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bonny-kookoo · 1 month ago

Text

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Day 4

You've already won.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements, discussion of past bad experiences (sexual and general relationships), toys, jk is more dominant in this, NSFW, size kink if you squint, Subspace, a teeny bit of Angst, a little of fluff, brat behavior

Wordcount: 6k

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A/N: screw it i can't hold this back any longer. Sorry if it's disappointing..

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You never really knew that Jungkook is actually a pretty good home-cook.

Obviously, he is no michelin star collector, his chaotic nature bleeding through his every move- but it's still clear that he has skill and a genuine passion for what he’s doing. It feeds, however, also into your own personal observation about him; that while he is a dominant person by nature who enjoys controlling situations to their fullest, he’s also a pleaser. He seems to thrive most the moment you tell him you trust him, when you let him lead or even just seek out physical contact to him. It reminds you of what he told you before.

‘As long as you make me feel wanted, I’ll be just fine.’

“You’re staring.” Jungkook chuckles as he finishes cleaning the dishes from your shared breakfast earlier. There has been some tension between you, and you know he’s waiting for you this time. The training wheels are slowly coming off, and he’s becoming less and less easy on you. It's exciting because you also feel.. like you could challenge him.

And whatever the punishment, you’ll take it.

But no matter what you tried and try, nothing really seems to get a proper reaction out of him. So when you sit in front of him now on the couch that acts as your bed as well for this week, you’re stunned. “What?” You ask, making him repeat his words. You’ve just offered him yourself, told him you want to have proper sex, and instead of taking the chance, he wants to…?

“I said:” He smiles impishly as he speaks, “Get me off without touching me, and I’ll fuck you the way you want.” He repeats his lewd sentence freely as ever, long having shed the shame about the topic.

Well, the task itself isn’t what you didn’t understand. It’s more so, that you don’t understand why it needs to be so difficult? “but- I thought you want this?” You argue weakly, and he nods.

“I do.” He agrees. “that, and so much more. But you also wanted me to stop being so soft with you.” He repeats your request, and in a way, you want to smack your past self for making this so difficult for you now. “also, trust me- it’ll be a lot more interesting this way.” He almost seems to joke, and you can clearly see and feel just how excited he is as well.

Because deep down, you can understand it.

And you’re ready to take on the challenge.

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The entire rest of the day, you attempt to distract him from his placed challenge the best you can. If you can trick him into forgetting his own rules, maybe you can somehow cheat your way to the goal?

Jungkook however sems to have a sixth sense for your antics however. No matter what you do to try and get his attention, his patience never seems to snap. If anything, it just seems to amuse him- and that’s not quite what you were aiming for.

What you also weren’t aiming for was the fact that he could turn your wonderful plans against you in a heartbeat- the remote controlled toy inside you buzzing to life yet again while you went to read something on your phone on the couch. It’s been happening for almost an hour now, randomly- and never enough to really get you off properly.

Your plan was simple; after a bit of research, you read that some guys are really into the controlling part of the toy, but that it would often lead to more than that later on. So you not-so-subtly told Jungkook that you had taken the toy, and not only that- you'd mentioned that you were ‘wearing’ it, too. The look on Jungkook’s face was surprised at first- but quickly shifted, gaze changing as he acknowledged what you had informed him of.

What you didn’t think about, was that Jungkook isn’t just some guy.

He knows how to control himself, and he knows how to control others even better it feels like. A text on your phone makes your skin run hot, as it only displays a simple message.

[Don’t you dare cum.]

It’s not even like he can see you! The buzzing of the toy is a strange rhythm, and you move your hands between your thighs to shift things a bit, when Jungkook’s voice is heard.

“Can’t follow basic instructions when you’re not supervised, huh?” He chuckles, walking into the open kitchen to open the fridge and take out a bottle of soda. “I said don’t cum. Get your hands off your cunt.” He commands before unscrewing the plastic cap and bringing the neck of the bottle towards his lips to drink from it.

For some reason, you do exactly as he says. But the way he said it did not really make your situation any better.

“Not too sure where you were going with this plan of yours-” He teases, as he walks closer to you, bottle still in hand. “-But I’m giving points for creativity.” He chuckles, holding the bottle out for you. “You look thirsty, darling.” He jokes.

You glare at him, trying not to shift in order not to make it worse for yourself. But still, you look at the beverage with a bit of longing- maybe drinking something can help you calm down?

Wrong.

Especially when it’s his hand underneath your chin that holds your face at the right angle to make you drink from the bottle, look in his eyes sharp and devilish to say the least. He’s visibly happy about the clear display of dominance over you, maybe even amused by it? In a way, you don’t care. This side of Jungkook is new, and you feel excitement over the whole ordeal.

Maybe your plan is working?

But as soon as you’re done drinking, he reaches into the pocket of his pants, and turns off the device with a simple tap on his touchscreen.

“Take it out, princess.” He says, nodding towards your legs.

You stare, and wait.

“Too hard to follow?” He asks you in fake worry. “Okay, simpler terms then. Get up.” He waves his hand up, and your legs seem to move for a second without your command- making you embarrassed, before you roll your eyes and still follow his request. Standing in front of him, he nods, before he taps at your hips. “Strip.” He tells you as a next step, and you almost stubbornly kick off your shorts. “Strip further, baby.” He emphasizes, but there’s a dangerous undertone to it.

You’re testing a limit.

You slowly move to push your panties off your legs- fabric clinging to your wet folds for a second before it falls to your feet. Much to your surprise however, Jungkook gets to his knees right in front of your exposed legs- before he taps your thighs on the inside- a silent command to part your legs.

This is an oddly embarrassing position to be in. Strangely. Because technically, he’s seen it all- so why does this make you feel so.. Small?

Maybe it’s his gaze. Maybe it’s the fact that despite being in a lower position, he still controls the situation. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

His fingers pull on the tail of the toy that’s still outside, making your core clench involuntarily. “No.” Jungkook lowly warns. “Give it up.” He commands, and you want to look away from the scene so badly as you relax your muscles- toy finally slipping out, hanging warm and wet from Jungkook’s fingers that still hold onto the tail end of it.

You feel empty.

“Go wash up.” He kisses your cheek, tone kind again. “But no fun times in there. I’ll be checking when you come out.” Jungkook warns, and you groan in agony-

Though you have to admit, that it’s kind of fun.

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Its late, and you’re both breathing heavily.

This happened rather spontaneously to be honest- a commercial break having broken your attention to the TV show you were both watching, making Jungkook turn it off entirely before focusing on you instead. After that steamy Makeout session of the two lovers in the show, you’d stolen glances at Jungkook any second you could, stolen orgasms from the entire early day still leaving you unsatisfied and hungry for any kind of release.

And it did not go unnoticed.

Maybe it's been tough on him too, because it feels as if he can’t undress you fast enough- hands struggling with the clasp of your bra in the back for a moment, before he groans in anger about it, and just pushes the whole garment up to reveal your chest to him, fabric pulled over your head in it’s entirety. He’s hungry, clearly so- but you’re struggling on your end, despite the misery.

This is what you wanted. Something soft, slow, romantic. But right now, all it does is cause you frustration.

And you wonder why.

Did he taint you so much that you’re now forever stained with the way he does things, so much so that you’ll forever seek what he’s offered? Has he ruined you to the point of no return, that no ‘normal’ form of bedroom love can fulfill your needs any longer? This is what you had wanted at the start- something calm, casual, something you know. But for some reason, there’s something awoken inside you that makes you yearn for his touch to be more demanding, more exciting, more enticing than this. Have you gone mad?

Or are you simply not seeing the bigger picture?

His lips on your skin are sensual, warm but not hot, gentle, caring, affectionate. His hands never grab too hard, only brush over you, map out your body as if he needs to remind himself of every curve you have.

You want more. Need more. This is too slow. Or is it?

His tongue over your chest makes your breath hitch, back arching off the mattress as he gently bites your hardened bud, pulling it a little, always teasing, never going rough. You never imagined you’d want more than that, but there’s this sudden need to be absolutely ruined by him.

And that’s somehow exactly what he’s doing.

His hand only occasionally finds its way between your legs to spread around your leaking arousal, even sometimes taunting you by using it to cover his bare length in it, hand only slowly moving to close around it in a fist, hips thrusting into his hand, a mere glimpse offered at what he could be giving you.

You know he’s warm. Heavy, and thick. More than the toy could’ve offered you last time. You want him, as deep as he can go.

Your brain is filled with the most obscene visuals of his cum leaking out of you, filling you up until there’s no space for anything else. It’s as if you’ve gone rabid, head no longer functioning, only instincts left and the need for that very specific pleasure only he can offer you.

You’re a slave to his touch, and you’re not even upset about it.

“Nuh-uh.” He chuckles, as you try and reach for him. “Patience.” He scolds softly.

“Please-!” You whine, but its not working at all as he leans over you, his cock rubbing over your stomach, way to far away from where you need him most. “jungkook-“

“You sound so sweet when you beg.” He purrs, licks and bites at your neck, kisses placed with meaning behind them. “I think I could cum just from this.” He chuckles. “Can you?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Need you..” you whine.

“You have me.” Jungkook reassures you. “I’m right here.” He offers, but you reach out to touch him, this time trying to keep your self control, only letting your fingers run over his abdomen. “Such a good girl. Following rules so well.” He tells you with amusement in his tone.

It’s the rule, after all. You’re allowed to touch, to feel, to move. Just not there.

You’ll have to get creative if you want to get him off without touching him at all. Because if you do- you win. And the grand prize will be what you’ve begun to anticipate with eagerness and excitement, and no more fear.

Because it’s Jungkook.

And you’re starting to no longer think you’re falling in love with him-

But believe in it.

Suddenly, there is an idea in your head. Jungkook had made the mistake of not making the rules too clear- which means that you’ve got a bit of room to play with, as you collect your thoughts and form a new plan. He’s clearly more than just aroused, tip leaking onto your lower stomach, and that alone offers you an opportunity.

He spots the way your gaze changes instantly. Like something awoken inside you, the you that’s looking at him is no longer unsure or worried or holding back.

Your hands move between your legs, to spread your own arousal over the inside of your thighs, just for your legs to close up, and lift to be pushed towards your body- closing up on the very tip of his, and he gets the message crystal clear.

A smirk finds its way over his lips, as your hands reach for his hips.

“You want me to fuck your thighs, huh?” He chuckles, leaning in, accepting the offer seemingly and making your blood rush in your veins. You found it. You solved the problem. “cute.” He says, kissing your neck-

“But I said get me off, not make me do it myself.”

Your whole world crashes down as you realize the fatal flaw in your plan, leaving you at square one again. The frustration builds, making you whine for a moment before you snap- pushing at his chest to make him switch positions with you, his body now beneath yours. You’re not sure what to do now, a bit uncertain again as you feel too responsible in this position.

How’re you supposed to solve this?

Meanwhile Jungkook, beneath you, is mesmerized.

You know that the easy way out would be to simply jump over the rules, or give up- two options you probably would’ve made use of days prior without the experiences you’ve collected until now. But you’re following what he said, always staying on the road he set up for you, only ever looking at other ways possible, but you never dare to go against his orders.

So obedient. But what’s most amazing to him about it, is that you freely choose to be.

He’s been giving you options to take the lead left and right, but you willingly let him control you and the scene. The amount of trust you put in him makes him feel high almost, and it’s not just the fact that he’s feeling the ‘rush’ of somehow ‘corrupting’ you in any way. This isn’t just something that he feels because you play into his fantasies.

This is way more than that.

Suddenly, your body loses all tension, as you lean down on him, openly seeking his help without even asking. “A bit of a tough challenge, hm?” he reassures you, and you nod, stubborn as you sit back on his thighs, still unsure what you’re supposed to do. You’re not as adventurous as him, you don’t yet have this big collection of fantasies yet. So, in a way, he had expected this outcome- making him not even surprised, nor disappointed.

He could never be disappointed in you.

“Tell me what to do.” You request, and he watches you for a good second or two. Oh he definitely has more than a handful of ideas blossoming in his mind about what he’d love for you to do- but small steps, for now.

“I already told you, though.” He almost teases, not bowing down this easily. He’s not that quick to break under your doll-like eyes, he doesn’t falter at the way you lick your lips this quickly.

Suddenly, your gaze changes. You have an idea, and he’s curious to see it.

You remember one crucial thing about him he’s always made sure to emphasize; he doesn’t need much to come undone. Sex isn’t as straight forward with him as it is with others- some you simply need to think outside the box, and try seeing it from a different perspective. What makes him shiver? What made him sigh out in pleasure last time? What could potentially make him weak? And then it hits you.

Its right there. Right in front of you; and you simply failed to see it.

“What is it?” He asks, and you take a shuddering breath as you prepare yourself to be brave for once, before you say it.

“I don’t like this.”

Your eyes are closed, and you feel terrible for a good couple of seconds- because while it is an admission you knew you had to make, it still makes you feel incompetent and like a looser. You ruined the moment and failed his game, and not only that- you had to admit that this might just be too much for you. But this feeling doesn’t last long, because soon enough his hands hold your face to lift it towards him, your gaze finding his as he looks at you with what can only be described as pride.

“there we go.”

He needs you to understand exactly this. He needs you to feel safe, and not just in a simple way. You need to feel 100% comfortable before you can begin to rely on him to the point he so desperately wishes you would- and it looks like you’re beginning to understand this.

“That’s all it took baby.” He smiles encouragingly, hands moving to run over your skin, before he moves you to lay down on your back again. “I need you to say what you think. I want to know all your thoughts.” He almost whispers before he brings his lips down on your neck, still so careful with you.

“Jungkook-“ you sigh out, before you look at him. “-I think I can.” You spill out, unable to keep it in anymore- because if he wants to know all your thoughts, he should know this one too, as delicate as it is still.

“Can what?” He wonders, looking down at you from his position above your body.

“I think I can love you.”

The implications of this sentence are massive- because it finally gives him the feedback he was hoping to find. You want him, in every way, and it finally gives him the last push of confidence to really let you in. Now he can fully commit himself, try his hardest to make this work, because even if it doesn’t end up the way you both are hoping for, he knows that you at least want this.

You want more than sex.

You want him.

His kisses are of an entirely different nature now as he devours your soul it feels like, and this sudden display of clear vulnerability makes you feel like you’re leaving something heavy behind you. Like a backpack dropped from your shoulders, your hands no longer move in a shy way- instead they reach out to him with comfort in mind, wanting to touch him with just as much care as he’s offered you these past few days.

He deserves it.

And he feels the change in you. Your whole body behaves just a little differently now, legs pulling his own closer without hesitation as you suddenly giggle out even, drunk off of him. “Did I fail?” You ask, and he shakes his head, hand grabbing at your flesh.

“No.” He denies, out of breath. “I’m changing the rules.” He decides, leaning back a bit to let you breathe, just to witness the sight of you moving your arms up to stretch even, back arching towards him, innocently teasing.

“Can you just do that?” You challenge, and he leans his head to the side a bit, looking down at you with the eyes of something similar to a demon in disguise.

“I can.” He affirms. “And I say fuck the rules.” He states towards you.

He knows you’re on the very edge of something you yourself are completely unaware of- and he wants to see it, craves to witness it at it’s fullest. This will test whether or not you truly can be what you told him you can’t, and what he believes slumbers deep inside of you.

When he turns onto his back, and maneuvers you to sit atop of him, you’re a bit unsure- but you trust him. You want to rely on him- not just in terms of sex.

But it all starts here.

“Take as much as you like-” He reassures you with hands on your thighs. “-this isn’t a challenge.” Jungkook clears up one last time for you. “You can’t fail this. You can only win.”

And you understand. For once, you understand exactly what he’s talking about.

It’s quite different from the toy he’s pushed inside you before- the warmth that radiates off of him feels as if it’s burning you, even though it’s not. He’s slick from your own arousal and his just as much- making it easy for the head of his length to push right in. The stretch however is different- it's a lot less harsh, more welcoming this time around, as you slowly move yourself to your first stop. Your legs are trembling, but not from fear- it's excitement. Anticipation.

You can only win.

You already did, didn’t you?

You rest yourself forward on top of him, your own lips now mindlessly kissing his neck, hands holding onto whatever you can get to. His own arms wrap comfortably around your back as you gently rock yourself on what little you have already fit- unbeknownst to you taking him just a little deeper each time. But all the way through this process, your head starts to spin almost- not as if you’re dizzy, no. This feeling is strange, as if your own bodyweight suddenly doesn’t matter any longer. You’re made of nothing but air, muscles having no tension, mind clear of any real thought.

Your head was never this empty and blissfull at the same time.

You don’t even realize the mark you leave in the crook of his neck, as you become a little eager- bringing yourself down on him quite a bit, drunk off of whatever this is. You decide that you want to explore this high to it’s fullest, leaving your body to the hold of his arms, relaxed in the comfort of the fact that he will take good care of it while you leave it behind.

And then, you feel it.

There’s nothing more to take, and you’re full of him- not just physically. All your thoughts include him, his name leaving your lips in a sigh. You can’t see it through your glossed over and hazy gaze, but he can-and he wants to burn this into his mind forever.

“Move, baby.”

It’s like he’s commanding your body for you instead of you making the decision to do so- and it’s an odd feeling, but not unwanted. Like you’re nothing but a spectator able to feel what’s happening, you can just lay back and let yourself be played like an instrument made by the most talented craftsmen the world has ever seen. His grip is strong, especially when he holds onto your waist, silently commanding your pace, and you can’t help but let your eyes roll back before you close them and hold onto him.

Like waves shaking your body back and forth, you’re drowning. But it’s not unpleasant, because he makes you able to breathe amongst the waters.

You don’t even realize that the slippery sounds of your bodies should be embarrassing to you- instead, you aim for more, grabbing onto some of your strings to puppeteer your body alongside him, testing if he lets you. And he does, welcoming you to play alongside him, though he’s clear on the exact song he wants you to perform this time.

You want more- but you trust that he knows what’s best for you.

“I.. I wan-” You slur, and he understands even those broken bits of language, smiling brightly as he rolls his own hips into you, pushing you towards him in the sudden movement. It makes you laugh, before you cry out in pleasure, his pace sending you over the edge-

But he doesn’t stop. And neither do you want him to.

You both part for just a moment, before he has your back against his chest, length guided inside you one more time for a better angle as his hands grip your chest. He bites this time- teeth leaving a mark on your shoulder and neck as he almost growls it sounds like, while his hips set a pace for himself, your thighs shaking from both the exhaustion and pleasure running through you, one of your legs hooked over his forearm to keep you open for him. You come undone a second time, and it feels as if it’s happening somewhere else, before he slips out- at first something you believe might be a mistake, but it’s clearly not.

It was intentional, calculated. Controlled.

The way his cock is now running through your folds with the help of your slick after he's let go of your leg is completely wiping your head clear- you can’t hear yourself whining for nothing in particular while he chases his high between your thighs, hand of yours reaching for him but the action is denied. He instead holds your wrists above your head, while the other keeps your hips close to him, body shuddering from the orgasm rushing through you-

And then, he slows down.

Slowly, the cotton wool in your ear leaves, and you get to hear the pleasure filled moans of the man behind you, the sound of his length moving through your soaked thighs and cunt, and your own breathing and heart beating. You feel the exhaustion, the way your fingertips are cold now, and yet, you don't want the control back yet.

Luckily for you, Jungkook holds you, easily. You can trust him after all.

The sight of your thighs covered in both your own release and his cum, some of it still trickling down the pulsating head poking through, is something that would’ve made you shy, days prior. It’s dirty, and something you never thought you’d find.. Romantic.

But you do. In an odd way.

“You wanna stay like this baby?” He asks, and you drunkenly nod, making him chuckle. “Alright. But only for a bit.” He gently whispers, while you try and collect yourself.

It’s like two sides of you are fighting. One is the you you’ve come to know all your life- trying to get back into control over your body and consciousness. The other is a stranger, trying to tell you it’s alright to let this be for a moment longer.

And maybe that stranger is right.

When he moves you both into the bath, water rushing in, you’re still hazy. You can barely articulate yourself, but he doesn’t seem to care about that whatsoever- nor does he look alarmed. He most likely knows exactly what’s going on with you, and manages it perfectly just like always. And even if not, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyways- nor would you really care.

A dangerous state of mind.

But you feel no fear.

You’re clinging to him during the entirety of the clean-up process, including the time he needs to set the bed again, disposing the soiled sheets and blankets in exchange for new ones. You’re attached to him the second he lays in the new blankets with you, smell of detergent and his bodywash surrounding you. And you’re even more eager for any touch and praise he sends your way, bathing in the afterglow of whatever you just experienced.

All while he’s just as much in heaven as you are.

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When you wake up, the first thing you notice is how much your muscles ache- especially your legs.

As if you’ve run a marathon, your legs feel like rubber the moment you try and turn around- but it’s also made difficult by the man and his heavy arm around your body. Jungkook is still sound asleep, softly snoring close to you as he recovers from what happened hours prior. You don’t even know why you’re awake, until you dig into your memories.

They feel like you’ve watched a movie. As if it wasn’t you who experienced it.

But it was, and whatever it was what you were feeling, you can’t help but feel intrigued by it. When you turn in his arms he moves as well- first only burying himself closer to you, before his breathing changes, and eyes open. They find yours in the dark of the room, barely illuminated by the now setting sun dipping the entire room in an orange glow.

“Hey.”

That’s all you can really think of, and it makes him laugh sleepily into your chest, causing you to giggle as well.

“Hey.” He returns. He looks cute like this.

“Go back to sleep.” You almost tease, but he shakes his head, yawns and moves a bit to properly look at you.

“How do you feel?” He questions, a hand reaching out to move the blanket back over your shoulder, before it disappears beneath it, seeking out the bare skin of your waist beneath your pajama shirt.

“Sore.” You admit. He laughs.

“I can imagine.” He sympathizes. “Proved you wrong though.” He teases, and you nod.

“I’m glad you did.”

There’s a heavy silence for a good moment, where neither of you really know what to say- and it’s only broken when he decides on the easier topic for now, something you’re glad about. “I’m sure you wonder what.. Happened to you.” He says, and you nod.

“It felt as if I was high.” You describe. “Drunk, but not feeling sick. Like.. One of those out-of-body experiences some people talk about.” You try and picture it to him, and he nods.

“It’s called Subspace.” Jungkook explains. “It’s when.. Well, a headspace a lot of submissives fall into during scenes. Especially when all the conditions align perfectly.” He tells you. “It’s one of the biggest compliments to people like me.”

“Why?” You question.

“Because it’s the ultimate display of trust.” Jungkook offers you. “You need to feel.. Relaxed, and perfectly safe and comfortable with me to be able to let go like that. Just a moment of uncertainty, and you’re unable to slip.”

“To be honest, it felt entirely out of my control.” You respond. “I don’t think I really made a conscious choice to.. Slip.” You repeat the term that he used.

“I know.” He nods. “Some can control it, others, especially new subs, can’t. They need those conditions and a good amount of guidance. And.. Their subspace is fragile, too.” He emphasizes. “One mistake from my side, and you’re falling.” He warns.

“So, I could.. Drop, like in the shower a few days ago?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “But it’s more complicated, because it’s harder to comfort a person who slips in a mindset where they’re not in full control of themselves. They can’t think rationally, and are more often than not scared of the person who made them drop.” He describes, and there’s an odd look in his eyes.

You’re careful with your next words. But you need to know.

“Has that.. Ever happened to you?”

He nods. You feel your heart constrict.

“It’s a truly terrible feeling.” He sighs. “I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s not forever- but in that moment, you’ll hate me. In it’s purest form.” Jungkook tells you. “I remember how much I despised Yoongi that day. It was as if I felt every negative emotion by just looking at him. But I couldn’t help it. Not until I finally snapped out of it.” He recounts the events.

“Do you still hate him?” You wonder, but he shakes his head, laughs even. It makes you feel better.

“No, absolutely not. I understand it now.” He replies. “But when you’re in that state, you’re.. Running on default settings. You’re not capable of complicated thoughts like trying to see things from another perspective. In hindsight, it wasn’t even his fault it happened. Simply bad timing.” He shrugs. “Which is why I’m so careful with you. I know you need to experience certain things- but I don’t want you to go through things you don’t have to.”

“Do you think.. That day, as bad as it was, made you a better guy at this?” You ask, and he nods.

“It did.” He agrees. “How did you feel?” He wonders, and you shift a bit to get more comfortable, before you remember your situation.

“Weightless.” You describe. “Like I was.. Just existing. It was fun- exciting, but also strangely relaxing.” You tell him.

“You looked very pretty to me, you know?” He states, and you laugh. “No, really. That look in your eyes was something I’ll never forget.”

“Jungkook?” You ask, and he nods, looking at you. “... I think I might be..” You swallow your pride for a second before you say it. “..I might be falling in love with you.”

There’s silence again.

You can hear the clock in his open kitchen faintly ticking away, the fridge buzzing. Outside the window, there’s a car honking, and a water bottle near the window cracks as the plastic bends from the temperature difference. A soft rushing sound is also there- rain, probably, being thrown against the glass of the window by the wind outside.

And then, he speaks.

“I’m glad.” He just says with the brightest smile you've ever awen on his face, while you look at him both surprised and a little confused. But he only leans forwards, and presses a gentle kiss against your lips.

“I already did.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #dom jungkook

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achrams · 4 months ago

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𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: An antique collector gets an unusal package containing a knight ('A Knight' from Reverse 1999) right at his doorstep, with lots of old english.

𝐂𝐰: Blow job, unprotected mirror sex and a creampie.

Being into ancient relics came with its pros and cons, for example your house looked like a literal portal to a Victorian house…at the expense of you living off of 2 dollars until your next paycheck. Which in hindsight wasn’t as bad as it sounded given the high ranking job you managed to somehow bag. No need to worry about going to the office either, remote work - you really were blessed weren’t you. Nice modest house, from the outside that is, a beautiful interior filled with all sorts of mystical shiny relics you had managed to collect like a crow and a good job- Ding dong.

You weren’t expecting any guests, especially at this hour. With a grumbled murmur of, ’Who in the hell comes over at 7am sharp.’ you made your way to the front door of your flat. Taking a deep breath in to mentally prepare yourself for any sort of human interaction before plastering on a smile and opening the door. To your surprise the hallway was empty, not a single soul in sight at all. It’s as if a ghost had decided to pull a prank on you and ding dong ditched you leaving nothing more but a few boxes in its wake.

Another, more annoyed sigh left you before your gaze lowered to the ground where two boxes were left to be welcomed into your comfortable Victorian looking house. It was an easy deduction that these must be some of the items you had bought a few days? Weeks? Maybe even months or years ago..you’ve lost count of the times you’ve ‘accidentally’ wandered onto a website that sells all sorts of trinkets for your hoarder mind. The older the better, that’s how it usually went.

A swift few trips back and forth from your door to the livingroom and the lonely boxes were finally adopted into the family of silver shine that covered the place. The first box opened up to two beautiful antique vases - intricate designs of wreaths covered shimmering the area perfectly. One simple look around and you knew exactly where to place the vases. The small nooks, that the plethora of items you owned had created, on each side of the hallway leading to your bedroom like you were some royalty.

The second box was a little more concerning, to say the least, it was heavy. Like really heavy for some shiny antiques. Aside from that, you didn’t quite recall buying anything other than a couple of vases. Sure, your mind could have fooled you but surely you would have remembered a purchase that seemed to weigh tons. Anticipation filled your gut as you hovered over the box, hunched like a dragon obsessing over every speck of gold in the mountains of shinies your mind was hooked on.

With careful precision you removed the tape from the box and let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Opening a freebie of sorts shouldn’t be as nerve wracking as it is right now. ’Did someone send this to the wrong address? No- what if this is something illegal. I really should just leave it..’ Seems like that inner debate lasted for approximately 3 seconds before eyeing the suspicious box became too daunting and you quickly opened it up. Having pressed your eyes shut in case something were to jump out of it and scare you.

One, two, three, four- okay nothing jumped out to surprise you. Recovering from the tense jumbled position your hands managed to form, as a protective gesture, gave you a better chance to properly look at what the box had to offer. Inside laid an absolutely stunning silver armour. It was beautiful, more so than any other old knightly armour you had seen before. It was in pristine condition, shiny with no smell of rust, covered from head to toe in extremely small carvings that were clearly embedded into it with love.

The only..concerning part of this all was that the box seemed packed. Well, it looked like it was filled to the brim, ready to bust - which gave the initial fear of the box containing something illegal- but to your eyes it was a mere cape with some metal gloves. Clearly part of an armour..maybe the rest of the armour was buried beneath the cape - which was beaming with rich blue fabric and golden stitches to show its high class. Though as soon as you tried to reach into the box it didn’t even take a millisecond before sheer surprise made your body recoil backwards.

’What the hell was that.’ You thought as your gaze lingered on the suspicious cardboard before you, then lowered to your shaking hands. You swear you felt something - shocker the box had items in it- but you didn’t touch anything. Your hands hovered over the metal gloves but you weren’t touching them. So, why in the hell did it feel like a hard surface was beneath your skin. ’Am I going insane? Is this the end for my brain?’ The thoughts spilled from your lips via an awkward chuckle.

Some small glances between your right and left hand eased your spiralling mind before they were ultimately dragged across your face with a groan. Maybe it was the early morning that was fucking with your head because no other suggestion would provide a suitable answer for your weird hallucination, if that moment could even be called that. It was around 7 am in the morning after all, perhaps you were still half asleep and not thinking correctly..or worst case scenario you’ve unleashed a phantom into your house, forced to get an unwelcome roommate.

Moving slightly closer to the box, for probably the third time in the span of half an hour, you pulled all your courage to try and see what truly was inside the box. ’There’s no way what just happened was real. Some passing…air..maybe..hopefully’ Not even you yourself managed to reassure the marathon running heart beating out of your chest.

“Ah..That wast quite a trip…Greetings.” A voice reached your ears and instead of the usual screech, yelp or a freak out, you had properly convinced yourself that you had lost it. Falling back onto your heels you sat before the mystical box that seemed to house a…ghost?

“...WHAT THE SHIT!?” It finally seemed to click that what had just happened was not, in fact, a dream but real life. Even though you could see nothing but some metallic gloves and a curtain of a blue cape it took way too long for you to react to the presence before you. Scrambling up to your feet, heart ready to meet its grave as you quite literally sprinted down the hallway to shield yourself in your bedroom. ’What is happening..this is not real..but it was. The damn armour spoke.’ You heaved out as your back was neatly pressing against the wooden door, providing a comforting feeling of knowing nothing, even the weird knight ghost, could sneak up on you.

- - -

’Okay..breathe in..and out..you can do it..’ That had been a soothing mantra leaving your lips for the past..let's say another half an hour. Each time you had come close to opening your door, which was just your hand lingering ominously over the doorknob, your mind managed to convince you to retract your hand. Leaving it awkwardly stiff beside you as the next wave of hyping up followed. It probably took you about ten more minutes before you actually got the courage to exit the comfort of your bedroom.

The walk into your living room area seemed a lot longer than you remembered, it might have been the fear that played the most important role right now but at least it gave you the time to think of an ‘escape' plan. Spoiler: it would have been you sprinting right back into your bedroom, which one might argue, is not the most clever of plans.

One look to the left and one look to the right managed to dim the light of your concerns, Pheww..there's no one here. See, I told you there was nothing to worry about.’ You whispered out to yourself. The worries that had clouded your mind for way too long were eased, as much as one could ease them in this situation to be fair, so for your own sanity you wanted to quickly discard the cursed cardboard and go back to your humble life.

The chucked out box looked innocently back at your grimacing face. Almost making it seem like you were having a stare off with it before pulling your door closed. A deep breath in and you were finally ready to actually start your day, despite the chaos you had endured for the better part of an hour now. Turning around you were faced with none other than the mystery armour itself. “So, I'm not crazy. I've just lost it all..” your mouth hung open at the sight, the fleeing plan from before having morphed into a freezing one.

“Someone believeth we did get off on the wrong foot. ‘Tis a delight to meeteth thee, sir.” As much as you would have wanted to answer with something, anything, there was a clear and strong barrier between your head and your mouth, refusing to let anything pass. Instead of communicating you stared at the knight in utter shock with your jaw probably growing roots against the wooden floor by this point. “I am, Knight. Nay necessity to worry for Someone is not vengeful.” he bowed before you in a well-mannered way.

It took you a few blinks and stutters before you mustered out a simple, “What..are you?” That seemed to be the question that broke the dam because the following flood of questions seemed to confuse the poor knight as much as you had been confused and continued to be. “How did you get here? Why are you here and what the fuck is up with the invisibility?!”

“Right, such a colourful vocabulary thee has't.” The knight murmured out as he swayed in his spot - as visible from the swishing from his cape. He held out his hands in a surrender and tried to explain as calmly as he could in hopes that the words would actually reach your overburdened head.

“I'm afraid Someone doth not have't an answer for yond, or aught of those questions. Someone recalls getting defeated in combat and now..waking up here.” The smooth voice from the invisible body before you says, and you can somewhat tell, from the moving cape, that he's looking around the place. Inspecting the interior as if he hadn't had the time for that when you’d locked yourself into your bedroom for half an hour.

“So..you just are like..that?” You asked, hands motioning to the body or lack thereof with a confused expression. Brows having contorted into a jumbled mess as you desperately tried to wrap your head around all of this crazy magical nonsense that had been suddenly pushed into your casual life.

The knight nodded, or that's what it seemed like at least, “Correct, this is merely how Someone is.” The knight turned around with a swish, and happily questioned you about your interior choices. “Someone might not but sayeth, thy interior selections art quite embracing. Art thee fond of history?”

The nod was already halfway finished when you realised that you were genuinely speaking to some invisible knight. ’There's nothing to do about it anymore anyways..might as well have a chat.’ Walking a bit closer, to quickly slip past him you walked to the living room and gestured to the different antiques you've been collecting for years now. “I am, yes. Any object with historical value or an eye-pleasing design has a place in my home.”

Throwing a quick smile towards the invisible knight seemed like a welcoming enough gesture as the knight moved closer to better chat on the topic. Being an old knight from fuck knows which time period gauranteed some first hand experience, in the historical view point. Two historical nerds being pulled together by fate had ensured long chats on anything antique related. Luckily for you the ‘phantom’ you thought to have let loose in your flat just happened to be a devoted and gentle knight. You weren’t sure how or why this happened but as of right now, this surprise roommate was good enough.

- - -

It has been a few months since this mysterious knight entered your life. There might have been a bit of a rocky start to this new living plan but as it turns out it wasn’t that different to how things would have been with a regular roommate, yours was just..a little obscure. In that time you’ve been together with him the amount of knowledge you’ve gained is astronomical. You knew your stuff before but now, having a real person to confirm or deny these ‘facts’ was real handy. As well as getting to know the real meaning behind some antiques. It was thrilling to say the least.

In addition to all of that, you got to know the knight better. All of his past battles, memories, friends..everything. He had been surprisingly willing to share such personal parts of himself so fast. Which likely worked to create a stronger bond, because what lunatic would immediately trust ‘flying’ gloves without knowing anything about said gloves. He came out to be a lot more interesting than you had previously thought.

Though there is one little knack to it all. He seems to be very insistent on calling you ‘his Lord’. It wasn’t immediate, no not at all, it was gradual. Revealing stories of his past Lord and then ever so slowly starting to refer to you as a Lord. Maybe it was the interior design that made him fit right in or maybe he just missed his Lord at home - wherever that may be - but he didn’t even stop when you brought it up. In fact, it seemed to enable him.

“My Lord, Someone might not but sayeth I'm thankful for thy hospitality. You've been more than kind.” He said earnestly as he sat across from you at the dining table, conveniently fit for two in this small warm flat. It was almost audible how he beamed when he said it, having forced it out from the deepest parts of his heart.

“I said it already, you don’t need to call me ‘Lord’. I’m just some guy you live with now.” You half assedly laughed out while swishing the cooling tea around in your mug with a spoon. A comforting habit you’ve picked up on, and it seems he had too given how the armoured hand hesitantly moved to cover yours.

“I insist. Thee helped me and Someone wisheth to showeth his own gratitude” the knight murmured out honestly and drew his hand back once your mindless tea mixing motion had come to a still. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up once again, this time more sheepishly. As if he was actively debating whether to truly speak his mind or not while he was already speaking, “Doth such a title bother thee?”

He doesn’t even let you answer that it doesn’t as much as bother you but it just feels out of place given they didn’t live in the 17th century or well, you didn’t. “Someone just wisheth to refer to his own loveth accordingly.” Yes, you heard that correctly. He did just say that and by the looks of it was mostly intentional, maybe revealed a bit earlier than he was ready for given the fidgeting hands on his cape but it certainly wasn’t a mistake. The knight didn’t even attempt to take it back, just waiting for a response to the small confession.

“You..I heard that correctly..right?” You practically choked out, surprised - though let's be honest the signs were very much clear. The use of a title, the small affectionate gestures, the deep talks about his past. The knight trusted you a lot more, a lot faster than one would in such a short amount of time.

“Ay. Yond is correct. Someone wisheth to pursueth thee, if thee don't mind yond, my Lord.” He said out with a heartfelt tone, shifting in his seat to lean more onto the table, likely not wanting to miss any small reaction you might let out. Every small detail was valuable to him, especially when it came to love.

“I..I’m not sure, it’s just.” You didn’t want to break the poor knight’s heart. He was kind and charming - from what you’ve managed to deduct - but he was an invisible knight. No amount of delusion changed that. “I’m sure you’re a really kind guy-” “Please. Someone beggeth thee. This comes from the bottom of his own core. Alloweth Someone showeth thee the extent of this loveth, my Lord.”

’Gosh, was he always so adorable? Begging to prove his love..that amount of devotion wasn’t easy to come by nowadays.’ You sighed and let out a gentle chuckle. Head tilting up from the mug between your hands to now look at the desperate knight. “Alright. I accept your confession.”

This made the knight ecstatic, getting him to jump from his chair before his armoured hands came up to cover his mouth. “Apologies, Someone is over the lunar sphere from thy acceptance. Someone is so joyous he couldst kisseth thee.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out from his body language that he was begging, aching to show his devotion, his love for you.

With a sheepish sigh you nodded at him, giving him the permission he was hoping to receive. No time was wasted for him to quickly make it before you. His armoured cold hands coming to hesitantly and so gently rest at your cheeks, the metal caressing your warm skin before he leans forward. “Someone loveth thee.” The whispered words brushed your lips before the two worlds met.

His lips were very much real and warm, obviously he was real but it was your first time kissing an invisible knight, you didn’t know what to expect so to feel it was relatively normal eased your mind. Hands sliding up his armoured hands to explore their way onto the knight’s shoulders and then around his neck to pull him closer. Growing more confident with the way things were going, you wasted no time in tilting your head feeling him lose his base adrenaline from the beginning.

A smile made its way onto your lips as you felt his breath hitch into your mouth, eating that delicious reaction right up. Following your instincts and sliding your tongue along his shaky lower lip before intruding his mouth. Huffs and slurps filled the air around you two as you dedicated the moment to show him the modern, intense, kisses his knightly mind couldn’t even fathom. “My Lord..” the breathed sound was like music to your ears as you pulled away from his lips, seeing the clear signs of shared spit between you two breakrather lewdly.

“Can Someone please thee?” He huffed out, armoured hands still cupping your face as you could feel his intense gaze on you. Begging. You didn’t even need to see it to know that his face was begging for you. For him to be able to show his love. “Of course, Love.” The shaky breath that left him at the response did not go unnoticed by you, feeling how the cold metal travelled down your neck to your chest, gliding it down the front until your hips.

Kneeling before you his hands pried open your thighs, thumbs massaging the skin beneath the fabric. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel how his head leaned in to press gentle pecks all along your thighs. Ranging from your knees to the thighs to the inner thighs before his nose was flush with your groin, pressing intimate kisses the the area. Pulling you a little closer as his armoured hands grabbed your ass so he could properly hide his face between the soft warm thighs that belonged to you, his Lord.

“May Someone?” he breathed out and buried his head into your warmth. Nuzzling his nose against your growing hardness with need that was unexpected from a calm and collected knight such as himself. Smiling against you when he felt your hands travel down to rid yourself of the annoying fabric that seemed like a brick barrier between you two right about now.

As soon as the pants had been cast aside and let pool at your ankles after some quick manoeuvring, the knight wasted no time in pleasing his Lord. One, two and three kisses up your length before his armoured hands dug it out from your boxers, dragging his tongue along the slit. Tasting the pre that had started to bead from the tip at the continuous affection you were receiving from the knight worshipping you on his knees.

“You can..do what you wish-” before you were given the chance to even finish your sentence, the knight had already kissed the needy and messy head before taking it into his mouth. Humming against it as he suckles it with a slurp, making you lean your head back with a groan. Hands going to quickly grasp the seat of the backless chair you were sitting on while the knight selfishly pushed his head down to take you in his mouth whole.

The feeling of a warm, welcoming mouth with a soft tongue gliding against the underside of your dick was heavenly. Making you press your eyes shut while you face the ceiling, to deal with the loving affection you've been deprived of for a while. Who knew that such devotion and worshipping felt so damn good that you felt your chest heave and thighs shudder under the armoured hands that kept them perfectly open and in place for the knight.

Hollowing his cheeks around your dick, the knight pulled his head up to run his tongue over your head again before lowering it to take you to the base. Feeling how you grew harder in his warm mouth, how you twitched in his throat like some starved man. Gosh if he wasn’t smitten before then he certainly was now. Wanting to please his Lord until he was satisfied and on cloud nine.

The knight hummed in delight from the way you heaved from his ministrations, that in turn making him pick up his bobbing to deepthroat you with every single move. “Ahh..wai- mmh!” The words were cut off by the knight's armoured hand reaching to cup your balls, fondling them with care while he gagged on your dick like some hoe who'd just seen an ankle for the first time in his life.

The warmth of his wet mouth and squeeze of his adjusting throat were damn near perfect that when he ignored your plea from before he certainly acknowledged the way your body shook violently not, staggering on release. The shivered breaths and hitched bucks into his mouth made the knight as pleased as he could be. “..hahh Love..please..” you managed to force out from the onslaught of pleasure.

A moment to catch your breath as his mouth popped off your erection, the pre mixed with saliva keeping you connected. “I don't..shitt..I don't want to cum from this..can I fuck you?” The words came out breathy and hopeful as you finally leaned your head down to look at the sight of the knight, your knight treating your dick as if it's a sucker.

While he decided if he wanted to let you or not, your gaze zoned in on the fact you could see through him. You could see how he took you into his mouth, how your dick fit his throat and how it squeezed you deliciously. You really could see the hazed pre-covered channels his body ‘hid’, the same ones you had claimed. Damn was it a turn on.

With an eager nod the knight rose from his feet to take your hand and pull you up. Hoping to guide you to your bedroom, through the royal looking hall, where you could continue to explore and share the devotion of love as a knight should to his Lord. However, that plan was spoiled, not in a bad way though. Instead of the bedroom, you dragged your knight next to a mirror. Standing behind the eager knight and ridding him of the cape that obstructed your perfect view.

Your hands finding his shoulders and travelling down his body, worshipping the hidden gem of a man just as he had done to you minutes before. Sliding them down his chest to stomach and then his thighs which you grabbed and pushed down on, making his ass slot flush against your hard on.

“Have you always been naked, hmm?” You whispered slyly as your hands roamed, claimed and ravaged his body like some carnivore. To which he simply let out a shaky breath, leaning his body more against you as a silent invitation to take and enjoy your meal. To show just how much you loved him.

A sneaky hand had made its way into the crease of his ass, exploring until it found a snug rim of muscles. ’Perfect.’ You thought as you massaged it in a circle before teasingly putting pressure on it til the tip of your pointer finger slipped past the force.

It wasn’t even much and you had already dragged out a moan from your knight, it was small and similar to a hitched breath but it was there. Slowly easing your finger in, you took pride in the sounds already leaving the knight. All shaky and broken as if you were already fucking him dumb. Your gaze focused on the sight of your digit going in and out consistently in the mirror, seeing everything through his clear body.

Not deeming it worth seeing just yet, you waited until he was prepped before showing him the sight you found magical and took pride in. Once the single finger had turned to two, letting you scissor him to your heart's content it felt like a good time to grind your neglected throbbing erection against his ass. Making sure you didn’t soften while getting your knight nice and loose for you.

The knight had had his head leaned back on your shoulder, warm breaths escaping his parted lips like a prayer while your hands worked their magic. When he felt three digits work him open, curling and thrusting in him with nasty squelches he bit his lip to limit the lewd whimpers his well used throat was collecting like a magnet. The broken bucks down against your fingers said more than words ever could.

“You're so perfect, Love.” You murmured slowly as you withdrew your fingers with a slick sound, earning a broken gasp from your knight. The coated fingers gave a few pumps to your dick before guiding it right against your knight’s quivering hole. Applying pressure to it but not breaching it just yet. Instead your free hand moved to look for his head, forcing him to look down into the mirror to see the spot you were about to ruin and claim.

“Look at that, love. Focus on it, yeah?” You whispered as you finally pushed in and breached his tight hole. Feeling how his body tensed from the intrusion but despite the overwhelming feeling of you filling him up til breaking, he followed orders like a good knight. Focusing exactly where you had wanted, seeing how you had entered him. How his needy hole was trying to eat you up, to pull you further into the body he owned yet now shared with you.

“Moveth…please moveth, my Lord.” he croaked out with a simple buck against your dick. Feeling how it buried itself deeper, digging itself a snug home within the welcoming cavern inside your knight. Having seen perfectly how each drag of your dick against his walls was carving a road to heaven. Every small move drawing out a perverted sound from the already overstimulated knight.

Pushing your knight flush against the mirror before you, the grip on his neck never faltered, keeping his gaze exactly where you wanted it. Loving the idea that he’s seeing you ravage his body, claim it for your own with each wet slap of skin against skin. Feeling how his body shook and shuddered beneath your determined bucks against his soft yet clear skin. Pushing in an up to reach as deep within him as possible, showing your devotion to him loud and clear, leaving no room for interpretation.

“Oh-! fuckk..” the knight spilled his moans as he saw the brutality of your thrusts. Knowing - feeling how your dick pistoned in and out of his quivering depths like there was no tomorrow but also being ordered to see. God damn was it hot to be forced to view how your flushed and needy head toyed with his gushy walls, how your dick throbbed within him and most of all how your pre beaded out of your slit to fog up the clear view in his body.

Your hands suddenly grasped at his hips and pressed against him, hard. Pushing yourself into him so much that he felt his sweaty chest come into contact with the cool mirror. Lewd, loud and broken moans being pulled out from your knight while you pick up your pace. The once slow and calculated thrust transforming into raw needy ones. Chasing the high you'd been teetering on once before.

The knight’s metal gloves were clanking against the mirror while you fuck into him like a rabid dog. The sweet like honey mewls only tightening the eventually bursting knot in your abdomen. The tight perfectly delicious squeeze around your shaft, the filthy sounds of pleasure and creaking from your surroundings and the stimulation of fucking your knight dumb provided were enough.

“Pleaseplease- fuuckk..Love!” You groaned out as the burning tightness in you was becoming overwhelming. Your hips burying themselves neatly against your knights plush ass in a frenzy as you shake against one another. The force of it all making your knight cry out in bliss, drowning out the cracking of glass.

With no warning or a heads-up, you drew your dick out til the head and harshly pressed back in, one final time before coming. A loud moan erupts from your knight as the final blow pushed so perfectly into him, though the bliss was short lived with the sudden break of the mirror before you. Luckily neither got hurt, because your knight had his armoured gloves on and you had already slowed your hips to a near halt.

Leaning against your knight's back, catching your breath as you felt his walls milk you dry. He hummed in pleasure, catching his own breath from the intensity of it all as his dick pumped ropes of cum onto the mirror and the broken shards across the floor. His eyes shutting for a moment but opening just as fast, yet tiredly, when he felt your hands wrap around his middle, sliding down to hover over his abdomen. “Would you look at that?” You breathed out with gratitude.

“That's all mine now. My perfect knight.” To which your knight seemed to shiver at when he saw how well you had used the canvas of his body, painting his clear inner walls white with devotion. A perfect art exhibit in his body of who this knight was devoted to. It fit perfectly with your already enormous collection of antiques. What's the harm in having your personal knight as well?

Though that thought will be stored for later, seeing as you knight was becoming sleepy. Exhausted from the physical labour, not in a fighting way he had been used to in his old world,but in a more primal way that had completely drained him, slowly growing limp in your arms. Luckily the hands around his middle held him up, for now. Gently pulling yourself out of him with a pop, you guide your sleepy knight to a nearby couch to avoid you collapsing too.

Making sure he's nice and comfortable before storming to the bathroom for a warm moist cloth to wipe your knight clean. Ensuring he felt loved for, just as much as he loved you. “Rest well, my Knight.” You whispered as you pampered him in his light sleep, cleaning his sheen covered skin and leaking body before peppering him with gentle kisses.

Damn, you were going to have a lot of cleaning up to do after this heartwarming aftercare. Like properly cleaning the cum leaking from your knight, a shower to rid the sweat covering your bodies, the glass shards on the floor from the broken mirror and the dribbles of your knight’s release coating the mirror like an art piece. Might as well snuggle close to your knight while you can as the exhaustion hits you like a brick too.

“Someone loveth thee, my Lord. So much.” That was the last thing you heard after cuddling close and welcoming sleep which was well earned after such a thorough display of devotion.

#Stateac's works.#dom male reader #male reader #masc reader #top male reader #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 a knight #A good display of devotion is necessary for a knight #Seems like you sated him well enough for now #lest he gets hooked on you #which probably isn't a bad thing #your own personal knight <3

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cvnt4him · 7 months ago

Note

Do you think you can write something about Tenya Iida as a husband, where he comes home too tired after a mission and we as a reader decide to help him by giving him all the love and care he needs because this cute big baby deserves it. ��💕

(If possible, end it with soft NSFW, if it is not possible and it becomes uncomfortable, ignore the latter or alternatively the entire request)

Yes yes yes yes yes. I love this and I love tenya and I love you for requesting this. I hope it is to your standards and that tenya iida isn't ooc<333

It was a long shift for your husband. You instantly knew by the sound of his groan the second he walked through your front door, you were in the kitchen cooking, the smell of sweet food going through his nostrils. He sighs at the pleasant smell and wraps his arms around your waist.

You hum and sway your body with his. You turn around abandoning the food to hug your husband tightly. He sighs into your neck and holds you as closely as possible, you were his home, the one thing in this world that was worth fighting for. He loved you more than he did himself and wasn't afraid to show it.

Once he pulled away from the hug you looked up at your tall muscular man to see the slight bags under his eyes, the smile he put on his face was forced and half hearted. It didn't even meet his eyes. It broke your heart to see him this way, tired and stressed out. You wanted to make sure he knew that here with you was his safe haven. You were going to help him relax if it were the last thing you do.

Tenya kisses your forehead before exiting the kitchen, his boots thudding in the floor with each step of his heavy feet. You hum and put a tip over the food, turning it off to let it cook down. You follow him to see him shedding his hero suit, he scratched at the back of his neck and tried to massage his fingers into the tense muscle, a wince and a groan leaving his beautiful lips.

His back was well toned and very muscular, it looked so nice in the correct lighting, hell he looked nice regardless. You take in the sight for a little longer before walking towards your man unbeknownst. Your small hands trail up and down his back causing him to jump and shiver underneath your touch. You palms on his bare back as you rub and scratch at it. Tenya loved when he had little marks on his body because of you, he loved everything that involved you. He just loved you.

He hums and smiles genuinely, you kissed lightly up his back while still putting your hands all over his body. You put your hands on his shoulders and gently yet firmly tried to massage the muscle there. The tension built up in his back and shoulders was terrible, he groaned deeply at the painfully pleasured feeling. You had managed to get a tension kink out of his shoulders making him relax a bit, he was so thankful for that yet you weren't satisfied. He deserved to relax really well. You were going to make sure he felt nice and calm tonight.

A shaky breath left him, his eyes hadong closed underneath your warm touch. He hummed in content, perfectly fine with the way you were touching him. He was always so thankful for you. You never let him go a day without telling him how much you love him, same for him as well. It's like some sort of unspoken policy between the two of you. He adores you and is assured to tell you every day that he can.

"why don't you jump in the shower, love. I'm going to do a little something for you. A little surprise once you get out, perse."

He sighs and turns to kiss your forehead, you grab his glasses as he does so a chuckle leaving your husbands throat as he leaves and head toward the bathroom. The second you heard the shower sprite spray against the bathroom tiles you ran through everything you had to find every little candle you could.

You had lots of candles believe it or not, some time inside of your marriage you became rather infatuated with candles. It's not like you were a collector or anything but sometimes they were so pretty or smelled so nice. This little detail about you reminded him of his mother, he loved that about you. A little part of you is so alike his mother, it made him happy.

You had heavenly scented candles spread out across your room, safely of course. However you were sure tenya would reprimand you either way. The thought alone made you chuckle. You had some of tenyas lotion and body oil from the closet set so you could use it to massage into his muscles. You were no natural masooce or anything but you had seen the movies where they use these kinds of things.

Tenya took very good care of his skin and ushered you to do the same so there was no problem with finding a good body oil to do his skin justice.

You look around the room and sigh, you were pleased with what you've done. Just as you were about to pay yourself in the back the shower stopped, you hadn't even changed into anything nice! You quickly zoomed to the closet like you had tenya's quirk, and picked out something nice. Midnight blue lingerie, a color tenya always thought looked nice on you. It had a sheer robe that went along with it which you thought was a very nice detail!

Once tenya got out of the shower with a sigh, calling you to you, you surprise him by hopping into his point of view so he could see you. His eyes widened and he slowly took in the sight, looking you up and down nearly drooling. Tenya wasn't one to call you 'pretty' or 'cute'. Think more of 'gorgeous'. 'divine'. 'enchanting'. Things that would make you feel like royalty. He knew how to do that.

A little scoff left tenya's mouth, a small smirk appearing on his features as his eyes finally trailed back up to your beautiful face. The smile that was plastered on your adorable features were too entrancing to deny. He bit his lips opening his arms for a hug. You instantly ran into him giggling, he chuckled and held you close. You felt little water droplets still on his skin and bleed through your see through robe, you didn't mind though.

You were so short compared to him, the height difference always made you feel so tiny compared to him. You weren't that short, he was just insanely tall.

You basked in the feeling before being snapped out of your loving haze. Your thigh was right up against his bulge. Your smile grew wider at the feeling, his thick cock managing to make a print through the thick towel. It was taking over your mind completely.

Tenya looked at you closely, observing your state and the way you looked at him. except you weren't really looking at his face. Your eyes had trailed down to his waist and the towel that wrapped around it. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as a smirk had found itself on his lips.

"my love?" He questions, he knew exactly what you were looking at. He knew exactly and he couldn't wait to give you what he knew you needed.

"I did a little sum' sum' for ya!"

You exclaim excitedly snapping out of the daze his thick cock out you in..

He hums as you pull him out of the bathroom so he could see the room, how it was littered with candles that smelled so beautiful. He looked around to see the gorgeous setting you had set. It was perfect, he couldn't ask for anything more. You truly were the best thing that ever happened to him, you cook for him, clean, do laundry, make sure he's well and okay, you even help patch up new scars he comes home with. You were perfect.

The smirk that once took over his face was soon replaced by a look of fondness, love. He looked at it all before glancing down at you, his lovely eager wife. You had a smile on your face the entire time as you watched the way his face changed expressions so smoothly. You were bouncing up and down while giggling to yourself. You could tell he liked it, you just didn't know how much he loved it.

"this is.... Perfect, my love."

"i want to treat you right. You deserve it big boy, now lie down."

You say pointing to the bed with an evil glint in your eye, he hummed with squinted eyes he didn't trust you but wanted to see where this was going. He did as he was told and laid down in his stomach and chest. He rested his head in his hands while he sighed. Within an instant you followed and sat on his lower back, your weight making him with once more. He was so comfortable with it, your warmth being near his body and the thought of your cunt being so close yet so far away from him. He'd be patient however, he wanted to see how this would play out.

You grabbed a pair of gloves and slipped them on. You didn't want your hands to be extremely oily, the feeling was quite uncomfortable. You applied a shit ton of oil on your gloved hands and rubbed them together before gently putting your hands on your husband's back. The cold liquid and the rubbery feeling of the gloves made him shiver underneath you. You rubbed his back up and down before you went straight into the massage.

You dug deep into his muscles, trying hard to soothe them with the way you moved your fingers and hands with expertise. Tenya was surprised with how amazing this felt. You both had couples massages before and sure they were amazing but this was better, his wife trying hard to do her best and make him feel nice.

He was in heaven. Your movements and the way you pressed your hands into his muscles deeply was pleasuring. He groaned and tried to stifle his moans with his hands, but of course no matter what sounds he made you were happy.

A smile was pasted on your face as you continued your movements, he let out a loud groan as you managed to pop one of his muscles the loud popping sound made his body tense before relaxing again the both of you laughed as you hopped off of him and he rolled onto his back.

Tenya looked up to you with love in his eyes, you had managed to make him feel amazing and so relaxed. He couldn't believe someone as giving and loving as you were really, truly his.

He pulled you back onto him this time you straddled his lap, he gave a love filled smile before pulling you into a sweet kiss. You hummed into him pulling yourself closer by his shoulders, you leaned down onto him and held onto him tight. Tenya held the back of your neck attentively trying to hold you as close as possible.

One of his large hands went to hold onto your waist, the other still on your neck. The way his mouth moved against yours brought you peace, he was so gentle yet firm with his soft lips. He occasionally let out little breathy hums while he squeezed your hips. You held on tight and began slightly shifting your hips down into him, grinding against him while you try to stick your tongue in his mouth.

Tenya happily allows your tongue to enter his mouth, your tongues glided and danced together softly little breaths being let out while you two had this moment. Tenya let both of his hands grip onto your sides tightly, you jolt into him at the rough squeeze of his hands. His brows furrowed while he grinded your hips into him more, more breathy grunts flowing from him while you open mouth kissed each other.

He pulled away to put his forehead to yours, he sped up your movements while he shut his eyes. Tenyas cock was right up against your warmth and the friction he was getting was delightful, the rough towel chafing against the tip of his sensitive cock head while you grinded down onto it creating a pleasant pool of warmth where he needed it most.

His mouth fell agape and breathy moans started to leave his mouth, he sucked in through his teeth before biting his lip, he wasn't one to really moan unless he was really sensitive, you knee how much he needed this.

"I've got you baby.. I love you s’much."

You whispered to him, your foreheads still being pressed together. Sweat started to trickle at his while he let out quite a whimper-y moan that was muffled well due to him biting his lip as he came against the towel unbeknownst to you, you kept grinding down in him thinking he was close. Little did you know he'd already came.

He winced at the sensitivity that came from the friction of you still grinding down into him after he came, a whine left his lips before he harshly gave your hips a squeeze signaling for you to stop. Your eyes widened as you pulled away from him, rubbing his shoulders with your thumbs soothingly to assure he was alright.

Tenya sighed heavily, sucking in shakily before exhaling just as. You hum and move one of your hands up to his cheek and rub it, his head finds itself leaning towards the soft feeling of your hand, your skin against his. This little intimate moment helped his realize he craved it. Tenya craved to have his skin touching yours, so close you could practically melt together. It was an odd thought but it alone had tenya shivering and his cock rising again.

Tenya picked you up by your waist holding onto you tightly as he flipped the two of you, he was now on top of you peering down at you with those beautiful ocean eyes. His kids were slightly squinty due to him not wearing his glasses, he was used to not wearing them and honestly at some points didn't even need them, but he wanted to assure he could see you in this dark candle lit luminescent room. The same room you two laid in together, where you two made love countlessly, he'd bury himself so deep inside of you while you held onto him tightly begging for more. That was exactly what he wanted tonight.

You give him a warm smile with welcoming eyes as you opened your legs for him, he smiled back down at you before removing your shorts and lining himself up with your already wet hole. He teased your cunt by running his cock head through your folds, up and down your slit slowly, the agonizingly slow pace making his already sensitive cock twitch and jump against your clit the rubbing made you shiver. You slap his shoulder making him laugh before he leaned down to plant a soft kiss atop of your head, he then put your foreheads together once more and pushed himself into you.

You both moan in union, his ending with a sharp grunt that he choked on. You pulled him closer to you, your face burying itself into his neck while you squeezed your eyes shut. He was still pushing himself inside while he winced lowly, the stretch was always so good making you feel nice and full while giving you a moment to adjust. No matter how many times you take him you just can't seem to shake that intense stretch he gives you. A divine at that.

Tenya assures you're alright before he begins to move, the deeper he pushed the more you gushed around his cock slickening his length with your seeping arousal. your walls hugged him tightly as if they never wanted to let him go, you did the same as you held him close to you, your sweaty skins touching and rubbing together while his hips slowly shifts up into yours.

You let out a moan that goes straight to his cock, making him moan as you tighten around him when you feel it twitch. Tenya knows a lot about traditionally feminine bodies, he studied them in college for the fun of it. He knows that once the vagina is being penetrated it makes more room for the length it takes, having it bury the cock deeper into its fluttering path. Once he felt his cock sink deeper inside of you making you gasp sharply, nearly choking on the air, he knew you were bound to cum soon.

"ngh~ tenya.. fuck yes!— give me more please.. I'm so close, baby..."

You began getting rather chatty once you got closer to your impending orgasm. He knew this and was ready for it,vhe held you closer and started thrusting deeper into you a rather lewd sound had erupted from the sheer force of his hips slamming inti yours the slapping of skin against skin bouncing off your four walks and falling back into your ears, his mind was being taken over by your sweet sweet moans and the dirtyness if the plapping.

"fuck fuck fuck...."

He let out a chant of curses, they were laced with such need in his voice a whine could be heard at the end of his sentence. He squeezed his eyes shut tears brimming at the corners, he groaned deeply before speeding up again. Tenya's movements were fast yet tender, he wanted rough with you unless you asked him to be. He knew that you only wanted him to feel good in this moment but he wanted to assure to you and to himself that you gained at least some form of pleasure from this experience. He only wants the best for his darling.

Your eyes rolled back and a small smile fell onto your lips, your nails dug themselves into tenya's skin scratch marks formed deeply into his skin causing blood to rush to the surface of his skin painting his back red, his skin was flushed not just from the heat and intensity of this moment but also because of your scratches.

His hips stuttered into yours as he almost came from the pain and pleasure of your nails digging into his back, you felt his muscles tense underneath your touch and rubbed the stingy scars that now littered his back. Your touch was beginning to be too much for him, he had already fucked you some kind of dumb. Making the sweetest love to you in such a loving way, you'd came like twice already, going unnoticed to him because he was too busy trying to make sure that you came.

He tried so hard to hold out but he couldn't help his hot cum spilling out of his tip. It squirted out in long spurts reaching deep inside of you leaving calm and feeling good. You closed your eyes and just laid there trying to regain your composure. Tenya caught his breath and pulled out of you, grabbed the towel and gently cleaning up what dripped out of you.

He loved to watch his cum deep from your fluttering hole, it always made him feel some type of way. However as of right now he just wanted to hold you close and thank you for being his, and that's exactly what he did, he closed your legs to try and keep whatever little was inside of you inside bedside getting up and grabbing a pair of boxers, blowing out all of the candles then sliding back into bed next to you, his designated spot waiting for him.

Tenya scooted as close to you as possible, pulling you closer to him your face fell against his large chest and his muscular arms wrapped themselves around your body. A smile went to your face which triggered his own. He loved you so much. The fact you went through all of this trouble just for him made him feel so special and loved.

AN: this was written like weeks ago n I just finished I'm kind of exaggerating but wtv I haven't written in a while so I enjoyed making this! I've been in a bit of trouble with my family. Things haven't been good and I've been doing lots of things to try n comfort myself but nothing else is working. Everything feels like a chore. Even writing felt like a chore but finishing this and thinking about how much tenya loves his s/o js makes me so so happy

I've been going fucking feral for shoto bro he js does something to me, he's so sweet I just know he can fix me

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mimiii-3 · 28 days ago

Note

Yooooo I thought of this Idea and can’t stop thinking bout it.

What if darling found out that Batsib kept sabotaging them and for revenge she fed Batfam new yandere obsession of Batsib and now that batsib moved on they hate the new attention. They were finally happy and now ripped away from there happy life and smothered by their family who never acknowledged them before. And even better the attempts batsib tries to escape now darling exposes and darling revels in the betrayal and fear on batsib eyes.

I like this idea!

…

Saboteur: Pity Party

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes, kidnapping, mentions of death (not literal)

…

What if batsib gets a taste of their own medicine…

🦇 - you had left about a year ago

🦇 - you were tired of being second fiddle to Darling. Second to them in absolutely everything

🦇 - you weren’t as sweet or funny or talented as their precious Darling

🦇 - so you left

🦇 - you packed a few bags and headed to Bludhaven. It was better living than Gotham but much more affordable than other nearby cities

🦇 - you’re life is simple but at least you live it on your own terms

🦇 - you drive your own car, pay your own bills, and put food on your own table

🦇 - the freedom was beautiful. So of course it didn’t last long

…

It feels like your brain is melting. The eggshell white walls spin as you try and lift yourself off of the mysterious plush surface.

Your head pulses and you writhe in pain. Where are you?

The fluorescent lights blur your vision and you roll onto your stomach. You look down and see that you’re laying on a cushioned floor.

As you wriggle against the padded floor, the red light of the camera in the corner of the ceiling blinks ominously.

You itch at the sleeve of your baggy shirt. Wait…these aren’t your clothes.

You’re wearing a crème-colored pajama set that hangs loosely on your figure. A nervous shudder runs through you at the thought of someone changing your clothes.

You gather enough strength to sit up and survey the room. It’s bleak. There’s not a bit of personality or anything that could reveal the nature of your situation.

You attempt to crawl over to the white door but stop at the clinking sound behind you. There’s a chain secured to your ankle. The chain link disappears into the ground and you wonder just how far it goes.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the doorknob being turned. You back yourself against the wall farthest from the door and prepare yourself.

Nothing could have readied you for the person that would walk through the door.

Bruce, your father, steps into the room. He looks at you with a strange gaze. Almost like he’s looking at you with fatherly love for the first time. Like his parental instincts have kicked in (far too late).

There’s Dick, smiling like a lunatic as he balances a tray of milk and cookies. Tim and Damian stand behind him. It’s the most timid you’ve ever seen them.

Then there’s the last person in the world you’d expect. Darling stands behind the group with their hands folded. The look they shoot you is nothing but nefarious.

Your blood runs cold. This can’t be happening.

Bruce crouches down and stretches his hand to you, “We’re so relieved to have you back home.”

Bruce holds your shaking hand and presses a loving kiss against your knuckles.

It’s a kiss of death. Death to your freedom, the life you made yourself, and your humanity.

The family closes in on you as you mourn the freedom you once knew.

…

Extra Notes: kidnapping batsib was inevitable for the saboteur universe

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96 @yaoizee @bellethesleepypotato @salfishers @eli-mayhaveatencats @wisefuncherryblossom @c4xcocoa

#dc x reader #dcu #batfam x reader #batsiblings #gn reader #yandere x reader #batsib!reader #platonic yandere x reader #platonic batfam #sibling reader #yandere platonic batfamily x reader #platonic yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere dc

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klemen-tine · 9 months ago

Text

Blowing Raspberries Part 2

Batfam x Male!Reader Platonic

@jaythes1mp Finally the 2nd part is out! A bit short but I genuinely felt there wasn't much needed.

Part 1

TW: Child Neglect and just Yandere themes

Living full time with the Waynes was different. It shouldn’t be, because he’s lived here before. Even if it wasn’t permanent, he still knew the ins and outs of the manor and the daily lives of each member of this family.

He watched the television numbly, feeling Dick’s fingers carding through his hair and twisting and twirling each lock. The difference was the Wayne family. Underneath the smiles and gentle gestures, Y/N could see the underlying desires and wants in each movement. A desire that Y/N has seen art collectors view paintings that are not in their collection. The want and need to have it with them at all times.

Y/N could almost see it. In their eyes, he was no longer the brother that came and went, but now a piece of the collection that they had bought from the original collector.

‘I’m being dramatic.’ Y/N thought, focusing back on the movie and trying to ease his fears about everything. Just because they bought the company,which he was still better about, does not mean they own him. They would never do that to him.

He also believed that about them buying the company.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dick asked, peering down at his older brother who was looking dazed. Y/N smiled, “Just thinking.”

“About what? Maybe I can help.” Y/N smiled and Dick, and when Dick smiled back, there was absolutely no way that Dick could do that to him.

“About this situation.” Dick looked confused momentarily, “What situation?” Y/N blinked in shock, digesting the words before slowly sitting up so he could face his brother, “This situation. Me being here indefinitely now, the family company is no longer mine…”

Dick cocked his head to the side, “There’s nothing to think about though.” Y/N’s smile was tense as he processed what Dick said, “Yes. Yes, there is Dick.” Blue eyes continued to stare at him in confusion, “Like what?”

“...Seriously?” Y/N sat up, and for a minute, he felt Dick’s hands tighten in his hair before they let go. Dick furrowed his brow before realization crashed into him, “Oh! You mean living here!” Before Y/N could say anything, Dick leaned against Y/N’s shoulder, “What’s there to think about? The only difference is that you are now living here 24/7.”

Y/N chuckled, “Just because you guys bought the company doesn’t mean I live here.” Dick’s gaze turned cold before he began pouting, and Y/N had wondered if he momentarily hallucinated it. Dick let out a loud groan, “But you can’t leave! Y/N, what on earth are we going to do?” Y/N laughed, “The same you have always done, Dickie. Besides, for what it is worth, I’ll be here for a few more days.” Dick smiled up at him, “You better be. Dropping contact like that.” There was something dark in his voice that Y/N chalked up to him still being upset.

Y/N continued to chuckle, his attention now returning back to the t.v. They watched it together for hours, browsing through different channels and watching different shows. It was just like when they were younger, Dick leaning against Y/N who flicked through the channels. Only now, there was an arm strategically looped with Y/N’s, and the man could feel the muscles underneath Dick’s skin that although weren’t flexed, they were a little tense.

Almost like Dick was expecting Y/N to leave. It was kind of unsettling.

“Master Y/N, your father is on the phone.” Y/N looked up at Alfred with a confused look, “Okay, thank you Alfie.” Dick’s grip tightened momentarily before he released his hold and let Y/N get up from the couch. Alfred passed the phone to Y/N, and he had a moment of confusion as to why his father called the Wayne landline instead of Y/N’s phone

“Hello?”

‘Why the hell aren’t you picking up your phone?!’ Y/N pulled the phone away from the phone momentarily, letting his ears ring before placing the phone next to his other ear, “What are you talking about? You haven’t called.”

‘Do not lie to me Y/N! I have been calling you for days, and I expect an answer!’ Y/N’s face morphed into confusion as he pulled out his phone and looked at his notifications, “Father, I am seeing no calls from you.” Y/N flicked through their messages, phone logs, even voicemail but there was nothing.

He heard his father sigh irritably on the other side of the line, and Y/N fought back a shiver. Taking a deep breath, Y/N stilled his racing heart and continued the conversation, “Okay, since you have me on the phone, what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

‘The bloody Waynes!’ There was no way Dick didn’t hear it, but a quick glance at the man and he was on his phone. Returning his attention to the call, Y/N’s father was still screeching and yelling about the family.

‘-and you! You probably helped them out with that!’

“Me?!”

‘Yes you! You don’t think I don’t know about you running to that manor whenever I am gone? Ridiculous! It is your fault the company was bought!’ Y/N felt heat rise to his cheeks and fire lit in his chest, “You were the one who signed the papers! How is it my fault?”

‘You idiot! Do you think I had a choice?! If it weren’t for you, that company would still be mine!’

“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?” Before he could answer, another person joined in on the call, ‘Mr. L/N, to what do I owe the pleasure of you having called my manor phone?’

‘Mr.-Mr. Wayne.’

“Bruce?” He could hear the other hum, ‘Y/N, you can hop off. I need to talk to Mr. L/N.’ The heat in Y/N’s chest dimmed, and instead ice began to fill his veins, “Um, no it’s okay Bruce. I can talk to him–”

‘Y/N.’ There’s a way he said it, one that left no room for arguments, that had Y/N blinking in shock. His body frozen and eyes wide, he pressed the button without really thinking about it. It wasn’t Bruce who said his name, but Batman.

Y/N wanted to call back and tell Bruce off, but Alfred was quick to take the phone away and someone had grabbed his hand. He met the exhausted blue eyes of Tim, and worry eclipsed his feeling of irritation at the sight of those bags under his eyes.

“Oh my God, Tim! When was the last time you slept?” Y/N herded his younger brother to the couch where Dick was still sitting and gently plopped the teen between the two of them. Tim groaned, collapsing against Dick who wrapped his arms around his younger brother, “Wednesday.”

“It's Sunday!”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘oh.’” Y/N shook his head and did everything in his power to make Tim comfortable enough for him to get some sleep. Which wasn't hard. As soon as Y/N threw a blanket over his thin body, Tim had knocked out against Dick. Dick was content being a pillow for his younger brother, having his arm resting on Tim’s body as the other continued to sleep.

Y/N hummed, smiling at his younger brothers and placing his phone call with his father on pause.

++++

The strangeness of his current living situation wouldn’t come to light again until a few days later, when the bruises have turned yellow and the feeling of being restricted started feeling like a collar around the neck rather than iron bars. Y/Ns had tried, multiple times, to leave the manor. While he does see the manor as home, it doesn’t replace the other manor he grew up in.

“I’m not a captive, I can go and I am going home.” He stared into Damian’s blazing green eyes, the youngest Wayne being the one to stand in the way of Y/N and the door. Damian’s face in a scowl and his arms crossed, he glared at his oldest brother.

“You cannot.” His voice clipped and short, and Y/N wanted to roll his eyes, “Dami, why can’t I leave?”

“Because you belong here. Everything you need is here.”

“I understand that Dami, however the L/N Manor is also my home and I need to go back to it.” Damian shook his head, “No you don’t. This is your home.” It was like Y/N was talking to a parrot who kept repeating the same sentence over and over again. No matter the amount of reasoning or explanations given. He fought to bury his face in his hands, and instead he opted to suck on his cheek in irritation.

“You’re making it sound like if I leave, then I am not coming back.” Damian’s green eyes steeled and his nose scrunched in a way to fight off a pout. Y/N furrowed his brow, wondering where this tantrum was coming from. Damian was above tantrums, finding them childish and pathetic, however he wasn’t above pouting. Y/N had gotten used to Damian’s pouting faces, and even knew how to combat them.

However, this whole thing was new. Not once has Damian ever fought this hard for Y/N to stay.

“Damian, what is going on?” Y/N stared down at the boy, who looked like he had swallowed a lemon. He swiveled his head around when he heard footsteps approaching the foyer and sighed in relief that it was Alfred.

“Alfie, what on earth is going on?” The old butler raised an eyebrow, “Perhaps we should have this conversation over some tea.” It was said in a tone that Y/N knew not to argue with, and he gave Damian one last glance before following the older man into the dining room where a tea set was ready for them.

Y/N buried his head in his hands and groaned, “Alfie, what is going on in this household?” The near silent clink of a porcelain cup being placed in front of him had him reaching for the delicate handle. The butler sat next to Y/N, reaching for his own cup and taking a small inhale of the steam that was carrying the scent of oranges and chocolate, “They are being a bit difficult.”

“A bit?” Y/N let out a chuckle and stared at Alfred in shock, “Dick is acting like I don’t have a manor to go back to, Tim is being Tim, Jason pretends he can’t read on his own and wants me there when he does decides to pick a book from the library, and now Dami.” Y/N tapped the table with his fingernail, feeling the frustration digging into his skin, “Bruce is the worst of them. Asking a wall to change colors is easier than asking Bruce to be honest.”

Some part of Y/N was still bitter over Bruce acquiring the L/N family business, and he was trying desperately to understand it from that man’s perspective. Key word was ‘trying’ because he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Bruce knows how much that company means to Y/N, and how hard Y/N had worked for it.

Sure, Bruce says he can still manage it, but it means nothing if the company is not his. He’d have to answer to Bruce and Tim. Just thinking about it pisses him off so much.

Alfred nodded, “Oh trust me, I know. It seems they all inherited his stubbornness.” The manor’s residential grandfather figure understood each inhabitant perfectly, watching them grow up into the people they are today.

Y/N groaned, sipping the hot tea and sighing as the liquid warmed his throat and chest, “Like, is all of this a joke?” Alfred rested a hand on his shoulder, and Y/N could see the apology in his eyes. He sighed heavily and returned his attention forward, tracing a finger around the rim of the tea cup and staring into his own reflection.

It was all a joke. It had to be, right? “Y/N.” He looked up and Bruce was standing in the doorway. His expression relaxed, but Y/N has been around the man long enough to know that those tense shoulders are those prepared to give less than savory news. Alfred removed himself from the table, and Bruce took the seat next to Y/N.

“How have you been adjusting?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, “There’s no adjusting Bruce. Every one of you is making it seem like I am going to stay forever.” Bruce gave him a sad smile, and Y/N glared at the look, “What?”

“Y/N, your father sold the manor. There is no L/N estate anymore.” The floor feels as though it is opening up and about to swallow him whole. Y/N could feel his heart stop and the air leave his lungs like it was a punch. The world going blank and his eyes could only focus on the painting behind Bruce’s head.

The manor was sold? His home, and everything in there, gone? Just like that?

Faint memories of giggles and smiles filled his mind, his memory unable to conjure up the face of his mother but he remembers her laugh. Back when times were good and his father wasn’t an asshole. When he didn’t have to seek comfort in the arms of his neighbor and try and fill the hole in his chest with lost boys and girls that he sees as his siblings.

All of it was gone.

“-uca, I need you to breathe.” There’s a hand on his arm, the chair is no longer under him. Y/N can see blue eyes staring into his own as he began to realize that they were on the ground, sitting. Or, more like Y/N was sitting and Bruce is kneeling. His face pulled to the center of his face with worry, and Y/N is only now aware of how fast he is breathing.

His hand reached towards his chest and clutched the fabric of his shirt, trying desperately to find something to cling onto as the air continued to get pulled out of his lungs. He couldn’t feel his legs or his other arm to be exact, and the when he tried to voice that all that came out were gasps.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” A nod.

“Good, I need you to find five things you can see. When you do, nod for me.” Easy, it was such as easy task but Y/N still found difficulty focusing his vision enough to see even at least three things. However, he finally found it and he nodded. Relief flooded over Bruce’s face, and he gave an encouraging smile, “Good. That’s amazing Y/N, now find four things you can hear.”

That is how they spent their next few minutes, Bruce counting down the five senses while Y/N slowly came to his. Once he could feel the floor beneath him and more movement in his limbs, he sagged forward and into Bruce’s arms.

“I need to call him. I need to call-” Bruce’ phone was already in his hands, and Y/N didn’t even question why it was Bruce’s phone and no his.

He dialed a number he had memorized by heart and held the device close to ear. The damn thing didn’t even ring, ‘I’m sorry. The number you have dialed has either been disconnected or no longer exists–’

A sob on his lips as the weight of it all began crashing on him. The family company gone, the manor, and now this. It was like the universe wanted to take everything that made him a L/N gone.

“Y/N, I am sorry. I don’t know why he did that…” Bruce consoled the son that was never his. Always within arms reach and always a mile away. Always a brush on the fingertips but never in their hands. Until now.

Finally, after so many years of waiting patiently for Y/N to see, here he is in his arms. Here is their strong oldest sibling crying in his father-figures arms because his real father wants nothing to do with him. It took some encouragement, but finally he was theirs.’

Bruce held him tight, his strong arms wrapped around those soldiers that carried too much, and blue eyes met green. Damian stood in front of the door and he watched the interaction take place. A nod to his son and the youngest was gone, without a doubt moving to go and tell the others of the news.

It took ten minutes to get Y/N off the floor and onto the sofa in the lounge room, where Jason and Dick were waiting for him. After passing him to their waiting arms and better worded promises, Bruce carefully peeled himself away from the Y/N and began making his way back to his study.

One thne doors were shut, he pulled out a phonme and began to a dial the most recent number. They picked up on the first ring and Bruce couldn’t help but to smile, “Mr. L/N, thank you for all you have done. Y/N is now in good hands.”

“...My son–”

“Will be happier. You have done your role, Mr. L/N.” He listened as the other seethed on the other side of the line, “Mr. Wayne–”

“Rememer your side of the contract Mr. L/N. No more contact with Y/N, and you get to keep all this money you earned from selling both the business and the manor. You can continue to live out your days in Cabo, with your other family.”

The line went silent, and when he head the shaky exhale, Bruce smiled victoriously, “Take care, Mr. L/N. For your sake, I hope we never speak again.” He hung up, and Bruce couldn’t help but to smile. Finally, after years of watching and waiting, it has finally all come togethe. The final link in the chain forY/N to remain here.

It was hard getting Mr.L/N addicted to Cabo, and evern harder to get him to find someone worth marrying and staring a family with. However, it all paid off. The business was his, and Y/N will still manage that, and the L/N Manor is now Bruce’s which he’s not too sure what he’ll do with.

Maybe a surprise gift for Y/N, but then again, that would mean Y/N would be leaving again.

“Hey Bruce, we’re gonna watch a movie soon to help Y/N feel better. Did you wanna join?” Tim’s voice was muffled through the doors, but Bruce heard them nonetheless. He smiled as whe opened the door, “Sure, its important we are there for him during these times.”

He’s finally with his real family. The family he should have been with from the start.

______________________________________________________

And Scene

@problematicreblogger

@kurai-hono-blog

@rosecentury

@jaythes1mp

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luvyeni · 4 months ago

Text

( SPOOKTOBER ) magic doll ! 🎞️ 一 이소희 ՞

𝓟 airings. doll!sohee x fem!reader wc. 3.5k

🕸️◞ WARNINGS. sub!sohee, oral ( reader. receiving ), unprotected sex, riding, handjobs

「 ♱ authors note 」 happy day 6 !! probably like the third weirdest thing i've written , but i like it , hope you do too <3

“happy birthday!” your friend cheered over the phone. “it's 9 pm aren't you a bit late?” she scoffed. “hey i was busy!” she said. “now what do you say?” you sighed. “thank you.” she hummed, “that's rights , now tell me what you did for your birthday?”

“i went to work and came home.” you said , staring at the tv channel surfing. “are you serious yn?” she said. “you're so boring.” she whined. “where was i gonna go?” you asked. “out yn , out.” she said. “all you do is work and go home to your lonely house.” you scoffed. “maybe i like it like that.” you said. “well maybe you could every once and while bring a guy home to that big house of yours.”

“why would i bring a stranger to my house?” you said. “to cook them dinner.” she said sarcastically. “what else yn? to fuck them yn , to fuck them.” she said so crudely. “you need to get some dick.” you cringed. “bad dick isn't what i need.” you argued , she was about to say something when your doorbell rang. “hold on, someone is ringing my bell.”

“it's 9 pm who the hell could that be?” she said. “a guy?” you could hear her smirk. “i damn sure wouldn't be talking to you if it was a guy.” you looked through your security camera. “who is it?”

“package!” you don't remember ordering anything. “what did you order now you addict?” she said. “nothing i remember.” you pressed the button. “what's the name on the address?” he read your address and your name. “um leave it on the door i guess.” you were not about to open the door late at night for a strange man claiming to be a delivery person. “it's in my truck , it's kinda big.” he said. “how big?” your friend asked.

it was huge. “what is it?” your friend said , you had sent her a picture of the tall box. “i don't know.” you said. “where did it say it was from?” you searched for the sticker , reading the sticker. “the fuck?” you said , making sure to read it over again. “what? what? who is it from?” she said. “my aunt.” you said. “Oh!” your friend said. “it's probably a birthday gift , it is your birthday today.” she said in a duh tone. “she probably hadn't sent so it would be here by your birthday, you did say y'all were close right?”

she was correct; you and your aunt had been very close, but there was a problem with this gift. “she's dead?” your friend said. “yeah , she died a year ago , it was cancer.” you remember the horrible passing of your aunt , you cried for days , you both had always been close to her , she had no children so she always doted on you , it crushed you when she passed. “so how the hell is she sending you presents?”

“how the hell am i supposed to know?” you said. “not like i have speed doll number to god so i can ask her.” you examined the box. “you think your mother might know?” she said. “maybe it was a gift that was supposed to be given to you now.” she said. “hold on, give me a moment.” you said. “i'll call you back.” you hung up , dialing your mother's numbers. “hello my daughter , who's also a year older today.”

“hello mother.” you smiled. “can you not call me? are you always so busy?” you rolled your eyes. “sorry mom , but i actually have a question.” you said. “what is it my beautiful babygirl?” she said. “i got a package today , from auntie.” you said. “how?” she responded confused. “i was hoping you could tell me , maybe it was something from her estate?”

“everything that she was giving out was given to everyone im sure.” she said. “oh wait not everything.” she said. “what was it? and it it freakishly large?” you asked. “well you knew your auntie was a collector of things.” she started. “another word for horder , but yes.” you loved the lady but you never went to hers for visits , she always came to you. “well she was also a collector- a horder- yn.” you smiled , “sorry.”

“she was a collector of dolls.” she said. “dolls?” you asked. “this can't be a doll.” you said. “the box is taller than me.” you said , looking at the box. “your aunt had many dolls , especially towards the end of her life , she had many dolls that she treated like her children , doctors told us not to worry it was just her way of coping with her death and never having children.” she said. “there's only one way to know.”

“open it up."

“a doll?” your friend said, you had opened up the box , and there in all it's creepy fuckin glory , a doll. “it's a doll.” she said. “a boy doll.” you said , he stood up in the box; so life like , but his glazed over eyes showed no life inside them. “he doesn't appear to be old , he looks pretty new.” you opened the box. “there's a note , attached to him.” you said. “read it.” you cringed. “i’m almost scared to touch him.” you quickly grabbed the note. “what does it say?”

'to. yn , this may come as a surprise , it was a surprise to us when we saw the doll when we moved in a month ago , the lady of the house kept this doll in one of the rooms , and she left this with a note , instructing to send this specifically on a certain day , so it will get there by today — im guessing it's your birthday , i hope it gets there safely x.'

“so she gave you a doll for your 22 birthday?” your friend said. “a life size boy doll.” she trailed off. “even at the end of her life she knew you'd be alone.” you scoffed. “what a generous women , even to the end.” rolling your eyes as she laughed. “you're a bitch you know that?”

“what? i mean come on.” she said. “im hanging up now .” she continued to laugh. “yeah , go enjoy the night with your new doll , love you.” hanging up , you laughed at your current reality. “what am i gonna do?” you looked at the doll. “where am i gonna put you?”

“what the hell?” you tried to lift the doll from it's box; keyword being tried , the doll was heavy. “must be one of those dolls filled with sand.” you grunted , dragging the doll to your livingroom couch , sitting it up on the furniture. “what made her think i would want this?” you looked up at the ceiling. “did you really think i would be alone this long?” you inspected the doll , he was wearing clothes that were a new— did the new house owners change him? “what the hell?” he was so life like , but his face was cold , and his eyes doll like. “i'm getting creeped out.” you shivered. “maybe i should go to bed.” you stared at it. “i don't think i would be a to sleep tonight with you here.”

you were sleeping peacefully when there was a loud crash , you gasped awake , shooting up. “huh?” you groggily rubbed your eyes. you threw your feet over the bed , yawning as you put your feet in your slippers , making your way to the bathroom; after doing your business you made your way downstairs for something to drink; the broken plate being the first thing you saw. “penelope , i told you to not climb on the counters look what you did.” the cat meowed , not paying you any mind. “now i have to clean it up.”

after cleaning the glass , and drinking your water , you made your way to the steps.

“oh shit!” you jumped seeing the figure sitting on the couch. “hell you scared me.” you grabbed your chest. “why do i keep talking to you like you're alive?” you walked over to the doll who was still sitting there. “maybe im going crazy.” you said , the doll just sat there, as a doll should. “you are a cute doll.” you said , running your fingers down it's face , threading your fingers through his hair. “i wouldn't reckon you wouldn't want to lay down?” you laughed , your cat meowing. “he would wouldn't he penelope?”

you chuckled as you laid the doll down on the couch. “i wonder how many she has like this?” your eyes widened. “oh my god am i gonna get a new one every year like you?” you said. “this is like living with a human , i can't live with more than one of , as cute as you are , you're terrifying.” you stood up. “well it's time to go to bed , come on penelope , time for bed.”

making your way back upstairs; laying back down finally for the night , penelope purring beside you.

…

“no anton you're supposed to do it.” you spoke on the phone , throwing your shoes off to the side as you entered your house. “no i can't get an extension , it needs to be sent in tonight by midnight.” you unbuttoned your shirt , opening up the fridge for a drink that you so desperately needed. “i do know what time it is , that's why i can't understand why you're still on the phone with me?”

“goodnight anton.” you sighed , taking a sip of your wine. “i need a bath.” you finished the glass, grabbing the bottle , heading up to your room , something catching your eye. “huh?” you spin around, the doll still there— now sitting up.

you certainly don't remember doing that; maybe you did this morning and don't remember , you were yelling at anton over the phone , you could've just done it subconsciously. “penelope im gonna take a bath , you watch him for me yeah?” the cat meowed , you smiled , before walking up the steps , noticing your door was wide open , walking in some things were rummaged through. “jesus anton must've pissed me off this morning.” you said , going into your bathroom , turning on the hot water.

after adding some bubbles and lighting some candles , and dimming the lights , you stripped yourself of your clothes , stepping into the warm water; you moaned in satisfaction as your sore muscles began to unloosen , the stress of the day running off of you as you close your eyes , smiling to yourself as you took a sip of wine — so unaware of of the lurking eyes , peaking through the crack.

you lathered your loofah in soap; moving it throughout your body, washing your body with your calming soap; you began to feel sleepy , the soap working in effect; turning the water off , washing the soap off before standing up, stepping out of the tub , wrapping a towel around your body , penelope meowing over and over.

“pen?” she didn't stop when you called her name , you heard her knock something over. “pen , baby what are you doing?” you sighed , you just wanted to go to bed , reaching for the door knob , pulled the door open. “what is going on with you?” your cat perched up on the window. “why are you so upset?”

you began to walk over to the side where the cat was , when you noticed something. a pair of feet, then legs— and then you were backing up. “penelope , baby come here.” you weakly called for her. “come here baby.” of all times she didn't listen to you , now wouldn't be the time.

you didn't have time to call her again , because the damn legs began to move , you screamed and the person shot up— well that's what it looks like. “don't run.” your eyes were deceiving you , there's no way this was happening , that doll that was supposed to be sitting on your damn couch was now getting up off the floor , with your panties on his head. “don't scream.”

“you-you're alive.” you stuttered. “well yeah you could say that.” he said. “oh my god , you're talking.” you breathed. “dolls don't talk.” paralyzed with fear. “well they do if they're magic.” you were dreaming , that was the obvious choice , pinching your arm; you'll wake up back in the tub. “hey you'll hurt yourself if you do that.” he was fully standing now. “why am i not waking up?” you questioned. “well that's because you aren't sleep.”

you weren't dreaming; this was really happening. “your aunt told me you were a nice girl.” your aunt. “she's been dead for years.” you said. “yeah i know.” he said. “but before she died , she took care of me.” he said. “took care of you?” you said. “you’re a doll.” you said. “well yeah , but i’m a magic doll.” he said. “ma-magic.”

“before your aunt died , she got into magic.” he said. “she found a spell and brought me to life to keep her company , well sorta , im still a doll , she wasn't that good of a witch , she messed up a few words.” he laughed. “oh i must be high , that soap must have something in it.” you said. “why do you seem so surprised, she told me she told you about the magic and what she did.”

“she said a lot of things , my aunt was on meds before she died , i thought she was high!” you shouted. “how many dolls did she do this to?” how many more live dolls were coming to your door? “only me , i swear , she only wanted it to keep her company.” he said. “she didn't want to change me back , so she said she'd send me to you.” he smiled. “why?”

“because she said she only trusted you , and that i could keep you company.” he looked around. “and it seems like you need it , you know you talk to your cat a lot.” you scoffed. “i won't be lectured by pinocchio.” you said stoically. “not pinocchio!” he jumped up. “sorry chucky.” you scoffed. “you're mean.”

“there's an almost 6 foot living doll standing in my room , with my panties on his head , i think i have the right to be a little mean.” you said. “wait , why are my panties on your head?” you asked. “um.” he coughed. “you did this , you were rummaging through my things.” you said. “i got bored , your aunt never left the house so she was with me 24 hours , you left me here for hours with that thing.’’ he pointed to penelope , “who scratches by the way.”

“put those down.” you snatched your panties from his hand , looking for a shirt. “you have a name?” you asked , turning around “close your eyes perv.” you said. “i saw you in the in the tub already.” you scoffed. “sohee , she named me sohee.” he said. “are you gonna send me away?” he asked. “where?” you asked , now in clothed , well barely , sitting down at your desk. “there's no where to send you.” you said. “i can be of help.”

“can you pay rent?” he chuckled. “well no i can't do that , but i can clean , and cook.” he said. “oh! and look over that thing while you're at work.” he pointing to your cat , your phone ping on your desk you got up , sighing. “can you write a report?” he shook his head no. “what is that?” he said , you laughed. “nothing.”

“anton i sent it to you , you just have to finish it , it's only 2 pages — i don't care how you do it , it's 10:30 pm i am off the clock , don't call me until tomorrow.” you hung up slamming your phone on the table. “who's anton?” you jumped , forgetting the doll sitting on your bed. “jesus! why haven't you moved?”

“he your boyfriend?” you shook your head. “no my assistant that i haven't fired yet because as mad and lazy as he is , he's the best assistant i’ve had so far.” you rubbed your temples. “you seemed stressed.” he said. “i can help with stressed.”

“you give massages?” you rubbed your shoulders in pain. “yes , i do.” he said. “but i didn't mean that.” before you could question him , he was already on his knees. “whoa! what are you doing?” you asked. “well your aunt prepared me for this , she said girls your age like this.” he grabbed your knees , you clenched them shut. “um , i-its okay.” you gulped , him being down there was enough to make you heavily consider it , it had been a long time since you had gotten anything.

“i don't mind it.” he said , pushing your legs open , you weren't wearing pants , only underwear. “i'm here for you , the keep you company.” he kissed your through your underwear , you gasped , grabbing his hair. “this is weird.” you moaned. “you're a doll.” he pulled away. “not fully.” he pulled your panties to the side. “it's much prettier in person than on videos.” he breathed in your scent. “you smell good.” you felt the warmth of his tongue on your cunt. “taste good too , i don't eat food , but if it's all this good i might consider.”

grabbing his , pushing the dolls face further in between your legs. “fu-fuck , please stop talking.” you moaned , his tongue flattenjng as he licked up and down your folds , you moaned. “fuck , why are you so good at this.” this gave the doll the encouragement to keep going. “sh-shit , use your tongue.” you felt his tongue prodding your hole. “good boy.” you moaned , thrusting your hips up , meeting his tongue. “fu-fuck sohee.”

the boy-doll pulled away from your cunt , bringing one of his life like fingers to your clit , rubbing , pushing a finger inside , curling them inside you. “you're twitching so much.” he said. “you're gonna cum aren't you?” his eyes wide. “i always wondered if it's like the movies i saw.” you gasped out. “so-sohee.” you moaned. “you can cum , please i want to see it.

he was holding your legs open , watching with wonder as you twitched in the chair above him , cumming all over his fingers with loud moan. “fuck!” he pulled his fingers out , you sat in the chair confused. “do you want more?” he asked , standing up. “i can give you more.” he said.

you were soon staring at his clearly hard cock after he took his clothes off , laying down on the bed. “you can use me.” he said. “you know to relieve stress.” you had come this far with the doll , and you were so horny , you only took a second to rethink everything up until now , before you were climbing into his lap holding his shoulders, sinking down on his lap. “fu-fuck.” you moaned. “do-does that feel good?” sohee said , he never felt this before, he only ever watched the videos , he never took care of the the problem. “so-so good.”

you grinded your hips back and forth. “i-i like this.” he stuttered. “yeah?” you moaned. “y-yeah , it feels nice.” he moaned. “wh-why does it feel so good.” he shakenly held your hips. “i'm -fuck- i'm gonna go faster okay?” he nodded. “please , can you please go faster.” his glazed over doll like eyes were now more human like , and filled with lust. “ok-okay.”

you speed your movements ups , he moaned louder. “ca-can you pull my hair like before?” you nodded , pulling the strands , he groaned. “you like it?” you bounced on his lap. “ye-yes , pl-please keep doing that , pl-please.” he begged. “i like it so much.”

you could feel yourself about to cum , you took the dolls hand , bringing it to your boob. “squeeze.” you gasped , he obeyed , squeezing your boob. “a-are you gonna cum?” he said. “y-yeah.” You moaned. “pl-please cum , i wanna see it.” you bounced a few more time , sitting down on him fully as you came ; climbing off of him grabbing the base of his cock , stroking it until he came over your hand.

sohee gasped as the white substance shot from his cock ; a feeling he'd never felt before , but he'd sure want to do it again , only with you though , only you could make him feel like this in his mind. “you okay?” you asked , he smiled nodded. “i liked it , so much , i never felt like that before.” the doll said , still full of energy. “you watched videos you said , you never you know.”

he looked at you confused. “touched yourself?” he shook himself. “oh no , i didn't , does it feel like what you just did?” you shrugged. “well in my case no , i don't have a cock so i wouldn't know , but i assume it's the same.” you said. “well if it down feel like how you do it , then i don't want to it.” he said , you laughed. “sohee i can't do that every day , it hurts my legs.”

“well then i can watch more videos and learn how to do it in a different way just for you.” he said. “can i stay up here with you , it's cold down there and that thing keeps scratching me.” you laughed.

“sure , it's been a long time since i sleep with a doll in my bed.”

©LUVYENI

#🪞. luvyeni ( spooktober )#kpop smut #kpop x reader #riize hard hours #riize smut #riize hard thoughts #riize x you #riize x imagine #riize x reader #sohee smut #sohee fic #sohee scenarios #sohee x reader #sohee hard hours #sohee hard thoughts #sohee imagines

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worriedvision · 2 months ago

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You finally leave a toxic workplace - multiple characters

Gender neutral reader, going to do this with Wriothesley and Kinich. More of a comfort fic for myself than anything tbh lol! The jobs are more genshin related than irl tbh lmao!

Wriothesley:

You finally had enough of the mind-games you'd be subject to by your peers in the dress shop you worked in. Whenever you were trying to work yourself, nobody would trust you with their materials they'd bring for special commissions - your boyfriend being Wriothesley and all!

Your coworkers weren't much better, but they were different. They got worse after seeing your boyfriend come along with a packed lunch for you, which led to jealousy. How did you get such a hunk of a boyfriend that was also a doting lover? They weren't happy your romantic life was going well, but they'd put emphasis on you not being doting back - a statement they wouldn't know to be fake.

When more customers came in and everyone had to stay back, they'd hand it to you to cover for them all. Chiori, someone who ran a rival shop, walked in one day after seeing you clearly not doing well.

"Darling, you do know you don't sell bags right?" Chiori chastises, you tilting your head in confusion before gasping at the mirror Chiori holds up.

"You're worth more than your coworkers - unfortunately, the only one not seeing that is you." Chiori states. "For your sake, I'd leave this job of yours. While I don't have any openings, I'm sure there are other shops you can work in that will respect your time."

"...Thank you, Chiori." You smile weakly, feeling strangely empowered to have someone that wasn't your boyfriend telling you your own worth. "can I ask why you...?"

"Oh, your boyfriend told me he was thinking of threatening your boss with a criminal record. I figured this would get you out of a sticky mess."

"Ah, that makes sense." You chuckle. "... You're right. I'm exhausted after work, and I don't have the energy to indulge in anything. I don't get paid for overtime, and I cover for people with no thanks in return."

"Walk out with me, make a statement." Chiori nods, you agreeing as you leave your badge and apron behind, hearing the gasps from the few customers still waiting.

"...You finally left?" Wriothesley smiles, you nodding as you snuggle into his chest and inhale softly. He sighs, massaging the back of your head as he sits back in his chair. "Glad to hear it. You're practically working yourself to death there."

"I didn't even realise how big my eye bags were!" You laugh, Wriothesley tutting before wrapping his arms around you.

"You better enjoy some time away from work. You really ought to look after yourself, my love." Wriothesley chastises, waiting for a response before realising you were now softly snoring on his chest.

---

Kinich:

You worked as a collector of materials for people who weren't familiar with Natlan and its layout. You emphasised focus on quality and less pay, as you were new to that line of work and you had to sell yourself somehow. People knew you'd be the cheaper option, but they'd pressure you to spend excessive time and resources to get their materials collected.

Your boyfriend had given you lectures about this, but at first you thought he didn't know better than what worked for him. You knew from growing up you were to take every job you possibly could, not for your own good but rather for the good of your reputation. If you didn't grow a good reputation, you couldn't work with the decent clients.

Unfortunately, you got the horrible people that everyone else would ignore if they got the commission. They'd track your progress on the commission, keeping a close eye to make sure you weren't just getting the cheap stuff. And god forbid they caught you taking a lunch break in progress of their commission!

You actually got injured one time, and the person who commissioned you jumped out from a nearby bush.

"You aren't doing your job well enough! I specifically commissioned you out of pity, and you can't even collect this one. Simple. Request?" They tut, you trying to get your leg wedged out from between two rocks.

"The request isn't- ow - simple." You growl out.

"It really is! How else would you have accepted it with such a low reward?" The man laughs, still making no move to help you. "I won't be helping you out, it will be deducted from your paycheck otherwise!"

"...Fuck you." You grumble. "My leg is stuck between two rocks, and being the sociopath you are you're talking down to me. You specifically asked for this commissions spot." You keep going, the adrenaline from the accident leaving leading to you getting both a surge of pain and exhaustion.

"Oh, you have some balls talking to me like that. Do you know who I am?" The man laughs, pinching you to keep you awake.

Before he can continue, however, he gets yanked back with a grapple your boyfriend made. The man is shocked, and he goes to open his mouth only to see a very angry Kinich.

"We've had this problem before." He states, eyes cold as they drill into his soul. "I warned you before, but you never listen. I alerted the commissions guild of this in advance knowing something would go wrong. My partner is in agony because of you."

"I-I- can-"

"You were spying on them as well. I'm fairly certain that is also a crime - in addition to you physically abusing them." Kinich coldly continues. "Traveler, please take this man away."

The traveler does so, seemingly entirely clued in, as Kinich goes along to you.

"I'm exhausted. I want to go home." You cry, Kinich nodding before examining your leg. He grabs your leg, advising you this was going to hurt, before lifting your leg up so your ankle was at the gap before getting you free.

"This is a pretty nasty wound, you're incredibly lucky you didn't break anything." Kinich sighs, grabbing his kit to clean the wound.

"I want to sleep, is that okay?" You whimper. "You were right, people are taking advantage of me."

"Of course." Kinich nods. "I'll carry you to the tent after I patch you up. I'll stay by your side." Kinich smiles.

"Yeah, so will I!" Ajaw cackles. "Even I would take better care of you than that guy! The audacity, not even killing you to end your suffering." Ajaw ends, you and Kinich looking over confused.

"... That was surprisingly nice of you." Kinich nods. "I appreciate the sentiment, and I'm sure _ does as well."

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #kinich x gender neutral reader #kinich x reader #kinich #wriothesley x gender neutral reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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l1tw1ck · 1 year ago

Note

Please write more of the toy. PLEASE -🥚

Toy (2)

dom!bottom!ftm oc x sub!top!masc reader

wellll since you asked sooo nicely and im in the mood to write some sexy dominating men,,, | AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Dark Content

Debt Free

CW: Non-Con, Pet Play (Sort of) (puppy pet name, mention of collar and leash)

You were given the opportunity to clear your debt by dating your goddamned debt collector. He fell for you and basically ruined your life, he made you fall deeper and deeper into debt just so he could make you desperate enough to accept his offer. Now you're in his bedroom, wearing a studded collar and a leash. He likes treating you like an obedient dog and making you do things for him knowing you're not allowed to deny him. He could kill you if he wanted to.

He sits comfortably on your face, treating it like a special throne. He arches his back, shivering as he feels your tongue exploring his soft walls. "Mm...just like that, puppy~" He moans. "You've gotten better- uh~!" He gasps as your tongue finds his g-spot. He throws his head back, crying out shamelessly in pleasure as you eat him out. You're not the biggest fan of him but you can't deny the wonderful taste of his pussy and the pretty moans that come out of his mouth. "Yes- yes-" He breathes out.

"Fu- fuck~!" He squirts. "Mmh- such a good puppy.." He grinds down on your face before getting up.

ok i got lazy sorry

How to Please a Man

CW: Stepcest, Manipulation

this was lowkey difficult to write bc i have no idea how to finger someone 😭😭😭 im an autistic asexual virgin who absolutely hates masturbating with my fingers bc sticky so if anything is off ... thats why

You decided to ask your step father for relationship advice. You're a virgin and you're very nervous about asking out your crush. He was eager to give you advice and even offered to teach you some things.

"I bet you don't even know how to kiss." He climbs onto your lap. "Let me teach you." He doesn't wait for an answer and forces you into a kiss. You try to push him away but he's too strong. He grinds down on your crotch, determined to fuck you.

He finally pulls away from the kiss. "Relax, most guys don't like inexperience. I'll make sure you know what you're doing with him." He stands up and grabs your hand, pulling you into his bedroom and bringing you onto the bed with him. He manages to shimmy his shorts and boxers off, exposing his wet cunt to you. "Don't be scared, try and do what you think would feel good."

You swallow the lump in your throat. He's probably right. Your crush would appreciate it if you knew what you were doing. And this probably doesn't mean anything to him. He's just helping you out. Although you're unaware of your crush's anatomy, this'll probably be helpful for any future endeavors too. You look at his t-dick and hold it with your thumb and index finger, gently sliding it up and down. "Is...is that good?"

"Yeah, so good.." He moans. Jerking his dick is the easiest way to get him off thanks to how sensitive is. "But, you shouldn't rely on just that to please m- him."

"Oh- okay." You slide your finger down his cunt, eyeing him for a reaction. You slowly push your finger inside him, your breathing turns shallow as you take in the feeling of his warmth. You didn't know it felt like this. So warm, so plush, and so fucking wet. God. You feel weird for thinking this way about your step father but dear Lord, his pussy feels amazing. You slide in another finger and fumble around in his insides.

"Try finding my g-spot. You'll know when you find it."

You search around for it, earning a soft gasp from him when you find it. You poke it with the pads of your fingers, effectively pleasing him. You get the smart idea of sucking his dick while doing this.

"Fuck- good boy~" He throws his head back. "That's it. Keep going.."

You find yourself getting turned on by the sound of his moans and his praise. This is so wrong but oh so fucking good.

You keep going until he squirts, making a mess of the bed. You pull your mouth off his dick and lick up his slick before pulling away.

"Do you wanna learn more?" He looks at you with a lopsided smile. You nod eagerly, no longer worried about the morality of this.

part two for the second part if i remember lololol

#wicks🕯shorts #top male reader #male reader #sub male reader #dark content #dom character #oc x male reader #male reader smut #ftm character #afab character #tw noncon #tw stepcest

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bluedelliquanti · 2 months ago

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Before I go on vacation, I present my list of my top books for 2024.

COMICS:

Roaming by Jillian Tamaki & Mariko Tamaki

Bunt! by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert

Ukazu and Rupert are a powerhouse team, and as an art school adjunct, this already funny GN is even funnier (albeit in a way that necessitates a skull emoji in the educator groupchat)

Tiffany’s Griffon by Magnolia Porter Siddell & Maddi Gonzalez

Phobos and Deimos by J Dalton

Delicious in Dungeon by Ryoko Kui

It's a tough task to reach a satisfying conclusion to a series that was as strong as Dungeon, but I think Kui accomplished it!

Fool Night by Kasumi Yasuda

King in Limbo by Ai Tanaka

Over the last year I've been drawn towards comic series that work with a retro, fixed-width inking style, and King especially informed some recent experiments of mine.

PROSE:

Twins by Bari Wood & Jack Geasland

When I learned Wood was responsible for the book that became Dead Ringers, I knew I had to try it. This is the one that wins my "Oh, shit! Wow!! Okay!!!" award for the year (distinctions previously awarded to Cyteen and Manhunt).

The Bezzle by Cory Doctorow

DS9: A Stitch in Time by Andrew J. Robinson

Those of you who read my journal comic from last August might recall that I met Robinson at a Trek convention! I'd learned from reading these books that Stitch was considered a white whale among collectors, and now I absolutely understand why. If you're a DS9 fan and you want to try any book from the original run of novels, try this one. By which I mean, try the far easier-to-find audiobook version.

Translation State by Ann Leckie

A Woman of the Iron People by Eleanor Arnason

Fellow SBCF participant Erin Roseberry had shared this title as an inspiration for their comic, The Maker of Grave-Goods, and I was especially interested in trying a book by a Twin Cities author. What a serendipitous find!

Arboreality by Rebecca Campbell

For the third year in a row, a book nominated for the Le Guin Prize makes the list.

Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin

This is another book I always told myself I'd try someday, and was it ever worth it! I spent some time talking about my experience with this story (and its accompanying materials that fill out the world) in my talk with Evan Dahm on his show.

See you in the new year! I've packed some thick books for a long flight, so I'm starting my 2025 reading pile right away!

Reruns of my previous two lists, 2023, and 2022, below the cut.

2023

COMICS:

Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano

Out of Style by Devi Putri Megwati

Skip and Loafer by Misaki Takamatsu

The Harrowing of Hell by Evan Dahm

The Infinity Particle by Wendy Xu

Esteban by Matthieu Bonhomme

I covered my ShortBox reccs back in October, but since then I also picked up Pearl Hunting by Hana Chatani when it came to itch.io and adored it.

PROSE:

So yes, maybe I'm cheating by including Moby Dick since I'm not all the way finished, but Whale Weekly really did end up being a great tool for getting me to crack open my gorgeous Evan Dahm-illustrated copy I've had for a while.

My favorite book of the year is Roadside Picnic by Arkady & Boris Strugatsky. I genuinely did read it the first week of January, but after having it recommended to me for years, I'm thrilled it didn't disappoint. Maybe I am someone who likes Russian novels after all???

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

Such Nice People by Sandra Scoppettone

Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh (I jokingly placed these three in the "READ 👏 FEMALE 👏 AUTHORS 👏" category because they don't have anything in common other than describing some of the most upsetting/bizarre scenarios I've read this year. Cyteen especially! Wowee!!!)

Brother Alive by Zain Khalid

Glory by Vladimir Nabokov

A Different Trek by David K. Seitz, which I mentioned as my vacation book for the Star Trek convention, but it's given me some great suggestions for more books, both fiction and otherwise. Also, I read... 11 more DS9 books this year.

2022

COMICS:

Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa

Vattu by Evan Dahm

The Well by Choo and Jake Wyatt

Wash Day Diaries by Robyn Smith and Jamila Rowser

Some ShortBox Comics Fair entries that are graphic novella length and are really good include Food School by Jade Armstrong and The God of Arepo by Reimena Yee et al.

PROSE:

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

The Murders of Molly Southbourne by Tade Thompson

How to Blow Up a Pipeline by Andreas Malm

Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

The Past is Red by Catherynne M. Valente

edit: oh my god I can't believe I forgot Perfume by Patrick Süskind

Honorable mentions from the pile of DS9 novelizations include Revenant by Alex White (for successfully pulling off a Sara Paretsky-style mystery in space) and Dominion War: Call to Arms by Diane Carey (for absolutely unhinged adjective choices).

#books #comics #book recommendations

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dalamjisung · 5 months ago

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A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 4: Pushing the limits

genre: mostly fluff... with a tiny bit of angst because I just can't not write angst LMAO

word count: 5861

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: for once, you have a good day. and you feel untouchable. until, that is, you're not.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: sorry for the delay on the update, but it's finally here! I'm excited to see this story evolving! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

It’s weird to think that once upon a time, you lived in New York.

You had always loved the city in all its might. A lot of people complained about the grey, tall buildings, but you used to think that the colour suited you. That the lifeless of it all didn’t really matter, because life was all over New York City. The bustling of the people, the voices and languages mixing in every block, the smell of food from the falafel carts in every corner; sure, the city was dead, but my god were the people alive.

You were alive, back then.

So much so that you think you might have attracted the dead, because the night you met Josh was a night you felt invincible. You felt like you had enough power in you to light up the entire grid of the city that never slept, so when he approached you, with his light blonde hair and bright blue eyes, you were up for the challenge. Even your friend was impressed when you didn’t coil away from his eager hands, and maybe she regrets it now– maybe she curses herself for not pulling you away from him, for not stoping you when you left with him. Maybe she hates herself for what she let you do back then, but the truth of the matter is that even if she had tried, you don’t think she would’ve succeeded.

Josh was different than most guys you knew, but that didn’t mean much– your aversion to human interaction had always plagued you when it came to romance and friendships. Alas, you found your similars; you met people who loved book just as much as you and you found your place with a selected few. You didn’t mind, not having all that many friends when you had an amazing handful instead; they were all loyal, understanding, and kind, much like you.

Meaning that Josh wasn’t. But you didn’t know that at first, too blinded by the flowers, and the expensive dinners, and the beautiful gifts. Whenever you remember them– the moments, the memories, the things– you’re washed by a sense of shame and embarrassment unlike anything else you felt before. You’d like to stand up for yourself and deny it, deny all of it, say you’re not materialist like this, but that would be a lie. You are a bookseller, for crying out loud. A collector. For you, mementos mean something; the feeling of something familiar in your hands, be it the weight or the texture or just the shape, enough to bring back moments that are long gone in the hands of time. Objects and souvenirs are the next best thing you have to a photo album of memories that can’t be captured by a camera, and you are not ashamed of it.

What you are ashamed of was how easily you fooled yourself for him. For Josh. It was all those damned fairytales you’ve read growing up, it had to be. Or maybe it was his friends and their comments of how perfect you two were together. Whatever it was, it had to be something. You’d hate to believe that you were shallow enough to endure him on his worst days just because of the things he gave you on his good days.

Naturally, Josh was a much more extroverted personality. Keeping up with his social life was exhausting. Every night there was something to do, a dinner, a party, a meet-up. And those weren’t all that fun, either, though you learned to fake it pretty well. During these public appearances, you let yourself believe that yes, you two were this amazing power couple. You allowed yourself a moment to push away from all the regret and just enjoy the small things– the touches, the fleeting kisses, the loving nicknames. Because you knew that once you got home, all of that would fade and disappear until the next event you’d be forced to attend.

The question that most people asked was why did it take so long for you to leave him, why did it have to be that bad before you allowed yourself to go; and the answer was always the same: you don’t know. You don’t fucking know why you stayed with him, you don’t know why you loved him, you don’t know anything except the fact that you did– you did stay, you did love him, you did everything you wished you hadn’t. And it still led you to that night, to that rotten smelling taxi, to you crying in a red eye flight, to you landing, lost and hurt.

Because that night might have been the first time he laid his hands on you, but you doubted it would be the last. And it was up to you to do something about it.

————————————

“Y/N? Are you up?”

It’s a rhetorical question more than anything– you’ve been awake all night and Spencer knows. He blinked awake with every twist and turn, and in the morning, when his alarm went off, you were stiff on your side, trying to pretend you’re asleep.

This has nothing to do with him. Last night, things ended in a positive note. After he showered, he came to bed to find you still wearing his FBI hoodie, and the smile on his face was enough to have you smiling too. You fell asleep to the sweet sounds of him reading you The Illustrated Man. Ray Bradbury is a common name in your guys’ conversations and it’s cute how he spends almost fifteen minutes looking for one of his books in the mess that are his shelves. According to him, they used to be alphabetised by author’s last name, much like in your store, but because of the time you’ve had in there, things have gotten a little… messy. You have a habit of reading different things at the same time and Spencer finds that adorable, even if it breaks his system with how you leave books scattered around the house.

“Yeah,” You call back, meeting his eye when he pops his head through the door. His hair is pointing in all directions, and you can smell food coming from the kitchen. “Are you cooking something? Spence, you said you don’t cook, what are you doing?”

“I’m a thirty year old man,” He said, laughing at how you push the duvet away so desperately you trip on it to run to where you assume the fire is. “Careful! Oh my god, Y/N, you’re breaking my heart here, I’m not burning anything!”

It’s not your fault that your mind immediately goes to the worst case scenario. From all the stories you’ve heard, all the ones that ended in disaster were set in his kitchen. “Spence, you could’ve woken me up,” You shake your head when you see that he actually just made toast with butter and jam. “I would’ve made you something to eat.”

“You’re not my maid,” He says, standing behind you with his hands in his pockets and this is when you notice– he’s wearing sweatpants. Previously, when he was sick and you brought him medicine, he was wearing casual clothes too, but you were too busy fussing over him to fully appreciate the beauty that is Casual Spencer. His grey sweatpants and crumpled white t-shirt are enough to have you blushing and averting your eyes. In your store, he is excited. At home, he is relaxed. Those are two different things in the best of ways. “And I wanted to… talk.”

Immediately, you have alarm bells ringing in your head and he notices it. It’s kind of funny, how you learned to read Spencer while he is reading you– you know when things set him off when his eyes widen a little, like a little tell he does every time. Maybe you’re better at this than you think, proud of yourself when he immediately waves his hands in the air, a desperate gaze in his eyes making you snort. “No, no, no,” Words fall from his lips a bit too fast for you to not trip up on them. “No, it’s nothing like that! It’s nothing bad, I just want to know how you’re doing and… check in on you.”

“You want to check in on me?” You shouldn’t sound this enamoured, and you hate yourself for it. For the first time, you two are having an open conversation about what is happening and you want to make sure you’re present and paying attention.

“Of course I do,” His mumbling is barely audible from the living room, but when he yelps ouch and turns around with a plate of toast and coffee, you hear him loud and clear. Words mean a lot for someone like you, someone who lives off of them, but actions might just mean more because of who they are coming from. Because of his shy nature, when Spencer is direct and a bit more abrupt, it means something– it means that he is angry, or happy, or emotional, or dedicated. You like that he is dedicated about this; about you. It’s selfish in nature, but it’s true– him making you breakfast, him fussing over you, him trying… it’s all just Spencer’s way of showing that he is serious about this, and you don’t mind one bit. “Here you go. Eat up.”

Instead, you show him you’re serious too. You smile, and wait until he has grabbed his own food and joined you on the couch, to start talking. “Spencer, thank you,” You whisper, looking down at the little space that keeps you two apart as a reminder: things might be getting better, and they might be on the mend, but there is still a long way to go for things to get great.

Surprisingly enough, though, it’s quite easy to forget about Cat Adams when she’s not harassing you with unwanted gifts or letters, and it feels quite powerful to do so. Just like how easy it was to forget Josh when he couldn’t call you anymore, or touch you anymore, or scream at you anymore. What felt like the weight of the world on your shoulders now is simply the touch of a butterfly, floating away as soon as the moment of overthinking and anxiety is done. Some days, it lasts longer than others, and those are the bad the days. But on the better days, the ones that you are able to busy yourself with your store, your crush, your family; yeah, those are the days that Josh and Cat simply can’t get to you.

Today is a better day.

Hell, you might even dare to say that today is a good day, and more and more, you realise just how rare they are. So for today, you don’t allow the ghost of past and future lives to haunt you. For today, you’ll enjoy the blessings of the present.

“Thank you for… helping me through all of this,” You continue, sipping on your coffee to try and keep your hands busy and away from his. After you got a little taste yesterday, feeling the warmth of his palm enveloping yours, you can’t help but want more. You want more touches, more smiles, more sneaky glances. You just want more Spence, however you can have him. “You didn’t have to help me through it all like this. And you certainly didn’t have to come back in the middle of a case just because of this whole mess. So thank you. This really means a lot. You… You mean a lot to me.”

“Y/N, I didn’t come back because of this situation, I came back for you.”

All air is knocked out of your lungs when he says that. In a very Spencer fashion, he doesn’t say it like a confession, like it’s a secret he couldn’t keep it inside anymore. This is nothing more and nothing less than a fact, like all the many others he has told you in your year or something long friendship. He came back for you, and the Earth is round. He came back for you, and the Russian Orthodox Church excommunicated Tolstoy. He came back for you, and Plank’s constant is a fundamental universal constant that defines the quantum nature of energy and relates the energy of a photon to its frequency.

Simple as that.

“I came back for you,” He says again, nervous finger ripping his toast apart until there is no longer a toast there anymore, just bits and pieces of what it once was. Cleaning your hands from crumbs and butter, you gently extend your arm, wanting to show him support in the best way you know how to. But then you remember: Spencer is a germaphobe. He’s reserved and he prefers to wave rather than shake hands, and you pause, hand hovering over his in unsureness. Just as you’re about to pull away, he moves, a flash of limbs and plates that leaves you not time to react.

Spencer is fast and it actually surprises you to see the clumsy man being so agile. He takes a hold of your hand and the familiarity of it all spreads a blush through your body. Even if he had stopped then and there, giving you just this little taste of affection, you would be happy. The way your cheeks flush to that rosy tone he loves so much and never says anything is enough of a hint to how you’re feeling, and this time around, Spencer wants to push the limits just a little bit, just a little more. And it’s obvious by the way his eyes shine with a mischievous glimmer of intent, grabbing you into him until your bodies crash together.

This is the first time you two hug. It’s the first time your arms go around his shoulder, and it’s the first time his arms hook under yours. Spence hugs you like he needs to hug you, face rubbing on your neck like he’s trying to bury it there and hide from the whole world. Like you can actually protect him, and this time, you actually think you can. Your hands move up and down his back, a soft touch for the man that hated them so much. Sadness sweeps through you when you think about little him, avoiding touches and waving from afar instead. “Spence…” You mumble, pushing away for a second to try and talk to him, but he is quick to hold you in place.

“Stay,” The way his voice breaks off makes you hug him even tighter. “Please. I… I’m happy you’re here.”

“Spence, what’s going on?” Maybe it’s good that you can’t really look eye to eye. Those honey orbs, always so shiny and expectant, render you defenceless every time.

He takes a moment to answer and you know he’s thinking, the machinery in his head whirring to lifer. “When you called me that night, I think my heart stopped. I thought… I thought something had happened to you, and I couldn’t… be there. I couldn’t be here. And it broke my heart, because this is my fault. It’s my fault that you’re scared and that your entire life changed, and I’m just really sorry, Y/N.”

That is a hard pill to swallow. You knew he was feeling guilty; you know more about Spencer than he thinks you do– but what you didn’t know was that he was feeling bad. “Spence, I’m okay. And I’m safe. All because of you. I… I’ve been doing some research, and I know this is not usually something that would take priority for the FBI, considering that besides a note, Cat hasn’t really done anything to me, and if it wasn’t because of you, I’d probably be going through all of this alone.”

“You are a priority to me.”

“I know that now,” You whisper, shaky fingers raking through his hair in a desperate attempt to calm him down, praying, begging, hoping he won’t ask you to stop. “At… first I did blame you a little. Like, not blame you, but… it was like I couldn’t separate you and what was going on and I was angry and upset and I’m sorry too. I pushed you away when I think we both needed some support from each other, and I didn’t mean to make you worry even more, you have to believe me, I swear!”

You don’t know when the roles reverse, but it’s like a war of tug, sometimes you pull and sometimes you get pulled, and right now, Spencer is pulling you into his arms with the strength of a man who needs you. “No, Y/N, no no, you don’t have to apologise! This… God, this is a mess.”

Chuckling with him feels better than chuckling at him, and you take the moment to just enjoy the feeling of being in his arms with no rhyme or reason. “It really is, but it’s our mess and I think that, all in all, we’re dealing with it quite well, Spence.”

Everything about that moment is soft. The light is trying to come through the curtains and you smile to yourself. Spencer has always been stubborn about sunlight and he prefers the apartment on the darker side, but you can’t help but let your fingers move from his shoulder, dragging the tips all the way from his shoulder, down his arm, and extending to the end of the curtain, hooking them on the corner and raising a little bit. “It’s a nice day out…” You mumble more to yourself than him.

“Do you want to go out?” Spence asks, raising his head away from your shoulder to look at you, but you just shake your head. “What do you want to do? I have the day off today, so we can do anything you want, I swear.”

“Hmm, can we go to the store?” Sure, it’s not the most exciting thing ever, but you miss it. You miss your books that you keep in a special corner behind the counter, and you miss the deliveries that are probably pilling up with your neighbour. The question is more amusing than anything, though, because you know the answer already.

And him shaking his head only confirms your theory. Even though you know, you’re still frustrated. “Spence, please…”

“Y/N, your house is above your store,” He does seem to be upset with his own answer, and though that does not make you feel any better, you at least know he understands where you’re coming from. “We can’t risk it right now. Cat just sent a note straight to your address, and we don’t know if she knows you own the store or not, or if she has a partner working with her from the outside, or–”

“I know, I just– I don’t want to lose my store. It’s all I have.” The way your fingers fidget, playing with each other in a familiar nervous manner that you’ve surely picked up from him, has Spencer reaching out to hold your hands with both of his. It leaves you a bit breathless to notice just how big his hands are, covering yours completely.

“You will not lose your store. I will not let that happen. But I think this could be a good chance to maybe think about a hiring a manager or a helper for a while. Temporarily! Just until we can make sure that you are safe.” Without noticing, his thumb slides over the top of your hand, a calming back and forth that eases the frown on your forehead when you think about a stranger at your store. “Just someone to be with you when the store is empty, Y/N.”

Logic is on his side, as usual, and although you would never consider this under normal circumstances, you are reaching a point in which there are no other options. “A couple of days ago I sold out of stock for the first time since opening the store. I’m finally turning profit after being barely able to keep the place afloat. I love my daily routine there. I can’t let her take this away from me, Spence.”

“And she won’t. But don’t you think the help will be good? With new stock coming in and the reading events you wanted to prepare, having a trusty helper will save you some stress. And we’ll have Penelope run a check on every candidate!”

“I don’t know… is it fair for me to get someone involved in… this?” He instantly knows what you mean. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course you can. I understanding this was not in your plans, and I know you love your job and your routine and we’ll make a new one for you! We’ll create a schedule and we’ll alternate days so that you don’t have a predictable location and-and we can make it a fun thing, you know? Creating the week’s schedule, like the Sunday crossword! We could do the schedule on Saturdays and the crossword on Sundays– what do you think?”

You think this is a plan. A future plan. A future plan that is reliant on the fact of you still living in his apartment and part of you hates it, because part of you, a big part of you, wants to go home and stop feeling like such a burden to him. But then there is the smaller part of you; the part that likes waking up and hearing his hoarse voice first thing in the morning; the part of you that feels spoiled with the breakfasts in the couch; the part of you that hasn’t really been loved in a while and really missed it. That is the same part of you that swoons every time he smiles at you, and you nod, and nod, and nod. “That sounds perfect,” You whisper, looking around the living room and seeing this future he talks so much about. It truly does sound… “Perfect.”

That afternoon, he helps you write a job ad for a store manager. It’s fun doing this with him because you get a chance to pick that brain that always amazes you so much. “No, no, you should give them a feel for the store,” The way his breathing hits the nape of your neck with every word he says while reading over your shoulder makes you shiver. “Oh? Are you cold?” What you miss is the the little smile he gives you from behind, turning to quickly grab the blanket you left on the armchair to cover your shoulders.

“But I don’t want them too comfortable, it’s still my store,” You grumble, leaning back without even thinking about it. You are both by the kitchen counter, and you’re sitting on a stool with Spencer right behind you, so when you fall back, arms curling around your body and wrapping the blanket tighter around you, you fall right onto his chest. The shattered pieces of that wall you two had between you two lay on your feet, no completely gone but simply lowered; the jitters of having him so close, the anxiety of maybe having him pull away, the strong beat of his heart right on your back. It’s all there, and it all amplifies when his arms wrap around your waist. It’s too careful, the way he holds you; too light and gentle and oh so slow. You just want him to hug you like he did before, to show you more of that hidden strength he kept suppressed all the time. Spencer is not dominant by any mean, but he isn’t someone to be walked all over, either, and the more that Cat pushes you, the more you are starting to see him push back.

And you love when Spencer push back.

“Okay, focus!” His voice snaps you back to reality, so close to your ear and his chin digging on your shoulder. It’s cute how he likes to fit his face in the little nook of your neck, between your cheeks and shoulders, and it’s… oddly intimate. The kind of intimate that makes you tense up a little just at the thought. “Hey… I know this is a big step for the store, but I’m proud of you. It’ll be great to be able to share the responsibility of the place with someone else. A team is not so bad, Y/N.”

If he is any indication of what is like to have a partner, if having Spencer by your side and ready to back you up is a little taster of what being on a team is like, then he might just be right. “I know, I just… this is my baby, you know? I moved to Washington with a backpack and an email from the agent to lease the place and there is a lot of effort and emotional energy and money that went into this!”

“You moved to Washington with just a backpack?”

Curiosity is a natural response for a man like Spencer. He is curious about virtually everything and anything, and it makes your heart beat faster, every time, when he asks something to you. It feels like a sign of trust, that he is willing to actually learn from you, to listen to you, and to store all you say into his hungry brain. This time, however, when your heart speeds up, it doesn’t have those same palpitation of adoration, those same butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Instead, it feels like there’s a rock, heavy and cold and hard, being thrown around your gut, all sharp edges and precise hits. “I, uh,” Immediately, you want to move– you want to push your hair back or scratch the mysterious itch on your nape or rub the tension off of your forehead– but then you remember that he is an avid reader. And that, apparently, you are his new favourite book.

You try to play it cool, hand coming back down to the laptop’s keyboard to type out some basic information on the store and the schedule. “Yeah, it was a weird time,” And that’s all you say on the subject, even if the way he squints, those molten brown eyes running over every inch of you that you’re sure he has committed to memory, tell you that he has gotten much more information than you were willing to give. “Okay, I think it’s ready?”

He knows what you’re doing, but he doesn’t care. Uncomfortableness is written all over you, from how your shoulders hunch forward to how you stick your hands between your thighs to stop them from fidgeting. Spencer is very careful of your self-awareness. He has seen you shut down before and he knows the telling signs– you pull away, withdraw back and back and back, until you disappear in the background of your anxieties. The last thing he wants is for you to not speak to him again, arms squeezing you a bit close in fear that you might just get up and leave him behind again. Having you sit on the armchair, so close yet so far while he slept in the couch next to you, had been hard. Incredibly hard. And Spencer isn’t sure he can handle that again.

So he lets it go.

He hums, and nods, and lets you think you’ve fooled him. He lets you think that you’ve successfully whisked his attention away from the topic he wants to chat through and dissect so badly. “Looks great,” It’s cute how fast he reads the ad, and before you can overthink about it, he clicks ‘send.’ “Spence! Oh my god!”

“You weren’t going to do it,” He laughs, shaking his head and turning the stool so that you two are face to face. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s okay,” You whisper, breath hitching on your throat with just how intensely he’s looking at you. There is tension between you two, strong and growing, and it’s not the first time you’ve noticed it.

Sometimes, you think that this weird connection dates back to the first few months you knew each other. At first, it was about stupid things like what authors were truly considered cult or what were the best tropes. Banter, with Spencer, was always fun, like a little debate filled with smiles and giggles and… privacy, almost. Intimacy. It’s like every time you two talk a bubble forms around you, and no one can steal his attention. He is present, at all times, and it makes you feel like you matter; it makes you want to be present, too, happily listening to his rants and lecture with attentive eyes. Sometimes, you even pulled out a little notebook after he was gone to work, noting down the facts you’ve managed to remember, and whenever you were a bit bored, you would pull your notes out and read them over, smiling at the memories of him. The memories of him that are now locked in the drawer behind your counter. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“I need to go get some stuff from the store,” You mumble, looking up at him with begging eyes. “I know you said to keep out, but please, Spence, I need more clothes and I need my things.”

It doesn’t take much convincing to have him ready to go, and you are almost giddy at the sight of Spencer in jeans. Everyone can, or at least they should, see beyond the slacks and the sweater vests. Underneath it all, you know there is a man who needs some tender loving– you know there are scars, maybe visible, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. Without his tie and his button ups, Spencer is just like any other guy, and the walls come down. Right now, he is Spence, your favourite customer and the guy that makes your heart beat faster, and you kind of love that you get to leave Agent Reid behind for a day or two.

“Let’s go, Spence!” You call, excited to get out of the house for a bit. The fresh air coming in from the open window teases you enough to have you stomping, shouting for him again. “Spencer!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” His laughter echoes in the apartment and you smiled when you see him grabbing his phone and keys.

This is too good to be true. It has now been eight days since the initial package you received in Spencer’s name, and as much as you know his intentions are good, you do wonder if maybe he is going a little overboard out of guilt. “I’m so excited to go to the store with you again!” You shriek, going down the stairs with him in tow. You’re not really looking where you’re going, constantly turning back to look at him just to catch a glimpse of that adorable smile he tries to hold back.

“Y/N, watch out–“ In all fairness, Spencer tries to reach for you and hold you back, but the moment your feet touch the ground floor, your body hits another with such impulse that you sway back into Spencer’s hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yeah, I’m–“ Turning to the person, a young woman with an expression of as much shock as yours, you immediately start to apologise. “I’m so sorry! Oh god, I’m so sorry, I–“ “Don’t worry at all,” She smiles and picks up her boxes again. “I couldn’t see because of the boxes, it’s my fault.”

“Are you moving in?”

You know that tone of voice. It’s stored in your brain as the tone of voice you never wanted to hear again, after hours of it back at the BAU office. “Hey, come on,” You whisper, allowing him lightly.

“Yes! I’m moving into apartment 13. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Abigail. Do you guys live in the building?”

“Oh, I uh, I’m just–“

The way he slips his hand in yours, fingers folding with yours. “Yeah, we live upstairs,” He says vaguely, slowly continuing to walk own the hall. “We’re a bit late, but it was great meeting you Abigail. See you around.”

You barely have time to wave before he has you out in the street, phone out and ready to go. “Sorry, I just need to call Garcia for a second. Go ahead, yeah? I’m right behind you, I promise.”

Under his watchful eyes, you take the lead in making your way to the bookstore. The sound of his shoes crackling in the sidewalk behind you is comforting. “I’m going in, just call out for me when you’re ready, okay?”

As soon as you get inside, it’s like you’re home. The books are everywhere, and you feel their warm embrace as they whisper stories in your ears. You’re like a hurricane in there, moving around with such trained expertise that no one could ever contest that you belong there, in your sacred place. Your backpack is by the counter, slowly filling up with books you want to take with you, and you enjoy the fact that Spencer is busy to check your emails for online orders and stock. So far, no big losses have taken place and you’ve only been closed for a couple of days, but you are realistic about the future of this place and you know this cannot continue. The more you see the store suffering from all of this, the more you agree that having someone mind the place while you’re out might be a good idea. Hesitancy still swirls in your heart, but you’ll do anything to avoid the heartbreak of losing your bookshop.

You don’t turn around when the bell rings. “Spence, I might need a couple more minutes–“

“We got to go. I’m sorry Y/N, we need to go, grab whatever you can.”

A sharp exhale escapes you like a knife just wedged itself in your lungs. “What’s going on?”

“Officer Kaper just called for backup,” Everything is fast again, moving forward, forward, forward, and Spencer knows how overwhelming this must be, specially after the slow and soft morning you two had, but he is working on a one track mind. He needs to get you out of there.

“Backup?” Cars honk while you two cross the street in a hurry. “Spencer, stop running, stop! What’s going on?!”

He doesn’t answer you until you’re both in his apartment, door locked and phone in hand, nervously squeezing it while he paced around.

“Spence,” You call again, careful with how you approach him when he is trying so hard to keep control of himself. “Spence, I– What’s going on?”

His eyes tell you everything. In those whiskey coloured pupils, you see the hurt and the pain, and you see the hesitation. One hand moves to push his hair back, frustration lacing every movement he makes, from walking to the couch and letting his body plop down to how his head hangs low.

“He’s on his way to the hospital. His house got broken into and… we have no confirmation, but we think it’s–“

“Fucking Cat.”

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176 notes · View notes

sserpente · 1 year ago

Text

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this for so long. If you’re in the mood for some angst, you’re in the right place!

Words: 1743 Warnings: angst, poisoning

You didn’t know what hurt more. Was it the fact that the man—god—you had fallen for was on the brink of death, taking his last breaths? Or was it the very circumstance that no one but you cared?

Tony Stark had been very clear about it. He tolerated Loki only per Thor’s humble request. The God of Thunder himself was less than pleased that the Trickster was to serve his sentence on Earth of all places. It was Odin’s magic that restricted him, keeping him from causing even more mayhem after the chaos he unleashed in New York City.

They were even less delighted about him joining their self-proclaimed superhero group on missions even though Thor himself claimed that Loki’s wit and skills could prove useful.

You had nothing to say in the matter of course. If anything, you were declared crazy because you had expressed your affinity for the God of Mischief and that included Loki himself.

You couldn’t help it. The way he smirked, the way he talked, the way he sat in the corner buried in a book—one of the very few instances you ever saw him relaxed, not to mention the occurrence with the cat… oh, the cat. A stray—black and white, young, purring and dancing around Loki’s feet, desperate for his attention. And when he’d bent down to pet it and even conjured some food for it, it was the last piece of evidence you had needed to conclude that this man was not evil. Misguided, betrayed, hurt? Yes, all of those things and more. But not evil.

It was the latter. The very circumstance that no one but you cared hurt more.

Thor had left for Asgard already, seeking the advice of their healers. It was ridiculous, truly. In a life-threatening emergency like this, how could his banishment still hold any weight? He needed help.

Your enemy had been thorough, researching each and everyone’s greatest weakness. And Loki’s had proved the most fatal. Whatever the extra-terrestrial had coated their weapon in before it fired its arrow at the God of Mischief, it prevented him from healing, had him break out in a sweat and slowly lose a battle against the poison now spreading in his body.

“Loki? Can you hear me? Please stay with me. You got to stay awake, alright?” He was on the sofa, with his head placed in your lap. You stroked his forehead in an attempt to soothe him. Blue eyes found yours and you were unsure whether he wanted to tell you to stay with him or let him die in peace. You’d been singing to him too. Trying to keep him in the present, in the now.

By the time Thor finally burst back into the room, Loki’s breathing had become dangerously shallow.

“Did you tell them about the symptoms? What did they say? What’s wrong with him? How are we gonna heal him?” The questions gushed out of you like a waterfall before he’d even set his hammer down.

Thor, however, grew silent for a moment. “There�� Loki was poisoned. The rat knew what he was doing. The arrow was likely infused with blood from a Memphis of Muspelheim mixed with a deadly dose of mistletoe essence.”

You put one and one together immediately. “So… you’re saying this poison was specifically made to kill a Frost Giant?”

Thor looked down. “Yes.”

“Well, did you bring the antidote then?”

“There… there is no antidote. Not on Asgard. And I fear… there is no time to search the realms. The Jötuns have spent millennia destroying every last drop of this poison. There is hardly any antidote left.”

Your heart sank. No… no! You were not going to let Loki die!

“There has to be a way. Somewhere we can…” Your lips parted. “There is somebody. Someone who has everything. You mentioned him before, you said you brought the Aether to him!”

“The Collector?”

“He has it. He must have it.”

“What, and you think he will give it to you without anything in return?” Tony said.

“I didn’t say that. I’m sure we can offer him something in return to make it worth his while.” You turned back to Thor. “Heimdall can take us there. Please, Thor. This might be our only chance.”

Perhaps you should have been surprised that the God of Thunder relented. There was no doubt he too wanted his brother to survive. The entire time you’d been preparing to leave, Thor was brooding and lost in thought. He wasn’t one for big words—but he cared and for the moment, that was good enough for you.

The Collector’s place was dimly lit, eerily quiet and… it smelled awful. You took a deep breath regardless and gave a nod to Thor to venture forth.

“An Asgardian. And… a human?” The Collector tilted his head when you stepped into view. “What an… honour. What brings you to my humble domain?”

“We need your help. We’re looking for something rare. Thor’s brother Loki is Jötun and he’s been shot with an arrow drenched in a rare poison.”

“Hmm… yes, I’m familiar.”

“There is no antidote. If… if anyone has any left, it must be you.”

“So it must be… I do indeed have this antidote you speak of.” Your face lit up but judging by the Collector’s body language—a smug and repulsive expression, truly—he was not going to give it up easily.

“Surely, your Asgardian friend has told you of how the Jötuns have ensured every last drop of this poison gets destroyed. There was a need for an antidote no longer. The bottle that I have in my collection is… an antique, almost.”

“Fine,” you spat. “What do you want in return?”

“You see… I’ve never had a human in my collection.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting to respond.

“No!” Thor roared.

“Then I am afraid we have reached a dead end.”

“She’s not an object to be collected, she’s a person!”

“Thor!” Gnashing your teeth, you turned to him and took a deep breath. “It’s fine. Just take the antidote to Loki, alright?”

“No. There has to be another way.”

“Take the damn antidote to him, Thor!”

“I cannot let you do this.”

“You can and you will. He’s your brother, Thor! And I’m…” I’m in love with him. Heavens, was that stupid? Loki didn’t even know. It was absurd, wasn’t it? To sacrifice your own life in this way to see the God of Mischief live another day?

Yes. It was. But it… it felt like the right thing to do. Loki deserved another shot. A chance to redeem himself, to show the world that he was more than he let on. And a chance to have the damn world apologise to him, too.

“Tell him… tell him to live his best life, okay? Tell him… tell him not to be too harsh on himself. To… to love himself.”

“To love himself?” Thor frowned.

“Shut up and listen. Loki hates himself, don’t you see that? He hates what he is, he hates what he’s become. He hates himself. And you all played a part in that.”

“Why would you do this… for him?”

Your lips parted. “Tell him… tell him I fell for him.” There. You’d said it. But it didn’t matter anymore whether he’d reject you, right? You’d be here, wherever here was and Loki would be back on Earth, recovering. You’d never have to face his reaction after your confession and yet, he could live with the knowledge that he was not, in fact, so terrible, that no one could love him beyond a family bond like the one he shared with Thor.

“I… fine. I will. Mark my words, I will come back for you,” he added quietly.

You nodded. Was there hope? Possibly. Possibly not. But you did not doubt for a second that your sacrifice was worth it.

You didn’t know how many days had gone by since Thor’s departure. One? Three? Ten? There was no sunlight in this place, no clocks. One of the Collector’s lackeys made sure to feed you regularly at least, other than that… you were on your own, caged in a pretty glass box until he figured out what to do with you. Unless of course… he was just going to keep you on display like this like the maniac he was.

If you didn’t know better, you would have asked him for a book. Surely he had some in his collection. It was boredom and solitude that would drive you mad sooner or later, that much you were sure of.

Every sound nearby became more interesting than the next. The cracking of the metal tiles, the flapping of wings of the caged bird opposite your own stupid box, the ruffling of clothing whenever you moved… a massive explosion forcing everything in its vicinity several feet into the air. Wait, what?

Your eyes widened and you stood. Were you under attack? Oh heavens, no, you didn’t want to be killed inside of a glass box! Would there be another explosion? What if the cage broke and you bled to death because of the shards piercing your body?

Chaos erupted, yet the Collector was nowhere to be seen. A scream escaped your lips when with a start, a figure appeared right before your cage, remnants of green shimmering light enveloping them whole. It took you a moment to realise that it was Loki.

“My… that is quite the predicament you have landed yourself in, pet.”

“I… w-what? Loki… you’re alive, you’re fine. What are you doing here?” Unable to process what was happening, you inched back when the God of Mischief broke the lock and opened the cage for you to climb out. Electricity rippled through you when he took your hand in his.

“Rescuing you, of course.” His sly smirk had you gasping for air as you leaned against him. Your knees and legs hurt from having to sit for so long.

“Thor told me what you did.”

“Did he also tell you…”

Loki nodded. Without another word, he leaned forward and stole a chaste kiss, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“Come. The others are waiting on the ship. And then, my dear, I shall show you the proper Asgardian way of courting a woman.”

You smiled, relief flooding your entire body as he picked you up and carried you home.

554 notes · View notes

blakeswritingimagines · 5 months ago

Text

Bad Feeling

Summary: Your once again pulled in by your boyfriend and his crazed ways.

Warnings: Stalking, Established relationship, Yandere Jonathan, use of fear toxin, Handcuffs, talk of crying and being scared of him, Talk of ownership, Unprotected sex, No use of Y/n or gendered pet names.

Word count: 2.5k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DC/Marvel characters nor do I claim to own them.

Once upon a time, there was a troubled and obsessive man named Jonathan Crane, a master in the field of fear and terror. He had an unhealthy obsession with his partner, who he believed was perfect in every way. He would watch your every move, follow you everywhere you went, and even break into your home at night just to watch you sleep.

As time passed, Jonathan's obsession with you started to consume him. He wanted to keep you all to himself, like a collector who hoards precious treasures. He would watch your every move, every expression, and every breath, trying to understand your inner thoughts and desires. As you started to notice Jonathan's strange and obsessive behavior, you became increasingly uncomfortable. You tried to talk to him about it, but he was reluctant to listen, always insisting that his actions were only out of love and protection. He would gift you with flowers every day, but they felt more like shackles, binding you to him. As you tried to communicate your discomfort and set boundaries, Jonathan became defensive and refused to listen. He believed that his actions were for the sake of their love and safety. As you became more withdrawn Jonathan's obsession grew. To him, you were a possession and the idea of losing you was unbearable. His love had turned into possessiveness, and his protective gestures had become controlling.

As Jonathan's obsession intensified, his possessive nature escalated. He would install hidden cameras in your home, monitoring your every move and conversation. He would intercept your phone and text messages, always wanting to keep track of who you were talking to or where you were going. You continued to feel trapped and suffocated by Jonathan's actions. He would become aggressive and intimidating when you tried to go out with friends or family, always insisting on being by your side. You began to fear leaving your house as you knew he would be lurking, watching, and judging every move. Late one night, as you lie restless in bed, you hear a faint knock at your balcony window. You hesitantly walk over and see Jonathan standing there, his face illuminated by the moonlight. "My dearest," he whispers, "I couldn't bear the thought of spending another night apart from you. Please, let me in." Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched Jonathan through the glass. Despite your fear and unease, a part of you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of sympathy for him. He was your lover, after all, and you had shared so many moments together. "Jonathan," you whispered back, "I'm trying to sleep. Please, just…"

Jonathan smiles softly and his eyes gleam with determination, "My love, sleep can wait when our hearts are calling out to each other. Can't you feel it? Our connection is too powerful to ignore. Let me in, and I'll prove it to you. Together, we can conquer anything." He presses his fingers against the window pane as if to reach out and touch your face. Your resolve begins to waver as Jonathan's words and gestures soften your defenses. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you long for the comfort and security of his presence. "Alright," you whisper reluctantly, opening the window to let him in. As soon as you open the window, Jonathan steps through and takes you into a tight embrace. He holds you close, nuzzling his face into your hair. "My love, you're finally where you belong. Just let me be your protector, your guide. Let the rest of the world fade away. Just focus on us." His voice is soothing, and you find yourself being lulled into a sense of calmness, but a nagging feeling lingers in the back of your mind about the true nature of Jonathan's affection. Your emotions were mixed. You felt comfort in Jonathan's embrace, but there was also a subtle unease, an awareness that something was not quite right about this situation. But under Jonathan's spell, you found yourself relaxing into his hold, your breaths slowing down as your heart rate returned to normal.

His grip tightens around you, pulling you closer still. "Don't worry my dear, everything will be fine." He whispers softly into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. A smirk forms on his lips as he feels your body relax against him. He knows he has you now, completely under his control. He releases you slowly, giving you time to adjust before stepping back. "Now, let's get out of here and go back to my place now." You let out a shaky breath as Jonathan releases you. The words he whispers into your ear cause your heart to flutter, and a part of you wonders if you're overthinking the situation. "Go back to your place?" you echo. "But it's so late and I don't have anything packed," you say reluctantly. You feel a bit uneasy at the thought of going with Jonathan at this hour, but there's something strangely comforting about his presence. His eyes gleam with a wicked delight as he observes your hesitation. "Nonsense, my dear. We can pick up whatever you need in the morning. For tonight, all that matters is us." He extends a hand towards you, his fingers slightly curling, beckoning you to take it. "Come, let's go home." You felt a strange flutter in your stomach as Jonathan extended his hand towards you. His words were smooth and intoxicating, a part of you wanted to just give in to his every request. Hesitantly, you took his outstretched hand. You felt a slight jolt as your fingers touched his, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The feeling was both thrilling and unsettling. Despite your reservations, you knew there was no turning back now. You were in too deep.

Once inside his apartment, Jonathan locks the door behind you. Turning to face you, he closes the distance between you with a few quick strides. His hands reach for your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can almost hear the beating of his heart, fast and eager. "This is what you want, isn't it? To be held by someone who truly cares for you?" He asks, his voice low and seductive. Under Jonathan's spell, you found yourself melting into his embrace, your body pressed firmly against his. You couldn't deny the fact that you did want this, to be held by someone who truly cared for you. But something in the back of your mind kept whispering that this wasn't right. You tried to ignore it, to lose yourself in the moment, but the unease grew louder with each passing second. "Jonathan, I'm… I'm not sure…" you murmur, your voice was weak and unsure. Feeling your hesitation, Jonathan leans down, capturing your lips with his own in a passionate kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting every inch of you. His hands roam freely over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and the swell of your breasts. He breaks the kiss only to trail soft kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Shh, don't think, just feel," he whispers huskily against your skin.

You moaned softly as Jonathan's lips met yours, the taste of his kiss sending shivers down your spine. His lips traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps in their wake. As Jonathan continued to whisper to you, your resistance seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of desire and need. You felt yourself responding to his touch, to his words, unable to stop the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As much as you wanted to maintain control, you knew you were slipping into the abyss of Jonathan's control.

Feeling your surrender, Jonathan lifts you up effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. He lays you down gently on the bed, his gaze devouring every curve of your body. He strips off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. His eyes never leave yours as he unbuttons his pants, letting them fall to the floor along with his underwear. "I've waited so long for this moment," he confesses, his voice thick with lust. Your breath hitches as Jonathan strips down to his most exposed, his body a vision of toned muscle and desire. You feel a stirring deep within you, as Jonathan confesses his longing for this moment. But despite the overwhelming desire that's flooding your senses, there is still a part of you that feels uneasy, a nagging doubt that won't let go of you. You try to push it aside, trying to focus on the burning need for affection and love that Jonathan is giving you. Standing at the edge of the bed, Jonathan looks down at you with a predatory grin. His member stands erect, throbbing with need. He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. His hands roam over your body, pinching and teasing your nipples until they harden. "Let me show you how much I care for you," he growls, leaning down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting gently.

A sharp intake of breath escapes from your lips as Jonathan teases your sensitive nipples, the sensation causing a surge of pleasure to ripple through your body. You arch your back, pushing yourself further into his grasp, craving more of his touch. His bite sends a shockwave of pleasure-pain coursing through you, making your toes curl. You can't help but moan loudly, lost in the haze of desire that's consuming you. Hearing your moans, Jonathan smirks, pleased by the effect he's having on you. He continues his assault on your chest, alternating between licking, sucking, and biting your nipples until they're red and swollen. One hand trails down your body, finding the hem of your clothes. He slips his hand underneath, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh, inching higher and higher until he reaches your own excitement. "You're already so ready for me. Tell me how much you want this." His other hand moves to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp for air.

"Yes, Jonathan!" you cry out, your body trembling with need as his fingers dance across your sensitive flesh. The combination of his touch and the pressure on your throat sends you spiraling, your head spinning with a dizzying mix of pleasure and submission. "Please, I want you so badly. I need you inside me." Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, desperate for the release that only he can provide. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you surrender completely to his control, your very existence narrowing down to nothing more than a vessel for his desires. You know this is wrong, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. All that matters is satisfying the hunger that Jonathan has ignited within you. With a satisfied smirk, Jonathan removes his hand from your throat, allowing you to breathe more easily. His fingers continue their exploration of your body, dipping lower to tease at your entrance before sliding back up to touch more. He watches your reactions closely, taking pleasure in your cries and moans. "You're such a good pet, always wanting more," he purrs, his voice dripping with lust.

With a swift movement, Jonathan produces a small vial from his pocket. It's filled with a clear liquid - the infamous fear toxin he uses in his experiments. He uncorks it, bringing it close to your nose. The scent is potent, making your head spin even more. Without warning, he pours some of the liquid onto his finger, rubbing it onto your nipples, enhancing the sensitivity even further. Then, without another word, he takes hold of your wrists, securing them above your head with a pair of handcuffs. He wants you helpless, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in shock and fear as you realize what Jonathan has done. The fear toxin begins to take effect, amplifying all your emotions and sensations tenfold. Your nipples feel like they're on fire, the slightest brush against them sending jolts of painful pleasure straight to your growing arousal. And now, with your wrists cuffed above your head, you're completely at Jonathan's mercy, unable to escape his twisted games. Panic starts to set in, but it's quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming urge to please him, to do anything he says. You whimper, tears streaming down your face, torn between the terror of being trapped and the sickening realization that you crave his touch more than ever.

Satisfied with your reaction, Jonathan leans down, his hot breath fanning over your flushed skin. "That's it, my dear, let it all out. Show me how much you enjoy this," he whispers, his voice laced with both cruelty and pleasure. He lowers himself between your legs, his member throbbing with anticipation. With a single thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. You scream out in ecstasy, your entire body shaking from the force of it. The feeling of Jonathan entering you is indescribable, a perfect storm of pain and pleasure that leaves you writhing beneath him. Each thrust is deeper, harder, and more intense than the last. The fear toxin amplifies everything, turning each touch into agony and bliss, driving you closer to the edge with every passing second. You scream louder, your voice raw from the intensity of your pleasure, your body convulsing under Jonathan's relentless assault.

Driven by your screams, Jonathan picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic and powerful. He leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, silencing your cries momentarily. His free hand travels down your body, exploring every curve and crevice, igniting new sensations wherever he touches. He pulls back from the kiss, his breath ragged against your ear. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his voice a low growl. "I… I'm yours, Jonathan," you manage to choke out between sobs and moans, your mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations. "Only yours." The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you know they're true. In this moment, you belong to him completely, your body and soul his to command. As the fear toxin courses through your veins, you find yourself craving his dominance, needing it like air as your fear creeps in that he'll leave you. You surrender to him fully, your cries of pleasure echoing through the room as he claims you as his own. "Please."

Jonathan's eyes gleam with triumph at your submission. He pounds into you mercilessly, each thrust hitting a spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "That's right, give yourself to me completely," he snarls, his grip on your hips tightening. "You're mine, and I'll use you however I want." With a final, brutal thrust, Jonathan reaches his climax, filling you with his seed. He collapses on top of you, his weight crushing, but you welcome it, craving the physical proof of his possession. As the waves of pleasure slowly recede, Jonathan rolls off you and leans down, kissing you softly, almost tenderly. "Good pet," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "You did so well today." leaving you spent and shaking on the bed. He gazes down at you with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, more primal. "Rest now, pet. We have much more fun ahead of us."

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #dc scarecrow #scarecrow dc #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #yandere jonathan crane #yandere jonathan crane x reader #yandere scarecrow #yandere scarecrow x reader #dc smut #yandere dc

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hwaightme · 1 year ago

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Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too.

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him.

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response.

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath.

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt.

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture.

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers.

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home.

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before.

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger.

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries.

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting.

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth.

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story.

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served.

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring.

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in.

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass.

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him.

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet.

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-”

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore.

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement.

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it.

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another.

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin.

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed.

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one.

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought.

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.”

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past.

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within.

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you.

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine.

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own.

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you.

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports.

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

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