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deebris · 4 months

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The Mysterious Visitor 3

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce begins to suspect that Damian is hiding something after the two of you finally see each other, and the father-son trust between them is shaken. Tim finally sees your face, and something strange happens. The meeting between siblings was not successful, and to their dismay, Bruce will need to confront Talia face to face once again.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned; family discussion; maternal overprotection.

Word count: 3.6k

Note: I'm sincerely sorry if I didn't include someone on the tag list or if I made any mistakes. This part took longer because it's a bit longer.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

"Forgive me for not offering anything sooner, miss," Alfred said, watching you carefully pick up the hot chocolate he had given to you. He found it curious how you ignored the handle of the mug, instead holding it with both hands, making sure wouldn't spill it.

You diverted your eyes from the brown liquid and looked at the old butler, now knowing his name, licking your lips after the sip to clear the excess drink. "It's okay," you responded, unaware of the chocolate mustache that had formed.

Bruce, still in the room, watched the scene from the side while patiently awaiting Damian. He traced circles with his index finger on the rim of the whiskey glass he had poured for himself, trying to keep control of how much he drank. Bruce would never admit it, but he needed to calm down, and perhaps a bit of moderate alcohol might help. He knew it wasn't appropriate to drink in front of someone as young as you, but he couldn't stop himself.

He was caught looking at you with a suspicious gaze that didn't waver. The room was filled with a palpable discomfort, and you, embarrassed, went back to staring at your own drink again, focused on listening to the crackling of the fireplace.

"Here, take this," Alfred said gently, extending a napkin from the tray. You accepted it and wiped around your mouth, finally realizing you'd made a mess.

Your mother would have scolded you for your lack of manners, you thought to yourself. And, for the thousandth time that night, you worried about how she would react to discovering you weren't in your bed. Maybe she had already noticed and was preparing a furious speech along with your punishment.

"What are you thinking about, dear?" Alfred asked, noticing your quietness as you rested the hot chocolate mug in your lap and started staring into nothing.

You snapped out of your stupor upon hearing the question, fiddling with one of the charms on your bracelet, the "T" specifically, Bruce couldn't help but notice. His mind was in turmoil, much like yours, with a thousand different thoughts arising every second. He felt strangely betrayed, questioning how much more his son hadn't told him—important things like the fact that he had a sister.

"I was just thinking that..." you trailed off, swallowing hard as the nervousness grew. Letting out a shaky sigh and with visible tears forming in your eyes, you continued, "My mom's going to be mad at me."

"And are you afraid of your mother?" Alfred insisted, trying to sound gentle upon seeing your distress.

"It's not quite that," you replied, trying to ease the situation so he wouldn't jump to conclusions.

You weren't exactly afraid of her, but you knew that rummaging through your mother's belongings, stealing a letter, and sneaking out in the middle of the night would disappoint her. You worried about her reaction and, above all, about Damian's reaction. If he was still the same, he certainly wouldn't be happy with the circumstances.

You tried to calm yourself, convincing yourself that you had the right to be angry for the first time in your life, not them, even knowing that your family would see you differently. It was as if you were perpetually a five-year-old in their eyes, always needing to hear lectures about every dangerous step you took.

Even though you and your brother were the same age, he was more responsible, smarter, stronger, destined to be a leader. And it annoyed you so much, but no matter what you said, your mother wouldn't change her mind about your upbringing.

When Damian left, Talia had said he would spend some time in a different place to learn new things and improve himself. For the first few weeks, it was even liberating not having him on your neck all the time, but then you realized it was because of him that you could do simple things like take a walk around the neighborhood alone.

Without Damian at home, your mother had no one to contradict her decisions, and her constant protection began to suffocate you. Then came the longing, and what was supposed to be a few months turned into years, and you never saw him again. You never stopped thinking about him. Every day, every birthday, and every Christmas, you would wait near the entrance of your apartment before going to bed, hoping that he would open the door again.

"Where is your mother?" Bruce suddenly interrupted, feeling Alfred's cautious gaze on him. You hesitated to answer, after all, although Mr. Wayne was a very popular man with a good image, you didn't know him. "I don't intend to harm you, but I need to know to take you back home," he justified, looking directly at your face, but Alfred knew this was Bruce's way of telling him that he wasn't interested in Talia, but rather in ensuring your safety.

"I'm not dumb, I know how to get home by myself," you tried to defend yourself. And though the words might sound arrogant, you said it calmly, not wanting to offend him.

"The point is not that. This is Gotham City, you shouldn't have gone out alone in the middle of the night." Bruce tried to reason with you, and it seemed to have worked because you fell silent.

"You need to trust us, miss," Alfred tried to encourage you to respond, but you remained silent. Bruce turned the glass to take a big sip of his drink and both gave up, not wanting to pressure you further.

The following minutes were silent, interrupted only by the sound of you drinking the hot chocolate in a few sips. Unexpectedly, Titus, Damian's German Shepherd, seemed to have taken a liking to you. He entered the room from the kitchen and stopped by your side to smell the new scent in the house. The relatively gentle dog sniffed around you, appreciating the head pats he received while you were enchanted by the furry animal.

Bruce couldn't help but compare you to his son since he began to analyze you. Damian had his mother's cunning personality and an arrogance that Bruce couldn't deny he had too, but it was more pronounced in Talia. He clearly remembered the first meeting with Damian. The first thing the boy did was make a ridiculous joke about his height, and he never seemed shy when meeting Bruce or the other boys. Also, when he arrived at the mansion, he felt comfortable analyzing every tiny detail of the house, unconcerned if his opinions were unpleasant.

You, on the other hand, although in different circumstances, limited yourself to a small space on the couch, responding only when asked and gladly accepting the kindness of Dick and Alfred. Bruce wondered how Talia could have raised a daughter like you. She and her sister, Nyssa, were sharp women, trained to be natural-born assassins, despite having a traditional father like Ra's. It was hard to believe that you, an apparently ordinary and shy girl, could be her daughter.

"Do you like dogs?" Bruce asked, deciding to stop being grumpy.

"I do, but I think I prefer cats." You continued to stroke Titus's cheeks, who began to want to climb onto your lap. Unfortunately, he was too heavy, and you had to push him back to the floor. The animal seemed to interpret that as a game because he kept trying to climb several times. "Mom gave me one for Christmas last year."

"Titus." Bruce's voice caught the dog's attention, patting his right thigh, calling him to sit on his lap. His gesture, although meant to stop the animal from bothering you, made you a little disappointed that you couldn't pet his soft fur anymore.

"What a coincidence. It seems you and Damian share something in common." Alfred was smiling while talking to you, which was rare for him. "Last Christmas, he also brought us two stray cats. The black one lives with us, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened to the other one. Curiously, the cat has my name." The butler tried to make a face at you, pretending to be unhappy. A Cheshire smile spread across your face, followed by the most contagious laugh he had ever heard, and he couldn't help but widen his own smile.

"The cat's name is Alfred?" You asked incredulously, seeing him nod positively. "Mine is an orange cat. He's cute but very troublesome; he even scratched one of my ballet shoes." You commented, much more at ease in Mr. Wayne's presence.

"An orange kitten?" Bruce's eyes widened slightly, just like Alfred's.

An orange and a black cat, both mentioned on the same date. Your seemingly trivial confession revealed to both of them that Damian had indeed kept in touch with you. Perhaps not directly, but it showed that he hadn't forgotten your existence and cared enough to have given the other cat to his sister as a gift. Now, because of you, they both finally knew what had happened to the other furball.

"Your brother also raises a cow here on the property." The butler thought it would be of interest to mention the funny fact, given that Damian was too irritable to raise something like a cow. And it seemed to have worked, as you laughed with genuine surprise in your eyes.

Bruce couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh when reminded of the cow, and unlike how he had been so suspicious of you moments ago, he was now more relaxed. He wondered when was the last time he saw Alfred so cheerful with someone new here at the mansion. The butler was a man full of tenderness for the family, but he was difficult to deal with for outsiders, although he always presented himself in a polite manner.

But the pleasant moment was suddenly interrupted by a series of voices coming from the top of the stairs, making Bruce and Alfred frown. Both stood up to see better what was happening and saw Damian pushing and shouting at his three brothers while struggling to descend the steps without being hindered by them.

Jason saw that Bruce and Alfred had already noticed them, failing to prevent the boy from confronting you three, and let go of his arm. Dick and Tim followed suit, defeated. The events of the night were revealed to him by his brothers, who told him everything from you being here to the fact that you had had some sort of contact with Strange. Damian went berserk at the last part and stormed out of the room in a flash.

Seeing his son in the Robin uniform, Bruce thought of reprimanding him, knowing he had gone on patrol alone again, but decided that was a matter for later.

"Damian," Bruce called out, calming him down a bit from his excitement. "We have a visitor." There was no view of the stairs from the living room, so you couldn't grasp that Bruce was calling Robin by your brother's name.

Damian descended the steps slowly, as if it were a very difficult task for him, and then finally looked at you, then at Bruce, and back at you, completely ignoring anyone else. He took a deep breath, trying to process the situation. Dick had told him that his father didn't know anything about you being his daughter, but he was sure this secret wouldn't last much longer. And honestly, he preferred that both of you knew the truth, even knowing that his mother wouldn't be happy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.

You slowly got up from the couch, gripping the hot chocolate mug tightly. The truth was, Damian hadn't realized he was still dressed as Robin, and that's why you didn't recognize him. You stood there, paralyzed, not understanding why he was in Bruce Wayne's house, and why would he talk to you? Or maybe this was some kind of joke, and you still hadn't figured it out.

Damian was silent for a moment, his expression serious. "You were supposed to stay with Mom. It's not safe for you here."

"Master Damian," Alfred spoke, signaling to the mask on his face. Damian quickly tore it off, feeling stupid for forgetting about it.

You almost let the mug slip when you saw him. Your brother had grown a lot since he was ten. His face was thinner, more defined, and his eyes smaller, plus his voice was deeper. That's why you didn't recognize him at first. Before, you would have known who he was just by the sound of his voice, but it wasn't the same anymore.

You were happy and surprised at the same time. That moment was shocking, and the bitterness you felt a while ago was forgotten. Your anger at discovering Damian ignored you for two years for the people in this house didn't cross your mind now, too busy trying to memorize each of his new features. The superhero world wasn't new, after all, but how could your brother be Robin? And if he was Robin, did he know Batman?

"I wanted to see you," you replied, your voice trembling. "I missed you."

Damian sighed, approaching. He wanted to argue but fought against it, knowing the last thing he should do was yell at you after so long. "I missed you too, but you shouldn't be here, S/n. Things are complicated here." He responded tensely, calculating his words and trying to find a way to get you away from Bruce as quickly as possible before something slipped.

Bruce watched your interaction, unsure of what to do. He didn't understand the depth of your relationship, wondering if he should intervene or let you talk alone. It seemed too personal to discuss in front of so many eyes.

In a brief exchange of glances with Dick, in a kind of silent conversation, Bruce signaled for him and the others to leave.

Understanding as always, Dick nodded, indicating they should leave but not before approaching Bruce with something. "Bruce, promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a clearer state of mind," he asked in a whisper, placing a piece of paper in Bruce's hand, careful to put the written part facing his palm. Dick rarely asked for promises, so Bruce reluctantly agreed.

"Can you at least tell me what it is?"

"It's a clue about Hugo Strange," was the simplest response he could give. "But let's leave that for another time," Dick emphasized, looking at you and Damian, who, to their surprise, were watching them.

"Let's go. This is no longer our business," Dick tried to pull Jason and Tim along, but Tim was stubborn:

"Did you give it to him?" Tim said just loud enough for Dick to hear.

"Yes, Tim," he replied, not wanting to give him more room to argue, going up the stairs two steps at a time, followed by Jason who climbed more calmly, holding onto the railing. Tim gave one last look at Bruce, then at Damian, Alfred, and then you, who was now watching the three. You already knew Dick, but the other two figures aroused your curiosity. How many more people live in the mansion?

The boy you didn't know was called Tim started staring at you with an intrigued expression. He hadn't managed to see your face closely before, but now, looking calmly, he couldn't avoid noticing how familiar you seemed. He felt he had seen you somewhere, but where? You examined him with the same perplexity, and for a moment he parted his lips to say something, maybe to ask if he knew you, but Bruce's voice made him jump:

"Tim, you should go to bed, just like your brothers." He asked in a gentle tone.

"Sorry, Bruce." He responded quickly, going up the stairs in same style as Jason.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?" Damian took advantage of the fact that the three had left and angrily threw it in your face, but trying to disguise it at all costs to avoid sounding too harsh. His eyes were frantic, looking at every part of your face.

He wasn't sentimental, and he refused to go through the humiliation of showing any weakness at seeing your grown-up figure, even if it caused him heartache. "Why did you disappear like that? Mom's been worried for hours."

"I already told you. I wanted to see you." Your voice rose a bit, desperately trying to justify yourself. You wanted so much to hug him but felt too embarrassed to do so, finally realizing that the intimacy you had before no longer existed. It was as if he were a stranger.

"Let's go. I'll take you back." He grabbed your wrist, wanting to disappear from his father's sight at all costs, but you pulled away, surprising him.

"Why are you so eager to get rid of me?" You asked indignantly, trying to swallow the sob due to your wounded pride. The warmth in your heart rose to your head, finally feeling that old anger again. "I haven't seen you in years, and the first thing you do is want to keep me away again!" You were distressed, feeling rejected.

"Maybe it's because you only cause problems!" He exploded.

"I had forgotten how irritating you are!" You shouted at the top of your lungs, trying to push him back as you did in childhood arguments. Back then, you two were equal in strength, but now Damian was becoming a man, and he barely moved.

You didn't notice when you dropped the mug on the floor, which luckily didn't break as the impact was cushioned by the rug. But the little liquid left had spilled and stained it, and seeing Alfred pick it up to clean made you feel awful. You should have done it, but he stopped you when you made a move to bend down, saying it was okay. Alfred felt he shouldn't participate in this conversation and used the mug situation as an excuse to go to the kitchen.

"Stop." Bruce intervened between you two, separating both and giving his son a challenging look. He knew this kind of attitude was typical of him, but seeing how loyal and obedient Damian was to Talia, he thought he would at least show some sympathy to his sister. "S/n, why don't you go sleep a bit? It's late, it would be good to rest." He offered as a truce and also as a way to interrupt your meeting, seeing how bad it was going.

"Do you realize the danger she got into? Talking to strangers, no less." Damian spoke again, his voice dangerously calm, ignoring Bruce. "Do you have any idea who that guy was, S/n? Do you have any idea?!" His voice began to rise a few octaves.

A solitary tear rolled down your cheek, recalling the man who had helped you on the street. At that moment, he seemed like a good person, but the way your brother was talking, apparently he wasn't. "How many times do we need to tell you not to talk to strangers? Not to leave the house without telling anyone? It's always been like this since we were kids, you never change!"

You had no reaction. That single tear had turned into two, then into several others, as you shrank into your own shame. You felt ridiculous for coming here because of him.

"Damian, who are you talking about?" Bruce held him by the shoulders to stop him from continuing to spew anger at you. His voice was much deeper than the boy's, and although it didn't intimidate him, it was enough to make him look at him at least.

"Hugo Strange, Dad! Damn Hugo Strange!" Damian lost control of his own mouth, speaking without thinking and not realizing the slip he had just made. "Because she's too stupid to have the slightest notion about anything!"

"Hugo Strange?" Mr. Wayne asked out loud. You knew exactly who Strange was, just as you knew other villains, although you might not recognize them by appearance. But that didn't matter to you now, as you spoke right after:

"Why did you call him Dad?" You looked your brother in the eyes, expecting some kind of explanation, not noticing how his body hairs stood on end.

Suddenly, a realization hit you. This was his new family now, and this man was his father. That venomous jealousy returned once more, and you didn't know if it was because Damian now had someone to call 'Dad' or because it meant how close he had become to these people. Damian swallowed hard, sweating and standing still like a statue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn't mean to cause trouble." You apologized, deciding to completely ignore Damian from now on.

"No need to apologize." Bruce felt uneasy, and like you, he drew a wrong interpretation from it. He thought Damian hadn't told his sister who his real father was, which was possible considering he also hadn't told her he moved in with him. The fact that you two were twins was also still unknown to Bruce. The most logical idea, though not spoken or thought, was that you were Talia's daughter with another man. "I'll ask Alfred to show you a room."

You looked one last time at Damian before disappearing into some wing of the mansion. It hurt to see him watching you leave without even saying goodbye. A 'good night' would have been hopeful, even though you hated him now.

"Come, miss." You felt Alfred's hands on your back, guiding you. "I'll show you the guest room," he explained, and you looked back, seeing Bruce watching the two of you.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you said, trying to sound as grateful as possible, while wrapping one arm around Alfred's waist affectionately. Bruce gave you a slight smile, uncrossing his arms to wave goodbye, which you returned with your free hand.

"You and I now have a lot to talk about." Bruce's aura had become cold again. The trust he had built with Damian wasn't broken, but it definitely had a crack.

"Mom is coming," he said in a low voice "I called her as soon as Dick started told me everything," he confessed, knowing Bruce would be furious, watching him run a hand through his hair to relieve the tension.

Following his example, Damian also sat in one of the armchairs in the room, analyzing his father's movements. Whenever Talia and Bruce were in the same room, even if they didn't do it openly, they fought for some kind of dominance.

Bruce made a move to take out the card Dick had given him to see its contents and maybe pass the time while the second storm of the night was yet to come. The first had been you, of course. He ran his fingers along one of the edges of the card, without taking it completely out of his pocket, and then remembered his son's words:

'Promise me you'll only read this card when you're in a moment of clarity.'

The last thing Bruce had now was clarity. So he sighed heavily and pushed it back into his pocket, staring at the boy beside him. "Why do I feel like your sister should be a secret, Damian?"

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Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

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notmyneighbor · 2 months

Text

instinct | doppel francis x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 4.8k

cw | explicit sexual content, light breathplay, breeding kink

ao3 link

fanart credit | kri_stasss on X

taglist | @maskedpacific @dreamndestiny @r-o-s-e-0

“We can’t do this.”

The words tear reluctantly from your throat when your mouth is finally granted a reprieve, the doppelganger’s lips now teasing beside your ear.

“Why not?” His voice purrs, punctuating this question by licking a stripe around the thin skin shielding the curve of cartilage.

Fuck. “Because it’s unprofessional, for one thing.” You try to make your voice stern but you notice the distinct waver when his mouth distracts you yet again.

“Given your behavior earlier, I don’t think you entirely understand the meaning of that term.” His teeth clutch your ear lobe, tugging lightly, and your breath escapes in a sharp hiss of sound.

“Are you still giving me shit for that? I said I was sorry.” You’re trying to hold onto your anger from earlier, to regain some sense of control and composure. But it’s becoming more and more obvious the cause is lost. His hand clutches your hip, his pelvis grinding against your body and your brain short circuits over the next lined up protest once again.

“And I said I didn’t believe you. I still don’t,” he reprimands, rolling his hips so the bulge at the front of his suit pants nudges your groin.

“What’s it gonna take to convince you, then?” Your fingers have mussed the mimic’s hair completely, finally abandoning that zone to move further down, nails scrabbling against your partner’s shirtfront.

“You could start by inviting me in properly. Bring this somewhere more comfortable. Unless you want me to fuck you up against the door. That’s also an option,” he murmurs, his tongue stroking up the arch of your throat.

“Jesus,” you hiss at his brazenness.

“Francis, actually.”

“You’re making jokes now, too?” This comes out almost as a squeak when his hand begins palming one breast through your blouse, his fingers managing to pinch your nipple even through the layers of clothing shielding it.

“Adapting to the situation.”

“You do this with all your police partners?”

He draws back to look at your features, his body suddenly going still. “No. Never. You’re the first. Why?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“You’re jealous,” he decides, nipping at your bottom lip.

“No, I’m not. Why would I be?”

“Defensive, too. You can relax. It’s just us. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I know you’re a hardass.” Another kiss. “And I know your heart is in the right place. I know I’ve said this before, and you said you agreed, but I can tell you’re not really willing to trust me. You absolutely have got to work with me, not against me. Okay?”

There is nothing mocking in his tone now. The replicant stares at you with those dark eyes housed in bruised looking sockets and you find yourself surrendering a little. “I am trying to do the right thing,” you reply. “You don’t know how difficult it is, being a woman in this field, seen as something lesser just because of your very nature, something you have absolutely no control over…” Your voice trails off as you realize the implications of what you’re saying. “You do understand,” you say softly.

“I do. All too well.”

Your final surrender is issued in a gentle sigh. “You want to come in? Maybe take this somewhere more comfortable?” You echo his words from earlier.

His lips twitch in a smile. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay.”

He steps back to give you room to move. The sudden absence of the warm press of his body makes yours ache with longing already. You lead him to the bedroom, trying to push the rest of the doubts and misgivings from your mind.

Once you’ve reached your destination, you turn to face the milkman’s clone. You rest a palm against his chest, feel the thudding of his heart. Start small, you think. One step at a time. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. Let it happen naturally.

You slide your fingers to the top button of his shirt, unfastening that one and the one below it. Curls of dark hair are faintly visible beneath his now exposed undershirt. You lean forward to kiss his chest through that thin layer of fabric and he hums a little appreciative sigh. His fingers weave through your hair and tip your head back and his mouth captures yours. There is no teasing now. His tongue sets forth to map the interior of that warm, wet opening you offer, starting with the tip and then sliding along either side of the base. Another burst of heat sizzles between your thighs when he reaches for the fly of your pants, unfastening them and jerking them down to your thighs, along with your panties.

“Your scent has been driving me insane. Begging to be bred.” The hand forcefully knots in your hair, tugging your head back further, and you glare at the doppel, challenging him. “The real question is, do you want to be fucked by a man, or do you want me to show you my true potential?”

You refuse to answer, suddenly tight lipped, teeth stubbornly gritted but your nostrils flare, dragging air in sharply at this unexpected opportunity. You’re still struggling over the idea of intimacy with a replicant, who is supposed to be an enemy species, but the seeming wrongness of it excites you. You can feel the slick arousal oozing between your clenched thighs, your body way ahead of your mind.

“I want to devour you,” he says, and you can see the faintest hint of his teeth growing sharper, narrowing into points, the tongue no longer the modest replica of the human he’s impersonating. Devour me? Does he mean…? The clone’s pupils snap from abyssal pools to small specks surrounded by burst vessels. Your pulse ratchets up even further, caution whispering in your thoughts. He’s still dangerous, alliance or not. Each revelation of what truly lies beneath makes you shiver with a combination of fear and anticipation. Your lips part and you gasp when you feel his other hand at your mound, thumb wedging in between your nether lips to press firmly against your swollen, aching clit. A sharp point digs into the pink flesh bordering it, something claw-like that doesn’t penetrate, merely letting you know of its presence.

“Give yourself to me,” he rasps, the hand at your pussy lifting, settling at the neckline of your blouse before dragging down in one swift, sharp motion. The row of buttons surrenders, the threads severed and the plastic pieces scattering to the carpet.

“I didn’t like that shirt anyway.” You try to keep your tone light and playful, but it shakes as much as your body does.

The doppel regards you, the grin of those fangs now wolfish. “Are we cracking jokes now?” His words echo yours earlier. “Or is this merely false bravado? You’re terrified,” he says, the adjective caressed by the thick tongue coiled in his mouth, “but so brave.”

“Just don’t rip my brassiere. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see that.” His hand inverts, the backs of his fingers sliding over satin and lace. “Take it off for me. Everything. I want to see you laid bare.”

“You asking or ordering? Because I don’t—”

You’re interrupted by his mouth crushing yours. Oh. This was different. There’s so much of that tongue, now. The texture is smoother, the saliva coating it thicker. It’s more agile, too, no longer restricted by that fragile little tether beneath, free to roam, twisting and stroking your cheeks and palate and tongue before creeping back further and further. Deepthroated. Like choking on dick, only this has so much more mobility. Your gag reflex kicks in and your throat reflexively clutches, trying to expel this intruder but you remain resolute, forcing yourself to relax, to accept this challenge.

He withdraws and you gasp for air. You can feel the spit, some of it yours but most of it his, gushing over your lips and chin and trickling down your neck. “Oh, you’re good, sweetheart. Taking it so well. I’m going to love shoving my cock down there later. More of a challenge, to be certain, but I’m sure you can handle it.” He grabs one of your hands and moves it to the front of his crotch and your eyes widen. He’s not bragging idly. The image of that invading your mouth, your cunt, sends a fresh wave of arousal spilling from your channel. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Let me have you,” he growls.

You fumble with the hooks at the back of your bra, trying to divest yourself of your garments as hurriedly as possible. He still seems so methodical, unfastening the sleeves of his shirt, running down the remaining fastened buttons lining the front—not tearing through his own clothing, you notice—then easing out of his jacket and then finally pulling his undershirt overhead in one smooth motion, reaching overhead between his shoulder blades. You’ve managed to clear everything from your upper body and you sit on the edge of the bed to finish the job he’s already started on your lower half, watching raptly as his leather belt strap is slipped free of the belt buckle, pants and briefs thrust down and fuck, you’d known, you’d felt it in the palm of your hand, but still, the display in front of you was more than a little intimidating. His cock angles up and slightly to the left, leaking red, circumcised; like the original milkman’s, then, you suppose there is not a single detail he’s left imperfected, but that size surely is more of a reflection of his own, making you wonder not for the first time what he really looks like, beneath the handsome human countenance, scaled and monstrous, never meant to be viewed by human eyes.

Once he’s standing naked he finally moves towards you, pushing you back into the bed, your ass skidding along the top sheet, rumpling the material. Your head lands near the pile of pillows at the top, or close enough, anyway. You don’t care about the comfort of those cushions, already distracted by his mouth back on yours.

He doesn’t linger, doesn’t test your reflex this time, instead lapping his way down your body. He teases along your collarbones and slides between your breasts, then over each nipple, the sight of his hand grasping each globe to raise the stiffened centers into his wicked mouth terrifying erotic when you see those dusky claws digging into your flesh. You’re trying to stifle most of your noises of pleasure, mindful of the thin walls and your neighbors, but the doppelganger frowns over this, the tongue that has just painted a line to your umbilicus after outlining several of your ribs pausing.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear you.”

“The neighbors…”

“Fuck the neighbors. I want to hear the pleasure I’m giving you.”

You whimper but nod, neck craning to watch where that mouth is traveling, knowing exactly where its final destination lies. You feel his teeth scrape along one hip and the inside of your thighs that you spread for him, never piercing the skin but leaving red welts behind. Your body tenses in anticipation before he plants a surprisingly gentle kiss at the top of your mound, his eyes locked on your features. You know he’s smiling, even if your view is blocked at this angle. Then his tongue darts out, flicking your bud so sharply it’s like a slap, and you moan, your hips rocketing upward.

Francis’ clone wraps his arms around each leg, keeping you anchored and splayed for him, braced against his face. He sucks and lavs at your clit until you see stars. You could explode right then, but you want to see what else he will do, both fearing and longing for something to fill your aching insides.

You don’t have to wait long for your fantasy to come true. One finger thrusts into you, and you tremble, thinking that sharp tip must surely do damage, but he somehow manages the task, penetrating the muscular tunnel and curling around the spongey, sensitive tissue nestled near the front of your body. You reach for the replicant, your fingers knotting in his hair, grinding yourself against his mouth, against the pair of fingers that now corkscrew and spread and curl inside of you. His tongue joins in, stretching past those digits and exploring even further. It aches in the most delicious way, the feel of that wet, foreign intruder wriggling and stroking, marking the path that his cock will follow later. You can’t hold back any more, climaxing over everything the doppel has thrust inside, your entire body tremoring violently as you cry out and toss your head from side to side. He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve relaxed your grip in his hair and your body has gone limp and soft. The obscene slurping continues, your oversensitized clit twitching as you beg him for mercy.

At last the doppelganger grants you a reprieve, climbing back over your body, his mouth on yours again. You know what you taste like already, having sampled it before during self pleasure sessions, but it’s even stronger tonight, so deeply saturated on the mimic’s lips and tongue and even his chin, he’s drenched in your fluids and saliva and you lap it up greedily.

“You are the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs, his breath warm over your lips. “I could eat you out for hours.”

Even as intense as the orgasm you'd just enjoyed had been, you can’t deny there’s a little thrilling heated tingle in your core at this declaration. You have no doubt he could. Would. An entire day and night spent in bed, with him just ravaging your pussy with his mouth.

In a different timeline, of course; you can’t indulge in that idea now. There is still the case to be solved. You may be allowing yourself to be distracted by carnal desires at the moment, but the impending sense of time slipping out of your grasp has not abandoned you.

Francis’ doppel notices the change in your expression, the solemnity washing over your features. “You’re thinking about the case.”

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry.” You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and stroke his cheek. “It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying this. That I don’t want to continue.”

“I have no intentions of stopping just yet. Not when that delicious pussy is begging for my cock,” he adds, nuzzling the side of your neck. “I’m going to fuck you hard, honey. Going to stretch you and fill you to the brim. You ready for it?”

Your breath shudders. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Normally you’d balk at praise like that, but coming from his lips it makes you melt. He shifts positions, leaning back onto his knees, looping his hands around your thighs and tugging you closer. His gaze never leaves yours as one hand manipulates his erection up and down your slick sex, paying special attention to your still recovering clit before it presses against your entrance. He pushes, leans, and the air leaves your chest in a rush as he begins penetrating you.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse. Still more than you’d anticipated. Still unprepared for this sensation, even with the use of his tongue and fingers to pave the way. Burning. Speared fleshed stretched taut to accommodate his prick. Like being a virgin all over again, your body violated, reshaped, remade.

Your eyes flutter closed and you bite your bottom lip. He’s barely begun, still easing into you gently. You find yourself conflicted between wanting him to be buried to the hilt in one go, like ripping a bandaid off, and taking his time, letting you get accustomed to his length and girth.

“Look at me,” he says, and your eyes snap back open obediently, watching this creature that is now straddling the line between man and doppelganger, a little of both presented to you. He shoves in a couple of inches and you visibly tense, making him rest a hand along the side of your waist, thumb stroking small circles of encouragement. Despite his promise to fuck you hard, he’s being surprisingly tender and patient.

“Francis,” you whisper, letting your hand slide over his.

He huffs a little sound of pleasure at your caress, body leaning forward, the momentum burying him further inside of you. He lets his weight drop his hips down, his cock now finally sunk fully inside, his face greeting yours with a sloppy kiss.

“Oh, sweet girl. You’re so tight around me. Doing so well taking me.” His pelvis arches and then slams forward, knocking the air free from your chest again. “So brave. Letting me eat you. Letting me fuck you.” Another repeat thrust and withdraw, followed by another, the pauses in between shorter. The introductory period is clearly over. He nips at your shoulder, still not breaking the skin, but you’re beginning to wonder if he won’t do so inadvertently in the throes of passion. How much control did he actually have over his true form?

“Does it feel good?”

“It’s…hnnngh…” You’ve been rendered incapable of proper speech. It aches. Every part of you throbs. Sore, but also pleasurable. When you’ve recovered enough of your senses your body rocks to meet him, driving you further and further away from the discomfort and into something sublime.

“You’re mine, now. I’ll never let another man touch you. Another doppel. No one will ever have this. You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice sultry, lust and pleasure blanketing each word. The mattress creaks, the headboard sent against the wall—there goes my security deposit, you think wryly—and the lewd slap of damp flesh meeting serenades you. You rake a hand down his spine, halting when you reach the slight swell of one buttocks cheek, kneading the flesh. He growls, hips slapping harder, his mouth sucking along your collarbone. You know for certain this will leave a mark, the skin burning when he draws it away from the bone and against his tongue. At least he’s chosen somewhere you can conceal with your clothing.

You’d only intended to rest your hand in a similar location on his body, but the replicant surprises you when he shifts it from the strip of bone connecting his shoulder to the base of his throat, his hand squeezing your fingers, indicating what he wants. You’ve never attempted breathplay; you’ve always been pretty vanilla when it came to sex. But the doppel clearly had all sorts of kinks, and you think this is just one of many on a long list of depravity. Still shy, your first attempt is soft, and he growls disapprovingly, flexing again over your fingers until you comply, pressing against muscle and tendon and cartilage and his eyes roll back.

You can feel him try to swallow, hear the narrow wheeze of air before you relax your grip. He clutches your wrist before you can move it away, that impossibly long tongue stroking against the inside of your wrist. “I want to cum in you.”

You’re not on birth control; don’t even know if pregnancy is a worry with the mimics. Was it biologically possible? You’d just finished your period a few days ago so the chances that you’re ovulating again this soon aren’t likely, but fuck, why is it so stimulating to consider the idea of him filling you up, impregnating you, just imagine the scandal of that, a human and a doppel successfully mating…

“Do it,” you say out loud, granting permission.

“Yeah? You want it, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up, breed you…?”

“Fuck, Francis, yes.”

He hums approvingly, gifting one last kiss to your wrist before pummeling into you with renewed vigor. The dirty talk seems to have reset your release, and you feel another building.

“That’s it, good girl. Cum on my cock.”

“Francis, I’m going to…fuck…” Your back arches and you feel the wave of your orgasm crash against you. Your body spasms, massaging and wringing the prick inside of you and it sends your partner over the edge. He moans—so loud, you love it, never a fan of the quiet ones, but still, the neighbors—and you feel the answering shudder as his body begins pumping ropes of sperm into you. It quickly becomes apparent how much there is, spilling back out as he withdraws, only to replace that sudden vacancy with his fingers again, fucking his cum back inside of you. He presses his thumb hard against your clit and your back arches again, surging violently against him in another wave of bliss.

You’re both panting when he finally removes his hand from your body, slumping beside you. You stare at the ceiling, wiping absently at the perspiration that dots your forehead. The air smells like sweat, like sex, a nearly palpable humid layer of fragrance.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “God damn.”

“I take that to mean you enjoyed it.” You let your head tip to regard the replicant. His features are completely human again. Normal eyes now, pupils blown, bordered with clear white. His teeth flat edged again, revealed in the little half grin he offers you.

“Fucking hell. As if you couldn’t tell.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches for one of your hands. The claws have vanished. “I was fairly impressive, wasn’t I?”

You gape at him, noticing the little smirk that’s developing anew, and you release his hand to shove at his shoulder, rolling over until your face hovers near his. “You…”

“Me…what?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“Thought so.”

“Proud asshole. I’m going to have trouble walking.”

“Good.”

You playfully slap him again, fingers colliding with one pectoral muscle before you gentle that touch, guiding it up to his jaw.

He covers your hand with his, regarding you with those sleepy eyes, and you feel something lurch in your chest.

“Francis…”

“You know we’d get more accomplished if we got an earlier start in the morning. If I spent the night it would save us some valuable time.”

“You’re inviting yourself to sleep here?”

“No. I’m asking you.”

“We wouldn’t sleep. Then we’d be too tired to wake up in the morning, undermining the entire process.”

“I’ll behave,” he promises with a soft smile. “I won’t even lay a hand on you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’ll do no such thing. If you’re staying here, you’re going to be in my bed.” You sigh. “You really think you’ll sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I will,” you concede.

“Am I that irresistible, then? This doppel that you claimed to hate?”

“I told you, I don’t hate you. I didn’t mean it.”

He nods. “Don’t say it again. I don’t like you lying to me.” His eyes flash and his grip on your hand tightens. “I did mean what I said before. You’re mine, now. I won’t let anyone else have you. You understand?”

A little nervous flutter makes your stomach quiver as you nod.

“Say it.”

“I’m…I’m yours now.”

“Good girl.” He relaxes his grip and lets his head loll back to the center.

You’re still not sure how you feel about this new habit of praise he’s adopted. During intimacy was one thing, but outside of it? Your natural instinct to dominate was bristling right now, objecting to being quashed down.

”I can hear those mental gears turning from here. You practically have steam coming out of your ears,” he teases, his eyes on your face once again. “Come on, out with it then.”

”It’s…I’m not sure how I feel about this ‘good girl’ stuff.”

”Ah. I thought it might be that. I think you secretly enjoy it. I wouldn’t do it out in public, of course. That’s just between us in private like this. And no, it doesn’t mean that I think I’m superior to you. You don’t need to feel threatened. It’s more like…affectionate, I suppose. Like a pet name.”

”I guess.” You mull this over. “I don’t know what to call you, though. Like I can’t see calling you babe or honey or…I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m so focused on this. It’s foolish, really.”

”I like when you call me Francis,” he says quietly.

”But that’s not really who you are,” you murmur.

”It’s who I am now.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay, Francis.”

The doppel heaves a contented sigh and stretches his arms. “Well, now that that’s been addressed, we should have dinner and discuss strategy for tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Yes. I’m starving,” you admit. You always got ravenous after a really good climax. “What did you have in mind? I picked last time, so I guess it’s your decision to make now.”

“How about pizza?

“Oh, that sounds good. With extra cheese. You don’t like gross toppings like anchovies, do you?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never tried them. We can get whatever you want.”

“Alright. The place on West Ninth delivers now, I’ve heard. We don’t even have to leave the apartment. We can have them bring soda, too.”

“Convenient.” His face turns to you again. “Do we have time for a shower, first?”

“Yeah, I think we can squeak that in after we order. But we’re just bathing,” you remind him. “No funny business.”

He adopts a mock hurt tone. “You really have no faith in me. I can be a gentleman when it’s required.”

“I think I like it better when you’re not,” you murmur, leaning over to place a kiss on his shoulder.

“Now see that is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place. Tempting me. Challenging me. Wasn’t it nice just to let yourself go for once? Let someone else be in charge?”

“Careful. That sounds awfully similar to the toxic masculinity bullshit I keep encountering at work.”

“Nothing like it.” He shifts positions, moving until you’re beneath him again, his hands lightly bracing your wrists. “I know what you need. Let me give it to you. It’s not about your career. It doesn’t extend beyond these walls. It’s just for us. It’s okay to surrender, sometimes.”

“When do I get my turn to be on top?”

He smirks. “Whenever you want, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to oblige. You can ride me—”

“—That’s not what I meant,” you interrupt hastily. “It can’t always be you being so possessive and domineering. It’s only fair that I have a chance to exert some of that, too.”

His features grown solemn. “I know. There are so many things we can explore together. So much pleasure we can share,” he murmurs, abandoning one wrist so he can graze his fingertips along your bruised collarbone, then stroking along the notch at the base of his own throat. “It’s not completely black and white, not all one way or the other. Compromises must be met. Here. Even back out there,” he nods towards an imaginary target to indicate the world beyond your residence. “I think you’ll find that if you loosen the reins a bit, people will be more cooperative with you. You won’t lose respect. You won’t be looked down upon. You’ll just level some of the imbalances out. I know your past experiences have colored your outlook. I know it’s hard to let those walls you’ve built up around you lower. I’m not asking you to destroy them completely. Just let people see what’s behind those boundaries sometimes.” He kisses your mouth gently.

“What happens to us when the case is closed and we’re not working together anymore?”

“We might be asked to team up again. But even if we aren’t, this doesn’t have to end. There can still be an ‘us’,” he says.

“I’m a little overwhelmed here,” you confess.

He nods. “Frightened?”

“Yes, that too.”

“Do you think I’ll harm you?”

“Not intentionally. Maybe not even physically by mistake. But in other ways…I don’t want to get hurt again. There’s a reason I’m single. Why I’m so defensive. A hardass, like you say. The reason I have those walls you described in place. It isn’t just about my career, about being a woman in a man’s world. I don’t want to ever let anyone hurt me like that again,” you finish in a whisper.

“I have no desire to see you hurt that way, either.” He combs his fingers through your hair.

“It’s a bad idea, Francis. Not just the sex. Being…emotionally involved. It compromises judgment. It can be costly at precisely the wrong moment.”

“I’m fully committed to this case. You know that. You are, too. I don’t see it as an issue.”

“But what if something happens? What if the suspect threatens me? Will you be able to stay calm? Not do anything brash?”

Francis’ clone remains silent, his lips pressing into a thin line at the thought of that scenario, his hand stilling, buried in your scalp.

“That’s what I’m talking about. The more time we spend together like this, the harder it’s going to get.”

“I won’t fail. Not the case. Not you,” he adds, caressing your cheek. “You have my word.”

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #that’s not my neighbor #milkman x reader #milkman x you #the milkman #tnmn francis mosses #doppel francis #tnmn smut #francis tnmn #francis mosses tnmn #doppelganger francis mosses

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merakiui · 3 months

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..... Sunday + halovian darling + stepsister👀👀👀 + pregnancy kink??!?!?!

👁 👁 accidental pregnancy/(sort of) baby-trapping as well…… wondering how you managed to get pregnant when you’re certain you’re still a virgin. You have no idea that when you’re sleeping your dear stepbrother who you trust so very much is all over your unconscious body. Maybe the first time he fucked you you bled a little and he couldn’t help himself. >_< not that it was his intention to be safe about sex. As head of the Oak Family, he’ll need an heir. But more than that he desires ways to keep the two of you chained together as the couple you’re meant to be.

Sunday who is the first one to extend his help when the news reaches his ears. Maybe you confided in your stepsister Robin first and she was there to listen and offer her comfort/congratulations depending on your feelings. You’re conflicted, but Robin is there to keep you grounded. It’s nothing to panic over. She’s sure this is going to go smoothly. But she doesn’t have all the answers, so why not ask Sunday, who always knows what to do even in the most challenging situations?

He manages to convince you to keep the child. Gently combing his fingers through your wings, petting the soft feathers while he makes you look at yourself in the mirror. Standing right behind you, one hand over your belly. Do you not see how beautiful and miraculous this is—how beautiful and miraculous you are? You’re thankful he’s so supportive, but the degree to which he’s supportive is not very…platonic. Ever since then, he’s even more paranoid and controlling. You can’t go outside. You must stay near him at all times. You must eat a certain diet. So many things to do, so many rules to adhere to. He tells you it’s for the baby’s sake, but is it really when your stepbrother is making you wear thin, sheer nightgowns just to be able to see your bump or heavy tits months into your pregnancy? He’s such a pervert, but it’s all veiled under the guise of being for the baby.

You start sleeping in his room because you’ve grown attached to Sunday. Some days you can’t explain this phenomenon, and other days you think it might be because he’s such a soothing presence and you’re mistaking him for the father of the baby. And of course the attachment is difficult to shake when, in the midst of wild hormones and an intense libido, he’s helping you through it all. You’ve given up on reminding yourself that he’s your stepbrother. After all, as Sunday’s told you time and time again, who else is going to help and support you? Who else if not him? Why would you ever think of finding solace in a stranger when he knows you best? He’ll take care of you. You’ve nothing to worry about.

He dresses you himself with the wardrobe he’s curated for you, and he always spends a long time palming your belly, admiring just how much the baby’s growing. :) he’s the kind of guy to find pregnancy sex so extremely alluring. He’s always gentle every time and knows the right positions to assume to keep pressure off of your stomach. When he fucks into you, he whispers in your ear about how he’ll be careful not to disturb the baby’s room. So sugary-sweet… maybe the puzzle pieces will finally click when the baby is born and looks startlingly like a certain someone.

#honkai chit chat #n/sfw #tw: pregnancy #tw: stepcest #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #yandere sunday

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justjudethoughts · 2 months

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Holly, Lockwood, and Jessica

I think the reason Lockwood is so quickly comfortable with Holly (as opposed to the formalities he went through with Lucy) is because Holly reminds him of Jessica. Not in the same way Lucy does, mind you, but it's still there. Holly is gentle, kind, practical, and motherly, and she's older than Lockwood.

The thing is, by the time Holly's on the scene, Lockwood hasn't had a motherly presence in roughly seven years. He hasn't been taken care of in seven years. While Lucy provides much needed feminine energy for the company, she is still younger than him, more of a peer than a comforting maternal figure.

Lockwood likes Holly and he trusts Holly, but he is more *outwardly* protective of Holly than Lucy. Part of this is because he doesn't know how much Holly can handle, given her past situations, and he knows full-well Lucy's strength. But I think there's more. I think he can't bear the thought of not protecting his new sister. He can't lose Lucy because of how close they are. But he can't lose Holly because of who he sees in her.

And I think that's why it bothers him so much that Holly and Lucy don't get along. For once, things are going right for Lockwood. He has his best friend, George. His colleague turned best friend turned crush, Lucy. And a new sister. But the person who he cares about the most, whose opinion is most important to him, can't stand to be in the presence of this new sister.

Bonus points for the terrible, sinking, nauseating question of whether or not Lucy would have liked Jessica.

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #holly munro #lucy carlyle #jessica lockwood #the hollow boy

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trueebeauty · 3 months

Note

could you do dating hcs for Gun with sfw + nsfw too, pleaseee (●'◡'●)

SFW - soft, casual

Gun is not one to openly express his emotions. In a relationship, he's the silent observer, always keeping a close eye on your needs and feelings, even if he doesn’t always verbalize it.

He notices the little things about you—how you take your coffee, your favorite way to unwind, and what makes you smile.

Gun’s protective instincts are heightened in a relationship. He ensures your safety and comfort at all times, whether it’s walking you home or stepping in if someone bothers you.

Given his intimidating aura, his presence is often enough to deter any potential threats.

Instead of over-the-top romantic stunts, Gun shows his love through acts of service. He's the kinda guy who'll fix things around your place, handle difficult situations for you, or bring you food when you’re too busy or tired to cook.

He's a man of few words, but Gun cherishes the quieter moments you share, content to bask in comfortable silence without needing constant conversation to fill the air.

Once you have Gun’s trust and affection, his loyalty is unwavering. He’s someone who stands by his partner through thick and thin, offering a strong and dependable presence in your life.

Betrayal is one of the few things that could sever that bond, so honesty and loyalty are non-negotiable in his eyes.

Given his background and expertise, Gun often takes on a mentor-like role in the relationship, especially if you share any of his interests or pursuits. He’s willing to teach and train you, but don’t expect him to go easy on you.

Gun’s expressions of affection are subtle yet deeply meaningful. A gentle touch on your back as you walk together, a rare but sincere smile when you’re alone, or a steadying hand in a crowd.

He might not be outwardly affectionate in public, but in private, his actions speak volumes about his feelings for you.

Gun is physically imposing, and he uses this to his advantage in your relationship. He loves the way you fit against him, whether it's during a comforting hug or while you're both just lounging around.

NSFW - mdni

Gun thrives on being in control and doing things with precision - he loves dominating you and having you at his mercy.

He's an attentive lover who gets a thrill out of exploring what really makes you tick. Every little touch, kiss, or whispered dirty talk that makes you shiver? He lives for that.

While he might not be vocal during intimate moments, his body language speaks volumes. The way he watches you with a dark, intense gaze, the firm grip of his hands on your hips, and the subtle shift in his breathing all express his desires.

He lets his actions do the talking, making each caress and thrust better than the last. With Gun, it's pure passion in motion.

Gun has an incredible sense of stamina and endurance. He can keep up a relentless pace, pushing you both to your physical limits before allowing any release.

Pushing your limits gets him going, but he's always tuned into your responses. He'll take you right to the edge, but knows just how far he can go.

Claiming you as his own is a big turn-on for Gun. Whether it's biting, gripping, or leaving other marks, he can't get enough of those visible reminders that you're his.

It's not just about control though - there's a primal, possessive need driving Gun to mark you as his territory in the most intimate way.

He has no issue taking you against a wall, over a surface, or anywhere that allows him complete access and control over your body.

Once the heat has died down, you get a glimpse of Gun's shockingly gentle side. Underneath that rugged exterior, he's an attentive, caring lover who makes sure you're completely comfortable and satisfied when it's all over.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands softly, his voice low and deep. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Does this feel good?” he murmurs against your neck, “Or should I keep going until you can’t take it anymore?”

He lets out a soft, guttural sound of approval as you arch against him. “Just like that,” he mutters, his hands gripping your waist firmly, guiding your movements.

#lookism headcanons #lookism x male reader #gun park x reader #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #lookism x reader #lookism

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californ1asnow · 11 months

Text

All Too Well - Mike Schmidt x Reader angst

part two here Reader has trauma from neglectful parents that leaves her constantly in the, “I can fix him mentality,” paired with obvious daddy issues. Slight trigger warning for physical abuse?

Word count 2k+

loosely based on the song, “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift

Hurt no comfort

Subtle static hums in the background, enveloping the room in near-silence. The moon, having ascended to its rightful spot in the night sky, bathes Mike's house in a gentle, luminous glow that seeps through his curtains. Your body is entwined in the embrace of silk bed sheets, lying in quiet anticipation beside him. The familiar sensation of his gentle breath tickling lightly against the nape of your neck.

A month has passed since the nightmarish ordeal of Mike's former job. Through it all, you have stood by him with everything, and that loyalty has persisted since the aftermath. After his departure from Fredy's, Mike's night terrors have taken a darker turn, far worse than anything he had experienced before. You've attempted to gently coax the truth from him in the past, but he never divulged the full extent of his nightmares. It didn’t really matter to begin with, instead what truly matters is ensuring his sanity once he wakes up from these tormenting dreams.

You’d met Mike a few years ago after moving into the house next door. Looking for a new babysitter, he had offered you the job of watching Abby while he was away, and you agreed without hesitation. Gradually, the three of you formed a tight-knit bond, uniting through shared experiences of lacking any parental figures. Abby particularly admired you in various ways, given the absence of a strong female role model in her life.

Your relationship with Mike is, well, complicated. Sometimes the both of you would swear your bond is entirely platonic, absolutely nothing but friends. Defending swiftly against Abby’s claims that you two are secretly in love. However, the stolen gazes and lingering touches beg to differ. The line that marks the difference between friendship and romance is hazy, leaving you to wonder about the true tone of your relationship. Neither of you had crossed the physical line that tread into a more amorous kinship, so you could argue that there aren’t any subtle intimate undertones. But, your current situation doesn’t help that defense.

Your gaze is fixated upon the ceiling, circling through the darkness. Mike’s arms are wrapped securely around your waist, like an anchor thrown to sea, cementing you to your spot next to him. He’s recently ditched the need for his nature sounds, instead opting to listen to your heartbeat in an attempt to fall asleep.

It started right after he left the security job, claiming that he was done trying to relive the same dream every night.

“How are you going to fall asleep then?” You had asked him, brows furrowed and questioning.

He stopped for a moment, pondering your question intently. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, and now that you mentioned it he couldn’t think of a tangible way to do it. Frowning, he looked back up to you with a shrug.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. It was troubling enough having to watch Mike struggle the past few years with his sleeping, and knowing it’s going to get worse made you uneasy. You glanced away from him before speaking, “You know, I read somewhere about how listening to the heartbeat of someone you trust helps calm the fight or flight response in your brain…” Words trailing off in a futile attempt of masking your embarrassment, your cheeks flushed pink.

From that suggestion, it became a nightly routine. Although you lived next door, you had been spending the last few weeks laying in Mike’s bed. Letting him drift asleep to the sound of your steady heart, with his head pressed comfortably against your chest. Once you were sure he was asleep, you’d slip away either to his couch or back into your own bed at home. You couldn’t complain about it though, the warmth in your stomach that rose from his touch wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to give up on. You’d forgo everything if it meant he could be happy.

Just as you were about to make the move to leave, you feel him stir next to you. The sound of frantic mumbling pulling you away from your thoughts, and when you turn over to face Mike you find that he’s contorted with panic. Eyes still shut, he’s trashing in his sleep, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The hand closest to your own starts to twitch wildly, and you begin to realize he’s having another nightmare.

Waking him up during one of his nightmares is essential. You know how much it torments him to relive the same traumatic memories repeatedly night after night. Your gentle touch is the only lifeline connecting him back to reality. With a soft grasp of his shoulder, you nudge him lightly, whispering his name. “Mike,” your voice is gentle, attempting to lull him peacefully awake, “it’s just a dream, wake up.”

Mike’s eyes snap open wide, dark with terror. Frantically, he searches the room for danger, still stuck temporarily in a flashback. His chest rises and falls heavily, breath ragged and uncontrolled.

Hurriedly, he shoots up into a sitting position, ready to defend himself against a potential threat. Your heart breaks into a million pieces seeing him so upset. “You’re home,” you tell him, a hand reaching out to grasp onto him.

Suddenly, the weight of your mistake dawns upon you. In a swift motion, his fist hurtles towards you, and you barely manage to dodge it, swiftly ducking to avoid the blow.

The rate of your defense isn’t fast enough compared to his attack, and you catch the tail end of his clenched fist. A yelp of pain sounding from you, immediately bringing Mike out of shock.

When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, he sees you sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to him. His gaze snaps down to his hand, still closed in a shaking fist. Regret instantly flooding his system, he calls out your name nervously. Without turning around, you wave him off dismissively.

He moves off the bed, crouching down in front of you. Staring up at you from his position, he can’t see your face that’s burrowed behind hesitant hands. Warm fingers wrap gently around your wrists, asking for permission to move them. “Please,” he begs, “let me see, I’m so sorry.”

Instinctively, you let him pull your hands away, revealing the damage he had accidentally inflicted upon you. A dark crimson trickles down your chin, flowing from the split of your bottom lip. Mike’s thumb gently glides across the swollen skin, his touch feather light.

He fully sinks to his knees, a muffled sob wracking his body. He can hardly bring himself to face you, to face what he did to you. Accidental or not, he inflicted pain onto you, something completely opposite from what he’d promised to do.

Your eyes well up with hot tears seeing how upset Mike is. You let a gentle hand grasp at his chin, tilting his face upwards so that he’s forced to catch your gaze. “Mike,” your voice is as tender as you can will it to be, “I’m okay, I promise. It was not your fault.”

Broken apologies fly from his mouth, ignoring your statement completely. His mind was too focused on the bruise that’s sure to form rather than what you have to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling.

“Stop,” you tell him softly, trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll fix this, let me fix this. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not angry with you, it’s okay.”

You pull him up from his spot on the floor. Shaky arms wrapping around his middle, all the while he’s protesting against the idea of you being close to him again.

“It was a nightmare, you were just having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have grabbed you so suddenly, I should’ve known better. Please stop blaming yourself.” Your voice comes out more timid than you would have liked it to. Deep down you knew he never would have done that consciously, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety from overtaking you completely.

Your need to take care of Mike in his frantic state is more overbearing than the one to help yourself.

He knows this too, and whether he’s doing it intentionally or not, he’s been clinging to that notion for the past few years. He’d let you just close enough that you’d give him the comfort he wanted, but pushed you away when you became too attached. Keeping you at arm's length was enough to satisfy whatever comfort he’s been deprived of most of his life.

But now he realizes how much of a mistake it all was. You are hurt because of him. Because he’s been too wrapped up in his own issues to see how any of this could have affected you in the slightest. And now that it’s glaringly obvious, he can’t stand to keep you dangling like this.

He mutters your name regretfully, causing you to break your hold and look up at him. “You need to leave,” his voice is weak, strained from crying.

You shake your head in disapproval, “Mike I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can’t be around me anymore!”

Silence. That’s all you could respond with to his raised voice. Mike had never yelled at you, or Abby for that matter, and hearing it is startlingly different from his usual tone.

Years of repressed memories come back flooding you like a tidal wave. All of the moments you locked yourself away in your room because you couldn’t deal with the screams of an angry parent anymore, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Your immediate action is to pull the pieces back together and fix everything. You could do that.

You must have done something wrong if he’s yelling at you, right?

“Wait, wait, wait,” desperately you start to plead with him, “I did something wrong. Don’t do this, please.”

“Just go, please.”

“No, I can’t. There has to be something-“

“Go.”

His volume is lowered but his words cut just as deeply. You know there’s no point in arguing now, his mind is clearly made up.

Solemnly, you get up without another word. Gathering what little you brought over, and you leave without saying goodbye.

—

You could just barely hold yourself together enough to walk through the front door of your house. Knowing you were secure behind your walls, free from the gaze of any onlooking neighbors, you collapse entirely against the wooden floor of your home.

Everything replayed in your mind on loop, from the moment you woke Mike up to his last few words. The confusion, anger, resentment, and sadness fueled the hot tears running down your face.

You feel like a tiny child again, curled up in a ball sobbing as silently as your body allows you to be. Left to be wondering why it’s always your fault that people are upset, and how you can change it so they aren’t.

You think about your relationship with Mike, wondering if it’s truly over now. All you ever wanted to do was help him, so why did it feel like you’re the one being punished?

It was as if you were stuck in that position on the floor forever, caught in a web of remembrance. Every aspect of your so called friendship with Mike questioned intently in your mind.

You think he might have tried calling you a few times the days after that incident, but your phone was set to silence and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. Despite the burning urge to check up on him and Abby, you kept your distance.

Time had moved too slowly when you needed it the most. Healing wounds won’t close when they’re constantly torn open the second you step outside the house and spot Mike’s across from yours. The best you could do is to keep busy with work and avoid staying home as much as possible. You made sure Mike couldn’t catch you in person to talk, and with your phone rejecting his calls it had been months since you last heard from him.

Guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. It shouldn’t take a fight like this to undo years of close connection between you two so quickly. But you felt like there was no other option, he had told you to leave him and you did.

The only thing you’re left with is your hurt and his memories, forever replaying in the back of your mind.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #Mike schmidt x reader angst #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #taylor swift #all too well #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #josh hutcherson

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sugar-grigri · 5 months

Note

analyze the ball kicking scene 🫶🏼 (out of joke, love your posts <3)

Yes, even kicking balls has symbolism in Chainsaw Man

You're joking, Anon, but I wanted to do a post about it yesterday, and now you've given me the opportunity. Everything in this chapter is about the symbolism of kicking balls, yes, even the beginning!

Haruka Iseumi flicks through several TV channels, rather blasély, until he comes across a woman whose speech seems to resonate with him, a woman who seems to feel betrayed, disoriented like these teenagers who have been put in danger by an institution that has never seen their good, the church. But this girl only talks about her disappointment following a scandal surrounding over-mediatized stars.

What Haruka is going through right now is disillusionment, believing that his problems would have been taken seriously, his situation as an escaped high school terrorist, would have interested the public. But people prefer not to face up to these kinds of problems; an epidemic of people turned into demons is as commonplace as wars. To avoid jeopardizing personal comfort, people prefer to focus on other problems. Because people literally don't have the balls to face reality.

But contrary to what Haruka thinks, he's not so different: he's also an angst-ridden child who had totally surrendered to his idol, Chainsaw Man, to the point of convincing himself that he was bound to him, even pretending to be him for a semblance of trust. What the chapter seems to show is that Haruka is more down to earth than that girl on TV, but what it really shows is that he's exactly like that girl, but no longer admits it to himself.

No, Haruka, you're not dreaming, or rather you have been until now and now you can't do it anymore.

Because you've reached his idol, you have literally reassembled his image, you've seen the boy you have no interest in behind that reassuring mask.

What this chapter is about is the illusion into which we accept to insert ourselves in order to better resist our fears and existential ills.

Denji doesn't have to exist to shatter the illusions he needs to survive; even his awakening and his speech are too much, as his image no longer matches the one he wears as a universal puppet. He's literally cuter when he's inanimate, because that's what he's made for. At least, that's the only way we accept him. He's made to fill your person, and it's impossible for Chainsaw Man to be a person in his own right.

As proof of this, when Denji wakes up, his first reflex is not to discover that he's complete again, for he exists only to fill others, hence his question to Asa as to where her arm has gone. Unknowingly, Denji has accepted his role.

For Katana Man and Yoru, Chainsaw Man is a goal, a dream to be achieved. Seeing the person behind it, the other half, disturbs them. Considering it might even make them reconsider their choices.

Katana Man has deluded himself into believing that Denji no longer has the heart of a man, that he was his grandfather's tormentor and not the child who was the victim. He needs this revenge to move forward, just as Yoru, as a war demon, needs to fight an unattainable adversary to continue wreaking havoc.

But what's that got to do with it? What does this have to do with beating Denji's balls off?

Who kicked Katana Man in the balls? Aki and Denji. If Chainsaw Man is the metaphor for the comforting illusion of others, Aki is the symbol that revenge (often impossible) is a long-term, survival goal for hearts scarred by resentment. Beating the balls off? The meeting of the two.

When Aki and Denji beat up Katana Man, the illusion of a proud, virile, traditional man who swore by his honor had been shattered. What Katana Man represented to himself and to the readers, this formidable adversary, had been dismantled.

But above all, this was a gentle, more accessible form of revenge, one that would allow us to survive, a way for Aki to avenge Himeno in her own way, without actually avenging her. It's about beating your opponent while admitting you've lost in some way.

Similarly, when Katana Man and Yoru defeat Denji, they lead to a renewed desire to dismantle Chainsaw Man's image. To bring it together as their long-term goal of revenge. But despite this balance of power, this gesture symbolically demonstrates that they are not certain of their victory.

Above all, the important answer in this chapter is once again in the background.

Fami continues to eat undisturbed. She eats all the time, but in this chapter, she seemed almost to be regaining her strength.

Why was that?

Her plan was clear, to make people fear Chainsaw Man as well as the war, to make Yoru and Chainsaw Man champions. But what about the media? They prefer to do what's most profitable, keeping viewers entertained for as long as possible, so that they forget about the real issues.

People prefer to delude themselves, to dream dreams, rather than focus on reality, so will Chainsaw Man and Yoru have their strength increased to the point where they'll be potential opponents for death?

because people are already escaping the fear of death through entertainment, which is even the best champion.

Instead of thinking about our existential crises, we flood our brains with unimportant information.

As the philosopher Pascal would say: "Since men have not been able to cure death, misery and ignorance, they have decided, in order to make themselves happy, not to think about them. Notwithstanding these miseries, he wants to be happy, and only wants to be happy, and cannot not want to be happy".

But let's close this loop of questions: if Chainsaw Man allows this comforting disillusionment, Denji is the opposite, something we refuse to see, if Chainsaw Man is a dream, Denji is reality. Let's get back to our main subject: beating up balls.

When Aki first beat Denji up, he wanted to disgust him enough to prevent him from signing up as a public hunter. Literally, he preferred to spare Denji from reality, by killing the symbol that is Denji (did you miss the headaches I caused?). But when Denji retaliates, to insist that he wants to enlist, it's the other way around: it's the harshness of reality that Denji fully accepts that will prevail over Aki's attempt to protect him.

When Katana Man and Yoru beat Denji's balls off, in reality they're trying to fight the reality of what Chainsaw Man is, this mixture between a boy, reality, and the bloodthirsty enemy, the dream, Chainsaw Man. Beating up Denji is an attempt to avoid the harshness of life. It's that illusion.

So when Denji helped Aki beat up Katana Man, he allowed him to escape his survival mechanisms, his revenge, his illusion, by enjoying the present moment, pure reality. But when Denji defeated Aki, it was also the announcement of the reality of Aki's fate, which would outweigh this illusion - the success of his revenge.

That's why Pochita, the dream and illusion, prevents Denji from opening the door. When Denji sees reality, he can't help opening it. Just as Makima concentrated on her Chainsaw Man dream without seeing reality, Denji right behind it. Just as the dream allows Denji to escape reality, the contract between Denji and Pochita has allowed Denji to become someone else, escaping from himself, himself a victim of the dream without being able to know exactly what he is.

But don't forget, beating the balls off is Denji's tactic.

Why is that? Because no matter how hard you try to escape it, reality will always prevail.

#csm 163 #chainsaw #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man #csm part 2 #Denji #denji hayakawa #asa Mitaka #iseumi #haruka iseumi #aki hayakawa #yoru #katana #katana man #my thoughts #ask #THANK YOU

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secretlilsis · 1 month

Text

Him watching you whilst youre still peacefully sleeping, fully unaware that he had taken control of you - made you his, how he knew it was his right. Watching you, burning your image into his eyes. How gentle you looked, sleeping, breathing evenly, how relaxed - how trusting. He had to resist the urge to gently pet your head or stroke your cheek sleeping like that, but he couldnt ruin it, he couldnt wake you - no that wouldnt be polite. Hed wait until youd wake up naturally. After the drugs he had given you wore off. Then you had time to understand the situation you were in.

And wake up you did. Eyes wide opened, doe eyed stare. Panic from the first second, barely having shaken sleep off. In spite of how much of the drug was still in your system, you instantly remembered the struggle you had with him prior to this - when you had tried to fight him off when he approached you from behind - but the needle sunk into your flesh to fast and you had gone out cold. You tried to get up, tried to run away - the panic written all over your face - but all he had to do was get up and gently stand in front of you to catch your fall, then gently carry you back to bed bridal style and putting you back down on the bed again - almost as if you were nothing but a human-sized doll. He mustered your panic-filled eyes with morbid curiousity, there was something almost sadistic to it. Like he enjoyed your fear, even if all he did was put you back to bed and then gently stroke your face - how little you knew that he had waited oh so long just to be able to gently stroke your face like this. Whilst you had no choice but to accept it, accept his affectionate touch, his love. His feelings.

He took in your fear, and it fueled him with a sense of omnipotence. Right know he had you, fully had you. You belonged to him.

You were to weak to slap his hand away, and you werent sure you wouldve dared to if you had been able to muster the strength so soon again.

But finally you spoke, "... Ethan, you dont have to do this.." You finally uttered, pressed every word like speaking was a pain, when really it was just very exhausting to do in ur current state.

Ethan. Your big brother. The one, that had always looked out for you, when his parents adopted you you had expected any other sibling to be fiercely jealous or territorial, but he hadnt been. Never. Since day one he had clung to you like you were his everything. Loved you a little to much right from the start. Looked at you like you put the stars in the sky.

Watched you.

Observed you.

You hadnt minded his attention for the most part, really. You enjoyed it even. He was the first person in your life that had been truly kind to you, accepted you. Paid attention to you. So you didnt mind it, really, that he paid attention to you a little bit to much. Maybe it was a way to make up for the broken home you had come from, like he was medicine you long needed.

With flushed cheeks did you recall how you had allowed him to touch you - and worse - how much you had desired him too. How much you had wanted his hands all over you.

When you got older you recognized this isnt right, you couldnt do this - have this sort of relationship to him.

But now 5 years after you had moved far away, not told him nor your adoptive parents or anyone that couldve told him, to get away from it at all.

And now you were right back here.

His wandering eyes had never left you.

He caressed you. He had that same obsessed expression in his face. But it was worse, now he was *enjoying* your fear. It hadnt been like that at any given time when you grew up with him, he had never enjoyed making you uncomfortable. He always tried to make you happy, was caring, attentive.

But then again you had left him. Rejected him. Without a word. No goodbye. Made it clear you would not return.

Who knows what happens if someone like him gets rejected and left behind? His hand now caressed your cleavage, and you shivered.

"Big brother -" You instinctively said.

He looked suprised, "Is that still how you think of me?" He looked caught off-guard, almost vulnerable. "I wouldnt have expected that after you just left without me having any way to find you."

He then leaned in closer to kiss your ears, just like he had always done.

"Big brother.. I.. It was my choice to leave -" you stuttered, feeling like your body was glowing.

"And it was my choice to catch you and bring you here." He spoke, cutting you off.

His hands wandering down your body now, caressing you through your thin layer of clothing.

You could feel his hands so well.

"Big brother.. please.." You whispered.

"Shh..." He said "I gave you everything I had to offer, and you still left. Now im taking what is mine without asking first."

You tried to peel his hand off of you, but he only very very gently put your hands away, back to their resting position next to your body.

"Lets see if your body has forgotten me too, shall we? Or if your body atleast will embrace me like it used to." He was whispering now, his eyes so intense.

"Big brother... It was wrong - what we were doing.. It felt good.. I.. I truly loved you.. but we cant- we .." You were stuttering and stammering, feeling a mixture of complex emotions, anger, fear, helplessness, arousal, longing, having missed him even - terror at what had become of him, and wondering why you never thought of him as dangerous before, shouldnt you have known?

"...." He paused for a second. "Whats wrong about this? If you truly loved me, you wouldnt have left me."

"I didnt leave because I didnt love you.. I left because it was wrong to love you..."

He grimaced, "Just surrender. Just give in. If thinking makes you feel that ashamed, just stop thinking. Let me take control. Let your big brother handle this. This isnt wrong. Loving you could never be wrong."

Then he continued, now slowly kneading your breasts with careful pressure - exploring your body like he was trying to get to know you again, make up for lost time.

You were gently moaning, your body still responding to him like it always had. His touch felt welcome, yet shameful at the same time. And this isnt how it should happen, ever. Not like this.

"This isnt fair big brother.. this isnt f-fair.." You spoke, almost moaning into your own sentence as he kept teasing your nipples through your shirt.

"What was fair about you leaving me? I dont need to be fair to you. All I need is to make clear to you, that I own you and youll never escape me. I need to teach you. That loving big brother you claim to have loved so much? You can have him back..... once youve returned to being the little sister that wouldve never thought of leaving me."

You gulped, slowly taking his hand now - him watching you to see where you were going with this - you taking his hand and leading it to your lips, gently kissing his fingers one by one, with a very embarassed, scared even expression - yet in the corners of your eyes he could still see the fragile affection you felt for him.

"Big brother..." You whispered. "Can I ..? Can I take charge of what we are about to do? Id.. I think id feel better about it if I was the active part right now.. I promise I wont run away again, too. I promise." You said, with that vulnerable, exposed expression.

He felt a sick sense of satisfaction to see you offer yourself up in this way. He nodded however, "I dont want you to be in pain, I just want you to be mine. And im.. happy.. youd want to take charge even."

With this you gently climbed on top of his body, and started kissing his cheeks, his forehead, then his lips. Fondling him through his pants, feeling his boner. Every emotion you felt so visible to him, as it always had been. "There you are now, on top of me, touching me .. you know, when we had sex back then you always wanted me to be the active part, so .. im a bit flattered youre taking charge for once."

It was almost like this situation wasnt insane. No, it absoloutely was. But you were good at fooling yourself, and so was he. This could feel normal, this could feel romantic even, he was still someone you loved more than anything no matter how much you tried to deny it. You tried to ignore how far he had gone with this.

You werent sure yourself even, if you were just venting your repressed feelings of love and desire on him - or whether you were acting to assure your own safety. You simply didnt know.

You started kissing the tip of his dick, then started licking around the shaft before taking his dick into your mouth. Hearing his small breaths whenever you started to go really fast.

Eventually when he was close to cumming, and you quickly let him cum onto your breasts.

You looked at him awkwardly not sure what to do next.

"...... You came." You finally commented.

"But you havent yet."

You shifted around nervously, "Do you not intend to let me touch you more too? Im glad you took charge.. but id like to make you cum too, you know like I used to."

You felt a crushing mix of anxiety pulse through your body, meeting with some form of arousal. But you would not have called that comfortable.

"... Big brother.. You cant.. You know this wont.. work.." You started to hesistate, started to talk back.

He looked at you with an empty expression, clearly hiding what he was actually feeling. Was it anger? irritation? sadness? Who knew.

"I promise if you let me go now I .. I wont run away again.... I promise -"

He continued to look at you with that same empty gaze.

Then a small smile formed on his lips, "No. Thats to soon. I have to mark you properly or you wont understand."

And with that he pinned you down, was on top of you in one sudden move and two of his fingers right inside of you -

you remembered how much your body once had longed for him, all the time did you sneak into his room at night just years ago - just to be filled by him again, and again. He had felt so good. His body so right. He was perfect in every way, except that he was your big brother. For a time you had felt it was unfair. But then you had decided it was wrong and shameful and that it had to end.

You felt that same shame now.

Hot, burning shame mixing with hot melting desire - and fear.

His fingers fucking you just as well as you knew him to be capable of. Feeling yourself get wetter, and wetter.

"Ethan .. Please.. Ple--" He put his hand over your mouth to quiet you. You whined against his grip, his response to that was merely to remove his finger from your aching cunt for a second so he could pet your head for a second or two - before continiung to fingerfuck you once more with that same hand.

"Cum for me." He whispered into the nabe of your neck when he felt you close to the edge. And cum you did. A breathy, strong orgasm. Your body collapsed.

Only then did he let go of you, looking at you. Always looking at you.

You wanted to hide your face, but you knew he wouldnt like it, wouldnt allow it, so you didnt - so he could clearly see that aroused, satisfied expression on your face, with the fear - the shame, stinging red and boiling over.

"Oh I know now how you feel." He said thoughtfully. "So ashamed of us. So ashamed of our love. Yet so lustful. So afraid, so, so mine."

He gently planted a kiss onto your forehead.

"Big brother.. Im sorry I left.." You whispered. Still not sure whether you were acting, or whether you were actually sorry you had hurt him with that action.

"I believe you. But.. youll have to win my trust before you can ever hope to be set free again."

#bd/sm master #bd/sm kink #bd/sm community #bd/sm blog #bd/sm brat #bd/sm slave #bd/sm pet #bd/sm daddy #cnc k!nk #cnc kidnapping #sibcon #sibcest #brother x sister #bro x sis #yandere smut #yandere nsft #dubcon #fauxc3st #fauxcest

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thetarotwitch111 · 1 month

Text

What makes you truly unique? - Pick a card flower reading

Each flower carries a different message, revealing a strength that’s uniquely yours. Trust your instincts, pick the one that calls to you the most, and let’s discover what makes you stand out in your own incredible way.

✨I hope this reading brings you some clarity and guidance. If it resonated with you, I’d love to hear about it!

✨ And if you’re looking for something more personal, I also do individual readings—just DM me anytime.

Take a deep breath, ask your guides and the Universe to take you to the message you need to read right now.

———————————————

🩷Pile 1: Rose

 If you were drawn to the Rose, you are someone who carries both tenderness and strength in perfect harmony. You’re the type of person who can offer a comforting embrace when someone is down, but also stand firm when the situation demands it. Your love for others is genuine and deep, and people often come to you because they know you’ll listen with an open heart. You have a natural gift for making others feel valued and understood, and your kindness is something that people cherish about you.

But there’s more to you than just your caring nature. You’ve faced your own battles and come out stronger on the other side. This has given you a quiet confidence that others admire. You don’t just survive difficult times; you thrive! You’ve learned how to protect your heart without closing it off, which is a rare and powerful skill. This balance between being open and guarded is what makes you special.

Message from your Higher Self: Your higher self wants you to know that it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes. Your capacity to love is one of your greatest strengths, but don’t forget that you deserve that same love and care. By taking time for yourself, you’ll be able to continue offering your incredible support to others.

Mantra for the Moment: I am strong in my love and gentle with myself.

Advice from the witch: Keep nurturing your heart, but remember to take care of yourself too. You can carry a piece of rose quartz to help you stay balanced in your relationships. A bath with rose petals also can be a simple way to recharge your emotional energy. And if you enjoy fire magic, light a pink or a white candle and take a moment to appreciate the love you give and receive, recognizing it as a source of your strength.

💜Pile 2: Lavender

 If you were drawn to Lavender, you have a natural ability to bring calm and peace wherever you go, even though you don’t realize it everytime. People find your presence soothing; just being around you makes them feel more at ease. You’re the person others turn to when they need to talk things through or find clarity in a confusing situation. You listen carefully and offer advice that’s wise and thoughtful, often helping others see things from a new perspective.

Your gift isn’t just about what you say, but also about how you make others feel. You have a deep connection to your own inner peace and inner self, and this allows you to stay grounded even when things around you get chaotic. You’ve likely spent time developing your spiritual side, whether through meditation, journaling, or just in a quiet reflection. This connection to your inner world is what gives you such a calm and balanced outlook on life.

Message from your Higher Self: Your higher self wants you to embrace your gift of bringing peace, but also to remember to protect your own energy. It’s okay to say no when you need to recharge. Your calm presence is a gift to the world, and by taking care of yourself, you ensure that you can continue to offer it.

Mantra for the Moment: I bring peace to others by nurturing my own calm.

Advice from the witch: Continue to cultivate your peaceful energy by bringing lavender into your daily life. Whether it’s a sachet under your pillow, a few drops of lavender oil in a bath, or simply enjoying a cup of tea, this herb can help you maintain your inner calm. You can also carry amethyst to keep your energy clear and protect your peace and conect yourself witg your intuition. Light a lilac or a white candle and take a moment to center yourself, acknowledging the calm you bring to others.

💛Pile 3: Sunflower

 If you were drawn to the Sunflower, you are someone who radiates positivity and warmth. You have a bright, optimistic spirit that naturally uplifts those around you. People love being in your presence because you make them feel good about themselves and the world. You’re the kind of person who always sees the glass as half full, and your ability to find the silver lining in any situation is truly special.

But your optimism isn’t just about seeing the good in things; it’s also about believing in people. You have a unique gift for recognizing the potential in others, even when they don’t see it in themselves. You encourage people to pursue their dreams and to embrace their uniqueness. Your energy is bright, and your belief in others often helps them believe in themselves.

Message from your Higher Self: Your higher self wants you to know that your positivity is a powerful force, but it’s okay to take a break when you need it. You don’t always have to be the one lifting others up—it’s important to allow yourself to rest and be supported too. By taking time for self-care, you’ll be able to continue sharing your light with the world.

Mantra for the Moment: I shine bright and inspire others, but I also take time to recharge.

Advice from the witch: Keep spreading your light, but also remember to recharge your own energy. Carry a piece of citrine to enhance your natural positivity and attract even more joy into your life. A bath with sunflower petals or a citrus-scented bath bomb can help you refresh your spirit. Light a yellow candle and reflect on how your positive energy inspires others, and how you can keep that energy flowing by taking care of yourself.

———————————————————

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jaehyunsbreadbasket · 1 year

Text

Dom, Sub, or Switch | Ghostface

Includes Stu, Mickey, Roman, Jill, Amber, Richie, and Ethan

Stu

Sub

Stu's a service top for sure

He'll do anything you say, after all he is very susceptible to peer pressure

He just wants to be good for you because it makes you happy and also because you allow him to cum faster when he behaves

His mind gets so clouded, when you really get him going, he'll agree to anything

He completely shuts his brain off when he's with you, his body is yours for the taking

Mickey

Dom

Nothing turns Mickey on more than having complete control over your body

Constantly testing you to see how far you'll let him go

He knows exactly how to get what he wants out of you

Loves to watch you fall apart for him over and over again

Roman

Switch (Dom leaning)

Roman naturally falls into the dominant role when it comes to his typical hookups

He's quick and bossy, just wanting to get off as soon as possible

But when he really loves you, really feels like you know him, he'll surrender his power to you and fully trust you to take care of him

He has #parentalissues so he'll definitely give you a title of authority that he only uses when he's feeling subby

He's still gonna be a bossy little brat though 90% of the time he subs

Jill

Dom

She's so bossy, Jesus

In the bedroom everything is about her, she's selfish about it

You aren't allowed to cum until she does, and if you do oh boy will you be punished

And Jill's the type that could punish you for hours, she has no limits

She doesn't give a shit about you during sex, you're just a toy for her to use to get off

Amber

Dom

Amber just wants to protect you, take good care of you and make you feel so so good

She's usually quite gentle with you unless you ask otherwise, but she tends to take it slow because she doesn't want to hurt or scare you

Definitely borders on stone top territory because she gets so focused on your pleasure, will even turn you down sometimes when you ask to help her out too

Just give her lots and lots of praise and she'll give it right back to you

Richie

Switch (Dom leaning)

Richie is a bit of a control freak, always wanting to have the upper hand in any given situation

And honestly nothing gets him going quite like having you on your knees for him, completely at his mercy

He's quite open to experiment though and will occasionally allow you to take over

You wanna try out bondage? He's all yours. Don't think he isn't gonna fight you on it though, trying to regain control is half the fun for him when he's subbing

Ethan

Switch (Sub leaning)

He just wants to make you feel good so you'll give him tooonnns of praise

You wanna be fucked hard and called a slut? Done. You wanna edge him for hours and call him your good boy? You got it

As long as you tell him how much you love him and how nobody could make you feel better, he's good

When he doms, he get's so mean. He goes mad with power and will do things totally out of his normal character

When he's subbing he's the sweetest boy in the world, so fucking desperate for you, your perfect baby

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Scream Masterlist

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gentlekalita · 1 month

Text

Mental Safety in BDSM

It’s your Gentle Domme Kalita here, and today we’re diving into an incredibly important topic: mental safety in BDSM. While the physical aspects of BDSM often receive a lot of attention, it’s crucial not to overlook the emotional and psychological dynamics that play a vital role in creating a safe and fulfilling experience. Whether you’re a seasoned practitioner or just beginning your journey, understanding mental safety can enhance your experiences and build stronger connections. Let’s explore together!

Understanding Mental Safety

Mental safety refers to the emotional well-being of all participants in a BDSM dynamic. It encompasses feelings of trust, respect, and the ability to freely express thoughts and boundaries. Feeling mentally safe is just as important as physical safety, and both should be prioritized for a genuinely enjoyable experience.

1. Open Communication

The cornerstone of mental safety in BDSM is communication. Here’s how to cultivate an open dialogue:

Pre-Scene Conversations: Before you engage in any BDSM activities, have a thorough discussion with your partner(s) to talk about desires, limits, and expectations. This dialogue helps to establish trust and ensures everyone is on the same page.

Discuss Aftercare Needs: Talk about what you might need emotionally after a scene. Some people prefer cuddling and reassurance, while others may want a bit of space. Understanding your partner’s needs fosters safety and connection.

Check-Ins: During a scene, establish a method for checking in with one another. This can be verbal, using safe words, or through non-verbal cues. Continually affirming comfort and consent is essential.

2. Setting Boundaries

Boundaries are crucial in maintaining mental safety:

Define Limits: Clearly communicate what is acceptable and what crosses a line. This step may include discussing hard limits (non-negotiable) and soft limits (areas that may be explored with caution).

Create Safe Words: Establishing safe words is fundamental. Use a straightforward system like "red" for stop and "yellow" for slow down/check-in. This clarity helps alleviate stress, enabling everyone to focus on the experience rather than worrying about crossing boundaries.

3. Understanding Consent

Consent is not just a one-time agreement but an ongoing conversation:

Enthusiastic Consent: Ensure that consent is given enthusiastically and willingly. Everyone involved should feel positive about participation and the activities planned.

Revoking Consent: Teach participants that it’s okay to change their minds and revoke consent at any time. Understanding that it’s not just the scene but the emotional state that is constant means feeling empowered to speak up if something doesn’t feel right.

4. Aftercare: A Key Component

Aftercare is essential for mental safety and emotional recovery following BDSM activities:

Nurturing Connection: Spend time together post-scene, engaging in cuddles, sweet words, or any comforting activities that reinforce trust and intimacy. Aftercare helps to settle emotional highs and lows after an intense experience.

Discussing the Scene: Talk about what went well and what could improve in the future. Sharing feelings and experiences can provide closure and understanding, enhancing the connection for future sessions.

Self-Care: Encourage practicing self-care routines post-play, whether that involves winding down alone, journaling, or bathing. Engaging in self-love reinforces mental well-being.

5. Recognizing Emotional Triggers

Understanding emotional triggers is crucial for maintaining mental safety:

Identify Triggers: Before engaging in BDSM, participants should discuss any personal emotional triggers they may have. This knowledge ensures that certain situations or actions do not invoke unintended distress.

Create a Safety Plan: If a moment comes when someone feels overwhelmed or triggered, having a plan in place—like a trusted safe word—helps mitigate potential emotional difficulties.

6. Education and Exploration

Knowledge is empowering when it comes to BDSM:

Take Time to Learn: Engage in readings, workshops, or discussions focused on BDSM principles. Educating yourself about different dynamics enhances understanding and emotional intelligence.

Attend Communities or Forums: Participate in local BDSM communities or online forums where you can openly discuss ideas, experiences, and concerns without judgment.

✨ Join Me for More Nurturing Adventures!

Are you ready to delve deeper into the beautiful world of BDSM while prioritizing your mental safety? I invite you to join me in my live camming sessions, where we can discuss these important concepts, share experiences, and create a supportive community that embraces exploration and self-discovery.

👉 CHECK MY BIO! 💖

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

iFall for Harry pt. 8

Summary: The eighth part to iFall for Harry

You and Harry have your final phone call.

And you tell him the truth you've been avoiding since that fateful day in the diner.

Word Count: 3.2k

“So…what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you mean since I fled from the diner in a fit of dramatic rage? Not much. Just…picking up the pieces of my pathetic excuse for a life. The usual. You?”

“Honestly? Pretty much the same.”

You feel your heart flutter as you flop down onto your bed, phone still pressed tightly to your ear. “Yes, I’m sure your fabulous, glorious, and very expensive life is quite pathetic.”

“Maybe not that. But the diner wasn’t my proudest moment. Been picking up those pieces since you left.”

Shit. There's not enough alcohol in the world to soften that blow. “Harry…I’m so sorry—”

“No. Don’t be,” he interjects through a bit of static. “Seriously. I get it. I thought about it a lot after you left, and you were right. I mean, you were right to be…wary. I guess.”

You swallow thickly. “Still…I should have heard you out—”

“Wouldn’t have changed anything,” he says, once again cutting your response short. “Really, it’s fine. I’ve made peace with it. Or…I’m making peace with it. Right now. Talking to you. For the last time.”

Shit, shit, shit. The tears are already working their way back up your throat as you roll over onto your back and stare up and the ceiling. “I like the idea of us being friends. And I appreciate you for…offering to make space for me. I just…I can’t—”

“Really, you don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“No, I know, I just…I know you’re probably a good guy, and you’re trying to…make this work—”

“No, you said no, and I pushed you anyway. I even did it again, like…five minutes ago. Tried to make you do something you didn’t want to—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I don’t think it would work—”

“Right, and I can’t change your mind about that—”

“It’s not that you need to change my mind, it’s just…I wouldn’t want to hurt you—”

“I’m telling you, you don’t have to explain. I get it—”

You huff. “Harry, would you please just let me apologize—”

“No.” His reply is resolute. Slicing through the phone until you bite your lip and swallow the rest of your argument. “No, you don’t have to apologize. It’s…a weird situation. You had every right to be wary and I jumped the gun. You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me. We’re good, Cheese Girl. Seriously.”

Even still, your eyes flutter shut. “You being so nice and understanding is not helping me let you go.”

You hear a gentle chuckle. “Oops?”

“Did you decide all this in the past five minutes, then? Because you were pretty adamant when I first called.”

“Kind of, yeah.” Some rustling. You imagine him sitting down. Because you can actually imagine him now. Put a face to the voice. To the name. The idea. “If I have to say goodbye, I don’t want our last conversation to be me trying to convince you to do something you don’t want to do.”

Your stomach wrenches. “Again, it’s not that I don’t want to…I just…I don’t…”

You can’t seem to force the explanation free, but your silence seems to tell him what he needs to know.

He sighs. “I get it. Really. Like I said, this is…a strange thing. It’s not a fairytale. We can’t make something work just because we want it.”

You bite the inside of your lip. “But you still think I should have given it more of a chance.”

A beat.

“Maybe,” he admits, and a tear slips from your eye. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe this saves us some heartache.”

Tell him.

The command rings between your ears as you suck in a sharp breath. It’s not the first time you’ve contemplated telling him the truth. Telling him why you’re so hesitant. Why you’re so nervous.

But even with all this wine…you can’t make the story come out.

After all…it wouldn’t change anything.

It’s too late.

“Tell me something good,” you whisper. “Tell me…tell me what the best part of your day was.”

He hums, and you wait. Changing the subject is the only way you’ll get through this phone call. Creating some final memories before you go.

“Saw a ladybug on my hat,” he tells you, sounding rather excited. “It was really cute. It rode with me all the way through town. We became buddies.”

You laugh through the desolation. “How sweet. I love ladybugs.”

“Yeah? Me, too. I named him Francis.”

“Francis?”

“Yeah. Like the ladybug in A Bug’s Life.”

“Oh…you a big Bug’s Life fan?”

“Yeah, why not? Pixar is great.”

“Pixar is great. That’s cute you’re such a Disney follower.”

“What can I say? I have taste.”

“I bet your millions of Twitter followers would absolutely love to know that.”

There’s another moment of silence before he snorts to himself. “I think they know a little too much about me already.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Just…because,” he replies coyly, and you smirk, “I might have…accidentally…liked some porn on there and everybody saw.”

You gasp so hard, you nearly choke. “You’re kidding. Seriously?”

“Seriously.” You think you hear him grin. “God, I was so fucking embarrassed. I didn’t realize you could see what somebody liked on Twitter. Nobody ever told me.”

“So…you liked the porn and then what?”

“I…okay, don’t fucking laugh,” he begins hesitantly, and you feel yourself smile. “I thought if I just…liked a bunch of other stuff immediately after, like pictures of cute kittens…people would think it was a glitch.”

You bite back a laugh. “And did they?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “My pussy plan was a complete and utter failure and to this day, my sister still makes fun of me for it.”

You slap a palm over your mouth to hide your laughter as Harry groans from his side of the phone. “Okay, then what did you do?”

“Well, what else could I do? I said, ‘So…the weather?’ and that was that,” he replies, and you can hear his amusement. “My mum threatened to ground me.”

“Oh, as she should.”

“Not for the first time, either. Apparently, I have a problem.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There was this TV thing…I don’t know, basically I said pussy on national television, and she was pissed.”

“Oh…my god.”

“Okay, in my defense…I was being a good friend. I was telling him how much tail he was gonna get, and I think that was a very nice thing for me to say.”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, what, like you’ve never done anything like that?”

“Like responding to porn on twitter and saying pussy on TV? No. No, I can’t quite say that I have.”

“Shame,” he retorts, and you hear his gentle chuckle. “It’s quite liberating.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

The conversation lulls then, leaving you to listen to the soft breaths in your ear.

And you listen for quite some time, overwhelmed by the comfort you feel in knowing he’s there.

And overwhelmed by the fear that comes with it.

“His name was Nico.”

“What?”

Your eyes squeeze shut. “The guy I was being catfished with. A few years ago. His name was Nico.”

Silence settles between you as Harry seems to await the rest of the story.

“It was….god, it was so dumb,” you begin, waves of remorse washing over you. “It was back in college. There was this guy in my class that was kind of cute. I really liked him, and my friends and I used to…you know, giggle about it all the time.”

You hesitate, fingers curling even tighter around the small device against your cheek.

“Anyway, one day my friend told me that he wanted my number and had given it to her to give to me. So, I started texting him. And we texted for…shit, for months. All the time. Like…all the time. From the moment we got up to the moment we went to bed.”

You hear some static from his end and feel slightly calmed by knowing he’s still there.

“I told him…everything. Everything. I mean, things I had never told anyone else. Not even my therapist,” you admit, voice dissipating into a whisper. “And…and we sexted a bunch, and he asked for nudes, and I sent them because I’m an idiot.”

You take a deep breath.

“And for some reason, it never struck me as odd that he never actually talked to me in person,” you continue. “Or that he told me he was too busy to hang out. Or that he couldn’t call and actually talk. Or that whenever we were in class, he wouldn’t even look at me. I just thought…you know, he’s popular, he’s a good student…at least he texts me. And I felt so lucky.”

Harry inhales quietly as well, almost as if he knows where this is going, and you feel your skin grow hot.

“Then one day…he ghosted me. Just completely stopped replying. Wouldn’t answer a single text that I sent, and whenever I called, it went straight to voicemail,” you recall. “And I cried about it to my friends, and I tried really hard to get over it, but eventually, I got so pissed…I went up to him in class.”

“Shit,” Harry murmurs, and your heart lurches.

“Yeah. He had no idea who I was,” you snort bitterly. “Introduced himself and everything. And I explained about the messages, and he was so confused. And then he took out his phone to show me that it wasn’t him. Even showed me his number. Which was not at all the number I had been texting.”

Another quiet stillness as this sinks in.

“Long story short, it had been my friend,” you reveal, the admission nearly catching in your throat on the way out. “Actually, it was a few of my friends. They thought it would be funny, and apparently, they didn’t expect it to get so far. But then it did, and they couldn’t back out. So, they went with it. For months. Through the sexting, and the pictures, and all the secrets.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, and you nod to yourself.

“Yeah. So…Nico was really sympathetic when I found out. He apologized on their behalf and said he hoped there were no hard feelings. Which was nice, but…you know, I didn’t know what to do,” you breathe. “The rest of the year, I just kept waiting for the girls to do something with everything I had said and sent. Waited for all the things I had told them to get posted on a blog or for the pictures to get leaked.”

“Did they?” There’s a certain apprehension to his question. Almost as if he’s nervous to hear the answer.

“No,” you say, rather relieved. Even after all this time. “No, they just never talked to me again. And I spent a long time learning to be okay with what happened.”

“But it wasn’t okay,” he argues, and you can almost hear the frown he must be wearing. “And you don’t have to be okay with it. I…that’s the most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well…I can’t do anything about it now,” you sigh, reaching over to absentmindedly fiddle with a loose string on your duvet. “Anyway. Then I started texting you. And it was great because I didn’t know you from Adam. And it was never gonna go past a few cheese puns. And I had told myself that this is where I get over what happened. I make a better memory. I let the past go.”

He's quiet.

“And then you wanted to call,” you mumble. “And I figured, what the hell. Because if you were someone I knew, I’d recognize the voice. But I didn’t. And you sounded really nice. And hot. And for just a minute, talking to you…I forgot. I forgot why I was so scared. I forgot what had happened…and I had fun.”

He takes another breath, and you sink further into your mattress.

“And then you wanted to meet,” you whisper. “And I almost didn’t come, but then I decided that if this was another joke…I’d stand up for myself this time. I’d tell you off. I’d give myself a better ending. And then…I saw you.”

Another beat before you hear him murmur, “Shit.”

“And I know it wasn’t fair of me to assume the worst,” you tell him. “But I did. I saw you, and I saw a hundred and one opportunities for you to humiliate me. And I saw Nico, and I saw those girls, and I realized…I couldn’t trust you.”

You’re not sure when, but the tears you had been trying so hard to swallow are now streaming down your face.

“Not that I didn’t want to trust you,” you blubber. “But that I couldn’t. I couldn’t—can’t—trust anybody. I don’t know how anymore. And…and I don’t think that’s gonna change. I don’t know how to make it change, and that’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to put this on you when all you’ve done is try…try—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts, attempting to soothe you through a softer tone. “It’s all right. You’re okay, yeah? You’re okay. You don’t have to explain, okay? I understand. I understand, ladybug, and I’m so sorry.”

This new nickname brings your soft sniffles to a halt as your lips tug up in a smile.

“I’m…shit,” he exhales. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m…I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that. And I’m so sorry that meeting me brought it all back up—”

“No. No, it wasn’t you, I just—”

“Still, it was probably way too close to home—”

“Maybe, but I know you were just being nice, and—"

“Can you let me finish?” he snaps but you can hear the playful undertone. “I understand why you don’t feel ready to give your trust away again. Believe me. I understand. And I would never want you to do something before you were ready. Ever. So…thank you for telling me. And I’m so…so sorry.”

You swipe your knuckles across your cheek as you work to steady your breathing. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Don’t care. I am anyway.”

A steady calm echoes between you.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“…thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not hanging up.”

You hear him sigh, and it sounds heavy. “I won’t hang up until you’re ready.”

Another beat.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Your heart pounds.

“I’m really gonna miss you.”

He takes another breath, and you feel the hole in your stomach grow a bit wider.

“Yeah. I’m really gonna miss you, too.”

You spend the rest of the night exchanging stories about your lives. He tells you about his X-Factor audition and his family. You tell him about your dog and your weird fascination with Back to the Future.

He makes you promise that one day, you’ll watch the movie together.

And despite the fact that you both know it’ll never happen…you agree with a giant smile on your face.

Hours go by. Until the sun is beginning to come up and your eyelids are beginning to go down.

You don’t want to hang up. Don’t want to let him go or say goodbye.

But the longer you talk, the more stories he tells, the more little quirks you become enamored by…the more you realize you’re beginning to really like him.

And the more you realize that losing him…just might kill you.

You’d wanted a happier ending than the one you got before. And perhaps this is your happier ending. Even if it ends in a dial tone.

Either way, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ll never be able to give Harry the kind of partner he needs. Or the kind of friend or confidant. Your trust in the smallest of things has been shattered, and with his life…you never know what might come out of the woodwork.

You don’t know if those girls would come back to claim their five minutes of fame. If they’d attempt to blackmail you, or even worse…him.

You don’t know if you’d ever feel safe with cameras following you around or if you’d ever be able to trust that he wasn’t using this situation for personal gain.

And you hate that you wouldn’t. You hate that you can’t just believe him. You hate that your own mind is working against you.

But you especially hate that he’s been nothing but great cheese puns and amazing phone sex. That there’s so much more to discover about him. That he’s so kind.

And that you’re so…broken.

The soft golden streams of light slip through your curtains and offer you their morning greeting. It’s a new day.

For both of you.

It hits you then. Letting him go—actually having to press the button—might ruin you. You aren’t sure you have the strength. You aren’t sure you can let these few wonderful things go and block him out of your life for good.

No matter if it’s the right or wrong thing. It’s the only thing you can do.

You haven’t spoken in a few minutes. Instead, listening to him recall his favorite spots in London. The soft, silky sound of his voice luring you deeper into your infatuation.

You realize you can’t do it. You can’t be the one to hang up the phone. To tell him goodbye.

You can’t. Your tongue physically won’t let you.

So…you devise a plan.

“Ladybug?” he calls after his story has finished. “You there?”

Silence.

You are here. You are, and you don’t plan to go until he hangs up. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever do this.

You have to force his hand.

“Cheese Girl?” he teases before you can practically hear the smile slip from his face. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

Your pulse bounces against your ribcage like a basketball as you hear him sigh.

“I think you’re asleep,” he decides. Softly. As if speaking to himself. “And I think that means it’s time to go.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. No…

“In case you aren’t asleep…and you can hear me…” he begins as your throat constricts, “…I want you to know how happy I am that I met you. That you got my number instead of his. And that you gave me some of the best cheese puns I’ll ever hear.”

I’m happy I met you, too.

“I’m so fucking sorry for what happened,” he sighs. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t have…fixed it for you.”

Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.

“You deserve so much better than what happened.”

You deserve better than me.

“And I know you’ll find someone who can help you rebuild your trust.”

It should have been you. It should be you.

“Please take care of yourself, Ladybug.”

I don’t think I know how.

“And please remember me in a better light than the I-Liked-Porn-On-Twitter light,” he chuckles.

You smile.

“I will always…brie here…if you need anything,” he finishes, and your grin gets a bit wider, forcing a tear from your eye.

Don’t say goodbye.

“Goodbye, Cheese Girl.”

With that…the phone beeps three times.

And the call goes quiet.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 9

Previous Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 7

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist (if I'm doing this right, and if you'd rather be taken off, just let me know!!):

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan #harry styles request #harry edward styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #iFall for Harry #harry and cheese girl #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot

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nightwngz · 1 month

Note

Oh my beloved, here's a little idea for you!

'Am I the asshole for dating my best friend's ex?' Where Barry absolutely couldn't let slip the opportunity to have Hal's pretty ex for himself, well, she doesn't belong to him anymore right?

Like, he sees that she's so sad because of the breakup and he's just so nice, gentle, kind with her, why not give him a chance? Barry knows that it must sucks to not have someone to kiss :(((

— 𝓔𝐱 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 ✩!!

barry allen x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀… Smut. Dirty talk. Fingering, p in v.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . Omg, omg! You practically read my mind because Barry is practically my current obsession. By the way, sorry for the delay, dear, I didn't quite know how to write it. 💗

Barry and Hal have always been best friends. They got along so well that even when you were dating Hal, it never occurred to you that Barry might betray his trust, not even if you suggested it yourself.

And after spending so much time going out with your friend and sharing dinners, lunches, and breakfasts, with a bit of a hangover in between, you started to think that Barry could also become a good friend for you.

Even after you broke up with Hal, Barry continued to stand by your side, supporting and indulging you.

Though you never suspected him of double-dealing, Barry remained neutral about your breakup. It's not that he didn't care about Hal; in fact, he had more than once questioned whether he was doing the wrong thing by approaching you, even after you and Hal had ended things.

But yes, he was a complete asshole for approaching you in the first place, and he was even more of an idiot for falling in love with his friend's girlfriend in the first place.

He had fantasized about Hal's girlfriend countless times, and many of those times he had to restrain the desire to touch himself by thinking of you, so as not to betray him.

But it wasn't until he saw you crying on the floor of your apartment with a bottle of alcohol in your hand that he realized you were no longer his best friend's girlfriend. The relationship had ended, and although you were still dealing with the aftermath of the breakup, there was nothing that alcohol and other distractions couldn't alleviate.

"Hal is my friend, but sometimes he can be a real jerk. Don't worry, if you need to vent, go ahead," he suggested, trying to be friendly.

However, when you took his lips without permission as a means of release, Barry neither objected nor resisted. He thought that given your situation, it must be terrible not to have anyone to kiss.

Sad thoughts about Hal vanished the moment Barry's tongue entered your mouth. Maybe it was just what you needed to forget, since not even he, as your ex's best friend, seemed to care what Hal might think, and even less so did you.

Barry had inevitably thought of Hal. He couldn’t help but remember his friend while his ex-girlfriend’s tongue slid into his mouth and he felt her hips moving until she was straddling his belt. However, he didn’t stop; in fact, the thought that she no longer belonged to him crossed his mind, which only drove him to continue.

It was too late to regret when he felt your hands sliding down his hips, pulling at his clothes. He couldn't resist pushing you onto your back, landing on top of you and pinning your body against the couch.

He kissed you desperately as if you were his last meal, holding you tight with his hands and his tongue on your mouth, exploring every inch of your skin that was still hidden under the fabric he hastily removed.

Even as he slid his fingers aside your underwear, without removing it completely, to enjoy caressing your wet crotch, he smiled. He knew he had what he so desperately wanted, like a whimsical child with his new toy.

"Did Hal miss out on all this? Too bad for him that now I have to take care of this tight pussy." He whispered in your ear with a grin, licking his fingers gently so you could hear the obscene sound close up.

And finally, when he got inside you so deeply that tears welled up in your eyes at the intrusion, you felt completely convinced that you had done the right thing by breaking up with Hal, something that Barry also agreed with. You smiled at the thought that he had taken advantage of the situation and looked at him, convinced that he had orchestrated the whole thing for his own benefit.

"Don't look at me like that, honey. It's not my fault that Hal missed how deliciously tight your pussy feels. . ."

#dc comics #dc universe #smut #the flash #barry allen #barry allen x reader #barry allen x fem!reader #barry allen x y/n #barry allen smut #hal jordan x fem!reader #hal jordan x reader

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hiskillingjar · 5 months

Note

Could we get some aftercare with Strade? (Like him patching up mc and being all sweet and gentle after a torture session and mc is confused and doesn’t know how to process it)

i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned it so thanks for making me pick this back up.

2500+ words, literal follow up of strade's route in btd. it is what it is

*CLICK*

The heavy collar was fastened around your neck before you had the chance to say anything, and already, you could feel the heavy weight of it, both physically and symbolically.

He had claimed you. He owned you.

He controlled whether you lived or died, which was entirely dependent on whether you entertained him…or not. “Come on, buddy.” Amid your silence, Strade stood to his feet and dusted his hands off on his trousers, before he offered a hand out to you. “You must be exhausted. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

An almost kind smile came to his face (his handsome face, still handsome in spite of everything he had done to you for the last three days) and he didn’t even seem that annoyed when you hesitated to reach out for him.

In fact, he was remarkably patient, given the situation.

You blinked wide, scared eyes at who was now, effectively, your captor, half expecting yourself to burst into tears at the shallow display of kindness.

You anticipated him whipping a knife out as soon as you reached out for him, anticipated him laughing cruelly at you for being so gullible, so trusting.

You anticipated him continuing the brutal torture that you had survived for three days before this, until your brain broke and your body splintered into bloody shards in his hands.

But he didn’t.

He just waited for you.

All without a snarky word or a raised eyebrow.

Maybe if others had been so patient and kind with you before this, you wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Ironic, really.

After another long moment, you eventually reached out for him and took his hand.

“There you go,” Strade muttered softly as your hand slipped into his own. “Not so bad, is it?”

He hauled you onto your shaking feet with surprising ease, demonstrating his intimidating strength (demonstrating how you wouldn’t have won if you tried to fight back against him).

You hadn’t used your legs in a couple of days and the searing pain still coursing through your body quickly fired up again, causing you to stumble with a weak cry and a whimper.

Falling into his arms.

In another universe, the act of him catching you would have been charming. Romantic almost.

It seemed twisted to consider it romantic now.

“Woah, easy there!” He exclaimed with a little chuckle, and not a mean one either. He attempted to support your shaking body the best he could, draping one of your arms around his shoulder, his free arm drifting downward to wrap around your shuddering waist. “Guess I should have known you’d have trouble walking right away. Sorry about that.”

He apologised and it almost made you laugh (almost made you throw up).

Because he’s not apologising for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for putting a fucking drill through your foot, for fucking raping you while you were near comatose.

He was just apologising for thinking you’d be able to walk properly after all of that.

His seemingly genuine kindness was enough to make your muscles clench, your stomach ache, your heart pound in your chest.

It made your head spin.

You couldn’t seem to reconcile these two very different sides of him. It couldn’t be the same man, could it?

He was apologising. Did he even know what he was apologising for?

“I’ll help you up the stairs, alright?” He offered, and you nodded quickly, not sure what else to do. “Then we’ll figure a place to put you for the time being, while I assess the new, ah, new living situation. Okay?”

“Okay,” You mumbled weakly, as he hauled you upwards (pulling you towards his cocked hip) and helped you up the wooden steps, doing his best to put as little strain on your injured foot as possible.

It almost felt nice to be treated so gently, so patiently, to be the vulnerable one for a change, and let someone else, someone stronger, someone older, take care of the situation…even if that meant being vulnerable to someone like Strade.

He led you up the stairs of the basement, past the heavy, locked door, and into a...totally normal-looking hallway.

You almost scoffed, it was so normal (barring the lack of pictures on the wall, or any modicum of personality in what little you could see of what must have been his house) as he reached back to close and lock the door behind him.

"Hm?" He looked towards you with a raised eyebrow. You hadn't realised that you had, in fact, scoffed out loud. He didn’t seem rushed or tense, though, not like he was dealing with a hostage.

In fact, he seemed quite calm.

"...Nice place." You murmured, averting your eyes.

"Ah, if you say so." He chuckled, pocketing a set of keys and placing his arm back around your waist, before pulling you into his side once again. "It's a means to an end. Something that makes me look...mm, normal, you know?"

You didn't know. But you nodded your head all the same.

He didn't continue his line of thought as he led you up the second set of stairs, bare feet comforted by soft, grey carpet that was getting slowly dotted with blood from your punctured foot.

You didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

You were relieved when he opened the door to, again, a normal-looking and plain bathroom and led you both inside, locking the door behind him and approaching the large tub. “A friend of mine says that a bath is the best way to feel better,” He said, adjusting the handle of the spout and putting his palm underneath the running water, checking the temperature. “They’re not for me, personally, but it’ll probably feel nice for you, right?”

“Mm,” You hummed, biting your lip, settling down on the closed toilet lid and holding yourself tight.

Your relief was finally starting to settle in, but, conversely, the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were beginning to feel the full, sharp extent of your injuries. Tears threatened to stream down your cheeks, and he seemed to pick up on that.

He looked at you then, amused in spite of your pain, his golden eyes crinkling fondly.

"This may sound a little intrusive," He apologised, his voice gentler, softer. "But, can I..?"

"Huh?" You looked up.

He'd never concerned himself with not being intrusive before. Why now?

“Let me help you get undressed,” He said, taking a step closer towards you with an easy, laidback smile, the kind of smile that immediately won you over and settled you in the bar. “You’re probably too weak to do it yourself right now…right?”

You gave him an uneasy look, half expecting him to do something...expected.

"Relax," He insisted, as he reached down to untie the strings of your stained jogging shorts (why had you left your apartment in those?), his voice and touch unnervingly soft and gentle, handling you with far more patience than you were used to. "I won't hurt you more than I already have."

“For some reason, I doubt that,” You mumbled grouchily as your shorts slid down, just about grazing your cuts enough to sting.

“So cruel to me, liebling,” He asked, his voice tinged with playfulness and even a small hint of fake outrage. “Do you have any faith in your captor at all?”

“None.”

You tried not to make eye contact with him as he tucked his strong hands beneath your (blood) stained top and pulled it off, letting it fall to your still-shifting feet and revealing your ratty sports bra.

“Hmph,” He huffed dramatically, as if your reply had genuinely offended him. “You don’t have to be so cold.”

With a soft laugh (clearly, he wasn’t that upset with how stand-off-ish you were being), he pulled the bra off without much struggle (your arms were in no state to do any fighting anyway).

You shivered, feeling the sudden cool air on your chest, enough to make your nipples swell.

He didn’t say anything about that, but he did look a little smug as his eyes drifted up and down your body.

“Underwear off, then,” He then said, giving you a pleased look. “I’ll be a gentleman and leave that to you.”

You hesitated for a second before reaching for the straps of your panties, pulling them down your marred thighs and letting them fall to your feet too.

Strangely, he seemed far less interested the more you undressed, though.

“Huh…not a bad body,” He commented placidly like he was commenting on something mundane or dull. You almost scoffed again as you crossed your arms (and he let you do it). “You do look a little pale, though,” He added with a slight tilt of his head, his voice softening once again as he turned back to the bath and pushed the tap down to a stop. “I guess the blood loss is normal in your case…” “I guess so,” You replied with a little sigh, covering yourself more tightly with your arms while he dragged a hand through the hot water.

"Lie down into the bath," He instructed a little sternly after standing up straight again and wiping his damp hands down his front, his tone suddenly more authoritative. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Your legs felt like they were about to give out from under you as he spoke, but you didn't even attempt to argue with him. You just did as he said.

The water was much hotter than you expected, hot enough that steam was emitting in short wisps from the surface, making you immediately inhale with subdued pain (never mind how the hot water felt on your open wounds).

You quickly sank down into the tub, though. settled by the heat and the comforting warmth of it, like a blanket on your aching limbs, quicksand on your shoulders. It felt…safe, in a perverse kind of way.

You were growing used to perversion, though.

“Ah, you looked like you needed that,” Strade said after a few silent minutes, and when you looked up, you saw that he was stripping off himself. “Move up.”

"Mm!" You let out a little squeak of surprise as he stepped into the tub behind you, his warm body, his tank skin pressed to yours. “H-Hey, come on, I just wanted to relax!”

"So, relax," He said lightheartedly, with the kind of commanding tone you were starting to get used to. He was going to have his way, no matter what you said, so better to just…let it be.

The bath was more than big enough for the two of you (you could only guess how much it must have cost him), but a self-conscious gnaw on your brain forced you to try and appear as small as possible against his broad chest.

Curling your knees up to your chest, hunching your shoulders inwards, dipping your head down.

“Hmph, that’s cute.” He said, almost fondly and with an audible smile, slowly stroking up and down your back with a gentle touch. “You’re so tense…almost like you’re scared or something.”

His fingertips were calloused from years of physical labour (you didn’t want to think what that labour might have been) as they traced up and down the tattooed lines of ink in your skin, slow and almost curious. And, despite how frightened you might have been, you couldn’t help but lean back against him, relishing in his softness, his almost kindness, while he was still in a good mood.

"There we go," Strade said with a pleased murmur. "Perfect. Exactly like that."

Strade slipped a hand around your stomach, and rubbed the skin gently, before slowly sliding upwards, inch by inch, until his fingers were gliding against your ribs. without any kind of malicious intention, humming softly into your hair.

You don’t know what song he’s humming.

You found yourself sighing with a weird kind of pleasure, sinking further into the warm water that soothed your aching muscles, and relaxing against his soft chest. He seemed satisfied by how much you were relaxing and wrapped both arms around your middle, pressing his face into your hair and taking in a long inhale of you.

It felt nice.

Maybe you should just stop denying yourself pleasure and accept the good things he was offering.

Your body was so close to his that you could feel every part of him, the twitches in his muscles, the shifting of his arms and legs around you, the initial stirrings of arousal of his cock against your backside.

It was easy to forget that he was your captor now, and not...something else.

An older boyfriend your mother didn’t approve of, a mentor you were growing closer and closer to, a cute stranger who picked you up at a bar for a consensual fucking.

The warm water of the bath, the steam fogging up every surface, his slick skin against yours, all made it easy to forget the world outside, the pain in your body, and the injuries that you had already sustained.

It felt like it was just you and him alone, in that tiny, enclosed space.

"Relax," He breathed softly in your ear, the warm breath from his every word tickling your neck and making you shiver. “Let me take care of you.”

“Mm…” You sighed as he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. “That’s…ah, that’s nice.”

“Mmmhmm,” He echoed softly, the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his chest, making you shiver once more.

The heat of the water was inviting, as was his embrace. Strade drew his hands along your ribs and up your chest, squeezing and groping them lazily, sleepily, gently, his touch so soft now.

He didn’t seem interested in hurting you anymore.

In fact, it felt almost like the opposite...

But…

You couldn’t help but notice the swirling of crimson blood in the water.

How comforting the water had been, and yet, how much iit stung the deep wound in your foot, the cuts up your thighs and across your chest.

How the person who had caused you such pain was so peaceful behind you, touching your body like he was scared you would break.

He had wanted to break you so badly before. Why was he now treating you so delicately?

You sighed quietly as his hand slid a little higher up, over your collarbone and...over your new collar. It wasn’t a particularly tight fit, but it was always there.

Always a reminder. A warning.

The feel of his hand grazing against the cold metal of the collar was...odd.

Strange.

Unnerving.

He stopped for longer at the collar, his fingers slowly wrapping around it. You knew he felt your tension increase, but he did nothing to further provoke you.

Just the same, his fingers remained there, almost like he was waiting for something.

"What?" You murmured softly, your eyes locked down on your bloody foot.

"Just..." He murmured, his voice oddly husky and rough from the close, confined space you two now shared. “Happy to have you here. That’s all.” “Hm…” You hummed. “Thanks. I guess.”

#strade btd #strade ykmet #strade x reader #strade x mc #qs #fics #drabbles

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kaorisun · 1 year

Text

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 immortality is an abundant curse (3)

pairing : blade x reader

tags : hurt no comfort, angst, canon divergence

word count : 4.88k

chapters : one • two • three

crossposted to : AO3

Summary : “Everything changed the day Imbibitor Lunae committed a grave sin in the eyes of the Xianzhou. Upon Ren, he bestowed the most abundant curse known to man.

“Immortality.”

The full story.

Yanqing wears his heart on his sleeve.

Given this fact, you truly should’ve figured that Jing Yuan would know exactly who had taken his diary upon discovering it missing.

However, this thought doesn’t cross your mind, so when Jing Yuan arrives at the clinic that night to search for his young apprentice, you’re terribly startled.

Yanqing, who’d been carefully showing you the fruits of his training inside the clinic, drops his sword with a clatter, gasping upon seeing the General appear at the door.

“It wasn’t me!” he yelps indignantly. Jing Yuan gives the boy an amused look.

“Oh? I haven’t even mentioned what I’m here for. How did you know I’d accuse you?” the General questions. Yanqing deflates, having exposed himself and his guilt without the man having to do so much as lift a finger. You reach out towards Yanqing, wanting to defend the boy from any potential ire or anger.

All things considered, he’d done it for your sake. You wouldn’t let him take the blame for such a kindhearted action.

Bailu beats you to it first. Grabbing the journal from her desk, she tosses it to the General. The man catches it with one hand before looking at her curiously.

“Take it. I already read through all of it. I have a good memory. I’ll tell them the stories myself, whether you agree with it or not,” Bailu insists, turning away in annoyance. Unexpectedly, instead of disagreement or disdain, Jing Yuan chuckles and shakes his head.

“I think you’re mistaken. I didn’t come here to scold anyone or take this back. Actually, I commend Yanqing for taking a stand against me and remaining firm in his belief that you had the right to know,” Jing Yuan says with a small smile. Yanqing lets out a relieved sigh before picking up his sword, migrating to the edge of your bed to seat himself.

You tilt your head in confusion. “Why aren’t you upset?”

Jing Yuan suddenly looks sheepish, reaching back to rub his neck. “Actually, I went to the Divination Commission to inquire about this situation. Needless to say, the Master Diviner did not agree with how I handled everything.”

You hum softly, the thought bringing you some comfort. “Did she use the Matrix of Prescience to arrive at that answer?” you ask.

“Actually….” Jing Yuan trails off as he averts his gaze. Bailu pipes up with an amused huff.

“Fu Xuan scolded you, didn’t she?” she interrogates. The General sighs softly before confirming the healer’s suspicions with a small nod.

“Well, what she said, and I quote, ‘despite having the title Divine Foresight, you spend no time thinking about the consequences of your decisions. I don't even need a third eye to see why that’s wrong. Your apprentice has more of a head than you do,’ or something along those lines,” Jing Yuan recounts with a guilty expression.

“I’m glad someone got it through that thick skull of yours, General. The memories are a precious thing to the Vidyadhara race. I can hardly believe you hid so much myself,” Bailu chastises, crossing her arms.

“I know, I know. I realize my mistake,” he starts, walking over to you and sitting beside Yanqing on the edge of the bed. “I'm glad my nosy apprentice told you everything. I thought I was protecting you by keeping everything a secret, but I only caused you more stress in the end.”

You offer a gentle smile. “I went along with it without a fuss because I trusted you. It hurt, but I figured you wouldn’t hide things without reason.”

“And even knowing that I’ve been shielding you from something painful, you still want the truth?” the man asks, the worry clear in his expression. You meet his gaze and nod.

“Yes. Learning the truth is allowing me to feel more and more complete. Even if it’s upsetting, I need to know,” you insist. Jing Yuan chuckles.

“Even without your memories, you’re just as headstrong as you were back then,” he muses. “In that case, I’ll take responsibility, and I’ll be the one to deliver the truth to you.”

“At a later date,” Bailu interjects before Jing Yuan can flip open his diary to the relevant pages. “Save any new stories for tomorrow. I don’t want to strain them further.”

“Strain..?” the General mumbles. You quickly pipe in to clarify.

“Ren… I remembered my first meeting with him. I remembered loving him. But… everything else is still foggy,” you explain.

“But that was enough to make you faint! Lady Bailu is right. We should wait,” Yanqing adds. Jing Yuan looks at you and ruffles your hair affectionately.

“In that case, tomorrow. After our duties, I’ll sit down with you and tell you more. Every single day that Bailu allows it, I’ll tell you something new,” he promises. You feel your heart warm, a weight lifted off your chest.

“I’ll hold you to it. I’m sure Yanqing will, as well. Every day…” you murmur, a small grin making its way onto your face at the thought of finally securing a way to retrieve all of what you’d lost.

Soon, you’ll have all of the pieces of your past life. Once you do, you’ll finally know everything that transpired that led you to where you are now.

As excited as you are, you can’t help but feel a sense of dread.

There’s bound to be many joyous tales from your past, but the story of heartache and loss looms over you. It reminds you that, as happy as things may be, you have to prepare yourself to accept the pain and suffering of your previous life.

You can only hope that it’s something you’ll be able to handle when the time comes.

Dusk turns to dawn, and the sun rises on a new day.

True to his word, Jing Yuan begins visiting you in the evenings at the clinic to tell you new anecdotes from your past. Filling your head with stories that feel familiar— nostalgic, he tells tales each night until your head aches, a sign that you’ve taken in enough for the day.

The General helps you recall your first meeting with him— introduced as mutual friends of Imbibitor Lunae. You slowly remember the way you would watch the two spar, happy to clean up any wounds that came as a result.

Beyond that, Jing Yuan even shares how he’d been the one to push Lunae to introduce Ren to you, having always thought that you’d be a good influence on the man. Lunae agreed, and the General had considered it a personal victory.

However, he speaks of the way you fought alongside him in battle. This fact has you curious, having always assumed you were nothing but a healer.

Jing Yuan clarifies that you were a healer, and you once took up a sword to fight against the Denizens of Abundance precisely because of that reason. Each battle he recounts has your hands ghosting over areas where you swear you feel a slight pin prick of pain.

The General mentions that each place you touch is a place where your skin had once scarred over with wounds from each fight. It makes you smile— it seems the body truly never forgets.

Days continue to pass, and with time, your mind becomes less and less fractured. With each new tale, you grow more and more sure of who you are now and who you once were. Skills you once forgot become second nature once more. Memories return to you sometimes with the assistance of Jing Yuan and Bailu. Others enter your mind naturally, a byproduct of the newfound exposure to your past life.

Bailu notes your increased skill and confidence in healing, recognizing the way you improve as you remember the techniques of your profession. Your heart fills with warmth. You start to feel like yourself again— no longer a wanderer with nothing but shards of the past to their name.

Yet, as elated as you are to make such progress, it’s bittersweet.

You know they’re still deliberately avoiding how it all ended— how your Ren became Blade, the nature of your relationship, anything to do with him. Given that they’ve yet to broach the topic, all of those memories remain locked behind a wall. Unlike other moments, you’re unable to recollect it on your own— likely too heavy a topic to be triggered without help.

A frown appears on your face. You haven’t felt more sound of yourself in ages. Are you still unprepared? Is everyone coddling you once more?

How tragic a topic is the reality of your disappearance to cause them to hold off for this long?

Either way, it fills you with uncertainty and unease. You resolve to ask about it that evening, but it seems you don’t have to, for fate aligns itself at the perfect time.

As the sun begins to fall beneath the horizon, Jing Yuan, Yanqing, and Bailu all approach you, seating you on the bed as they surround you. Their expressions are all terse— hesitant.

You’re about to ask about what’s occurred— unsettled by the tension, but Jing Yuan is the first to speak up, interrupting any thoughts you have.

“You’ve made significant progress with your memory recovery. Bailu has deemed you mentally sound enough to learn of the truth. I’ll tell you everything. Who he was in regards to you, what happened to him… and how it all ended,” the General explains. Your heart flutters in nervousness and anticipation alike.

“Everything…?” you echo. Bailu nods.

“You’ve retained everything else well. I can’t promise that this won’t cause some sort of physical reaction. Much like the first time, it’s likely you’ll experience some pain, but… if we’re right, this should be the last time,” the healer promises with a determined gaze. You smile, feeling comfort in the resolve of those around you.

“Alright. I trust you,” you say. Bailu nods to Jing Yuan, who seats himself beside you as he begins to recount his experience from his memories.

He starts. “There’s one thing I’m certain about. The way you could never tell how Ren felt towards you seems to have stuck. You were the same back then, but I knew— everyone knew that Ren loved you more than anything in this world.”

“For a while, you didn’t realize just how hard Ren had fallen for you. It was incredibly obvious to the rest of us, though. Perhaps… it was because you were always looking away. When he regarded you with nothing but pure adoration, you were inevitably turned in the other direction.”

Ren lets out an affectionate sigh as he looks at you, head propped on his hand as he watches you stare down at your work table in pure concentration. The soft grind of pestle against mortar resounds through the building. Jing Yuan chuckles softly, looking at Ren with a smirk.

“Do you plan on saying anything to them? Or are you determined to long in secrecy for the rest of your life?” he questions, teases slipping off his tongue. Ren narrows his eyes at the man.

“Watch yourself, General,” he retorts. Jing Yuan lets the empty threat slide off him with ease, refusing to back down.

“All you do is sigh and stare in every moment you spend in their presence. Why are you so hesitant?” he asks. Ren glances away towards the herbs and medicines lining the walls— all fruits of your labor.

“They’re dedicated to their craft. They wouldn’t have the time for such frivolity,” he laments. Jing Yuan hums and gives a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Nonsense. They have plenty of time to spare. I often hear them complaining that they have too much time to Lunae,” Jing Yuan counters. Ren tenses, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I doubt they feel the same affection for me as I do for them,” he mumbles. The General has to hold back from barking out a laugh.

“Please! That’s absolutely absurd. All I hear from you are excuses,” he insists. Before Ren has a chance to retaliate, another voice speaks up.

“The General is right about this, as boastful as he’s acting currently,” Imbibitor Lunae adds in, seating himself at the table with the two. “Both of you have a limited amount of time, Ren. It’d be unwise to waste it wondering if they feel the same.”

“Exactly. Besides, if you hold back on making a move, maybe I will,” Jing Yuan jests with a smirk. Ren shoots up in his seat.

“You will not!” he seethes before rolling his eyes, practically stomping off to retreat to your side. Jing Yuan watches in amusement.

“Do you think he’ll say anything or just sulk as per usual?” he asks. The dragon beside him hums.

“Have more faith in him. You pushed him right where he needed to be pushed. Just observe for now,” Lunae says, and Jing Yuan does so.

“I guess Ren really was at his wits end at that point, and Lunae was able to pick up on it. We watched, and you leapt into his arms after he professed his love. All of us knew it was a matter of time before you ended up together, but seeing it… it was a weight lifted for all of us.

“You two were finally happy.

“For a while after that, things were calm and comforting. Ren came to terms with his short life since you’d be there to spend it with him. I’d never seen anything make him happier than the day you became his, and he, yours.

“Truthfully, I think, that day, he found something worth living for in his relationship with you. Of course, he had the rest of us, but we were all long-life species. In you, he came to understand why life was so precious— why he had to treasure his existence, no matter the length of it.

“Alas, he was still… reckless, but just in the normal, stubborn, and headfast way that he always was. You were always there to scold him for it, but we all could tell it was different. Ren was fighting for his beliefs— no longer careless about his life. He was, in lack of better terms, himself.

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, such tranquility couldn’t last forever.

“Everything changed the day Imbibitor Lunae committed a grave sin in the eyes of the Xianzhou. Upon Ren, he bestowed the most abundant curse known to man.

“Immortality.

“It was supposed to be another battle, but the two of them had been taking far longer than usual. Both of us were worried— aware that something was amiss, but afraid to speak it aloud lest we manifest it into reality…”

Jing Yuan watches you pace nervously outside of the hall. From where he leans against the wall, he can see the frenzied fear in your eyes as you look out in the distance every few minutes, hoping to see Lunae and Ren in the horizon.

The General is equally as concerned, but he knows that he must remain grounded to keep you sane.

“Imbibitor Lunae and Ren are both capable warriors. I’m sure that they’re fine. They’re probably just falling behind,” Jing Yuan reasons. You shake your head in disagreement.

“It’s been weeks. That’s not normal. The last time it took this long, someone—” you cut yourself off, flinching. The man’s expression becomes grim. He knows you’re right— that your worry is not unwarranted.

Neither of you wanted to be “too late” again.

Walking up beside you, Jing Yuan nudges you gently.

“Let’s head out. We’ll find them ourselves,” the General assures. You offer a wry smile and nod, but before either of you can make a move, another voice interjects.

“No need. We’ve returned,” Lunae says as he approaches with Ren by his side. Jing Yuan can see your excitement, but then watches as you freeze, expression falling as you look at Ren. The General notices what you do, too.

It isn’t uncommon to return from prolonged battles covered in blood, tattered with memories of the ongoing war. However, Ren seems far too pristine to have just returned from a battlefield. He’s glowing in a way that seems… unnatural.

Your eyes shift to Imbibitor Lunae, and suddenly your eyes are cold— distant.

“I think you caught something in his mannerisms that I couldn’t. You saw something that I couldn’t see, quickly catching on that something was inherently wrong— that they were hiding something.”

“What happened?” you ask, a seriousness in your tone that felt incredibly off-putting, given that you were referring to your lover and close friend. Instead of a response, Ren reaches towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace as if his life depended on it.

You pause, carefully wrapping your arms around Ren, running fingers through his hair as you repeat your earlier question.

“What happened?” you inquire, almost pleading now. Ren stills in your arms, silently burying his face in your neck. You frown, looking to Lunae once more for answers. Jing Yuan doesn’t move from his spot, either, trying to make sense of what it is you’re picking up on.

Eventually, beneath your persistent gaze, Lunae cracks.

“Ren nearly died on the battlefield,” he admits. You tighten your grip on your lover, eyes wide with a shock that Jing Yuan mirrors.

“He looks perfectly fine… he’s walking on his own two feet, and there isn’t a trace of blood on him…” you note in disbelief. Imbibitor Lunae looks away, seeming guilty in the way his eyes fall.

“I know. That’s because I…” Imbibitor Lunae goes quiet, unable to bring himself to finish his thought. Jing Yuan narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at the other.

“You what?” the General interrogates. However, the dragon doesn’t spare him a glance, instead looking to you with something that makes your eyes fill with fury. Before he can raise questions, you’re quick to clarify.

“You made him immortal? Why would you do such a grievous thing?!” you snap, forcefully separating yourself from your lover. Ren reaches for you desperately, but you take a step back. Jing Yuan easily recognizes the look of betrayal on your face.

“I can explain—” Ren starts, but you cut him off harshly.

“What is there to explain here?! I’ve treated the Mara-Struck— victims of the Sanctus Medicus, and you want to explain? I’m a healer and even I’m aware that immortality isn’t a remedy of any sort! It’s a venom! A curse!” you yell, eyes brimming with tears. Jing Yuan remains mute, unable to understand why anyone would resort to such a taboo method for any reason, especially given all that they’d witnessed together.

“Please, calm yourself and allow us to talk this o—” Before Lunae can finish his thought, you interrupt.

“Calm myself? Imbibitor Lunae, have you forgotten that I’m dying? In a few decades, I’ll be gone! Ren no longer has the mercy of dying by my side! He’ll have to witness everything!” you cry out, voice cracking as tears slip down your cheeks.

“He’ll endure so much suffering, and he’ll never be able to die…” you whisper, finally gathering enough strength to meet Ren’s gaze. “You promised.”

Ren is quick to scoop you into his arms, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

“I also promised to return to you. We’re both here now. That must count for something. Without immortality, I wouldn’t have returned to greet you again— to hold you again. And immortality doesn’t change a thing. I still plan to remain by your side for eternity,” he promises softly. You look up at him, an unfathomable sadness in your eyes.

Briefly, Jing Yuan catches you glancing at Lunae. There’s a wordless exchange in the expression you share with the Vidyadhara. The General has no idea what it is that you both say, but it’s enough because soon you’re releasing a defeated sigh.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Ren,” you say softly. Ren smiles, leaning down to kiss you gently. You reciprocate for a moment before pulling away, allowing yourself to enjoy the warmth of his presence.

Despite everything, Jing Yuan can tell that it isn’t something you’d ever move on from.

“You never brought up Ren’s immortality of your own accord ever again after that day. If it came up in conversation, you always excused yourself to be alone for a while.

“There was a time that I confronted you about it, though. I knew it was forbidden, but I needed to know what was going through your head. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever forget what you said to me that day.”

“Why wouldn’t I be upset, Jing Yuan?” you start, head in hands as you shut your eyes tight.

“There will come a time where Ren suffers unimaginable pain, and I won’t be there to help him. There will come a day where myself, Imbibitor Lunae, and even you aren’t there to support him through his suffering,” you explain. The General pauses, not having thought that far into the future.

You continue in his silence. “My death is just the start. I don’t think Ren understands how much of a tragedy that is. Soon, we will all leave him, and he’ll come to understand that death is far more merciful than being the last person left alive of all those you’ve grown to love.”

You frown and walk off, your words weighing heavily in Jing Yuan’s heart.

“I grew to understand exactly how right you were in your assumption as the years passed. When you faded away and crumbled— I witnessed firsthand how cruel his affliction was.

“Ren knew he couldn’t live without seeing you once more, I don’t think he ever thought about the inevitable day where he’d have to learn to live without you entirely.

“The day you disappeared… I could tell everything weighed heavily on your mind. In the face of your inevitable demise, you still worried for Ren.”

Jing Yuan lets out a soft sigh, watching Lunae and Ren leave for their duties. Glancing back to you on the bed, he tilts his head.

“You looked like you had more to say back then. Something else on your mind?” he asks as he seats himself on the edge of your bed. You look at him, a serious look in your eyes.

“I promise that, one day, I will find my way back to you all. One day, I’ll return, so Ren won’t have to suffer on his own,” you swear. Jing Yuan offers a sympathetic smile.

“Unless you’re a Vidyadhara, reincarnation is just a legend,” he mentions. You don’t respond, instead humming in acknowledgement to the General’s statement.

“Of course, I didn’t know you were one back then, but what I did know is that you were incredibly firm in your desire. Either way, I’d brushed it off.

“I left the room to make your medicine, but you had disappeared when I returned. Only then did I realize… that promise was your last wish— your final resolve.”

Jing Yuan continues his explanation, telling you the results of your disappearance.

Ren was never the same. He spent countless hours looking for you— searching for a body, but you’d vanished completely, much like the Mara-Struck who faded into nothingness. From that day forth, Ren’s mind fractured and he grew resentful of his curse.

As you predicted, the rest of your group slowly began to die out, your lover forced to suffer through each and every one knowing he’d never be granted the same reprieve.

Then came time for Imbibitor Lunae to pass and reincarnate.

“After Lunae died, Ren disappeared entirely, his mind shattered beyond repair— a shell of who he once was. Losing his bosom friend was the final straw.

“I tried to search for him, but he’d vanished from the Xianzhou Alliance entirely. I figured he didn’t want to be found, so I was forced to move on lest I suffered the same fate:

“Lost in our past without direction or will to live.”

Jing Yuan sighs as he finishes the story, shaking his head. “I thought it all a distant memory, then I saw you again on the Luofu as Bailu’s assistant. You looked the same way you did back then.”

“At first, I thought you just looked similar, but then I saw the horns and tail and I knew— you’d found your way back as promised, and you were a Vidyadhara. I’m sure I acted strange when we first met, but I was trying to confirm that it was really you,” he admits.

The memory of that day rushes to the forefront of your mind. The Arbitor-General had followed you and Bailu back to the clinic. His eyes were trained on your tail, watching the way it swayed as you worked before his gaze settled on your horns.

Jing Yuan had carefully observed you as you made medicine at Bailu’s work table, humming a tune that you’d heard from earlier in the day. It startled you how attentive he was being, but now it made sense.

“I confirmed it through your mannerisms and habits. I saw the way you carefully healed others. Then, you expressed familiarity towards me and that sealed it. Unfortunately, I knew you were without your memories.

“I had been keeping tabs on Blade since he appeared on the IPC’s most wanted list, and I vowed to protect you from him. If he saw you and you didn’t remember him, I had a feeling it wouldn’t go well,” Jing Yuan says, frowning.

“I thought protecting you meant guarding you from the truth so you never had to learn of the tragedy that became of your past lover, but I know now that you have to make this choice yourself. By deliberately concealing this, I’ve already hurt you enough,” he finishes softly, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You remain silent and still, staring blankly ahead. From the corner of your eye, Bailu frowns.

“Are you alright?” she asks, preparing for any sort of pain that might occur as a result of everything.

Instead, tears begin to slip down your cheeks, dripping down onto your hands as you grip your robes tightly in your lap. Smiling sadly, you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear your vision of the glistening drops.

Jing Yuan is the first to react, cupping your face in his hands and wiping away your tears gently as you sniffle softly.

“What’s the matter?” the General questions, concern etched into his features. You shake your head, words caught in your throat.

Everything in your mind is clicking into place, pieces falling and fitting together.

Ah, of course. I promised this so long ago, your mind echoes. I said that I’d return— that I’d remember— so I could make it back to you and protect you from the curse you fell into.

Your shoulders shake as you begin to sob. The General pulls you into a tight embrace, Yanqing leaning against your side in an attempt to provide comfort as well.

You usually never remember any last reincarnations as a Vidyadhara. Memory is a spectrum for your kind, and you always ebbed on the side of starting with an entirely clean slate. It’s why you were so certain you’d die when you left to be born again.

You wouldn’t take any memories of your past with you, and you wouldn’t recall them.

Except, this time you did.

Dying and rebirthing with such a strong resolve meant that, since you awoke in this new life, you’ve always felt that something was missing.

Now, you know what it is.

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

You bury your face in Jing Yuan’s shoulder as you cry, mourning the past you lost, and the lover you abandoned in this world.

If Blade’s mind fractured so long ago, do you even hold a place in his memories anymore?

Is there anything you could do in your current state to help him?

Or was all of this remembrance for naught?

For this, you had no answer.

Hidden away somewhere in the Luofu, a woman observes a man from afar.

Kafka recognizes the distant expression Blade wears as he stares out at the scenery and passing Starskriffs. It’s vulnerable— longing— one that he only wears when he thinks no one is watching.

However, her attention is diverted elsewhere when her phone vibrates with an incoming text. Glancing down at the device, she smirks as she reads the message.

Kafka. Plans have changed. Blade’s initial wish will be granted.

The woman raises a brow in amusement, typing and replying to his message with a teasing response.

Even we aren’t capable of necromancy, Elio.

Instead of commenting on her witty remarks, he merely sends back a simple text which serves as enough of an explanation for Kafka.

The Vidyadhara has remembered themself, thus returning to who they once were.

Await new instructions.

The woman looks back up at Blade, smirking as she pockets her phone.

What new side of him will she be able to witness? What sort of expression will he have when Elio surprises him with this?

Kafka can’t wait to see how this story plays out.

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