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iris-qt · 4 months

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𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚘

🫧 ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🫧 ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🫧 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🫧 ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪᴄ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜʏꜱ’ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ!

🫧 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴᴡɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛᴀʟʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Azure blue skies and endless summer breeze tails you through the rolling green countryside of San Gimignano, Italy. This was true, pure bliss. A flow of relaxation that you haven’t felt since…Merlin knows when. The stress of endless exams and finals, everlasting prefect duties, and bickering with your horrid nemesis really left a mark; as represented by your unrelenting dark circles and deep forehead lines.

But at least all of that was giving way to the Italian atmosphere and it left behind a happy girl that would donate a kidney to spend her entire summer here. Unfortunately you were only visiting for a week before school began once more; your final year. This brought a sense of dread to your heart as you would miss the enchanting castle. Your second home.

You pushed that aside as you zoomed through the countryside of this ravishing country on your cute little teal Vespa. Truth be told you’d never driven a muggle vehicle before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And so your lack of experience with muggle vehicles was the cause of you not being aware that gas has to be filled. You thought the meter getting closer to 0 represented the dissipation of your happy mood as you were, per usual, plaguing yourself with paranoid and pessimistic thoughts. The sudden shuddering of the Vespa made you lose balance and you began veering off track, you and your precious vehicle zooming down a hill with the sheer force of gravity. You screamed for dear life, and, at last, landed in a shallow pond with an enormous splash.

You bobbed up, gasping for air, and scrambled out of the lake quite ungracefully, summer outfit ruined and soaking wet. And suddenly, you heard a scarily familiar, devilish chuckle that just so happened to find your tragic predicament amusing: your mood as drenched as your clothes.

As you slowly glanced up trembling, not knowing if your shaking was from the water, shock, pure rage, or all three, you made direct eye contact with a certain boy musing at your tragedy. His eyes were overflowing with humor as he was leaning against a tree, his tanned legs crossed over each other. He seemed to be reading a book which he put down as he had found something better worth his attention. He gracefully stands up, a complete contrast from how you scrambled out of the pond, much to your annoyance.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, angioletto mio?” He smirks.

“Nott,” you scoffed. “Small world…or cruel fate,” you stand there, dripping wet, arms spread out like a martyr.

Of course you knew the insufferable Theodore Nott was Italian and often visited family here, but you didn’t think you’d be subjected to his presence in such a big country, especially in the less populated countryside. It was truly just cruel fate that brought this spawn of satan before your eyes.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate to see me,” Theodore cocks his head to the side, quite enjoying this arrangement. “Risking your life on a muggle vehicle zooming to my town.”

You roll your eyes, and if you were in a cartoon universe, trust that there would be steam coming out of your ears.

“Trust me Nott. I had no intention to run into a walking headache on my vacation.”

The insufferable git kept smiling, moving closer now, standing right in front of you so you could smell the usual dizzying scent of sandalwood and pine. Summer edition Theo had a hint of citrus mingled in with his intoxicatingly annoying scent.

“I already got you soaking wet, now you just have to get naked,” he laughed with the most disgustingly smug look on his face that you almost slapped off.

“Are you done?” You glared at him, ready to storm off and free yourself from the torment of his presence.

He shrugged, looking you over.

“Need help drying off?”

“I need help out of this conversation.”

“Oh stop, y/n, you can do better than that,” he grinned

You sigh very well aware you had no other option. You hold out your arms and shut your eyes waiting for his casting of the Hot Air Charm. Since you had resolved to live the simple muggle life for this vacation, your wand was locked in a vault at your hotel room.

Theo laughs, “Are you waiting for a kiss, principessa?”

You open your eyes, confused. “No, I’m waiting for you to dry me off like you said, idiot.”

He laughs again shrugging and says, “I don’t carry my wand around my domain, there’s no need.”

“Then, pray do tell me, Nott, what was your plan in helping me?”

He gives you the most shit-eating grin and grabs your hand, scaring you a bit, then begins pulling you up another grassy, verdant hill: one that isn’t hiding a body of water behind it. You have the urge to resist, but just give in. The drop from your adrenaline-rush you’d been maintaining for the past 3 days had collapsed, causing you to come down with an attitude of resolve. He dragged you up the hill, your wet sandals making squelching sounds, each one demeaning you more and more. You hated this shift in power where the perfect git was overshadowing you. You hated it. You hated him. I think.

“So why were you in the countryside? Other than wanting to see me so badly, of course.” He looks behind him and shoots his watercolor poison into your soul as he makes that unblinking eye contact. Another thing on the meter-long list of things you despise about him.

“I was in a self-deprecating mood and decided to ruin my record streak of relaxation by finding you,” you deadpanned as you rolled your eyes for extra affect.

“Y/N relaxing? You must be lying.”

He chuckled a bit as you two stopped at the top of the vast hill, looking down to a meadow of wildflowers. They glowed like colorful jewels in the blinding, comforting summer sun.

“What’re you gonna do, push me off?” You smirked, half wishing he’d do so. Maybe this was all a nightmare. A beautiful, lush, tinged with the familiar scent of Theo nightmare.

What you didn’t expect, however, was him saying:

“Precisely.”

And with a surprisingly gentle tug, he pulled you down on the top of the hill, pushed you back in a laying position before you could protest, and quite literally pushed you down the hill. You screamed as you, for the second time that day, gave all free will up to gravity, rolling down the hill at a crazy speed. You knew Nott was your unproclaimed but painfully obvious nemesis but you never thought he’d attempt murder. You finally stopped and lay there, sprawled on your back, heaving from the rush. It was kind of…fun?

Theo rolled down right next to you, laughing, as he sat upright. There was grass in his curly, brunette hair that you couldn’t help but reach out to pluck. He looked away quite shyly. Did your eyes deceive you, or did he just blush? You must have heat stroke. Good thing you had your wet clothes to keep you cool: they were significantly drier now.

You stand up and Theo starts laughing in a way you’ve never heard him laugh before. It was almost…endearing?

You put your hands on your hips teasingly and ask, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Mio angioletto, you have something…everywhere.” He bursts into laughter again. “Beware grass woman rising from the Italian hills,” he gasps through his fits of laughter.

You couldn’t help but smile so wide; his happiness was almost as contagious as his teasing.

You look down and realize the grass was sticking all over your outfit, covering you in verdant greeness. There was an itching sensation bubbling to your skin, but you ignored it. You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter as you could imagine you looked like green Chewbacca.

“Is this your sick way of tar and feathering me, Nott?”

He recovers from his laughter and stands up with you, peeling a wet blade of grass from your cheek.

“Alas, you have uncovered my motives,” he teases, grinning.

“Well, your actual motives didn’t work. I’m still sopping wet.” You wringe out the side of your shirt for dramatic affect as it produces a downpour of water.

“There’s more to my motives, mio angioletto. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” He grasps your hand again with a beautiful look on his glowing face and pulls you up to do it all over again.

And again.

Until the sun is caressing the distant hills, getting ready for its nightly departure. The sky is painted shades of teal and purple; still bright but just so. The breeze is still gentle, and so is Theo’s hold on your hand, as he guides you back to his tree by the wretched pond.

Don’t ask yourself what you and him were at the moment. Don’t ask yourself how years of rivalry and pranks. Of stress related to the both of your never-relenting efforts to beat the other. Don’t ask how that all faded away, as you sat in the setting sun.

Unfortunately, it isn’t in your nature to just ignore logic. And Theo knew it. So he distanced himself from you in light of the passing moment of rolling down flower dotted hills, letting go of your hand. It was as if an igniting flame in your heart had been stifled. He sat across from you by the tree. A silence falling between you two.

The slight itching you had felt earlier had been slowly increasing, and as the fun fell away, it began grabbing your attention. The feeling was in your throat now…something wasn’t right. And that’s when you remembered something that Theo’s warm presence had melted away from your mind. As if your brain had tricked itself to forget about this important fact to permit you and Theo’s fun. You were allergic to wildflowers. If exposed to them for a long time? Horribly allergic.

You started coughing and then choking, pointing to your neck to alert Theo to the problem. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening…he had noticed your uncharacteristically red skin, but he had dismissed it by thinking it was the sun’s doing. How could he overlook this?

Your choking grew louder as you fell onto the grass, Theo scrambled around crazily not knowing what to do in his initial panic.

But then he remembered

He pulled out his wand and cast a healing spell which would diminish every affect of an allergic reaction. You started being able to breathe again and your throat cleared, along with your skin returning to its original color and texture. You were gasping in shock, slightly embarrassed that you had been in such pathetic situations in front of Theodore twice today. You were both holding each others’ arms and breathing deeply. You recovered slightly, attempting to lighten the tense mood.

“Well, if your true motive was to kill me, Nott, I’d say you almost succeeded.” You let out a weak, unconvincing laugh.

“I..I am so sorry, y/n, I genuinely didn’t know..” he looked crestfallen. More shaken than you in fact. Wait a minute…

“Hold on,” you raised an eyebrow, your shock of almost dying completely gone and replaced with a new shock. “I thought you said you didn’t have your wand?”

Theo’s eyes widened sheepishly and he grinned, looking as guilty as ever.

“Ok listen before you throw a fit-“

“I don’t throw fits, I diplomatically argue.”

“Before you throw a tantrum, let me explain.” Theo runs his fingers through his hair looking nervous, and, for the first time, failing to make eye contact.

“I just…I knew you’d leave if I just dried you off. You only stayed because you needed help and, well…” he sighs.

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you all summer, y/n. I lay awake all night and I day dream all day. I swear I even saw you in the stars..” he gives a nervous, strained laugh.

“You never leave my thoughts, but I was sure it was just because I had to prove myself. To beat you. But you didn’t even leave my brain after school ended. You haunt me every day. When I saw you I thought I was hallucinating, like, genuinely.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking the most vulnerable he’s ever looked.

You look at him, eyes blazing with emotions you had denied yourself. Emotions that fought to be seen but you always pushed them back. You couldn’t fight back anymore. What were you even fighting against? God, you had some serious issues.

“And so you lied to make me stay?”

Theo nodded, looking to the side, up at the darkening sky.

“Maybe it was the universe that brought me here, because what are the fucking odds?”

You both laughed at that, eyes shining despite the escaping light around you.

“Theo, in my last 3 days I’ve been in your beautiful home country, I’ve visited so many places. The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Uffizi Galleries. So many amazing places, and I’ve experienced the most inspiring ordeals. But today was, by far, my favorite day.”

Theo regains his composure after hearing that, playfully judging her with his shoulder .

“Because of me, hm?”

You roll your eyes, looking away.

“Say it, principessa..” he prompted, gently holding your face and focusing it towards him.

You dramatically sigh and admit, “Yes, Theodore Nott. Because of you.”

He smiled the most breathtaking smile. If only you could capture a picture of it, but unfortunately your camera went down with the Vespa. You lay your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, so that his bright smile could be engraved into your mind. Definitely a core memory.

After many moments of comfortable silence, Theo perks up.

“Oh! By the way, dolcezza, I realized I said the pickup line wrong when you struggled out of the swamp.”

You rolled your eyes at his impertinence and said, “First of all, it’s a pond, Theo. And second of all I did NOT struggle. I emerged like Aphrodite in a shell.”

“Ok my little swamp monster,” he annoyingly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you fought to hold back a giggle.

“Okok let me say the line.”

“Go ahead, Theo.”

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Because you have the face of un angelo.”

He grinned his shit-eating grin as you pretended to retch at the line. Jumping up with the fireflies around you, you tagged Theo, reigniting that competitive streak you both so closely shared. You both laughed like maniacs as you raced up the hill again, fireflies dancing around you in a waltz.

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott one shot #theodore nott x reader

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kingdom-of-sins · 1 month

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Homelander x Reader

Homelander was told that you were gone, dead, never to return to him again. He just didn't know how big of a lie it was

Homelander stepped through the ruined doors of the lab, his presence an overwhelming force in the desolate space. The facility was a tomb of memories, the walls steeped in the screams of his childhood. This was where they had forged him in fire and agony, a place of sterile white rooms, needles, and cold, unforgiving hands. And it was here, too, where he had lost the only person who had ever mattered to him.

The floors were slick with blood, the bodies of scientists and doctors strewn about like broken dolls. He had hunted them down with methodical cruelty, each one meeting a brutal end under his unrelenting fury. They deserved worse, far worse, for what they had done—not just to him, but to her.

She had been everything to him back then. The girl with eyes that reflected the same pain, the same fear. Her ability to mimic the powers of others had fascinated the scientists, turning her into a living experiment, just like him. Together, they had endured the tortures, finding strength in each other’s presence. She had been his anchor, his one source of light in that pit of darkness.

But then, one day, she was gone. They told him she was dead, and something inside him snapped. That was the day he stopped being the boy with a name and became Homelander, the unfeeling weapon Vought wanted.

Now, all these years later, he was back. The lab was eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of machines still running despite the carnage. He was ready to leave this place behind, to burn it to the ground and let it be consumed by the flames of his vengeance. But then, he heard it—a heartbeat.

Homelander froze, his super hearing honing in on the faint, rhythmic sound. It was coming from deep within the facility, far below the main level, where the most secret and secure rooms lay hidden. His heart pounded in his chest as he followed the sound, a flicker of something strange and unwanted stirring in the pit of his stomach—hope.

He reached a metal door, thick and fortified, sealed with a lock designed to keep out even the most determined intruder. With a single thought, he tore the door from its hinges, the steel groaning in protest before crashing to the ground. He stepped inside, his breath catching in his throat at what he saw.

There, on a medical bed in the center of the small, sterile room, lay the girl he had thought lost forever.

She was still, her body connected to an array of medical equipment. Tubes ran from her veins to machines that hummed with a sickening familiarity, and her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights. But she was alive—he could hear her heartbeat, weak but steady, echoing in the small space.

Homelander’s chest tightened, a mixture of rage and grief crashing over him like a tidal wave. They had lied to him. They had kept her alive, hidden away, draining her of whatever they thought she could give them. And he had been too blind, too consumed by his own darkness, to see the truth.

He moved to her side, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch her face. Her skin was cool beneath his fingertips, soft and fragile, and for a moment, he feared she might shatter under his touch. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek, tracing the delicate line of her jaw.

She was still as beautiful as he remembered, but there was something different now—an emptiness in her that hadn’t been there before. She looked like a ghost, a shell of the vibrant, resilient girl he had known. And it was all because of them, the people he had just slaughtered, the people who had kept her in this hell.

A tear slipped down his cheek, an unwelcome sign of the emotions he had buried for so long. He wiped it away quickly, his expression hardening. There was no time for weakness now. He had to get her out of here, had to save her, even if he didn’t know if she could be saved.

Homelander began disconnecting the tubes and wires from her body, his movements slow and careful. Each piece of equipment that fell away felt like a chain being broken, a step closer to freeing her from this nightmare. He lifted her into his arms, holding her close to his chest, her head resting against his shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve got you.”

He walked out of the lab, carrying her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, his grip firm but gentle. The night air was cold against his skin as he emerged into the open, but he barely noticed it. All he could focus on was her—the girl who had once been his only source of light in the darkness.

He flew to Vought Tower, faster than he had ever flown before, the world a blur around him. He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t.

When he arrived, he stormed into the medical wing, barking orders at the staff to get the best doctors, the best equipment. The scientists scurried like frightened mice, too afraid of the wrath that radiated off him to question anything. They worked quickly, setting her up in a private room, hooking her up to machines that would monitor her vitals, but Homelander never left her side.

He watched as they worked, his eyes never leaving her face. He didn’t trust them, didn’t trust anyone with her life except himself. But he knew he couldn’t save her alone. Not this time.

As the night wore on, he sat by her bedside, his hand gently holding hers. He could feel the warmth returning to her skin, hear her heartbeat growing stronger, but she still hadn’t woken up. He prayed, silently and desperately, to whatever gods might listen, that she would open her eyes, that she would come back to him.

For hours, he stayed there, refusing to leave even when the doctors assured him she was stable. He couldn’t leave her, not again. The sight of her lying there, so still and fragile, filled him with a fear he hadn’t felt in years. The fear of losing her all over again.

As dawn broke, casting a soft light through the window, he finally allowed himself to hope. Her breathing was steady, her heartbeat strong, and though she was still unconscious, he could see the signs of life returning to her.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with a determination that had carried him through countless battles. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, the first real sign of tenderness he had shown anyone in years. As he pulled back, he saw a flicker of movement in her eyes, a twitch of her fingers, and his heart leaped in his chest.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “Please.”

And for the first time since he had found her, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she would.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #the boys #the boys imagine #homelander imagine #homelander one shot #homelander fanfiction #the boys one shot #the boys fanfic #the boys fic #the boys fandom

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dolcettamagica · 6 months

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna jjk #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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mechaknight-98 · 7 months

Text

Force of Will (NSFW) Ft: Chaeyoung *Twice

Authors note: congrats to twice for another successful string of concerts I hope they can rest and pursue whatever endeavors fill their hearts.

Part I kinda

The baby tiger of twice was acting less like the timid baby of twice and more like the proud monarch of the jungle as she bounced on your cock, hours after finishing a grueling flight. After another string of insanely successful concerts. As tiring as the concerts were they always left her violently charged with sexual energy.

Something about being adored by thousands set her off. Typically it wasn't a problem because usually she had you at her disposal to keep that energy in check, but with you working on an intense case these last few days had you stuck and busy.

Chae understood of course you were both young professionals who took their craft seriously and moved with exceptional care. It is what attracted her to you at the start of your relationship.

So Chaeyoung held all of the virulent horniness inside herself until she got home and found you sleeping. She bit her lip. She should let you sleep honestly but her body raged against her as her lust overcame her. She reaches into your sweatpants past your underwear and begins to stroke your already hard cock. She smiles. Even off in another world, your body was always ready for her. A testament not only to the compassion you had for her but your sexual compatibility with each other. You begin to rouse as the dream you are in becomes too sexually charged and wakes up to Chae’s face. She smiles at you but it’s not cute it is the look of raw sexual tension and hunger.

“Morning Tiger.” You say dazed and confused. You attempt to look at the clock but Chose jerks your head so you're still facing her. Chaeyoubg then forgoes a greeting and goes straight to kissing you. Her extensions fall along the sides of your face as she continues stroking you. As usual, her lips taste like strawberries. Or at least that's what your addled brain currently is perceiving. She breaks the kiss to take off her skirt, safety shorts, and underwear.

“ I have missed you so much.” Chaeyoung cooed. Her body vibrated with sexual anxiety as she began to fully undress, “the tour was so stressful and I need relief. Can you give me relief?” as Chaeyoung spoke her eyes widened with each word hoping that her seduction would be enough to rouse you from the haze of fatigue. You stand up now shaking off the dust in your mind as Chaeyoung falls onto the bed. She smiles at you with lustful glee.

“Where do you//” you begin but in her almost feverish lust Chaeyoung cuts you off

“Stuff my pussy with cum till I can't walk anymore.” you nod. You look over to your clock to make sure that tomorrow isn't the day you're meeting with clients. After verifying you flip Chae over and plunge into her sodden pussy. Chae screams as you fill her. Her mind blanks for a moment before she can speak again. You begin to thrust. She is so much tighter than usual. Chaeyoung moans and speaks out in a lusty haze. “Oh god, I missed this dick. I want to ride it every fucking night.” Chaeyoung moaned. As she speaks you increase your pace of filling her driving her crazy. You watch as her tight little ass begins to jiggle with each thrust and an idea pops in your head. You pull Chaeyoung’s hair. She jolts up to you as her body arches into yours.

“You're such a slut, Chae. Stroking me off while I'm sleeping.” Chaeyoung's pussy tightens at your words,

“I'm a slut only for you honey.” Chaeyoung moans as you continue to thrust into her. You feel her getting closer to release and decide to help her get there. You put your hands over both her nipples then you lean to her right ear, “cum for me tiger.” you whisper seductively as you twist her nipples. Chaeyoung screams from the pleasure raking her petite body. Her orgasm is like an eruption from her as squirt and profanities ooze from her two major holes. You continue to thrust her as she cums unrelenting. You watch as she starts to black out from the pleasure until she passes out on the bed. You smile and spoon her.

“Goodnight Tiger,” you say as you fall asleep again.

Chaeyoung wakes earlier than you do, however, and she “takes advantage” When she wakes up she feels your still hard cock poking her. She remembered that you were supposed to fill her. So hopping on while you sleep should be fine. Right. Chaeyoung flips you on your back before mounting you. Her movements force you awake as she reassures you.

“It's okay honey. Your tiger just needs her milk,” she says eyes full of unfettered passion. As she rides you her walls clamp down in ways you are not used to. “Just let go, baby. Cum for me.” Chaeyoubg hums repeatedly as she transitions from riding to bouncing on your cock. Chae begins to lose herself to the pleasure again and forgets about you filling her and decides to use you some more for her pleasure

“Play with my nipples again baby.” Your tiger demands so you comply, with a languid pace, you run your hands from her waist to her breasts. As you do so she moans intensely “Oh god baby yes.” she says as her pussy clamps down on you further you cry out as you fondle her sensitive nipples as she cums again. You let her flow through her orgasm as she continues to bounce on top of you riding out the rest of her high. As she falls onto your chest she whispers those magic words

“Use me, baby,” she says. All of your service pays off as you begin thrusting again her pussy is an overstimulated mess as you thrust in and out. Your tiger's tired whimpers spur you on as you chase your finish.

“Yeah fuck me harder. Just like that.” chaeyoung smiled her voice so blissed out and pushed you over the edge as you unleashed into her. Unsatisfied you keep pounding into her as your balls expel all the cum they had been storing. Chaeyoung groans as she hits another high. Which extends yours. When the two of you finally both calm down. Chae looks at you with happy eyes.

“I did miss you, babe.” Chaeyoung says “Not just your dick.” she said as she idly began stroking you again. Not to get you going she just liked to play with it.

“I can see,” you say content. “How was the concert?” you ask

“Oh, they went great. You were right Once love the new songs, plus We got to do Hello again and I love that song.” your tiger said happy

“It's my favorite as well,” you reply. Chae Young's face soured before asking

“I guess you have to get ready for work now?

“No. Well, not anymore. I finished the case yesterday and am taking a few days off as of now.” you answer looking at the clock. Chaeyoung grins mischievously before saying

“Oh, then we have plenty of time then.”

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #twice fanfic #twice smut #chaeyoung twice #chaeyoung smut

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mt-oe · 3 months

Note

I love ur workkkk 🥺🥺 … my heart melted

Can I request a mizu x reader in which reader was upset with mizu , and mizu trying to make reader feel happy with her ( I know I worded it poorly 😭😔. English is not my first language 😔). this can be sfw or nsfw. u write the spiciest nsfw stuff 😉

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for requesting! I'm so sorry if this was WAY overdue. I'll try to make up for it by writing as best as I can <3

Also, please don't think too much about how you worded it. Trying to communicate your ideas, regardless of how you worded it, is already enough.

On an unrelated note, I am temporarily closing my inbox so I can catch up on requests. I wouldn't want to rush since that might compromise the quality of the fics. I deeply appreciate the messages and comments and would really like to answer them but I'm still too shy ;; I promise I'm really trying. Please don't get mad or disappointed in me. Thank you for understanding!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Mizu has done a lot of things before. Her sword has known the blood of many, cut through numerous organs, and had seen death like it was the next door neighbor. The fights she had fought were more ferocious than what most warriors could stomach. With a will of steel and the mind of a tactician, a capable swordsman she truly was. But...

How the hell was she going to get through this one?

Cerulean orbs narrowed as she watched you, or more precisely, your back. Her gaze roaming from the tips of your hair to the way your back slumped. Your huffs and whispered grumbles were the only sound that could be heard from the room.

She could feel her palms sweating and her fingers running cold. Not a single coherent thought formed in her brain from how unnerving the situation was. For the first time in her life, she was faced with an opponent she did not know how to defeat.

And this opponent was strong. Not even the swing of her sword or the strength of her hands could quell the wrath and sheer rage of this enemy. Mizu knew she had to plan her next move well or this could cost her everything.

And this opponent...was her wife's anger.

Yes, the ronin who quite literally bit someone's nose, survived a fall from several stories high, burned down Edo, was utterly helpless under her lover's wrath.

"I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" she asked, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you to face her. A groan of frustration boiled at her throat as you shrugged her hand off harshly. "I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" you mocked her, imitating her low voice before sticking your tongue. "Go figure it out yourself! Hmph!"

This was so stupid, she thought. But despite the words in her head, she was utterly lost.

All this drama just because she missed a kabuki show that you wanted to watch?

Sure, you had told her ahead of time. Sure, you already planned it out. Sure, you were already at the venue. But it was just a goddamn stage play, what were you so upset about? There would be another show next week with the same story anyway, and if you were so excited to watch, you could have watched it without her.

So what was the big deal about it?

She rolled her eyes before standing up, looking at you in resignation. "Fine, sulk," she grumbled in response, to which you stuck your tongue out. She rolled her eyes once again before strapping her sword to her waist. "Talk when you're no longer acting like a brat." And with those words, she left, slamming the door and causing it to bounce open slightly.

Upon hearing her footsteps fading, you immediately let out a loud sigh. You turned to look at the spot where your lover had previously sat on with a sense of hurt. "But I wanted to go on a date..." you whispered to yourself, throat tightening.

This was one of those moments where you really just had to say, 'it is what it is', and pretend to not get hurt.

You knew Mizu wasn't the most romantic person on the planet. Hell, it was even a surprise that she asked you out. However, there were times when you wished you could open her head and shove some cheesy romance novels, because how the fuck did she not get that you were asking her out on a date?

Urgh.

"What am I even expecting?" you asked yourself out loud, bringing the tickets you had bought for both of you. Tickets that were wasted just because she thought training and buying supplies were more important than spending 4 hours watching a play in a theater with her wife. "Maybe next time I'll just watch her train."

You love her. Of course you did. And you knew she loves you too, but sometimes her inability to understand or express romance made you question it.

Slowly and painfully, you tore up the tickets and fed it to the candle flame, watching as it turned to ashes. Welp. There goes your idea of a romantic evening. "And I planned it for so long too," you sighed as you brought your knees to your chest.

Unbeknown to you, your wife had secretly sneaked back, sitting beside the small door crack she had intentionally made earlier. A small frown on her face as she realized how much she fucked up.

You were right.

You did plan it for a long time. She could see your eyes widen every time the two of you passed by the theatre whenever you went out for supplies, filled with excitement that she couldn't understand then. And you already told her early, so it wasn't like it was out of the schedule or out of the way. Most of all, you were already at the venue.

You were waiting for this for such a long time.

You were waiting for her for such a long time.

And she wasted your efforts. She somehow thought that what you were so eager for was something she could trade for a few hours of extra training.

Guilt welled up in her as she continued to listen to your sighs, peeking inside the room every now and then to make sure you were okay. Her heart clenched in an odd, unfamiliar, yet extremely uncomfortable way at the sight of your frown.

Damnit. Mizu knew she messed up big time. However, even if she felt absolutely terrible, she also knew she couldn't just come back in and reveal that she had just watched you go through five stages of grief in less than an hour or else you'd feel like you forced her to apologize. But how could she make up for this?

As she was deep in thought, thinking of ways on how she could apologize, she suddenly heard the soft padding sound of your feet on the tatami mat as you stood up. "I guess I'll take a nap. Maybe I'll feel better when I wake up," she heard you sigh for the umpteenth time.

Her eyes watched you stretch before pulling the futon out of the closet and set it up. Your hands carefully undid the pins stuck to your hair before laying down, pulling the covers over you, the frown you wore never dissipating.

She could feel her conscience weighing down on her, telling her what a dense idiot she was. The feeling hitting her like a ton of bricks as she watched you slowly fall asleep with a heavy heart.

No, she wasn't going to let your day go on like this. If she fucked up, she's fixing it up.

Slowly and carefully, she got up and sneaked away, leaving the inn and going to the market. No matter how unexperienced or how unknowledgeable she was with how to comfort a person, Mizu was going to try her best.

Hours passed and the short nap you had planned turned into one of the longest one you've had yet. It wasn't a pleasant one, but it wasn't the worst either. Your eyes slowly fluttered open before squinting at the faint glow of the candle. The world felt slightly heavy and tilted as your head spu—wait? The candle?

"Oh shit," you whispered, shooting up and looking around in panic, head still spinning from grogginess. Oh no, you forgot to blow out the candle before your nap and accidentally kept it burning. Mizu was going to pissed at you, especially since it was the last one.

But wait—

Shouldn't it have burnt out already?

You brought the back of your hand to your eyes, rubbing away the sleep and grogginess to have a better look around. However, upon looking up, surprise took over your senses.

The room was...decorated?

Or at least there was an attempt.

At a distance from the foot of your futon sat your lover with a wooden crate in front of her. A bit of relief washed over your body as you realized that she had taken care of the candle for you, but still, you were heavily confused. "Mizu...what's going on?" you asked, yawning a bit.

She looked at you with the same emotionless stare she had before sighing. Her hands slowly turned the crate around so the opening was facing you. It was decorated too, and even if it was poorly recreated, you could recognize the setting. It was very similar to the kabuki theater you wanted to go to.

From her back, she brought out two dolls. One wearing a kimono in a color similar to what you were wearing, and one male doll that looked like a samurai. A heavy exhale could be heard coming from her as the embarrassment started kicking in. Was she really going to do this? Yes, yes she was.

Clearing her throat, she moved the dolls to the makeshift stage as she began her narration. "Once upon a time, in a small village, stayed a ronin and her wife." She glances momentarily at you before looking down again, a faint dust of blush on her cheeks. "Her very beautiful wife," she clarified.

Your eyes widened with a mix of delight and surprise. The grogginess from your sleep wore off at the sweetness of your lover's effort. You couldn't believe it. It was a stage play. A stage play about the two of you.

Her hands moved the dolls on stage, making them hold hands as she narrated the events in the story. "But one day, the ronin, being very foolish, decided to go up in the mountains and train instead of accompanying her wife," she said, dolls moving to match her words.

"And her wife..." she continued, moving your doll to look like it was sulking, "...got very upset." Blue eyes looked at you once again to check if you were still watching. You could tell that she was being very sincere about this.

"Not knowing what to do, the ronin went out to think and realized that she was indeed wrong and had been inconsiderate, that her wife was really just trying to bond and spend time in merriment."

She slowly set the dolls down and readjusted, sitting up straight before bowing her head slightly. "And so, the ronin apologized," she said with all seriousness. "I'm sorry, love. I knew you wanted to go out for so long. I should have appreciated your efforts more. I have no excuses."

Silence embraced the room after, completely amplifying the pounding of her heart as she awaited your response. Jitters ran through her body from nervousness. Mizu didn't dare look up, not until you gave her a response.

Seconds felt like minutes as she waited. An unexplainable kind of anxiety holding over her. What if you didn't like the little show she put? What if she just made your anger worse? Her thoughts were scattering by the millisecond. She wanted nothing more than for you to forgive her.

Her heart stopped as she saw your hands reach for the dolls, looking over them before making your doll face her doll.

"And the wife accepted the apology," you giggled, bending your dolls head slightly so it would kiss the representing her. Before she could speak, she felt your lips on her cheek. The sweet sound of your laughter soon followed, making her blush.

You lifted the dolls up to eye level and looked at them fondly. "You really went out and beyond, didn't you?" you laughed, wiggling them around in some form of cuteness aggression. She lifted her head and smiled softly. "I didn't know what to do," she admitted, finding your fondness for the dolls adorable. "And I really wanted to go back to my wife."

"You could have just said sorry, dummy. But.." your voice trailed off, eyes looking back at your wife's, leaning closer to her. "This made me unbelievably happy," you admitted. "Thank you, love."

Your wife's smile widened as you leaned in and kissed her softly. Her hands instinctively pulling you closer. Love and affection radiated from her as both of you pulled away, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Her breath hitched as you opened your mouth, anticipation building up regarding what you were going to say.

"But next time you do that, you're sleeping without a futon."

"Yes ma'am"

#bes #bes x reader #bes mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu #bes mizu x reader #mizu bes #mizu imagine #mizu x you #mizu x fem!reader

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moonselune · 3 months

Note

hello! I was wondering if you could write the bg3 ladies and their reactions to their partner just beating the SHIT outta a villian? Like Tav is punching this man to death, blood going everywhere, skull is broken in pieces, whole face is just gone at this point, just a bloody pulp on the ground and Tav is just punching over and over. Can we get some reactions? If you are comfortable with gore, that is.

I am comfortable with gore but I really appreciate you asking! I had classical music blasting in my headphones when I wrote this hehe

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The battlefield was a chaotic whirlwind of combat and death, but amidst the chaos, your focus honed in on the villain who had caused so much suffering. Rage and adrenaline surged through your veins as you launched yourself at him, fists flying with unrelenting fury. Each punch landed with sickening thuds, your knuckles connecting with bone and flesh, turning his face into a bloody pulp.

Karlach, engaged with her own opponents, caught sight of you out of the corner of her eye. At first, she grinned with fierce pride, her blood boiling with excitement as she watched you unleash your fury. "Yeah, that's it! Show him what you're made of!" she shouted, her voice booming over the din of battle.

Your assault continued, each strike driven by the weight of your anger and pain. Blood splattered across your face and arms, the villain's skull cracking under the force of your blows. Karlach’s cheering grew louder, her encouragement spurring you on.

But as the moments stretched on and the villain's face became an unrecognizable mess of blood and bone, Karlach's grin began to falter. The light in her eyes dimmed as concern replaced excitement. "Hey, that's enough," she called out, stepping closer. "You've done it. He's not getting up again."

You didn't seem to hear her, lost in the haze of your wrath. Karlach reached out, her strong hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you back. "That's enough!" she said more firmly, her voice tinged with worry.

You paused, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and finally met her gaze. The fury in your eyes slowly began to ebb as you took in her concerned expression. "I… I just lost control," you muttered, shaking slightly.

Karlach pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms enveloping you in a comforting, protective hold. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice soothing. "You’re safe now. We’re safe. You don’t have to keep fighting." She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, her own heart aching at seeing you so distraught.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The battlefield echoed with the sounds of clashing steel and pained cries, but your world had narrowed to the villain before you. Rage coursed through your veins as you launched yourself at him, your fists striking with brutal precision. Each punch was a cathartic release, the blood and bone beneath your knuckles a testament to your fury.

Minthara, commanding her troops with ruthless efficiency, caught sight of your brutal assault. A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips as she watched you, her eyes glinting with admiration and dark excitement. "Yes, let them feel your wrath," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Your fists continued to pound into the villain’s face, reducing it to a mangled mess. Blood splattered across your arms and face, but you were lost to the rage, the satisfaction of each blow driving you further.

Minthara’s eyes never left you, her expression one of almost reverent fascination. She found your display of raw power and fury utterly intoxicating, her own pulse quickening with desire. As the villain's body grew limp and lifeless beneath your relentless assault, she moved closer, her steps deliberate and unhurried.

She stood over you, watching with a dark smile as you delivered the final, devastating blows. When you finally paused, your breath ragged and your fists dripping with blood, she reached out, her fingers curling around your wrist. "Enough," she said, her voice low and commanding.

You looked up at her, your rage slowly subsiding as you met her intense gaze. Minthara’s smile widened, a glint of approval in her eyes. "Such power," she purred, pulling you to your feet. "Such fire."

Without another word, she pulled you into a deep, possessive kiss, her lips capturing yours with fierce hunger. Her hands roamed over your blood-slicked arms, her touch both tender and demanding. "You are magnificent," she whispered against your lips, her voice filled with dark pride. "And you are mine."

The battlefield seemed to fade away as she held you, her presence grounding you amidst the chaos. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the fierce, unyielding bond between you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel's crimson eyes gleamed with a mixture of carnal hunger and grudging respect as you pummeled the villain into the dirt. Each blow connected with a sickening thud, the spray of blood glistening in the dim tavern light. A feral snarl ripped from your throat, a stark contrast to your usual calm demeanor.

Lae'zel, ever the pragmatist, felt a surge of heat pool low in her belly despite the brutal scene before her. It wasn't just the raw display of strength that captivated her - though that was undeniable. It was the unyielding focus in your eyes, the way your movements became a deadly dance fueled by righteous fury.

"Dominate them, my love!" she boomed, her voice a guttural rasp that echoed through the smoke-filled room. The tavern patrons cowered further into their corners, the clatter of dropped mugs a testament to the raw power on display.

But as quickly as it flared, the practical side of Lae'zel reasserted itself. The villain lay whimpering, a broken mess at your feet. The thrill of the fight began to wane, replaced by the need for tactical efficiency.

She strode forward with long, purposeful steps, the clack of her greaves a counterpoint to the ragged gasps of the defeated foe. Lae'zel stopped before you, her posture imposing yet strangely admiring. "Enough," she declared, her voice firm but laced with a hint of amusement. "The whelp has learned his lesson. We have bigger battles to claim victory over."

Reaching out, she grasped your wrist, not with a bruising grip, but with a firm pressure that demanded your attention. The heat of her touch sent a jolt through you, momentarily breaking your focus from the groaning figure on the floor.

You met her gaze, chest heaving, your face a mask of blood and barely suppressed rage. Lae'zel's lips curved into a predatory smile, a flicker of something akin to pride gleaming in her crimson eyes. "You fight with the fury of a berserker," she rumbled, her voice a low caress. "But remember, a true warrior channels their rage into controlled power."

She pulled you gently to your feet, your body swaying slightly with exhaustion and the aftermath of battle. "Come," she said, her voice softer now, almost tender. "Let us conquer those greater challenges together."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of singed cloth. Shadowheart stood rooted to the spot, her eyes, usually pools of cool serenity, were wide with a mixture of awe and something akin to… fear?

You stood before her, a whirlwind of controlled chaos moments ago, now a panting wreck. Blood, a mixture of yours and your adversary's, marred your armor and clothes, turning the once vibrant crimson into a macabre tapestry. Your fists,clenched and unbloodied, trembled with the aftershocks of unleashed fury.

The villain, once a towering brute, lay crumpled at your feet, whimpering like a wounded dog. The sight should have filled Shadowheart with satisfaction, a testament to the righteous power she served. Yet, a disquieting tremor ran through her. The raw, unbridled rage that had contorted your features moments ago was a terrifying glimpse into a part of you she hadn't known existed.

"By the gods…" she breathed, the words escaping her lips in a reverent whisper. You were a force of nature, a tempest unleashed, and she couldn't tear her gaze away. Every fiber of her being, from the tips of her raven hair to the soles of her polished boots, vibrated with a strange mix of terror and exhilaration.

Slowly, cautiously, she approached you. Her movements, usually as silent and swift as a shadow, were hesitant, almost unsure. As she drew closer, the full extent of the carnage became apparent. Blood spattered the nearby wall in a grotesque parody of art, and the floor was slick with crimson. A grimace flickered across Shadowheart's face, a stark contrast to the awe that still lingered in her eyes.

"You…" she began, her voice a husky murmur, "you were incredible. Like a vengeful angel descended from the heavens." She reached out, a single pale fingertip tentatively brushing against the grime on your cheek. The touch was light, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the spell you had woven with your fury.

"Magnificent," she breathed, the word laced with a surprising hint of admiration. Yet, even as she praised you, a note of disapproval crept into her voice. "But look at you," she continued, her lips pursing in a playful frown. "You've made a right mess of things."

The disapproval was laced with teasing. "Come," she said, her voice softer now, the harsh edge replaced by a quiet tenderness. "Let me help you clean up. The gods know you've earned your rest."

You offered her a weak smile and allowed her to help you walk away from the beautifully terrible mess you had made.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Naughty Tav making such a mess, hope you all liked it ! - Seluney xoxo

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g1rlr0b1n · 5 months

Text

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 🦉

Into the Owl's Nest (Preview)

Damian's eyes snapped open and he jolted up in bed, gasping for air as if he had been drowning. His skin was clammy and his heart raced in his chest. As his senses returned, the cold, musty scent of damp stone and earth filled his nostrils. He strained to see in the darkness, but could only make out the faint outline of a room surrounding him. The distant sound of rushing water echoed through the space, causing a shiver to run down his spine. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Damian realized that he must be deep underground, and he realized where he must be. This was the Owl’s Nest.

The faint clicking of heels echoed on the stone ground, growing closer with each step. He strained his eyes against the darkness as he searched for an escape. Too late. The door creaked open and a woman glided in, her form encased in a skin-tight nylon suit, feathers adorned the top of her cape. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly, emphasizing her fierce features, while a mask obscured her eyes. Damian maintained a stoic expression as she spoke, her words dripping with disdain, "so, you must be Talia's brat," she spat. Her eyes roamed over his form, obscured by the mask she wore. The coldness in her voice matched the chill in the air, sending shivers down his spine. Her eyes narrowed behind the intricate mask, scanning him from head to toe with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. The silence between them was thick with tension but Damian maintained his composure.

When he did not speak she continued, “your father wishes to see you.” Damian's muscles tensed at the mention of his father but he remained still, not daring to give her any satisfaction. Not even when she glided across the room, her movements fluid like a predator stalking its prey did he move to get up from the bed. With a swift motion, she pulled him up by his arm, her long nails digging into his flesh. He gritted his teeth against the pain, knowing better than to show weakness. She dragged him along, her grip unrelenting, until they reached a large open space. A wall was lined with computers and equipment, and there, behind the glow of computer screens, sat a man clad in all back. The Owlman.

The man slowly turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "I hope you don't mind," he began in a smooth, almost mocking tone, "your mother and I decided it would be best if I took custody of you." Damian felt a surge of anger rise up in the pit of his stomach, a rage that was only met by the man's cruel smile.

"You killed my mother," Damian growled through gritted teeth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I suppose that’s true,” he shrugged carelessly, “it pained me to do so, I loved her-”

"Obsession is not love," Damian spat out bitterly, his control slipping as memories from last night flooded back. "That's not love...and when you couldn't have her..." His voice trailed off, trembling, as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Damian had loved his mother more than anything, and this man had taken her away from him without a second thought.

The man's eyes hardened and for a moment, Damian could see the darkness lurking behind them, "let it be a lesson to you then," he sneered. "You may share my blood, but if I have no use for you, you can join her."

Damian was smart enough to know when someone was bluffing, and this man was not, he was well aware that this man would snuff him out the moment he stepped out of line. Refusing to show any weakness, Damian stood tall and pushed aside his emotions. "What use do you have for me then, father?" he asked, maintaining a calm and collected façade despite the turmoil within.

His features twisted into a smirk, “I’m glad you asked,” he stood from his chair to tower over the boy, “As you may or may not be aware, Ultraman was our esteemed leader until his most recent and unfortunate demise. His twisted obsession with his other selves was finally his downfall. Ironic.” The glint of joy in his eyes betrayed his words. “There are a few would be successors but of course I have my preference.”

Owlman paused as if waiting for Damian to ask a question but Damian knew there was only an answer he sought. And Damian was nothing, if not adaptable. “Naturally, it should be you, father," he replied smoothly. He’d play along for now, he’d tell the crazed man whatever assurances he needed to hear. Afterall, he was somewhere underground surrounded by enemies, and if he hoped for any chance of survival, he’d have to be smart about it.

“Smart boy,” he scoffed, then continued, “Ultraman leaves behind his wife and son, Lois has already begun pushing for Jor-El to claim his father’s seat but he is just a child. Barely 19. He needs…” he paused again as if searching for the right words, “a friend more than a title.”

Damian raised an eyebrow in question, “you wish me to befriend him?”

“Sure…and who knows what may happen once you two become close.” Owlman shrugged, a wicked smirk spread across his features, contorting them into a menacing expression.

Damian racked his brain for meaning. Did his father want him close to Jor-El to distract him, to manipulate him, or to kill him? Did his father even care as long as he could take power? Finally, Damian broke the silence with a slow, measured voice. “I can only assume you have some means for me to arrange a meeting with him?”

“Of course,” he motioned toward the blonde woman who had been lurking in the corner. “Beth, please ensure that Damian is presentable for this evening's introduction to the rest of the Syndicate. Make him look…enticing.”

Damian suddenly became aware of another possibility.

#posting the intro to one of my current WIPs to act as a motivator to help me finish #this is part of a multiverse series I'm working on #Earth 3 #Damian is Talon II (21)#Jon is Ultraman II (19)#Thomas Jr/Owlman is technically Bruce (not sure if that makes sense to anyone but me lol)#I disregard canon lol #damian wayne #jon kent #damijon #jondami #superdemon #cosmicbird #dc comics #multiverse series #commissioned art

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maladaptiveobsession · 6 months

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What if charlie found a soul that came to the hotel but had already sold part of their soul to some other overlord and this time sue actually fights the overlord and gets your soul back... But why would she give it back to you its safe with her anyway

“safe and sound”

yandere charlie x reader

contains: gn reader, obsessiveness, manipulation, brief implication of violence, brief mention of abuse/exploitation, charlie is slightly disturbed

word count: 867

a/n: i actually cackled when i saw this prompt. hope this is to your liking!

Your arrival at the hotel sparked great interest and intrigue for all the guests. Charlie was noticeably invested in your growth. Such unwavering support would have been alarming in any other context, but Charlie was well known for her compassion and commitment. You happily disregarded all concerns, taking her dedication as a testament to her caring nature. Above all, you felt grateful to have captured the attention of such a well-known figure in hell.

Charlie was most thrilled to have another guest, especially one who showed such promise. She took every opportunity to share her excitement, showering you in praise every step of the way. You were doing so well, after all! It was clear to all just how significant an impact you were making, not just to Charlie but to the entirety of the hotel’s occupants. Her unwavering enthusiasm and support were a constant source of motivation, fueling your determination.

It was evident to all who knew Charlie just how fond she had grown of you during your stay. The bond you’d built had become a dependency in a world filled with uncertainty and fear. As your redemption neared—so close you could almost taste it—something dark and heavy twisted in Charlie’s gut. The growing unease forced her to confront the harsh reality of eventually losing you. Disturbing thoughts clawed at her mind relentlessly, and guilt gnawed at her conscious. What was happening to her?

How could she claim to care for you yet still entertain the idea of sabotaging your progress? She grappled with the conflicting emotions. If you love someone, shouldn’t you let them go? Yet the thought of losing you made her heart heavy with ache, perhaps more so than the betrayal you’d ultimately feel.

With each passing day, her longing for you grew. You consumed her every thought, driving her to the point of desperation. She yearned for the sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the comfort of your presence. Each moment without you became unbearable, leaving her feeling incomplete and adrift—lost in a sea of uncertainty and longing. The separation felt like a cruel and unbearable punishment. She had an insatiable hunger for your love and affection; her yearning for you only continued to escalate, a deep and unrelenting ache that threatened to consume you both whole.

Alastor, ever the silent menace, observed Charlie’s growing obsession with great delight. Who knew Charlie had such darkness under that joyful exterior? Such lovely entertainment you were turning out to be! He supposed she just needed a push to take initiative. Alastor was more than happy to provide that push.

How curiously she responded when informed of your well-hidden ordeal—your soul entangled with another overlord. He marveled at the unraveling emotions—the depth inconceivable—as she realized the extent of your suffering and how you endured abuse and exploitation with minimal complaint. The devastation and disbelief ignited a fire neither knew could burn so bright, quickly replacing those overwhelming feelings with chilling rage.

You’d been suffering this whole time in silence! Could she have been any more blind?

She’d refrained from using the power she wielded and had always disliked issuing commands, but now the desire to make your abuser pay consumed her. Alastor was more than happy to assist; the unfolding entertainment was more than satisfactory as payment.

The transfer of your contract was a simple ordeal, with the promise of sparing your abuser from her wrath. Of course, she happily neglected to mention Alastor in her deal. Whatever agony he had planned was beyond her control. The dark satisfaction she felt as she listened to their screams sent a tight grin to her lips. The sight sent a shiver down Alastor's spine and momentarily unsettled his demeanor. He wondered just how deeply that obsession was rooted and how far she might go to protect you. How entertaining indeed!

She hadn’t anticipated that once she had your soul securely in her possession, those sinister cravings would intensify.

Won’t you let her hold onto it for just a little while longer? It’s only until you’re redeemed, okay? There’s no safer place than by her side! No one would be able to take advantage of you again. She could protect you and treat you well! You trust her, don’t you?

Charlie had always believed in sacrificing her own happiness for the ones she loved, but now she couldn't help but entertain that selfish desire to keep you close. Together, you can build your own paradise—heaven in hell. She can offer you the same solace and peace you so crave. And in her passionate plea, she hopes you might come to understand the depths of her affections and the lengths she would go to protect you. Especially if protecting you means never letting you go.

She may have been hesitant of her creeping darkness at first, but has come to embrace it. She’s convinced herself she’s only doing what is best for you. Though she’s delusional, her affections are genuine. You’ll come to find comfort in her obsession; you lost that choice the moment you stepped into the hotel.

Make yourself comfortable; you’ll be a guest at the hotel for all of your enteral afterlife.

#yandere charlie x reader #yandere charlie #charlie x reader #charlie morningstar #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: manipulation #gn reader #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel #image description in alt #described #mal.mine

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unabashegirl · 1 month

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Vicious 9 | Mafia HS

After his father's death, Harry Styles must take control of the family mafia while dealing with his unpredictable brother, Silas. He meets Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, and learns about their arranged marriage.

Author's note: here is another update! I hope you like it!

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all 25 chapters, various one shots and much more :)

warnings: violence, abuse, cursing

vicious masterlist

Harry's horse came to a sudden stop a few feet away from where Y/N and Silas stood, the animal snorting and pawing at the ground as if mirroring Harry's own restless energy. Dismounting swiftly, Harry's eyes bore into Y/N with an intensity that made her shiver.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice was low, a dangerous edge lacing his words as he advanced towards her.

Y/N could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she backed away, her gaze flickering nervously between Harry and Silas. She had expected anger, but the sheer fury radiating from Harry was enough to make her knees weak.

“I just... I just needed some air," Y/N stammered, her voice faltering under the weight of Harry's gaze. “You can’t keep me locked away for the rest of my life”.

"Air?" Harry's voice was a harsh snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Is that what you call it? Running off with my own brother?”

Y/N could see the vein pulsing in Harry's temple, the raw fury that seemed to consume him. She knew she had to defuse the situation before it escalated any further.

“Get on the fuckin’ horse” Harry growled, his eyes boring into hers with a fierce intensity.

"No, Harry, I —" Y/N's protest was cut short as Harry closed the distance between them in an instant, his hand shooting out to grab her arm in a bruising grip.

“Right now!” Y/N could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, his grip on her arm almost painful. She glanced desperately at Silas, silently pleading for his help, but he stood frozen, his expression unreadable.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Y/N knew she had no choice but to obey. Harry was not a man to be crossed, especially when his temper was raging like a wildfire.

Silently, she allowed Harry to lead her back to his horse, her heart heavy with resignation. As they rode back to the estate in tense silence, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get much, much worse.

The ride back to the estate felt like an eternity to Y/N, every moment filled with a tense silence broken only by the sound of the horses' hooves against the ground. Harry's grip on her arm was like a vice, his anger palpable in the rigid set of his jaw and the hard lines of his face.

As they reached the estate, Y/N's heart sank at the sight of the imposing mansion looming ahead. She knew where Harry was taking her, and the thought filled her with a cold dread.

Sure enough, as soon as they reached the stables, Harry dragged her forcefully off the horse, his grip unyielding as he practically dragged her across the grounds towards the dungeon.

“Please don’t do this” Y/N begged, her voice choked with fear and desperation.

But Harry was unrelenting, his expression dark and unforgiving as he hauled her down the stairs into the dimly lit dungeon below the estate. The air was cold and musty, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows along the stone walls.

“I’ll stay in the bedroom. I swear” Y/N pleaded, begging him to not take her downstairs. She was scared. Y/N knew that nothing good came out from being there.

"Shut up!" Harry's voice was a low growl, his eyes blazing with fury as he shoved her roughly against the cold stone wall.

Y/N gasped as the impact knocked the wind out of her, pain shooting through her back from the force of the blow. She fought against the tears that threatened to fall, refusing to show any weakness in front of Harry.

But Harry was relentless, his hands gripping her shoulders with bruising force as he pinned her against the wall.

“Don’t play games with me. Don’t ever, ever think you’re capable of that” he spat, his face twisted with rage. Y/N shook her head frantically, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to reason with him.

His left hand came up to her throat, the pressure firm and unyielding. Y/N felt the weight of his strength, the threat of his power looming over her like a dark cloud. She could almost sense the danger in the air, the knowledge that he could crush her with a mere flick of his wrist.

For a moment, Harry's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the delicate skin of her neck. Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the suffocating pressure against her windpipe. Panic surged through her veins, a primal fear gripping her as she struggled against his hold.

“Like it or not you are mine” His voice was a low, menacing growl, filled with a dangerous edge that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/N tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but all that came out was a strangled gasp as Harry's fingers tightened even further. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears, the world narrowing down to the overwhelming sensation of his hand around her throat.

In that moment, Y/N felt utterly powerless, completely at his mercy. She could see the glint of triumph in Harry's eyes, the cruel smile on his lips as he reveled in the control he held over her.

Harry lowered his head, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of her neck. His grip on her throat loosened slightly, enough to allow her to breathe but still with a firm hold that spoke of his dominance.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the intoxicating scent of her skin. It was a heady mix of fear and arousal, a potent combination that sent a shiver of desire down his spine. Y/N's scent enveloped him, filling his senses with an irresistible temptation.

Her skin felt soft and warm under his fingertips, the sensation sending a surge of heat through him. Harry couldn't resist the urge to trail his fingers lightly along the curve of her throat, feeling the delicate pulse beneath his touch. It was a dangerous game he played, testing the boundaries of control as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her skin.

A soft gasp escaped Y/N's lips, her body tensing under his touch. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against her, his closeness sending a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She was trapped, caught in the web of his desire, unable to deny the pull he had over her.

But even as her heart raced with fear, there was an undeniable spark of something else, something darker and more primal. Harry's touch ignited a fire within her, awakening a hunger she didn't know she had. She was torn between the fear of what he might do and the overwhelming need that pulsed through her veins.

In that moment, with Harry's breath hot against her skin and his fingers tracing patterns along her throat, Y/N knew she was at his mercy. She was his to command, to control, to possess. And despite the fear that gripped her, there was a part of her that craved it, that wanted to surrender to the dark desires that burned between them.

But just as quickly as it had begun, Harry pulled away, his grip on her throat releasing completely. He straightened, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and something more sinister.

With a sudden surge of strength, Y/N pushed against him, trying to break free from his grasp. But Harry was too strong, his hold unyielding as he dragged her further into the dungeon, towards a row of heavy, iron chains hanging from the walls.

“You can’t keep me here! Federico will start asking questions!”

"Let him. I'm not afraid of your father.” He tilted his head, studying her with a dark intensity.

Y/N cried, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls as she fought against him with all her might.

But it was no use. With a cruel smirk, Harry fastened the chains around her wrists, his grip unyielding as he bound her tightly to the wall.

Y/N struggled against the chains, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized the full extent of her helplessness. She was at Harry's mercy now, trapped in the dark, cold dungeon with no hope of escape.

As Harry stepped back to survey his handiwork, a cold chill settled over Y/N. She could see the glint of madness in his eyes, the cruel smile on his lips sending a shiver down her spine.

"Enjoy your stay, Y/N," Harry's voice was a sinister whisper as he turned to leave, the heavy door of the dungeon slamming shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.

Alone in the darkness, chained and helpless, Y/N could only pray for a miracle as she awaited whatever twisted fate Harry had in store for her.

"What did you do with her?" Charlie's voice was filled with a mix of curiosity and concern as he entered Harry's office. There was a hint of a smile on his face, though he tried to mask it with a serious expression. Rumors had been swirling around the estate about Y/N's disappearance, and Charlie was eager to know the truth.

Harry glanced up from his desk, his expression unreadable. "She's downstairs," he replied tersely, his jaw clenched with barely suppressed anger. "Someone needs to teach her a lesson."

Charlie's smile faltered slightly at the edge in Harry's voice. He knew better than to question his boss further, especially when he was in this mood. Instead, he cleared his throat and tried to lighten the atmosphere.

"Ah, I see," Charlie said, though his unease was palpable. “What are we going to do about your brother?”

Harry didn't respond, his gaze focused intently on a map spread out on his desk. The silence between them was heavy, tension crackling in the air.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what else to say. He knew better than to press Harry for more information, especially when it came to matters like this.

"Silas," Harry growled, the name dripping with disdain. "He's proven himself to be nothing but a liability."

Charlie nodded, his expression grim. "It's clear he can't be trusted," he agreed, his voice low.

A heavy silence hung between them as they both contemplated the situation. Silas's actions had thrown everything into chaos, and Harry knew he couldn't let it go unpunished.

"We'll deal with him," Harry said finally, his tone firm and resolute.

"Well, if you need anything else, boss," Charlie began, stepping back towards the door.

But Harry's voice cut through the air, cold and cutting. "Stay," he ordered, his eyes narrowing as he pinned Charlie with a steely gaze.

Charlie froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed hard, feeling a sense of unease settle over him. "Boss?" he ventured, unsure of what Harry wanted.

"I need you to keep an eye on things," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous. "Make sure no one interferes with what I'm doing downstairs."

Charlie nodded, a sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He had a sinking feeling that whatever was happening downstairs was not going to end well for anyone involved.

"Understood, boss," Charlie replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry rose from his desk, his movements purposeful and determined. "I'll handle Silas.”

As Harry made his way through the estate, his steps echoed with a sense of urgency. His mind was a whirlwind of anger and determination, fueled by the betrayal of his brother and the defiance of Y/N. He couldn't shake the image of her fighting against him, the fire in her eyes igniting a spark of challenge that only fueled his anger further.

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wandasreallover · 9 days

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Threads of Resilience

Wandanat x reader

Warnings: i dont believe there is any?

The world was a tempest of chaos and uncertainty, a battlefield that stretched far beyond the physical realm. For many, every day was a struggle against the shadows of the unknown. But for you, there was a flicker of warmth amidst the coldness—the two women who had fought alongside you through countless trials: Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff.

You didn’t know when you had fallen for them, or even how it had happened. Perhaps it was the way Wanda shifted the winds with her mind, weaving reality into existence with a mere thought. Or maybe it was Natasha’s fierce loyalty, her unwavering resolve that drew you in, like a moth to the flame. Whatever the reason, love had nestled itself in your heart, its roots digging deep, intertwined with comfort and solace.

Yet, today felt different. The weight of the world pressed down upon you like an unrelenting force as you sat on the edge of the couch in your shared living quarters at the Avengers compound. You could hear the faint hum of power sources and the flurry of activity beyond the walls. Outside, the world was still trying to recover from the battle that had left scars on both earth and soul, but within you, a deeper battle raged.

"Hey, you okay?" Natasha's voice broke through the fog of your thoughts, her eyes searching yours with a fierce concern that made your heart skip. Dressed in her usual black attire, with her hair cascading in soft waves, she looked every bit the formidable warrior, yet here she was, softening into a supportive presence.

You forced a smile but the weight behind it faltered. "Just tired," you murmured, hoping it would end there.

Natasha’s hand reached out, gently squeezing yours. “Tired of fighting. Tired of all of it,” she said, her voice a soothing balm that soothed the cracks in your heart. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know? We’re all fighting our battles.”

Before you could respond, a burst of energy flared up, and Wanda appeared, her crimson attire blending seamlessly with the energy around her, wild strands of magic weaving through the air. “I could feel you, my love.” She approached with a mixture of concern and determination. “What’s bothering you?”

Her presence was like a candle flickering in the dark, illuminating the shadows you had been trying to hide from your soulmates. But you weren’t ready to bare your burdens yet. You shook your head softly. “It’s nothing, really. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking too much,” Natasha interjected, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Come here.”

You let them pull you into their embrace, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around you like a shield. Wanda’s soft voice hummed a comforting tune while Natasha rested her chin atop your head, her grip grounding you.

In that moment, the barriers began to dissolve. “I just feel… lost,” you finally confessed, words tumbling out like marbles that scattered through the air. “After everything, I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

Wanda’s fingers paused in their gentle weaving of magic as she listened intently. “You belong with us, here. But you need to feel that, feel it in your soul,” she said, her tone sincere.

Natasha gently tilted your chin up, her green gaze piercing into yours. “You’re not alone. You never have been and never will be as long as we’re together. We’ll face this together, no matter what.”

“But what if I can’t find my way? What if I’m just a burden?” Your voice faltered as tears threatened to spill, the weight of your insecurities crashing over you.

“Listen,” Wanda said, a glimmer of determination sparking in her expression. She moved closer, creating a small bubble of intimacy. “Every battle we have fought has its own scars, but they don’t define us. They remind us of what we’ve overcome. You are stronger than you know.”

Natasha nodded, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “And burdens? We all carry them. But we also help each other carry those burdens. You’re never a burden to us.” Her voice turned softer, more intimate. “You are our light, our joy. You breathe life into this place.”

That was the moment when it clicked in your heart—their love was a force of nature, unyielding and bright. You grasped tightly to Wanda’s sleeve and Natasha’s hand, feeling the solidarity of their presence. Their faith in you fortified your spirit, helping the brittle edges of your heart mend.

“No more hiding,” you declared, feeling a surge of strength in your voice. “I want to let go of this doubt. I want to start fresh. But I’ll need you both.”

Natasha’s smile radiated warmth. “We’re with you, always,” she vowed, pulling you tighter into their embrace as Wanda hummed a melody that spoke of peace and healing.

“Let’s have a night to ourselves,” Wanda suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No missions, no threats—just us. We can bake, watch movies, anything you like.”

You laughed softly at the sudden shift in mood, the idea of retreating into your own little bubble of comfort both enticing and empowering. “That sounds perfect.”

As the night unfolded, laughter echoed through the compound. There were flour fights in the kitchen, playful jabs regarding baking skills, and a cacophony of terrible singing during movie time. In moments of chaos and joy, your heart felt lighter, free from the burdens that had weighed it down.

Later, as the three of you nestled together on the couch, the tender warmth of their presence enveloping you, you realized that your world, once blurred by uncertainty, was now filled with colors you never knew existed. The shadows may remain, but with Wanda and Natasha by your side, you were ready to face them head-on.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the soft sounds of their breathing intertwined with the joy of companionship, you embraced the truth—that in love and comfort, you had found your way home.

#elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #🦈ie<3 #for 🦈 anon who requested this

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arminsfavoritepookie · 1 year

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HOW AOT CHARACTERS KISS YOU

Featuring; Eren, Mikasa, Armin

(- Fluff & Angst )

Armin's lips meet yours and gentle caress always engulfs your senses. You can't help but get lost in the tangles of his golden strands as they tickle your fingers. You move closer, your other hand softly cupping the soft rosey flesh of his cheek. A soft whimper escapes his lips, but he is desperately trying to hold himself together. This kiss belongs to you, and Armin understands that. You take from him whatever you want.

Armin's trembling hands rest on his lap, barely able to control the fiery desire raging inside him. The mere thought of losing you, the one person he loves so dearly, terrifies him to the core. It's why he's so desperate, so eager, when your thighs brush against his, as if begging for him to give himself entirely. You watch in awe as your delicate fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning each button of his shirt slowly.

Every soft noise escaping his mouth causes a stir of excitement within you, knowing how much he's aching for you. Armin loves you so intensely, with every part of his being, that the way he kisses you is nothing less than pure devotion. His lips are gentle, yet they convey a ferocity of emotion that takes your breath away. They dance against yours, gliding across the soft, smooth skin of your lips. Every detail is magnified: the way his mouth tastes, the subtle way his tongue plays against yours, the way his lips form a perfect seal against yours. The feel of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, and the beating of his heart are all encompassing, fueling your passion with every passing second.

Amidst all the losses he's endured, from losing his friends and comrades to losing his innocence, the last thing he can bear is losing you.

"Never let me go," Armin whispered softly, his eyes searching yours for some reassurance that you were both thinking the same thing. "Never," you replied, pressing your lips firmly against his once again.

Eren's intense love for you is almost suffocating at times. He's never quite comfortable unless he's right beside you, touching you in some way, and if he can't be, he's on edge, fidgeting and muttering under his breath. He'll glance your way with a flushed face and a quickening heart rate, desperate for your attention and affection. The tips of his ears always burn bright red when you catch him staring at you, which only happens about every other minute.

And when he finally gives in to his hunger and kisses you, it's not elegant or polished. It's needy, it's messy, and it's full of fervor. Eren will seize your lips as if he can't get enough, biting, nibbling, and sucking as if his very existence depended on it. The only thing he wants in that moment is you, all of you. Eren's devotion to you is a flame that burns bright and unrelenting.

As he clutches you to his chest, he lets out soft whimpers and moans, completely lost in the ecstasy of the moment. You feel his forehead pressing against yours, his tears slipping through closed eyelids, as if he's mourning the fact that this can't last forever. "I'm sorry," he whispers, barely able to choke out the words through his emotions. You can hear the pain in his voice, and it breaks your heart. "For what?" you ask softly, searching his eyes for an answer.

But he can't bring himself to say it, not with the way you're looking at him with those eyes. So he shakes his head instead, a silent admission that he'll always love you, even if one day he’s not there anymore to say it.

Mikasa's longing for your kisses is intense, a desperate need that surpasses that of food and water. It's as though the very essence of her being yearns for the taste of your lips and the warmth of your embrace. Without your affection, she feels like a shell of herself - hungry, thirsty, and lost. She's a warrior on the battlefield, fierce and unstoppable. But when it comes to matters of the heart, Mikasa is bashful and unsure.

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment when she’s pushing her tongue into your mouth, of feeling your hands roam over her uniform. And yet, the desire she feels for you outweighs her shyness.

Mikasa frequently ponders if you are aware of just how much she adores you—how your presence holds an immeasurable significance in her life, yet her thoughts are consistently interrupted by the sensation of her fingers delicately gliding across the tender skin of your neck.

She whispers your name, barely audible over the cacophony of your whimpers. Her plea is soft but urgent. Your arms wrap around her, holding her close as your tongues dance together. The taste of her mouth is sweet, addictive, and you can't get enough of her. She's yours, body and soul, and you know in that moment that nothing will ever tear you apart "Please," she begs, "Kiss me again and make everything okay."

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danandphillussy · 19 days

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A quick little glimpse at something I'm writing currently. Reader's mutation is quite literally stolen from Grishaverse heartrenders. I just think they are rad. Also, i dunno how to format on tumblr so bear with me. NOT proofread sorry not sorry :3

The fight around him was raging with no sign of stopping anytime soon. This was supposed to be a simple mission, Logan, you, Storm and Jean were sent out to investigate a strange concentration of mutant activity in the middle of the woods that Charles had picked up on. He was concerned about the nature of the activity he could sense, unsure whether it would be a friendly interaction or not. So he sent some of his most capable friends, unfortunately. Turns out it was a trap, mutants having been captured to purposely lure them to the alien den. For whatever reason, these creatures wanted the X-men's attention, and they sure had got it. Not in a good way.

Storm was engaged in fighting two of the alien looking creatures off, using her powers to electrocute them to dust while Jean was throwing their bodies haphazardly around, trying to avoid their vicious claws. Currently he was ripping one apart with his claws, yanking his hands down to throw it to the ground before leaping behind the body and sticking his claws through the creature's neck. Pausing to look around at the carnage around him, he spares a glance to where he saw you last but is unable to spot your location. Bodies litter the ground around them, the aliens unrelenting in their attack. He could only spot a few more, the fight hopefully ending soon. As he rips a scaly arm of another alien in half he hears your voice, a humorous tilt in your tone. That was you, always joking in times like this, never taking anything seriously. The way you fought was effortless like it’s something you've spent decades perfecting, which you have. You always refused to purely rely on your powers, determined to make yourself strong in every way and it pays off. The way you gracefully spin around the figures advancing on you, killing them with a calculated sway of your dagger aiming for just the right places, is currently making Logan’s jeans tighter. Which is not what he needs right now. While he was distracted, another tried to sneak up on him but in a second the creature was sent scrambling on the floor, clawing at its throat. He smirks, he likes being a part of a team.

“AHHH!” The scream pierces the air and halts all fighting. The hairs on his arm stand up and he immediately whips his head around to you, only to see you violently close your fist and kill the alien in front of you, blood spurting all over you. Hot… Not the time! You drop your hand and sprint over the bodies left in your wake, leading his eyes to …

Oh no.

He follows suit, running over to Jean’s crumpled form. Storm kneels down and pulls Jean’s head onto her lap. A large gash on her side spurting blood way too quickly for his liking. To be honest, he’s never been good with blood even after all these years. He’s had enough of it. But the amount pouring out of Jean was enough to be sickening, he dropped beside her and tried to stop the flow of blood. Before he could say anything, Jean seemed to be trying to turn his attention to behind him. He turned to see the rest of the creatures gaining on them, wanting to finish the rest of them off while they were distracted. His heart was racing; he could probably take them all, sure, but they really needed to get Jean out of here and back to the mansion.

“We gotta do something, the poison is acting quickly” Storm's somehow calm voice rings out through the mixing of their huffs.

“Leave me. Please.” Jean’s weak voice begs. Always self-sacrificing. He rolled his eyes, knowing none of them could be dragged away from one of their teammates.

“No way in hell.” Your voice was deadly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw you shakily get up from your knees and stumble before him, your body blocking the creatures from view. He tried to call out your name but nothing seemed to come out. The air around you seemed murderous, body shaking with rage. Logan had never seen you like this before, you were the most level-headed on the team but also probably the most protective. When someone hurt your friends, there was hell to pay. And these creatures were about to pay, he almost felt bad for them. Almost. They were running towards your group now, picking up their pace dramatically. Before they could get any closer you slashed your hands in an arc and tightened your fists, head tilting as you focused on their hearts, the blood flowing through their bodies. All at once, they collapsed to the ground becoming very still. He noticed the way blood seeped out of their eyes and noses, not a nice way to go at all.

It was all over in a second, but Jean’s state had already worsened. He pushed tighter against her wound despite her protests, mumbling his apologies. He felt you drop beside him, the air pulled from your lungs as you took in Jean’s dismal state. He saw the tears collecting in your eyes and dropping down your cheeks, he longed to take your face in his hands and wipe them away. He hated seeing you cry, he wanted to make it all better but there was nothing he could do. He felt hopeless.

“I-am going to try something. Get back.” You stuttered out, nudging Logan away from Jean.

“y/n there’s nothing we can do…” Storm tried to reason. You weren’t hearing it.

“I said get back!” Your outburst startled Storm into retreating a few steps. Logan walked over to her and allowed her to lean on him. He knew you had been working on your abilities lately, testing your limits. He also knew that you were extremely powerful. But he couldn’t see what you could possibly do here. Your form shadowed over Jean’s, her breathing becoming shallower by the second. He heard Storm signalling for help, but he was mesmerised by your face of concentration. You were taking deep breaths with closed eyes, hands hovering over the wound on Jean’s side. A flash of pain crossed your face as you made a pulling motion with your hand, repeating the action again and again. What he saw next he couldn’t believe. You had seemed to pause the flow of crimson from the gash but a trail of blood trickled out and flowed into the air, the droplets like rain before dropping to the ground behind you. Only stopping for a second before your hands fall back into action. Before he could blink, the wound had completely disappeared, the skin having knitted itself back together under your fingers. Your breathing was now ragged, and when you opened your eyes, they were entirely red. He heard Storm gasp beside him. The breath left his lungs, speech failing him. Blood filled your eyes, dripping down your cheeks replacing the dried tears, and your hands were a dark shade of red, the liquid even dripping from your fingertips. Logan never liked blood, but the sight of you covered in blood that wasn’t yours, he seemed to like a lot. Now he was just worried about the sag of your shoulders and the terribly tired look on your face.

“I did… There-there’s no more poison. But blood, she’s lost… lost a lot of blood. We have to go.” You fell onto your back, allowing Storm to pick up Jean’s unconscious body and quickly take her to The Blackbird which had just arrived nodding to Logan as she passed. He ran over to you, shaking your shoulder and taking your face in his hand. Instead of wiping tears, he’s wiping blood from your cheeks as you look up at him through the film of red covering your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey that was pretty crazy huh? You alright? It’s time to go now.” He spoke softly to you, knowing that's probably what you need. You’d explained how using your power was overstimulating, the roaring of heartbeats and blood rushing making your skin crawl. He tried to calm the racing of his heart, knowing you could sense his panic. He felt that calm rush over him and looked into your eyes, the corner of his lips tilting up in appreciation. You always put him, and the others first. It was cute, but it was also frustrating.

“Enough of that, you’ve done enough today. Let’s get you home.” He picked up your nearly limp body in his arms, gently walking you both over to the jet, careful not to jostle your sore body too much. You tiredly smiled up at him, lifting your hand and patting his cheek, leaving a bloody handprint, before promptly passing out.

Rest coming soon????

#fanfiction #logan howlett #x men movies #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #x reader #implied female reader #ororo munroe #jean gray #xmen x reader #james howlett #hurt/comfort

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talesofadragon · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco is caged in an unrelenting spiral of distaste and distrust. The pervasive tendrils of hatred threaten to incinerate every aspect of his existence, edging ever closer to Y/N. A breakup seemed like the wisest choice. But a few bottles of Firewhiskey later, Draco is faced with something more daunting than his mind’s distorted illusions—a glimpse into his future.

Warnings: Allusions to sex

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word count: 4K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐤, the weight of guilt would have long since dissipated, evaporating into the vast expanse of time.

But tattoos, Draco had come to learn, lived on a polarizing spectrum—either itched by hope’s gentle caresses or marred by despair’s morbid claws. He liked to call them insignias because he knew that, either way, those brands never faded away. And even if, by Merlin’s stupendous power, their ink were to vanish, the tales behind them would eternally reverberate through the most somber corridors of time.

The choices made and the sacrifices offered in their creation were intricately woven into the curvatures of each tattoo, amplifying the weight of these indelible brands.

“Mate, I have never seen anyone treat Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey so foully.”

Draco’s silver eyes were unyielding in their pursuit of the black snake that slithered into his pale skin. He refused to look away, not when he heard Theodore Nott’s voice and not when he reached out blindly for the silver goblet, determined to drown the lingering traces of Firewhiskey within it.

As the scorching pace of the liquid coursed through his veins, his heart constricted, and his eyes stung. Yet, he paid no heed to the discomfort, having endured far greater pains in the past.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lightweight then you would have known that the whole Slytherin House and half of the Gryffindors treat it with indignation,” Draco retorted.

Theodore's arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze narrowing as he observed his best friend. Draco's weariness was evident, more pronounced than even during the days of the Dark Lord.

Letting out a sigh of resignation, Theodore settled in the chair by Draco's side. Taking the goblet from his hand, Theodore filled it with some more Firewhiskey. “Not that I am unhappy to host you, but isn’t it time to go back home, Draco?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around the goblet. If he thought the Firewhiskey was testing his endurance, then clearly he hadn’t anticipated the words that came out of Theodore’s mouth.

“I don’t have a home.”

“But you do.”

“No. I do not!” His voice ricocheted against the walls, pained echoes pushing against the boundaries that confined them. Draco’s voice shook, the rage in his words dissolving into meek submission. “Not without her.”

“Mate.” Theodore watched helplessly as Draco swung his head back to gulp down the entire goblet of Firewhiskey. He violently slammed the empty goblet against the marble of the kitchen bar, gaze stuck far ahead. “This is killing you.”

“Let it.”

“Draco—”

“I should’ve died long ago in that war, Theo. Maybe this is retribution for everything I did.”

“What retribution, you imbecile? Dooming everything you’ve both built after the war?”

“Do not mention her,” Draco seethed. His bloodshot eyes matched the color of his soul, a violent red that overwhelmed every one of his senses. He’s hated the war for so long—he failed to realize how much it seeped through his soul until he became one himself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Theodore scoffed. He reared back, placing his weight on the back of the chair and studying Draco’s hunched posture. “I‘ve known you since we were brought into the Wizarding World, Draco. I know that you didn’t come here to escape the fray.”

“What finally tipped you off, oh brilliant Rowena? Was it the way I shut down every mention of her name? Or perhaps my defensive stance and guarded demeanor?” Draco mocked.

With an air of indifference, Theodore replied, “You don’t run away from battles, Draco. You wage them.”

“That was the old me.”

"If that were truly the case, then why did you declare war on Y/N? What suddenly woke you up, making you realize that you couldn't bear to be with her for another second?"

A flash of irritation crossed Draco's face as he interjected, "I told you not to mention her name."

Ignoring the warning, Theodore continued with a pointed intensity. "Her name itself is a battle, Draco. One you’ve ignited because of the conflict that rages within you, fueled by your selfish desires."

"Selfish?" Draco roared, his anger escalating. In the heat of the moment, he flung the empty goblet against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control the tempest brewing within him. "What part of letting her go for her well-being is selfish? She deserves better, Nott. So I gave her better!"

"Better, is a subjective notion.”

"It's the only notion," Draco countered, his composure slipping as he struggled to rein in his emotions. The veneer of false placidity he had tried to maintain for days proved futile in containing his anger. "You have no idea the price I have to pay for the blood that rests on my hand. For the mark that’s refusing to die with time.”

“I know,” Theodore whispered breathlessly.

Draco's head shook with a heavy burden of remorse. "No, you don’t. Because being a Death Eater's son and being a Death Eater are two separate realms. I would trade anything, everything, to return to a time when I was feared and hated. Because now, I have to watch the world extend their animosity to the only woman who was brave enough to try and pull me out of the Dark Lord’s dominion.”

Theodore pushed himself off the chair, his movements purposeful and determined. With each deliberate stride, the distinct click of his shoes echoed against the ground. "By pushing her away. By hurling venomous words at her. By replicating the very path the world forced upon you, dragging her through darkness and uncertainty."

“She deserves better! Better than a semi-stable man who was a servant of darkness. Better than a wizard whose father is serving a sentence in Azkaban and whose mother is a victim of delirium. She deserves better—”

“Than a man who is stripping her of her choices the same way his lineage stripped him of his.”

“No.” Draco negated. If only he hadn’t drank this much Firewhiskey, maybe his breath would have come out steadier and his words wouldn’t have grappled with conviction. “I left for her.”

“You left her,” Theodore corrected. It always amazed Draco how Theodore Nott, the epitome of reticence, became a forceful and impassioned defender when it came to matters close to his heart, including Y/N. “You left her because you’re selfish. Because you craved your twisted path of redemption. Retribution, as you have so masterfully termed it, should not come at the expense of hurting Y/N. She fought for you with everything she had. And if you are so keen on being a masochist, Draco, then have the decency to leave her out of your descent into madness!”

With a final venomous glare, Theodore took a step back and began to march away from the room. Draco, caught in a state of disbelief, felt his hands instinctively fall upon the cool marble surface of the kitchen counter. He pressed his palms firmly against the chilled stone, desperately seeking solace from the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

In an abrupt intrusion, Theodore burst back into the room. Draco barely had a chance to meet his gaze before Theodore snatched the bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter and swiftly left. There was no doubt in Draco's mind that he must have also cast a spell to lock the cellar to deny Draco access to any and every liquor stored in the Manor.

In that moment, Draco's vision was void of any specific color—not a glimpse of red, black, or any hue in between. His rage transcended ordinary perception, defying quantification by any shade or measurement. All that existed in his awareness was a hazy fog enveloping his sight, a world imploding upon itself.

With venomous intent, Draco's fingers slithered through his hair, viciously tugging at the strands. Curses and fury spilled from his lips, weaving a tapestry of disaster, painted with every twisted emotion inhabiting his soul.

The shattered glass before him mirrored his fractured heart, and the disarrayed furniture reflected the homelessness of his wounded spirit. If he excelled in wars and battles, then he might as well transform this space into a battleground.

He persisted for hours, tirelessly wreaking havoc until Theodore's once-familiar abode became unrecognizable. Yet, the knowledge that a mere flick of his wand could undo this chaos only fueled the flames of his fury even more.

How ironic it was that he could demolish a meaningless space in mere hours, only for his magic to effortlessly restore it in seconds. Yet, the home he had reduced to ashes remained irreparable, defying any spells he cast upon it.

With a heavy heart, Draco sank to the ground, embraced by the unforgiving coldness of the stone beneath him. Leaning back against the chilling marble, he stared vacantly at the ceiling of Theodore's dwelling. It was no longer the familiar dark maroon he had once known, but a mosaic of melancholic hues. It was in that moment, as the taste of salty tears brushed against his lips, that he realized his own hollow gaze had been the architect all along.

As his shuddered breaths gradually calmed, and the twitching of his fingers ceased, Draco couldn't help but feel his heart, exhausted from its rapid sprinting and relentless pounding against his ribs.

Standing up, he reached for his wand. "Scourgify," he commanded. Instantly, his magic eagerly clung to every surface in the room, diligently working to restore order and mend the damage he had caused.

While his magic busily repaired what he had broken, Draco made his way to the kitchen, intending to pour himself a much-needed goblet of water. As he approached the marble counter, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a mysterious black box neatly resting there.

“What in Merlin’s name?” It must’ve been hidden somewhere amongst the furniture because even in his stupor Draco would’ve recalled coming across it.

Gingerly, he pulled the lid up. What he found inside was something akin to a Time Turner, along with a couple of notes. Knowing well that all those magical devices had long been destroyed, Draco’s curiosity peaked. He reached for the notes, eyes trekking along the lines of Theodore’s handwriting.

“Temporal Surger, experimental prototype number five,” Draco read aloud. He briskly skimmed across the pages, absorbing more and more information. “Contrary to the Time Turner, the Temporal Surger springboards the wizard forward through time. Though the exact destination remains unpredictable, prototype number five provides a ten-minute window for the wizard traveling into the future.”

Draco discarded the notes in favor of picking up the device. It didn’t look any different from the Time Turner with an hourglass in the middle and golden outer rings surrounding it. Yet, when Draco tried to nudge the hourglass, it didn’t budge. He raised his brows, eyes narrowing down to investigate the object. His fingers lingered on the rings, the pad of his index finger tracing the surface.

Inadvertently, his fingers slipped, and the outer rings turned on themselves. Draco paid them no heed, though it became increasingly hard not to notice them when their momentum increased as they followed an unfamiliar rhythm. Draco didn’t have enough time to panic before a bright light emanated from the center of the Time Surger, engulfing him whole.

When the light weathered, Draco immediately sprung out of his seat. Taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, he blinked twice. At first, he thought it was his broken heart playing yet another trick on him till it became evident that the Time Surger had, in fact, transported him to another place.

“Merlin’s beard, Theodore is going to murder me,” Draco said aloud. He immediately clamped a hand over his mouth when it dawned on him that he didn’t even know where he was or who was in the same vicinity as him.

Draco hardly had a moment to register his distaste for the petrifying yellow curtains and cream-colored kitchen walls before he caught the sound of leisurely footsteps approaching from his right.

He sprinted across the room, his entire body whirling around itself until he spotted, what he hoped was, a door that led him to the pantry. He rushed in but left it slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. A crease etched itself in the middle of his forehead when his eyes met a tall man with platinum blond hair tied into a bun.

The man was shirtless, tall, and well-built. His back was littered with scars, some seemingly thinner and more recent than the others. He moved seamlessly around the kitchen, without a wand in sight, opening draws and cabinets to prepare some food. Draco tried peering closer to catch a glimpse of his face when the sound of someone apparating startled him.

“What is Master Malfoy doing here?” a squeaky voice asked.

Draco’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, rivaling the size of the round plates that man had been filling with fruits. He bristled, the gears in his mind rushing to concoct an explanation. But how was he supposed to explain that he’s acquired a, possibly illegal, prototype of a Temporal Surger created by none other than his best friend?

“What does one do in a kitchen?” Draco heard himself say in a mirthful tone. He sighed in relief at the plausible answer, but his relief proved to be ephemeral when he realized that it wasn’t him who spoke.

He widened the door a bit further, revealing a house elf standing in the kitchen, gazing up at the shirtless blond wizard. With the man's face now visible, Draco was taken aback by the striking similarities between them. The man was a slightly older version of himself.

“Blinky serves the House of Malfoy. It’s Blinky’s job to prepare breakfast for her master.”

The house elf, Blinky, attempted to pry the spatula out of the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. He didn’t relent, keeping a firm grip on it and flipping whatever he was cooking in the sizzling pan.

“Thank you, Blinky. I do appreciate your efforts,” he said over the elf's loud huffs. “But I wanted to cook my wife a special breakfast myself.”

A loud gasp reverberated in the narrow space of the pantry. Draco stumbled even closer to the door, almost pushing it entirely open. His eyes widened, intently studying the Malfoy Patriarch's hand. And sure enough, a silver band adorned his ring finger, glistening in the light.

“Mistress Malfoy has woken up?” Blinky asked in her tiny voice. They must’ve not heard Draco’s shock over the sound of whatever it was that was cooking.

“Hmm,” the Malfoy Patriarch hummed. He had picked up a goblet from the cupboard, filling it with pumpkin juice. “Blinky, could you please get the Mistress’ favorite flowers? I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture.”

Squealing in excitement at fulfilling a task for her masters, Blinky apparated out of the kitchen immediately. By the time she came back with some orchids in a small, round vase, the Malfoy Patriarch had already prepared a full assortment of food. From French Croissants to Quidditch Quaffles, he set them all on a tray and merrily exited the kitchen.

Using a disillusionment charm, Draco quietly followed after his older self. He noticed that the house, or rather cottage, was significantly smaller than Malfoy Manor, yet a million times more alluring. It had a cozy and welcoming atmosphere, adorned with bright colors and pictures from his Hogwarts days. Every decorative piece, whether a vase or an ornament, seemed to have been picked with care, making it evidently known that this house was not of his choosing. Whoever his future wife was, he was sure she had to be the one to decorate the house so quaintly and delicately because he could never fill any space with such beauty.

With careful steps, Draco ascended to the upper floor, his attention fixed on each stride. The walls, still adorned in their creamy hue, now bore intricate engravings of an evocative design. The sight of verdant trees and lush bushes lining the hallway welcomed him, instilling a profound sense of tranquility within him.

The Malfoy Patriarch pushed open one of the doors and casually entered. Fortunately, he left it open, making it easier for Draco to hurry inside. He found an equally charming interior, where sunlight streamed into the room, casting a beautiful glow, while the books on the bookshelf created a colorful display like a rainbow.

In the center of the bed, a woman laid peacefully under the covers. Her entire back was exposed, making a pink tint hug Draco’s cheeks.

The Malfoy Patriarch offered a winsome smile at the painting before his eyes. He placed the tray aside and walked to the bed, letting his thumbs trace the woman’s back.

“Angel,” he called in a soft voice. “Wake up for me.” When the woman didn’t give up her sleep, the Malfoy Patriarch bent down to plant soft kisses on her arm. They were featherlight and soft caresses as if coming out of a dream.

She sighed heavily, turning on her back. Draco watched his older self laugh, taking this as a chance to kiss his wife’s lips.

“Draco,” she whined. And Draco had to brace himself against the wardrobe to stop himself from falling to his knees. "Please, five more minutes."

“Y/N Malfoy, you know denying you anything is physically impossible. But I really need you to get out of bed and eat something for me. Now, my love.”

He heard Y/N say, “Don’t want to.” And Draco’s heart squeezed in his chest because he knew that she was pouting beneath the covers, and most importantly, she was wide awake but trying to get Draco to give her a few more minutes of his attention.

The Malfoy Patriarch pulled away, surprising Draco. He walked to the tray he had placed aside, grabbing the goblet of pumpkin juice. Y/N opened her eyes when she noticed her husband’s ministrations came to an abrupt end. She hugged the sheets to her naked chest, pouting when she saw her husband against the wall, sipping from the drink.

“This is delicious,” he teased. Y/N made a face.

“Give it.” She held her hands out, opening and closing her palms in anticipation. Her husband diligently took the whole tray to her side, positioning it on the bed. “I hate you,” she huffed while dipping one Quidditch Quaffle in honey.

The man in front of her beamed, shaking his head. “You must hate me fiercely, angel. Your ardor set my soul ablaze a million times over yesterday night. And I've got marks on my back to prove it.”

Both Y/N and Draco choked at the heat that permeated the air. Y/N’s gaze meandered across the room, trying to escape the heat of her husband’s scintillating eyes.

“Well, you set mine ablaze a million times over every day, Draco! Go put a shirt on instead of teasing me!” Y/N grunted while reaching for the goblet.

The Malfoy Patriarch’s laugh roared within the four walls of the room, and even Draco had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at her retort.

“Is my wife looking forward to dessert already?”

Y/N let out a sound that was both a whine and a sigh. She pushed the tray aside and reared back, burying her body in the pile of pillows on her bed. Her husband laughed, studying her pout. Her hands rested on her stomach, and if Draco hadn’t been shocked to his core before, he was baffled at the sight of Y/N cradling a very noticeable baby bump.

“Draco, please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“Not that! You know if we do that now we won’t get out of bed for another three hours!”

“Would it be such—”

“Yes!” Y/N interjected. She looked like an angry little pixie with her narrowed eyes and pointed glare. “It would. Because we have so much to do today.” She went on to explain that she and Narcissa were supposed to meet for tea in the afternoon and that Draco had to finish setting up the nursery. Y/N kept on listing everything they had to do while her husband intently listened without saying a single word. Instead, he watched her, letting one of his hands wander to her stomach and cover hers. “What are you thinking?” Y/N finally asked, coming to grasp with the realization that her husband had zoned out.

He didn’t answer at first, noticeably lost in his wife’s beauty. “I’m not thinking. I’m feeling.”

Y/N let out a semi-laugh. “What are you feeling, Draco?”

“You,” he replied solemnly. He interlaced their fingers together, keeping their intertwined hands on her belly. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

“Dray.” Y/N’s expression softened. She tugged on her husband’s hand, and even though she had lamented that they couldn’t stay in bed for long, she let him pull her to his chest while he made himself comfortable on their bed. “I love you.”

“I love you so much.” It was Draco who said it. With teary eyes and a battered soul, he surrendered to the images of his older self caressing Y/N’s lips and her cheeks.

“I love both of my girls. And I only hope our little princess can learn to love me despite all my flaws.”

Y/N shot her husband an indignant look, her gaze filled with disapproval. However, a hint of tenderness softened her eyes, conveying a complex mix of emotions.

“She does.”

“How do you know?”

“She's currently expressing her displeasure at your words by stirring up a commotion inside my belly.”

“Oh, yeah?” the Malfoy patriarch laughed. He tightened his hold on Y/N and pulled her even closer. One hand on her belly and the other in her hair, he peered down at her and locked his silver eyes with hers. “She’s a tornado, like her mother.”

Y/N chose not to respond, embracing a peaceful silence instead while staring at her husband. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I’m feeling,” Y/N spoke out. “Time and time again, I only feel you.”

While her husband's gaze fixated on her lips, inching closer to his own, Draco's attention was abruptly seized by the Time Surger stirring once more. His eyes dropped downward, observing the rings spinning autonomously.

Torn between stealing a final glimpse and safeguarding the precious moment, Draco reluctantly withdrew from the room. Hastening his steps, he hurriedly exited, stealing one last glance at his future self tenderly pulling the sheet away from Y/N's body until a blinding light dissolved the scene.

The curtain fell, and he found himself back in Theodore's living room.

Draco struggled to catch his breath, hurriedly placing the Temporal Surger back inside its box. His restless eyes darted across the room, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions surging through him, dragging him deeper into the abyss. Gasping for air, his head whipped around, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.

His eyes landed on the box, the notes still outside. Future, he read in Theodore’s perfect handwriting.

“Nott, you knobhead. If you were here right now, I would have kissed you with such intensity time would stop. And even your stupidly brilliant Temporal Surger wouldn’t have worked.”

The numbness of his heart dissipated, and the crippling guilt roaming across his forearm vanished. Draco breathed deeply, embracing the placidity around him. Maybe Theodore’s walls were grim compared to the ones his future self occupied. Yet all Draco could feel was the warmth of Y/N’s voice and the tranquility of the mornings they were yet to share.

He rushed to Theodore’s fireplace, not bothering to fix himself up. Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Draco finally spoke aloud. “Take me to Y/N Y/L/N.”

He finally realized that whether time turned or surged, he and Y/N Y/L/N were bound by a string of fate that was unyielding in its war against the Sands of Time.

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Draco Taglist:

@imabee-oralizard@ameliaphoenix@arcana-greenleaf@dittos-blog-dylanobrien

I have been wanting to write this one for a while! Feels good to be writing again for our favorite Slytherin!🪄

Let me know if you would like to be moved/removed from my taglists.🤍

For those who want to be tagged in my Harry Potter/Marvel works, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message!

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy #dad!draco malfoy #dad!draco #dad!draco x reader #husband!draco malfoy #post hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy angst #time turner #future draco malfoy x reader #husband!draco x wife!reader

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