera ready?”

Your hands were shaking as you nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said. “Let’s do this.”

Jonathan turned around, giving you privacy as he fiddled with his camera. You lifted your shirt over your head and dropped it to the ground. Next you undid your jeans, pushing them down your legs and dropping them into a pile with your shirt. You took a deep breath before you reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, dropping it and then sliding your panties down your legs.

Completely naked, you finally fully realized what you had gotten yourself into. You were currently standing naked in Jonathan Byers’ bedroom. You felt your nipples hardening as they were exposed to the cold air. You held a hand across your breasts, as if you weren’t completely naked from the waist down too and about to have nude photos taken. “Okay…I’m ready.”

Jonathan turned around, his eyes going wide when he saw you. His gaze raked over your body before meeting your eyes again. “You- uh- you look- you look great,” he said, pink blush rising on his cheeks.

You couldn’t help but smile. It made you feel better that he was nervous, too. “Thanks,” you said shyly. “Um…I guess we should get started?”

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Jonathan said quickly, snapping out of whatever trance he was in. “Um, you can stand over there?” He pointed to the blank space on his wall.

You moved over there, dropping your hands from your breasts. Jonathan locked eyes with them for just a moment before he was looking at your face again. “Want me to put on some music?”

“Please,” you said, feeling like it would help you get in the zone and be more comfortable.

Jonathan walked to the record player, flipping through his records before pulling one out and placing it on the turntable. David Bowie’s voice carried through the room, and you smiled. “I love Bowie.”

“Me too,” Jonathan said, returning your smile. He moved back in front of you and lifted the camera to his eye. “Okay, just pose like…this?” He said, miming the placement of your arms.

You held your arms behind your head the way he showed you, kneeling down on the carpet. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” he said, snapping a bunch of photos. “You look beautiful.”

You blushed deeply. Having your naked body on full display was a new, terrifying experience, but it was also…exhilarating. You were kind of loving it.

Jonathan hadn’t felt so inspired in ages. Something about your body was perfect for photography, he thought you looked beautiful and you photographed like a real model. He could tell you were shy, but you were doing an amazing job. These photos were going to be some of the best he’d ever taken.

He instructed you through different poses, encouraging you the entire time. The longer the session lasted, the more comfortable you felt. By the time a few songs had passed, you were honestly having a great time.

“How about you sit on the bed for this one?” Jonathan said, gesturing to his bed. You sat down on the edge of it, looking to Jonathan for more instructions. “Just hold your arms like…this.”

You did your best to copy what Jonathan was trying to show you. “Like this?”

“No, kind of like…” He lowered his camera to hang around his neck and moved over towards you. “This.” He reached for your arms and began to pose you, but his fingers accidentally brushed over your hardened nipple. You gasped, jumping slightly at the sensation, and Jonathan looked up at you with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” He said, dropping his hands. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay,” you said, giggling lightly. “I…didn’t mind.”

Jonathan looked into your eyes, like he was searching for something. His gaze lowered to your lips, then back to your eyes. The next thing you knew, he was leaning in, and you felt his lips press against yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you kissed him back. His hand came up to cup the side of your head, his thumb caressing your cheek. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth completely, dancing with your own.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. You were finally having your first kiss - at 18, but whatever - and it was with Jonathan Byers. While also naked.

Your hand slid beneath his shirt, feeling the skin of his stomach and chest. He pulled back and pulled it over his head before moving back to your lips, kissing you hungrily as his hands roamed your bare skin.

You pulled away, suddenly nervous. Jonathan looked as if you’d just yelled at him, like he felt bad for overstepping your boundaries, which he hadn’t done at all. “Have you…ever done this before?” You asked.

Jonathan looked back at you, this time a slight blush on his cheeks. “Uh, no. Never.”

“Me either,” you admitted, which made Jonathan smile a bit.

“I thought you’d think less of me,” he said. He reached for your hand and held it in his own. “Like I’m the Freak no one wants to go out with.”

“I don’t think that at all,” you assured him. It was your turn to place your hand on his cheek and turn him to look at you. “I think you’re really handsome. And the girls at school are missing out if they overlook you.”

Jonathan smiled again, his cheeks tinged red. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl in school.”

You blushed as well, your whole body heating. “That’s definitely not true.”

“Well, I think it is.” Jonathan caressed your face with the back of his hand, looking into your eyes. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. The way I’ve always seen you.”

“You noticed me?” You were surprised, because no one noticed you. You were grateful you weren’t exactly picked on, but it would be nice for your classmates to know you’re there.

“Of course I did,” Jonathan said, like it was obvious. “You’re the best photographer in school. Your photos are always beautiful. You have so much talent, and you’re so pretty and kind.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying. He had noticed you? And not only noticed you, but felt those things about you like you had about him?

“I think you’re the best photographer in school,” you said shyly, unable to meet his gaze now. “And you’re always kind, even when people are dicks to you. And you’re so handsome it makes my heart beat faster when I see you.”

Jonathan smiled, looking down at his hands. “I can’t believe you feel the same way about me.”

You thought for a moment. You could keep sitting here being all shy, or you could take what you wanted. You could stop sitting on the sidelines of life and do something you want for once. Something he wants, too.

You turned to him, and he turned to you. You moved in, and he did the same. Your lips pressed together again, and you kissed him eagerly this time, your hand resting on his face as he placed his hand on your hip. You gently pushed him down on the bed, and he obeyed. He watched wide eyed as you climbed onto his lap, grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants. He groaned and tightened his grip on your hips.

“God, you…you look so beautiful,” he said breathless, eyes roaming your body hungrily. You grabbed his hands and slowly trailed them up your body, rubbing over your ass and up your sides until you placed them over your tits. His eyes somehow went even wider, a rush of air leaving his lips. “J-Jesus Christ.”

“You can touch me,” you said, bolder than you felt. “You can touch me wherever you want.”

Jonathan let out a shuddering breath and you removed your hands, leaving him there to do as he pleased. He slowly began massaging your tits, thumbs running over your peaked nipples, making you shiver. You rotate your hips as you grinded against his lap, feeling him growing harder and harder beneath you. His expression looked totally fucked out already and you’d barely even touched him.

Your hands slid under his t-shirt again. “Why don’t you take this off?”

He sat up quickly, pulling his shirt off and over his head. You took in the sight of his bare chest, hands roaming the now exposed skin. Then you surprised him by moving farther down his body. He breathed in a gasp of air as your hands began undoing his jeans.

He watched with rapt attention as you got them undone, lifting his hips to help you pull them and his boxers off his body. His cock sprung free, long and hard and leaking precum already. He was bigger than you expected.

“H-oh shit,” he breathed out as you wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling it twitch in your hand. You moved forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, running your tongue around it experimentally. His hips bucked up- “Sorry! Shit, sorry-“ but you didn’t mind. You liked that he was so weak for you, so desperate for more of your touch.

You began bobbing your head up and down his cock, taking more of him every time you lowered your head. His hands were gripped in tight fists in his bed sheets, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them but needed to hold onto something.

You pulled off of him. “You can touch me,” you reminded him, a little giggle in your voice. “I want you to touch me.”

Jonathan just nodded, but when you went back to sucking his cock, he grabbed the back of your hair with one of his hands. He wasn’t shy about his moans - either that or he couldn’t help it - but you were loving it. You had never done this before, but the noises he was making let you know you were doing a good job. An amazing job, apparently.

“Baby,” he moaned, high and desperate. “Feels so good. Oh my god- it’s so good.”

You almost laughed, he was so cute, but you kept it together as you took him deeper and deeper with every pass, running your tongue around his tip every time you reached it.

“Fuck, fuck,” he moaned, his breaths coming in shorter bursts. “I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop right now. And I really…really wanna do more with you.”

You wouldn’t have minded making him cum with your mouth, but doing more sounded way too enticing. You pulled off of him and he watched as a string of saliva connected your lips to his cock, dropping his head back on the pillows with a groan.

Crawling up his body slowly, you placed kisses as you went, making him shudder. When you reached his lips you kissed him again, his hands sliding up your sides.

“God, you are…so hot,” he groaned, hands squeezing the plush skin of your ass before sliding back up your body, enjoying every inch of you.

“So are you,” you hummed, kissing his neck, biting and sucking when you found the spot that made him moan. Then, to your surprise, he grabbed you and flipped you both so he was on top.

He started kissing your neck, making you moan beneath him as he left purple hickies on your skin. You felt his hard cock pressed up against your core, and he pulled back, looking at you with pleading eyes that contradicted his next words.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked, his voice raspy. It was obvious he very much did. “We don’t have to. If you want to stop now, we can.”

“I don’t want to stop,” you said quickly. “I…want to keep going. Do you have a condom?”

“Shit,” he hissed. “No. This isn’t, uh, something I do often.”

You giggled. “It’s okay. We can still do it. Just, uh…pull out?”

Jonathan nodded vigorously. “I can do that.”

He reached down between your bodies, wrapping his hand around his cock as he dragged the head between your folds, gathering your slick on him. Then he was pressing at your entrance, gaze darting back up to look into your eyes.

“Let me know if you don’t like it, okay?” He said. “I can stop any time. We don’t have to do this.”

“Jonathan,” you said with a small laugh. “It’s okay. Just do it.”

He nodded, then looked back down to where you were connected as he slowly began pushing inside. It stung at first, the intrusion unfamiliar and painful the farther he filled you, but it eased into a kind of pleasure before long. You held onto his shoulders tightly.

Jonathan groaned when he bottomed out inside of you, body shuddering from the sheer pleasure of being buried inside your tight, wet walls. It felt amazing for him, better than his hand, better than what he dreamed sex would be like. You were perfect, like your body was made for him, made to take him.

“Oh my god, Jonathan,” you moaned. “Feels so good. You’re so big. Please move, need you to fuck me.”

He moaned, hand gripping tightly in the bed sheets again. “Fuck, if you say things like that I’m gonna cum faster than I want to.”

He pulled back out slowly before rolling his hips back into you. It felt even better that time, a high whine coming from your lips. Reassured seeing that you were enjoying it, he set a steady pace, thrusting into you quickly. He buried his face in your neck, moaning as he truly began to fuck you.

“God, this is…fuck, feels so good. You feel so fucking good. Shit, I can’t-“ He cut himself off with another moan, high and whiney and so fucking hot.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling lightly at his dark brown locks. You wrapped your legs around his waist, guiding him to fuck you faster, which had him moaning your name over and over again.

“Jonathan,” you moaned, back arching off the bed. “Please, I-“

Jonathan reached between your bodies, fingers beginning to rub at your clit. He had the idea, but didn’t exactly know what he was doing.

“Rub in circles,” you told him, although what he was doing didn’t feel bad. He did as you instructed, rubbing quick tight circles on the sensitive bud. “Fuck, yeah, just like that. Just like that.”

The combined feeling of his cock deep inside you and his fingers working against your clit had a coil tightening in your belly, your peak coming faster and faster. “Jon, I’m-“

Your orgasm crashed into you, having you seeing stars as your back arched off the bed, pussy clenching around him as you called his name again and again. “Jonathan! Oh my god, Jonathan-“

It sent Jon over the edge too, crying out loudly as he quickly pulled out and pumped his cock a couple times as he shot his load all over your chest, stomach and thighs. It was so much, and you had never seen a guy cum before. You watched him with wide eyes, the sight turning you on all over again.

You both caught your breath, trying to calm down after all that. Jonathan reached for a dirty shirt on the floor and cleaned you off, then laid down on his bed next to you.

“That was absolutely incredible,” he breathed, wrapping an arm around you. “You were incredible.”

“That was amazing,” you agreed. He leaned over and pulled you into a passionate kiss.

“Be my girlfriend,” he said, thumb rubbing circles on your hip.

You raised your eyebrows. “Really? You mean it?”

“Of course I do,” he laughed. “Haven’t you realized how into you I am? Especially after all this?”

You blushed, hiding your face in his chest. “Yes. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.”

The two of you cuddled in bed for a while longer, until you looked over at his alarm clock and saw the time. “Oh god. I’m gonna be late for curfew.”

Jonathan looked over at the time, too. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. Do you want me to give you a ride home?” He asked. “We can, uh, do your part of the project tomorrow,” he added, cheeks tinged red.

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling and giving him a kiss. “Sounds good to me.”

You both got dressed, trying to look as if you hadn’t done what you had just done. You left his room and headed down the hall - seeing Jonathan’s mom, Joyce, sitting in the living room.

She smiled at you awkwardly. “Hi, so nice to meet you.”

You took her hand in yours, blushing furiously as Jonathan avoided eye contact with his mother. “Nice to meet you, too,” you said, giving her your name.

As you and Jonathan walked out hand in hand, he turned to you. “She definitely knew what we did.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

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