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pshcomforts · 6 months ago

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➳ brought the heat back | psh.

situationship!sunghoon x fem!reader (feat. gunwook from zerobaseone)

“i’m so jealous, i’m going crazy, my patience will run out”

synopsis: sunghoon definitely wasn’t amused when coming to a party and seeing some guy talk to you.

warnings/content: written in third pov. mentions of alcohol. suggestive. little fluff. tension. possessive and jealous sunghoon (what did you expect). cursing. not proofread.

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 2.7k

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: brought the heat back by enhypen

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

0:34 ──|───────────────── 2:22

y/n had just arrived to the dim-lit party, music loudly blasting through her ears as she moved past waves of people.

the girl struggled to find her friends as they remained scattered all around.

“damn heeseung just had to throw a huge ass party..,” she mumbled to herself, sighing softly once she realized she wouldn’t be able to find anyone.

she even sent texts, but she deemed that all had gone off of their phones for the night so she settled on a drink and time well spent of being alone.

that was until her coworker had approached her.

“hey y/n!” gunwook yelled out, grinning at her shocked expression.

“gunwook?? i never thought i’d see you here!”

the male laughed before taking a step closer to her. “never thought i would’ve either, especially when you’re alone.” he frowned, earning a playful smile to form on y/n. “where are your friends?”

“they’re off somewhere… i can’t find them honestly..,” she admitted to him.

gunwook quickly wore a grin that reflected hers, presenting a sweet expression as he said, “so.. i take it you’re alone then?”

she cocked a brow at him before the two broke out into laughter. “what do you mean by that, gunwook…?” she softly teased, breaking another chuckle out of him.

“just saying… if i’m alone, and you’re alone, we can be each others company.”

the girl tensed up for a second, stopping to process the words her coworker had just uttered out to her.

that wasn’t what she thought it meant.. right?

she glanced at the tall boy to search for what his intentions were, but given that they were just coworkers, she deemed it was nothing, so she agreed.

surely, no one would be upset with that option, right? (no)

gunwook offered to get the next cup of liquor after she downed her first, both sitting on the couch that had been crowded by others.

“why didn’t you help that customer out??” he laughed with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“because!—“ y/n yelled, pausing to sip her cup. “she looked like she would’ve much rather talked to you so i let her go to you!”

the boy sputtered out a giggle. “so you let me have your sale then?” he teased, earning a soft hit on the arm.

“well that wasn’t my intention, she just seemed more interested in talking to you so i didn’t know what else to do.” she rolled her eyes, scoffing as she remained hearing hearty laughs erupt out of him.

he let his tongue slip through his lips when he furrowed his brows and shook his head. “you could’ve just stolen that sale from me, y/n. i would’ve let you,” he sighed.

“well i’m sorry, gunwook, i thought you would’ve actually appreciated getting that sale.”

the two laughed out her play on sarcasm, unintentionally getting closer with their body movements.

just when their heads were about to bunk, a buzzing notification caught y/n’s attention and thinking it was one of her friends, she quickly glanced at it.

just a friend ‼️:

Stop getting close to him.

Do you want me to do something about it?

✩ ‘who is that guy who said hello earlier?’ ✩

her heart instantly dropped at the texts. where was he? and how did he know? she tried to scan around the area, but another notification pulled her back to her phone.

just a friend ‼️:

Looking for me?

y/n began to text back with her heartbeats getting louder by the second. her hands were softly shaking and she didn’t know what to do.

encountering jealous hoon was something that happened occasionally, but it was always minor and not noticeable enough to make it seem like they were more than friends.

✩ ‘i’m getting jealous’ ✩

‘where are you? and why are you watching me??’ — she quickly messaged back, chewing her lips as gunwook started to notice the change in her demeanor.

just a friend ‼️:

Don’t worry about where I am, pretty girl

Now get his hand off of your leg or I’ll come over and do it myself.

✩ ‘it’s weird, i don’t want to but i’m envious’ ✩

y/n felt her stomach rupture with butterflies at the possessive tone in his text. her eyes fell down to her leg and finally noticed the unintentional hand slip there.

“gunwook, your hand..,” she awkwardly mumbled, gesturing down to where it laid.

the boy quickly gasped and removed it with a blush forming on his cheeks. “oh god, i’m sorry! i didn’t know my hand was there…,” he admitted in shame. “that won’t make it awkward at work right..?”

she shook her head in reassurance and laughed at the way he panicked. “noo, you’re fine!! i didn’t realize it was there either..,” she chortled.

gunwook nodded, cheeks still flushing with embarrassment as he scratched his neck.

“sorry about that…,”

“what are you sorry for!” y/n swiftly chuckled. “you did nothing wrong, gunwook!” her hand placed itself on his arm out of habit, attempting to reassure the boy but the only thing it did was set off alarms in sunghoon’s head.

the older male who watched from afar felt his jaw tighten at the little action, eyes squinting and staring down at the two who were innocently on the couch.

✩ ‘why are you smiling at him like that?’ ✩

his hands went to his phone, typing his message out of irritation.

��Why do you have your hand on his arm? Take it off.’

✩ ‘it feels like burning, hotter, hotter’ ✩

he glanced up with crossed arms, hoping that his girl would listen. he watched her mumble incoherent words that he couldn’t make out and soon enough, her hands slipped away from that stupid guys arms.

✩ ‘rough madness’ ✩

his lips began to curl and a smirk started to form as his gaze remained on the two, not even caring that there was a party going on.

✩ ‘it’s getting stronger, stronger’ ✩

jake even tried to offer a drink, but sunghoon declined, not wanting to feed the jealous rage that still fumed in the pit of his stomach.

but when he found that tall boy inch closer to y/n, his heart was quick to sink. he straightened himself before walking to the scene without even thinking, fists clenched and brows furrowed to display his pissed reaction.

✩ ‘i can’t stand it’ ✩

sunghoon stood before them, eyes narrowing down at the guy he couldn’t recognize.

“y/n,” he gritted out with a tightened jaw, hating the way his heart burned at this.

✩ ‘i can’t hide it, my head is spinning, crazy, yeah’ ✩

he watched how the girl instantly pieced that it was him as she glanced back. “sunghoon…,” she gulped, finally taking in the handsome features present on him.

he quickly let out a soft scoff, eyes rolled while keeping his glare directly on her.

a soft lick was made between his lips. “what are you doing, hm?” he taunted, smile slowly curling once he saw how she lowly panicked.

“nothing, hoon. i’m just catching up with my coworker.” y/n quickly excused, gesturing to gunwook, who awkwardly sat there.

✩ ‘don’t test me’ ✩

but the older male didn’t bother to glance at him, letting his attention lay completely on the girl who he wanted as his.

before he could speak, gunwook intervened with a murmur — “we’re really just coworkers, man.”

sunghoon glared back at him for a second, disbelief written on his face as he scoffed. that’s not what it looked like seconds ago when he was inches away from his girl.

✩ ‘trying hard to endure, endure’ ✩

he got a hold of y/n’s wrist, fingers tightening around while pulling her away from the scene. his nails were close to digging into her skin as his heart picked up on the jealous energy that chucked at him.

✩ ‘i’m going crazy like this, i’m going crazy’ ✩

she softly winced in pain, feeling every press of his slim fingers that wrapped around her wrist.

“sunghoon..,” y/n whispered, but he ignored her, making the girl unable to clarify that gunwook was just leaning in to remove something from her hair.

truth be told though, he almost fell weak to his knees when his name had slipped out of her mouth. his possessive demeanor nearly dropped, but only grew stronger once he realized it fueled flame to fire.

✩ ‘no, it ain’t my fault, ain’t my fault’ ✩

the inner corner of his lips curled in satisfaction before bringing her to an empty room.

the door quickly closed and y/n was slammed against it with hoon caging her to himself. his arms were securely palmed against the door as his eyes stared down at her.

“sunghoon..,” she quietly murmured out again, heart fluttering at his tall frame towering over hers.

he tilted his head with a slight brow raise in response, loving how weak she could fall within seconds of barely making contact. he leaned himself in, closing the gap between their heated bodies.

✩ ‘ain’t my fault, it’s because of you’ ✩

their lips barely grazed against each others as his breath hit her skin. “what are we doing?” y/n mumbled to him, truly confused at their situation.

sunghoon swallowed down a harsh lump in his throat, trying to find words that would answer her question. “i don’t know, y/n. you tell me,” he squinted his eyes in jealousy again. “one second you’re texting me about how we should go watch this new movie together, and the next you’re talking to your coworker who obviously likes you.”

one of his hands that laid flat against the door began to clench, turning it into a fist as he remembered just how close the boy was getting to her.

“do you like him?” he questioned, feeling his heartbeats rise with every silent second that passed.

✩ ‘don’t be confused, is it me or him’ ✩

y/n stayed quiet, unable to admit her feelings for the guy in front of her when she suddenly felt a finger hook around her chin. sunghoon pulled her attention onto him, eyes boring into hers to get a straight answer.

“tell me, pretty.” he spat, already knowing that she liked him, and not the coworker.

at this point, his lips were about to get a taste before he could even think. he was close to caving in with how her silence was saying much more than needed.

he let his top lip graze against hers again, noses bunking and foreheads almost colliding when the room began to get hotter.

“say it,” hoon whispered near her skin, faint groans slipping pass his throat when he felt her try to resist.

y/n gulped, softly biting her lips to temper herself down but couldn’t when they were so close to taking it to the next level. “i like you, sunghoon, not him.” she confessed, feeling her stomach bubble with butterflies.

his lips were quick to coil into a shit-eating grin, causing her to feel it against her skin as he murmured, “you drive me crazy, angel. you don’t even understand what you do to me.”

before she could even speak, he smashed his lips against hers, finally colliding into a much needed kiss. y/n quietly gasped, allowing more entrance for the male as her hands instantly ran to his muscular arms.

she squeezed them, trying to signal for him to pull away with how rough he moved against her, but he couldn’t stop. even if he wanted to, he couldn’t with how much he had been craving this.

sunghoon’s thick brows furrowed as he continued, loving the sweet taste her lips offered while his hands slipped down to her waist. he pushed himself closer, allowing her to melt into the harsh movements.

and once she did so, her hands quickly moved up to the messy hair that covered his forehead, softly tugging at them to stimulate his satisfaction.

he let out a soft groan, pulling back ever so slightly to take a breather with all that was going on.

y/n felt his breath fan against her skin, making her glance down at his now-swollen lips that were running pink around the edges from his initial intention to go for it.

sunghoon quickly leaned it, urging for another kiss when her hands stopped at his broad chest. “hoon, let me breathe,” she whined, earning a low chuckle.

a soft sigh left him as he wore a mischievous grin. “fine, breathe then.” he uttered out before leaning in closer to her neck.

he pressed firm kisses against it, causing a gasp to be heard from his girl. “sunghoon!” she yelled, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge.

the asshole only smiled, continuing to leave pecks around her neck to tease. “what? i’m letting you breathe,” he taunted with a coy tone. “isn’t that what you wanted?”

she whined at his words, still attempting to push away at his shoulders. “you better not leave anything noticeable.” she warned once she felt his vampire-like fangs begin to nibble.

a scoff immediately fell from his lips. “why? can’t i let everyone know that you’re mine now?” he growled.

when she kept her mouth shut, he let another puff of air slip by. “oh i see.” he peered into her gaze. “you don’t want that coworker of yours to know, hm?”

sunghoon quickly narrowed his eyes and poked his tongue out through his cheek. “aren’t you gonna admit it?” he asked, thumb pulling her bottom lip down.

y/n choked out, completely falling in a daze at how jealous he was. “it’s not that…,” she murmured.

“then what is it?”

“i just don’t want anything noticeable, hoon.” the girl frowned. “it’s hard to cover up.”

hoon widely grinned, raising his brows as he uttered, “isn’t that the whole point?”

she rolled her eyes and shoved his arm. “i can’t have it show anywhere, idiot, especially at work.”

“so i’m right then?” he joked, earning another nudge on the arm as he laughed. “you could’ve just admitted it, you know?”

“that’s not what i meant, dumbass!” y/n defended, now smacking his arms and giggling alongside him.

the two continued their banter until sunghoon decisively wrapped his arms around her, stopping the constant hits he was receiving.

“fine, no marks.” he huffed, muzzling his head into her shoulder. he breathed in her intoxicating scent as he tightened her closer to his chest.

“you’re mine now though, right?”

y/n laughed at his words before bringing her hands up to hit his arm. “obviously.. idiot,” she responded.

sunghoon’s lips formed a huge smile that was now plastered across his face. “good…,” his soft voice whispered — “because i hate that coworker of yours.”

“hoon, he wasn’t even doing anything that bad.”

he playfully scoffed. “so now you’re trying to defend him?”

she quickly rolled her eyes. “sunghoon! he was—“

he leaned in with a grin, pressing his lips against hers to shut her up. his hand firmly held her cheeks as he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

hoon finally pulled away after her arms wrapped around his neck.

“i hate you,” she murmured.

“as if.” his lips connected with hers again for a soft peck, unable to restrain himself.

and when he leaned in again, y/n put a hand to his chest once more. “we should go back to the party,” she said, knowing how much he wanted to kiss again.

“come on, baby.” sunghoon whined, giving a slight pout. “don’t say that.”

she giggled before shaking her head. “let’s go, hoon, before they start to get suspicious.” the girl replied.

he declined for minutes, trying to convince her for another kiss, in which she eventually gave in.

y/n planted a soft peck on his lips that lasted only seconds, leaving him to scoff.

“okay, what was that?”

“that was a kiss?” she teased.

“you know i want more than that.”

his brow raised and she only laughed before pushing the door open and holding his hand. “later, dummy. come on!” y/n quickly dragged her grumbling boy out to the party and ignored his petty behavior that came afterward.

safe to say that sunghoon was definitely gonna get another kiss that night.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

a/n: heyy… i know it’s been a while.. i’m sorry! i’m currently working and also doing a summer session so i haven’t had any time at all to write, but i’m hoping to be posting regularly again. but if not then.. you will be hearing from me once a month…

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godmadeaterribleerror · 30 days ago

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Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs.

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.”

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this.

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark.

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.”

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was.

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s.

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red.

Like She’s been crying.

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood.

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more.

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious.

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand.

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go.

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this.

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours.

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips.

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you.

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you.

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over.

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire. You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too.

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs.

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants.

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.”

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go.

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak.

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan.

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?”

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut.

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

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@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

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royalarchivist · 5 months ago

Text

YD: Ahh, so adorable. I recorded some stuff, like them trying yukke. [Reading chat] Right? I was flabbergasted when I heard his age! I didn’t know that he was… 20 years old??? He was also shocked when I told him my age. I don’t really ask their ages when I’m talking to foreigners, we’re just friends, ‘cause they don’t have distinct honorific and informal languages like we do. And he guessed I was like, 23? [Laughs] I laughed my ass off.

YD talked about meeting up with Tubbo while he was in Korea and shares two videos of them eating food at a Korean BBQ place!

MASSIVE thank you to @Forgetmelotz on Twitter, who translated and subtitled this video and gave me permission to share it on Tumblr! Please make sure to give the original video a like.

[Full Video and Subtitle Transcript ↓ ]

—

⚠️ This transcript is VERY LONG! ⚠️

—

YD: So I was planning to have a dinner with Kei [a Kpop Idol / Singer], but unexpectedly, there's a foreigner friend I met on QSMP named Tubbo, he's from the UK, and apparently he's visiting Korea. And he posted an Instagram story about it. I saw it and was like "Wait, are you coming to Korea?" and it [Tubbo's post] even says Korea blah blah within the date two days after my birthday. So I sent him a DM and he responded with "Haven't you seen my Twitter DM?"

YD: I recently distanced myself a little from Instagram and Twitter for a while, yeah I didn't check my phone that often, and it turns out he messaged me about 3 - 4 days ago saying "YD, I'm flying to Korea! Blah blah–" so I was like "Oh, oh... I'm sorry I didn't see that!" and I checked the DM the day before he arrived here... I told him that I am so sorry and asked if I can meet him in person.

* [Translation note: this can also mean the other way around, ie: he may have asked her if they could meet in person]

YD: So we ended up seeing [each other] on the 21st. I was supposed to have dinner with Kei, so I told her "but my friend from abroad... is in Korea now... what should I do..." and we rescheduled the dinner to inviting her to come over next week. So um, the, right– Tubbo, Tubbo's friend [Eryn], Seoneng [one of YD's crew members] and Kang-si [YD's husband] the 5 of us had dinner together.

YD: We went to a Korean BBQ place. I was searching through restaurants thinking “Uh… which Korean restaurant should I take these foreigners to so that they would be super impressed?” [YD thanks a dono] Yeah, I was searching hard and so I asked Ryeori. You know the Kwak tori & Ryeori couple? Ryeori the hair designer, I asked him, “Reyori, I’m trying to buy a dinner for my foreigner friend, do you have any recommendations for where I should bring him?” and he started listing up like Michelin star-rated pork gukbap restaurants and stuff. Then he also tells me that it’s really difficult to find an actual Korean restaurant in Hongdae, like it’s difficult to find a decent place. There are mostly fusion Korean food [places]. But then he goes, “Oh, hey, this place looks fine” and recommends me this Korean BBQ restaurant. I decided to bring them there and fed them.

YD: The reason I liked that place was that they sell doenjang-jjigabe, galbi-tang, jeyuk bokkeum, and other dishes as well as their main menu, the beef KBBQ. The banchans [side dishes] were also served neatly, they even had japchae, they sold yukke. Obviously there are better Korean restaurants outside of Hongdae, but their hotel was located there. It wasn’t like he had a car here, so I was trying to meet them somewhere they can just walk to. So Hongdae it was. On top of that, YD 4-cuts is also located in Hongdae.** So I thought it would be the best to just eat out here. And while we were eating, I’ve recorded some videos.

** [Note: This is a photo booth event with custom YD frames, as show in the background of this video]

YD: [Scrolls through to find the videos and laughs] Ahh, so adorable. I recorded some stuff, like them trying yukke. [Reading chat] Right? I was flabbergasted when I heard his age! I didn’t know that he was… 20 years old??? He was also shocked when I told him my age. I don’t really ask their ages when I’m talking to foreigners, we’re just friends, ‘cause they don’t have distinct honorific and informal languages like we do. [She thanks another dono] And he guessed I was like, 23? [Laughs] I laughed my ass off.

[YD plays a video she took of Tubbo and Eryn at the restaurant]

Tubbo: Oh, ok. [?]: You should tell them how to eat it together. Tubbo: You’re overestimating my chopstick skill. [?]: Here. [Passes Tubbo some of the meat] Tubbo: Oh, thank you. [?]: And here, together. Tubbo: Ok. [Takes a bite] Waitress: With this vegetable. Tubbo: Mm, it’s really sweet! [?]: Foreigners quite like it. Eryn: [Reaches over and tries some food too, struggling a bit with his chopsticks] [?]: Unexpected, right? [?]: Oh, they like yukke? [?]: They just need to get used to it. Waitress: I will grill and hand it over to you, so please help yourselves. [?]: Ok, thank you. Eryn: [Tries more food and gives it a thumbs-up] [?]: Hm, good?! Tubbo and Eryn: Yeah! Tubbo: So far 10/10.

[The video ends]

YD: These kids are polite. They seem very polite, don’t they? Especially after hearing how old I am. It feels like they’re saying, “Yes ma’am, it’s very delightful.” So cute, and they seemed like they really enjoyed their meal. They were eating it up. They drank soju, they ate some noodles, and even doenjang-jjigae. I’ve heard foreigners don’t really like the taste of doenjang-jjigae, but they ate pretty much [all] of it. The restaurant also had pot rice, so I made them try that too. They ate that well too.

[YD plays the second video she recorded of them at the restaurant]

Tubbo: Go crazy ok, yeah! Alright.

YD: We ordered naengmyeon for a palate cleanser too. We ordered a lot.

Tubbo: [Struggles to cut the noodles with the scissors that were handed to him]

YD: He’s asking why we cut the noodles.

Tubbo: [Manages to cut the noodles] Kang-si [?]: Ok, and- and– [does chopstick motion] Tubbo: [Laughs] What am I gonna need? Eryn: Chopsticks? Kang-si [?]: Yeah. YD [?]: Chopsticks, mm. Eryn: [To Tubbo] You go first. Tubbo: [Inaudible] Why is it cold? YD [?]: Oh, because the noodle is cold.

YD: Yeah, he found it interesting that the noodle is cold.

Tubbo: [He struggles with his chopsticks] Oh no, oh no… [Everyone laughs] Kang-si [?]: Very difficult. Ok! Tubbo: [Manages to fish some noodles out and holds his hand under them so they don’t splash everywhere as he transports them to his bowl] Seoneng [?]: Oh, uh, oh! It might be difficult for them to eat that. YD [?]: Hm? Kang-si [?]: Do you want some, Seoneng? Gimme the chopsticks, I’ll share you some. Eryn: [To Tubbo] Slippery. How did you get it? Kang-si [?]: I’ll give you some, hand me the chopsticks. Seoneng [?]: Can I hand you mine? Just a small amount, please.

YD: They mimicked how Kangseok [Kang-si, YD’s husband] handles the noodles. Like, picking up the noodles like this and moving it to your dish.

Tubbo: That’s why you’re better than me (?).

YD: That’s Seoneng.

Kang-si [?]: Here’s your chopsticks, Seoneng. Eryn: I think this is enough. YD [?]: Oh, he’s taking some to his dish. Seoneng [?]: He learned. Tubbo: Do you like, spin 'em? Seoneng [?]: Scissors? Kang-si [?]: Like– [He holds up his chopsticks and shows them how to do it. Ok. OK! Eryn: [Picks up only a few noodles, which dangle] Seoneng [?]: Good! Tubbo: Maybe I did- I did a sht job of cutting, I'm sorry. Eryn: That's ok. Doing good.

YD: It had a nice atmosphere.

Eryn: Bravo. Tubbo: Oh, thank you. YD [?]: The noodles might be a bit slippery for them to...

YD: They really struggled to pick the noodles up. They asked why we cut the noodles then proceeds to eat like that 'cuz it's too long.

YD [?]: Shall we cut it? Kang-si [?]: Eryn? [He leans forward and cuts Eryn's noodles with scissors]

YD: –So we had to cut it for him like he's a baby.

[Everyone laughs] Eryn: It kept on moving!

[The video ends]

YD: [Laughs] Ah, so cute. It was fun. So we tried various dishes together. And uh, UK– UK– both of them are from the UK, but they didn't know there is a viral series of British students trying Korean food,*** so I told them "Seeing how you react to unfamiliar foods, like... How do I put this? You were very polite trying these out, not making any weird disgusted noises (so you can go viral too)." They didn't refuse anything. Well, they also said that this was the best Korean food they had so far. They might've been just being polite, but still, you know, they were... Hmm, very neat? Yeah. I get why he's so popular.

*** [Note: YT: Korean Englishman]

YD: Anyways, it was a lot of fun. After the meal, I asked them if they wanted to go take a YD 4-cut with us, explaining this is a trending form of birthday event amongst fans of younger generations in Korea where they rent and run a photobooth for their YouTuber / CCs / Influencers. I asked "It's close from here, you wanna go?" and he said yes. That's how we ended up taking a group photo. It wasn't planned beforehand.

YD: We arrived there– [Laughs] I tried, I knew it closes at 10pm, so I tried to visit there around then (to avoid people). So we got there around 9:30? And my fans were sitting there waiting for me. As soon as they spot me they go, "Wooooooo!!! It's so good to see you in person!!!" ...then they started crying, which made Tubbo and Eryn panic a bit. They were like "Wow YD, u a superstar! Whoa." [Laughs]

YD: No, 'cuz I told them that there might be a few fans because it's my birthday event, and they were OK with it. Well, he's also a Youtuber, so he wouldn't be too unfamiliar with this kinda situation I figure. But even though I warned [him] about it, they seemed a bit surprised as people started SOBBING, so Kangseok evacuated them all. He told them, "Let's get out and try some salted butter rolls while she..." The boys leave and get bread, and I go have a short conversation with my fans, take photos, give autographs... [Laughs]

YD: It was a LOT of fun. It was a memorable day.

The original VOD can be found here (please note that the video is only available to VIP members of YD's channel).

Timestamp for this conversation: ~12:30 - 23:00

#Yangding #QSMP #Tubbo #QSMP Meetups #YD #According to Forgetmelotz a lot of YD's viewers were calling Tubbo and Eryn ''babies'' how cute #August 23 2024 #That transcript took forever to write wheezes #Would've been even longer without those subtitles though #Translators are the backbone of our community fr #Eryn Cyberonix #Eryn

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

Just Friends: How It Began

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It's giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s more people than you expect. The book club is more of a book crowd. Not exactly what was advertised online. Instead of a circle of only about ten people, there are tables set around the room to seat as man. Each.

“Find your name tag,” the woman at the table near the entrance explains, “and your table. Everyone has a number.”

You thank her and find your name tag, sticking it onto your cardigan, right below your collar. You clutch your copy of The Good Earth. It’s well worn. A used copy you found on a thrift shop shelf. You search the room, lost as you take in the other listless faces.

You check the list of names and find your table number. This isn’t what you were hoping for. You want to make friends. Everyone here is older than you. Noticeably so. And there’s so many. It’s going to be so loud, you won’t be able to focus. You doubt you’ll make any sort of real connection.

You think of leaving but you’ve come this far. Besides, there’s a spot waiting for you. You find your seat at Table 12 and swing your feet nervously. You tap your fingers on the cover of your book and smile as a pair of white-haired ladies sit down across from you. They don’t acknowledge you as they chatter. You sit back, disappointed.

Other tables are a little livelier. Several attendees sit at the next table and garble loudly on. It seems like they’re already talking about Pearl S. Buck’s narrative from what you can make out. An older man sits down and you try to think of how to greet him. Oh, no, he seems to know those ladies. All three of them block you out as they ignore your tiny wave.

“Twelve,” the deep voice gristles over you. The chair next to you scrapes out. An even more worn novel lands on the table next to yours. The man sits. “This everyone?”

He looks around and you do too.

“There’s a few more seats,” you say as trace your finger over the spine of the book. You turn to him and pause. He’s familiar. Do you know him? “Um, hi...” You introduce yourself, trying not to cringe.

He’s younger than the others but still older than you. The silver strands threaded into his dark hair and patched along the edge of his jaw suggest at least a full decade, likely more. You offer your hand stiffly, not sure why you do. You’re not one for shaking hands. He accepts the gesture and your lashes flick in surprise. His fingers are... metal?

“Bucky Barnes?” You blurt out as he squeezes your hand firmly.

He drops his chin as if he was hoping to stay covert, “uh, yeah. You beat me to it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you retract your hand and slap your cheek, “I didn’t mean to. I only... I thought you looked... familiar and then I worried I forgot you from somewhere. But you’re too old to have been in my classes. But I mean... not too old. We had lots of mature students. Mature... just students. Age isn’t... well...”

He chuckles, “don’t worry about it. More than a century in, I can handle being called old.”

“I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean... that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine. It’s... cute,” he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. Another duo sits down and make no effort to engage beyond their pairing. He sighs and looks around. “Not very social for a social club.”

“Mm, no, but maybe once we get started...” you shrug.

“Maybe,” he sits back and drops his hands onto his lap. “You... don’t have somewhere less... geriatric to be?”

“Oh, um, well, you know, I have some friends but they only want to go drinking and I get all bubbly in my stummy—stomach, when I drink. So, yeah. I thought maybe I could meet a few tamer friends here.”

“Huh, well, I assure you, the old ones really aren’t that much different,” he scoffs. “And I get it. Alcohol doesn’t do much for me. Don't like the taste either. It’s all people ever wanna do. Always ‘let’s go for drinks’.”

You nod.

“Besides,” he continues, “don’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of dudes who can only talk about fighting the next bad guy. I need a friend who isn’t enhanced or magical.”

“Right, that sounds...”

“I know. I'm a grumpy old man complaining about saving the world,” he snorts. “Sorry, I just—I'm like you. Wanna expand outside my circle.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” you agree. “Looks like you’ve read that a few times.”

You point to his copy and he peers down. His blue eyes find you again, “first edition. Read it before I shipped off. My sister Rebecca still had it when she passed... she left it behind. It was just sitting in a storage unit.”

“Oh wow, I... yeah, er--”

“See, the whole friends thing... tough when there’s only one other guy in the city the same age as you,” he says.

“It’s nice of her to hold onto it for you,” you finally get your thoughts in line.

“Yeah, she was nice,” he agrees. “My best friend, but don’t tell Steve I said so.”

A man sits on your other side and jars you from the plucking of heart strings. He’s balding and thin. “Hi,” you turn to him and give your name, “nice to meet you.”

He glances at you, “Didn’t know this was open to kids.”

“Kids?” You echo. You’re well into adulthood. Almost twenty-five.

“Lay off, she’s being friendly,” Bucky leans over. “It’s a club. We’re supposed to talk about the book.”

“Yeah, I'm sure she has great insight into the battle between wealth and tradition.”

Your eyes round. You crane to see around you. You really are the youngest person in the room. You should have known.

“I’d love to learn,” you say and the man harrumphs.

Bucky growls, “you sure act like a jackass for putting on airs. She’s being polite.”

The man sneers, “some idea for a date, boy.”

“I’m not--” Bucky puts his metal hand on the table, between your books, balling it to a fist as the man gapes.

“I--” the man begins.

“Save it,” Bucky says. “Think you may have missed a few themes... you know, about women and oppression.” He drags his hand from the table. “Hey,” he nudges you softly. You almost can’t believe he can be so gentle with the metal limb, “how about we get outta here? They’re showing It Happened One Night just a few blocks down at the old cinema.”

“Yes! I know. It’s one of my favourites. I was going to go but everyone said it was boring and I didn’t wanna go alone.” You chirp, shying away from your own rambling.

“Same. So, how about it. Wanna make me look normal?”

You laugh, “sure. I love popcorn.”

“Alright, I might save you a few milk duds,” he stands and you do the same.

You think you’ve made a friend after all.

#bucky barnes #just friends #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier #captain america

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waitineedaname · 19 days ago

Note

you're going on a hike, how about u write about Binghe going on a hike with shizun?

sorry this is a day late! it turned out super sappy lol

Luo Binghe had spent a long time fantasizing about his future with Shen Qingqiu. Many of those fantasies had been strictly private and unsuitable for polite company, but many others had been innocent. Fantasies about living in the Bamboo House forever, attending to all Shen Qingqiu’s domestic needs. Fantasies about becoming a strong cultivator, becoming a suitable cultivation partner for a peak lord of Shen Qingqiu’s caliber.

And fantasies of days like this, following at Shen Qingqiu’s heels like a good head disciple should, assisting him with research for his bestiary.

“Binghe, look!” Shen Qingqiu exclaimed, voice hushed so as not to startle the beasts they’d been tracking. They crouched together in the brush, obscured from the creatures’ view.

The beasts they were searching for today were some obscure variety of rodent, somewhere between a rabbit and a large squirrel, with incongruously menacing teeth and fur so pale they blended in perfectly with the snow around them. Apparently they were notoriously shy and difficult to find, made worse by the fact that they were only found near the peak of one specific mountain. The creatures were most active in the winter, when the mountain’s terrain was most difficult for humans to navigate, but they’d gotten lucky today; they had a break from the near constant blizzards that haunted this mountain, leaving the sky the kind of crisp blue reserved for remarkably cold winter days. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe flew up the mountain early in the morning and had been tracking the creatures for hours before finally spotting them.

“Quick,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, pressing a notebook and stick of charcoal in Luo Binghe’s hands. “Sketch them, and I’ll take notes. You’re the better artist, anyway,” he said, the praise spilling easily from his mouth as he retrieved his own notes.

“Only because Shizun taught me so well,” Luo Binghe said, brimming with pride. Shen Qingqiu huffed and flicked his forehead, but his attention was elsewhere.

“I can’t believe they’ve let us get so close,” Shen Qingqiu murmured, taking notes in a shorthand Luo Binghe could still only partially decipher. “Look, are those the kits? I don’t think their young have ever been documented. We’ll be the first!”

Luo Binghe watched the animals hop around in the clearing, carefully sketching them. The babies were quite cute, resembling little snowballs as they snuggled with what must be their mother. “Does Shizun want one?”

“Want one?” Shen Qingqiu startled, then shook his head. “Of course not. Look how happy they are with their mother. I couldn’t bear separating them.”

One particularly clingy kit squished against its mother’s chest and made a whiny, trilling sound. The mother obligingly began grooming between its ears.

Luo Binghe scooted closer to Shen Qingqiu so they were pressed together from hips to shoulders. Shen Qingqiu absently rubbed Luo Binghe’s back for just a moment before returning to his notes.

“Besides,” he continued, pointing at a bird that had made the mistake of landing near the rodent family, “They’re rather territorial.”

Faster than should be possible, the rabbit-squirrel mother launched herself at the bird and ripped it to bloody shreds. The bird didn’t even manage to let out a death cry before the kits swarmed and happily began feasting upon it.

“I see.” Luo Binghe glanced down at the sketch he’d made of the rabbit mother sweetly grooming its kit. He looked back up to find that same kit’s white fur now completely bloodstained. “I suppose they would not make very good pets.”

“No,” Shen Qingqiu chuckled. “If we brought one home, they would eat all the short-haired beasts Liu-shidi keeps bringing, and then where would we be?”

“I’m sure Liu-shishu would just bring more,” Luo Binghe grumbled under his breath. That made Shen Qingqiu laugh a little louder, inadvertently startling the rodent family. They all froze and stared at the bush where the two of them hid, their fur menacingly bloodstained.

“Come on,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, tugging on Luo Binghe’s sleeve. “Let’s leave them alone before they decide we’re prey too.”

Luo Binghe was pretty sure he could handle half a dozen rabbits, sharp teeth or not, but he obligingly followed Shen Qingqiu away from the clearing. Shen Qingqiu’s hand slid down from his sleeve to slip into Luo Binghe’s hand and squeeze gently.

“I have one more thing I’d like to see,” Shen Qingqiu suggested, glancing up at his husband. “Unless Binghe would like to go home?”

“This disciple will go wherever Shizun wishes,” Luo Binghe answered immediately.

Shen Qingqiu scoffed, but side by side like this he couldn’t hide his smile behind his fan. He led Luo Binghe through the dense underbrush, following an overgrown trail up the mountain. They went higher and higher, high enough that it surely rivaled even Cang Qiong’s highest peaks, and then the trees finally parted and they found themselves at the very tip of the mountain. Luo Binghe’s eyes widened at the view, and Shen Qingqiu looked inordinately pleased.

“It’s even better than described,” Shen Qingqiu muttered, and Luo Binghe wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear that. Shen Qingqiu tugged him along until they stood at the absolute highest point of the mountain, overlooking the range of jagged peaks below them, followed by hills and rivers and distant fields. Shen Qingqiu let go of his hand to point out landmarks.

“There’s Huan Hua Palace and Hua Yue City,” he said, pointing to a city amidst the distant plains. “That other mountain range is Cang Qiong Mountain. And there,” he added, pointing to a winding river whose origins spilled from a tall snow capped mountain, “That’s the Luo River.”

“It’s beautiful,” Luo Binghe said truthfully. The recent snow had covered most of the nearby landscape in white, but the clear skies made the ground glitter and shine. This high up, they could see to nearly impossible distances, past familiar landmarks to places he only heard about on trade reports. He was suddenly filled with the hunger to sweep Shen Qingqiu up and fly to that farthest point, just to see his husband’s delight at exploring a new place.

Beside him, Shen Qingqiu had a small, smug smile. “I thought Binghe would like it. This master apologizes, but Binghe’s birthday snuck up on him this year. I would’ve done something more special if I’d planned earlier, but hopefully this is enough for now. Oh!” he exclaimed, a puff of air escaping his mouth into the frosty air. “Binghe must be cold. Hold on.”

He began rummaging around in his qiankun sleeve, giving Luo Binghe a moment to admire the flush on Shen Qingqiu’s cheeks from the crisp air and the contented tilt to his lips. The view was beautiful, yes, but it was made all the more beautiful by the man next to him. If he said that out loud, Shen Qingqiu would surely scold him for being sappy, so he kept that thought to himself and waited patiently for Shen Qingqiu to extract whatever he was looking for.

“Here,” Shen Qingqiu said, pulling out a warm flask and pressing it into Luo Binghe’s hands. “I special ordered that dark tea you like. The flask is your Shang-shishu’s design.” He traced his finger over the talisman carved into the flask. “Despite the man’s many faults, he is the expert at surviving in cold temperatures. This master thought we could share the tea and enjoy the view before returning to our inn. How does that sound?”

Luo Binghe couldn’t resist. He leaned in and pressed a kiss directly to his husband’s mouth. Shen Qingqiu made a startled little noise but he kissed back easily. When they eventually pulled apart, Luo Binghe nuzzled their cold noses together.

“Thanking Shizun,” he murmured, smiling.

Shen Qingqiu hummed, seeming distracted by Luo Binghe’s proximity. He leaned away, his cheeks flushed for reasons beyond the cold, and pointed his folded fan at the flask. “Binghe better enjoy that tea. It wasn’t easy to find, you know.”

“Of course.” Luo Binghe grinned and led him over to a broad stone they could sit together on. “Though, forgive this ignorant disciple the question, but… how does Shizun know this one’s birthday?”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan snapped open and covered his face as his eyes darted away. “Lucky guess.”

“I see.” Luo Binghe nodded, schooling his expression into something neutral. “It’s just, this one did not even know his own birthday. Shizun is truly knowledgeable.”

Shen Qingqiu glanced back at him and his eyes narrowed over his fan. “Does Binghe not want to celebrate today? This master had planned to continue celebrations in our room at the inn after we finished our tea, but if Binghe insists it is not his birthday…”

Luo Binghe drank his tea so quickly it would’ve burned his tongue if not for his accelerated healing. Shen Qingqiu graciously did not snort at him. No, that noise was definitely a dignified chuckle. Certainly nothing so inelegant as a snort that made him hunch his shoulders and shake. Never.

The tips of his ears and nose were losing feeling from the chill, but he was warm where Shen Qingqiu’s hand brushed against his and where their thighs pressed together.

Yes, he had many fantasies in his youth, but nothing could measure up to how warm and beautiful the real thing was.

#svsss #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #my writing #asks #artsarasp #this is just a sappy little snippet!!#but they deserve some sappiness i think #save me married bingqiu... married bingqiu save me......

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kaiserposting · 9 months ago

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Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Dick Measuring

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 0.8k TYPE: Humor, Drabble WARNING(S): This is literall y just one giant dick joke help NOTE: If you wanna see the rest of the horrible not-polycule series it's at the bottom of the masterlist

While scrolling through your phone at a ferocious speed with a manic grin, you turn to Ness and announce, “Look, over 500 thousand tweets mentioning my name. The viewers are all up on my cock now.”

He glances at you in disdain, which is hard to pull off with his cutesy face. Somehow he manages it though each time you two converse. In a judgemental tone, he asks, “Are you seriously name searching yourself?” Sure, he knows Kaiser does it too, but you’re not Kaiser so that shit doesn’t fly.

“Yeah. Check it out, someone made a compilation of me owning Kaiser. With filters.” You flash the screen at them both to show it off.

Kaiser spares it a dismissive glance, mind lost somewhere else.

“Give me that,” says Ness. Then he grabs the device out of your grasp and squints at the screen, memorizing the username.

“Don’t tell me you’ll mass report their account for that?”

“I won’t,” he lies, smiling at you before giving you back your phone as if he didn’t snatch it away in the first place.

“You’re doing full splits on it. Like, you could be, like, a gymnast.”

“W-Well, so what?! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“So they’re all up on your cock huh?” Kaiser asks. The smug expression he’s making right now, you get the inkling he’s about to say something terrible. And he delivers as per your expectation: “I bet mine’s bigger.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow at that, this judgmental expression on your face.

Ness nods, still seeming pleasant. “It probably is.”

“Bragging on another man’s dick size is crazy.”

“It’s not crazy! I’m speaking realistically.”

“Well,” says Kaiser, annoyed at having to wrestle with Ness for your attention all the time when Ness is supposed to be helping him score you, “there’s only one way to find out. We should both get naked and check.”

Your stare switches from unimpressed to blank. Vacant of any signs of life. Even Ness scrunches his eyebrows and appears slightly aghast at the suggestion, which is how you know it’s egregious for sure. Wow, this has to be his most desperate attempt at flirting to date. What’s making it worse is the fact that he’s not even reacting to your collective puzzlement with the whole thing.

Once you regain enough sense to respond, you say, “Thanks, but no thanks. You know I’m not interested in the small things in life, Kaiser.”

This also snaps Ness out of his trance as he is now offended, though he graciously spares you of any further embarrassing commentary, settling for glaring.

“Wanna compare just to make sure?”

Your lips quirk up. “Here’s my list of things I’ll never let near my nether regions: police officers, male photographers, multi level marketers, politicians, Michael Kaiser.”

“Aww, why? You’re no fun,” Kaiser coos at you mockingly.

“I bet you have the funniest penis ever.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Ness interjects while Kaiser merely tilts his head to the side, awaiting elaboration on this statement.

“Like you were probably uncircumcised when you were little and then you grew up and got a circumcision for aesthetic purposes or something else hilarious like that,” you say.

“What?” He crosses his arms and scoffs at the notion. “Ok now I’m convinced you’re just stupid. What a hauntingly dimwitted concept to come up with.” Then he smirks at you again, straightening his back and raising his eyebrows. “But, again, if you wanna make sure that there’s nothing wrong with it, the offer still stands.”

“Listen here. If you say anything along these lines to me ever again, something’s gonna happen.”

“Oh really?” Kaiser gets all up in your face. He remains amused. “And what’s going to happen?”

“I’ll send you to where Shinzo Abe is.”

He blinks at you for a second while Ness is mumbling incomprehensible threats in the background. Then he smiles at you before leaning back to a more socially appropriate distance. “Alright, I admit, I appreciate this one out of all your little retorts.”

“I think you love any words I waste on you. Attention whore. Anyway, I’ll go work out in one of the training rooms with the cameras for fanservice, so I’m leaving.” You pass by Kaiser and stop in front of Ness, puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner, blowing him a kiss. “Bye bye, Ness.”

He blushes and crosses his arms while pouting, pretending he totally didn’t enjoy that as you walk off. Kaiser gives him a scornful look.

Ness remembers the whole conversation which ensued. “I’m sure it’s big and nice,” he reassures rather clinically, the way one would share an interesting fact. It doesn't occur to him what an odd remark he’s making.

“Thanks. You always know the right things to say.” Kaiser pats Ness gently on the head like the dog slash servant he is, perhaps to encourage the behavior through positive reinforcement. He basks in the feeling, warm, and almost forgets about the context of this action. But because Ness can’t have anything good ever, after a while Kaiser adds, “I wish someone I was actually into would talk to me like you do too though.”

___

Yea I haven't slept in 5 days again how can yo utell

#michael kaiser x reader #alexis ness x reader #kaiser x reader #ness x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #I finished this yesterday or I guess at like past midnight but I was so fucking out of it didnt botehr uploading

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roseykat · 1 year ago

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TITLE: Table Manners and Bible Studies

PAIRING: Jeongin x reader

SUMMARY: Jeongin, a churchgoer who is also a very sexual person, likes to immerse both you and himself in the realm of sensory play, among other things as well.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: themes of BDSM centred around sensory play, soft dom Jeongin, explicit language, use of ice cubes, body-safe hot candle wax, a feather, blindfold, safe and consensual play, nipple stimulated orgasm, mentions of religion (no specific religion is being mentioned here but the concept is that Jeongin is religious for the purposes of this work).

MASTERLIST

He goes to church. That’s all you know about one of the guys in your class who always dresses well, dons cute glasses and seems well put together. He’s an intriguing one among the masses of students that attend and even with the volume of people, he still stood out to you even if he was quiet.

However, it was never in your interest to approach a guy like him. He and his four friends, all from the same church, seemed relatively lovely and all kept to themselves. From your perspective, it appeared as if two of the girls really liked him. If they did, you don’t blame them. Whoever he was seemed to be sweet.

“Still eyeing him up?” Your friend Minho pokes you in the ribs with his finger, lulling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not eyeing him up,” you snap defensively, averting your stare away from his group to refocus on your lunch with him.

“Just say he’s hot,” he encourages. “If I’m willing to admit it, then you should.”

“You think he’s hot?”

“And you don’t?” He questions back, almost offended that you didn’t assume otherwise.

“I suppose that means something coming from a whore such as yourself,” you remember with a sigh.

Minho nods in agreement with your statement, “and as a whore, I’m telling you he’s hot. So why not go for him?”

“That’s not who I want though,” you say to him.

A cackle nearly breaks out from his mouth, “that’s right. So how is the hunt for one of those dom boyfriends going anyway? Isn’t that the type you’re looking for?”

“He doesn’t have to be, but it would help significantly,” you answer truthfully. “I just think that would be the best way to get my foot in the door for getting into BDSM.”

“I seriously don’t know where you got that idea from, but you don’t need to go searching for a boyfriend who’s into BDSM to get into it,” Minho truthfully informs you. “There are sites and apps where you can connect to doms and go from there. But if you do, don’t just jump at the first dom that you see. Always do background checks.”

You sometimes forget that Minho himself is in the BDSM scene. He has been for a while and for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve always been interested in what he does. From his stories, they sound exciting and riveting; exactly the kind of thing you want to try out to make your sexual life a little more lively.

“I know that,” you whine. “If not that, then I don’t really know where to begin.”

“Well, we all start somewhere,” he says with a hint of optimism. “Since you’re interested still, there’s a BDSM convention at the end of this week. If you want to get your foot in the door with it, I reckon you should go.”

“A convention?” You ask with intruigue. “What do they host there?”

“They’re there to promote safe BDSM to people and have a variety of pop up stores on site that sell anything related to it,” he answers. “I’m supposed to be going but, I’ve got something else on at the same time. In fact you can have my concession.”

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“Yeah, it’s already printed off,” he says. “I’ll give it to you on Thursday.”

It was a good idea at first, but come the day of the event, your nerves were shot. It was your first time being surrounded by anything like this. Particularly by yourself. It was a bit stereotypical to assume that the convention was run something along the lines of seeing naked people tied up, some in cages, or live scenes taking place in front of crowds.

That wasn’t the case at all. It was almost like a niche grocery store where the locals gather to buy homegrown fruit and veggies. Some part of that concept helped calm a few nerves.

Once you receive your concession band, you start around the front area of the pop-up stores. People were lining up to see demonstrations of shibari methods and most were interested in buying a series of items for the bedroom.

They were all displayed like sea creatures at a fish market, waiting to be bought. From cattail butt plugs, clover nipple clamps, juicy erotica novels - one of which you picked up - lengths of different coloured ropes, wooden floggers, riding crops, and so much more.

Away from all the chaos at the stalls was an area called BDSMC; BDSM and coffee. It was a way to set people up with potential doms and or subs. Each individual looking for a buddy would order a coffee or drink with a green cup that had either letter on it; D for dom or S for sub. Red cups were exclusively 'do not approach' because the person either didn’t want to engage or they may already have a partner and are just there for some good coffee.

It was an awesome set-up and had you thinking about heading over to maybe find someone who would be interested. However, you stored away that thought as you continued to have a look around.

One thing that was painfully obvious to you was the fact that people weren’t there by themselves. They were either there with a group or their partner, making you feel even more out of place and slightly overwhelmed. But you weren’t going to tap out early. Minho gave you his ticket not only because he couldn’t attend, but also because he wants you to experience what you’re looking for, for yourself.

So you scour out the stores under the guise of your own interest, coming across a few which struck that interest. There was one store tailored specifically to pain play, a heavy aspect of BDSM. Another stall had all to do with sexual health, consent and BDSM - not necessarily selling anything, but just there to answer any questions that people may have.

One place had caught you attention, a store all to do with sensory play and deprivation - a term in which you’ve came across within the realm of research into BDSM.

In nicely orgasnised lines were individual packets of silk blindfolds in a variety of different colours. There were boxes of body safe candles, most likely for temperature play, noise cancelling headphones, sleek metal handcuffs, and other items that had you wondering how they work.

“Hello, anything I can help you with or just browsing today?” One of the shop owners approaches you from behind the table.

“Oh, just browsing thank you,” you reply back to her.

“No worries, let me know if you need anything,” she smiles back at you and walks down to the other end of the long table.

“Hello, do you have any of these in black?” A person beside you asks to another store keeper.

Out of sheer interest, you briefly look up at the person just as an unspoken social acknowledgement while the owner tends to their new customer. But to your absolute shock and surprise, the person enquiring happened to be someone very familiar.

The jet black hair, distinct glasses, the trendy casual outfit...

…there was no way.

“We should do. I’ll have a look around in some of our storage containers just behind the back for you,” she says helpfully.

“Thank you,” the customer responds.

It was definitely him, and whilst your eyes had been glued to his presence for such a long time, his gaze catches onto it.

“Hey,” he spoke in a mousey volume.

You stall in your step a bit just as you were about to walk away to remain unknown, but the angelic purity in the tone of his voice lulled you back. You’d feel bad if you didn’t greet him too.

“Hey,” you say to him awkwardly. “How are you?”

“I’m good thank you, yourself?” He asks back.

“Yeah, good thanks. I know you, sort of. Aren’t you in my class?”

It was a useless question to ask considering you’ve spent too many times looking at him to know that it’s definitely him. That distinct soft expression couldn’t pass you by. The only thing different is that he wasn't swarmed by his usual collective of friends.

A small smile spreads on his face, “yeah. I’ve seen you here and there. You usually sit close to the front.”

“That’s right,” you nod, bewildered that he knows who you are and where you sit during class. “So…what brings you…here of all places?”

Jeongin shrugs with a smile, “interest. You?”

You nod, “also interest.”

The lady pops back from behind the screen with some items, “you might be out of luck. We’ve only got grey and white left but there’s a couples' one for you and your partner here.”

Your mind stutters upon hearing those words come out of the lady’s mouth, “oh he’s not - we’re not-“

“What about any more of these? Preferably in black as well?” Jeongin picks up a baby pink coloured blindfold and presents it to the woman. He seemed to have saved that awkward statement yet wasn’t entirely effected by it as you were.

“I’ll have a look around the back again and see if we’ve got anything,” she says, quickly rushing off.

“Sorry about that,” he says apologetically to her.

He was as nice as he looked. Almost like a gentle, placid puppy which makes you wonder, how is someone like him at one of these conventions. Specifically, someone who is quite religious. You didn’t want to judge right away, but that was the preface of your observation.

“I take it you’ve never been to one of these before,” he points out as he waits.

Your shoulders relax defeatedly, someone had finally ripped down your facade, “can you tell?”

“Just a little bit,” he grins. “But props to you for coming here on your own by the looks of it.”

“A friend of mine recommended I go so I thought I should,” you respond, eyeing up some of the other products.

He nods engagingly, “really? Why did they recommend it to you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just…looking to get into BDSM,” you reply honestly, feeling comfortable enough to talk to him about this. Plus there was no point in hiding your intentions given where you are now. “He said I should go to one of these events, check out the stores, and see how some of this stuff works I suppose.”

The lady returns from the back with exactly what he requested while also picking up a few extra things before paying for the lot. Your attention fixates on those items, wondering who he uses them on; a pyrex glass dildo, one tube of strawberries and cream flavoured lube, and also a ball gag

Whoever his partner is must be lucky.

The shopkeeper bags all of the items he paid for in a discrete bag before he thanks her.

“That's a good step, but if you’re a beginner, it’d be best for you to start out small,” he advises just an idea suddenly strikes him. He wonders for a second about whether or not it’s appropriate to ask, but he considers your circumstances and why you’re even here.

“I figured that. No point in me diving right into the deep end when I can’t swim yet,” you agree.

“You know, because we’re both here, we should get together sometime so we can talk about these kinds of things. I could show you how all of these work too if you want,” he pitches his suggestion to you, holding up the bag of things that he just purchased.

You stare up at him, utterly bewildered, “wait, are you serious?”

“Only if you are, otherwise-“

“No!” You cut him off. “I mean, yes - yes I am serious. It’s just, I was shocked that you even asked me.”

He stifles a chuckle as a reaction to you being so oddly yet unforceably cute, “alright then. I’ll give you my number. I’m Jeongin by the way.”

“Jeongin, okay. I’m Y/N.”

It was nice to finally put a name to a handsome face. Jeongin, who was as unsuspecting as the come, had exchanged numbers with you before you both departed. He left you wondering so much more about his personality and particularly his interests with BDSM. It even made you forget to text Minho to tell him how well the convention went.

Right before you decided that you were going to ring him, a text came through to you from Jeongin.

To you from Jeongin: ‘Hey Y/N, it’s Jeongin. It was nice meeting you the other day. I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee to talk and get to know each other more. If so, when are you free?’

You to Jeongin: ‘Hey Jeongin, it was nice meeting you as well. I’m free in the afternoons throughout the week. We could go for coffee on campus after class if it’s not too far?’

Jeongin to You: ‘Nope, that’s perfect. Shall we say Monday straight after? We can head there together.’

You to Jeongin: ‘Sounds good to me. See you then.’

Jeongin to You: ‘Yup! :)’

With those responses from him in mind, it made looking forward to Monday a little more palatable. Usually, it’s hectic with quizzes, tonnes of readings, and a boring two hour lecture. Meeting up with Jeongin meant you had something to look forward to after class.

Just as the lecture comes to an end, you look back to the middle row of seats in the centre section of the room as you pack up your things and see Jeongin waving out to you. You wave back, acknowledging that you’ve seen him and watch him say bye to his friends before he makes his way down to you. A couple of them seemed rather puzzled that he was leaving them, but nonetheless, they let him be.

“Hey Y/N,” he says to you, walking down the steps. “What did you think of that?”

“Boring as per,” you groan. “It made me want to sleep.”

Jeongin laughed, “shall we go before you fall asleep then?”

The pair of you exited the theatre together and headed to one of the nearby cafes on campus. Normally teeming with hungry students, the venue wasn’t as packed as it usually is from the help of classes that run through into lunch. It meant that you and Jeongin were able to receive your drinks relatively quickly in order to sit down and start talking.

“How was your weekend?” He asks you.

You finish bringing your drink down from your lips, “not as exciting as I wished it had been. Mainly just catching up on some of the online work that we were meant to do.”

Jeongin is shaking his head but silently agreeing with you, “I don’t know why they bother giving us tasks to do online.”

“I suppose to make us suffer even more,” you guess.

“I think you might be right, and since it’s worth credit, we have no choice,” he snickers. “But anyway, on a completely different note, what did you think of your first BDSM event?”

“Not as daunting as I was expecting it to be,” you answer honestly. “It was pretty pleasant, to say the least, and the people I met were really nice.”

“That’s good to know,” Jeongin nods. “Usually I hear of beginners who get too overwhelmed and never come back. It’s a shame really because they only see the tip of the iceberg.”

“Do you normally attend those events?” You ask him, still immensely intrigued that he even went in the first place.

“Only when I can,” he responds. “Most of the time, classes and other stuff get in the way, but I’ve found a balance now. What made you want to get into BDSM anyway?”

“A friend of mine is well into that space and I always hear him talking about it. Since then it’s always interested me, so I started doing some research about it,” you answer. “It was the same person who told me to go to that event.”

“Smart choice for doing your research, not many people do and just head straight into something they don’t know,” Jeongin mentally applauds you. “It can turn out to be a really good or really terrible experience for beginners.”

“Yeah, he warned me about that,” you chuckle, just thinking of Minho and what he’s said to you in the past. “What about you? How did you get into BDSM? Sounds like you’re already in that space.”

“I am. I’ve been in it for four years, since the start of my degree,” Jeongin confirms adjusting his black glasses. “I got into it just by interest as well - similar to you, except, I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing someone who was already part of this space so some things I had to learn the hard way.”

“Then I take it that you’re relatively experienced then,” you respond, inferring an assumption already.

Jeongin smiles shyly, almost like he’s somewhat embarrassed by your comment, “you could say that. Is it right to assume that you’re looking for someone to do scenes with?”

You give a nod, “yes. Just…didn’t know who with.”

“That fits then; given that I have some experience and you haven’t yet, then maybe we do a trial, see if we click, those sorts of aspects. What do you think about that?” He asks you.

An excitement thumps against your chest, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” He replies with optimism. “Then if it’s okay with you, do you maybe want to talk about some of your kinks and things that you don’t like and organise a time and place for our first scene?”

“I’d love to.”

Both you and Jeongin brought a lot of ideas to the table, conducting a healthy discussion about what you’re both into and not. Although he openly stated to you that he mainly presents himself as a dom, he was open to switching too. However, for the purpose of getting you into the swing of BDSM, it would be best for him to take the reins.

So with a little more talking, you both came up with a set date and time for the first scene which was to be at Jeongin’s place; not too far from campus. All the information and the logistics leading up to the scene were slightly nerve-wracking but didn’t match your level of excitement.

Considering your inexperience with BDSM, Jeongin had to factor in what would be the best method of easing you into things. Sensory play was the one thing that came to mind. It’s not too extreme, can involve some restraints, and can act as a good stepping stone for a BDSM beginner.

“It’s a good way to start off,” Jeongin said to you back at the cafe. “If it’s just sensory play only, people don’t usually climax from it. But if there’s some sort of sexual penetration that’s involved, then most likely. I don’t do the latter.”

“Still sounds like fun,” you replied.

“It is. I can deprive you of one or more of your senses which will only enhance the other.”

His way of describing the basics of sensory play could’ve easily put you to sleep – not because it was boring, but because his voice was so silky smooth that you could listen to it all day. The fact that he has so much knowledge about a subject was strangely erotic.

With your mind cleared in preparation for the scene, Jeongin flicks you a text an hour beforehand to see if you are still keen. He definitely knows that you are, but it’s also to cover his end as a dom to ensure that you know that you can pull out of the scene before it starts.

To You from Jeongin: Hey Y/N, still on for tonight?

From you to Jeongin: ‘Hey! Absolutely, I’ll text you when I’m at yours?’

To You from Jeongin: ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Even if you didn’t want to go through with it tonight, Jeongin would be okay with that. For whatever reason why you would say no, he’s happy that you would feel safe to refuse. But never in your wildest dreams would you ever think of refusing, because as soon as it was time to leave, there was no doubt in your mind that you would turn back.

You had showered and packed a bag with a towel, extra clothes in case, a water bottle, and some snacks. If anyone were to come up to you and look into your duffle, their only thought would be that you’re heading to a gym nearby, not heading to your first BDSM scene. It was a nice little secret to have.

As you arrive on the street of Jeongin’s apartment, you text him to say that you’re nearly there and knock on the door once you’ve officially made it.

“Hey,” he greets with his smiley usual self. “Come in.”

“Hey,” you respond, looking around as you step in.

It was rather spacious which is usually not generous with student accommodation. Normally it’s one room cramped with a desk, chair, inadequate storage underneath the single bed and a community bathroom down the hall. By the looks of it, Jeongin had all this space to himself including a small bathroom and mini kitchenette area.

“Wow, you got lucky with student housing around here.”

“Can’t stress the word ‘lucky’ enough,” Jeongin emphasises, closing the door behind you as you take your shoes off. “Took me about four months last year just to apply for a viewing. But after living in shared accommodation on campus, I needed my own space.”

“Fair enough,” you say. “Some student spaces are lucky enough to have wallpaper. But anyway.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” He offers. “I bought food earlier on.”

“No it’s okay thank you, I made sure to have some water and food before the scene,” you politely refuse.

“Okay, good,” Jeongin nods, impressed even. Those who forget to eat before a scene will often find that their energy depletes faster, rendering them unable to continue or even worse, it could go hand in hand with a sub drop. “Then in that case, shall we get started?”

Your stomach flips excitedly, “sounds good to me.”

Jeongin does the honours of leading you to his bedroom. It’s adorned with a minimalistic aesthetic and beautiful muted tones. There’s a decent queen-sized bed centred back against the wall. Laid on top of its surface is a black cardboard box and a set of black restraints right beside it in contrast with the white fitted duvet. Flickering on the bedside table burned a red candle.

From what you could gather, it was most likely for wax play, but it smelt amazing. Almost a woody with a tinge of floral essence to it that filled his room.

“We can start the scene by taking your clothes off and I’ll get these restraints ready, okay?” Jeongin suggests to you.

“Okay.”

He steps over towards the mattress, picking up the long restraints. Only two – one for each of your wrists that he was going to link to the bedposts. He secures the ends of them in place while you strip yourself down to your bra and underwear. You fold them over your arms as Jeongin returns to carefully take them from you and places them on his chair in the corner of the room.

He comes back once he’s done, eyeing up your body. It’s not that he meant to gawk or observe you per se, but he was in fact silently appreciating your body. He could only just hide the fact that he’s very taken with how you look and the way you pull off a simple black bra and underwear set.

It wasn’t lingerie, but they were intricated pieces. Jeongin seems to be aware of that when you feel him delicately glide his fingertips down the straps of your bra from behind while you stare into his mirror on the wall.

“This is is pretty,” he says.

You swallow quietly, content with his observation, “yeah?”

“Yes, but unfortunately I need it off for this scene. Is that okay with you?” He asks.

“That’s okay,” you reply clearly.

“Okay then, what’s your colour?”

“Green.”

With your given consent in mind, Jeongin works behind your back to unclasp your bra and places it with the rest of your clothes. It’s not an awkward moment for either of you given that it was nothing in comparison to the things he had planned for you.

“Beautiful,” he comments, his eyes lingering for a few seconds too long in the mirror. Your cheeks instantly become hotter, hoping Jeongin can just hurry up and put the blindfold over your eyes so you don’t have to look at him. “Let’s move to the bed. I’ll get you to lie down so I can put the restraints on your wrists.”

On his instruction, you make your way over to his bed after he moves the black box to the nightstand. You sit down on the mattress edge and prop your legs up until you’re able to lie down flat with your head on his pillow.

Jeongin slightly manoeuvres each of your arms before strapping your wrists into the restraints and for a couple of seconds there, you’re in your own mind. It still baffles you that you struck gold with Jeongin by absolute chance. Not to mention he’s the same person who attends church and goes to bible studies and is the same person who’s tying you to his bed.

“Not too tight?” He checks in with you.

“Nope, that’s fine,” you reply.

Jeongin takes the lid off of the box on the side and takes out the silk black blindfold he purchased from the convention the other day, “okay, I’m going to place the blindfold over your eyes now.”

You nod as total darkness shields you from the predictable. Now you can’t see what’s coming next. The excitement and anticipation hinder all nervousness you’ve been feeling while Jeongin takes a moment to appreciate the state that you’re in. It’s not often for him to be so taken with a person to the point where he just about forgets what he’s doing.

Only then does he realise that he’s in a scene and needs to refocus.

Once he’s content with everything, he decides to move on, “now we can start.”

He goes back to the box, careful not to make too much sound so that you can’t grasp a hint of what might be inside. The first item he picks up is a long, spindly black feather. It’s simple yet very effective, responsible for creating that ticklish sensation when he dances it lightly and softly along your skin. On its first contact, your nerves try to anticipate where Jeongin will take the feather next, but their guesses come up short when he uses it somewhere else.

The feather glides from the base of your throat, downwards and in between your tits. Jeongin then uses it to delicately lick over your nipple, making you keen slightly to one side. You can’t help but suppress a moan by biting down on your lip. It shouldn’t feel this good too early, but you can’t help your body’s natural reaction to the feather that leaves tingles in your muscles throughout its wake.

The smile on Jeongin’s face indicates that he’s enjoying watching you squirm and quietly whimper, still teasing you with the black plume. He drags it from the tips of your toes, up your shin, and right over your clothed pussy, making you press your head back into the pillow.

Jeongin makes a mental note of that reaction and smirks. To him, those small effects of what he’s doing to your body with only a feather, make him wonder how sensitive you really are. But it’s not his whole desire to spend too much time with it and proceeds to move on to something else; the hot wax.

After placing the previous item in the box, Jeongin swaps it for the candle. The catcher has collected a substantial amount of wax at the bottom which will allow him to pour the majority of it out before it starts to solidify. But Jeongin stalls for a moment as he tries to make up his mind on where to pour first.

In his opinion, he wants to cover all the sensitive parts that you’ll let him. Your tits, collarbone, throat, tummy, wherever. Eventually, however, he knows he’ll get to those places. So he starts with your tummy, watching the hot wax drip and dribble onto your skin, hardening as it makes contact.

A gasp is forced out of your mouth, “s-shit-“

“Too hot?” Jeongin asks you, pulling back the candle before he goes to pour again.

“N-No,” you shake your head fervently. “J-Just wasn’t expecting-"

Jeongin pours a steady line of wax in between your tits, prying your mouth open for slightly quiet yet strained moans to roll from the base of your throat.

He expects you to have some sort of reaction to the hot wax, but not like this. Usually, people try to escape from the head, some swear like sailors, and others might scream or yelp. You on the other hand…it makes him wonder if you’re a masochist with the way you’re moaning from the slight pain.

Nonetheless, he drips more wax, this time down your abdomen, forcing you to purse your lips to suppress any sound.

Despite the temperature of the thick content, your brain, for whatever reason, deduces it as a good sensation rather than a bad one. It does burn a bit, but not to the point where you feel like you need to call for a break. That feeling when it settles into the skin where it’s magnificent and warm is too good to pass up, allowing you to keep going.

With the session barely in full swing, you’re trying to keep it together for Jeongin so that hopefully he’d invite you back for another. Yet, within the second you even start thinking about that, Jeongin pours some of the wax, just about the line of your underwear, making you tug hard on the restraints.

“Fuck – oh my god,” you groan, feeling the heat emulsify within your lower half. It spreads beautifully, just where you want it. “That feels…”

“Good?” Jeongin asks, making your back arch slightly when he drips more wax from your sternum to just above your belly button. There are some areas that he won’t cover with the wax since he wants enough sensitive space for the next part of the scene.

“Y-Yes.”

Since Jeongin has some verbal confirmation from you that the heat feels good, his indication of pinning you for being a masochist grows stronger. It’s not abnormal, but it’s rare. Not everyone is a fan of pain and some even find it confusing when it’s applied in the bedroom.

That’s not Jeongin though. He appreciates pain and pleasure in a controlled environment. In saying that, he cannot make a full observation of whether or not you’re a full-blown masochist. He’d need to actually ask you first and run other ‘tests’ to achieve a result.

In light of the pain, Jeongin makes use of the little wax he has left, steadily pouring it onto the underside of your tits – close to where you want it. When there’s no content left at the bottom of the catcher, he moves on once more. This time, to a completely opposite temperature.

He sets the candle back down on the nightstand, leaving it to continue burning so that the aroma fills the room rather than smoke if he were to blow it out. You then hear his footsteps shuffling around to the other side of the bed, making you wonder what it is that he’s doing. But despite tuning your ears into his every movement, Jeongin makes sure to be as careful as he can to ensure that you don’t know what’s coming next.

The one thing that you hadn’t noticed in his room the second you walked in was a mini tin bucket of ice cubes on the other side of his bed. He gave away zero hints towards his next move, so when he quietly picked up one of the cubes and immediately placed it just above your tits, you suck in a huge gasp.

“Geez, I wasn’t ready,” you sigh out some of the anticipation that’s building inside of you.

Jeongin smiles, “good.”

The areas of your body that are free from the hardened wax allow him to glide the ice cube gently over your skin. The temperature in comparison to the wax is electrifying, more so than what you ever would have anticipated – had you known it was coming.

Jeongin watches the ice cubes melt from your body heat, seeing the droplets of water pool for a second and run down your sides. When the first cube has melted down completely, Jeongin picks up another. This time, he drags it slowly above the band of your underwear again.

“Mm! Fuck…” you exclaim loudly, trying to conduct the sensation when it only just builds. “S-Sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Jeongin reassures you.

He then brings the ice cube up to one of your nipples, causing you to arch your back and tug on the restraints simultaneously as a sharp gasp leaves your mouth. The corners of Jeongin’s mouth perk up at your reaction. He doesn’t want to be too predictable and switch to your other nipple. Instead, he manages to pick up another ice cube and uses it on your other nipple, dancing it around your sensitive buds that have begun to stiffen and perk up.

Your poor brain is confused by the stimulation. It’s not happening between your legs but you can feel it from your chest. It feels weird not to be contracting around anything, which only makes you wish you were. Nonetheless, it’s still valid stimulation that you feel building and at first, you’re not sure if it’s an orgasm that’s forming or if it just feels good.

Regardless of the matter, you can’t help it. It’s patterning the pleasure for you to experience without you having any say in it whatsoever. Your mind is muddled with what to say – how to express how you feel or what’s happening to your body.

Jeongin has some idea of it now that he’s been listening to you panting and watching you writhe on his bed just from a couple of ice cubes. However, he wants to see how this plays out.

“J-Jeongin,” you mumble, sucking in small breaths of air. “I’m…”

His ears spring up at the sound of his name, but he refrains from saying anything at all. Instead, he picks up another ice cube, allowing the one in his left hand to melt away before applying the fresh one. The chilly sensation replenishes but it doesn’t stop that sensation that you can feel in your tits all the way through to your pussy. Even though it feels similar to an orgasm, it triggers zero verbal response when it decides to hit you out of nowhere.

Jeongin sees your mouth part, your legs bracketing together like they’re trying to find something to clamp around. All the while, he doesn’t stop stimulating your nipples with the cubes until your back is flat on his bed again. He had to see it through to the end.

Breathless and slightly dazed as you were, the first thing that came to mind was that you did in fact cum. Following that came anxiously wondering what Jeongin’s reaction was.

At that, an invisible weight of embarrassment starts tugging you down. You wanted the blindfold to remain over your eyes, terrified of meeting whatever expression was laden on Jeongin’s face. There was no point in trying to gauge how he reacted when you orgasmed, but there was one thing for sure and that was he didn’t stop you from doing it.

A few lingering moments later, Jeongin becomes satisfied with the tail end of the scene. He got through the aspects of sensory play that you both wanted to cover from the conversation you had at the beginning of the week.

He gently removes the silk blindfold from your eyes, fixing some of your hair in the process to get it out of your eyes. Even though your eyes shy away from his face, Jeongin can easily see the deep red burning through your cheeks.

“I’ll get these off for you,” Jeongin murmurs, already freeing one of your wrists from the restraint before moving on to the other.

Once you’re completely unrestricted, you sit up straight away and start blabbing out an explanation to him.

“Just so you know, I didn’t have other intentions going into this,” you speak quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting to…to-“

Slightly taken aback, Jeongin had to step in to reassure you that there’s nothing wrong, “Y/N, it’s okay, seriously. It’s not your fault that your body couldn’t help but do what it needed to. But you’ve just come out of a scene and I want to make sure that you’re ok-“

“Yes but, you said the other day that people don’t usually climax from sensory play only,” you interrupt him.

He softens a bit, a small grin forming on his face, “I said ‘usually’ not ‘never’. I didn’t rule out that possibility.”

You suddenly click onto his words, “so there is a possibility that they still can.”

“Yes, but you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about or sorry for. Some people can orgasm through nipple stimulation. It’s not always easy, but you managed to do it, with ice too, and relatively fast. Plus, I thought it was cute,” he responds.

‘Cute?’ If melting from embarrassment was a thing, you’d be a puddle all over his floor. Your face comes to fall into your hands, almost making him giggle.

Jeongin then continues, “now, if you’ll let me help you, I’ll show you to the shower to get some of the wax off. Then we can have some of that food I was talking about earlier.”

A/N: again, this was meant for Kinktober but my dumb ass didn’t upload it. I’m turning this into a bit of a slow burn series, but not just yet because I’m working on other things atm as listed down below:

1. Noxious Compulsions

Minsung x reader (you can find the snippet here)

2. Foul Play

Part 2 to Don’t bite the hand that feeds you

3. Venom Eater

Part 2 to Venom Biter

4. Some things are better left known

Part 2 to ‘Some things are better left unknown’

These are the main pieces that I’m working on at the moment bc they will be quite dense, and I try to add as much detail in as I can. However, there are 100% other things that I have still sitting in my Doc’s folder that I’ll release too!

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #felix smut #i.n smut #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader

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atleastpleasetelephone · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Day 10 - Knifeplay

Pairing: Charlie Rogers x reader

Word count: 1.2K

TWs: Knifeplay (obviously, but there's no blood), crying (unrelated to Charlie), p in v sex, teasing.

Kinktober masterlist

Charlie has been fascinated by your knife-throwing act for a while now. It’s got something to do with the skill involved, something to do with the element of danger and something to do with how pretty you are. But he knows he can’t get too close. After all, your husband is built like a brick shit house and he throws knives for a living. So he just flirts here and there and tries to learn a little of your act.

He’s got kind of good, and he’s just starting to wonder whether he should go to some other circus and offer his skills there when the news reaches him that they’re actually in need of a new act where he is. You and your husband have split up. He found some other attractive little thing and has gone off with her to work at Carver’s, the carnival’s main competition. He finds you alone and crying in one of the big tents.

“Hey…”

It’s not long before his arms are around you and you’re sobbing on his shoulder instead.

“What am I going to do now?” You wail. “No-one wants half a knife-throwing act! I’m not even the good half!”

Charlie can’t let such a good opportunity pass him by, so he offers to take your husband’s place. You’re not convinced, but you’re also not sure what other choice you have. So you say yes, and that you’ll practise for the show later that day, when you’ve had a chance to calm down.

***

“Come on baby, you have to get on the board. I can’t just keep throwing knives without any jeopardy. I have to practise!”

Charlie is getting frustrated. His aim is just about perfect, but you still won’t let him throw knives at you. You keep trying to get on the board, and then you freak out and get back off again.

“I just don’t know how to trust someone else,” you sigh, sitting down on the floor.

“Let’s take a break,” he suggests. “Why don’tcha come back to my trailer, we’ll have a drink and talk about it.”

You nod. Anything to get out of this vicious circle. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find Charlie attractive and want an excuse to see inside his trailer. He doesn’t have the greatest reputation but he’s only ever been sweet to you.

One drink turns into a few and before you know it Charlie is kissing you. His lips are soft and he smells of leather. He pulls you tightly against him and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss he has an idea.

“You don’t trust me?” He asks, softly.

Your head is spinning. “Um… well… I wouldn’t say that I just… I’m not sure about you throwing knives at me.”

He gets up and starts searching around in the piles of things in his trailer. You frown, wondering what is suddenly so important. Sitting up on the bed you try to smooth your hair down and rearrange your mussed up clothes. Suddenly he finds whatever it is and climbs back onto the bed beside you. To your complete and utter surprise he holds up a pocket knife and flicks it open.

“How about, to start with, I don't throw them?”

You blink, uncomprehending. He picks up one of your hands and then presses the blade of the knife against your outstretched arm. You flinch at the cold metal against your skin.

“See? Nothing to be afraid of.” Sliding the flat of the blade up and down your forearm.

The hairs on your arms stand on end and you very quickly sober up.

“Charlie, what are you doing?”

“Trying to prove that you can trust me.”

Your chest heaves and your heart beats wildly as he slowly unbuttons your blouse, exposing your bra. His lips press against yours and then you feel that cold metal against your skin again. Slipping over a breast, sliding down your stomach.

“Ch-Charlie,” you stutter, as his lips leave yours and he carries on undressing you.

“You can trust me, baby.”

He pulls his clothes off too, until you’re both naked, and then runs the blade up each of your legs in turn. You tremble, afraid but desperately turned on too. What if he’s secretly some kind of psycho? He could just stab you to death in here and no-one would know. Your babbling brain is suddenly silenced by his tongue against your clit. Licking firmly and quickly, he brings you to a surprisingly fast climax, watching you as you squirm and moan beneath him on the bed.

“Charlie,” you breathe.

He smiles, sitting with his back against the headboard and manhandling you onto his lap, your back against his chest. You can feel his erection pressing into the small of your back.

He puts his mouth to your ear. “Can you sit on it, honey?”

“Oh God, yes.”

You get up onto your knees and reach for his dick, carefully positioning it so that it slides easily inside. Once you’ve settled down onto it completely he moans and kisses your neck again. Then he grabs the knife from where he’d left it on the bed when he’d been licking you out, and flicks it back open. You gasp as you feel him run the point of the blade down your throat and down across your breast. He changes the angle, rolling the flat around your nipple, feeling your pussy clench as he does it.

“You like that, baby?” He asks, breath tickling your ear.

“Yes. Fuck.”

“How about this?”

The blade slips over your belly and comes to a halt on your clit. Your head tips back as you breathe hard, your whole body shaking.

“Yes.” Your voice wobbles.

“You gonna move for me baby? Bounce on this cock?”

“Ch-Charlie…”

“Mmmm.” He buries his face in your neck, kissing and biting you. “C’mon baby. I know what I’m doing.”

“You promise me?” Your voice a hoarse whisper.

“I promise you.”

You start to move on him, slowly at first, anxious that he might lose control of the knife that’s still pressed against your most sensitive area. The pleasure is incredible, but Charlie isn’t about to lose control. He keeps the knife where it is, enjoying watching your reaction, seeing your confidence build as you start to move more and more, faster and faster. Your breasts bouncing as you ride him properly, forgetting completely about the danger of the knife. He grins, throwing the knife quickly across the room and replacing it with his thumb, starting to move his hips now, fucking you from underneath.

“Ohhhh…” you moan, getting close to your second orgasm.

“Let go for me, baby.”

You do, feeling pleasure rush through you again. He fucks you through it and comes not long after, deep inside you. Groaning sexily into your ear. You flop back against him, exhausted from the orgasms and the adrenaline.

“You think I could try throwing knives at you now?” He asks as his dick softens inside you.

You smile. “Yeah. I think I could trust you to do that.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69

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uses-for-fics · 20 days ago

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I’m Yours | Manny Rivera

ft Jack Griffin

YN had been heading to the art room to grab some supplies for a class project. Her students are working on creating a skeletal system out of construction paper, combining biology with hands-on creativity.

As YN rummaged through the art room shelves, she heard a voice behind her. “Need any help?”

Startled, she spined around to see Manny, a warm smile on his face. Without missing a beat, she blurts, “If I’d known the school board was visiting today, I wouldn’t have left the kids in charge of the classroom!”

Manny raised an eyebrow, chuckling nervously. "Wait… they’re not actually alone, are they?"

She grinned and shook her head. "Relax, they’re at recess. Mr. Gregory offered to watch my class while I grabbed the supplies."

Manny lets out a relieved laugh and glances at the stack of construction paper and glue sticks in her arms. "Need some help with that?"

"Sure," YN replies with a smile, and Manny grabs a few supplies to lighten her load. As they walk back to her classroom, they fall into easy conversation. Manny teases her about her creative lesson plans, and the topic shifts to their dinner plans for that evening.

“I’m excited for tonight,” Manny says, his tone warm. “You’ve been opening up more, and I’m really glad you’re letting me into your space.”

YN smiles softly. “Thanks for being patient with me. It means a lot. You don’t mind taking it slow?”

“Not at all,” he replies sincerely. As they approached her classroom door, YN hesitated, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Would it be wildly inappropriate if I kissed you at school?”

Manny grins, then gently lifts her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on it. “How about this for now?” he says, his voice low and affectionate.

YN blushes, their connection palpable even in the brief moment. She opens the door, and they part ways as she prepares to dive back into teaching, already looking forward to the evening ahead.

Later that evening, YN and Manny are enjoying a cozy dinner at her house. The conversation flows easily, with YN recounting her day at school while Manny listens attentively. She giggles as she tells him about a student who glued the construction paper bones to his face instead of the paper skeleton. "But," she laughs, "he got all the bones in the right place, so I gave him a B+ for effort."

Manny chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s one creative way to learn anatomy." As he reaches across the table to hold her hand, YN moves to take his hand in hers but accidentally knocks over his glass of water, spilling it all over his shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she says, jumping up.

“It’s fine,” Manny reassures her, laughing.

“I think I have an oversized tee somewhere,” she says, heading toward her bedroom. "You can change into that." Manny follows her, amused by her flustered energy. While YN rummages through her dresser, she waves toward the closet. “Feel free to look in there if you want to see if anything works for you.”

As she’s searching, Manny calls out, “Hey, I didn’t know you were a cardigan person! This one’s really comfy!” She turns to see him standing shirtless, wearing an old burgundy cardigan that’s clearly a size too big for her. Manny’s grinning, doing a little spin. “Wow, it even fits me!”

YN stares for a moment before rushing over. “Oh no, Manny, not that one. You shouldn’t wear that.”

Feigning offense, he asks, “What, does it look bad on me?”

She sighs, sitting on the edge of her bed. “It’s not that… It was my ex-boyfriend’s. I forgot I even had it.” Manny immediately softens, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, then begins to open up. “His name was Jack Griffin. We worked at the same school in Toledo. I taught biology, and he taught AP Bio. He was brash, cynical… and, well, magnetic. It was one of those fiery, all-consuming relationships, but it just wasn’t healthy. He was too controlling, too cynical about everything, and he wanted to move faster than I was ready for. I had to end it. He tried to play it off like it was mutual so he could save face, but…” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m saying way too much.”

Manny rubs her shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to tell me. That stuff’s important.” He stands up and removes the cardigan, setting it aside. Spotting an oversized tee with a Paddy’s Pub logo, he grins. “This will do nicely.” He pulls it on and stretches his hand out to her. “How about we go finish dinner and watch a movie? Your choice.”

She takes his hand and kisses it softly. “Thank you for being so perfect.” The night ends with the two of them cuddled on her couch, accidentally falling asleep while watching Wallace and Gromit. Plates of half-eaten dessert and a shared blanket are the only witnesses to their growing bond.

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httpscomexe · 3 months ago

Text

Runaway 6

Summary: After Logan is locked away somewhere in the mansion, you’re no longer safe.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Logan Howlett x Hybrid!Reader

Warnings: Gore, fire, kidnapping, drugging, needles, mind control, blood, crude descriptions of death (Individual warnings per chapter)

Word Count: 4309 (Find all chapters here) CH7

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again

“It’s just not safe for her anymore.”

“Well we can’t leave her with Logan.”

“Well she also can’t be here.”

“Okay then what do we do? Drop her off on the sidewalk?”

“No, we gotta find someone else that can take care of her.”

“I’ve already called someone, they are going to take care of her.”

“The Avengers? They’re gonna ruin her.”

“They’ll teach her to fight.”

Their voices eventually become nothing but white noise, drawn out by your brain as you stare at the little bumps of paint on the walls, your ears folded down your head, and your tail tucked between your legs as much as it could be. Obviously, they were talking about you. The sorry looking animal sitting on the floor in the hallway outside of Xaviers room, still spotted with Scotts blood. The realisation makes you shiver, and only then do you suddenly feel disgusted. It wasn’t the first time you were covered in a friend's blood, considering your past, but it was the first time you’ve witnessed your friend kill a friend. More over your owner, killing a friend.

Logan was now locked up somewhere in the mansion. They hadn’t told you where because they didn't want you to look for him, which you understood. You also however didn’t believe that Logan would ever intentionally hurt you. You know he loves you. You just wished you knew why he attacked Scott.

“She can stay here until Wednesday, but then she needs to leave.”

And that was your que to stand up. You look through the little window of the door into the room they were in, none of them noticing you as you walk away through the halls, searching intentionally for the kitchen. You just wanted to wash off your face already.

You make it to the sink in the kitchen, quickly turning on hot water and washing your hands and face of Scotts blood, the water turning a faded pink as it runs down the drink, making little images of Scotts body pop into your head, a single tear falling from your eye at the memory as you splash your face with water, trying to wash the image from your brain.

“Fuck.” You curse under your breath, your hands gripping the counter as you let more sink water run down the drain, the white noise of it calming your brain, a deep breath leaving your lips.

“Bambi?” You whip your head around at the voice, and there was Jean standing there in the doorway, putting her phone into her pocket.

“Hey…” You mumble, your wetted face hiding your tears.

“Do you know why… why Logan did that…?” Her voice shakes a little. She tried to make it out as if she was horrified, but you sense her anger. She was pissed. If it was possible to kill Logan, she surely would’ve done it already.

“I- I don’t know. I heard them fighting so I went into the bathroom�� And then-” You try to recall is as best as possible, your throat knotting at the memory.

“But he didn’t hurt you.” You don’t know how to respond to that. Her face was staring straight at you, and you weren’t even sure she expected an answer. It felt like it was more of a statement than a question, which made you shiver.

“No he uh… He was a little too focused on Scott…” You turn your eyes away from her, and everything in your head tells you to turn back around and face her again, fearing she’d pounce at you like a jaguar, but you don’t. She didn’t seem threatening, just angered. If she wanted you dead, she would’ve already killed you. Surely she knew it wasn’t your fault, that you had nothing to do with it. You had no control over the situation at the time. If anyone did, it was her. But she decided to separate from the group. Don’t think like that. You squeeze your eyes shut, the sink water still running and you bite your lip. Now wasn’t the time to blame someone for the death of their own boyfriend.

The sink water stops running, and that's what makes you open your eyes again, Jean has her finger tips on the handle of the sink, and she is staring down at you now, both of her hands returning to her middle to cross her arms.

“How are you feeling?” You look up at her, and she doesn’t respond for a minute. You see her swallow, staring down at you with some sort of hatred.

“I just watched my boyfriend get gutted in public… I’m not very sad though… Xavier says it’s just a ‘defence response.’ But I think it’s pretty reasonable.” In other words, yes, she was blaming you. She wanted to do something about it, but there was something deep inside of her that knew she wasn’t being logical.

“I’m sorry…”

“For what?” You look at her a little stunned, her tone didn’t sound logical.

“For what happened to Scott…”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know I just-”

“It’s fine.” She cuts you off, leaning off the counter, her arms still crossed as she continues to stare down at you. “Did you hear the conversation in there? I know you were listening to most of it. We can’t keep you here for too long.”

“Yea I uh… I heard that part.” You sniffle a little and turn around to lean back on the counter and face her. “What uhm… What are Avengers?”

“They’re a team. Like the X-Men, but people love them.”

“What makes them different?”

“They weren’t born with their powers… They were abused into them.”

“Like Logan and Wade?” She seems to stiffen up at the mention of Logan's name.

“We lost this universe's Logan for a reason.” She shuffles on her feet, preparing to leave. “Wade should have never brought that one here.” She moves to the snack cabinet, grabbing a chocolate bar before leaving without even saying bye.

You take another deep breath, rubbing your hands down your face with some pressure as you try to collect yourself. You brush your hands down your clothes, a little bit of the pressure of your hands on your body calming you down, and for some reason you think that Logan's touch would be so much more comforting now. You run your hands through your hair, your fingers getting a little caught in some tangles. A groan leaving your throat. Normally, Logan would be there to brush your hair every night before bed, but tonight was different, considering he was locked up somewhere inside the mansion and probably knocked out on drugs.

You finally find it in yourself to walk forward, turning off the light of the kitchen before heading up to the rooms, heading straight to Logan’s room, knowing the scent of him would at least bring you back to yourself.

You wake up to the sound of a few different people running outside of your door, stretching in bed a little. Logan's bed of course, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep without his scent.

You sit in the bed, your ears twitching as you listen for more movement, the clock on the bedside table only reading as twenty seven past three. What the fuck were they doing up so early? You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shaking your head of your sleep a little, ears making a flapping sound as you do, standing up from the bed and stretching again, another group of feet across the wooden floor boards making you even more curious.

You grab a brown sweater that you earlier threw to the floor and a pair of slim jeans, tossing on the hoodie quickly and stepping into your jeans as you walk up to the door, but the second your hand touches the handle, the hair on your arms has goosebumps, and your ears and tail automatically go into defence mode. Something was wrong, and even though you couldn’t see it, you could feel it.

Then there's a scream. It’s not directly outside of your door though, you can tell it came from somewhere downstairs. Normally a scream wouldn’t be too surprising in the mansion. It would normally mean someone who can’t control their powers accidently lit something on fire, or a playful scream as some younger children run down the halls. But this wasn’t the case. The scream wasn’t playful. It was long, and drawn out, shaking with fear and cries like the girl was crying before being abruptly silenced.

You quickly run to the front of Logan's bed, kneeling down to grab his bag full of weapons out from under, but it isn’t there. It’s still at Wades. “Shit.” You curse outloud and run into his closet, opening and closing drawers, praying you’d a dagger or even a box cutter for fucks sake, anything to take with you before you went to inspect the scream.

As you stand up after checking the last bottom drawer, ultimately finding nothing, your head knocks on the edge of the dresser, making your hand shoot to your head in pain, but it fades quickly when you hear the top of the dresser close. “What the fuck?” Your hands quickly grip the lip of the dresser, where you would normally set things like books or shoes, and it lifts. A dagger set underneath. The same dagger you had found before with the wolverine engraves on one side, the deer engraved on the other. Both of your names engraved next to each other.

You take a deep breath, closing the top of the dresser where the dagger was hidden, and you quickly move back to the door, listening for a moment before swinging it open, a few younger kids being led by some adults, the only movement you see before they disappear around a corner. Other than that, everything was silent. You didn’t like it. You knew the halls were quiet at night, but there was always at least one room in every hall where some older kids were having a ‘sleepover’ in one of the rooms, watching a movie or playing some games, failing to be quiet.

With your first step forward, the wood creaks under your lightweight, and it makes you tense a little, the air seemingly getting thicker. You step forward again anyways, your steps slow at first before quickening, leading yourself downstairs to where you think the screaming had come from. The entire walk it had felt like an external force was trying to drag you away. Like your spirit was walking behind you but your body was stepping quickly ahead, ignoring and pushing away your soul's warnings. It made you shiver, and quite frankly, you wanted to cry. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t cry. Especially when you were trying to be quiet.

I could really use Logan right about now. You tell yourself, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out softly before peeking around the corner of the meeting room. Everything seemed normal. The couch was in the centre of the large space, slightly crooked from older students pushing it back a little every time they would throw themselves down on it, the lamp slightly off centred from the end table and turned on, casting a soft light throughout the room, just enough to see. But there were two things that really were sticking out for you. That was the broken TV, shattered beyond repair like something heavy was thrown at it, and the glass coffee table, bent and also shattered. So there was a fight, you tell yourself. And you calm down just a little as you notice the bit of white hair sticking over the back of the couch, and you take one step forward. Obviously, in your rush, you hadn’t put on shoes. Figuring you wouldn’t be leaving the mansion. But after taking just one step forward, you freeze a corner of the carpet coming into view. Originally white, but now stained red, and your eyes trail along the floor. Bloody shoe prints leading into the kitchen. There wasn’t much space between each step, meaning whos ever it was, they weren’t running. They were walking as if having blood stained on the bottom of their shoes was normal, and suddenly you weren’t so sure if you wanted to approach the couch, and to see who you assumed was Ororo, sitting down quietly on the couch.

Not that you had a choice.

You don’t know how you didn’t hear them approaching, not when everything was quiet, but it was probably because you were lost in your thoughts, distressed about the girl sitting on the couch.

You heard a single footstep, directly behind you, but just before you could whip yourself around, the bottom of a heavy boot comes in contact with your back, making you fly forward, your hands shooting out to catch yourself on the floor, your grip tight on the dagger you were holding still quickly loosening as both of your palms catch a handful of glass each, the stabbing pain would be unbearable if your animal instincts hadn’t already kicked in a barrel of adrenaline, making your blood slippery hand grip around the dagger only tighter again, and quickly get to your feet just before the man grabs the collar of your sweater, slamming your back against the wall, his own hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, slamming your knuckles against the wall behind you with an unrelenting force, your held back tears finally coming to bay at the pain as you feel your bones crushing with each pound against the wall, your grip on the dagger ultimately failing as it clatters to the ground, a cry of pain coming from your lips as you try to flex your fingers, two of them refusing to even move.

You try to look up at the man before you, your eyes watering as you clench your jaw, gritting your teeth as you struggle to see through the salty tears clouding your vision. Then you feel his large hand gripping around your face, his palm easily larger than your face as he begins to pound the back of your head into the wall, your hands wrapping around his wrist quickly, one of them painfully as it felt like a thousand tiny needles were moving, stuck under your skin. You groan, crying out again as the the feeling becomes worse, just before his own hand wrapped around one of your ears, your eyes dilating with fear immediately, a fear you didn’t have before, and he throws you to the ground onto your hands and knees again, quickly moving to stand above you, his fingers lacing through your hair to pull your head back, your back against his front, and the second you feel the edge of a blade to your throat, is the second you needed to fight back, throwing your elbow back against his side and making him flinch just enough for him to give you enough space to crawl away, your knees pressed down against the glass shards on the floor but you ignore the pain as you stand to your feet, immediately tossed back down, flying into the couch, landing on Ororo, and as he approaches you again, your head throbbing with pain, too focused on fighting back with the fight you’ve never had in you, you pick up the lamp yanking the lightbulb out of its place and smashing it to the side of his head, making him stumble back, giving you enough time to stand up from the couch, ignoring the pain on your bare feet as more glass entres your skin, and you feel some of it graze the bone of your heel, causing another pained moan to leave your lips, and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, not covered in glass, wiping your tears to clear your vision.

And there she was.

Ororo…

Her mouth agape, blood leaking from her mouth, most of it dried by now, her eyes open, also leaking blood from the corners, the sight making you wince. Your eyes trail down her body, and you realise the darker skin around her neck, some loose skin from the crushed bones inside of her body, making her throat look like a sagged rotten fruit, she was strangled. His grip had been tight enough to break bones. He wasn’t normal, he was a mutant.

“You fucking bitch…” You choke out, and he runs at you again, giving you just enough time to duck down and avoid his grasp this time, almost falling to the floor from the slip of blood under your still bleeding soles. He reaches for you again, his chest huffing in annoyance, goggles and a mask covering their face when you look up to determine their identity, rendering it useless. “What the fuck is wrong with you…?!” You shout as he lashes out a knife, twirling it in his hand skillfully before trying and succeeding to slash at you with it, the thick skin of your arm cutting like rubber easily under his blade, and you resist the urge to cry out this time, quickly sliding to your knees again, the blue jeans you’re wearing quickly becoming brown with the mix of your blood and the colour of the fabric. The thick material matting and sticking to your skin like a wet rag covered in glue, and your hand finds the dagger again, gripping it tight. He leaps forward again, tackling you to the ground and you manage to slit his arm, the sound of the fabric ripping on his arm was like music to your ear before he turns you around, pressing your chest to the ground, his hand crushing your head almost against the solid floor, but with your hands and arms free to move, you quickly stab the dagger into the side of his thigh, a bit of his structure crumbling in pain as he loosens his grip, giving you time to crawl out from under him, his hand gripping your ankle just before you can get away, making you turn, facing him as his own knife slices through your jeans, leaving a gash in your thigh, another scream leaving your throat before you scoot forward just enough to let your knee collide with his jaw, causing him to let go of you so you could spring up to your feet and run, legs pumping quickly for you as your body leads you down the mansion, the layout not exactly perfectly remembered considering you weren’t living in the mansion for too long.

You manage to run into the infirmary, catching yourself between the door frame as you look around, hoping you could maybe even find a hiding place, but your thigh was bleeding out quickly, you needed stitches or you would die regardless.

You turn and look down the hall, once you see no one is close behind you, you break into a limp, quickly moving to a nurses desk to sift through her drawers, hands looking for what you needed to keep yourself alive. You eventually find some thread and a needle, not bothering to waste any time looking for numbing spray as you make your way into the back, where they keep students who are sick or angered with their powers.

The room is dark as you shut the large door, some lights turning on from your movement as you stumble over to a nearby chair, and you rip open the packet with the thread inside with your teeth, hands shaking like crazy as you try to slip the thread into the small pinhole of the needle, but the sound of something shuffling in the room with you makes you shoot up from your seat, the needle being your own weapon clinking quietly to the ground with the sound of a pin drop, and your ears perk up, expecting to hear footsteps behind the door.

“Bambi?” The voice is quiet, and it makes you whip your head around. “Bambi…?” The voice comes a little louder, sort of strained and your eyes squint in the darkness at one of the holding cells. Stepping closer, keeping your distance from the glass thick enough to withstand an elephant, you see Logan.

You didn’t want to admit, but part of you was believing the mansion's attacker was Logan. This only proved you entirely wrong as he stood up from the concrete floor, eyes tracing over your wounds, which were still bleeding profusely.

“Bambi, what’re you doing?” You run to the wall, yanking a fire extinguisher from his place before running back to his cell, blowing off the pain in your feet as you let the butt of the red container crash against the class, barely even scuffing it. “Bambi-” You do it again, the sound of the metal against the glass surely giving away your location, but you didn’t care, if you could just Logan out of the fucking cell, you would be safe. He can’t die, and you know the attacker can. You cut his arm, he didn’t heal. “BAMBI!” He yells, making your ears fold and your face contort in a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Logan-!” You sob.

“No! Bambi, honey, you need to leave. Now.”

“He’s gonna kill me…”

“Baby he’s not trying to kill you…”

“What- What do you mean…?”

“Jean gave him instructions to take you, not to kill you…” You freeze at his words, your grip loosening slightly on the fire extinguisher still in your hands, and you blink a few times as if you were blind to his words.

“J- Jean… What-?” You stutter, your voice cracking.

“She thinks you’re the reason Scott is dead… She won’t fucking listen to me, so she told me she would hire him to take you and torture you.”

“Why not just kill me?”

“She wants you to suffer, Bambi, and that’s why you need to leave. Right now.”

“I can’t go without you Logan, I won’t be fast enough…” Your grip tightens around the red can again, and your muscles tense a little as you prepare to swing it.

“Bam-” Crash! The red metal clashes with the glass again, barely scratching it this time as you swing at it and hit it with the butt of the extinguisher relentlessly, his words falling on deaf ears as your sensitive eardrums are numbed with the sound of the metal hitting the glass.

“BAMBI!” You’re thrown to the ground, the fire extinguisher rolling out of your hand and across the tile floor, pain shooting through your body as you land on one of your elbows, and the large hand tugs at you ear again, a cracking sound filling your hearing as he breaks the cartilage, pulling you up to sit on your heels, and your feel the cold metal of his knife against your throat again, making you swallow.

“Hey!” Another voice fills the room, and you open your eyes to see Jean walking in like she owned the place, staring down at you on your knees in front of the man who was still gripping your ear with one of his hands. Then she smacks you, the back of her hand colliding with your cheek and you’re simply too exhausted to react, only turning your head at the force. “I told you, I don’t want her dead, how hard is that to understand?” She talks cruely to the man holding you still, his hand moving from your ear to gripping your hair now, exposing your neck more as your head was turned, and you can see Logan behind the glass, along with your reflection. Your brown ear is limp and bleeding a little. Broken.

“Jean-”

“No!” She looks back down at you so quickly you almost wished her neck would’ve snapped. “You’re the reason my Scottie is dead…” She crouches down in front of you. “And I’m gonna make sure my little friend here has his fun with you…” You keep your eyes on the reflection in the glass, Logan staring down in fear for you, and you notice the dagger still lodged inside of the man's thigh, and you waste no time in using your elbow to hit it, making him double over in pain and he throws you at the glass, the only thing keeping Logan from keeping you safe, and it cracks even further as your back hits it, all of the air leaving your lungs and putting you into a coughing fit as you watch the man yank Logans dagger out of his thigh, tossing it somewhere else in the room.

You take the moment to look the man up and down. You swear you recognise him, but you can’t be sure from where. His long black hair, covering his face a little, and the lower half of his face covered by a black mask. He was wearing a vest, along with a leather jacket and tight black jeans, not a dot of colour in his apparel, guns and knives scattered along his thighs and his sides in their holsters and sleeves. But then your eyes find his arm. A metal arm.

“It's nice knowing where the world keeps one of their most dangerous weapons…” Jean approaches you with an evil grin. “It’s easy to mindwash someone… put them back into the program they were made for…” She crouches next to you, and you’re too weak to move at all now, staring at her with your lips slightly parted, slowly catching your breath. “Bambi… I hope you like your new friend…” She uncaps a syringe, one you hadn’t bothered to look at, and she sticks it in the side of your neck, the world immediately feeling darker.

“The Winter Soldier…”

🏷️ @shybluebirdninja @rebeccawinters @atomicheartbroken @hazydespair @kindazombie @themaidenofdarkness

Also a bit of an honorable mention to @officiallymakingthechimichangas for giving me inspiration when I was freaking the fuck out about writing this.

#Runaway #x reader #smut #wolverine #logan howlett #marvel smut #logan x reader #bucky #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes #hybrid reader

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spctrsgf · 2 years ago

Text

to his office

prompt #351 from @/lyralit:

“I could kiss you right now.”

“You’re very welcome to do it.”

word count: 3.8k

warnings: spidey!reader (tried to make it gn, lmk if i messed anything up!), language, my shitty spanish, innuendos but no actual sex

a/n: i saw atsv and miguel was SO SCRUMPTIOUS i had to write this

“HOBIE!” You yell at the aforementioned Brit, narrowly missing a chunk of some building that is being thrown at you. “I bloody know!” He yells back, swinging from the building next to you.

You nudge your head to the left as a signal to him, releasing a quick whip of web to maneuver behind a rough, brick building to land on the side of it. Hobie wasn’t too far behind, and Gwen was soon to your left as well. The three of you heave in heavy breaths, synchronous in your silence. The inevitable stomp of the angry anomaly of the week roams in search of the very people next to you as well as yourself.

“She just does not give up, does she?” Hobie quips, filling the silence.

“Well,” Gwen adds. “We did make her angry.”

“We? You were the one who threw a brick at her, mate.”

“And who’s idea was it to do that?”

“It was a bloody joke!”

“It didn’t sound like it–”

“Okay!” You exclaim, cutting their childish argument in half. “Enough. Back to defeating the Wannabe Crab woman, okay?”

“Right,” Hobie answers, quick to drop his anger like usual. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“We gotta trap him somewhere, but this fucking city is endless. It’ll take forever.”

“I think we gotta get her hands tied,” Pavitr says from above, nearly desticking Gwen from the brick wall in surprise. “That’s where the power is, right?”

“Jeez, Pav,” You yelp, coming down from your initial shock. “We didn’t see ya there.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for scaring you, but seriously. I think we gotta tie her hands!”

“He’s right, that would solve all the cement throwing we got going on.” Hobie agrees, shifting to lean on the windowsill next to him.

You tilt your head. “Do ya think webs’ll be strong enough for that one?”

“Ours? Nah.”

“True, but Miguel’s would do us a solid right now with all this.” Pav interjects.

“He’s right. We need those ever so strong webs your boyfriend has to do the job.” Gwen nudges you with her shoulder.

Your cheeks flame, and you’re eternally grateful for the silky mask you have on. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Gwen! We’re not– he doesn’t– oh my god,” You pinch the bridge of your nose as best you can through the mask. “Back on topic!”

“Seriously,” Hobie nods. “You should ask the lad to help us out.”

“Why don’t you do it?”

All you get is a shrug from him.

“Or you, Gwen? Or Pav?”

They all give you a look, a look that tells you exactly what they’re thinking.

“No. Oh my god, guys! Seriously? He doesn’t like hearing from me, anyways.”

That’s true, you firmly believe it, and you have ever since you first got to Nueva York. Being the person you are, you originally doted around the idea of talking to him, of engaging in a conversation. But, to be frank, he scared you shitless. He towered over your stature, a whopping 6’9” to your pacifying build. But, somehow you found yourself standing next to a nonchalant Hobie, watching his floating platform float impossibly slow towards the two of you after a mission.

He’d been… you could tell right away that Miguel wasn’t the type of person to sugar coat nor was he very good at hiding the emotions that flew across his face, because oh my you felt it. You felt the trail of his scarlet gaze as he took in his first impression, you felt the razor sharp cut of disgust, felt the way his tongue ran along his accentuated canines as you rambled through your report.

He’d dismissed you as quickly as humanly possible, opting to talk to the laid back Brit, the one who didn’t have to clear his voice every few sentences. Maybe it was a force of habit, you’d tried to reason as your head bowed to scurry out of the room. He has been working with Hobie longer, there has to be an ease between them.

But, as time passed, Miguel remained the same. He tossed you a cold shoulder, and seemed to avoid your presence unless needed. You tried to shrug it off, to pretend like it didn’t hurt you as much as it did, but it was hard to pretend when the sting of rejection slapped as soon as he was brought up. Which actually happened a lot.

You weren’t sure where Gwen had gotten boyfriend from that. Sure, you thought he was attractive. It was hard not to with his broad shoulders, a stark contrast to his (slutty) waist. There was something about his fangs that intrigued you, it was something you’d never seen before. And it wasn’t just the appearance that did it for you: it was that under all the anger and the rough exterior and the mask was a man, vulnerable and caring and wanting to stop what happened to him from happening to someone else.

He might be blunt and mean and pushy and all those things, but he came from a truly caring place, from a want to help. You could see that shine through in the way Gwen and Hobie and even Lyla talked about him, and you could see that in the mission notes he writes and in the slim amount of time that you were graced with his presence.

“That’s why.” Gwen’s voice shakes you clear of the memories.

“Wha?” You blink incredulously at her, like that would somehow shock you into understanding her sentence.

She shoves your wrist, which hovers in front of you with the button to call Miguel in a booming orange. “Call him.”

You glare at her, but all that earns you is a tilt of the head and a not-so-encouraging punch from Pav. “Fine! Fine.”

You take a deep breath before hitting the call button. It sends off some sort of interdimensional wave towards Nueva York, and you buzz with a different type of frequency, suddenly nervous. The Miguel effect. Your brain blurts. Always nervous. You sigh and remind yourself that there are three other spiderpeople next to you as the call goes through, and Miguel’s face pops up unceremoniously in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” Are the first words out of his mouth. “Uh, well, you see–” You start, only to be rudely cut off by his attitude. “Get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

The blunt words don’t roll off your back like normal, maybe it was because you could hear the anomaly pound, inching closer. “We need help. We need your webs, they’re stronger and can hold this guy’s claws together. He’s been tearing up the city.”

“You’re supposed to be containing the threat, not me.”

“Miguel, if you don’t get your fucking ass over here right now, all four of us are gonna be dead.”

“Doubt it.” He sounds distracted, like he was observing something else in front of him.

“Seriously? You can’t take two seconDS..!” You cut yourself off to launch off the building as the anomaly slams her fist into the spot you were rested at just a few seconds before.

You go to follow your partners in chasing the monster away from the buildings, to yell at the stubborn man currently still on call from the watch encircling your wrist, but your spidey senses perk up and then you’re swinging back towards the anomaly. Your eyes train on a woman, not much older than thirty, running for her life from the gnarly creature above her.

You don’t think. Normally, you’re all about thinking and finding the best course of action to try and save everyone, but you don’t now. Not when you’re so short on time, not when that woman could die. You dive, holding your arms out as you beeline to the poor woman. Her face turns from fear to relief when she sees you, reaching out to grab your hand as you scoop your arm around her waist and carry her to the nearest roof.

You’re off before she can say a word, and the glance back you lend her tells you that she knows exactly why you couldn't linger and conveys the thank you she couldn’t say to your face. It fuels you, and you move quickly, pulling the anomaly farther and farther from the people. “Are you a quiet one, huh?” The anomaly’s voice is low and gravelly. “I’m always up for a little banter.” You shoot back, taking a quick left to navigate to where you see your partners waiting, hidden and ready to attack.

“Alrighty then, let’s banter!”

“Let’s.”

“Are you expecting me to now spew out my whole plan and sob story, cus it ain’t happening.”

You shrugged. “Nah. Most of you don’t anyway.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” You shake your head, coming to a stop. “We usually have you caught by that time.”

Right on cue, Pav, Gwen, and Hobie shoot webs out, attempting to contain the anomaly. You realize, as you're adding your own webs to the mix, that Miguel must’ve hung up the phone during your little fright. “What happened with the boss? We getting that bloody help we need?” Hobie calls out, tightening his grip. “Dunno!” You call back. “Maybe he hung up.”

“Call him back, eh?”

“I- I can’t! This is harder than it looks.”

“We know!” Gwen screeches, voice strained.

“What do we do, guys?”

“Try and hold on.” Pav’s voice is uncharacteristically dim, lacking its normal cheer.

His tone sinks into your stomach. “What if we don’t–”

“You will,” Miguel’s voice crackles from your wrist. “I’m here. Where are you?”

“Uh–” You risk a look around as the anomaly struggles with a scream. “Open field. I can see an ocean from here, and there’s mountains to my right. Actually, I think it’s a river– we’re at a bend in it.”

“Got it. I know where you are, I’ll be there in a minute tops. Stay on the phone with me, okay?”

“Will do.”

“He won’t be here in time.” You look up at the anomaly, her deep green eyes locked unsettlingly with yours. She yanks hard this time, and you see Gwen nearly topple and Hobie’s footing slip slightly, giving her arms more wiggle room. “Yes he will.” Your jaw sets as you shoot another web to wrap around her wrist, yanking her down onto her knees.

“You’ll lose. Wouldn’t that be crazy? Spiderman. Losing.”

“Crazy? Yeah, cus it won’t happen.” Gwen grunts from above, struggling to keep a clean facade.

“I’m almost there, cariño, hold on.”

“I am, we’re fine–”

And then you’re not. Because the anomaly bursts up in a spur of movement, effectively breaking the confinement you four had put on her. She runs forward, taking a straight track for you. You leap up, swinging away as quickly as you can. You pick through the strain on your forearms, through the cloud of fear in your head. You try to stay in the same general area you told him you’d be in, but it’s hard with the anomaly on your heels.

“Miguel! Help, she’s chasing me, I can only keep her away from me for so long–”

“I know, I know, I’m coming. Hold on.”

But you’re not responding anymore. The anomaly swings a mighty claw straight into your abdomen, effectively sending you into the ground. Pav lets out a scream, sliding to catch you before you can slam into the grass, and Miguel knows something is wrong. You can hear his yells and Pav’s telling you to respond, but the pain in your side is excruciating and your brain feels like mush and your mouth is dry like sandpaper and your vision is tunneling into black and you try to speak but–

…

It’s very dark.

That’s the first thing you notice when you come to. It’s nice. But there’s an off putting feeling about it, like something’s lurking in the dark, and then you’re itching to turn on the lights so you can see something. “You have something covering your eyes, you do realize that.” Miguel’s smooth tone slides in from the left, decorating across the bland abyss.

Ah. So that was the problem.

Your arms feel foreign as you reach up to pull the fabric off your eyes, exposing you to the room you were in, only slightly brighter than before. “Lyla said the mask was supposed to help you heal better,” Miguel starts, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look at the man next to you quite yet. “I listened, she’s better at this than I am.”

“Am I not in the infirmary?” You question, before frowning at the way your voice sounded. You sit up, clearing it a few times.

“You were, but I moved you.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you in there.” He answered bluntly, yet it lacked any substance at all.

“Why?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

You chuckled dryly. “Miguel, you moved me from the fucking infirmary to your office. I think you owe me a damn explanation.”

“No.” He turns away, slinging a web out to launch him onto his floating platform.

“Miguel–”

“No.” The orange screens encircle him, effectively slamming his hard tone into the flow of conversation that wasn’t really flowing anymore.

You frown, half sat up in the bed that he’d placed you on. You’re frustrated, you don’t understand what’s been going on between you and him. He hated you. You’d previously established that, his vibrant reaction to your question confirmed it. But he saved you. And he moved you into his fucking office.

Your head swims with this new information, and you flop back down unceremoniously onto the bed. Your head tilts automatically to him again, the fiery red in the bleak, monotone room. His back is to you, and he’s furiously tapping at something on one of his many screens. The boldness of his stature, the way he’s standing is so unwelcoming that you’re now sure he never really wanted you there at all.

You sit up and hop out of the bed as quietly as you can, even though you know he can probably hear you in the silence that enveloped you both. Yet he doesn’t react, he doesn’t turn and yell like you thought he might. He stayed stoically and almost stubbornly facing his screens, so you turn and slip towards the door.

Fucking say something, Miguel.

He doesn’t. You don’t know what you expected anyways.

So you continue your walk, your path out of noose that the room brought. Yet, steps to the hallway seem harder and harder to make, like the hallway is getting longer or maybe you’re moving a lot slower than you normally do. You move to shoot a web, hoping to gain traction and move somewhat faster, but you can’t quite get your aim right–

And then your vision is fluctuating and you start to feel unbalanced. You’re not moving. You’re moving your feet, but you’re not going anywhere. Your brain is fuzzy and the ground is getting closer than it normally is- you don’t remember being this short? “Ay, cariño!” Is exclaimed from behind you, and then something’s grabbing onto your back and pulling you back upright.

Miguel has his arm wrapped around your waist as you wobble, guiding you back to the bed and then lifting you up to sit on it. Your hands come up to rub your eyes, trying to get them to refocus. They blur and then unblur, finally resting to take in your wobbly hands, which are held out shakily in front of you. In response, you twist your hands together just enough to feel the pain of it, reminding you that you were in fact awake and aware.

“Are you okay?” It’s then that you realize that Miguel is still in front of you. He’s got you caged in, blanketing you in his grand shadow. Your neck cranes up to reach his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t let your eyes linger during their ascent. When you meet the scarlet of his irises, you’re taken aback by the level of concern in them. Like he was actually worried about you.

“I’m okay,” You respond, tilting your head with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.” He scoffed, but didn’t move away. “I’m not worrying.”

“If there’s one thing you’re bad at, Miguel, it’s lying.”

“I am a great liar.”

“Oh?”

“Dios mio, cariño, yes.”

“What does that mean, anyway?,” You question, rocking backward to tuck your feet underneath your legs. “I tried to get Lyla to tell me, but she will not let the secret loose.”

He freezes. “Nothing, sorry, slip of the tongue.”

“You do realize I can just search it up, right? Would you rather me find out from the reach of the internet?”

“Not really, what if you just don’t–”

“Miguel.” You rise onto your knees, leveling your gaze with his own and resting a hand on his shoulder. “What is it? It can’t be that bad, it’s not like you’re saying you’re in love with me or something.”

“Well–”

“Right, cus that would be like…” Your words tumble over him, your brain too keen on keeping your feelings, your delusions to yourself. “Te amo? Te quiero? I’m not sure…”

“Either one.”

“Yeah, so it’s not one of those, so what is it?”

He takes a deep breath, looking slightly troubled. His face twists his face up like he’d just bit into a lemon, and then you’re panicking again.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that–”

“It’s a term of endearment,” His voice stops your apologies in their tracks. “It literally means affection, but when you use it as a nickname it’s more like sweetheart or darling. Dear is another way to say it, but you get the point.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, sorry about that–”

“Don’t be,” Your head tilts with his, following the way he turns his gaze away from you in embarrassment. “I like it.”

He meets your eyes again, curiosity and hope strung in his vibrant eyes. “You do?”

“Yeah. The way you say it is so satisfying, if that makes sense.”

“You like when I speak Spanish, huh?”

You nod, and suddenly you’re the one hiding your face from his smirk.

“Querido, mírame.”

“Miguel–”

“Ahora. I won’t ask again.”

You sigh, glaring at him. “I don’t understand you.”

“That’s okay, you’ll learn,” He leans down and then innnn, so that the two of you are practically nose to nose. “I know you can do it.”

“Do you?” Your brain is screaming at you, making you even more painfully aware of his proximity to your face, yet you somehow manage to clearly deliver the line.

“Mhm.”

“Well, it’s only cus I’ll have the best teacher. You.” You hit his nose with your finger, catching him off guard.

“I am happy to take that title.”

“Good.”

He hasn’t moved. Even as the room fades into silence, he hasn’t moved. He’s still so close, like you could lean in, barely four inches, and you’d be kissing him. You can smell him, a tinge of metallic blood yet so earthy and centering. It’s intoxicating: your brain is swimming and you're struggling to keep your head above the water.

Cariño. Sweetheart. A term of endearment. You still haven’t quite wrapped your head around that, not that you’ve been given much time to mull over it. Was that him telling you that he liked you, more than a friend? Was that a normal thing, using that term? You didn’t know, but you had a feeling that would be the best confession from him you were getting, if he meant it that way at all. You were gonna have to make the leap yourself.

“Everything okay?” His hand lands on your shoulder, a gentle reminder that you’d been staring into nothingness for what must’ve been a painfully long time for him. “Yeah,” You stumble to regain your words. “Sorry, I-”

“Spaced out.”

“Yeah.”

He nods, smiling just enough so you could see his fangs peek out. You were caught.

“Migu–”

“I could kiss you right now, you know that?”

“Huh?” stumbles stupidly out of your now slack jaw.

“I could kiss you. You’ve been staring at my lips for the past few minutes, mi amor, whether you realize it or not.”

“I have? Oh my god.”

He chases your drifting gaze, just like you did with his. “It was cute.”

“Cute is a word I never thought I’d hear come out of your mouth.”

“Cállete, you hear me? Shut up.”

You giggle, grabbing his hand and sliding it up to fit comfortably on the back of your neck. “You wanna kiss me, O’hara? You’re very welcome to do it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Now he’s leaning in, closing in those four painstaking inches to lock lips with you.

And it’s insane. Showstopping. Any kisses you had before then? Not even a fucking kiss. Sure, it was a bit awkward at first– mainly you, you suppose– but it worked itself out. Miguel must’ve really gotten into it, because once you swear he nipped at your bottom lip with those fangs of his, just hard enough to draw blood. Your hands, in the meantime, explored his mass of brown curls, previously smoothed back but released by your fingers.

His own hands nestled themselves in your hair, tugging on it just enough to draw a sigh out of you. He tastes like blood– surely yours– yet ever so homey. You lean into him inadvertently, so content in the moment. The rational part of your brain reminds you that you’d probably suffocate if you kissed him for much longer, but nothing in you cared very much about that fact at all.

In the end, it’s him who takes a dip for air, who drags your face off of his reluctantly to gasp softly. You do the same, resting your forehead on his toned chest. His hand, still in your hair, guides you gently back up, just so he can absorb your appearance and vice versa. It’s crazy, taking him in like this. He looks so out of control, his hair disheveled and his lips puffy and his cheeks red, releasing air in quick puff puffs. You’re sure you’re not much better looking.

“Out of breath already?” He says, head tilted with a goofy sort of grin adorning his face. “I’m regaining it currently, don’t tease.” You puff back at him, dropping your head back onto his chest.

“Oh, but teasing you is the best part.”

You stab a finger into his side. “Be quiet.”

“If you fare like this, mi alma, you won’t last very long where we’re headed.”

Your head whips up, equal parts confusion and frustration. “First of all, I’m fine. Second of all, what?”

“C’mon.” he pulls you off the bed.

“Are we sure I can even–”

His arm is around your shoulders, hand clamped tightly around it to squeeze you reassuringly. “I got you.”

“Thanks.” Your smile towards him is mushy, but you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to care.

“De nada,” He smiles back, and you mentally note to tease him about his softness later on. “Let’s get all the way to home plate, huh?”

“Let’s.”

feel free to drop by my inbox anytime, everyone, before i run out of ideas

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #atsv #oscar issac #oscar issac x you #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac characters #oscar issac imagine #oscar isaac x you #spiderman #spiderman: across the spiderverse

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istoleyoursphenoidbone · 9 days ago

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In Search of Kindred Spirits - Chapter 2

This has been fun to write so far, this chapter will have the warning for character death though, but it's canon character death so take it with a grain of salt. Hope you enjoy and as always feedback is welcome!

Prev | Next

June 2nd, 200X

Dear Jason,

Gotham sounds just as crazy as ever. I can’t believe you managed to talk yourself out of getting caught sneaking into a fancy restaurant. Do you always think so fast on your feet? Or is this just another one of your weird Gotham superpowers? Either way, you’ve got me beat. Last week, I tripped over my own shoelaces in front of my whole science class. Not my proudest moment.

Things are… weird here. Ever since we got back from Gotham, my parents have been even more obsessed with ghosts. The ghost portal they’ve been working on in the lab almost turned on the other day. It kind of exploded instead. Pretty sure I’m still picking bits of ectoplasm out of my hair. But hey, at least my parents didn’t notice when I accidentally melted their toaster while trying to make waffles. Long story.

Write back soon, okay? And don’t get into too much trouble. (I know, I know—that’s basically asking Gotham not to rain.)

Your sidekick,

Danny

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Jason chuckled as he folded up Danny’s letter, slipping it back into the shoebox under his bed. The kid had a way of brightening up even the darkest days. No matter how bad things got in Gotham—or how heavy Bruce’s expectations felt—Jason always knew he could count on Danny’s letters to pull him back from the edge.

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July 15th, 200X

Hey Danny,

Tripping over your shoelaces in class? Rookie move. Next time, at least do it somewhere less embarrassing. Like, I dunno, a haunted house or something. Bonus points if it involves ghosts, since you’ve got your mad scientist parents to back you up.

Things here are… well, it’s Gotham. You know how it is. Same old, same old. There was a fire at one of the warehouses by the docks last week. I didn’t see what happened, but there were rumors it was tied to some gang fight. Sometimes it feels like this city’s falling apart, y’know? Anyway, enough depressing stuff.

Bruce—uh, my new guardian—keeps dragging me to these fancy events. You’d laugh if you saw me in a suit. Don’t even ask about the food. It’s all weird, tiny stuff, like caviar and quail eggs. I snuck a slice of pizza in my jacket once, and Bruce nearly had a heart attack when I pulled it out at the dinner table. Worth it.

Stay outta trouble, Sidekick. (But if you do get into trouble, at least make it a good story.)

Your favorite hero,

Jason

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The months passed, but their bond remained as strong as ever. Each letter carried snapshots of their lives, written in messy handwriting, and peppered with inside jokes and ghost puns. Jason didn’t tell Danny he was Robin, but he dropped subtle hints about his nighttime escapades: vague mentions of “training” and “helping someone out.” Danny, in turn, never told Jason about the accident that had turned him into half a ghost.

But the things they couldn’t say didn’t matter. The letters, though slow and sporadic sometimes, were enough.

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October 10th, 200X

Dear Jason,

Okay, I laughed so hard at the pizza story that I snorted milk out of my nose. Thanks for that.

Things here have been… kinda crazy. My parents finally got the ghost portal to turn on (no explosions this time), but it’s still not working right. I swear, one of these days they’re going to accidentally summon some giant ghost monster and blame me for it.

School’s been weird too. There’s this kid, Dash, who keeps trying to pick fights with me. You’d totally kick his butt if you were here. Don’t worry, though—I’m handling it. Well… mostly.

Anyway, I gotta go before Mom and Dad notice I’m writing this instead of “helping” in the lab. They just started yelling about “ectoplasmic anomalies,” which probably means something’s about to explode. Again.

Write back soon, okay? I miss you.

Your sidekick,

Danny

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December 3rd, 200X

Dear Danny,

This Dash kid sounds like a loser. Tell him that if he messes with you again, he’s gonna have to deal with me. Not that he’d stand a chance, but still. You’ve got this, Sidekick.

Things are… well, you know how I said Gotham’s a mess? That hasn’t changed. Bruce has been working late a lot, and I’ve been “helping out” more. (Don’t ask—it’s boring, trust me.) But it’s not all bad. I got to sneak out for a while last week and saw this kid giving out sandwiches to homeless folks in the Narrows. It made me think of you. He kinda reminded me of the way you’re always trying to help people, even when it’s risky.

Anyway, enough of the sappy stuff. Have your parents blown anything up lately? And are they still wearing those crazy jumpsuits? You’ve gotta get me a picture someday. I need to see this for myself.

Stay outta trouble, Danny. And remember, you’re tougher than you think.

Your hero,

Jason

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February 14th, 200X

Dear Jason,

First of all, I’ve gotta see this pizza stunt you keep mentioning. Next time, record it or something, okay?

Second, yeah, my parents are still walking around in those ridiculous jumpsuits. It’s like they’re allergic to normal clothes. I’ll try to sneak a photo for you, but if they catch me, it’s your fault.

Things have been… weird here. Again. There’s this creepy ghost lady who keeps showing up in the middle of the night. She keeps calling me “child of both worlds,” whatever that means. I think she’s just trying to mess with me, but it’s still super freaky. Anyway, I’ll figure it out. I always do, right? Oh and I sent some drawings with the letter, have fun.

Write back soon. And try not to fall off any rooftops or whatever it is you do in Gotham.

Your sidekick,

Danny

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Jason stared at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands. Danny had scrawled a diagram of something called a “ghost thermos” on the bottom half of his latest letter, complete with doodles of stick figures fighting over what appeared to be glowing green blobs.

"Figures," Jason muttered, smirking. Danny hadn’t changed much, even after all these years. His friend’s goofiness was one of the few constants in Jason’s life, a lifeline that kept him grounded when Gotham’s darkness threatened to pull him under.

But some things had changed. Jason could feel it.

Danny’s letters were different lately. There were hints—small, almost imperceptible cracks in the cheerful façade Danny always wore. Jason knew the signs. He’d seen them in the mirror.

The truth was, Danny had changed. His accident had transformed him into something he didn’t fully understand. Being half-ghost came with powers he was still learning to control and a sense of responsibility that weighed heavier every day.

It wasn’t that Danny didn’t trust Jason—he just didn’t know how to explain it. How do you tell your best friend that you’re half-dead?

When Jason wrote about his “training,” Danny sensed that he, too, was keeping secrets. But he didn’t press. They were still kids, after all. Everyone had their demons.

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The stars seemed to align, however, when Jason’s "training" brought him to a city near Amity Park. For the first time in years, they had a chance to meet face-to-face.

Danny sprinted toward the abandoned park they’d chosen as a meeting spot, his breath visible in the cold winter air. He spotted Jason leaning against a rusty jungle gym, a cocky grin on his face.

“Hey, Sidekick,” Jason called.

Danny laughed, tackling Jason in a hug. “Takes one to know one.”

They pulled back, grinning at each other. Jason had grown taller, his frame more solid. But his eyes carried something darker, a sharpness Danny didn’t remember.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Danny said, feigning jealousy.

“And you’re still short,” Jason shot back. “Some things never change.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, catching up like no time had passed. Jason didn’t miss how Danny seemed… different. He moved like he was always on edge, like he was ready to disappear at any moment.

Danny noticed things about Jason, too—the reckless way he joked, like he didn’t care if he got hurt. There was a bitterness in his voice sometimes, a chip on his shoulder that hadn’t been there before.

Neither of them brought it up. They were too happy to see each other to ruin it with questions.

As they sat on a bench, watching the city lights in the distance, Danny nudged Jason’s shoulder. “You ever think about… y’know, what’s next? Like, after all this training stuff?”

Jason tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve gotten that far. Gotham doesn’t exactly let you plan for the future.”

Danny frowned. “That’s not fair.”

Jason shrugged. “Fair’s got nothing to do with it.”

Danny bit his lip, hesitating. “Well, if you ever want to get out of Gotham… come visit me in Amity Park. My parents will probably try to feed you ectoplasm, but at least it’s quieter there.”

Jason laughed, the sound softer than Danny expected. “I’ll think about it, Sidekick.”

The night ended too soon. Jason vanished into the shadows, leaving Danny with a nagging sense of unease. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. At least he could look forward to Jason's next letter.

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Except, Jason’s next letter never came.

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Two months later, Danny sat in his room, staring at the envelope in his hands. The handwriting wasn’t Jason’s.

Inside was a letter from Alfred.

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May 6th, 200X

Dear Mr. Fenton,

It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of Master Jason’s passing. He spoke of you often, and I believe he would have wanted you to know how much your friendship meant to him. Jason was a remarkable young man—brave, compassionate, and fiercely loyal. He will be missed dearly.

Yours sincerely,

Alfred Pennyworth

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Danny’s vision blurred as he read the letter again and again, the words refusing to sink in. Jason was gone.

How could someone like Jason—so alive, so stubborn—be gone?

Grief twisted into determination. Danny clenched his fists, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Jason wasn’t just “gone.” He couldn’t be. Not entirely.

If there was even a chance Jason’s soul was out there, Danny would find him. No matter how long it took, no matter where he had to go—he would bring Jason back. The portal swirls to life with it's bright green before a shout of 'going ghost' echoed through the basement. The ghost zone awaits.

#danny phantom #dpxdc #danny fenton #dc x dp #jason todd #danny fenton x jason todd #fanfic #red hood #ao3 crosspost #tw: character death #non graphic tho and canon

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theredofoctober · 7 months ago

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Runt Part 2: an Omni-Man x Gender Neutral Reader Darkfic

TW: noncon, violence, blood, humiliation/verbal degredation, master/pet

Synopsis: After being attacked by Omni-Man, a traumatised Reader attempts to seek comfort. Then he returns, and Reader's suffering is far from over...

Reader after the cut

✂️ ✂️ ✂️ ✂️

“Shit. What happened here?”

Cecil Stedman stands amidst the mess of your house, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in a mode of sympathetic awe.

“It was some villain,” you mutter as you shrug deeper into the cowl of the hooded jacket you’ve donned to swaddle yourself against his scrutiny. “He broke in. I... didn’t recognise him.”

This aside is true enough, being that Nolan is no longer the heroic Omni-Man you once believed would defend the planet against what evils would otherwise lay siege.

That he had been that very evil longer than you’ve been alive still feels closer to fiction than the reality you now know it well to be.

Still you feel the shade of his hands like a clasp on your throat, the fork lightning of a blow to the face as though he’s still in the room with you, an oppressive force of lust and control.

“He was... strong,” you continue, avoiding Cecil’s searching gaze. “I couldn’t fight him off. He said he was looking for my mom— she must've known he was coming. She’s gone into hiding. Didn’t say where.”

“Well, she didn’t get any help from me,” says Cecil. “I had no idea about any of this. I’ve been trying to contact her. That’s why I came over.”

He scrutinises a dent in the wall, his pale brows kneaded.

“So you’re saying you don’t know where Ellen is? She didn’t leave any kind of note?”

You shake your head.

Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Shit,” he says, again. “This isn’t like her.”

His scarred face becomes ponderous, attempting to piece the situation together with what scant intel you’ve released to him.

“I’ll get my team on clean up duty. We’d better put you under surveillance, kid. We can’t risk the asshole that attacked you coming back to finish the job.”

“No thanks,” you say, wrenching your sleeve cuff down over one swollen wrist. “I just want to be left alone. My Dad has a summer house I can go to; I still have the keys somewhere.

“Nobody knows where it is, and Dad barely uses it— we don’t talk much, but what I do know is that he’s never around. I can stay there for a while. I’ll be okay.”

There is a beat of unpleasant silence before Cecil says, “You sure you don’t know who attacked you?”

“No,” you say, again. “It was a total stranger.”

Unconvinced, Cecil paces a length of the room.

“Has there been a fire here?” he asks, suddenly. “Smells like burning.”

You’re glad he hasn’t yet ventured the stairs to take stock of your bed, singed and broken beneath the torturous struggle of bodies upon it.

“It’s my powers,” you say. “It turns out I have some. But they’re really weak.”

You demonstrate with a faint spark in the palm of your hand, which goes out almost at once.

“I see,” says Cecil. “But the good news is you might get some rapid healing abilities as a result. Still, I’d rather you come in and let a doctor take a look at you. You look pretty banged up.”

His stare seeks out your black eye, and you flinch away, twisting your face into a frond of shadow.

“I don’t need a doctor,” you mumble. “I’ll heal, like you said.”

Better to allow the slow process of recovery to take its course than have some sympathetic white coat uncover your savaged vulnerability.

“I’m not clueless, you know,” says Cecil, gently. “There’s more going on here than you’ve told me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say. “I just want it all to blow over and go away.”

Cecil runs a weary hand across his face and sighs.

“I know. But if you need to, you’ve got me. Or if you’d rather work it out with a professional—”

“I just want to get some rest, Cecil. Please.”

“Alright,” he says. “You win. But call me if anything changes, okay?”

It’s after he’s teleported from the premises, leaving you alone in the tainted house, that you burst into tears, curled up under the black swathes of your hoodie as though beneath a shroud.

You may as well be dead, you suppose; Nolan surely won’t allow you to live for much longer.

You arrive at your father’s summer house in a forest out of state, trundling your suitcase despondently through the front door with little expectation of safety there.

The property is vast, a clumsy blend of rustic and modern design. A photograph of your father hangs, grinning, over an artificial fireplace; he is young in it, only twenty-five, dressed in the white and silver suit he’d donned as Ice Box, a ridiculous name he’d thought himself clever to have chosen.

Once he’d been a formidable hero, wielding the ability to freeze entire cities, when disciplined. But fame had rapidly absorbed him, and it seemed that now he preferred women and drink to his original purpose of aiding his fellow beings.

Had your father ever loved you? You cannot say with any definitive certainty. He'd scarcely been present even when still married to your mother, and now only ever texts when you’ve been in contact first, and then only briefly, as though addressing an acquaintance he doesn’t much enjoy.

If you were to tell your father what’s been done to you you’d expect a telling silence, the awkward unwillingness to unlatch himself from a comfortable life to do something good.

Depression spills like a noose about your neck, another phantasmal reminder of your walking state of death. Crossing to the wall, you take down your father’s portrait and put it away into a cupboard, feeling afterwards somewhat relieved.

You hadn’t anticipated the effect this house would have on you with its sprawling rooms and French windows looking out into shaggy woods. How small and cowed you are by their dominion, as you’d felt in the wicked arms of Omni-Man, a mite and pointless thing.

You cannot understand why he took the time to brutalise you in such a way. That you are so insignificant to him makes the rape feel rather worse, the afterthought of a warring god.

A moment of Earth time means nothing to him, a man so quick in the air as to be near impossible to vanquish. A moment, and to you a fracture in your short life that, unlike your tender flesh, may never re-join even should you live long enough for it to do so.

Shaking your head, you ascend the stairs and shower quickly, repulsed by your own touch, your hands—though smaller, softer than Nolan’s—enough like his to trick your senses into response as you soap your nudity.

Disturbed, you quickly dry and change into another shapeless hoodie and a clean pair of sweatpants, your makeshift uniform since the incident.

The thickness and coverage of the fabric allows you to pretend that you have no body beneath it, being that you cannot glimpse your shape in any surface, nor be perceived by any voyeuristic eye.

You sit with a mug of herbal tea on the living room couch and watch the forest through the French doors, too wary of Omni-Man’s face or mention of his deeds to switch on the television.

You reflect on your mother, alone underground, of how deeply she will grieve when you’re gone. Of the love you once harboured for Omni-Man, jumped from you as though from some high cliff.

In time you drift into a shallow slumber, towed out to it by unhappy exhaustion.

You’re awoken by the back door being opened with such force that the lock shatters in a snow of steel fragments. Omni-Man appears like a devil come forth from the forest, his glare fixed upon your huddled figure with the same acidity as before.

“Nolan,” you whisper as he shuts the broken door behind him. “You’re here...”

Your enemy crosses the room at a glacial hover, his mouth like a groove of stone.

“If you were trying to hide from me you failed miserably. Did you really believe that I wouldn’t find you?”

You stare up at him, at his folded arms, such pylons of deathly capability.

“Cecil asked me to check up on you after ‘the incident’," says Omni-Man. "I’m surprised that you managed to stay silent. That suggests you value your life, and I didn’t get that impression when you repeatedly lied to me about your mother.”

Cowering against the sofa cushions you attempt for the sake of your sole loving parent to be brave in the face of such cosmic terror.

“I can’t tell you where she is,” you insist. “I don’t know, and I can’t find out. I’m not lying. Nothing you do to me will change my answer. You’ll be torturing me for nothing.”

You had, in fact, thrown away the communication device your mother had given you the night Omni-Man had assaulted you, jumping with boot-clad feet upon it till the wiring sprung out from within, rendering it useless should it ever be found.

The truth of this must reflect in your eyes, for a silence falls over Omni-Man, one of brutal portent.

“In that case,” he says, “I want Firebright to see what will happen to everyone she loves if she and all humanity refuse to kneel to Viltrumite rule.”

Nolan closes in on you, his blue eyes reflecting the room’s tungsten light as though bearing some exiled ring of Hell.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, faintly. “Viltrumite rule?”

“Soon this planet will by invaded by my people and totally dominated. Your species will either accept its place or be forcefully enslaved, and I intend to make an example of the resistance.”

Omni-Man smiles, and your extremities become beams of ice under numb resignation to your fate.

“Oh god,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” says Nolan. “That would be far too close to mercy. The turn our last meeting took gave me some inspiration.”

Opening a fist, he drops something to the floor with a sinister jingle of metal.

“Here,” he says. “I’ve brought something for you. Pick it up.”

Scarcely daring to move your eyes from his callous face you slip off the couch to retrieve the object. Your fingers shut over a leather collar, the pad of your thumb touching a bone-shaped tag.

Glancing at it, you read the engraving aloud.

“‘Pet?’”

Omni-Man’s lips become a sickle of grim mocking.

“Yes. Because that’s all you are to me: a cringing pup, tame and panting readily to serve me.”

You drop the collar as though singed by it.

“No,” you say. “I’m not a dog. I’m a person, not your... pet.”

“Of course you are,” says Nolan, and darts so close to you that you feel the warmth of his powerful body upon yours. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how easily I got a reaction out of you.”

He puts his hand between your legs, squeezing until you gasp and stiffen in hurt and heat alike.

“Why do you want me?” you ask. “I’m nothing, nobody, like you said—”

“Which is why you should be thankful that I’m keeping you.”

You despair at your instinct to grind against his kneading hand, whether to divert his wrath or give yourself up to a quasar of ecstasy you cannot decide.

“From now on I expect you to do exactly as I say,” Omni-Man tells you, “or I’ll enjoy making you suffer. It’s the punishment you deserve for your misguided attempts to stand in my way.”

He gestures to the discarded collar with one forefinger, that sole digit imbued with the strength to slaughter.

“Put it on and take off your clothes. Don’t make me repeat myself or you’ll live to regret it.”

A tear creeps from the rim of your eye, and Nolan jerks his chin in arrogant judgement.

“Please,” you mumble. “I can’t go through this again. I—"

Omni-Man’s fist, belting your throat, truncates your protest.

“Maybe one black eye isn’t enough for you,” he sneers. “I’m more than willing to give you another.”

With a shuddering gasp you rush to undress, training your stare to the pine floorboards so as not to glimpse the look in Omni-Man’s eyes. When you struggle with the catch on the ridiculous collar he sighs with emphatic derision.

“Turn around,” he says. “I’ll do it myself.”

You feel him already hard against you as he fastens the buckle, incited by your fumbling weakness. When you attempt to squirm away he pulls the collar tight against your throat with a choking yelp.

“Every sound out of your mouth is as pathetic as you are,” sneers Nolan. “Keep it shut until I ask you to open it again.”

A lie: he enjoys your noises, is aroused by their helplessness completely. Perhaps if you were not so weak you wouldn’t have survived, preserved only for the attractive contrast of your frailty to him.

You close your fists, wondering if you dare summon fire in a final retaliation.

Gloved hands clench your upper arms like links of iron, and you go limp in Omni-Man’s embrace.

“You’d better learn obedience quickly, runt,” he says. “Vicious animals get put down.”

He shoves you onto all fours, bruising your knees on the pine. The collar jangles sweetly at your throat, and as Nolan bends to trail a finger down your spine you jump against his touch, unable to prevent yourself from considering the liberty with which he might tug out that cord like a root.

“This is an improvement,” he comments. “Now you’re exactly where you belong.”

His fingers part the trembling spheres of your buttocks, exposing you to his scathing examination. You bite your lip, knowing even before they pass into your depth that he will, as the last time, hurt you, that all sex dealt by him will be injurious in some regard.

“Nolan,” you whisper. “You used to be so nice to me. Don’t do this again.”

For a moment Omni-Man pauses, and you sense an unease in him you cannot quite describe. Then it passes, and when he speaks he is only harsh again.

“Pets don’t talk.”

His fingers descend in you to the topmost knuckle, and suddenly your chest is so tight with sobs that you fear you’re in cardiac arrest. Your face, glimpsed in the dark-pressed glass of the backdoor panels, is strained with agony and grief.

Nolan’s own—stark above the bloody snow of his white and red suit—is set like the mask of some fearsome warrior, unmoving as he kneels behind you. You’re sore from the first time he took you, burning, a reopened wound; as he snatches you by the collar and spears his swollen cock into that very ache you yelp, the vision of you both in glass all fog through falling tears.

The strangling leather about your neck is a sibling in pain to the metre of Omni-Man’s fucking, coming up quick and deep to a veil of flesh which he beats like the skin of a drum.

You know that he relents from his true power, that he could paralyse you, make scrap of you at the peak of his monstrous pleasure.

This, to him, is a kindness, if an entirely self-serving one.

“When my people seize control of Earth I’ll spare you,” says Omni-Man, his lips grazing your neck with every thrust. “Keep you on a leash where the world will see that I own a renegade’s child.”

You twist your head aside, shocked by this escalation in threats against you.

“What about Debbie?” you ask, as you did through the last attack. “And your son, Mark— they love you. How can you do this to them?”

Omni-Man shunts your head down against a bear skin rug, suffocating you in tacky lengths of fur.

“They’ll stand at my side and rule with me,” he says. “They’ll come to understand why my kind keep the spoils of war.”

With effort you turn your head on its side, spitting synthetic hair from your tongue.

"Have you hurt other people like this?”

“This is ordinary for my kind. Viltrumite mating is violent. Competitive. It’s how we separate the strong from the weak. Easy to see which you are.”

That he neither affirms nor denies his previous experience is telling, startlingly so.

“You don’t have to be like them,” you say, panting between each word. “You’re not, you never were! You don’t have to prove anything to them—”

Nolan tears you across the floor in a burst of enraged flight, wrestling you onto your back to fuck you with your legs crushed painfully beneath him. His sneer pours down upon you, his eyes frightful, wide and unblinking in their sockets.

It’s a mistake to attempt reason, to scratch at that vulnerable truth you’ve come upon by chance; if this is only his second rape then it is merely one in a continuing line.

Nolan snatches your chin, forcing you to look up into the blue wickedness of his gaze.

“You think because I lay low all these years that’s who I am?” he taunts. “I was biding my time until Mark’s powers came in to take control of this planet. And for almost two decades all I thought about was how puerile you short-lived humans are.”

He gropes your chest, smiling grimly as you whimper at his touch. The collar rings at your neck, the hideous tag clapping against you.

You’ve never felt less like a person, made base and primitive by his handling.

How had this been the man to speak so fondly to you as a youth, to pat your shoulder when he greeted you, or draw you into a bracing hug? There had been nothing of violent sex in his view of you then; only your gentle defiance has altered this, triggering a natural disdain in him that you, a mere animal, had dared.

It’s no longer about your mother at all: it’s about you, and what you represent of a life so soon to be left behind. For Nolan has loved tenderly in the past, has enjoyed the spare, quiet moments of domesticity in the home he’s made on this planet.

Now that is to be taken away by war, and you pity him for that he would so willingly partake in its destruction.

Nolan’s harsh eyes narrow, glimpsing something of the thought in your tearful face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He’s fucking you so roughly that the sound of his hips against your crumpled body is like a bar fight in the echoing house, the beat of flesh on flesh.

“Answer me!” snaps Nolan, and he clips your face with a backhand, opening a fresh cut upon it. “Or your jaw will pay the price for your insolence!”

“Fine, okay, it's just I don’t believe you,” you say, in a panicked rush. “I don’t believe that you just pretended to like me. You really did. Why are you lying? Why are you making yourself be this way?”

You instantly regret the outburst as Omni-Man withdraws from you to kneel with his thighs on either side of your face, his heavy cock laid upon your lips.

“Would someone that liked you do this?” he asks, and as you open your mouth to answer he thrusts in until you retch around his girth.

Your hands scratch in a feckless attempt to liberate yourself from him, drool stringing from either side of your lips, pinkish with blood.

“I see I’ll have to train you this way as well,” says Nolan, looking down at you with haughty satisfaction. “Don’t you know how to do anything, runt?”

He cups either side of your skull in his hands and hammers your throat until you convulse with the urge to vomit. Only then does his pace slow again, and you feel from the tightening of him in your gullet that he is brought close by your struggling.

“You’d better swallow,” says Omni-Man, coolly. “Viltrumite seed is too valuable to waste.”

Then, with a low groan, he unleashes his crisis within you, his grip like a door closed upon your head until you gulp him down.

“That was almost good,” says Nolan, rearranging his suit as you collapse, sputtering, on your side. “Maybe you’re not entirely talentless after all.”

Striding into the kitchen, he returns with a bowl filled with water and dumps it on the ground before you. You crawl forward to drink and rid your mouth of your shame’s flavour, fingers outstretched to bring it to your lips.

“That’s not how pets drink,” says Nolan, and his foot comes down on the nape of your neck, his booted sole bidding you to bathe your face in the water.

Trembling with fearful humiliation you accede, lapping at the cool liquid until Nolan allows you to rise again.

“You can expect to see me a lot more from now own,” he says, cruelly nonchalant. “I’ll tell Cecil that I killed the man that attacked you, and that I’ll protect you from any others that come your way.”

Nolan pauses, watching you lean your dripping face into one hand to weep.

“That, you’ll be relieved to know, is true,” he says. “I defend the people that belong to me. That’s always been my duty.”

You say nothing, made silent by the sullying of his abuse and the implication that it will not end.

“Tell no one what I’ve done here,” says Nolan, “or what I’ve told you, or you’ll die swiftly. Don’t try to run away, or seek help from anyone else. This is who and what you are now. Do you understand me?”

When you still don’t reply Omni-Man seizes you by the collar, hauling you into the air as he enters flight, near hanging you by it.

“Speak!” he snaps, as you kick and wheeze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you squeak, and Nolan visibly relaxes, his free arm going possessively about your back to press you to him.

“Tell me what you are to me.”

“A... pet,” you mumble, weakly. “Your pet.”

Omni-Man lowers you both to the ground again, a smile appearing under his moustache.

“Well remembered.”

He turns to leave, and a shock of depression spills in an eddy about you.

“Nolan...” you say, almost under your breath.

He swivels back towards you in impatience.

“What do you want now?”

You do not know, are lost in all that has been ripped away from you by life even before Omni-Man’s efforts. Lowering your head, you sniffle pitifully, the pet tag tinkling with every shudder.

Nolan looks at you, half amazed, then scoffs with a mean amusement.

“I see,” he says. “After everything I’ve done you still have those embarrassing human feelings for me.”

“Yes,” you say, and clutch your hands together in abjection. “I could never hate you. I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you, Nolan. Please, please, I—”

Your mouth is closed by another as Nolan rips from you a tongue-filled kiss, his left hand cradling the back of your head in a mockery of tenderness.

A shameful pleasure veins you, stained through with the arsenic of guilt.

“What’s wrong?” asks Nolan as you jitter away, a nervous palm at your swollen lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve dreamt of for all your short life?”

“I, uh, yes,” you say limply, reflecting on a thousand nights of sticky hands beneath your coverlet, thinking of being made love to, afloat in the air under starlight.

“Then stop being so emotional,” says Nolan. “You’re so delicate. Don’t remind me how easily I could damage you, Pet.”

But you read from his diabolical eyes that he sees clearly the many pieces of you, irreversibly broken to his will. That you are owned beyond the leather at your throat.

#omni man fic #omni man x reader #Darkfic #dead dove do not eat #tw noncon #tw rape #tw violence #tw assault #tw humiliation #tw degredation #nolan grayson #nolan grayson x reader #runt fic #master/pet

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nomie-11 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 23 - Between the Fading Stars and Fireworks

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CONTENT WARNING: my shitty second attempt at writing smut!

As the final burst of fireworks faded into the night sky, Genevieve lingered in the warmth of Xaden’s embrace. The intensity of their moment was a sharp contrast to the cool winds whipping around them, but for once, the chill didn’t penetrate. She pulled back slightly, gazing into his dark eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty, but all she found was an unwavering resolve.

“Come on,” she urged, tugging at his hand, eager to lead him away from the parapet. The night had been a battlefield of emotions, and she wanted to take him somewhere they could breathe, somewhere safe. “Let’s go back to your room.”

His eyes shifted back to where he was just sitting. Even after all of it, he wants to stay out here and wallow. He shakes his head and looks away.

“I’m not in a place to take care of anyone tonight. And yes, I know it’s a shitty thing to say, since your dad also died and it’s the anniversary of losing Quinn–”

“I know,” she says softly, her hands sliding down his arms. “Come with me, Xaden.”

“Gen…” His shoulders dip, and the sadness that permeates the air between them puts a lump in her throat.

“Trust me.” She steps back out of his arms and takes his hands. “Come on.”

A moment of tense silence passes before he nods once, moving forward and holding her steady as she turns around. “You’d think I’d be better at this than last July, but shattering your leg does kind of kill your balance.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood after what was easily the best kiss of her life.

“I remember you running across the parapet last July,” He stays close, one hand on her waist as she walks the last part of the parapet. “It’s hard to beat that in a dress.”

“It’s a skirt, technically,” she says over her shoulder, only feet away from the wall.

“Eyes forward!” he grumbles, and it's only the fear in his tone that keeps her from running the parapet for the second time. The second they’re in the confines of the walls he spins her around, his face to hers. “Don’t ever put your life at risk over something as trivial as talking to me again.” It’s as low as a growl against her ear, and a shiver runs down her spine.

“Next year is going to be so much fun,” she teases, walking forward from him, not bothering to counter his statement. She laces his fingers with his so he follows, and the motion is foreign yet familiar to the two of them.

“Liam will be here next year to make sure you’re not doing asinine things,” he mutters.

“You’re going to love getting his letters,” She promises, jumping the final foot off the parapet to the courtyard below. Glancing around, she registers the empty courtyard where Garrick and Bodhi just were. “Garrick and Bodhi were just here.”

“They probably know I’m going to kill them for letting you out there. A dress, Genevieve? And barefoot? Really?”

She shrugs, just taking his hand again and heading across the courtyard. He knows where they are going—up to his room on a path she’s walked time and time again. His room isn’t even warded against her anymore, and she heads right to his door, her hand steady on the doorknob.

The door feels uncharacteristically light under her weakened arm, and she knows he’s even warded the door to be lighter. He warded the door to be lighter so she could enter his room whenever she wanted.

The room is as familiar as it always is.

His boots are still in a pile by the door, and she tosses her slippers into the pile as well. His weapons are still hung on a rack right above the desk on the wall to the right of the door, and she unstraps the daggers from her own body, hanging them up neatly. Her leathers—without the jacket as she had stolen his to go sit on the roof—that she had left there last time was strewn haphazardly over the desk chair, and maps and open books lay cluttered around the desk, but all of his clothes were neatly folded and his sheets were neatly tucked.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” His voice lowers. “If not, I’m a fool, because you are magnificently beautiful.”

A flush rises in her cheeks, but she just shakes her head. “Sit down.” she gestures to the edge of his bed.

“What?” his eyebrows raise.

“Sit,” she orders, staring him down.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Neither do I.” There’s no question in her mind about what ‘it’ is, nor does she want to let what happened six years ago drive a wrench in their night. To her absolute surprise, he does as she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed. His long legs stretch out in front of him, and he leans back slightly on the heels of his hands. “Now what?”

She moves between his thighs and runs her fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch, and she could swear she felt her heart skip a beat at the complete and utter trust he has in her in this moment.

“Now I take care of you.”

His eyes fly open, and gods, are they beautiful. Genevieve has memorized every gold fleck in those onyx depths, and it’s a good thing because she never wants to forget what his eyes feel like on hers. She never wants to remember that in a few days he won’t be here for her to be with whenever she likes.

Leaving his hair, she sinks to her knees before him.

“Gen-”

“Relax. I’m just taking off your boots like you did for me all those days.” She says, a small smirk playing on her lips. It is an oddly familiar position if it were to be flipped. There were weeks when she couldn’t bend down to unlace her own boots.

“You can just leave them in the pile,” he blurts.

She places them on the floor next to the other two pairs of boots that lay next to his door. “I know.”

His gaze is heated when she walks back. “You should wear backless stuff more often.”

Her gaze immediately diverts at those words, her own self-scrutiny flaring at every compliment. But she is not about to make this night about her.

“Be quiet and let me get this off you.” She undoes the line of diagonal buttons across his chest, and he shrugs out of the leathers. “You went flying tonight?”

“It usually helps.” He nods as she leans over to set them on the armchair. “This day is always…”

“I’m sorry.” She says, averting her eyes from his, reaching for his shirt.

“I’m sorry, too.” he lifts his arms, and she tugs the shirt off before putting it on the side with the flight jacket.

“Don’t apologize for something that isn’t your fault.”

She shifts her eyes to his as she cups the unrelenting angles of his face, then traces the scar that bisects a brow. “Challenge?”

“Sgaeyl.” He shrugs. “Threshing.”

“Most dragons scar their riders, but Tairn has never hurt me,” she says absent-mindedly, her hand slipping down his neck.

“Maybe he knew you already carried too many scars,” he says softly, his own hands trailing the ridge on her face, the singular scar running from the bottom of her eye to her jaw. The first scar he saw on her. The only one she can’t hide.

The marks of injuries and torment on her body suddenly feel like they’re burning under his gaze. From the cuffs on her wrists to the gashes on her torso to the torn-up patch of discoloration on her shoulder, she’s suddenly all too aware of how he knows that she’s been broken and put back together.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” She leans in and kisses the scar on his eyebrow. “It will be tomorrow when you wake up.”

“I don’t deserve you.” His arm curls around her hips and he tugs her in closer. “But I’m going to keep you all the same.”

“Good.” she leans in and brushes her lips over his. “Because we’ve already established just how much I love you.”

There’s a beat of hesitation in the air, but not because she doubts he feels the same. Now she knows he does, and the tension is all the same. It’s like that day in December all over again, the proximity, the heat, but now it's so different. Now she loves him and he loves her. Now she’s in his arms fully of her own devotion and not because of the overwhelming emotions of dragons.

His lips crash into hers, and the moment ignites. The tension that had been simmering between them all night bursts into flames, and suddenly, everything else—the grief, the pain, the guilt–melts away in the fire of their desire. Xaden’s hands are everywhere at once, strong and sure as they grip her waist, bringing her closer to him, impossibly closer. She sinks into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as she presses her body against his, craving more of him, of this, of the safety she finds in his arms.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against hers as he gasps for breath. “You shouldn’t… I can’t-”

“You should,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she searches his eyes for a confirmation. He nods, the words unspoken saying a thousand things between them.

She tilts his face back to hers. Her lips find his again, and this time, there’s no hesitation. She kisses him deeply, pouring every ounce of her love and longing into it, letting him feel just how much she needs him, how much she’s always needed him.

His resolve crumbles. In a fluid motion, he lifts her effortlessly onto his laps, his hands splayed against her back as their kiss intensifies. Genevieve wraps her legs around his waist, her heart pounding in her chest as she gives herself completely over to him, feeling just how much he wants her. His fingers trace the scars on her back with reverence, like he’s memorizing every part of her, not just the flawless warrior but the broken pieces too.

His hands move upwards, slipping the knot of her halter top part of the dress out and off over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her skin as she does. Genevieve shivers under his touch, her breath catching in her throat. The soft, silken fabric of her dress pools at the waist where their two bodies are the closest.

“I need you,” he practically moans to her, his voice soft but reverant as his words brush her ears.

“Then take me,” she breathes, her own desires matching the fire in his gaze. She wants him to feel how much she craves this, and how every lingering touch ignites her body into a sea of want and need.

Xaden’s grip tightens around her waist, and he captures her lips again, this time with a desperation that leaves her breathless. His free hand tugs her dress off of her body in one move, tossing the fabric to the floor as he pulls her in. It’s as if he’s pouring every ounce of longing and pent-up emotion into the kiss, and she reciprocates with equal fervor, deeping the connection that binds them together.

Lifting her up, he gently shifts their position, her legs still wrapped around his waist until her back presses against the cold stone wall behind them, their bodies resting on the bend underneath them. The contrast between the cold sheets and the warmth of Xaden's body is exhilarating, and Genevieve gasps against his mouth. His strong arms support her effortlessly, his chest firm against hers, muscles taut with the intensity of the moment.

She feels his heart pounding in sync with her own, the rhythm of their desire echoing in the small space between them. His skin is warm under her fingertips as she traces the lines of his shoulders and arms, feeling the tension in his muscles as if they’re barely holding back the storm within him. Every part of him is solid, unyielding, yet his touch is tender where it meets her skin, like he’s afraid she’ll break under him despite her strength.

His hands slide down her sides, strong and sure, pulling her closer as if the space between them is too much, even though they are already pressed together as tightly as possible. Genevieve arches into him, her body alight with need as his lips find her neck, kissing and nipping softly at her skin. Every touch, every movement sends waves of heat through her, pooling low in her stomach.

She tilts her head back, her breath ragged as his mouth travels lower and lower, his lips brushing against her collarbone. Her body responds instinctively, arching into his hands as his thumbs slip into the waistband of her underwear.

The air between them thickens, charged with the undeniable tension that has been building for months, and now it’s breaking free in a flood of desire and love that neither of them can stop. Genevieve clutches at him as if that's the only thing anchoring her to this world, her fingers curling into his skin, marking him just as he’s marking her.

“Xaden,” she whispers his name, voice shaky, her mind barely holding onto rational thought as his touch consumes her. His name falls from her lips like a prayer, like a confession. “Take your fucking—” she gasps, words failing as Xaden sucks at her neck, leaving marks as his lips travel. “—gods—pants off.”

The request pulls a low, throaty chuckle from Xaden, vibrating against her skin where his lips are still exploring. His teeth graze over her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine as she fists her hands in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. His breath is hot against her as he murmurs, “Patience, Genevieve.” But there’s a teasing edge to his words, his control slipping as the fire between them ignites further.

“Fuck patience,” Genevieve growls, her voice raw and urgent as her hands move down his chest, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his pants. She’s done waiting, done holding back. The heat between them is unbearable, an inferno that’s threatening to consume them both if they don’t give in to it completely.

Xaden groans as her touch sends shockwaves through him, his hands tightening their grip on her hips, pulling her even closer, their bodies locked in this impossible, unbreakable need. With a swift movement, he helps her, his pants joining the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

Their lips crash together again, more intense, more desperate than before. Every moment feels like it might combust from the sheer force of their need. Xaden’s hands glide over her bare skin, reverent in tracing the now angular edges of her body as if he’s memorizing every inch, every touch lighting her up from the inside. Genevieve presses herself against him, skin on skin, her nails digging into his back as the last remnants of restraint slip away.

The cool air hits her flushed skin, a brief contrast to the heat radiating between them, but it only heightens her awareness of him—of everything. His body presses her harder into the wall, every hard line of his muscles melding with her sharp ridges. His lips trail down her neck, sucking at the sensitive skin as his hips go into hers, both of them gasping at the friction, the overwhelming sensation of finally having nothing between them.

With one last searing kiss, he aligns with her and thrusts in, dampening her cry with his lips, catching the whimpers of pleasure on his own tongue. Her nails dig into his back, her body arching into his as she chases the strokes of his tongue. He groans, because gods, she feels so good around him.

He drives her up the bed with every thrust, and she keeps their mouths intertwined, her lips unable to leave his for more than a second, as if the connection between them is the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Each movement of his body against hers, inside hers, sends a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through her. The rhythm of their movements becomes frantic, wild, as they both let go.

She urges him to go faster, and he matches with a wicked grin that nearly makes her cum just at the look of it. Genevieve grips Xaden’s shoulders tighter, feeling the heat building in her core, her body aching for release.

“I—fuck—this needs to last forever,”

“But I’m—” Gods, she’s so close, so overwhelmed by the motions of his body growing rougher, more urgent.

“I know,” he drives forward again, her name falling from his lips like a prayer, and she whimpers. “Just stay with me.”

He adjusts the angle, hitting her clit with every thrust as he presses her forward, taking her impossibly deeper.

I’m not going to survive this. I’m going to die, right here, in this bed.

“Then I’m going to die with you,” he promises, kissing her once more.

“More. I need more.” Her legs lock as power simmers beneath her skin, she’s so close, he is so close.

“You’re almost there. Fuck, you feel so damn good around me. I’m never going to get enough of this. Enough of you.”

“Please save me,” her plea falls freely from her lips, and he can’t think clearly enough to distinguish if she’s just begging for release or if something else is going on. His control snaps and his eyes flare as he pounds into her.

The pleasure explodes with a cry, the intensity of the orgasm ripping through ether like a storm. Every nerve in her body is alight with pleasure as his wardrobe explodes into a sea of greenery, the wood splintering as he throws his weight to the side, bringing her with him as he drives towards his own release, groaning into the side of her neck as the last waves of her orgasms leave her shuddering against them.

“You’re all right?” He asks after a long minute and her breath steadies, brushing her hair back from her face.

“I’m great, you’re great. That was…”

“Great?” He supplies.

“Exactly.”

“I was going to use the word ‘explosive’, but I think ‘great’ covers it.” His fingers tangle in her hair. “I fucking love your hair. I know you like it short, but I love it like this.”

She smiles, arching her back to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror on his dresser.

Her stomach drops as she pushes herself onto an elbow to look over his shoulder. “Oh no,” she giggles, her hand covering her mouth as she catches a glimpse at the destruction. “I’m pretty sure I blew up your dresser.”

“Unless there’s someone else throwing dark vines around, then yeah, that was you. See what I mean? Explosive?” He laughs.

It clicks then, that's why he threw himself sideways. To shield her from the splintering wood she had caused. “I’m so sorry,” She murmurs, scanning him for damage. “I thought I had that under control.”

“I threw up a shield. Don’t worry about it.” He pulls her back in for a kiss.

“What are we going to do?”

“Right now?” He strokes her hair back from her face again. “That was only one, if we’re counting, and I say we clean up, get the wood out of the bed, and get to three, maybe four if you’re still awake.”

Her jaw drops. “After I blew up your dresser?”

He smiles and shrugs. “I’ve got other furniture.”

She glances down at his body, and her own ignites again. How could it not when he looks like the gods blessed him and she feels like the gods blessed her. “Yeah. Let’s go for three.”

———————

They’re going for five, her hips in his hands as she slowly rides him, her fingers trailing down the black swirls of the relic on his neck. “It really is beautiful,” she tells him, rising up to sink back down again, taking him deep within her.

His dark eyes flare as his hands flex. “You have the same mark,” he arches his hips, hitting her at a sublime angle. “Yet it’s only beautiful on me?”

Someone pounds on the door.

“Go the fuck away!” Xaden snarls, reaching up her back and hooking onto her shoulder to pull her down into his next thrust.

She falls forward, muffling her moan in his neck.

“I really wish I could.” There’s enough regret in the voice that Genevieve fully believes it.

“Someone better be dead if I get out of this bed, Garrick,” Xaden retorts.

“I think there's a lot of people dead, which is why they’re calling the entire quadrant to formation, jackass!” Garrick growls.

Both Xaden and Genevieve startle, our gazes colliding in shock. She slides off him, and Xaden tosses the blankets over her to cover her before shoving his legs into his leathers and striding for the door.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks through a tiny opening in the door.

“Grab your flight leathers, and you’d better bring Genevieve with you, too,” Garrick says. “We’re under attack.”

Genevieve has never gotten dressed so fast in her entire life, quickly pulling on her thigh sheaths and slipping the flight leathers she’s conveniently left in his room over her shoulders in fluid motions that she is frankly surprised even worked. “What time is it?” She asks Xaden, pulling on her boots and brushing the hair from her face.

Mandatory urgent formations means now. The wards are falling. Everything is going wrong. And she doesn’t have a jacket.

“Four fifteen.” He finishes, lacing his boots, already armed to the teeth as she slips her last two daggers into their places. “You’re going to freeze out there.”

“Eh, whatever,” She shrugs, “I’ll be fine.”

“Here,” Xaden throws one of his flight jackets over her. “If Garrick’s right and we’re under attack, then my guess is they’ll order the third years to staff the mid-guard posts, so you shouldn’t be out in formation too long. I can’t stand the thought of you being cold.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart somersaults as she shoves her arms through his jacket. He’s leaving. For real this time. He’ll be safe, right? It will just be a midland assignment, and he’s the most powerful rider in the quadrant. No, she’s the most powerful rider in the quadrant, it should be her going out, and—

In her brief pausing moment of thought, he buttons his flight jacket over her.

“We have to get to formation.” His hands cradle her face. “And if I have to go, then I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back in a few days.” He leans in and kisses her hard and quick.

Are we… dating? She’s so confused.

Besides the confusion in her own mind, the confusion in everyone else is working to her advantage. Everyone is running on adrenaline, too busy getting their shit together to notice what she is doing or the brief touch of Xaden’s hand against hers before he heads to the leadership in the courtyard.

The wind is dampened by her…boyfriend’s(?) jacket as she slips into formation beside Violet and Liam. Violet is still in her dress and Liam is buttoning up his dress shirt, and Genevieve smirks.

“This had better be good, because I was finally taking my shot with that gorgeous brunette healer,” Ridoc whines as he also steps into formation.

“Good night?” Genevieve teases Liam, glancing between him and Violet with a knowing smirk. Violet’s cheeks flush, though she manages a shrug, trying to play it off as if nothing significant happened.

“Fine,” he mutters, his cheeks turning pink in the moonlight.

“Anyone seen Dain?” Violet asks Nadine as she steps into formation ahead of them.

“All of the squad leaders are with leadership,” she answers over her shoulder as Rhiannon jogs up.

Rhiannon yawns, sliding into formation right next to Genevieve, then glances her way and does a double-take. “Genevieve Hale,” she whispers, moving closer. “Are you wearing Riorson’s flight jacket?”

Liam’s head snaps in her direction, and she immediately looks away.

“Why would you say that?” Her voice raises uncharacteristically, doing a shitty job of feigning shock and a blush rising on her cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s huge on you and there are three stars right here?” She taps where there are three stars on Genevieve’s jacket and one star on Violet’s. One star on Violet’s and a gauntlet patch, which is definitely not her’s.

“It could be any third-year’s.” She shrugs. “Can we focus on Violet clearly wearing Liam’s jacket and leave me alone?”

”No, no,” Violet snickers. “I’m in an established relationship so it doesn’t matter. What are you doing with a third-year jacket, with a fourth wing shield on the shoulder, and a wingleader emblem beneath those stars.” She teases.

“Fuck you both,” she grumbles, casting a glare at him. “It’s his. Now leave me alone.”

“No way!” Rhiannon grins. “I knew it! This isn’t the first time, right? Tell me it’s good.”

“I may or may not have blown up his dresser.” She winces and her cheeks heat.

“Like… he slammed you up against it and it broke?” Violet asks, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Genevieve bites her lip, unsure if she should even answer, but the heat rushing to her face betrays her. “More like… my signet flared while we were… you know. And, uh, it just kind of exploded.” She makes a small gesture with her hands, mimicking a burst and vines crawling in the splinters.

Rhiannon bursts out laughing, and even Liam and Violet can’t suppress their snickers.

“Wait, wait.” Liam steps in, his eyes wide. “Are you telling me you used life weaving while life—”

“Shut up, Liam,” Genevieve cuts him off, crossing her arms over Xaden’s flight jacket. “You and Violet start forest fires, I only blew up a dresser.”

She glances over at Xaden, who looks anything but pleased as they eyes lock for a millisecond. “Fucking War Games.”

Relief and disbelief hit her with equal measure. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Hey, Aetos,” Rhiannon says, draping her arms over Violet and Genevieve, hiding ‘their’ jacket patches. “Good morning, huh?”

Dain looks at Rhiannon like she’s drunk too much mead as he approaches the squad. “Not really, no.” He glances over the rest of the squad. “I know it's early… or late, depending on your night, but we’ve spent all year training for this, so wake the hell up.” He turns to face the dais as Panchek takes the podium.

“Nice save,” Genevieve whispers to Rhiannon as she stands back at Violet’s side.

“Yeah, thanks.” Violet nods. Neither of them were in the mood to listen to Dain lecture them about their choices. Not tonight.

“Riders Quadrant!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Welcome to the last event of this year’s War Games.”

A murmur rips through the formation.

“The alert that was sounded is similar to what it would have been if this were a real-life attack—to see how fast you would muster—and we will continue this exercise as if it is. We’re the borders to be simultaneously attacked, and the wards faltering, you would all be called into service to enforce the wings. Colonel Aetos, would you do us the honor of reading the scenario?”

Dain’s dad steps forward, scroll in hand, and begins to read. “The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. The wards we’ve dedicated our lives to upholding are falling, and there has been an unprecedented, multilevel attack along our borders, putting villages under siege from drifts of gryphon riders. Mass casualties among civilians and infantry are already being reported, as are the deaths of multiple riders.”

He’s laying on the melodrama pretty thick.

“As we would if you were a battle ready force, we are sending your wings in every direction,” he continued, forcing on each wing until they reached Genevieve’s wing. “Fourth Wing to the southeast. Each squad will pick which outpost they will reinforce within that region.” He holds up a ginger. “Choices are first come, first served. Wingleaders, however, will be assigned to theirs for the purposes of determining a headquarters for this exercise.”

He turns to each wingleader, giving out orders, but he glances in their squad’s direction—no doubt looking out for Dain—before he turns toward Xaden. Something about the way his smile slips for a heartbeat makes the hairs rise on the back of Genevieve’s neck.

“Riorson, you’ll establish your headquarters for Fourth Wing at Athebyne. Wingleaders, assemble your headquarters squads at your own discretion, pulling from any and all riders within your wings. Consider this a test of leadership, as there are no limitations in a real-world scenario. You will receive the updated orders once you reach your selected outposts for this five-day exercise.” He steps back.

“Athebyne?” Genevieve whispers to Violet. “Isn’t that beyond the wards?”

”Unfortunately, yes.” Violet nods, and Genevieve’s heart sinks.

“Five whole days? This is going to be so much fun,” Heaton exclaims with terrifying glee, running their hand over the purple flames dyed into their hair. “We’re going to pretend war.”

“Yeah,” Imogen adds quietly. “I think we are.”

“Just like real life, you squad leaders need to make your choices quickly, then report to the flight field within thirty minutes,” Panchek decrees. “You’re dismissed.”

“Tairn?”

“Already moving.”

“We’re going to claim the outpost at Eltuval, the northernmost one in our assigned region,” Dain says, turning around to face them as Rhiannon leans over Genevieve and Violet’s shoulders again, blocking Xaden and Liam’s insignia. “I’m not getting stuck at some coastal outpost when we know that's not how Poromiel would choose to attack. Anyone have a problem with that?”

The entire group shakes their heads.

“Good, then you heard the commandant. You have thirty minutes to change, pack what you can carry for five days, and get your asses to the flight field.”

They immediately break, rushing to their dormitory rooms.

“What do you think our orders will be when we get there?” Rhiannon asks as they force their way through the bottleneck of cadets. “More eggs to hunt.”

“Probably not.” Genevieve shrugs.

“Who knows?” Violet responds, before rushing down to her dorm.

Rhiannon and Genevieve share a look before entering their own dorms.

It takes Genevieve 15 minutes to pack, between switching Xaden’s jacket with her’s and putting every single dagger she owned into a pile, she was already ready to go with more than half time to spare.

“Wear every single dagger you own,” Xaden demands, startling her.

“I’m wearing 12.” She says, throwing the last three into her overnight pack, alongside some other clothes and items.

“Good.”

“I’ll see you on the flight field, right?” She asks, making sure he won't leave without saying goodbye.

“Yes.” His reply is curt, and Genevieve finally meets Rhiannon and Liam in the hallway, Violet quickly following suit. A buzz of excitement accompanies the crowd as they make their way to the flight field, taking rations the kitchen hands out on their way down. No doubt breakfast will be eaten mid flight.

When they arrive, it takes Genevieve a second to absorb the sight. Every dragon in the quadrant fills the field, standing in formation under the hundreds of mage lights that float overhead like hovering stars. It would be almost beautiful, if it didn’t mean Xaden would be beyond the wards in a few hours.

They all head to their dragons, with Tairn taking Cath’s spot once more. Andarna is there too, right behind Astrape, her own miniature saddle clipping right into Astrape’s, as per Genevieve’s design.

“Second Squad!” Dain calls out. “Prepare for a four-hour first leg of our flight. We’ll need to keep a tight formation for the first fifteen minutes as the squads disperse.” He glances at Genevieve, then over her shoulder. “Wingleader?”

She pivots to see Xaden striding her way, the hilts of his swords strapped to his back rising above his shoulder, and Genevieve’s fists clench. How is she supposed to say goodbye to him in front of all these people? And worse, how will Tairn say goodbye to Sgaeyl?

“Don’t worry, little soldier,” Tairn interjects, his tone resolved. “Everything is as it should be.”

“How can I help you?” Dain bites out, his shoulders straightening.

“I need you,” Xaden says to Genevieve.

“I’m sorry?” Dain retorts before she can even nod.

“Relax, Aetos, he just wants to say goodbye.” She explains.

“If you’re saying goodbye, it's to him,” Xaden corrects, nodding at Dain. “I’m constructing my headquarter’s squad and you’re coming with me. So are Liam, Violet, and Imogen.”

Violet’s jaw unhinges. She’s what?

“The fuck you are,” Dain barks, stepping forward. “Violet’s a first-year, and Athebyne is beyond the wards.”

Xaden blinks. “I don’t hear you giving me the same argument about Mairi or Hale.”

Violet looks over at Liam, who stands with his chin raised in front of Deigh as if he expected this. And then her eyes drift to Genevieve, who looks not surprised at all.

“What is going on?” Genevieve asks, trying to figure out why he’s so hellbent on her coming with him. On why he’s so hellbent on Violet coming, too.

“Liam is the best cadet among the first-years even with you assigning him guard duty over Genevieve, and Genevieve is the strongest rider in the entire quadrant and has the deadliest signet seen in decades.” Dain argues, folding his arms over his chest.

“And Sorrengail wields lighting,” Xaden counters, taking a step closer to Genevieve. “I’m taking the four of them, end of story. And not that I owe you an explanation, second-year, because I don’t, but Sgaeyl and Tairn can’t been separated for longer than a few days—”

Oh yeah, it’s about this. Genevieve half-sighed. And he’s taking Violet and Liam because where I go, they go.

“That you know of!” Dain exclaims. “Or can you honestly tell me that Sgaeyl was at her wit’s end when you showed up to Montserrat? You’ve never fully tested how long they can be apart.”

“Feel like asking her yourself?” Xaden quips, arching a brow.

A low growl rumbles as Sgaeyl stalks forward, and Genevieve pushes Violet behind her, the menacing gleam is Sgaeyl’s eyes forcing Violet’s heart into her throat. Genevieve isn’t scared of her, not anymore at least, but any other rider in their right mind would think of her as terrifying. She’s a living, breathing death sentence.

“Don’t do this. Riders are known to die during War Games, and she’s safer with me,” Dain argues. “Anything could happen once we’re away from Basgiath, let alone you taking her beyond the wards.”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response. This is an order.”

Dain’s eyes cast over to Genevieve’s, hardening as he looked directly at her.

“Has this been your plan all along? To separate her from her squad so you can let your girlfriend use her for her revenge fantasy on General Sorrengail?”

“Dain!” Violet shakes her head at him. “Genevieve saved my life multiple times. You’re being an idiot. You know that’s not going to happen.”

“Do I?” He fires back. “She’s been so performative about not wanting to kill you anymore, but that doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind when things get rough out there. You can’t trust her, Violet. Not beyond the wards.”

Genevieve’s jaw tightens, and her fingers itch towards the daggers strapped across her chest. “I’m right here, Aetos.” Her voice is low, icy. “If you have a problem, say it to my face instead of hiding behind Violet.”

Violet sucks in a breath. “You need to stop right now.”

“Please, do quit while you’re behind, Aetos,” Xaden seethes. “You want the truth? Violet is a fuck of a lot safer with Genevieve beyond the wards then she is with you within them. We both know it.” The look in his eyes is shockingly close to Sgaeyl’s, and Genevieve knows that's why she chose him. He’s ruthless.

“This is stupid.” Genevieve grumbles. “Aetos, mind your own business and get off of your high horse. I’m the one with the power here. I’m the strongest. If you want Violet to be safe then trust that I will keep her safe at all cost necessary. Now let’s go.”

A flash of tension echoed between Xaden and Dain, Liam’s hand held Violet’s protectively.

“Are we all clear?” Genevieve snapped, cutting through the thick tension that had enveloped them. “I’m going, Violet’s going, Liam’s going, and that’s final.”

“Fine,” Dain huffs, crossing his arms. “But if anything happens to her—”

“It won’t,” Genevieve interrupts, her voice steady and unwavering. “I promise you that.”

“Yeah, you tell him, Ma’am,” Heaton chimes in, barely suppressing a grin.

“Shut it, Heaton,” Dain snaps, but the tension has eased slightly, and there’s an air of reluctant acceptance in his stance. “I’ll miss you, Violet.”

“Alright, let’s get moving,” Xaden orders, stepping back and gesturing towards the assembled dragons. “We’re wasting time.”

With a quick glance at the sky, Genevieve feels her pulse quicken. “Mount up!”

This did not feel right.

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Hey everyone.... so what did we think??? Did I get better at writing smut?? I think so (tbh I did use the book for help, but I did a lot myself), but honestly Idk. Let me know!

not much else happened, plot wise, just some love between the two of them and dain being lowkey an asshole. Just know that we get into some real drama in chapter 24 and then its full steam ahead all the way to the end of the book through resson and the epilogue!

let me know if you liked it! as always, if you did, please leave a like, comment, or kudo, and don't forget the taglist is open if you would like to be added! see you all on saturday!

p.s. please boop me I love getting booped it’s my favorite thing on tumblr omg (and happy Halloween everyone!!!)

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Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #the wounded healer #liam mairi x reader #fourth wing smut

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