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caffeinatedmunchkin · 12 days ago

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La Petite Mort

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 7.8k words

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down. "You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more so to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy. "Please." Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted." The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness. "Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

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Crossposted to AO3!

*pspspsps at the Emmrich brats* come get tamed!

I told myself I wasn't going to write for Emmrich but I guess that was a big fat lie. Ya'll keep saying how he'd talk you through it, writing this filth was the only way I was gonna exorcise that demon. Writing characters OOC is my worst nightmare, I did my best. Let me know your thoughts on whether I was successful or not. Enjoy 😘

Rook floundered as she regarded her circle of companions, struggling to uplift those around her as her spirit was the lowest of them all. To her credit she wore her bravest face, and commended each and every one of them for their displayed strengths in their respective roles. A reluctant heroine who found leadership ill-suited and cumbrous.

Weisshaupt had yet to retract its claws. Emmrich noticed her energy waning, the tension in her thin shoulders festering. Her posture heavy with fatigue.

They were all on edge, but none shouldered a greater burden than her. The wayward little Watcher that held too much regret in the delicate lines of her young face.

Hazarding just a few glances her way during the meeting, each time displayed the same weariness she failed to hide. He wracked his brain for possible solutions to help ease her strain, but he kept falling short.

He would have known just how obvious his course of action should be, if only he knew where to look.

If he had given proper credence to her coy remarks, and coquettish body language. If he accepted that her freely given touch - nimble fingers grazing his elbow, the small of his back - were held longer with him, than the others.

If he hadn't been so consumed by his strict notions of gallantry, in accordance with his branding of her as the proverbial forbidden fruit. Securely out of reach, it was a pedestal he placed her on before he joined The Veilguard. Well before they had even been formally introduced.

Emmrich had suggested, with enough vagueness to spare himself from too much guilt, that he hadn't remembered seeing her before. To his relief, she corroborated his version of their story in kind.

A delicious discrepancy. A secret they each believed they held over the other.

"Have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?"

"I don't remember everything from my scholar days."

Not an outright lie; those days were a blur. Rigorous and all-consuming academics with not much time for herself, except of course for the moments she slipped away, or stole. All instances that were still fresh in her history.

When the sun dropped from the sky, and the lights of the city beckoned her with it's promised anonymity, and its proffered escape. Getting herself into the sort of trouble that was otherwise irresistible to a teenager who felt she didn't belong. Who bore the associated pressures and expectations of a path more or less chosen for her.

Trouble that followed her even into young adulthood.

Scrapes and scuffles on the streets of Nevarra that inexorably found it's way back to the ears of her elders. Awaiting her with exasperated spiels, and stern words. And heftier measures of containing her the next time.

Though she had seen him plenty around the Necropolis. She knew who he was. More so than her flippant dismissal let on.

Professor Volkarin; the tall, handsome academician whose lectures she'd made a habit of crashing. Keeping to the back with one of her friends, one who actually held the right to attend, she'd watch him with a covetous gleam to her eye and a withheld breath. A luxury rarely afforded, her heart whirred like a hummingbird in the cage of her ribs whenever she could sneak off to sit in.

Confident, eloquent, experienced. He'd captured the attention of the entire lecture hall with the flourish he wielded in spell-casts, and final preparations alike. He was impassioned about his work. The full-breadth of his proficiency - and kindness - shining through as he expounded on the necessity of ceremonial tradition, and the importance of regarding the dead with the same reverence one would the living.

And Maker, his hands.

They had never been introduced. Not a word, or glance, exchanged between them in all their shared years. She was certain that she could admire from afar. That he hadn't taken stock of the vivacious, diminutive elven interloper that invited herself to his seminars.

Oh how wrong she was.

The professor was more familiar with Ariadne Ingellvar then he'd ever dare confess.

Catching glimpses of her around the halls. The vibrant little mage that radiated the fertile warmth and liveliness of a dawning springtime, with her rosy cheeks and bright shock of blonde hair. She evoked images of fresh bloomed honey-suckle dotting a verdant meadow, a herald of the seasons approach.

Who crept into his audience, and observed from the cover of shadow, as far back as their discretion would extend.

Like a voyeur, he'd sense her presence amongst his fold of usual suspects, making him feel exposed. The lecture hall too public a setting for the sudden feverish indecency that infected an otherwise appropriate, and strictly educational demonstration.

At times she looked out of place against the backdrop of the Necropolis. A beaming smile with a lot of teeth. An infectious cackle of laughter he had come to recognize as hers, as she maneuvered the halls with a gaggle of peers around her. A distinct bouquet of raspberry, gardenia and amber wafting in her wake. Little, pleasant pockets of fragrance left like breadcrumbs to follow her trail, should he ever be so inclined.

Or so bold.

The smells of the Necropolis were dominant, and familiar. Of myrr, clove, and Bitumen. The bitter cold. Her scent somehow refused to be suffocated by her surroundings. Her reputation, that he was only able to gleam fractions at a time, suggested that she refused to blend in. And in that, she was successful.

He was equally familiar with the whispers and disapproving remarks from colleagues over the years. They shadowed all conversations at which her found her at the center. Where she was mentioned, criticism was sure to follow.

Her raising esteem among the ranks made for all the more intriguing a contrast.

She was restless, it seemed. Headstrong. Spirited. But oh, was she alluring. And lovely.

Lovely enough to both coax his gaze, and forbid him from looking any further. Digging any deeper.

Emmrich was both ecstatic - and slightly sick - to see her traipsing up alongside Bellara when they arrived for his recruitment. It had been some time since he had last seen her flitting through the halls of the Necropolis. Though she had been absent from its structure, her memory very much still haunted his musings.

She didn't look much different from how he remembered. She seemed grounded; sated by the experiences she received in her time away from home. And yet, a flicker of despondency remained. Homesickness, perhaps? Dejection at being sent away?

After the meeting had disbanded, she remained in her seat. Eyes cast downward, as she studied her nails, and twisted her fingers. He found himself pausing, with brows lifted in concern.

In a gentle croon, he maintained the safe distance away from behind the other end of the table. "Rook, dear, are you alright?"

Lifting her chin to gaze up at him, he saw the same lost look he sometimes caught sight of around the Necropolis. He now knew it's origin, of course, or at least a likely theory.

During their jaunt at the memorial gardens, Ariadne revealed that she had been the babe that was found abandoned in the crypt. He hadn't been among the Watchers who recovered her, but he had seen her then. All those years ago when he was a much younger man.

Her impossibly tiny body swaddled and cooing from the crook of Myrna's arm. All pink cheeks and bright eyes. With elongated, pointy ears not yet grown into, even with how new to the world she was.

And then there she stood; an accomplished necromancer, and grown woman. Her ears now as proportionate as the rest of her.

The same grown woman who had caught his eye around the Necropolis, much to his dismay. It took everything in him not to react upon that revelation. Maker willing she hadn't noticed the falter of his tight smile, or the twitch in his left eye.

More reason to keep her at arms length.

Yet there he was. Alone with her. Lingering, like a besotted fool.

"Never better." She lied with a sidelong look, casting away the brief flicker of melancholy just as it breached. "I'm tired, but no more so than anyone else."

"Tremendous pressure often leads to tremendous physical stress on the body." His tone erudite, he straightened to a more erect posture. "I fear you're not heeding the tells of your own."

"I'm fine, really." With an exaggerated simper in effort to make it more believable, she rolled her shoulders as if their tension released with that declaration. "Thank you, Emmrich."

Fearful of coming off too strong, he nodded in surrender and cleared his throat. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

She rose from her seat, smiling at him from across the table. "Yes." She affirmed. "See you then."

During dinner Ariadne was silent. Poignant as it was uncharacteristic, it was an observation that worsened his concern. She no more than picked at her meal like a bird, flashing brief smiles, or nodding only when appropriate. But the fiery Watcher he knew was miles away from the young woman who sat across from him. Her disassociation betrayed by the sad, brown eyes that had dulled from their radiant luster.

He knew she was in there somewhere, and yearned for her return.

With dinners unceremonious conclusion, he watched as she excused herself from the table without a word, and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a curious length of time, the stem of a goblet was twisted in her fingers. That same small hand also clutched what he assumed to be a wine bottle by it's neck.

Her eyes darted among those closest to her before proceeding, hoping to avoid potential entanglement with someone who might think to join her.

Or worse, notice the specific vintage she was smuggling.

The only others left in the dining hall now were himself, Taash and Davrin. Too engrossed in a debate over whether or not an axe was more effective than a long sword against a Hurlock, to pay any mind to her suspicious behavior.

It only took him a few lengthened strides to catch up to her. Believing herself to be in the clear, Emmrich noticed how tense her back stiffened upon hearing him advance. She halted, before spinning on a heel to face him, brows quirked and her lips pouting in what could only be describe as anxiousness.

"Rook- I do hope I'll receive your pardon if this comes across as overbearing, but I must caution against such a libation on an empty stomach."

Unable to curve his curiosity before it took the lead, his gaze flickered down to the bottles label. A lump formed in his throat as he read it.

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed.

The good professor was well acquainted. It's sultry description reared from the depths of his psyche, and crashed over him like a sheet of glass.

An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation.

He clasped his hands in front of him with a soft clatter of his bracelets and bangles. Hoping beyond hope he hadn't played his hand. That she didn't notice the climb his brows made to his hairline upon noting her scandalous choice in drink.

If she did catch his prying, she had the decency not to acknowledge it. Her smile was tired, but genuine all the same.

Emmrich felt her palm slip around his elbow. The young mage was most unrestrained with her expressions through physical touch - it was just her way - and at times he fell prey to the rot of wishful thinking that he received more of it than the rest.

"And I hope it's not too much trouble to ask that you call me Ariadne. Or Ari, if you prefer." The fleeting contact pulled back to then give a dismissive wave, she planted a step behind her, poised to take off. It wasn't like her to look to flee his company with such haste, and that appealed to his morbid intrigue. "And trust me when I say, I only want one drink, just to help me sleep." The melody of her voice lilted in amusement. "Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me."

Call me Ariadne. His chest pulled in on itself. Pressing his tongue against his clenched teeth, it felt heavy and cotton thick at the mere thought of addressing her as such. Addressing her by name.

Rook was easy, and safe. Rook was a moniker for the explicit use of her associates. Referring to her that way maintained his professionalism, and staved his guilt.

Swallowing with a weak smile, Emmrich offered an acquiescent bow of his head. Neither indulging, nor denying her request.

She peered up at him in thought for but an extra moment, her exhaustion clouded gaze glimmering with contemplation. Abandoning whatever seemed to hold her attention, she gave him a final, small smile, before exiting the dining hall.

Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me.

And worry he did.

The hour was late, and the thought of disturbing her nagged with apprehension. Surely she didn't require his company, nor his consolation, when she had such a treasured, sororal bond with Neve. Yet he found himself taking the long walk down the corridor to her quarters nonetheless.

Perhaps reminiscing of home will offer a welcome distraction, if only for a short while. He assured himself. A comfort that I am uniquely disposed to provide.

All thoughts of Neverran eccentricities and their hopeful nostalgia halted as he arrived at her door. It greeted him with an alarming sound.

Though muffled through the thick, ornamented wood, she cried out his name - weak, and panted - as if in great pain. His chest tightened, seized by the gelidity of dread. It trickled down his lofty figure like he had plunged headfirst into a lake on the cusp of winter.

He pictured the worst. The Lighthouse infiltrated by a Venatori assassin, regardless of how improbable. He saw her crumpled on the ground and sticky with her own sanguine as it pooled beneath her. Her beautiful, flaxen locks turned to ink from coagulation.

That swell of panic was all it took.

Forgetting himself, and all prior etiquette he once held steadfast, Emmrich burst into her room.

His ferocity mirroring the pounding of his heart, he conducted a quick sweep of the space from left to right - intent to find the fabricated, surmised assailant. But none was to be found. Her room was blissfully free of the threat of imminent danger.

No Ventaroi. No blood. No need for his chivalry.

That relief was staggering, though short-lived. Emmrich next sought her out, rounding the lounge at the center, knowing there was no where else left in the space for her to be, except for there.

What he found dried his mouth, and spiked his blood to run frigid in suddenly too-tight of veins all the same.

Ariadne was draped prone on the chaise, in naught but her ivory blouse, and half unbuttoned at that. The loose, silken fabric shifted down her blushed shoulder, flashing him a peak of flesh as she writhed and twisted in pleasure.

Flesh pinched rosy and glistening. And far too much of it, more than he least of all had any right to spy.

The senior necromancer simply stood there aghast, gawping like an un-initiated adolescent - of which, he was neither - unable to come to terms with the fact that what he stumbled upon was indeed transpiring.

And she had moaned his name in her throes. Called out for him to come to her aid.

Swirling iridescence filtered through the glass across from where she laid, bathing her in a luminous, surreal glow. The waters reflection streaked her in vivid hues of chartreuse and turquoise that slithered over her flushed, half-naked body. As if guiding his appreciative leer, leading to where he should aim it next.

It drew his eye to the toned length of bare legs, her petite calves flexed and toes curling. The roll of her pelvis against the furious rubbing of her fingers was hypnotic. A faint, lewd squelch echoed her frustrated whimpers.

He watched tormented as her lithe body arched; shapely hips lifting, the base of her spine bowed in a provocative display, pressing her face down into the fabric, muffling her moans. Attacking herself from a deeper angle, the sinuous dip and curve of her silhouette alone was enough to drop him to his knees.

The bottle sat uncorked on the dresser, while her goblet dangled from her finger-tips, precarious as it hadn't been emptied. It impressed him how she managed not to spill as she then ground down. Humping the hand she pinned between her nethers, and the cushion that cradled her.

He had only ever seen her hair combed back and twisted in a bun, but now it was pulled free and hung loose. Glowing almost silver in the shimmer, a veil of ashen blond that streaked messily over her face. So removed from himself as he stared, it hadn't even occured to him that yes, he was still there watching, until her uncovered eye drifted to him at last. Only then had she realized his intrusion.

The soft hazelnut eye was almost eclipsed in full by her pupils dilatation. Glossy with lust, she peered up at him from beneath a heavy lid. Utterly unabashed at his presence.

If she was even a hint mortified to be discovered by him in such a predicament, nothing about her demeanor suggested it.

"Oh! Professor Volkarin... good." Her tone rich with intoxication, it spread a wide, lazy grin against her colored cheeks. "I-I'm in rather... desperate need of your masterful instruction."

As quiet and still as death itself, Emmrich's entire body locked in place, with a stoicism that presented much more severe than he meant. A strangled mewl forced it's way from her throat, one that lured him back out from his inward retreat.

"You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy.

"Please." She whined, having given up on the erected pearl, rubbed raw and twitching. Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted."

The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness.

"Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

He stepped towards the chaise with a tall posture, and leisured gait, as if he very much believed propriety could be maintained despite the circumstance. She scrambled to allow him space beside her, curling her knees and swaying in place as she watched him sink into the upholstery.

She brought the goblet back to her lips, relying on that sweet bite of liquid, candied peach to fuel her shamelessness. But it stopped just shy of her pout.

Held in place by a firm hand, her glassy eyes floated over the rim to see Emmrich angling a look of disapproval her way. The lines of his handsome, angular face deepened in exasperation, like an austere parent about to reprimand an unruly brat.

"Dear girl, I should think you have had enough."

Her already wild heart-beat took off at a reckless gallop, at how he managed to wrap the rich velvet of his voice around such sharp scolding. Her weakened fingers broke away from the stem of the goblet with laughably pathetic submission, waiting with bated breath as he discarded it to the credenza behind them.

Settling the length of his tapered frame more comfortably against the cushions, he turned to address her once more. Ensnaring her eye-contact, he refused its release while he pat his thigh. Motioning her to him like he would a skittish kitten.

The cut of his jaw lifted, he stared down the bridge of his nose at her as she crawled the rest of the way towards his lap.

"Face away from me, so your back is flush with my front." The weight of her settling over him, the heat radiating from the naked thighs that then straddled him - sensations that were enough to break him on the spot. A reprehensible fantasy that now spilled into his reality.

He failed to swallow a groan as the curve of her bottom slotted against his groin.

"Good. Are we comfortable?"

The little she-devil that she was, her hips gave a playful wriggle against his bulge. She got more than she bargained for, tripping over her tongue in reply at the imposing mass that greeted her. One not yet swelled to full mast. "O-oh, yes."

Emmrich fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and count. She wasn't going to make this easy.

Sinewy, bejeweled hands slid over the tops of her thighs, the metal of his bracelets clinking and cool and against her feverish skin. Stopping at her knees, he slipped his thumbs between them, and peeled them apart unhurried.

"That's it... spread yourself for me, nice and wide." His smooth palms glided back up the inside, feeling how supple the more delicate, inner muscle quivered to his slow exploration. The skin burned beneath his finger-tips, the heat emanating from her grew the closer to her womanhood he traveled.

Deliberate in avoiding that area, he instead drew up to clutch her about the hips, giving them an encouraging squeeze before he stilled. "We'll want as much room as possible, yes?"

When she drew her legs over his knees to dangle alongside the anterior of his own, a rumbling croon of "good girl" ghosted against the shell of her ear. The whimper he earned for it couldn't have been any sweeter.

"I gather you are most receptive to a hands-on approach?" Unable to give him a verbal response, all she could do was squirm in his lap and nod. An unending wealth of smart remarks, he preened at having already rendered her beyond speech. "Very good. You're going to show me how you touch yourself - exactly as you were before my interruption. We'll see if I can't refine your methods."

With a shaky exhale, she leaned back against him, while her fumbling fingers set to work.

She did well at first, all things considered. The young Watcher was reeling from his closeness; his infectious body-heat, the infuriating steadiness of his breaths. The overwhelming aroma of smoked potash, cedar and oakmoss, and an indistinct floral note layered in between.

He kept her anchored to him by her hips, thumb strokes absent-minded and rhythmic, while he observed her performance. Any time she teased herself just so, and gasped out for him, he'd reward her with a throaty; "stunning", "yes, that's a good girl", "you're doing quite well." Incentivizing her to maintain her pace with his praise.

The final nail in her coffin to it all was the strength of alcohol that coursed through her, pumping her blood so hot it made her feel smothered by her own skin, too tight and confining. Weighing down her limbs with rueful sluggishness that fought against her pursuit of release.

Her head swam laps against the lurching of the room, while his hummed approval only heightened her wooziness. All that kept her steady, were the eyes she held shut, and Emmrich's embrace.

He stared down the front of her body with enraptured attention, feeling himself pulse with a lazy heft against her rear. Knowing she could feel him while he stiffened to attention at her little mewls, and stifled rocking. But he couldn't find it within himself to care. His attentiveness a willing prisoner to the sight of her dainty index finger swirling over her clitoris, as her middle digit strained to edge inside herself.

The little elf would get so close to the release that continued to taunt her. It warped the edges of her bleary vision, and shook the sweat-dampened, tensed thighs that his knees held open. He'd feel her body seize, joints lock, and head snapped back, as she arched in prelude.

And then she'd lose it. Slipping from her trembling fingers, the white-hot, coiling tension ebbed in cruel absence. Like trapped steam set free from beneath the lid of a pot as it roiled. A defeated whine bubbled from her throat, and he swept in to console while easing her back to the precipice.

"Oh, my dear girl." He clicked his tongue, ever punctilious. His silken voice dropped an octave from its depth in his chest. "You need only concentrate."

Ariadne lulled her head back against his shoulder with an infantile huff that matched her pout. "I am."

He chuckled low in tantalization. So low she more felt it against her back than heard it, her blood roaring in her ears as loud as it was.

"Then you're still holding on." He kept his admonishing gentle. "And I need you to let go."

He watched as she twerked her wrist, working herself up and down in a blur of erratic, frantic strokes.

"Slow, slower." He instructed. "I can only imagine how you must ache... quiet your mind. Steady your breaths. Follow my voice." Every syllable pronounced in that assertive baritone had her walls spasm against themselves. "I'll help you, darling girl, if you'll listen."

An unintelligible moan was all the response he received.

She switched to tease her weeping entrance with one hand, while the other busied by hopeless strokes at her clit in irregular, clockwise circles. Her shoulder blades dug into his chest, they tingled against his mused susurration as it thrummed through him.

No doubt poised to deliver constructive criticism, he was nothing if not a stickler for proper form.

"You're much too rough with yourself. Too impatient." He tsked, his own hands kept occupied by massaging the firm swell of her glutes. More than a little sure that her piriformis was screaming at the prolonged tension it was suspended in. "Only to give up just as you're right about to crest."

"I'm not giving up," she insisted, her face screwed in aggravation as she brought herself back, only to then lose it again faster than before. To this loss, she growled. "I can't.. I can't-!"

His tone low, and contemplative, he then interjected in a display of his authority. "Hmm, I see now."

Emmrich fished the the end of his crimson binding from around his waist, and tugged the long end to unravel to a more generous length in his palm.

Bringing it between her legs, he began to wipe away the excess wetness. Tending to her with paternal affection, it made for an obscene contrast against his words. "Pardon my crude tongue, but you're much too wet, dearest. You'll not get the necessary friction otherwise."

Her body shuddered at his words, dripping from the tip of his tongue against the shell of her ear like liquid smoke. His chest was warm and sturdy against her back, a broadness to him that his lank mislead. His sheltering firmness curved around her as he continued to guide her with forbearance.

"P-professor please-," she nearly sobbed, hips stuttering up into his fingers as they rubbed her throbbing cunt through the satin. "I need your touch."

He fought the visceral reactions to the way she mewled his title like some revered perversion, for fear that if she realized its effects on him, she'd become merciless in its exploit.

"But of course, my girl." Voice slinking and sultry, he brought his lips closer to her ear. "I've never been known to shun a pupil in need."

His hands slid over the tops of her thighs to find her fluttered heat, and did so with the practiced ease of a body known to him. She shivered at his finesse, at how assured he was in her handling, though it was the first time they were ever intimate.

Velvet smooth and puffy from her abuse, his touch felt like a salve that granted instant relief to her neglect. A loud, shuddering sigh dragged from her by the trace of his finger-tips over her petals. First with his bare hand, the dainty gold chain that connected the ring of his thumb to the bracelet on his wrist dragged against her folds. While he continued, his ornaments played against one another in a dissonant jingle with each and every purposeful manipulation. Just as they did during his casts.

She wondered if she'd ever be able to hear those otherwise mundane sounds again without becoming aroused.

His gloved hand, equal in dexterity to the one that stroked her bud, joined in to lend additional prowess. Both hands a flurry of expertise betwixt her thighs, Emmrich massaged and rubbed, his glove sticky with her honey as he spread it around her tender lips. Pressing them apart to slot his middle finger between, he began to glide back and forth over her weeping slit with an agonizing pace.

His pressure efficient, yet patient. Only giving her what was needed, refusing to indulge.

Sagging back against his chest, she dared to look down at the sight of his hands splaying her apart, as if in appraisal. She couldn't help but recall one particular demonstration he held for advanced techniques on relieving rigor mortis.

His grace, the fluidity of his manipulation. Long, limber fingers aglow with magic, as they palpated the tissue before him. He narrated his precise movements in the genteel inflection she had come to recognize, and adore.

However as she watched him work, hands gliding over the limbs that melted to desired pliability at the behest of his deft touch, she didn't hear a word of it.

All she could do was stare at those hands, and stew in the blatant envy she felt towards the corpse beneath them.

She was wrenched from the clutches of her reverie by a sharp, yet delicious sting to her cunt.

With his gloved hand and a quick flick of his wrist, Emmrich had demanded her straying attention with slap.

It was solid, but affectionate. No where near harsh enough to be unbearable. Just exacting enough to corral her back in line.

Ariadne yelped, jolting in his grasp as his gloved palm cupped her hurt. Soothing the sting with a gentle pet.

"I'll not tolerate you daydreaming." For all his chiding, it still held the warmth and patience she'd expected from him. "If my instruction is desired in earnest then your complete and undivided attention is expected, Miss Ingellvar."

" 'M sorry! I c-can't help-,"

"You can and you will, young lady." His interjection was laced with amusement despite his steeliness. "Unless of course, you aim to provoke my cruelty."

Professor Emmrich Volkarin cold and cruel. A thought that twisted her insides into a throbbing, tangled mass. Had she not been so helpless to the maddening of an out-of-reach orgasm, one now threatened by his denial, she would have delighted in goading such a side of him.

"I mind you to pay attention. I know you won't take kindly to the consequences if I'm made to repeat myself." The warning dripped from his tongue deliberate and restrained.

A gloved finger turned it's attention to her aching bead, Emmrich worked it in diligent circles. His feathered pressure serving as kindling to the wild fire that raged beneath her skin, the feeling of suffocation returned with a vengeance.

"The tissue here is most sensitive." His explanation cool as it was dignified, his knees continued to hold her legs open as she quivered to his stimulation. "All that's needed is a little leniency, and a light touch."

She could feel the prickling burn simmer at the soles of her feet. The promise of a full-body blaze lapping it's way through her, staring from the bottom, and working it's way up. His index finger continued to circle with rhythmic, borderline merciless insistence.

The more she writhed and arched in his lap, the tighter his circles became. The satin leather pressing down with measured pressure to her swollen sex.

"Do you feel the difference?" He urged, the bridge of his nose brushing at her temple as he nuzzled her, inhaling the combination of her perfume while he had her this close. And the heady musk of her arousal, as it drooled from her to his coaxing. "That pressure in your abdomen, it feels more reliable, does it not?"

He brought her so close, so gloriously close and sooner than she thought possible, given her struggles. Struggles that were worsened by the inebriation she now cursed.

Yet, somewhere through the foggy recesses of her rationale, her core clenched around its emptiness in indignation.

She yearned for his fullness, for the stretch of him to come down around. The raw desperation of her keening plea surprised even her.

"Please, I-I need-,"

"What do you need, my dear?" Emmrich didn't stop nor slow his expert ministrations.

She groaned. "Maker, please! I need you- need you inside me!"

He shut his eyes, drawing a deep, quiet breath to keep himself grounded. The girth in his trousers twitched in compliance, but he ignored it.

"Easy, easy now." He hushed, pushing her slick petals apart with his bare hand to first dip in his gloved middle finger. Almost too long, too much of him to take, and ribbed from his rings. The force in which she clamped around him nearly popped his joint from the socket. A shrill, breathy moan tumbled out of her and into the stifling air.

Allowing her a moment to savor his fullness, he then crooked the slender digit inside her heat, rolling her eyes back, and twitching her ears. "There, does that feel better?"

"Yes, oh yes." She sobbed, the plushness of her sex throbbing around his leather-bound intrusion. "T-thank you, Professor."

"You're most welcome, little darling." Intoned with the same dignified composure as if she were no more than a pupil in his lecture hall, he pumped steadily within her. His free hand toyed with her clit in complimentary persuasion. "Dare I say obedience is rather becoming on you."

The slightest condescension in his praise, it caused the entirety of her body to flush with a heat. Her center tightened in wordless request for more, though he merely chuckled. The deep rumbling brought a vibrant pink to smear the bridge of her nose. The faint striped scar there nearly disappearing in the stain, as it spilled across both cheekbones.

Emmrich had never taken an elven lover before, though he had once come across an excerpt pertaining to a certain weakness of the species. The salacious triviality now at the forefront of his mind.

Ever studious, the professor couldn't resist the temptation of putting the theory to practice.

Dropping his chin, he reached for the blushed tip of her ear with his tongue. Tracing the pink ridge of cartilage, his lips curled in a grin once he had the tine pinched between his teeth in a gentle nip.

A sharp gasp ripped from her as her body rocketed in his lap; tossing her head back hard to his chest while her hips bucked forward. A violence to her fervor, as if her lower half moved independent from the rest of her.

"E-Emmrich!" A hoarse plea, any of the conviction it might have held was stolen along with her breath.

"Miss Ingellvar, am I to assume I've dissolved your decorum, or is that how you address your superiors?"

She couldn't find it within herself to fire back with something witty. Becoming so strict with her in that intimate, hushed crooning had her walls clench against him firmer. A gush of her arousal soaked against his finger, only to leak out over his palm and seep into the cotton of his slacks underneath. A throaty groan sounded from behind her, like the purr of a panther.

"Professor Volkarin," her amendment shaky, she sucked in breath and called on it for strength, "h-how do you expect me to concentrate when you-you-,"

"Are your ears quite sensitive, darling?" His level tone feigned innocence with such a degree of effortless deception that it shocked her. "You'll have to forgive me, I hadn't a clue."

Whether or not that profession was sincere, he swept back in to once more suck the tip between his teeth. Sealing his lips to create suction, he pulled. Harder than her newfound sensitivity could withstand.

Hips stuttering and rutting into his hands like a woman possessed, she felt herself quite literally melt all over him. Painfully aware of just how much of the mess she had made of his groin pinned beneath her splayed legs.

The limber tip of his tongue laved at the point of her ear, growing just as swollen from his attention as the depths of her he continued to penetrate. Offering the gloved heel of his palm so as to not abandon her stinging clit. He seemed unphased by his soiled trouser, his sole attention on drawing out more of her melodic chirps and gasps.

"You're a bastard." For all the strength of such a word, it lacked the necessary bite. More curious still, was the fact that it wasn't spat - but moaned. He tsked through a smirk she couldn't see.

"My my, you've a filthy mouth on you." Her ear released from the heat of his mouth, he pursed his lips to blow against the damp, suckled skin. "Very well. Since there isn't a bar of soap handy, I shall just have to correct your insolence another way."

A shameless giggle bubbled up from her throat and spilled through her lips. Her words tinged with slurring, their softened points still managed to pierce him. "Had they sent me to you for disciplinary action back in those days, I can only imagine how much more insufferable I would have been."

He swallowed a pained groan, furrowing a sharp brow to the sinful, debauched images that notion conjured. "I shudder to think." The hoarseness lurking in his words sparked her to grind back against his roused bulge. "Glutton for punishment, are we?"

She beamed as he choked an another breath at the motion. "Most assuredly for yours, Professor."

His voice plummeted further down to the seat of his chest. His instruction stern, it left no room for negotiation. "Open your mouth."

She did as she was told, only to feel his spidery fingers slip up the velvet flat of her tongue, crowding her small mouth with warm flesh, and the metallic tang of his rings. Able to lift the traces of her own slick against the wet muscle, she curled it around his digits to begin suckling them, his cock perking to her eagerness.

He eased them deeper at a gradual pace, until they were in well over past the first knuckle. A few choked gags had him hushing encouragement into her damp temple.

"Good, very good." His voice then seemed thicker as he intoned. "Breathe through your nose, love. Nice and slow."

Emmrich had only just gotten his hands on her, and she was very nearly reduced to tears. An orgasm still dangled just beyond her reach, the tension coiled to a knot low in her stomach that his thorough, and methodical drilling inside of her only stoked. With two fingers invading her mouth, he thought it only fair to give her swollen sex the same treatment.

Without warning, another of his gloved fingers plunged inside her. Even with her lubrication, her slick walls twitched and stretched to accommodate him. She lifted from his lap as a strangled cry ripped from her, muffled around the fingers that tickled the back of her throat. He locked against the points of his contact and forced her still, hushing against her ear.

"There, there, little one." He regarded her with the utmost patience, and adoration. Crooning into her mussed hair as he dragged them out of her, and then curled them back inside. "You're taking me magnificently, my dear."

She was so desperate to come around them, and give him a show of just how erotic she found those hands of his to be. The smooth, bulbous gems inlaid in his rings added to the stinging pinch of his intrusion, the leather of his glove slick and satiny within her tight confines.

Her arms flew upwards and to wrap around his neck, clumsily clawing at the crisp starch of his collar, knotting at soft hair at his nape. Her feet slid back to hook around his calves. A little slip of a thing captive to violent shimmers, bewitched to the way his expert fingers dissected her need, she coiled around him like a garden snake.

"Relax, darling, don't hold to the tension. It will not serve you now." He purred, feeling her body warring with itself in his lap. Hips stuttering to try and goad him to quicken, while still not yet adjusted to him two-fingers deep inside. "Take a nice, deep breath for me... There you are. Close your eyes. Give yourself to me."

Withdrawing his fingers from her whimpering mouth, slick with saliva, he slipped his hold around her throat. Flexing with benign pressure, he squeezed ever so slightly against her untamed pulse, just beneath her jaw.

Quieting her frenetic mind and choking her to distraction, the act was as tender as it was merciful. He lead her to the edge of consciousness, introducing the intimacy of dipping a toe in each side, just as he began to work his fingers inside her sex. Just as she was about to come for him.

"P-please...Professor Volkarin-," a rasping moan that clued him in to just how close she was indeed. "- let me come."

The insinuation that he, ultimately, controlled her orgasm was not one he took lightly.

"Ariadne." Murmured low in warning, silken and smoky, like vanilla bourbon. Her name on his lips held a slight chastised edge, his habits from being a professor not so easily shirked. The first time he'd ever called her by name.

Every bit as provocative as she'd expected, and even more intimate than she ever could have imagined. "I believe the instruction I provided was quite clear; let go for me."

Her name on his tongue proved to be a trigger, and a powerful one at that. Her walls fluttered in tight pulsations around his digits, sucking them in deeper as a full-body eruption detonated outwards from her molten core.

Tears welling in the corners of her soft, hazelnut eyes, they broke free from the lash lines, and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She rode herself out on the long fingers that continued to knead her plush heat. Soothing her through the wrenching of a long-overdue, and arduous release.

The gradual thrumming outward from the root of his cock ascended to full-fledged throbs, painful in their insistence. He had now familiarized himself with her depths; knew how velvety, and narrow, and oh so very wet.

His heavy sigh fanned against her temple, before he pressed a kiss to the sweat that trickled down the vein.

As he licked his lips, he could then taste the ambrosia that teased him back to his memories of her strutting around the Necropolis, wholly unaware of the older, venerated professor she had beguiled. Frosted berry and white amber. He never wanted to be rid of it.

As if they were amongst of crowd of nobility at a gala, and he was about to impart something truly scandalous meant solely for his lovers ears, he then drawled; "I must express my gratitude for having granted this senior Watcher the pleasure of assisting you in this little death."

His length twitched in retaliation to the confines of his slacks, more than anxious to feel the pinch of her channel as he worked his way inside. To feel those same flutters of release wrapped snug around him, kneading him until he spilled himself inside her.

Yet he possessed more patience than that. She needed time, hit little Watcher.

He had only just begun.

"Now, dear girl, since you're well acquainted with the more... mechanical route, shall I introduce you to my oral technique?"

He shut the door behind him with care, mindful not to jostle the latch. As if trying to keep from waking a babe he had just gotten to sleep.

Creeping back around gave him a start, the color draining from his face.

Davrin, Lucanis, - even Varric, up and out of bed - were gathered just outside her door. The three now looking more startled than he.

Though he had taken the time to right himself before exiting her quarters - leaving her to a much deserved and rigorously earned slumber - the steel locks of his hair, disheveled from their typical neat coif to fall into his eyes, were quick to humble him.

The wild young Watcher hadn't let him slink away from their tryst unscathed.

A beat of awkward silence coalesced between the men. Though coming as a surprise to none, Varric was the first to piece things together, with an amused smirk working it's way crookedly across his face. Emmrich took the initiative to break it, tipping his head in as much politeness as he could muster.

"Gentlemen." The nonchalance of his greeting earned a raised brow and a stifled chortle from Davrin, who otherwise remained quiet.

"We just... heard Rook scream and we...," Lucanis began and then surrendered, clearing his throat.

"Ah, yes..." Emmrich gave a tight-lipped smile, brushing his vest for nonexistent lint, just to busy his hands. The joints now achy and creaking. "Well, there's no need for concern, she's just fine. However I do ask that you leave her undisturbed for the time being, she's... quite spent, you understand."

#i really gave this fic the rockstar treatment considering im highkey worried its garbage aha #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #emmrook #emmrich volkarin smut #emmrich volkarin fanfic #emmrich volkarin fanfiction #brat tamer emmrich

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a-new-romantic · 3 months ago

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you belong with me ♡ (azriel x reader)

heavily inspired by taylor swift's "you belong with me" summary: you wonder when azriel will notice that you are the one for him. a/n: first fic! i appreciate any support given <3 looking for moots too! please please please, reach out!

"i'll be taking elain to starfall, as my date" azriel proclaimed to the inner circle at dinner, various expressions of surprise crossing rhysand's and cassian's face as they clap their brother on the shoulder. nesta's head whips towards you, eyes watching as your face falls for a split second, before grinning and congratulating the two of them.

"wonderful," you thought to yourself, picking at the food on your plate. you and elain couldn't be more different. she was a gentle and caring being, ever caring about the world around her. you were a rambunctious and outgoing fae, polar opposite of elain. the more you thought about it, the more differences you had with elain.

elain preferred wearing dresses and skirts. you preferred your fighting leathers and simpler outfits.

elain preferred spending her day in the garden, tending to her flowers and plants. you preferred spending the day training with cassian or going out with mor and nesta.

if elain was his type, then how could you ever have a chance with him?

little did you know, rhysand and cassian both gawked at the news azriel revealed. never in a million years did they think that azriel would end up with elain. to be frank, they both thought he would end up with you.

why couldn't he see that he belonged with you?

as the weeks passed, starfall quickly approached. with that, the number of preparations and little tasks around the house grew exponentially. rhysand had assigned you and azriel to hang up decorations around the city, to get the citizens excited for starfall.

"so, are you excited for starfall?" azriel asked with a grin as you walked through the streets of Velaris, looking for places to hand up decorations.

your mind goes blank as you stare at his smile, convinced it could light up the whole town.

"oh, i don't know," you muttered, turning abruptly to walk down a side street to hang up another poster. "i might not go," you admitted, waving your hand out to grab the decorations.

"what? why?" azriel pressed, worried if you were ill or uncomfortable with going. "i'm sure rhysand won't make it too extravagant or anything, (lie)".

"it's not that," you said, sighing as you decide to tell him. "i don't have a date. rhysand has feyre, nesta has cassian, and hell you even have elain. i don't have anyone." you said, taking a breath to continue before he interrupts you.

"so? going to starfall alone is not a crime, nor is it embarassing." he said, staring at you.

"i guess we'll see," you told him as you finish hanging up the decoration. "let's go back to the house?" you ask him, looking up at him.

he raises an eyebrow, not done with the conversation. yet, he dismisses it. "sure, let's fly." he says. he flies you both up to the house before he puts you down. as you turn away, he says "hey," you pause in your tracks, turning around.

"starfall won't be the same without you." he says softly, as you sigh and walk away. you didn't want to go with anyone but him.

a couple of days pass and starfall arrives and so does nesta. she barges into your room to meet your wallowing figure moping in bed.

"get up," she orders, yanking the blankets off your body as you shiver from the sudden cold.

"nestaaaa," you groan, shoving your face in the pillows.

"no more moping around about az. you're gonna get the fuck up, dress up all pretty with me, and we're going to starfall. who knows? maybe he'll recognize that maybe he belongs with you." her voice left no room for argument.

starfall was in full swing by the time you were ready, you and nesta enter through the back door of the house to meet a wonderful set up outside.

"it looks amazing rhys," you say as you approach your high lord, grasping his arm.

"thank you y/n," he says with a look of pure joy as he eyes feyre dancing with mor, "you look lovely," he says.

"you do!" cassian pipes up from behind rhysand, slamming down on his shoulders in surprise. rhysand groans as he startled, smacking cassian upside the head. "just like brothers," you thought.

"az doesn't know what he's missing" rhysand muttered into your mind, your eyes blinking in surprise as you look at him.

"he's an idiot for not seeing the obvious truth in front of him." he says, speaking his thoughts into words.

as you two converse about the subject at hand, azriel eyes you for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. you looked ravishing to him, in your navy blue gown that seemed to compliment your figure perfectly.

"az?" elain asked softly, grabbing at his jaw to turn his head back to her. "you keep looking at rhysand, is everything alright?" she muttered softly, worried.

he blinked rapidly, "oh yeah, everything is fine." he stated as he stood up from his seat. "i'm gonna go get a drink," he told her. elain nodded and turned to another party goer, starting up a conversation with them.

he ventured over to you slyly, "hi y/n." he stated, scaring you.

"az! hi, " you muttered, giggling as his shadows trailed up and down your arms.

"pretty, lovely, gorgeous" they muttered in his ears. he could not help but agree with them.

"care for a dance?" he muttered before he could second guess himself. he watched as disbelief crossed your face before you smiled and nodded, thrusting your drink into cassian's hand. he watched out of the corner of his eye as nesta gave you a thumb's up and a smile, and as rhysand gave you a nod of good luck.

"so, i didn't think you were coming," he started as the music begun, twirling you around effortlessly.

"nesta changed my mind," you admitted with a grin. "i'm glad i came," you said.

"me too," he quickly added. "you look amazing." he said, no trace of joke in his tone.

"oh!" you said, "thank you az, you look lovely as well." he grinned at the compliment, his confidence increasing tenfold as he realized how flustered you were becoming at the whole situation.

suddenly, both of you felt a heavy but comforting presence in your chest. a strong pull of emotions started to bridge the gap between the two of you. you both halted your dance in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily as the mating bond locked into place.

azriel's shadows swirled around the two of you, casting a contrasting haze to the starlight around you.

he opens his mouth to speak, as everything clicks in his brain.

you're the one he's been looking for the whole time. you're the one made for him, literally perfect for him. everything you do compliments his own. no one else shares the same interests as him, no one understands him as well as you do. his humor, his story, his life, it all belonged to you. there was no better match for him, than you.

he kicks himself internally for not figuring it out sooner.

he pulls you into a searing kiss as the stars around you illuminate the sky. cheers from rhysand, cassian, and nesta echo in the background while elain gasps in surprise and shock.

"you belong with me."

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel angst

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fullonfandomindulgence · 7 months ago

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please clic for larger images, tumblr compression made these look all blurry. id below the cut

here i am still making mp100 comics in april of 2024. its just such comfort food. im highly normal about mob and tomes friendship

ID: three pages of black and white comics about Mob and Tome from the anime Mob Psycho 100.

panel 1: a leg and an arm extend from out of panel so that the hand on the arm can tie the shoe on the leg. lying on the ground is the other shoe, a cell phone, a keyring, and a polka dot carrying case. on the carrying case rests a sphere with a strange pattern on it. in the top right it says "January."

panel 2: a figure (its tome) pulls on a jacket. visible in front of her are a cabinet and a wall-mounted rack, all messy.

panel 3: with a door in the background, a closeup of tomes hand on her flipphone. the screen says "dialing."

panel 4: tome shrugs on her jacket and, holding her phone against her ear with her shoulder, smiles and says, "Oy, Mob! It's Saturday! Let's go telepath-hunting!"

panel 5: ritsu and mob sit on a blanket on the floor in front of a bookshelf. a little "pause" label extends from off-panel. both of them are holding controllers. ritsu leans against his hand, looking bored, as mob holds his cellphone to say "Hi Tome. Didn't we already find a telepath?" tome responds, "Oh, right."

panel 6: tome and mob dont really know what to say next. they both look cartoony and stupid. "..."

panel 7: tome, looking pained, curls a hand in the air in front of her and says, "Do you want to... walk around the city? Pointlessly?" mob says, "Sure, I guess that's what we normally do."

panel 8: tome looks mad. "No! We walk pointedly! In the direction of telepaths!" she points, pointedly. mobs eyebrows go a little down as he scratches at his face. "It's pretty funny that you were looking for so long when Takenaka was right next to you. For months. And then he left because you were too weird."

panel 9: tome, opening her front door, says, "Y'know what, Mob, maybe I'll invite him instead." Mob says "That's a good idea. Let's see if he can come with us."

panel 10: now exiting onto the walkway in front of her apartment, tome says, looking excited, "Actually I have been investigating something new. We should look for a haunted house!" mob thinks to himself, "Sounds like work..."

panel 11: mob looks skeptical and asks, "In the city?" tome responds, "Yep." behind mob, ritsu unpauses the game (ssb brawl) and starts thrashing mob (ritsu mains lucas, mob mains kirby)

panel 12: tome walks down the stairs of her apartment building to a concrete sidewalk with a row of trashcans nearby. she says, "My first guess is that new shaved ice place on 5th street." mob responds, "Oh." tome says "It's an old building! I think it's haunted!"

panel 13: mob, contented, says, "Okay. I'll meet you at the train station." pleased, tome responds, "Excellent!" ritsu looks back at mob with a mean smile on. the tv screen says "GAME!"

panel 14: mob yells, "Ritsu! What the heck!" tome, at a stoplight, replies, "Sure, he can come too." she presses the walk signal button. "BIP."

End ID.

making this comic i learned that you cant just put masking tape over your mistakes and re-ink on top of it bc the masking tape looks too dark when its scanned in. i guess ill just have to warm up more and be more deliberate when i ink like some kinda loser. or i could become truly insane and start gluing on little pieces of bristol

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #fan comic #tome kurata #mp100 fanart #mp100 mob #shigeo kageyama #mp100 tome #fanfic #mp100 fanfic #ritsu kageyama

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strawberrystepmom · 13 days ago

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canon au. cult leader!geto x f!reader. | word count: 762, reading time: 3 minutes.

“Did I ever matter to you, Suguru?”

In a different life, the fact you’ve even asked would have crushed the man standing next to you. In this imaginary reality, he’d ask how he could show you differently that he cares. He would reaffirm that the attention you spent almost a year of your life extending to him was worth it and helped him through the worst times he has ever experienced, but in this one he knows better.

It doesn’t matter if you did or not. His feelings won’t change the fact you will never be his, your noble choice to do good far more important to you than any lingering feelings you may have for him.

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

The words taste worse across his tongue than any curse he’s ever ingested. He’s a liar, damned to hell for more reasons than just dishonesty, but he has to finally let you go; to let you walk back into a crowded club with tears blurring your vision because his words cut to your core. You told him years ago you fear being forgettable, someone people can let go of without a second thought, and it’s the sharpest knife he can press into you in some ill guided attempt to get the last word.

“I’m glad to finally know.”

A chance encounter in a club closes out a chapter in your life you thought you’d stay suspended in forever and your stomach turns, your hands idly resting at your sides while your thoughts race. From “does your boyfriend know you’re out dressed like that?” to turning your head with a grin that swiftly fell as you weaved through the thick crowd to end up out here.

You sniffle and what’s left of his heart breaks, wondering for a moment if he can’t take it back. If he can’t replicate the grin of his former best friend, jovial and wide enough that you believe he’s joking. He could toss you a sardonic, bitter chuckle and you’d roll your eyes but who would it help?

It’s not like you’re going to return to him, it’s not like he can undo this.

“Thank you for being honest,” you mutter quietly before turning on your heel to leave.

Words sit heavily in his mouth but they disappear with each step you take, putting distance between the two of you before you glance over your shoulder. He’ll try not to remember the look in your eyes while they dance over the entirety of his form as though they’re seeing who he really is for the first time.

He’ll fail and it’s why he accepts that tonight you’ll return to Satoru, begging for affirmation that you aren’t as worthless as you feel and he’ll almost certainly give it to you, eager to please with sweet words and teases. Reassurances you aren’t nothing, that you’ve made a mark on his life he won’t soon be recovering from. The boy with the silver spoon has become the man with a gilded tongue, the one who always inevitably gets what he wants.

God knows Satoru has wanted you for long enough, since you first stumbled into his life at fifteen, it’s only right he gets to have you now despite Suguru’s selfish wishes that you stay affected by him forever.

He’ll fail and that’s why he knows he will return to the compound, a failed scouting mission in the city under his belt, but he’ll slide into someone’s bed regardless. There’s a woman who looks enough like you when the lights are low he can pretend, it’s the reason he recruited her in the first place, a poor imitation of the real deal. He can press his hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking pleasured babbles in a voice that doesn’t belong to you and he can close his eyes and pretend the smack of skin on skin is yours on his. He’ll ask her to flip over to her belly so he doesn’t have to look at her but he can imagine that the hair that’s a shade too dark to belong to you is still yours, looped around his fist while he fucks all of his angst into her, pretending he’s another man living another life.

Your retreating footsteps continue and his traitorous mouth opens, gasping quietly enough it doesn’t grab your attention over the sound of pouring rain and thrumming music behind the entrance to the club, and he closes it wordlessly, grateful he’ll never have to see you look at him like that again.

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #cw angst #kendall writes

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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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die with a smile — geto suguru.

As you were washing up after dinner, Suguru spoke, his voice hesitant. "You know, I never thought I’d let anyone into this place. It was supposed to be… just for me." You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "What changed?" He didn’t answer right away, drying the dishes in silence before finally turning to you. "I guess… I got tired of being alone." There was a raw honesty in his words that made your heart ache. "I know the feeling too well, I suppose." you admitted, your voice soft. "I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed someone—until I found you."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, fluff, angst, romance, hurt/ comfort, post - apocalyptic world (zombie take over), isolation, hurt, physical touch, illness, loneliness, sadness, pain, pining, getting together, unhappy ending, character death, depictions of apocalyptic world, depiction of mourning, depiction of isolation, depiction of apprehension, depiction of romance, depiction of illness, depiction of chracter death, depiction of taking one's own life, mention of apocalytic world, mention of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of loneliness, mention of pining, mention of character death, mention of taking one's own life.;

WORD COUNT: 7.5k words

NOTE: i wrote this a long long time ago, but i feel like now it's seeing the light of day and im just excited for you to read it. i'll be working on plans for my first ever kinktober and other ideas i have in between. i hope that you're always well and that you enjoy this!!! love you <3

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┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

IT WAS SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST NOW. The world had become a wasteland, overrun by the dead. Every day was a fight for survival, every night a battle against the darkness that crept into the mind as much as the world around.

You had been on the move for what felt like an eternity, traveling alone, scavenging for food, and fighting off the relentless hordes that had once been people. You had become a ghost in your own skin, haunted by memories of a time when the world was alive.

It was by chance that you stumbled upon the compound—a fortress of steel and stone, hidden deep within the woods, far from the crumbling cities and the walking dead. Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, you approached cautiously, knowing that desperation made even the living dangerous. The compound's walls were tall and unyielding, and it seemed impossible to breach. But desperation drives people to do reckless things, and you need safety, if only for a moment.

You had barely stepped into the clearing when you heard the unmistakable click of a rifle being cocked. You froze, heart pounding, every muscle tensing as you slowly raised your hands in surrender.

"Don’t move." The voice was low, firm, and edged with the kind of cold precision that came from years of surviving on instinct alone. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him—a tall figure, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees, with a rifle trained directly on you. His eyes, dark and unreadable, never wavered as he took you in, calculating, deciding.

"I’m not here to cause trouble." you managed, keeping your voice steady despite the fear tightening your throat.

"That’s what they all say." His words were clipped, distrust lacing every syllable. He took a step closer, still keeping the rifle leveled at your head. "Turn around, slowly."

You did as he ordered, moving slowly, deliberately, until you were facing him fully. He was closer now, close enough that you could see the weariness etched into his features, the hardened lines of someone who had seen too much, lost too much. But there was something else, too—something in his eyes, a flicker of recognition, as if he saw a reflection of himself in you.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, his voice rougher now, less controlled.

"Long enough." you replied, your gaze locked with his. "Long enough to know when I’ve met someone who’s been through the same hell."

He frowned, his grip on the rifle tightening as he studied you, weighing your words against the danger you might pose. But then, slowly, the suspicion in his eyes gave way to something softer, something that looked almost like… understanding.

"What’s your name?" he asked, the question coming out more gently than you expected.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. "Does it matter?"

"It does if you want to live." His tone was blunt, but there was a trace of something more behind it—a quiet offer, a tentative step toward trust.

You swallowed the weight of the past weeks, months, pressing down on you. "I’m just trying to survive."

He nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible motion. "So am I." He let out a slow breath, lowering the rifle slightly but not entirely. "Suguru. Geto Suguru."

You didn’t dare move, watching him carefully as he took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re lucky I found you before the dead did."

"Maybe." you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Or maybe you’re the lucky one."

He raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "We’ll see about that." Then, after a long pause, he sighed, finally lowering the rifle completely. "Come with me. But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate."

You nodded, relief washing over you despite the lingering tension. "I won’t."

As he turned and motioned for you to follow, you could sense the caution in every step he took, the way he moved with the fluid grace of someone always prepared for the worst. And yet, there was something else—a strange comfort in the fact that, for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone.

He took you in, but it was clear that trust was not something he gave easily. The compound was his sanctuary, built with his own hands, and he guarded it with an intensity that bordered on obsession. The first few days were tense; you were wary of each other, moving around each other like predators unsure of whether to fight or flee. He was quiet, watchful, and kept his emotions locked away behind a wall of suspicion.

But you were no stranger to walls, and slowly, brick by brick, the two of you began to dismantle them. It started with the small things—shared meals, the exchange of supplies, moments of silence that were less about fear and more about understanding. You discovered that beneath his tough exterior, Suguru had a passion for music. In the evenings, when the world outside grew too dark to bear, he would pull out an old guitar, his fingers strumming out melodies that spoke of a time before the end.

You, too, had your own love for music, and in those quiet moments, the two of you found a connection. The songs you shared became a language of their own, one that spoke of loss, hope, and the fragile bond forming between you. Music was your refuge, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world, even if it was buried beneath layers of fear and grief.

The days began to blur together, a steady rhythm of routine and survival. Each morning, you would wake to the faint light filtering through the thick curtains of the compound, the sounds of the outside world muffled by the walls that separated you from the chaos beyond. The danger was always there, lurking just beyond the gates, but within the safety of Suguru’s compound, life had found a different pace.

At first, your interactions with Suguru were brief and cautious, a necessary coexistence born out of mutual need. But as the days turned into weeks, the initial wariness between you began to fade, replaced by a tentative friendship. The man who had once held a gun to your head now greeted you each morning with a nod and a hint of a smile, a gesture that brought a surprising warmth to your otherwise cold and uncertain world. His presence, once a source of tension, had become something you looked forward to, a strange sense of peace in the midst of madness.

One of the few luxuries you both shared was a love of food—a small pleasure in a world where every meal had become a fight against starvation. In this new reality, the art of cooking had taken on a different meaning. It was no longer about indulging in flavors or crafting elaborate dishes, but rather about survival, about making the most of what little you could find. And yet, even in this, there was comfort.

Together, you would scour the surrounding areas for supplies, salvaging whatever you could from the abandoned homes and overgrown gardens. It was a slow, careful process—one wrong move could attract unwanted attention, and resources were scarce. But the shared task brought a sense of camaraderie, a quiet understanding that neither of you had to face this alone.

In the evenings, when the world outside grew dark and foreboding, you would gather in the small kitchen, working together to prepare your meals. The ingredients were humble—canned goods, dried beans, the occasional fresh vegetable from a patch of land Suguru had managed to cultivate—but it didn’t matter. The act of cooking became a ritual, something that grounded you both, reminding you that life was more than just surviving day to day.

Suguru was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, his movements efficient and precise as he chopped vegetables or stirred a pot over the fire. He had a way of turning the simplest ingredients into something comforting, something that made the compound feel more like a home. You would watch him sometimes, marveling at the way he found solace in such a small task, and slowly, you began to join him, contributing your own skills to the process.

"How did you learn to cook like this?" you asked one evening as you worked side by side, your hands busy preparing a stew from the last of the potatoes you had found.

Suguru glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Necessity, mostly. My parents weren’t around much, so I had to fend for myself. Turns out, I’m pretty good at making something out of nothing."

You nodded, stirring the pot as the aroma of the stew began to fill the room. "It’s a useful skill, especially now."

"Yeah, I suppose." he agreed, his tone softer now. "It’s one of the few things that still feels normal."

The meals you shared became more than just a way to stave off hunger—they were moments of connection, brief respites from the harshness of the world outside. As you ate together, you found yourselves talking more, sharing stories of the lives you had left behind, the people you had lost, and the hopes you still held on to, however fragile they might be. These conversations, once stilted and brief, grew longer, more personal, as the walls between you crumbled bit by bit.

Each meal was a small victory, a reminder that despite everything, you were still alive, still human. The warmth of the food, the sound of your voices filling the silence, and the flicker of the firelight against the walls—all of it made the world outside seem a little less bleak. And in those moments, you realized that within the confines of the compound, you had found something precious: a sense of normalcy, a connection with another person that transcended the mere act of survival.

One evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, you both sat by the fire in the small living area. Suguru was strumming his guitar, the soft melody filling the space between you. The sound of the music was soothing, a rare comfort in the chaos that surrounded you. You found yourself watching him, the way his fingers moved deftly over the strings, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Where’d you learn to play like that?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Suguru glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Picked it up a long time ago. It helped… before all this." He gestured vaguely to the world outside, the unspoken horrors hanging heavy in the air.

You nodded, understanding what he meant without needing more words. "I used to play too, back when things were different." The memories were bittersweet, but they didn’t hurt as much as they used to, not here, not with him.

Suguru looked at you with a hint of curiosity. "What did you play?"

"Mostly piano. But I messed around with the guitar a bit too." You shrugged, trying to sound casual, but there was a lingering sadness in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

"Maybe you should give it a try again." he said, holding out the guitar to you.

You hesitated, your fingers itching to touch the instrument but also afraid of what it might bring up. Suguru noticed your hesitation and added softly. "It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought… maybe it would help."

His words, spoken with such gentle understanding, made something inside you soften. You took the guitar from him, your fingers awkwardly finding the chords, the muscle memory slowly returning. The notes came out shaky at first, but as you continued, the music began to flow more naturally, filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Suguru watched you, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. "You’re good." he said quietly, and for a moment, the world outside seemed distant and unreal, like a bad dream you could wake up from.

You smiled, a real, genuine smile that felt strange on your face after so long. "Thanks. It’s been a while."

He nodded, leaning back against the wall, his gaze still on you. "It’s nice, having someone to share this with." His voice was low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you.

You met his eyes, something unspoken passing between you. "Yeah, it is."

With each passing day, the bond between you and Suguru grew stronger, weaving a tapestry of shared moments and growing intimacy. The days, once filled with routine and duty, now held a deeper meaning. You found yourself eagerly anticipating his presence, whether it was during the long, often monotonous hours patrolling the perimeter or in the quieter, more serene moments spent together in the kitchen.

During these patrols, the silence between you was no longer uncomfortable but rather a comfortable companion. You’d exchange glances and smiles, the unspoken understanding adding warmth to the cool, night air. These simple interactions became a cherished part of your day, a reminder that even in a world fraught with danger and uncertainty, there were small, precious joys to be found.

Cooking together was a ritual that both of you cherished. Every meal you prepared was more than just sustenance; it was a shared experience, a small victory over the harsh realities of the world outside. Suguru, with his surprisingly deft culinary skills, brought an element of surprise and delight to these moments. His laughter would fill the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of whatever you were preparing, creating an atmosphere of warmth and camaraderie.

These cooking sessions were more than just about the food. They were about the small, tender moments that punctuated your days—Suguru's playful teasing as you fumbled with ingredients, the quiet, shared satisfaction of a well-made meal, and the deep conversations that flowed as easily as the spices you mixed. Each meal was a testament to the connection you were nurturing, a symbol of your growing closeness.

In these shared moments, whether in the midst of patrols or while cooking, you found solace and joy. The simple act of preparing food together became a grounding ritual, reminding you both of the warmth and safety you had found in each other’s company. Through the laughter, the shared tasks, and the quiet companionship, your relationship deepened, finding strength in the everyday moments that brought you closer together.

As you were washing up after dinner, Suguru spoke, his voice hesitant. "You know, I never thought I’d let anyone into this place. It was supposed to be… just for me."

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "What changed?"

He didn’t answer right away, drying the dishes in silence before finally turning to you. "I guess… I got tired of being alone."

There was a raw honesty in his words that made your heart ache. "I know the feeling too well, I suppose." you admitted, your voice soft. "I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed someone—until I found you."

He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "We’ve both lost so much, you know?" he said quietly. "But maybe… maybe we can find something here. Something worth holding on to."

You looked up at him, your breath catching as you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious, something worth protecting. "Suguru…" you began, but the words caught in your throat, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You don’t have to say anything." he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that took you by surprise. "Just… stay with me."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as the world outside seemed to fade away. "I’m not going anywhere, Suguru." you promised, your voice barely more than a whisper.

And in that moment, as Suguru’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, you knew that despite everything you had lost, you had found something here—something real, something worth fighting for. The world outside was still a nightmare, but in his embrace, you felt safe. You felt… home.

The fire crackled softly and the scent of a simple stew filled the air, you sat together in the small kitchen. Suguru’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a bowl, the brief contact sending a jolt through you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no fear, no death—only the warmth of his gaze, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you.

You reached out, your fingers gently grazing him, and this time, he didn’t pull away. The kiss that followed was soft, tentative, as if testing the waters of a new reality. It wasn’t born out of desperation or fear but something genuine, something that had been building between you since the day you met. In that moment, you realized that amidst the ruins of the world, you had found something worth fighting for—each other.

Suguru was still the survivalist, still cautious, still guarded. But with you, he was different. He let you in, allowed you to see the man behind the walls, the one who had survived not just the apocalypse, but the loneliness that came with it. And in return, you gave him the one thing he had lost faith in—hope.

In the silence of survival, you and Suguru found a new life, not just as survivors, but as something more. The world outside was still a nightmare, but within the walls of the compound, there was music, there was food, and there was love. And that was enough.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

THE WORLD CHANGED IN A BLINK OF AN EYE. The years passed, and in the midst of the crumbling world, you and Suguru had found a fragile but undeniable happiness together.

Despite the constant fight for survival, the fear, and the uncertainty, you had managed to carve out a life within the walls of his compound—a life filled with small moments of peace, warmth, and a deep bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

The two of you had become each other's anchor, weathering the storms of the world outside and the storms within yourselves. There were still fights, of course—heated arguments born out of the stress and the pain that never quite left—but they always ended the same way: with apologies, with understanding, with the reassurance that no matter how much the world tried to tear you apart, you would find your way back to each other.

You wanted to stay together, no matter what. The future was uncertain, but you had each other, and that was enough.

Or at least, it had been. Until the day you found out.

The sickness began as a dull ache, a persistent discomfort that you initially attributed to the everyday strains of fatigue or stress. You tried to dismiss it, telling yourself it was just a part of the routine hardships you faced. But the pain didn’t relent. Instead, it began to spread, a creeping malice that invaded your very bones, draining your energy and will.

As the days turned into weeks, the ache evolved into a relentless torment. Tasks that once seemed trivial became monumental efforts, and the weight of the pain became increasingly unbearable.

It was as if every step you took, every breath you drew, was a reminder of the encroaching shadow that threatened to envelop you. Eventually, the denial you clung to was no longer tenable. The truth, harsh and unyielding, crashed down upon you with the force of a relentless storm.

The diagnosis was a devastating blow—terminal, with no hope for a cure. It felt as if your world had crumbled, leaving you in a hollow space where hope once resided. The words of the doctor reverberated in your mind, each syllable a brutal reminder of your fate.

You struggled to process the enormity of what was unfolding before you, your mind overwhelmed by the realization that the future you had envisioned with Suguru was slipping through your grasp.

The dreams you had nurtured—of a shared life, of enduring together through the hardships of this cruel world—were now tainted by the bitter reality of your diagnosis. The vision of growing old side by side, of finding solace in each other amidst the chaos, seemed like nothing more than fragile, shattered illusions. The life you had carefully built, the hope you had cherished, were being torn away by a fate you could not escape.

Each day became a battle, not just against the encroaching illness but against the crushing weight of despair. The future that had once seemed so vibrant and full of promise now appeared as a distant, unreachable horizon. Your heart ached with the knowledge that the time you had left was no longer measured in hopes and dreams, but in the stark reality of counting down to an inevitable end.

In this bleak landscape, the love you had with Suguru became both a source of immense comfort and profound sorrow. It was a bittersweet reminder of what you were losing and what you still cherished.

And as you faced the unbearable truth, you clung to the moments of shared love and companionship, knowing that while the future was uncertain and fleeting, the bond you had forged with Suguru was a source of strength in your darkest hours.

Telling Suguru was the hardest thing you had ever done. When the moment came to share the news, you felt a heavy weight pressing on your chest. Each word felt like it was tearing apart the fragile fabric of hope that had been woven between you. You struggled to find the right words, but the gravity of the situation rendered you almost speechless. Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, you uttered the truth.

As you spoke, you could see the light in Suguru's eyes dim, his once-vibrant gaze becoming clouded with an overwhelming sense of despair. It was as if your words were a heavy fog rolling in, obscuring the clarity and warmth that had once defined his expression. The impact was immediate and devastating. The hope and dreams you had shared seemed to drain from him, leaving a hollow, heart-wrenching emptiness in their wake.

Suguru’s reaction was one of stunned silence. He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze was fixed on you, but it was distant, almost as if he were looking through you rather than at you. His expression was frozen, a complex mix of disbelief, shock, and profound sadness. It was as though the words you had spoken were so unfathomable that he struggled to process their meaning, as if accepting them was too great a burden for his heart to bear.

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with unspoken words and emotions. You could see him grappling with the reality of what you had just revealed, his mind racing to comprehend the magnitude of your situation. The anguish etched on his face was a mirror to your own, reflecting the profound sense of loss and heartbreak that had suddenly become your shared reality.

"No." he finally whispered, his voice cracking. "No, this can’t be happening."

You reached out, your hand trembling as you took his, squeezing it tightly. "I’m so sorry, Suguru. I wish there was something we could do, but—"

"But there has to be." he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening almost to the point of pain. "There has to be something. We’ve survived so much… we can find a way through this too."

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I wish that were true. But this… this is different. There’s no fighting this."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly that it almost hurt, as if he could keep you with him through sheer force of will. His breath was ragged against your hair, and you felt the way his body trembled with the effort to hold back his tears.

"We were supposed to be together, baby." he choked out, his voice thick with grief. "We were supposed to make it."

"I know, I know." you whispered, your own tears spilling over. "I wanted that too. I still do. But…"

"But what?" he demanded, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes desperate. "We can’t just give up."

"I’m not giving up, Suguru." you said, your voice trembling with the effort to stay strong. "But we have to face the truth. This is happening, and we can’t stop it."

The devastation in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you saw the way he struggled to keep himself together, to be strong for you even as his world fell apart. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice small, almost childlike.

"We keep going." you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt. "We make the most of the time we have left. We keep fighting, but… we don’t fight each other. We spend every moment we can together, and we make them count."

He nodded, though the movement was slow, reluctant, as if he still couldn’t quite accept what you were saying. "I don’t want to lose you, baby." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I can’t lose you."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "You won’t lose me, Suguru. Not really. I’ll always be with you, even if… even if I’m not here."

His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled you close again, his grip almost desperate. "I love you. I love you more than anything in this world." he whispered, the words heavy with all the emotion he had been holding back. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, my love. My Suguru." you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. "I always will."

And so, in the midst of the overwhelming sorrow, you held each other, finding solace in the warmth of each other’s embrace. The world outside still raged on, but in that moment, you had each other, and that was all that mattered. You would face the darkness together, hand in hand, and whatever time you had left, you would make it count.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

BY THE TIME SPRING CAME, EVERYTHING UNRAVELED. The sickness had steadily worsened, each day stealing more of your strength and vitality, chipping away at the life you had fought so hard to hold onto. The once-manageable discomfort had evolved into a constant, gnawing ache, a relentless companion that shadowed your every move.

The pain was unyielding, a dull throb that seemed to seep into every corner of your existence. Alongside it came a profound exhaustion, a weariness so deep it felt as if you were weighed down by a leaden blanket, sapping your energy and spirit.

As the days passed, you became acutely aware that your time was running out. The inevitable reality of your condition loomed ever closer, and the thought of leaving Suguru behind was almost unbearable.

The idea of him witnessing your slow decline, of watching you waste away, was a source of deep, unrelenting sorrow. It was a burden that neither of you should have to endure, and the thought of him bearing witness to such suffering made the situation all the more poignant.

One evening, as you sat together in the small, dimly lit living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth provided a stark contrast to the heaviness of the moment. The flickering light danced across the room, casting warm, gentle shadows, but it did little to ease the weight of the decision that loomed over you. You glanced at Suguru, his presence both a source of comfort and a reminder of the pain you were about to inflict.

The warmth of the fire seemed to mock the cold reality you faced. Each crackle of the flames was a stark reminder of the life that was slipping away from you, a life that you had shared so intimately with Suguru. The room, once a sanctuary of shared joy and quiet moments, now felt suffused with a profound sadness. You could see the concern and love etched into Suguru’s face, and it made your heart ache even more.

You knew that making this decision was necessary, even though it would hurt him deeply. The thought of continuing in your current state—becoming a burden rather than a partner, an encumbrance rather than a companion—was untenable. The inevitable end was approaching, and you could no longer ignore the fact that your suffering was taking a toll on both of you.

As you faced Suguru, your heart felt like it was shattering with the weight of your decision. You had chosen to speak the truth, to acknowledge the unbearable reality of your situation. It was a choice made out of love and respect, even though it meant confronting the deep, painful truth of your own mortality and the heartache it would cause Suguru.

In those quiet moments by the fire, the decision was clear, but the pain of it was profound. The love you had for Suguru and the desire to protect him from further suffering guided your choice, even as it tore at your own heart. The warmth of the fire contrasted sharply with the chill of the reality you faced, a reminder of the fleeting nature of the life and love you both had cherished.

"Suguru, my love." you began, your voice weak but steady, "I need to ask you something."

He turned to you, concern etched in his features. "What is it? Do you need something? More water? Some painkillers?" He was always trying to do something, anything, to ease your suffering, even when there was little that could be done.

You shook your head, reaching out to take his hand. "No, it’s not that. It’s… I want you to help me end it. When the time comes, I don’t want to… I don’t want to linger."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, Suguru just stared at you, his eyes wide with shock. Then, he pulled his hand away, his expression hardening as he shook his head violently.

"No, baby." he said, his voice firm and almost angry. "No, I’m not doing that. I’m not giving up on you. We’ll find something—there’s got to be something out there that can help. We’ll go out tomorrow, search the surrounding towns. There has to be something… anything…"

"Suguru, my love. Please. Understand me." you interrupted gently, your heart breaking at the desperation in his voice. "We’ve tried. We’ve been searching for months, and nothing has changed. You know it as well as I do—there’s nothing left to find."

"I can’t!" he snapped, his voice rising. "I can’t lose you like this! We’ve survived so much together. We can get through this too. I’ll find a way, I swear."

You reached out again, this time cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Suguru, my love." you whispered, tears filling your eyes. "I’m dying. We both know it. Please… don’t make this harder than it already is."

He broke then, his shoulders shaking as he crumbled before you. "I can’t live without you, baby." he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "You’re all I have left. If you go… if you leave me… I don’t know what I’ll do."

"You’ll keep going. You must." you said softly, your own tears spilling over. "You’re strong, Suguru. You’ve always been strong. You’ll find a way to survive, even without me."

He shook his head, his hands gripping yours tightly, as if he could anchor you to the world through sheer force of will. "I don’t want to survive without you, baby." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not there."

You pulled him into your arms, holding him close as he cried against your shoulder, his grief tearing through him like a storm. "I know. I know that." you whispered, your own heart shattering with every sob that wracked his body. "I know it’s hard. But you have to promise me you’ll try. Promise me you’ll keep going, for both of us."

He clung to you, his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself together. "I don’t know if I can." he admitted, his voice small and broken. "I don’t know how to do this without you."

"You can, my love." you insisted, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "You’re stronger than you think, Suguru. You’ve already done so much. But before I go… There's something I want to do. Something that will give meaning to all of this."

He frowned, confusion flickering in his tear-filled eyes. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to say the words. "I want to marry you, my love." you said, your voice trembling. "I want to be your wife, even if it’s just for a little while. I want to give meaning to this life, to what we’ve been through together. Please… let’s do this, Suguru. Let’s make it real."

He stared at you, his eyes widening in surprise and disbelief as if trying to process the gravity of what you had just said. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken fears and raw emotions. You held your breath, the weight of his potential rejection pressing down on you. The thought that he might find the idea too painful to accept was almost unbearable, adding to the already intense sorrow that filled the room.

But then, as if struggling to come to terms with the inevitable, he began to nod slowly. The initial shock in his eyes gave way to a profound sadness, and his expression softened, becoming a mixture of resignation and tender understanding. The lines of his face, once tense with disbelief, relaxed as he reached out to you.

With gentle, deliberate movements, he cupped your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation, a soothing balm against the sharp edges of your sorrow. His hands, though trembling slightly, were steady in their tenderness, conveying a depth of love and acceptance that words alone could not express.

As he held you, his gaze locked onto yours, searching for reassurance and finding it in the depths of your shared experiences and unspoken bond. The moment was both heart-wrenching and profoundly intimate, a testament to the strength of your connection and the pain of facing such a difficult decision together.

"Okay, baby." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Okay. We’ll do it. I’ll marry you. We’ll do it right here, right now."

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, a small, trembling smile breaking through the sorrow. "Thank you, my love." you whispered, your voice cracking. "Thank you, Suguru."

He pulled you into his arms again, holding you close as you both cried, the weight of what was to come hanging heavy over you. But in that moment, you were together, and that was all that mattered. You would marry him, give meaning to your lives, and in the time you had left, you would make every moment count.

Even as the darkness closed in, you knew that you had found something beautiful in the midst of the horror—a love that would last beyond the end, a bond that would never truly be broken.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

IT WAS SUCH A NICE DAY FOR A WEDDING. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room as you and Suguru prepared for the day that would be both your wedding and your farewell. It was a day you had both dreaded and longed for, a day that would bring a bittersweet end to the journey you had shared together.

Suguru had spent the early hours of the morning in the kitchen, determined to make this day as special as he could. He cooked you the best meals he could manage with the limited supplies you had, pouring his heart into every dish.

The aroma of roasted vegetables, tender meat, and freshly baked bread filled the small compound, a testament to the love and care he had poured into every bite. He even brought out the best wine he had been saving in the cellar—a bottle that had survived the apocalypse, waiting for a moment just like this.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found you dressed in your best—an old dress you had found while scavenging, simple but elegant, its soft fabric hugging your frail form. Suguru had dressed in his finest as well, his dark shirt and trousers clean and pressed, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him took your breath away, and you smiled, despite the sorrow that weighed on your heart.

"You look beautiful, baby." he whispered as he approached, his voice thick with emotion.

"And you look handsome, my love." you replied, your voice trembling as you reached out to straighten his collar.

The two of you stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of each other, committing it to memory. Then, with a deep breath, you took his hand, and together you made your way to the small living room, where the morning light streamed through the windows, bathing the space in a soft, golden glow. There were no guests, no officiant, no flowers or rings. It was just the two of you, standing together in the light, your hands clasped tightly as you exchange your vows.

"I, Suguru, take you, my love, to be my wife." he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. "In this life, and whatever comes after, I promise to love you, to hold you close, to cherish every moment we have together. No matter what happens, you will always be my heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you repeated the words, your voice trembling. "I, take you, Suguru, to be my husband. I promise to love you, to be by your side, to find joy in the little things, even in this broken world. You’ve given me a reason to keep going, and I will carry that with me, always."

With that, you both leaned in, sealing your vows with a gentle kiss, a promise made under the watchful eye of the morning sun. When you pulled back, there were tears in both your eyes, but there were also smiles—small, fragile smiles that spoke of a love that had endured the darkest of times.

The day passed in a blur of quiet joy and melancholy. Suguru insisted on dancing, and you found yourselves swaying together to the soft, nostalgic notes of Vera Lynn’s "We’ll Meet Again," playing from an old record player Suguru had somehow managed to keep running.

The song filled the room with its haunting melody, a promise of reunion in a world beyond this one. You held each other close, moving slowly, savoring every second, every touch, as if by doing so, you could make time stop.

As night fell, the reality of what was to come settled over you both. There was no turning back now, no more delaying the inevitable. You returned to the bedroom, where the bed had been carefully made, its soft blankets a welcome comfort against the cold that had settled into your bones. You climbed into bed, and Suguru followed, sitting beside you, his hand resting gently on yours.

You turned to look at him, your heart aching with the knowledge that these were your final moments together. "Suguru, my love." you began, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you to live. Even after I’m gone, I want you to find a way to keep going. Please… promise me you’ll try."

His grip on your hand tightened, and he shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What sort of life is that without you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "You’re everything to me. I don’t know how to keep going if you’re not here."

"You’re stronger than you think, my love." you whispered, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. "You’ve always been strong, Suguru. You’ve saved me so many times… now, you need to save yourself. Please… for me."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, his breath shuddering as he tried to hold himself together. "I don’t want to let you go, baby." he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how."

"You don’t have to let me go, my love." you replied, your own tears slipping down your cheeks. "I’ll always be with you. In every memory, every moment we shared. You’ll carry me with you, no matter what."

He nodded, though it was clear the idea of life without you was unbearable. "I love you, baby." he whispered, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that words could barely contain. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." you whispered back, your voice trembling. "Now… let’s make this last moment count."

With that, he leaned in, kissing you gently, as if trying to pour all the love he had for you into that one moment. You kissed him back, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm you had come to know and love, a sound you would carry with you into the dark.

When the kiss ended, you settled back against the pillows, the familiar softness providing a modicum of comfort in the midst of your pain. Suguru lay beside you, his arms wrapped around you with a tenderness that spoke of his deep, abiding love. Together, you both faced the uncertain future, finding solace in each other's presence as the night stretched on.

The silence of the room was broken only by the soft sound of your breathing, a gentle rhythm that seemed to anchor you both in the present moment. Despite the gravity of what lay ahead, you felt an unexpected sense of peace settle over you. In those final moments, the relentless tide of fear and pain receded, leaving only the pure, unadulterated essence of love.

There was no longer any room for fear or anguish—only the profound understanding that you had found something truly beautiful amidst the horror. You had loved deeply, and you had been loved in return. That realization, though bittersweet, provided a profound sense of fulfillment. It was a reminder that, even in the face of the inevitable, the love you shared had given meaning to your time together.

As the night deepened, you clung to each other, savoring the last precious moments of closeness. Suguru’s presence was a comforting embrace, a final refuge before you slipped away. The world outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the cocoon of your shared love.

When the end finally came, Suguru was left with a heartache so profound it felt almost unbearable. He gazed at your lifeless body, the weight of your absence crashing over him like a tidal wave. Tears streamed down his face, each drop an echo to the depth of his grief. He struggled with the harsh reality of living without you, the very thought of continuing without you seemed inconceivable.

In a final, tender gesture, he brushed the hair away from your face, his fingers lingering in a gentle caress. A faint smile touched his lips, though it was laced with sorrow.

“I’m following you soon, my love. Forgive me.” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. He lets out a smile against the tears.

He takes a look at the drink you drank, laced with laudenum and whiskey. A last hurrah took you away. And he wants that too. He wants to be with you. He stands up to take it and tells himself that it would be okay. Soon, you'll be together again. He gives himself visions of paradise, where you aren't sick anymore. A paradise where you could enjoy life together.

He smiles again, wiping his tears with his free hand and drank the same drink. He puts away the glass and lays down beside you. Everything was going to handle itself somehow, he knew that well enough.

His left hand lingers against the tips of your hair, brushing them as he would have when you were alive. He would be doing that for eternity in the afterlife. Like he always wanted.

For the last moments of Geto Suguru's life, he catches a glimpse of the shine of his wedding ring and yours. As though the light leading him to the other side. He closes his purple eyes slowly for the final time and feels everything be in its place for the first time in a long time.

Years later, when survivors find your bodies lingering in the eternal warmth only both you could provide, they read words on a small card on a coffee table.

"Leave us be on the graveyards we chose. Let us live eternity like this together."

And they do. They leave you be. Because the smile on your faces was enough to know this was where you belonged. Together.

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macsimagines · 1 year ago

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Yandere!Mikey w/ a S/O that had his child

ASKBOX IS OPEN

(So for this set of headcanons its for a Mikey thats been consumed by his dark impulses and has probably lost everyone... ALSO PLEASE tell me what you think? I work better when I'm given notes so any complaints or compliments ill take!)

(D/N) - Daughters Name (Y/N) - Your Name

You were supposed to be a one night stand. He wasn't even going to give you the time of day. You were some secretary or pencil pusher and he was making deals (harassing) your boss.

But you catch his eye, and your boss has you entertain him to make things go smoother.

Thankfully, you two hit it off. Mikey can be charming despite his horrible reputation and you've got such beautiful kind eyes...

One thing leads to another and one unforgettable night you two have sex.

Mikey doesn't call you or contact you after that, and you can take the hint that it didn't mean anything more than just a way to relieve stress.

That would be all fine and dandy if it weren't for the fact that you were puking your guts out and happened to be pregnant.

You can't depend on Mikey, you don't think he'll accept your child and you really don't want them involved in the underworld that Mikey controls.

So you move out of Tokyo to distant family in a different town. You get a job, have your wonderful child and live peacefully in a small town.

Four years down the road, you end up back in Tokyo with your daughter. You owed a friend a favor and you're not too worried.

Your Daughter might be Mikey's clone but Tokyo is a big city and he's a busy man. He must have had countless women before he's not going to recognize your face out of a million others. Plus its been years. You should be safe right?

Wrong. You wake up one morning and (D/N) is gone. You're frantic searching for her, so confused where she could have gone from your friends apartment when it hits you: The Park!

Sprinting over there you're met with a sight you never thought you'd see. Mikey holding your fidgeting daughter in his arms.

If not for the terrifying look in his eyes the scene is almost comical.

The two of them together look like a before and after picture because of how similar they are.

"Y/N, you wanna explain this?" he asks you, and you're more shocked he remembered your name than anything else.

You try to pull it together, you don't want to cause a scene in front of your daughter.

"Th-that's my daughter. She ran off this morning and I've been looking for her."

He tilts his head to the side while he looks you up and down, placing your little girl on his hip.

"Don't you mean our daughter?" there's something dark in his voice and down right malevolent in his eyes.

Panic rises in your chest and you look down at the ground. "I just...I wanted her to be safe. I-I didn't think you'd care."

Your sweet Daughter whimpers for you, not understanding who this strange man is or why he's making her mommy so upset.

"You thought I wouldn't acknowledge my own child? Am I that kind of man to you?"

Silence stretches between you before you finally get the courage to say; "How did you even find us?"

Mikey just stares and holds your girl close before answering; "I heard you were in town. I came looking for you, and found her. Guess this is fate."

What you didn't know was that Mikey did want you, he wanted you so bad it almost drove him crazy. He tried to keep his distance and ignore you, and just when he can't take it anymore he finds out you moved away?

That's fine. It wasn't meant to be. But he had eyes and ears out for you if you ever came back to him. If you willingly walked back into the lions den that must mean you want him to have you.

He hears your back, with a daughter, and that's not a problem. If you have a husband he'll make sure you don't anymore and he doesn't mind a brat, you'll give him some of his own and that will make up for it.

So he goes looking for you, and he's almost to the apartments he knows you're staying at when a little girl catches his eyes. For a second he thought he hallucinated a mirror, but no staring up at him is his own face.

In his heart he knows who this girl is. And he's mystified when she starts talking to him.

"How come the sun's so bright?" she asks him for whatever insane reason.

And the empty abyss in his chest is suddenly full of love and affection. She's perfect. He had a perfect daughter now. Mikey embraces and tells her as much. That she's wonderful and beautiful and so loved.

Then you come sprinting towards them and Mikey suddenly remembers you kept her from him.

Back to the present, he thinks if this had been anyone else he would have killed them. But its you. And thankfully you raised the perfect child and gave him a healthy daughter, so he can't be too mad. He'll take it out on some underlings that left out very important details...

"I'll take responsibility," he tell you grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you so you're face to face, "And you will too, Y/N. We're gonna raise a very happy family. And you're going to give me a very big one. Lots of kids." one for every person he's ever lost.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere manjiro sano #yandere mikey sano #yandere mikey #yandere mikey x reader #yandere manjiro sano x reader #yandere mikey sano x reader

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icarusredwings · 2 months ago

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Thinking about Peter and Wade on a totallynotadateitsjustlunchpaldontgettooexcited date (they have those often) and wondering just how much "Aye im walkin' ere!" Rubs off on Wade.

Wade is about as New yorker as Ohions are from Ohio. This being said he's the FIRST to say that this place is shit and that we should tear it all down and start again except not with a flood, with lava (cause if we're in church* The flood aint gonna do no good, just like aunt tams tuna cassarole. That'll have ya on the toilet from cock's call to cy-yote howl**) and try again.

*If were being honest here **5 am to 5 am literally all day.

This is peters city. Born and raised. This is also Wade's city. Not born or raised but damn it New York is his and he so judges people for what bodegas they stop at and what kind of pizza they like/ how they eat it.

Wade: Why are you pattin' your pie?

Peter, patting some of the grease off his slice: You ever swing around the big apple with diarrhea? Not fun

Wade: I guess not. I still can't believe you got basil.

Peter: Look pal, I love it here and I wanna live long enough to see it.

Wade, folding his pizza and taking a bite: I don't.

Peter, folding his pizza too: I know you don't. It's why you eat all that grease.

Logan, because he's here too: He's going to complain later about his stomach hurting

Peter, staring, insulted as he watches Logan cut his pizza with his claws:....

Wade:...What the fuck are you doing?

Logan: what?

Peter: I cant believe you did that.

Wade: Im so sorry. Hes so embaressing. Look gramps, You don't cut up your pizza, 'kay? Now throw that garbage to the dog and ill get ya another.

Puppins: 😋

Logan, eating the now cut up pieces: I like it.

Puppins: 😞

Wade, putting a hand on peters shoulder: Im so sorry you had to see that. I don't know whats gotten into him lately.

Peter: I don't risk my life for this city just for someone to do this

Wade: *pats him*: I know I know.

Logan: Im not eating my pizza like a taco. That defeats the purpose. If you wanted a taco you should have gotten one.

Wade: You aren't invited to my spiderman themed birthday party if you're just going to keep embarrassing me.

Logan: *eyeroll* you guys are so drimatic.

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year ago

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Home

Leon Kennedy x female reader I just wanted to write some damsel in distress nonsense with Death Island Leon, but imagine whoever you like! Fluff - though mentions of blood, smatter of death.

Coming to, you feel as if you’re hungover - disorientated, nauseous and a sore head - but that can’t be right, you didn’t drink last night.

It takes a moment to localize the throbbing pain only to the side of your head rather than all over and, as you catch sight of blood smeared against the white tiles of the kitchen floor – something you were desperate to change as white shows up everything - you remember.

You’d been working in the home office. Leon had set it up for himself originally – you’d never been brave enough to research what the price of the beautiful mahogany desk must’ve been, but you’re always sure to use a coaster to avoid marking it. He used a laptop, so he’d insisted you utilize the space instead for your desktop when you moved in over a year ago. It was a nice house, on a quiet, suburban street – he’d bought it as a fixer-upper, a bit of a passion project. The rooms were all in various states of completion but he wanted your opinion and input.

“This is our home,” he’d stressed, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Plus, you’ll be here more than me…”

You’d heard of the conspiracy theories surrounding the Raccoon City incident. Who hadn’t stumbled down that rabbit hole before? Leon had confirmed it in vague, half-told recollections of the night a few months into your relationship after an argument about his commitment issues, and you hadn’t pressed further than that since. He told you the bare minimum so you were aware of what his work now entailed, why he had to go away for weeks at a time, why he was so desperate to keep his work and personal life separate for your safety and protection.

He accompanied you when he could to family and friends’ celebrations, charmed them all into forgiving him for his flaky appearances, but they could all see how happy you were since the two of you had got together.

You’d been wearing noise-cancelling headphones as you worked to drown out the next door neighbour’s relentless building works that had started on Monday – a basement leak meant the foundations were being fixed and the noise was horrendous - and had gone to the kitchen to make an ill-advised afternoon coffee and…

Nothing.

Well, the building works have stopped which is a positive, but that doesn’t negate the blood on the floor and your thudding head.

“Mrs Kennedy, I presume.” A man, well-dressed in an awful tight-fitting suit kneels down in front of you. He doesn’t look familiar - blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a bit of stubble, looking tired, mid-40s, you guessed. You’re confused by the way he’s addressed you – you’re not married, there’s no ring there - and he clocks the bemused expression at once. “Or perhaps you’re his whore, waiting for him to return to your little love nest, hm?”

There’s no good answer or witty comeback so you keep silent, instead trying to raise your hand to feel your head, gage how bad it is – head wounds bleed a lot, you knew that much – but your arm doesn’t comply. Your gaze finds the plastic of the zip-tie cutting into your wrist, holding it snugly against the arm of the chair you’re now seated in - dragged in from the dining room.

“Ah, yes.” He cups your chin, tilting your face back towards him in an effort to get you to focus on him. “A necessary measure. I need you to play the damsel in distress.”

“Leon’s not here,” you reply, quietly, words feeling thick on your tongue though it’s not a lie. “He’s away with work - I don’t know when he’s going to be back.”

“Oh, he’s due home very soon. I couldn’t make such a pretty thing wait for days on end.” He lets go of your chin only to place his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You try to jerk away from his touch but find your ankles have received the same treatment as your wrists, though tethered together as if to stop you standing.

“I apologize about your head,” he stands up then, a smug look on his face as he towers over you. “I did tell my men to be gentle, but it appears one misunderstood.”

You shuffle in the chair in a pitiful attempt of relieving the pressure on your wrists. “Who are you?”

He clucks his tongue. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Kennedy’s ETA is four minutes, sir.” A gruff voice states from behind you.

“Excellent.” Your captor smiles. “I suppose he was hoping to surprise you with his arrival, hm? Nice that we can turn the surprise around on him.” He snaps his fingers at one of his subordinates, “You can gag her now.”

A hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back and you gasp only for a wad of fabric to be stuffed behind your teeth. You try and push it out with your tongue on instinct but another bit of fabric is forced between your lips, keeping it snugly in place as it’s knotted at the back of your head, causing you to whimper – or at least attempt - when he brushes up against your head wound.

There’s a hive of activity around you – the three grunts getting into position, checking their ammo. They can’t just plan to shoot Leon outright, surely. Why would he need a damsel otherwise? Your captor grabs the back of your chair and drags it, positioning it in line with the hallway door, meaning that you will be the first thing he sees. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes.

“Showtime.”

Your heart is pounding so loud it’s all you can now hear – maybe it’s so loud Leon will hear with that incredibly sensitive hearing he has before he opens the door, know something’s wrong and get the hell out of here.

No such luck, though. The building work next door hasn’t resumed, so you can hear him cut the engine in the driveway, hear when the Jeep door opens and closes, hear the jingle of his keys in the door. He has his eyes cast down when he enters, immediately turning to the lock the door behind him out of both security and habit.

“Sweetpea?” He sounds upbeat, happy as he calls for you and it breaks your heart all the more when he turns, eyes meeting yours. “Fuck.” He breathes out, taking a hurried step forward, hand automatically reaching for his pistol still holstered on his belt. A loud click pierces through your left ear, cold metal prods into the side of your temple and Leon freezes in place.

“Uh-uh, Kennedy. Unless you wanna see your lovely lady’s brains splattered all over the floor, I’d drop that right now.”

Leon doesn’t hesitate, holding his hands above his head and dropping the pistol to the ground, hitting the wooden floorboards with a thunk.

“Keep those hands up and kick it over.”

Leon complies, kicking the pistol so it skids down the hallway, swiftly collected by one of the grunts.

“Dante.”

“Oh, I’m flattered you remember little ol’ me. Come - join us.” The gun leaves your temple but the fear remains as Leon slowly strides up the hallway, hands still in the air. “Pull Kennedy up a chair and make sure he’s comfortable.” A grunt ducks into the dining room and emerges with one the armless chairs, placing it down heavily on the kitchen tile as Leon enters. He’s swiftly smacked across the face with the butt of a gun, followed up by a punch to the stomach, causing him to double over. Another grunt grabs his arms, yanking them behind his back and you know by the way his biceps tense that he could break out of that hold easily enough, but he’s choosing not to.

You feel horrible that you’re the reason why he’s not.

He’s pushed down onto the chair and his wrists are quickly secured behind his back with a zip tie through the wooden slats. He lifts his head up to reveal a bloodied lip, but his eyes are immediately on you as he speaks.

“She has nothing to do with me and you, Dante.”

“Oh, I know that.” He scoffs, digging his fingernails into your shoulder once more. “But your little sweetpea is so useful in making sure that you remain on your very best behaviour.”

“You’ve got me now, okay?” Leon shrugs his shoulders in demonstration. “Let her go.”

“Aw,” Dante tuts. “Did you think you had her out of harm’s way, Kennedy? Kept your personal life underwraps? Granted I couldn’t quite confirm her name, but here we are all the same. Pretty little thing – shame she had to get wrapped up with you.”

“What do you want?” You can tell Leon’s annoyed, though he keeps his voice measured.

“The Apollo files.”

Leon raises an eyebrow, scoffing. “I don’t ha- Ugh!” The grunt in front of him had pistol-whipped him once more, his nose now bleeding a little in consequence.

“Next time you tell a lie, your woman is going to get the same treatment.” You grip the armrests in apprehension and Leon once again tenses as he notes your discomfort.

“Okay, okay! They’re in the attic. One of the storage boxes up there – there’s not many. Against the south wall.”

“Good boy.” Dante chuckles, ruffling his hand through the agent’s hair condescendingly. “You two - with me,” he points at two of his men, before turning to the third. “You, keep an eye on the lovebirds.”

“Be careful where you step up there – I haven’t put in a permanent floor. Been busy.” Leon retorts.

“Aw, boys, he’s worried we’ll hurt ourselves.” He grabs Leon by the chin then, squeezing his cheeks. “We’ll be right back. I wouldn’t want to keep this lovely lady waiting any more than she has to.”

He shoves Leon’s face to the side and heads out to the hallway, the two grunts following as the third remains in position to the side, gun in hand.

“I’m so sorry, sweetpea, but I’ll get you out of this – I swear.“ Leon says softly, turning his head to the side to look at you. “Okay?”

You nod – there’s little else you can do – but you know you’re shaking. You hate yourself for doubting him, but you can’t see how the two of you are getting out of this in one piece. He doesn’t say anything more, his eyes flitting from one direction to another as he calculates his moves for what feels like hours.

The building work next door resumes – a loud drilling echoing around the kitchen. The grunt winces at the sound and Leon gets to his feet, arms still bound around the dining chair and headbutts him, sending him stumbling back, blood gushing from a broken nose. Leon spins then, slamming the chair against the marble countertops, splintering the wood and releasing himself from the chair. He then jumps again, tucking his legs impressively close to his chin, though letting out a strangled grunt and his bound hands are now in front of him. He lifts up his knee, tenses his biceps and slams it down, the zip-tie splintering across the floor – all in the time it takes the grunt to come to his senses and aims his gun blindly, sending bullets thankfully in every direction but yours.

Leon ducks and dives, swiftly grabbing the grunt around the neck with an arm and holding it tight, cutting off his air supply until he goes limp in his arms and he grabs hold of the man’s gun, quickly checking the cartridge with one smooth downward motion.

A bullet sails over his shoulder as one of the grunts returns from upstairs and Leon quickly takes him out with a headshot. You divert your eyes then, not wanting to see. It’s them or you – you know that – but it doesn’t make the act easier to witness.

It is barely a second before another gunshot rings out, followed by a second - Dante and the remaining man at the kitchen doorway, though the grunt goes down as quickly as he entered due to Leon’s return fire.

Dante’s face is furious, his gun aimed squarely at your head and he pulls the trigger. Leon sidesweeps the chair legs from under you, sending the chair toppling backwards and you with it, your head smacking once more against the tile and making your ears ring and vision dance with black. The bullet soars over your head and into the kitchen cabinet.

There’s another gunshot, a horrible, squelching sound, and then a series of grunts and groans – flesh on flesh – but you can’t look up, can’t see what’s going on as a succession of gunshots ring out and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor.

There’s the clatter of a drawer being opened frantically and then, suddenly, Leon is above you – his shoulder bloody – and a knife in his hand. He lifts your head up gently, cutting through the back of the gag and pulls it away from your mouth, fishing out the fabric that had been making you feel close to choking.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He says softly as you catch your breath, taking glorious mouthfuls of air. “Stay still, okay? I’ll get these off you.” He presses the blade against your wrist with a careful flick and you’re released from the first of your restraints. He makes quick work of your other wrist and the ones around your ankles, pulling you up into his arms, cradling you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, rocking you back and forth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Leon, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s okay. It’s not okay. I promised to never get you mixed up in this. I don’t know how they found this place, how they found you. I’ve been so fucking careful, baby.” His voice breaks, along with your heart.

“I know you have.” You try and soothe. “It’s not fair, but it’s not your fault, sweetheart. I love you.”

He presses his lips to yours then, kissing you softly. “Love you too – so much. Feel so selfish.”

“Uh-uh, no – you deserve to be happy. I want to make you happy.”

“You do, sweetpea, but-“

“If I can’t say it’s okay, you can’t go down this road either and we both can’t pout about it.”

He sniffs, rolls his eyes and you finally remember the blood patch on his shoulder.

“Did you get shot?” He shakes his head. “Grazed me. I’m fine. You, however, need a full check-up.”

“If I’m having one, you’re having one too. We can have a date to the emergency room.”

He laughs – it’s nice to hear, to see the smile reaching his eyes. “I owe you a much better date than that.”

“Nah – maybe they’ll put you in a hospital gown.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“What?” You bite your lip.

“The ones that don’t tie at the back?”

“Oh, don’t they? Interesting.”

He kisses you again then, with a bit more passion than before. “Baby, you do not have to get me in a hospital gown to see my ass.”

“Who said anything about seeing your ass? Get your head out the gutter, Mr Kennedy.”

Leon rolls his eyes once more, getting to his feet with ease with you still in his arms. He pushes your face into his chest as he walks towards the front door.

“Leon, no, you need to rest your shoulder. Put me down - I can walk.”

“Don’t want you to see.” He murmurs. “I’m gonna get you in the Jeep, call work quickly – they’ll come sort this mess – then straight to the hospital.”

You keep quiet then, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you nuzzle your head against his chest, a realisation hitting you.

“We won’t be coming back here, will we?”

He pauses, fiddling with the keys in lock.

“I’m sorry. I know you were finally feeling at home here and-”

“No.” You cut him off. “Home is us together – wherever. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He opens the door. “You’re right. Home is with you, sweetpea.”

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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lexirosewrites · 3 months ago

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Thinking steddie thoughts as usual 🤔

I'm thinking abt a regency AU maybe some inspiration directly from Austen

O!Steve, his twin sister O!Robin, & their younger twin siblings A!Max & B!Dustin lose almost everything overnight when their widowed mother Scott Harrington nee Clarke (idk what I'm doing don't look at me) dies from a drawn out illness leaving them without a will tht will protect them, their older brother from their dead sires (Richard Harrington) previous marriage A!Tommy & his wife B!Carol kick them out of the only home they've ever known with barely anything set up for a monthly sum to cover their expenses

It was pure foresight on their mothers part tht he sent letters to his cousin A!Hopper to seek housing for his 4 children in a cottage on his property. Hopper of course took them in, even sending means for them to travel. The 4 arrive to a rather small abode with 3 bedrooms on the second floor to accommodate them; Steve & Robin get separate rooms bc they're older & also as omegas the social expectation is tht they'll need more privacy. A!Max & B!Dustin grumble but don't throw any tantrums abt having to share a room. They all know their existence hangs in a precarious balance dependent on the good will of a cousin none of them had ever met.

Hopper is gruff but sympathetic & kind. His mate A!Joyce is all motherly instincts & empathetic to them as she lost her previous mate, leaving her w her two sons B!Jonathan & O!Will & a barely thought out will tht had been written before the man had married her. They're invited to luncheon with the couple at their main house on the estate & there they meet Hopper's charge/adopted daughter O!Jane (Eleven) as well as Joyce's sons. Jonathan is quiet but very kind to Steve, showing notable interest in him, asking questions, & paying attention to Steve's answers. Jonathan is a fairly successful lawyer whos holds great interest in botany, making a very decent living with a townhouse in the city he stays at when he is not visiting his mother & younger siblings.

The two alphas expect Jonathan & Steve will begin courting inevitably. Steve supposes it wouldn't be a terrible match, Jonathan can keep him & his siblings in relative comfort, he has shown himself to b kind, & has seemingly endless patience for Max's moods & Dustin’s curiosity.

Until one day nearly a month after they'd settled in the cottage Joyce invites them all to picnic to celebrate the return of their friends the Munsons. Wayne is a former officer of the military as well as a member of the peerage, & his nephew is an eccentric but well meaning heir. The two have been on a trip to some far off place.

Blah blah blah idk what happens but this was all very much inspired by sense & sensibility

oops i guess i have to watch sense & sensibility because i love Jane Austen, but i don’t know that one🤭 i’m assuming it ends with Steve and Eddie together?😉

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks

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imagine-lcorp · 29 days ago

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Having Arachnid Powers and Dating Lena Luthor Would Include...

Request

@sandwichitodemilanesa could you please write what would include dating lena, being a kind of spider woman? probably have gotten your power because of Lena's dad or brother experiments to make a superhuman but now you're trying to be a super friend and save the world . thanks you so much <3

A/N: Hello y'all, sorry for being MIA, honestly adulthood is kinda sucking my soul, but as I've said before I'm still around. This time doing this little piece that was such fun honestly, also I love sandiwichitos de milanesa so I just couldn't ignore it. Thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy it! <3

Lena Luthor x Superhero Fem!R/Arachnid Powers/Word Count: 1,388

-------------------------------------------------------

Your story starting the first time Lena ever saw you, you were on the news, stopping a bank robbery.

You were using nothing but a black hoodie, grey pants, a ski mask, and a pair of worn out shoes, and had disappeared before Supergirl could arrive.

The cameras spotted you swinging your way out through the building of National City, using what at first she imagined were hook-shots.

Like the rest of the city, she started seeing you more often on the news with growing curiosity as you helped all citizens.

The news outlets trying to come up with names for you; "The Human Spider", "The Web Slinger", "The Wall Crawler", "Arachnid Woman".

Your first close encounter with Lena was during a supervillian attack on L-Corp. The top floors were crumbling while Supergirl was fighting and you appeared, saving all the people from the falling debris, including her.

You carried her in your arms as you used your webs to pull you down to the ground, keeping her safe but leaving before she could say anything.

She and the whole DEO searching for you after that, wanting to know who you were and where you came from.

Lena investigating you but coming to dead ends, trying to understand you and your powers from what she sees in the news and DEO reports.

Losing hope after many months only for you to swing to her office balcony one night as she looked down the city.

"I believe you and your friends have been looking for me."

"Mostly me, but yes."

"What for?"

"I wanted to thank you, for saving my life."

Distrusting Lena initially due to personal reasons and avoiding further contact but slowly getting used to her as you came to her aid several more times.

"We should stop meeting in life threatening situations, Miss Luthor."

"We certainly should, and I still don't know your name."

"I guess you can call me (Y/N), for now."

Warming up to her and even visiting her a few times at her office. Always reaching her floor by crawling on the side of her building or swinging with your webs to avoid being spotted.

You always work this late, Miss Luthor?

I could ask the same.

You know what they say, crime never sleeps.

Lena noticing more and more of how your powers work, even making you a suit to help you out, leaving it on her balcony with a little note after leaving early from work one day.

Smiling at the gesture and the news making noise about your new look the next day, giving you new superhero names and such.

Going to her office more often and starting to enjoy your small conversations with her and the balcony kind of becoming your meeting place.

Finally building enough trust to tell her who you were and explain how you got your powers.

Telling her you had been very sick, almost too far gone a few years back, when her brother offered you some sort of experimental treatment for your illness. You accepted and Lex brought you to Luthorcorp.

Little did you know, her brother had been running illegal and dangerous human experiments in there.

You had woken up in a cryosleep chamber years later in a secret facility, as you had been the only survivor of his experiments and the only one who seemed to assimilate your new given powers correctly.

"I had nothing and nowhere to go but I didn't want to use my powers to take advantage of people."

Lena offering you a place to stay and helping you go back on track with your life.

Supergirl and Alex also offering you a place in the DEO but refusing as places like that bring you bad memories but offering your help back in case they need it.

Having a bit of trouble adapting your new life with the superhero gig going on but Lena helping you as best as she can with everything you need.

"What if I say I need a million dollars?"

Lena discovering your funny dorky side.

Your relationship with Lena growing over time as she helps you settle as the newest heroine of National City.

Lena helping you design your supersuit and inventing new devices for you.

"I think I need to come up with a superhero name. People are starting to call me 'The Tarantula' and 'Black Widow'."

"Mmh, maybe you would like something more classic?"

"Like what?"

"How about… 'Arachne'?"

Her choosing your new name and going along with it.

Visiting her regularly when the city seems calmer and conversing for hours in her balcony.

Developing a soft spot for her and finally inviting her to move with you through the city.

"You know I have a driver and a car, right?"

"Swinging is faster, you can avoid a lot of traffic."

Lena actually enjoying the rides with you, although only the short ones.

Lena introducing you to the Superfriends.

"So, spider powers, uh? What's that exactly? Extra eyes? Extra legs? Can you stick to any surface?"

"No extra limbs as far as I'm aware…and I suppose I can stick to anything, uh, so far?"

"Cool. And the web, does it come from-?"

"Alex, stop."

"I'm just asking. What? As if you aren't curious too."

Lena helping you train and taking the chance to analyze and help you with your own powers.

She realizing she worries about you the more you get involved in fights to protect National City, particularly when Kara isn't in town.

She being the one to patch you up at your place when you don't want to stay at the DEO.

"You should see the other guy. The other guy, in this instance, being a killer croc."

Lena visiting your place and spending more time with you outside her office and the DEO.

Putting more attention to her and her safety when a fight or battle breaks lose.

Realizing after many of those you like her more than you think and going to her balcony one night to confess your feelings.

Lena admitting the same and being happy about it as you ask her to go on a date with you.

Spending your first date with Lena watching the sunset from the highest place of the city after a rooftop picnic.

Lena making sure to leave L-Corp early to spend more time with you.

Helping each other when there are criminals on the loose and being very protective of Lena if there's any after her.

Upside down kisses.

Taking her to dates by swinging around the city and her offering her limousine from time to time as a way to spoil you.

Making it official and the Superfriends being really supportive and happy for you.

Being awkward and nerdy around each other.

Very interesting moments in bed.

Grabbing food or coffee for her any chance you can so you can visit her at her office.

Dates on her office balcony also becoming a regular thing.

Sticking upside down out of her window and knocking at it at the end of her office hours to take her home.

Enjoying swinging around the city just to keep her clinging to you.

"You better hold on tight, spider-monkey."

"Is that a Twilight reference? I shouldn't have let Kara convince us to watch those."

Lots of game nights with the Superfriends and always teaming up with Lena.

Lena being your unofficial handler and she always being on your side whatever happens on your fights and missions.

You always supporting Lena and her ideas, but knowing when to call her out when things feel out of hand.

She doing the same with you, particularly when you feel responsible for everyone.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N), sometimes the hardest thing about this is you can't always save everybody."

Hugs so tight and long they feel like home.

Leaving Lena huge messages around different spaces of the city written with your web. Mostly hearts with her initial in the middle.

Being really close and intimate on your alone moments.

Always coming to aid the Superfriends when they need you or teaming up with Alex and the DEO.

Lena spoiling you with new gadgets and even making you a new suit with nano-tech.

"Like Kara's, but way cooler."

"Oh yes, but don't let her hear you say that."

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor x reader #lena x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor imagines #lena x you #fem reader #fem!reader #female reader #one shot #request #dating would include #dating lena luthor #lena luthor x fem reader

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jungkookstatts · 2 years ago

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When She Loved Me

[Summary]: How does one live when life is bound to end?

[Theme]: Terminally Ill Reader, Non Idol AU, CEO Jungkook AU, Engaged AU, Married AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes and innuendoes, a truly heart wrenching piece. Please read with caution and with full intent to break your own heart.

[Word Count]: 11,265

[A/N]: I truly broke my soul with this one. If you really want to cry, listen to my muse for this piece: “When She Loved Me” by Sarah McClain (yes, the one from Toy Story) or "Stuff We Did" by Michael Gaicchino (from UP)

[Materialist]

It’s spring — your favorite time of year. The air is brisk, but the sun warms his skin despite the chill in the air.

He watches the cherry blossoms fall dramatically as the wind pushes through the branches of the trees. They flow through his hair, catching on his clothes and his skin.

He thinks about you as they whirl around the city, wondering if you’re able to see the blossoms through your window.

Jungkook doesn’t have to check into the hospital anymore. He’s become a regular there. In fact, he’s come so often, he knows the names of all the nurses on your floor. Jungkook is a friendly guy, and he’s come to know each nurse quite well.

Your personal nurse, Nurse Sandy, greets him as he makes an appearance on the 4th floor. Jungkook gently wraps his hand around the knob to your room, just about to push it open until she speaks.

“You won’t find her in there, love,” she smiles. She finishes cleaning up an area on a movable cart before she officially turns his way. “She’s up on the roof,” she points to the door at the end of the hallway.

“Ah,” Jungkook shyly bows in thanks. His hand comes up to rub the hairs at the back of his neck. There’s a sense of slight slight awkwardness in the air from his mistake.

“She’s been up there for a while,” she explains.

Jungkook simply nods before telling her that he’s going to join you. She lets him go, watching the grown man make his way towards you.

He catches you leaning against the metal bars encasing the rooftop. Your arms are folded against the railing, and your leg is crossed over the other as you stare out into the openness of the city. He can imagine your face — eyes closed and a content smile on your lips — as the breeze takes over your body.

You’re beautiful, even standing with your back faced to him; even with a cart of fluids attached to one side of your body, and an oxygen tank placed on the other. Nothing can take away from you.

“You can say something, you know,” you break the silence.

Jungkook feels his heart nearly leap out of his body. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there. Or how long you knew he was standing there. Embarrassment floods his cheeks as he clears his throat.

“S-Sorry,” he laughs. Jungkook makes his way over to you, leaning his arms against the metal just as you are.

“The weather is perfect, Kook,” you sigh in content. When he looks to you, his imagination is confirmed reality: your eyes are closed and your lips are lips pulled up in the most delicate way. A clear tube stretches across your cheeks, but it doesn’t take away from your beauty. You’re you, and he finds himself staring in admiration as the cherry blossoms flow around your delicate frame. It’s like they’re pulling you into the spring.

“Your cheeks are cold,” he observes. The redness of your nose and the red skin at the corners of your eye do little to hide from how the weather effects you body.

“Are they?” He watches you open your eyes, gently touching your cheeks with your fingertips. “Oh—I guess they are. I hadn’t noticed,” you smile. “Winter is still in the air, but I couldn’t just sit in that room and watch the blossoms fall from the window.”

“I got a scarf if you want,” he suggests.

You attempt to refuse, but he’s already pulling it out of his bag and gently wrapping it around your neck and shoulders. He’s careful with the cords, not wanting to damage or ruin anything as he wraps you in his clothes.

Once he has situated the scarf a few more times, he’s looking at you, a content smile on his face. He loves moments when you let him do this—when you let him engulf you with his warmth. It makes him feel special.

You’re leaning against his chest in the next few moments, wrapping your arms around his waist and sighing against his chest. You missed him. Even though you he visits you everyday, you miss him in every moment he is gone.

Jungkook rubs your back, one of his hands pressing your head into his chest as he places a kiss on top of your scalp.

“How long have you been out here?” He asks you.

“Since this morning.” His chest rises from your words. You stop him with your own, knowing what he was about to reprimand you for. Don’t worry, I ate,” you chuckle, poking his chest. You knew that was going to be his next question. “Nurse Sandy has been out here with me for most of the day, waiting for you to come and give her a break.”

Jungkook chuckles, holding you closer against him when a strong breeze blows against the two of you. He protects you from it, turning you gently so his back shields your body from the wind.

“I hate being in there,” you mumble. He almost doesn’t here it, but if it wasn’t for the small break in the wind he probably wouldn’t have. “I wish I could sleep next to you again.”

“I know,” he kisses your head again. “You’ll get out of here soon. I know it.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you rest your chin on his chest, staring up at him with curious eyes.

“What?” He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear. It’s become thin, the nutrients it had just a couple years ago has been completely sucked out. But Jungkook doesn’t mind. As long as you don’t mind, he’s alright. Everything about you is beautiful. You could be bald or patching or have the worst allergic reaction on your skin from some of the medications you take, but he wouldn’t care. Behind all that is you, and he loves your soul with all of his.

“Nothing,” you give a small smile. It seems forced, but Jungkook pays no mind. He knows not to expect too much—your mind has been haywire lately, thinking and thinking and thinking. He knows you’re stressed and exhausted.

It’s been two years since you got sick. He’s been there the entire way, watching you change and get angry at the world and try your best to just suck it up and wait to get better. But he knows how hard you’re trying to be positive. He knows it’s the hardest thing to harbor when you’ve been waiting so long for just some good news.

But he also knows you need a rock to lean on; hell, he’d turn into one physically if that’s really what you needed. He’s been there for you as a shoulder, as a weight to keep you grounded. Though you might have a hard time seeing any positive in the world, he would always see something positive in you.

“You wanna watch that new anime?” Jungkook breaks the silence. “The one on Netflix you saw the last time we were browsing through shows?”

“Yes!” You exclaim. “I’m so glad you brought that up because it’s taco night in the cafeteria and I was so excited to bring back an old tradition.”

You’re referring to your taco and Netflix nights a while back before all this happened. It used to be your thing to do with him. Your “date night”, one could say. It’s been hard to get permission to bring in outside food from the hospital, though. So you were nearly jumping out of your bones, your heart monitor going crazy, when Nurse Sandy told you about taco night.

“They’re probably not going to be ‘Maria’s Flaming Taco’s’ good, because it’s crappy hospital food, but I don’t even care,” you explain. “I just want to be with you.”

Jungkook smiles at your reaction, the butterflies in his tummy doing nothing to hide the way your happiness fuels his affection for you.

“It’s a date, then,” he nudges his nose against yours. He plants a small kiss on your lips afterwards, allowing himself to feel you on his skin.

A part of his head tells him to savor it, because he never knows when the last time might be that he gets to kiss you so. But the largest part of him, the part that’s been keeping him together during all of this, tells him that moments like this will come again. That hope is in the air as spring brings about new life.

You’re going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.

__________________

“How’s about this one?” Jungkook points to the shiny diamond below the clear casing. There’s a a collection of earrings, necklaces, and bracelets surrounding the specific jewel he points out.

“Hmm,” you hum, tucking your hair behind your ear as you stare down at the diamond. It’s huge — extremely dramatic in size and way too detailed. “I don’t think it represents us that well,” you candor.

“You’re right,” Jungkook sighs. He runs his hands though his hair in slight frustration.“I feel like we’ve been looking at these for forever.”

“I told you: I’m fine without an engagement ring, baby,” you coo. Your arms come to wrap around his own, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I know,” he groans. “But I wanted to do it properly. With a ring. On one knee. All that traditional sappy stuff.”

“Hey, I liked how you proposed,” you pout. “It was romantic.”

“We were in the shower, babe. I was like…2 seconds away from shoving my dick in you,” you fiancé mumbles the last part.

You laugh at that, softly clutching his arm before a certain ring catches your eye.

“Kook,” you gasp, pointing your finger at the gem. “Look at that one.”

Before he has time to respond, you’re already pulling him toward the ring. You point at it through the glass, gasping in awe at its beauty.

The ring represents your relationship with Jungkook perfectly. A small, plain band with a giant emerald-cut diamond paced at the center. It doesn’t have any of that extra stuff to it. Just a classic diamond on a classic band: a timeless ring that incorporates a little bit of you and a little bit of him.

“Are you looking to buy?” The clerk on the other side of the case asks.

Jungkook looks down to you, asking you with his eyes if you’re sure this is the one. You simply nod your head, a smile forming on your lips.

“Can we try it on?” He asks the clerk.

“Of course!”

The man unlocks the case, gently pulling the ring out onto the table.

“It’s a 4.20 carat,” he starts, pulling the diamond from the velvet floor it was ground to. “It comes in a range of 2 carat to 5 carat in case this one is a little high, or a little low for your intentions. Feel free to try it on and see what you think.”

Jungkook gently handles the diamond, putting his other hand out asking for your own. You place your fingertips on his, and your fiancé slides the diamond on your ring finger slowly.

He observes the ring on your hand. It’s a perfect look. Everything he was looking for and everything you wanted — a perfect mixture of the two of you in one object.

Jungkook nods, a small chuckle falling out of his lips when you shimmy the diamond around, catching the light as the diamond reflects it.

“Do I look like your fiancé?” You ask, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he laughs. “It’s perfect, Y/n.” Jungkook let’s go of your hand, instead choosing to hold your ring finger, examining it before he turns to the clerk. “We’ll take it.”

“Congratulations!” He exclaims. “Would you like this size? We can talk prices over here. Are you paying, sir?”

“We both—” you start. But Jungkook is quick to interrupt.

“I am, yes,” he says.

“Kook,” you scold him in a whisper. This ring is set at 65,000 dollars. There’s no way you’re letting him take care of this on his own.

“It’s alright,” he smiles down at you. “This was how it was supposed to go anyways. I buy the ring, you have no idea, then I propose, then you’re like: ‘Omg Kook! I can’t believe you chose such a beautiful amazing ring! You’re my hero!’,” he changes his voice to what you’d guess is a mocking of yours.

“Shut up,” you laugh at his interpretation.

“Seriously babe, I got it,” he kisses your forehead. “You’re marrying the CEO of the biggest software company in Korea. I got the extra cash.”

“Prick,” you pinch him. “Go talk sales. I’m gonna look around.”

Jungkook nods, letting you detach yourself from him as he follows the clerk behind the counter and into one of the rooms.

A very long a boring conversation goes on with the clerk for a while. Pamphlets and ordering arrangements, ring cases and polishes are given to Jungkook to choose from. He’s confident enough to make final decisions on it all. You already said yes, so he’s content in knowing that you’d definitely say yes when he does it all over again.

He’s inserted his blackcard into the machine when he hears sudden gasps and a yell for help from one of the employees outside of the room.

“Oh no. A robbery?” The clerk looks out the door. He shakes his head in disappointment until someone shouts ‘call an ambulance’.

Both the men are out of their seats and making their way to the main room in haste, eager to see what could be going wrong.

Jungkook looks for your face, and a panic settles in his stomach when he can’t find you. Quickly, he paces to the crowd, pushing through the people until he’s met face to face with yours on the ground, unconscious.

There’s blood leaking from your nostrils and one of your ears, the liquid dashing across your face as it continues to leak out of your body.

This can’t be happening. No way. Nooo way. You were just here, clutching onto his arm and laughing with him. What wen’t wrong?

“Get out!” He nearly screams at the people to move. The crowd moves, recognizing him as the man that was just with you a few minutes ago. Jungkook crouches next to you, placing a hand under your neck and another on your pulse.

“Y-Y/n, baby, can you hear me?” He asks.

Luckily, your heartbeat is there, but it’s very weak. Confusion and fearful adrenaline pumps through his veins when you don’t answer, just the dead weight of your head lulling while he gently holds it in his hand.

Before he can do anything else, there’s a paramedic crouching on the other side of you.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him. “We got her.”

There’s little time for him to respond, because two other paramedics push him out of the way, lifting your body as if it had no weight onto a movable bed. He follows after you and panics by your side until you’ve finally awoken in room 456 of the nearest hospital.

__________________

“Jungkook,” you whisper to him. It’s dark in your room. The sun has set and the lights were turned off long ago when Nurse Sandy brought in the projector for you two to use. You want to say your tacos were finished nearly two hours ago.

Now, your boyfriend rests, cuddled to your side on your small hospital bed, arms wrapped around you and head placed on your chest.

You two have been at it, watching “Way of the House Husband” since this afternoon. You’re almost certain he’s fallen asleep a few times, this being one of them.

“Love,” you gently shake him.

Jungkook stirs, his eyebrows crinkling and his hand clutching yours a little tighter.

“You have to wake up, Kook,” you kiss his head. “You’re not supposed to be here past 12.”

“Don’t care,” he mumbles against your skin. “I want to sleep next to you.”

“I want that, too,” you sigh. “But you know we can’t. I have treatment at 5am.”

At that, Jungkook sits up sleepily, crossing his legs on the spot he was laying. “They’re too harsh on you,” he says.

“What would you know, Dr. Jeon?” you laugh, poking his chest.

“5am is too early for chemicals and medicine and radiation and—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “I asked for that time slot, anyways. Get’s it done and over with so I can leave the rest of the day to spend with you.”

Jungkook smiles at that, but there’s a certain pang in his heart he doesn’t understand why he feels. His eye catches sight of your engagement ring on your finger, gulping at the memory as he holds it in his hand.

“Y/n,” he whispers your name, moving his thumb over your ring finger.

“Hm,” you hum.

“Do you think,” he starts. But the words are hard to get out. He doesn’t like flaunting his insecurities like this to you, especially about this matter. He should be strong, should be unwavering. But he can’t help it. “Do you think we’ll be able to live together again? To go back to it all. Like how it was before.”

You gulp at his words. You were worried about this question. Mainly because you don’t know the answer yourself. It’s something that pushes you forward everyday, something that gets you though the pain. Going back to your old life, marrying your best friend, starting a family and living life together. It’s everything you need to imagine to push yourself harder. To get better.

But recently, you haven’t been showing any progress. Your sickness is getting worse, and it’s something you refuse to tell Jungkook. Something that you’re hiding from him in hopes that if you keep it low, it will eventually smoothen out on its own. You’re just impatiently waiting for the day it does.

“I don’t know,” you candor. “But it’s all I think about. Memories of us before all this play in my mind constantly. I imagine our future all the time,” you squeeze his hand. “The both of us healthy and back to life.”

“I imagine it, too,” he sends a soft laugh. “I miss you, Y/n.”

There’s a lump in your throat at his confession.

It’s hard to live like this. So unbelievably hard.

Yes, you’re sick. And yes, it’s painful to go through the treatment process. But all of that is second to the pain your feel when you realize what you’ve done to him and all you s put him through.

You’re thankful your fiancé has made it nearly everyday to come to you while you stay cooped up in here. But you can’t help but feel selfish about it all. There have been times when you almost called off your relationship, the pain too much to imagine if he were to watch you pass or to watch you deteriorate until you do. How you know it would destroy him, how you know it already is.

It’s painful to see him clutch onto hope, to look at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. Though he thinks you cannot see it, you can. That look he gives you every once in a while, taking in your face, memorizing it when he thinks you’re not looking. It’s so hard to watch him go through all of this. He shouldn’t have to.

But Jungkook is relentless. He’s scared out of his wits about the possibilities of the future. But he knows you are, too. And he can’t leave you alone in your fear. He can’t abandon his love just because some pesky illness decided to create a little bump in the road.

“We should get married,” you confess.

“We are getting married,” Jungkook says.

“No, now. We should get married now, Jungkook,” you squeeze his hand again. This time, Jungkook looks at you differently. The soft glow of the moonlight shows your features to him, caressing your face with the light.

“I thought you wanted to wait until you got better,” he recalls.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, Kook. It’s been two years,” you gulp. “I want you as my husband.”

There’s a quiver in your lip when you utter the last sentence. The tears flood your eyes, and Jungkook is quick to pull you into his embrace.

“I want to be your wife, Jungkook,” you cry into his chest. “Before it’s too late.”

“No,” he sternly holds your shoulder. “Don’t say that, Y/n.”

“I’m scared,” you confess in a mutter.

Jungkook feels a soft drop from his own eye fall down his cheek. Fuck, if he wasn’t just as scared as you are. He’s terrified. But to hear you say it, he wants to protect you. He’d gladly take more fear, more terror and fright, if it meant you felt safe. If it meant you felt like everything was going to be okay.

“I know, baby,” he kisses your scalp. “But I’ve got you.”

__________________

“Ms. Y/l/n,” the doctor walks in.

Your mother is by your side, sitting on the chair. Jungkook is on the other, clutching your hand in his own at the sound of the doctor’s voice.

The doctor looks over at your mom, and then to Jungkook.

“Excuse me,” he starts, gently smiling at your fiancé. “This conversation has to be confined to family members. Please understand. It’s just conduct of the hospital.”

You gulp, looking up at Jungkook with a fear in your eyes. He gently smiles at you, though. Telling you it’s going to be okay, even without him there.

“I’ll be right out side,” he kisses your head. “Not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” you let out a shaky breath. Jungkook lets go of your hand, making his way out of the room. Your hand feels cold now that he’s gone, and you find yourself staring at the way he anxiously runs his hands through his hair when he exists the room.

He stands awkwardly as he waits for the conversation to be over. It’s been almost an hour of him pacing and sitting, and looking on his phone as thoughts consume his mind.

Everything happened so fast and so unexpectedly. What was just a happy day, the day you choose what form his promise would represent in a ring, turned unto a night full of fear. Not in a million years did he think the next few hours would be spent pacing, just as he is now, outside of a hospital room.

The door to your room opens, and the doctor steps out. The man gives Jungkook a tense smile before motioning his hand toward the room, telling him it’s okay to enter. Jungkook takes a deep breath, sitting up from his spot and appearing in the doorway.

He watches you from the door. Your mother has you in her embrace, her eyes closed as she holds you tight. He’s unable to make out her expression.

You’re muttering something to her, and she opens her eyes to meet with his. Your mom send a small smile his way until she’s back on you, telling you that he’s waiting for you.

You clear your throat, wiping at your face before you take a deep breath. You tell your mom it’s okay to let him in, and your mother nods at Jungkook, telling him he’s welcome.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, gently sitting at the end of the bed.

Your eyes are red at the corners, and you lips are puffy in the way they always are when you cry. He feels a pang in his heart at your face. He’s never seen you in a state like this. It tempts him to let his own emotions flow, but this is not his time. You’re hurt, and he needs to be there for you.

“Yeah,” you nod, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “I’m just gonna have to stay here for a bit.”

Jungkook gulps at your words, trying to shoot the fear down.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“I’m just a little sick, is all,” you grab his hand, playing with his fingers. “I’ll be alright.”

“H-how sick?” he dares to ask. It’s a small question, but one that felt so heavy to say aloud.

“Sick enough to say that this room might be my home for a little while.”

__________________

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Nurse Sandy shakes her head. “But you have been cleared.”

“Really?!” you exclaim, nearly hopping out of your hospital bed. The IV in your arm prevents you from leaping into the woman’s arms, and you’re stuck to squealing on your mattress.

“Just for two months,” she says. “And you still have to carry your oxygen tank and do your treatments in the morning and make sure that you’re coming in for check-ups.”

“I will! I promise I will—oh my god,” you gasp. Your hands come to cover your mouth as you think about what these next two months hold for you. “How am I going to tell Jungkook?”

“Maybe you can start by meeting him at home?” Nurse Sandy suggests. “Make it a little surprise.”

“That’s perfect!” you say, taking the IV out of your arm and tearing the sheets off your body. “Oh god, I’m so excited. Do you have a change of clothes?”

“Of course,” she laughs.

Nurse Sandy turns away, probably going to where the spare clothes are. Meanwhile, you’re left alone in your room, a racing heart and a mind imagining just how you’re going to surprise your fiancé. You know you’re still not doing well, but you’ve asked the doctor, surgeons, and nurses if you could just have a month or two to get married. Just a month or two to be outside of here while you tie the knot with your best friend. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d get any approval at all. You’ve already started planning a hospital wedding. But today’s news shocked you. You’re beyond ecstatic. You don’t even know where to begin.

“Put these on and meet me downstairs. We’ve got a schedule for you and an entire two months of supplies for you to take home. Plus an on-call personal nurse you can call at any time you need one at home,” Nurse Sandy says. She hands you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that feel way too thin and large to keep any warmth in. But you’re happy to take them and get out of this stupid hospital gown for once.

“Okay,” you beam.

Nurse Sandy makes her way out, but you stop her before she has the chance to close the door.

“Nurse Sandy?” you call.

“Yes?” she stops, looking back at you from the doorway.

“Thank you,”

She gives you a smile, happy to see you cheer up.

“Of course,” she nods. “Next time I’ll see you, you’ll be Mrs. Jeon.”

You blush at the title.

“Hell yeah, I will.”

__________________

You feel the nerves shoot through your system when the hospital’s driver arrives at your apartment complex. It’s been two years since you’ve ventured in here. You wonder how much your home has changed. You wonder how Jungkook has been living in it all by himself.

It’s during the daytime, so Jungkook has probably left for work already. You feel excitement thinking about him again. You can’t wait to see his reaction.

The driver stops in front of the entrance, telling you that you’ve reached your destination. He comes around, pulling the door open for you and helping you pull out your oxygen tank.

“I’ll get the stuff in the back,” he says. You nod to him, your thumb harshly smoothing over the key fob Jungkook gave you about five years ago to his apartment.

With shaky hands, you press it to the inner door to the complex, and you sigh in relief when a positive beeping noise and the sound of doors unlocking rings in your ears. You press the handicapped button to the door for the driver, who carries a few extra oxygen tanks and bags of prescription medicines and other things you may need during your much needed time with your fiancé.

The driver thanks you, and you reply back to him before showing him the way to the elevator.

It’s a long ride up. 38 floors of apartments make the wait in the elevator all the more anticipating. You can’t wait to smell home again.

“It’s this one,” you say, nodding to room 3860 at the end of the hallway. Jungkook has a corner apartment, which mean’s it’s the biggest on the floor. You press the key fob to the lock, and it flashes a green light at you, telling you it’s been accepted.

The smell of home engulfs you. It’s just as you left it — everything organized and clean, the furniture and floors clear of clutter. There’s personal items on a few of the standing drawers, the ones you and Jungkook picked out together on vacations. You almost cry at the nostalgia. It’s hard to come here when it used to be so second nature to you.

You place your keys on your designated spot on the key holder on the wall. It’s right next to your fiancé’s name, and you smile thinking about him seeing your keys on your holder once again.

“You can just set them in this closet,” you point to the one near the door. It’s your’s and Jungkook’s coat closet. But given it’s late spring, you guess it hasn’t been put to much use lately.

The man leaves and makes his way out, telling you to be careful. You nod and tell him to thank Nurse Sandy one more time, to which he laughs and agrees.

The rest of the evening is spent exploring your home. It’s like you’re walking into one of your friend’s parents bedrooms when you were young. It feels like it’s wrong, feels weird because you’ve never explored that part of your friend’s home before. But there’s a familiarity to it anyways.

You sit on his side of the bed in your shared bedroom. You laugh because it appears as if he hasn’t touched your side at all. It’s made and the pillows are organized perfectly. The sheets are tucked in and the bedding is smoothed out as he’s been keeping it neat since the day you last ventured in here.

His side of the bed is unmade. The sheets are pulled from when he got up this morning, and the decorative pillows for his side are scattered on the floor.

You take it all in, breathing in the smell of him that overpowers your bedroom. You miss this—waking up to hold him and going to sleep cuddled together. You wonder how he’s been going to sleep these days.

Your body starts to feel tired when you close your eyes, and Jungkook’s scent does nothing to help your weak body from falling into the depths of sleep. The bed has always been so comfortable, especially Jungkook’s side. It’s warm and curves into your body as you lay against the sheets. The smell of him wafting into your nostrils as you lay your head on his pillow.

It wasn’t you intention to fall asleep. No, you wanted to bake something sweet for him, put up some decorations or do something to make it special. But Nurse Sandy warned you about the effects of not being on IV constantly. Your body isn’t getting everything it needs to stay awake for long periods of time. But you were given a long list of to-do’s in order to keep your energy up. For right now, though, you forgo the list until you’re able to look it over and figure it all out with your fiancé.

__________________

Jungkook’s exhausted. He’s beat and he totally would have gone straight to you after work had he not been feeling completely gross. The plan is still to see you. But right now, he needs a shower.

His body is aching when he walks down the hallway to the 38th floor. All day he spent sitting in his desk, listening to sales pitches and hiring a few more people who he honestly could care less about. Needless to say, he needs a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a dose of you in order to make his day feel right.

He takes a deep breath when he presses the key fob against the door. The briefcase in his hand swings when he pushes it open, immediately setting it down in the dip in the doorway. He almost closes his eyes when he enters his apartment, the darkness of the home from the set sun doing nothing to hide his need for sleep. But his heart leaps out of his chest when he sees a pair of familiar grey sneakers tucked in the corner of the entryway. His eyebrows knot together at the sight, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when he looks up to the key holder on the wall. There they are — your keys, placed simply on the hook with your name on it.

“Y/n?” he whispers. There’s a panic in his heart when he turns on the light. Why were you here? Is everything okay?

“Y/n?” he shouts. But there’s no answer.

Jungkook quickly rips off his jacket, his shoes messily thrown in the entry way as he runs into the kitchen. He shouts your name again, but there’s no answer.

Jungkook’s chest heaves, the silence and the lack of you anywhere makes his brain think of the worst possible outcome. Did you come here against the will of the doctor? Did you give up? Did you come here to greet him and it all go wrong? Did you collapse? Are you okay?

Jungkook pants heavily as he rips open the door to his bedroom. The lights are off and the lack of sunlight coming through his window makes things hard to make out. However, he quickly turns on the light, his lungs relaxing immediately when he sees your body softly tucked into his sheets.

“Y/n, baby,” he calls out your name softly. Jungkook kneels by his side of the bed, gently moving your tank in the process. He shakes you gently, and you stir at the feeling of his touch.

“Kook?” you groggily moan. Your eyes open in sight of him, a wave of disappointment flooding through you. “Fuck—I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.”

“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you here?” he helps you sit up, his own body sitting next to your legs on the mattress.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,�� you groan, your head falling into your palms.

“What surprise?” he tucks a chunk of your hair behind your ear. Your skin is hot, and he wonders if he should get the thermometer or take you right back to the hospital.

“Nurse Sandy let me go,” you explain.

“What?!” he gasps. “Why would she do that?”

“No,” you chuckle at his misunderstanding. “She let me go for two months. To be with you. To get married.”

“O-Oh,” he gulps. He can’t help the pulse in his heart that leaps at your words.

Fuck, is this a dream? Never in a million years did he think he’d get the chance to have you during your treatment. Hell, they’ve kept you under extremely strict rules for the past two years.

“I wanted to make it a surprise,” you whine. “But I came home and I smelled you and I just—I passed out. I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shakes his head, smiling at you while you groan in your mistake. He honestly is still processing it all. He wants to ask you to pinch him, to make sure this is actually happening before he wakes up from his dream and becomes upset.

“It’s okay, my love,” he kisses your forehead. “I’m honestly a little struck right now. Is this really happening?”

You nod your head, a content smile showing on your face as you speak. “I was just as shocked as you are. I mean, I’ve been asking for just a week or two to be out of there so that we can get married. But they’ve just given me the same answer every time, telling me that they’ll ‘see’ or that they’re not sure that it’s gonna be a possibility,” you hold his hand. “But when Nurse Sandy told me two whole months was approved…I knew I had to make it a surprise. It kinda backfired on me, though. Nurse Sandy told me I was going to be much more fatigued off IV, but I kinda took her words for granted. I was just so excited.”

“It’s okay,” he smiles, adjusting the clear tube across your cheeks. “We’ll take it slow.”

Jungkook holds your cheek, and you lean against at the feeling of his touch on your skin.

You feel a little emotional. None of this was supposed to happen. Your sickness, the wait to get married, the pause in life. Everything was supposed to be normal, but now you find it all to be complicated and oh-so painful. You shouldn’t have to live like this. He shouldn’t have to live like this.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers. Jungkook’s thumb wipes at the tear that dares to fall from your eye. You hold his hand to your cheek, keeping his touch against you.

“We were so regular,” you laugh. “Just two normal people,” a few more tears stream from your eyes, and Jungkook pulls you into his chest, shielding you from the pain. “But now this happened. And you have to go to bed alone every night. You have to come home to emptiness. Have to make trips just to see me. To deal with all my bad days; days when I can barely talk to you because it hurts.”

“Stop it, Y/n,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d do it for the rest of my life if it means I still get to have you.”

“It shouldn’t have to be this way,” you sob. Jungkook rocks you in his hold, his arms tightening around your gentle body as you cry.

“But it is,” he says. “This is life. It’s just a bump in the road. A big bump, but thank god I’ve got a bunch of different cars to test out which one makes it over first.”

You laugh at his comment. You want to stab his ego a little, but his comment warms you to the extent to where you don’t think you have it in you to do so.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Y/n,” he simmers. “In sickness and in health, no?”

“Till death do us part.”

__________________

“It’s terminal,” the doctor says.

He watches your mom shake her head, her pearl earrings whipping against her cheeks at his words.

“It can’t be,” she says. “She’s never had something like this in her life! We don’t even have a genetic history—”

“It happens to the best of us, unfortunately,” he interrupts her. You’re sure he hears things like this from mother’s all the time. But you don’t care. It’s true. You’ve been living your life healthy for as long as you remembered. You exercise, eat healthy foods, train your brain…you even have an air purifier in every room of your home. How can this happen?

“Your sickness is in it’s second stage. It’s a 50/50 chance it will get worse or better within the next few months. But regardless, I will just lay the facts out to you. The illness will more than likely be the cause of your death. However, given that it is in its second stage, we are able to slow it down and give you a few extra years,” the doctor explains. “We can put you on the transplant list, but unfortunately, since you are in the second stage, it puts you down as less of a priority compared to those who have a worse illness or who need it immediately.”

Your mother scoffs, her eyes wallowing with tears at the doctors information.

Meanwhile, all you can think about is Jungkook. How the hell are you going to tell him? Would it even be fair to tell him? You don’t want him to be any more worried than he already is. Not to mention how it would absolutely kill you if he were to look at you everyday not knowing if it would be the last.

The doctor’s words are drowned out as you think of how you want to go about this. There’s scenarios playing out in your head. The thought of dying does not even matter to you. All you can think about is how you’re going to protect your love from reality.

“Can we not tell anyone?” you ask your mother quietly.

“What?!” she exclaims. “Y/n, we need to raise awareness or something,” she holds your hand. “Don’t you want to at least tell Jungkook?”

“No,” you say sternly. “I can’t do that to him. I love him too much to destroy him like that.”

“Well,” your mom lets out a shaky breath. A part of you feels bad that you couldn’t shield her from it, either. But someone has to know. And you’re strict on only allowing her to. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll play along.”

A small tear falls from your eye, and your mother wipes them off your cheeks. She coos you, telling you that it’s okay. But her words mean nothing. How is this okay when you will be gone quicker than you thought you would be? When your time with Jungkook has been given a limit?

“Just don’t tell him, alright?” you cry. “Don’t destroy him like this.”

The doctor clears his throat, telling him he is going to leave the room. He asks you if it’s okay to let your fiancé in, and you nod, quickly wiping your tears.

Jungkook makes his way in the door way, his chest tightening at the sight of your mom holding you tight.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, gently sitting at the end of the bed.

“Yeah,” you nod, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

__________________

Your wedding was beautiful.

It was everything you could want and more. Family and friends, the venue you wanted, the color scheme perfect for the summertime. It wasn’t too hot, either. Perfect weather for early August.

Originally, neither of you wanted a summer wedding. But you had to make do with the time you had, and it turned out to be everything you weren’t expecting, in all the right ways.

You even got to walk down the aisle without your tank. Just your face and you in your dress, walking to your man with the biggest smile. Yes, it was a tough walk. But the minute Jungkook took your hand, you felt strength.

You married Jungkook. It was the most rewarding feeling to have him as yours. To slip on his ring and him slip on yours. It felt right. You felt at peace. For the first time in two years, you didn’t think about your diagnosis. Your mind and heart was full of you and him, and that is all.

Your first dance with him as his wife was filled with emotion. Yes, you had to take it slow—the effects of your sickness made it hard to do anything exuberant. But Jungkook let you rest your head on his shoulder. He held your hand and your waist, guiding you through it all as your husband. He held you as the song played in your ears, memories of graduating college, your first date, the first word you spoke to him, the day he asked you to move in with him, the day he proposed. Everything came to you, and you held him tightly as he danced with you in the memories.

The ride home was filled with tiredness. Truthfully, all you had planned was to eat tacos and watch Netflix. But as you sat next to your husband on the ride home, you realized you wanted to do more. Memories of when you two used to be spicy, when you used to have sex nearly everyday, come back to you. How much that has changed. The two of you have become nearly entirely different people. But you want to try tonight. You want to feel him again, no matter the strain. No matter what might happen. You want to hold your husband.

“I feel wrong doing this,” Jungkook rambles below you. You’re sitting on his lap, both of you in pajamas as some anime show plays in the background. “You sure you can breathe okay? Is this too much?”

“Jungkook,” you let out a frustrated sigh. “We’ve only been kissing for two minutes.”

“I know, but I—”

“If you don’t feel right, then we don’t have to,” you cut him off.

“No—I. That’s not what I meant,” he re-quips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, Kook,” you stop. A big part of you feels embarrassed. Has this really become an entirely new experience? You’re frustrated and you feel a blush on your cheeks for even trying. Maybe he doesn’t want this. “Look, if you don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine. But tell me now, because I’m not about to put my all into it if you’re just going to be worried the whole time.”

“Y/n,” he groans. Your husband runs his hand through his hair. Fuck, if he didn’t want to have sex with you. It’s be two years since he felt you like that. He misses holding you, feeling you around him as he makes love to you. But hell, he’s worried out of his wits. You can’t breathe like you used to. Not to mention the fragility of your body. What if he hurts you? He can’t imagine how bad he’d feel.

You let out a disappointed sigh. His expression telling you that he’s still considering it.

You begin to hop off his lap when his hands grip your hips, forcing you to stay.

“Y-You,” he starts, his thumbs rubbing circles on the skin of your hips. “You have to tell me if it’s too much. I’m being serious, Y/n. I’m worried and nothing is going to change that. But I want you...I miss you so much.”

You nod your head, a breath of relief flooding your lungs when he comes to kiss you again.

He’s gentle with his kisses, although much more sure than what it was just a few minutes ago. He holds your waist while his body gently falls forward. Your back hits the softness of the mattress, Jungkook’s body falling between your legs. You open them, inviting him in.

He presses soft kisses on your cheek, trailing them down to your neck where he buries his head in the crevice of your skin. Hot hands push up your body. They take your shirt with it, his fingertips gently cascading over the swell of your breasts. You lift your chest up, allowing him to toss the fabric up over your head and onto the floor.

Jungkook’s breath stops in his chest. It’s been a long while since he’s seen you naked like this in front of him. Yes, he’s seen you naked countless times before, but he’s never seen you this thin. He’s never seen your skin so rough and patchy before. Thinking of all your hard times in the hospital, all the pain you went through, he kisses your skin with love as he admires you.

Nothing could take away from how you make him feel. Not the redness of your irritated skin, not your ribs that poke out a little from the lack of nutrients, not the clear tubs that ties just below your chin and falls on your clavicle. No, you’re still you, and he holds you with care remembering just how much you’ve suffered. He wants to make you forget all of it.

Your cold hands startle him when they begin to push his own shirt up. Jungkook smiles down at you, giving you a kiss before he takes it off. Your eyes memorize his body, feeling his skin just as it was the last time you touched him like this. You sigh at the memories, how every one of them failed to recall just how it felt to touch him in real life. Nothing can compare to actually feeling him. Nothing can do justice to the velvet of his skin on your fingertips.

Jungkook gently leans himself back on his calves, sitting more upright as his fingers hook around the band of your pajama pants. He looks at you with permission, and you nod, giving it to him.

The man slowly allows them to fall off your body, his eyes eating you up as you shiver from the cold.

He’s quick to warm you, though. After sliding off his own pants, he’s on top of you again, his arms holding you to his chest as he kisses the sweet spot on your neck.

“J-Jungkook,” you moan. Your husband simply hums at your arousal, his hips softly grinding onto yours when you wrap your legs around his hips. He still has his boxers on, the length of his cock straining against the fabric. It’s been too long since he’s felt you. Been too long since he’s made love to you. His dick is begging him to feel you again.

“I need you,” you cry beneath him.

Jungkook lifts his head from your neck, his forehead gently falling on yours while his lips cascade over your own. Your hands come to his jaw, holding him to your face as he closes his eyes.

He’s memorizing your touch, memorizing how you feel and how you hold him. He’s memorizing the sound of your breath, low long you take between each one to inhale and exhale. The sound of your heartbeat and the sound of your fingers sliding over his skin. He takes you in as his heart wrenches in his chest.

Jungkook opens his eyes to be met with yours. They’re red around the edges and water begs to fall from your eyelids, but he kisses your cheek in attempt to tell you that he needs you, too.

He shimmy’s off his boxers, his cock springing free against his lower abdomen as he does so. It’s quick, and he’s back to your side the minute the fabric falls on the ground.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “So much.”

You bite your lip, struggling to keep the tears in. He looks at you with so much love, so much adoration. You remind yourself that he is your husband, and a tear falls from your eye.

“Don’t cry,” he gulps. “I’ve got you.”

You nod against the palm that holds your jaw. He kisses your tear before he lines himself up with your entrance. You lock your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you as he slides himself in.

A gasp leaves your lips as he enters you. Although he’s slow, it’s been a long while since you felt the length of him. Your muscles aren’t like how they used to be, and you find it somewhat painful, even though he’s being gentle.

“Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?” he pants in worry. You feel so good, so fucking tight, but that gasp you let out washed away any feeling he had down there for a second.

“Hurts a little, but I’ll be okay,” you smile. “J-Just—slow.”

Jungkook nods, the knob in this throat bobbing when he takes the base of his cock and guides it into you. He’s slow, just like you asked, and the slick of your arousal does a lot to make the second pump go much smoother.

“I-Is this a good pace?” he asks you once he delivers the fourth pump into you.

You sigh, your eyes closing as your head falls back. “Yes,” you pant. This is what you missed. You forgot how good it felt to have him inside you like this.

Jungkook nods before towering back over you. His forearms rest near your head as your legs wrap around his waist. He’s not harsh with you, just a medium pace and gentle thrusts in and out. The old him would have complained, would have needed something faster and more intense in order to get off. But the times have changed. It’s been so long, he honestly feels he could cum right now despite the low intensity.

Jungkook rests his cheek against yours, his head leaning against your skin as he makes love to you. He feels overwhelmed, and his heart races at the thought of you.

A tear falls from his eye when you run your hands through his hair, the hope in his heart nowhere to be seen when he feels the gentleness of your touch rake through his body. He sobs above you, that wall broken when you kiss his shoulder.

“Jungkook, baby,” you coo. “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook shakes his head, his arms closing in on your figure while his head buries itself in your neck. He thinks about you, about the first time he felt your touch, wondering if this is the last time he ever will. He lets the tears drop as his hand comes to hold the back of your head, the other sliding underneath your neck. He holds you close against his body, squeezing you tight in case you might escape if he didn’t hold you like this.

The feeling of his dick in you does little as his heart breaks little by little at the thought of the worst. At the thought of this being the last time.

“I can’t lose you,” he croaks, his voice muffled between your skin and the sheets. “I love you too much to let you go.”

Your lips press together, that lump in your throat begging to rise.

“Come here,” you ask him softly. Jungkook slowly raises his head, his nose pressing against yours per your request.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you press a hand to his heart. “I’m gonna be here.”

Jungkook’s tears flow onto your face, and he can’t help but let out another whimper at the message you tell him. He wants to pretend you didn’t just say that. He wants to pretend you told him that you’re all better, that you’re not sick anymore. But he can’t help but clutch the hand that touches the skin over his heart.

“Y/n,” he breathes, his lips red and wet from all the emotion. “Let me see you, just for a little while.”

He refers to your tube, asking if he can take it off.

You nod to him, and Jungkook gently takes it off your face. The choked sob he lets loose at the sight of you breaks your heart. His lip quivers and his nose starts to run as he looks at you with pain in his eyes. He looks at you, memorizing you again and again. He looks at you as his wife, who has been there for him through everything, who has loved him through every stage of his life. He holds your cheeks, his head resting against your forehead as he rocks into you.

“I’ve got you,” you hold him.

Jungkook exhales, his nose rubbing against yours when you tell him so.

“I love you, Jungkook,” you promise. “You’re going to be okay.”

__________________

You passed in the spring.

The season took you in all its blossoms, engulfing your death with new life.

There were cherry blossoms at your funeral.

Nothing but trees and flowers engulfing the outdoors as he stood at the back of the ceremony. Nurse Sandy was there. He hated the way she looked at him as if she knew he would never be the same.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Not when you couldn’t flash him a smile. Not when you wouldn’t wrap him in your warmth and tell him you love him. He couldn’t look at you with the hope he harbored throughout the entirety of your sickness. It was no longer here. You were no longer here.

He took a trip not too long after. The new life of spring was too much for him to handle.

You were no longer there with him. That house he spent two years building in hope that you would one day move into it with him as his wife was too silent for him to stay in.

Every inch of him yearned for you. He went through every grieving stage with the roughest of emotions. Clutching the necklace that held a small amount of your ashes around his neck, his heart suffering in agony, his mind playing memories of you over and over and over again.

His pain went over what his body could handle, causing him to turn into someone he didn’t know.

He stayed in upper Russia for a while, embracing the cold. Then moved to Aruba in search for the summer.

Only on your birthday three years later did he return home.

He could almost smell you off the plane, the familiarity of home raking through his lungs violently.

The place he once had made for you has now been occupied by a family in their mid 40s — a couple with two children and a grandmother living together. He smiles, glad that the house has been to some use.

He’s been paying rent on his apartment since he left. You’re still in there, all your belongings and all of your scent still lives within the comfort of his old home. Everything you organized — from the way you folded the laundry to the way you placed the trinkets on your desk — was all still there.

Your smell is gone when he enters his home. It’s dusty and dark. All but welcoming when he enters. There’s a spot with your name on the key holder plastered against the wall, and he tries his best to ignore the way your keys hang there when he places his keys in his own slot.

He’s made plans to sell the apartment by the time of his next trip. You’re not here anymore, and he’s starting to find it difficult to pay rent when he’s spending so much on living as a non-citizen in another country.

He unfolds the cardboard moving boxes in his kitchen, using the masking tape to seal the ends before he starts going through it all.

He starts with the kitchen first.

He sifts through all the shelves and cabinets, placing spices and expired noodles and sugar and flour in the trash. He cleans the sink and counters before he moves onto the dinnerware. The box beside him labeled “Jungkook and Y/n” stares at him with grief when his hands touch the delicate wood of your shared cabinet.

The fine china dinnerware you got as a wedding gift, the “Spider-Man” “Spider-Woman” mugs, the shot glasses with “bride” and “groom”, your favorite spoon he never understood why it was your favorite when it looked only slightly different than the rest, all go into the box.

The living room is next.

Blankets and cup holders and remotes all go into a different box. He’s got movers taking the couches and coffee table tomorrow, so he tries to clean them off the best he can before he sells them in an auction. Pictures of you and him scatter the walls, small trinkets and souvenirs he got with you or gave you as a gift all go into the box.

His fingers tremble when he realizes what is next: the bedroom. You two shared it, but from what he remembers, you completely took it over. Finishing touches and decorations and picture frames. All of it you insisted would add “hominess” to his rather plain apartment. And he finds that you’re correct when he enters it and turns on the lights.

It’s dusty, and the lights flicker a little when he turns them on. But there it is. Your side of the bed hitting him right in the face.

He gently walks over to it, his fingers brushing over the duvet where you used to lay. He imagines you’re still here with him, ready to burst through those doors and tell him that you’re here with tacos and a new Netflix series to watch. He imagines what you’d say, where you’d touch him, how gentle your embrace would be.

When it comes to be too much, he turns away, focusing his attention on your bedside table.

A picture of you and him flashes back at him, and he feels a pulse in his throat when his finger slowly brushes the dust off the glass surrounding your face. You’re in your graduation gown, hair falling over your shoulders as you’re jumping onto his back. Nothing but smiles and happiness on your face. He remembers this day like the back of his hand. University graduation — one of the happiest days of yours and his life’s—before everything happened.

This is how he remembers you. Sweet and healthy. Nothing but confidence and laughs as you slowly took his heart into your hands.

He places it in his own box, choosing to keep it close to him as he travels around the world. There’s a few digital things and a lamp he stores away before he’s opening your drawer.

He expects to find nothing, but instead sees a stack of cards, all a little dusty, wrapped in a blue ribbon.

When he pulls it out, he turns the stack around and sees that they’re all addressed to him.

Jungkook stops his rummaging, a heart beat in his his chest as he sits down on the bed, examining the large stack of envelopes in his hand.

He reads his name in your handwriting, a thumb gently tracing over the ink before it softly unties the blue ribbon holding them together. He stares at the first one labled: “The first: to Jungkook”. He tears the seal. The envelope reveals a small page filled with your writing. He takes a deep breath.

My husband,

Jungkook pauses, the back of his hand coming to his mouth as the heaviness in his heart sinks all the way down to his feet.

I wondered when a day would come where I could give this to you. But the more life goes on, I’ve realized these words would be of most meaning when I am gone.

I’ve known for a while I would not continue living life with you. My sickness gets worse with every passing minute, and I’ve since found myself on borrowed time. However, I am so beyond thankful.

All I wanted out of life was spend it with you. Being with you has been the best blessing I’ve received since the day I was born. Marrying you was more than I asked for, and I can go on with no regrets knowing that I get to die with your promise to me.

To say I have no sadness is a hard lie to tell. The thing that consumes my mind the most these days is how you will be when I am gone. How you will come home and how you will continue to live.

You have always loved with everything you had. I felt it with every word you spoke, every breath you took, and every touch you gave. I can only hope you will continue to do so as you did for me since the day we met. That you will find it within you to return.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I have passed when you’ve decided to read this. But for all the things I will not have the chance to say during every hard time in your life, during every morning and every evening, during every achievement and every failure, I want to say them to you now. I want you to come back and read this when you need me. When you need what you know I’d say. What you know is true:

I love you.

I love you and will always continue to do so. My body may be gone, but my soul still holds yours. It holds yours with every stage of my life, with every stage we went through. It holds you knowing that you were there holding mine. I’ve come to return your favor.

Your hope you gave to me I now give to you.

I know you will strengthen. I know you will live and you will live with everything you have, just like you always did. You’re my Jungkook. My husband. And I can only hope you feel me walking next to you as you continue to live.

I lived loving you, and i died loving you.

I will always love you. No matter what form my soul takes, it will be there to walk next to yours, to hold it and love it until we meet again.

The paper is crumpled in his hand, clutched against his heart and necklace as he screams into the air. The tears follow in transit, curling his body as he holds your words to his heart. He’s hysterical, the dustiness in the room filling his lungs as he sobs on your side of the bed.

Three years of holding it in, three years of pretending you were still here with him, pretending that it was all just a dream, release out of him in a painful wail. He’s remembering you, your voice playing in his head as he reads your letter. He can hear you telling him.

He remembers that morning. The last one before it happened. How you clutched onto his arm, smiling at him as you picked out a ring. He remembers holding you on the rooftop of the hospital, going through every season with you as he protected you from the wind. He remembers how you held him when he made love to you on your wedding night, how you said “I do” at your wedding. He can see your smile, the sound of your laugh. All of it he can feel.

The stack of envelopes nearly falls out of his lap, but in his fit of sobs, he is able to hold them close. He sifts through them, trying to wipe his tears in order to read them. But his heart only shatters to dust when he reads that they’re all addressed to him, one for each year, for each anniversary, until the 70th one. A part of him laughs, unsure if he will even make it another 70 years as a 34 year old.

Regardless, he runs his finger over the one that stares up at him, and he feels himself begin to heal when he reads:

“Our first Anniversary: to my Jungkook.”

__________________

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Text

A Thousand Words (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You want to marry him. He wants to fuck you. The two things are not as incompatible as they sound.

Requested: Yes! Predator/Prey with Daemon.

Warnings: Smut. Vaginal unprotected sex. Animalistic sex? Sadistic Daemon. Toxic relationship. Mentions of breeding kink. PWP with baby plot.

You leaned down, examining a few bergamot flowers more closely. Asking for permission in a low voice, you cut three of them. They would be enough to soothe the children’s bee stings.

As you placed them in your basket, you heard a twig snap, followed by leaves crunching. You straightened up immediately, flowers forgotten by your feet. Your eyes glanced towards the tree line. There were no animals near you, apart from a few birds. Yet, the noise had been loud. As if the twig had snapped from something heavy stepping on it.

You knew these forests like the palm of your hand. You had grown up here, after all. There were no animals heavy enough to make such a noise around this area.

“Is someone there?” You asked, feeling a bit silly for doing so. Other than the chirping of birds and the soft murmur of a river near, you heard nothing. But if there was someone there with ill intent, they weren’t about to announce themselves.

Keeping your movements very slow, you picked up your basket and kept picking flowers. Despite always enjoying long treks in these woods, you were unable to concentrate on the beauty surrounding you. Uneasiness pooled in your stomach, all the hairs on your body standing up to attention. You couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every few steps, you looked over your shoulder, but there was nothing there.

This outing was meant to be meditative for you, and you were clearly not reaching that goal. The pressure of being the Lady of your household sometimes got to you. When you were a woman, it was as if you had to do twice as much to prove yourself worthy. Nature had always been a respite for you, yet today, peace seemed to evade you. You felt too anxious, too nervous, to be able to tune in with yourself. The ambience had been ruined by the sound, triggering all your paranoia.

You decided to head back towards the castle. Since you were still uneasy, you decided to take a few confusing laps, just in case you were being followed. You walked towards the darker part of the forest, where the trees were older and taller, their branches overlapping and obscuring the view of the sky. To anyone who was unfamiliar with the place, the twists and turns you were taking would throw them off.

Unfortunately for you, whoever was after you was not unfamiliar with the place. Now that you were in the more isolated part of the forest, you could hear footsteps after you, even with your pulse beating loudly in your ears. With a muttered curse at your own idiocy, you hiked up your skirts and started to run.

It went badly. You tripped over a root, going down hard. The skin of your palms lifted, slowly starting to bleed. And someone pounced on you from behind. Hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against a solid chest.

“Have I startled you so much you forgot your way in your own lands?” You recognized the voice just as you were about to shriek. Daemon Targaryen and you didn’t have much in common. In fact, you were total opposites. While he preferred the noise of the city, you enjoyed the calm of the woods. He liked dornish red, while you much favored arbor gold. He liked bedding a new woman every night, you liked compromise. And, of course, how could you forget? Daemon liked chasing, and you liked running.

“My Prince!” You tried to sound scandalized. This game of yours was one of your favorites to play, and you guessed this was why the Rogue Prince kept coming back to you. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase too much to not give in to it. “You aren’t meant to be here.”

“I can’t stay away from you. You know that.”

“You should.” You frown at him, playing your part. Despite it, you cannot help the teasing tone that your words take next. “It’s not proper, for a Lady and a Prince to be alone together, so far from other people.”

Daemon doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls you more into his body, your back flush to his chest. He starts to press lavish kisses to your nape and shoulders. You nearly moan. Nearly. Because you have a part to play.

“Don’t. No. We could get caught.” You mutter, urgently trying to get him off you. So far, getting him into your bed had proven a piece of cake. Getting him to come back to it, slightly harder. Getting him to offer you marriage, damn near impossible.

In the eyes of others, you were nothing more than friends. Not even courting, despite his constants visits to your household. It certainly got tongues rolling among the realm, but there was nothing official yet.

“Come on. Just let me have you.” Daemon bites down on your shoulder, softly. “You know you want to.”

“Out in a forest?” You laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous if we both want it.” He pushes your dress slightly lower, tracing nonsensical patterns on your back. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, with how much you like the outdoors.”

“No.” You are lying through your teeth, and he knows it. Knows you. But it’s such a sweet game, that the two of you play. For you, it’s the high of getting to scream and bite and be as wild as you wish to, away from the stiffness of your everyday life. For him, you guess it is part of being a conqueror and getting to rough you up a little.

You are at a stalemate. You will never admit it to him, how much you enjoy this. Not only are you too proud, but you feel slightly embarrassed by it. There is a certain pride in being different, in not conforming to the role society has decided was yours to fill. Fate bends to your will, after all. You are someone who makes things happen, not someone that has things happen to her. Be it your own marriage plans, to commanding your household with an iron fist. Yet, you crave being made to feel helpless.

Daemon is not about to budge, either. When he thinks he is right about something, he is right about it and there is no room for arguing. His grip on your waist gets more restrictive. You stay like that, kneeling on the floor as he sits patiently behind you.

“What about a… Friendly wager?” Daemon kisses your earlobe as he speaks, softly. “If you win, you can leave. I won't bother you again.”

“And if you win?” You know already that Daemon is going to win. Not only is he competitive, but you don’t want him to leave you alone. Like, ever. You would marry him in a heartbeat, were he to ask. So if it is necessary, you will lose on purpose. It’s not the first time the two of you played like this. You have gotten talented at it. The key is in not making it too obvious, less you anger him. The male ego is such a fragile thing, and Daemon needs to be handled with care. He is as proud as you are.

“I get to take you. Here. As you are, in this forest.” He whispers, as he leaves behind soft, wet bites over your shoulders. Already, your blood is warming. You feel hot all over. Were it not madness, you would slip out of your cloak and dress and try to cool down.

You ponder on it for a few seconds, distracted by the feel of his mouth and the way his skilled fingers pull down your bodice. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, in fact. But it does sound tantalizing. To be run down by Daemon, held down and fucked as if the two of you were nothing more than animals in heat is… Well, it’s certainly something. You don’t know if it’s the moon, or the way he seems to have a talent for convincing you of bad ideas, but you cannot help the way your cunt pulses when you think of it.

“Fine.” You say, in an annoyed tone. As if you are not as aroused as he is by the idea. “What do I have to do?”

Daemon’s breath hitches. You can hear it and feel it, pressed this close to him. He takes the tiniest intake of air, chest moving softly against your back, before stuttering a little.

Surprised. You know even without looking at him. Out of all the games the two of you play, this one has to be the one that has taken it further. It’s risky, and he probably offered it on a whim, knowing the odds were not in his favor. But you said yes. And that changes everything.

“Try to get out of the forest before I catch you.” His voice sounds dazed. It’s clear Daemon is still in disbelief. Yet, he is clearly eager to play because you can feel his hardness pressing into your lower back.

“I assume I will get a head start.” You tilted your head back and gave him a cheeky smile. The sort of smile that drove him mad. Daemon gave you a rare, soft smile, before kissing you. It was warm and demanding, forcing you to open up to him. When you parted, you were the one feeling nearly drunk on sensation. He was back in control.

“I’m feeling generous, so I will count to twenty before giving chase.” Daemon spoke, but the words didn’t really register in your mind. You blinked at him, slowly. Your brain had been turned into mush thanks to the amazing kiss. He smirked and spanked your arse. “Starting now. One.”

Jolted out of your trance, you stood abruptly. Your clock was running and you wanted so badly to complain you were not ready, but there was simply no time. Beside you, Daemon kept counting.

“Three… Four… Five…” Bewildered at the injustice of it all, you scowled. But Daemon's face remained smug, and so you had no choice. You stood up, wiping your palms on your dress, and ran off as fast as you could. You got a bit tangled in your skirts and had to stop to hike them up properly.

“Seven… Eight… Nine…” It was pronounced with a hint of laughter. Almost halfway. You wanted to scream, but you knew Daemon. He never played fair. Instead, you chose to duck behind some trees, so hopefully he would lose your trail.

You kept running, until you no longer heard his voice. The only noise you could hear now were your own agitated breaths and the soft sounds of the forest. If you were to make it out, you still had a long way to go.

Since you didn’t really want to make it out, and you were getting more agitated the more you ran, you stopped. Deciding to remain still until you heard his footsteps again, you sat down on the grass. But soon, you could hear the tell-tale sound branches make when being pulled apart, twigs and leaves crunching under a pair of boots.

It was not as long as you thought it would be, and so, you startled a little. There was a bit of panic gripping you, as well as excitement. You were pretty sure he would tackle you into the ground when he saw you, and you were not anticipating that pain. That this was happening made you feel small in all the right ways. As if you were no more than something to be conquered, to be caught, by a much bigger predator.

Crouching, you sprung out, your movements louder than you would have liked. You thought you had more time. This was not going how you expected it to go, not at all. You had barely calmed your breathing down when you were running again.

“Come here!” You heard him scream, and you resisted the urge to look over your shoulder and watch just how close he was. You sprinted, pushing your body harder. But your body was already tired from your earlier run, when you thought someone was following you. You were slower than usual.

“Come on. Give in.” Daemon’s voice sounded too close. He was not running after you, from what you could hear. Merely walking. Circling you, closer and closer, until he was ready to pounce on his prey.

The thought made you embarrassingly wet. Your thighs clenched, trying to get some friction on your cunt, but with how you were moving, it was nearly impossible.

“You boast a lot, my Prince. But I don’t see you doing anything.” You answer, cheekily. This time, you do turn around and look at him. His eyes are dark with hunger. It makes you feel small and powerless.

You remind yourself this is why Prince Daemon likes you so much. He loves how submissive you can be, how willing to play his game. You let your face show everything you are feeling, face contorted between arousal and fear, eyes darting restlessly searching for a way out.

Daemon walks calmly towards you. Instead of running, you remain rooted in place. It seems fear has frozen you. You let your skirts fall back down around your ankles, dropping all pretense to keep running.

He takes his time, circling you like a hound would do with a bunny. Waiting for the right time to sink his teeth and tear apart, until you are no more than exposed tendons and flesh.

“Now, now. Don’t look so fearful.” Daemon brushes your hair behind your ears. The touch is tender, a contrast to the sadistic glee shining in his eyes. It's clear the chase has been as exciting for him as it was for you. “I am a gracious winner. I won’t hurt you. Too much.” And with a dark grin, he is pulling your cloak open, tearing at the bodice of your dress, pushing you down. It all happens in a flurry of movement, too fast to follow where his hands are, too brutal to realize when it is that you end up on your knees.

Without needing to be told to, you go to your hands and knees. Daemon chuckles, pulling your skirts up and your undergarments out of the way.

“This was what you needed, wasn’t it?” You can feel his hand making its way between your thighs, checking your wetness. Your face heats up in shame when you hear the loud squelching noise his finger makes when entering you. Never have you been so aroused from looks and words alone. And Daemon can definitely tell.

You fix your eyes on the grass beneath you. You can hear how Daemon unbuckles his belt and shrugs off his pants. Then, you feel his weight on top of you, as he goes on his hands and knees too. His legs bracket yours as he forces you to lower your chest, pushing your face into the earth.

More shame and arousal twist on your belly. This is not how a lady should be treated, taken on her hands and knees, teats out and hanging out of her dress on a forest floor. Daemon is about to fuck you as if you were a common whore, and you can't help the gush of wetness that floods your center when you think of it.

“You did.” He gives an incredulous laugh, noticing how you are absolutely dripping. He rubs the tip of his member against your folds, coating himself on your slick. The feel of it against your hole, firm and scorching hotel, makes you squirm with the need to take him in. “You really did.”

“Stop teasing.” You complain, trying to move your hips and chase him. It's useless. The position Daemon has you in lets you do little but be smothered by him.

Suddenly, there is a pull in your hair, making you shriek. Your roots hurt, so you arch your neck, going with the movement his fisted hand is imposing.

“And who do you think you are, little girl? To order a Prince?” It's nasty and menacing, whispered in your ear as he forces your body to bow. “It must be so hard, acting so tough all the time. So collected, so proper. When, in reality, you just need someone to take you as the wanton whore you are.”

You can only gasp, seeing white stars reflected on your eyelids, the stinging pain of the pull heating your poor scalp and neck.

“I hunted you down. I brought you to your knees. I own you.” Daemon pushes forward in a single, punishing thrust. You scream, desperately scratching the grass for purchase. He is not very deep, but he feels huge, splitting you open in all the right ways. Often, when Daemon and you go to bed together, your foreplay is much longer. He is not as young as he used to be, or so he says. Despite it, Daemon finds ways to prolong your encounters even when his body doesn't cooperate. You are not used to taking him without preparation and it shows.

“I am in charge.” His voice comes out strained, through gritted teeth. He pulls at your hair, just for the sake of it. You feel sweat start to gather at your temples and lower back, both from the strain and how heated your blood feels. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You mutter, struggling to form a coherent thought thanks to the way he is fucking you.

“Louder.” Daemon snaps his hips against yours. His grip on your hair gets even more punishing. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” It comes out in a sob, as you try to hold on to the grass, the earth, anything. Your fingers hurt from clawing at the dirt, your face slowly getting squished against the grass. Despite how much you struggle to stay somewhat upright, you are no match for his strength.

“What was that, my Lady?” The smell of moss and sweat fills your nose, as Daemon presses you down in an even more brutal way. He kneads at one of your breasts, cruelly. “I didn’t catch it.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You scream, voice hoarse. Your words melt off into a litany of moans, punched out little noises that seem to come out from so deep in your chest that they are more like sobs.

He lets go of your hair, encouraging you to lift your hips instead.

“Raise your hips.” His hand rubs at your hipbones, demanding. You obey, too weak to fight him. This is the part you like the most when you play like this. The way your mind goes blank, and you can focus only on obeying him. “Good girl. What would your servants think if they saw you like this? Their lady, reduced to a breeding bitch.”

The demeaning words bring you out of your haze. He can’t… Surely, he wouldn’t. You won’t allow him to ruin your reputation, not like this. You try to get up and fight his grip, but Daemon lowers his hand and starts rubbing at your pearl until you are a trembling mess. The last thing in your mind is getting away from him.

“You take me so well, little girl.” He coaxes more and more pleasure out of your body, forcing it to rise to impossible heights. You feel like you are about to fall off the edge, stomach tensing, knees buckling until you are face down in the dirt. His hands on your hips are the only thing keeping you upright, as you scream and scream, whole world blooming into pleasure. “You were made for me.”

No matter how much your cunt flutters and twitches in pleasure, Daemon keeps fucking you. He doesn’t seem to care that you are overstimulated, that it’s too much. He chases his peak unashamedly, losing all inhibitions.

“I’ll fill you up with my seed. Put a bastard in your belly." The words are spoken in a frustrated tone, probably not even meant for your ears. "You won’t be able to keep running, then."

While you have insisted on previous encounters that Daemon pulls out, you find yourself curious about his words. Is he really going to spill inside you? Being one to avoid compromise so badly, you would not have expected Daemon to even think of doing so. Has your teasing driven him so mad he is unable to contain himself?

Never before have you felt so smug. You have him. Finally. The satisfaction is too much to bear, so you decide to reward him by clenching around his member.

The reaction is immediate. Daemon curses and his hips lose all rhythm. He muffles his scream on your shoulder, panting wildly.

You get to marry him not even a month later. After all, returning to your castle in a grass stained dress, with the Prince in similar conditions, is a picture that speaks for itself.

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mochamadeleines · 1 month ago

Text

Sins, Two Through Four <3

Javi doesnt do good girls. Literally and figuratively.

Theyre nice, sure. Honeyed voices and beautiful eyes. But theyre just not for him. He prefers to stick with what he knows best. Messy, broken, women who are looking to distract themselves with him and his body. Sharp eyes topped with heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow. Women who know what to do with him.

Hes been soiled by the world, therefore belongs with others whove met the same fate. But, hes okay with that. (3.3k words)

tags!! 18+ javier peña x reader ! one shot! inoccent reader i guess?, no set era just vaguely somewhere in the late 80s early 90s :p, since its like entirely from his perspective hes only referred to as Javi and not javier sorry if that bothers u </3, corruption, religious allegories, steve and connie r there for five seconds, dubious I suppose cuz they be drinking, smut but its not like Good and its also there for about five second lolol.., p in v sex, blow jobs, rough sex, lots of depressing internal dialogue for javi Uhhhhhh, Sus thoughts abt causing harm to u I GUESS?? Toxic javi of course lol. kinda bad boy x good girl concept here but he wants to make u WORSE. mannn idk, some dom/sub dynamics if u squinttt

authors notes!! hi! Ok my first Javi fic LOOOOL been binging narcos and i had to take a break from my joel fic in the works to write this shit. I SPENT THE ENTIRE DAY PUMPING THIS OUT AHHHHH Beinf as that ive been working on it For One whole day it may not b my best work but i still had fun!! i kinda like the religious allegories Uhh IM NOT RELIGIOUS OR SCHOLARYLY OR ANYTHING so take whatever i reference with a grain of artsy salt.. enjoy!!!!

Javi doesnt do good girls. Literally and figuratively.

Hes been soiled by the world, therefore belongs with others whove met the same fate. But, hes okay with that.

That brings him to now, at this crowded bar with Steve, later Connie. And you, he guesses. Hes never met you but hes heard of you. Tonight youre tagging along so thats that.

Anyways, Steve is updating him on his daughter and something else about enrolling her in private school but New York City is wildly expensive. Javis caught the eye of a pretty brunette further away from the bar hes sitting at. Shes in a black miniskirt begging to get taken off.

“Stop eye-fuckin’ her, Im talkin’ to you.”

“Relax, Im listening.” Javi takes another drag from his cigarette, tapping away the ash into a tray.”Youre a hard worker, Im sure you can find a way to move up and earn a little more for Olivias private schooling.”

Steve sighs, nursing his beer as he thinks. “Maybe. Just dont wanna be away from her more than i have to be.”

“Mm.”

The brunette beckons him over, and Javi is already sliding off the stool to meet her. “Ill be r-”

“Steve!”

Connie is here, and so is her-

Friend?

Youre wearing a baby blue slip with sheer white tights and a thin, white cardigan. Youre pretty. Its only when you introduce yourself and he meets your eyes that hes sure. Youre good. And he doesnt do good. Youre not his type, Javi decides. Lame.

He moves down a seat so you can sit next to Connie whos also next to Steve, and you seem nervous. He gets the feeling you dont come out to places like this a lot. Its too.. Grungy. People smoke inside and get crazy drunk and dance. Probably not your speed. Youre easy to read.

Steve, “Remind me again how you know each other?”

“From work! Shes a nurse.” Connie smiles at Steve first, and then to you. A nurse, of course. Because youre good and its practically oozing off of you. Maybe hes wrong. He hopes hes wrong. Only because youre so pretty, with pretty pink blush and lipgloss.

You now, “I work in pediatrics.”

You work with children? Jesus christ.

You help people- help your community and take care of children. Javi had to watch children die, over and over, all too complicit each time it happens. No, youre not his type. Hes not into angels. Javi is far from holy and isnt about to desecrate you.

Then there's this feeling that starts to stir in his gut. An ugly feeling that wants to scratch through flesh and bone to get out. He takes the final drag of his cigarette before smushing it into the ashtray. Why do you bother him so much? Maybe its because upon your arrival that pretty brunette he was eyeing disappeared. A real shame.

But youre here, and your breasts are softly spilling over the neckline of your dress, and while the length is enough to cover your ass when youre standing, the way it looks while youre sitting is a whole different story. Youre good eye candy. Glass half full thinking.

He clears his throat. “How long-”

The bartender interrupts with a pearly smile. Hes asking if you want anything and hes obviously into you. Annoyingly so.

While youre ordering, Steve and Connie walk away to dance, and Connie stops by Javi, dipping her head to his ear. “Please, please dont fuck my friend.”

Ironic.

“Dont worry,” He leans his elbow on the counter, finishing the rest of his whiskey. “Shes not my type. Go have fun.”

You order three shots of vodka and apple juice. Its a little cute the way you hold your nose while you down each shot and chase it with some juice. Javis on his next glass of whiskey, watching how some of your drink rolls down your collar bone and into the valley of your breasts.

The sight of you is downright sinful. Its not fair.

“You need another shot or are you good now?”

Youre laughing, batting your hand dismissively. “No, No. Im good. I hate alcohol so I wanted to get this part over with and loosen up a little.”

“You dont have to drink it if you dont want to.”

“I like being drunk, just not drinking.”

“Fair enough.”

You fold your hands in your lap, and spin your seat side to side. “You were asking me something earlier?”

“How long have you been a nurse?”

“Three years now. I was working at a different hospital until recently. Thats how I met Connie.”

“Ah.”

“And you? What do you do?”

Javi lets the silence linger a bit. Fuck it. “Uh, CIA- but im retired now.”

“Oh- Yes! Right! Connie- She told me. Im sorry, you probably dont wanna talk about it.”

This is what makes his gums start itching. Most women- who are just as tragic as him- just bat their lashes and tell him its sexy he works for the government.

But you- Youre good. So you actually care about how hes feeling, and arent just trying to fuck him. Maybe that could change?- Ugh- No- no. Just no. Youll be ruined. Youd get dirty and thatd weigh him down like everything else does. Plus, Connie told him not to.

“Um. Have you done anything fun recently? Aside from all that?” Cute how you try to change the subject to spare his feelings.

Javi breaks open a new pack of cigarettes, slipping one out and putting it between his lips, then flicks his lighter on. Once, twice. A fifth time. No dice. The fucking thing ran out fluid.

“Fuck,” He grumbles.

“Ah! Hold on!”

An eyebrow is raised.

You dig through your purse, and pull out a disposable lighter. You thumb the sparkwheel a couple times to get the flame going.

“Do you mind?”

Javi hums no and leans forward. You do too, cupping your hand over the flame in case it goes out. It lights, and he gets a good drag in.

“Thank you.”

“Youre welcome.” And youre smiling again and Javi wants to shake you around and see where youre hiding your halo. Hes good at getting information out of people. He could get you to confess.

“Any reason you carry around a lighter?”

“Uhh. For medicinal purposes.”

“Cheeky.”

You spin in your chair once, all the way around then wobble when you stop. Javi shoots his arm out to grab yours and keep you steady.

“Careful.”

“Thanks.” A short breath. “Still think I need another shot?”

Javi smirks. “Oh, definitely.”

And youre ordering two shots. Bold.

“To answer your question, I havent done any fun things, no- Oh actually, you know what? I went to the art museum the other day.”

“The MET?”

“Mhm.”

“I went there a few months ago! Its beautiful isnt it? Do you have a favorite exhibit?”

“Probably European sculptures. The ones under the skylights were my favorite.”

“Yeah, those are beautiful.” You look off, dreamy.

Youre a childrens nurse, youre bad at drinking, you like art, and Javier feels sick just sitting next to you. Theres so much ugly out there, hes sure youre aware, and yet youre as bright as ever infront of him. Youd probably fit right in with The Triumph of the Church.

Theres only one word that can describe that ugly feeling swirling in him.

Envy. He wishes he could be as untouchable as you feel right now.

Theres a push and pull. He wants to taste your lips and roll up your dress and roughen you up, but he cant- he shouldnt. You dont deserve to get felt up by someone so unclean.

And yet,

Your beautiful smile, one that always reaches your eyes, and your precious laugh, and the way youve been nervously playing with your hands this entire time makes him want to break you. To rip those wings out and keep you from flying.

Javi really is devilish.

“Okay, shot time!” You push one of the glasses towards him.

“Im not taking a shot,” He takes another puff from the cigarette, then lets it rest on the ashtray.

“C’mon, Javier! Pleeeeeaaaase?”

“Javi.” He emphasizes.

“Okay.” You nod, “Javi, please?”

“Fine.”

Alright, alright. It didnt take much, but to be fair ‘please’ and ‘Javi’ just sound so good together when you say it.

Clink!

You count to three, and together you take the shot. Javi only grimaces at the taste and youre scrambling for the juice after letting go of your nose. Youre so damn messy about it too. Javi gets the bartender to get some napkins.

“I think I'm done,” You cough.

“I think youre done too.” He smiles, “Do you normally spill your drinks on yourself?”

You patiently hold still while Javi wipes down your mouth, then your chin, then your collarbone, careful to not get too close to your chest. He eyes the dainty necklace that carries your first name initial.

“Noooo, it all just happens so fast, you know? Oh! And thank you for cleaning me up.” Youre smacking your lips together, “Ah shit, my gloss.”

“Yeah, looks like you ate it all in the chaos.” He glances over at the four shot glasses, all stained.

You groan after digging through your purse. “Fuck, I left my compact at home.”

“Being a girl seems hard.”

“It is.” You sigh, albeit dramatic. “Ill be back.”

You slide off the stool and almost eat shit actually. At least Javi is there to catch you. Again. This might be a recurring theme tonight considering how many drinks you had. Must be a lightweight.

“Im sorry- Fuck, Im so sorry,” Youre laughing again, and it gets a laugh out of him too. Back on the stool you go.

“If you fall again Im not gonna catch you.”

“Thats okay, I wouldnt catch me either.”

Javi thinks for a moment, curious.

“I could, yknow, put the gloss on you. If you want.”

“Really? Youd do that?”

Your eyes are big and bright, lashes accentuated by your mascara. The way you look at him makes him feel oddly special. Its not sultry, or wanting. You have this natural allure to you. Angelic. That alone makes him want to touch you again. To yank you down from the clouds.

“Yeah, gimmie the gloss.”

You put it in his palm and lean towards him. Javi messes with the applicator, listening to the squish of product inside the tube. Seems easy enough.

Javi situates himself more comfortably in the chair, then holds your chin as he applies it. Youre well behaved the entire time, like he expected, except for the fact that you lost your balance again and gripped onto his thigh to keep you from falling. He clears his throat. There are blaring alarms in his head telling him to put distance between you both.

“Sorry.”

“Its alright. I dont mind.”

You swallow nervously. Any angel would be nervous if they were this close to an agent of hell. Get it? Agent?

Javi tucks away the fly aways first. The applicator swipes across your bottom lip, and hes squinting at the little sparkles in the gloss. Its a nice touch. His thumb rubs away any excess to keep it neat.

“Good job for not falling again.”

“I had some help.” And youre both grinning now.

“Mkay, all done.”

You smack your lips, nodding. “Thank you.”

This is the moment where Javi should let you go. He should excuse himself and find someone who isnt you, someone whos filthy just like him, and have them instead.

You tilt your head in his palm, letting him cradle your face.

But youre so pretty, and youre so sweet, and youre right there.

That feeling from earlier is bubbling up again, the need to ruin you. You might look prettier covered in bite marks and sweat, with your hair messed up and your recently applied gloss all gone. Again.

He shouldnt.

But then again, what are sinners even good for if not this? Converting others and carrying on the missions of the Devil himself, you know, the works. Fuck, its not like he wasnt doing it anyways. Shout out to the government.

Javi observes you, trying to make a decision. “Hey,”

“Hiii.”

“Can I take you home?”

Its was easy, and you were so well behaved about it too. You did a little nervous yapping on the way to his apartment but it was cute. He learned you had a pet cat, and he tells you about the dog he grew up with. You talk about the shitty weather recently and Javi tells you he got rained on and slipped going up the stairs. It settles your nerves. Good. His phone keeps ringing in the glove compartment, but he just tells you to ignore it. Steve no doubt.

He makes sure to hold your hand on the way up to his apartment, giving it a squeeze before he lets go to open the door.

Javi’s heart never usually pounds this hard bringing any woman to his place, and its downright sinnister how excited he is.

When the door closes, you both leave your shoes at the door.

“Want anything? I dont have any apple juice but I can give you orange juice? Water if you want that instead?”

“Orange juice sounds good.”

You begin to linger about his living room. Youre probably getting a feel for how impersonal it all is. Plain. His room is a bit more interesting, at least.

Javi hands you the glass and shucks off his leather jacket, draping it over one of the kitchen chairs.

The first time he kisses you, is while walking through to the entrance of his bedroom. One hand gripping your hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He swallows ever whimper, every sigh, every squeak until the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. Javi pulls away, watching the string of spit snap and cling to your bottom lip.

“Are you good at following directions?”

“Yes-Yes. I am.” You choke out.

Now sat on the bed, “Great. On your knees then.”

Tonight, youre going to pray. Youre going to sing.

You hesitate to get down, but do it with no complaints. Javi stretches over to the bedside table, grabbing a spare pack of cigarettes and lighter.

Your eyes are on him, patiently waiting for another command.

He continues to smoke at a leisurely pace, petting your head and caressing the apples of your cheeks. Youre leaning into his hand affectionately again.

Youre hit with some of the excess smoke he breathes out, coughing a bit.

“Javi-”

“No more talking. Understand?”

A beat passes, and you nod again, only shuffling forward to rest your head on the inside of his thigh. Javi taps away the ash.

“Good girl.”

You stay down there for a little while, only squirming and wiggling to relieve the soreness settling into your knees. You dont talk, you dont whine, you dont go grabbing at him. You stay put because he didnt tell you to do anything else. Youre good. Angels are loyal to a fault.

When you do get a command, youre perking up like a dog. Cute. Javis telling you to take his cock out.

You go for it, and he tuts at you. “Do it slow.”

And so, youre doing it slowly now, pulling out the leather from under the buckle, opening it up and then popping open the button to his jeans. Your lips press into a thin line, looking up at him for reassurance.

“Go on.”

His zipper is pulled down at a snails pace, and your eyes widen at the lack of underwear. No surprise there. Javi sighs when you take him your hand.

He lets you feel him up curiously, your thumb wisping over his flushed tip, smearing along the white beads gathering there.

“Put it in your mouth.”

You stiffen, unsure. Javis reminded that youre good and you probably dont do this kind of thing a lot.

“Its not hard, nena. Promise. Want me to teach you?”

Youre nodding now, more eagerly.

“Start by kissing it.”

Tentatively, you kiss starting from the bottom up- That much you know how to do- So its a good start. He sighs out the last bit of smoke and stretches over to the bedside again to put out the cigarette.

After kissing, youre licking, and after licking, youre finally trying to swallow him. He groans, holding the back of your head and coaxing you to take more.

You gag, backing out to catch your breath then taking him in again.

“Jus’ like that- Fuck-”

And somehow the slight inexperience gives you the upperhand. You want to be good for him, and your clumsy hands are doing as much as they can to make up for your lack of deep-throating capabilities.

Its when you suck harshly on the head that he hunches forward with a gasp. “Yeah-Yes.”

You do it again, and again, and hes so fucking close now but he stops you. Not yet.

“You did good.” Javi reassures you. “Get up.”

You wobble up onto your feet and hes pulling you into a kiss, hands exploring you all over with urgency. He needs it now, to do what he wanted to do at the bar when he first started talking to you. He needs to drag you down with him.

Javi pulls your cardigan off, and then your dress, and as more layers of your clothing come off the more he cant wait. Youre moaning under his tongue, only squirming when he nips at the flesh of your torso, leaving a trail of blossoming bruises in his wake. He tells you to lay down and you follow accordingly.

Javi kisses up your stomach, and the junction between your neck and shoulder. You almost speak, almost. And it has his dick harder than he thought it could get. Youre still obeying. Fucking incredible.

He pulls your hips forward, making you whimper. A finger traces through your folds, and he practically gushes with pride just feeling what hes done to you so far. He hasnt even gotten to the best part.

“Talk to me,”

Youre babbling now, “K-Keep touching me- Dont stop. Please, Javi.” There it is again. ‘Please’ and ‘Javi’. He cant say no to someone whos been so reverent thus far.

He rewards you by tracing soft circles around your clit, watching the way your abdomen flexes at the pressure. The combination of nervousness and arousal has your thighs quaking around his forearm. You give in so easy.

Javi tells you to lay on your stomach, Then, hes pressing kisses up your spine to soothe you. To sedate you.

You practically crumble when his cock reaches all the way inside you. This is it. Hes going to rip those obnoxious fucking wings out of your back.

“Javi,” You wheeze, clawing at the sheets. His hand sits on the nape of your neck to keep you pinned down. Javi grunts, doubling forward over your back. Its almost like hes punishing your guts just because youre you.

He grabs your wrists instead, pulling them behind your back and anchoring himself with one hand. The other curls into your hair, yanking your head up from the pillow you covered in drool.

You sob, trembling when Javi buries himself to the hilt. Hes panting over your neck like a dog, licking and nipping there like one too.

“Thank you,” You sniffle, twisting your neck to get a glimpse of him. Your mascaras running down your face. Humble, even in the face of your own sacrilege.

Javi shushes you with a sloppy kiss. Hell only accept your thanks when hes finally run you dry.

Tonight is the night you fell from grace. All because of him.

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #mocha writes #javier pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #smut #javier x reader #javier pena x you #oneshot #tired of over analyzing this so im just posting SIGHHSHSSS

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