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envy-of-the-apple · 1 month

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Moon Starves Sun (FULL VERSION)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

(Warnings: forced relationship, implied nsfw content, implied noncon/dubcon, dark content, implied baby trapping)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat.

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you.

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable.

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that.

"Still with me?"

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together."

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute.

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you.

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away.

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water.

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—"

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in.

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted."

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it.

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color.

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable.

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read.

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask.

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before.

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him.

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him.

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude.

"C'mere, pretty girl."

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body.

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers.

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting.

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?"

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter.

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here.

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes.

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit.

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white.

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort.

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon.

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming.

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly.

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables.

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment.

Not a bad one.

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day.

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made.

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him.

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows.

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere.

"Smells good," he says.

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow.

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles.

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time.

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet."

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip.

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week."

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame."

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable.

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers.

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours."

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips.

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly.

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?"

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting.

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on.

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl."

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly.

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war.

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave.

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl."

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy.

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack.

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight.

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles.

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later.

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes.

It's like you left with his heart.

No, you ran away with his soul.

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't.

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same.

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are.

You left him.

You left him to rot.

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's.

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone.

He misses you.

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything.

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office.

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night.

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru.

“Gojo, sir?”

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages.

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now?

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.”

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.”

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression.

It was a little annoying to look at.

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along.

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too.

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring.

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no.

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring.

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest.

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't.

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it."

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy.

"You get that, right?"

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes.

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding.

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing.

"Suguru!" He waves over.

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years.

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be.

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs.

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs.

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him.

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again."

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?"

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time."

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene.

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that.

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along.

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off.

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins.

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man."

Suguru's smile is catlike.

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again.

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge.

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed."

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act."

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's.

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name.

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot.

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves.

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second.

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off.

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved."

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens.

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline.

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none.

"I'll be sure to save the date."

Then he shuts Satoru down completely.

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says.

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things."

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me."

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red.

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him.

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall.

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment.

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—"

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath."

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not.

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress."

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips.

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—"

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself."

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact.

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much.

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now.

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot.

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear.

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you.

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder.

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces.

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you.

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you.

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit.

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for.

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?"

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh.

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares.

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?"

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat.

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have."

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar."

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it.

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces."

You nod, eager to take the out.

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces."

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school.

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned.

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it.

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—"

"Get out."

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit.

"Um, what?"

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out."

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back.

"Wait." Satoru stops her.

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her.

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want.

He needs you. He can't wait anymore.

He needs you, whether you want him or not.

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing.

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy.

These noises are a little more concerning.

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open.

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer.

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering.

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles.

A positive pregnancy test.

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it."

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung.

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary.

He's finally cracked you.

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—"

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts.

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while.

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you."

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm.

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here."

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you.

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request.

"I can't," he honestly says.

"You won't." You correct him.

He smiles in your hair.

"No baby," he says, "I can't."

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before.

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him.

God, he loves you.

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says.

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you."

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be.

If Satoru is the Sun, then you must certainly be his universe, the plane in which he rests, because there would be no existence for him if not for you.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x reader #dark content #implied smut #dark gojo satoru x reader #dark jjk x reader #reader-insert

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taintandviolent · 19 days

Text

Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART TWO TO TACO TUESDAY! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream.

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound.

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress.

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream?

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher."

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?"

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze.

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?"

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat."

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie.

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep…

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you.

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you.

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night."

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great.

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.”

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off.

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things.

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did.

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours.

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again.

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before –

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door.

“I’ll get it.”

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated.

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering.

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!"

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?"

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you.

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-"

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..."

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --"

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?"

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies.

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?"

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.”

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face.

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!"

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.”

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?”

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?”

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?”

“Heard that.” Wade barks.

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on.

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly.

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place.

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad for, cher? C’mon now…”

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips.

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close.

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers.

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good.

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..."

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth.

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?"

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin.

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently.

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out.

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic.

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.”

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?”

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips.

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge.

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him.

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling.

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest.

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan.

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay.

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit.

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again.

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth.

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal.

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?”

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss.

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….”

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor.

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively.

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.”

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of.

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile.

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent.

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there.

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.”

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him.

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding.

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly.

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once.

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.”

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly.

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on.

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.”

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best.

#Gambit #Remy Lebeau #channing tatum #Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit #channing tatum gambit #Gambit x reader #gambit x you #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #female reader #Deadpool and Wolverine #Deadpool 3 #x reader fics #myfics

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joonsytip · 10 months

Text

Withering for You || Seungcheol-Part 2

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): Seungcheol is still the biggest meany, crying, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, everything is on rocks, mentions of infidelity (doesn't happen to though), smut, mention of alcohol consumption

Word Count: 6.1k

TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED!

Minors DNI!

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

[SVT Masterlist] [SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist]

You are laying on the bed draped over by your husband, Seungcheol.

The reception party passed in a blink of an eye and after you both were driven to the house aided by nothing but silence, Seungcheol was all over you as soon as you both stepped into the house.

He dragged you into the nearest room he could get and next, both of your clothes were off, now littering the floor.

You two blended in so naturally that it seemed like you two were never apart. Seungcheol still has the map of your body memorized and it has been over an hour since he has started to work his mouth on your pussy. He's been teasing your clit, sucking on your buds but never giving you an orgasm.

You lay breathless, gasping as he continues to deny you orgasms, overstimulating you and when you try to squirm away his strong grip is keeping you in place.

"P-Please I can't take it anymore", you say in your hoarse voice, giving his hair rough tug, "Please let me cum, Seungcheol please..."

Seungcheol lifts his gaze to meet yours, his lips curled up in mockery before dives into your folds once again eating you out like a starved man of years.

And suddenly, all of it's gone. You open your eyes again at the emptiness only to see him hovering over you.

He takes both of your hands and pins them down to the bed. He growls into your mouth and bites your lower lip a little too hard. You moan when his other hand kneads your breasts and pinch your nipples. It's all so intense that you have gone void of anything and everything except for Seungcheol. All you feel and see is him.

Seungcheol is marking you tenaciously, a clear message to you that you're now solely his. He's painting your neck, your chest, your thighs in shades of pink and purple for the world to know.

A loud moan erupts out of your throat when he enters you, filling you up to the hilt. He releases your hands and you find them wrapping around his shoulder. With each sharp thrust of his, your nails dig deeper on the skin of his back. And it doesn't take long for you to reach your first orgasm of the night.

But your husband has just started. He doesn't give you any time to recover. He sits up and perches both of your legs on his shoulder and starts to thrust into you deeper while his fingers rub your clit. A few more thrusts and you are cumming again along with him.

You're exhausted, so numb from the session that your eyes close shut. And when you're drifting off, you feel a grip on your hips and your husband whispers in your ear, "We are just getting started, did you forget how long we went before?"

And next you're being flipped onto the bed.

You wake up at noon and your mood immediately sours seeing the empty space beside you. Seungcheol's words from last night ring in your ears.

"Where are you going?", you ask when you see him getting off the bed after he's satiated at the dawn hours.

"To my room", he says draping over the towel he got from the bathroom, "And", he turns to look at you, "This is your room, you'll be staying here."

You're eyes go wide as saucers and with every ounce of energy you could gather you sat up, "What do you mean by that? We're married!"

Seungcheol laughs and throws you a glare, "Just on paper. Don't you dare to cross the threshold to my room. I'm warning you."

And then he leaves.

After showering, you decide to get something to eat and that's when you meet the housekeeper Ms. Oh in the kitchen.

"Hello, Ms. Oh!", you greet her in glee because you knew her and absolutely adored her.

Ms. Oh turns around in surprise and the first thing she does on seeing you is pulling you aside and saying with concern, "I never believed you'd do something like that to Seungcheol. So please be honest with me and answer me. Did you really cheat on him all those years ago?"

You sigh and try to usher off but also you didn't wanna disappoint people who loved you anymore so you answered honestly, "I didn't. I have loved Seungcheol devotedly throughout. There was never anyone else."

"Oh poor thing. You must have had your reasons to let that happen", you hear Ms. Oh exclaim and next you're being pulled into her embrace. She has been with Seungcheol since his childhood days. Ever since he had a house of his own, she has been sent to take care of him. You had met her when you had visited the Choi mansion while you both dated. She was always the one to welcome you.

"Is he up yet?", you ask and Ms. Oh shrugs off urging you to check it yourself.

So you are now standing at the threshold of your husband's room and contemplating where to fight the lion or flight from the spot.

Ofcourse you choose to the former, hence you don't even knock, just push the door behind and walk in.

"Where do you think you're heading?", you freeze seeing Seungcheol who's sat on the bed, glasses on, probably reading something on the tab, "You're not allowed in here, get out."

Your absence of fear and bored expression irks your husband. Before he could speak again, you are pacing fast and now you're seating infront of him.

"Do you really think all these tactics would work on me?", you roll eyes, "I'm your wife and not just on paper."

"People can be really shameless.", he snickers, "I thought I was a good judge of character but thanks to you, I don't think so anymore."

"Seungcheol, it's in the past, can't we start again?"

"So simple for you to say, isn't it?"

The atmosphere drops. The gloom caves in. And as Seungcheol's eyes turn darker, his face scares you off. Tab long forgotten on the bed, both of his hands form a fist, a sign you know very well. He's controlling himself, he's keeping his feelings, his hurt, his words at a bay.

Moments pass by. You stare at him, he glares at you.

"I have never loved again Y/N.", he says like a scarred man, all the anger now replaced with all of the agonies, "I have trust issues, I can't trust people easily."

His voice cracks, he lets all those tears fall, "I wasn't like this. It's so suffocating, so difficult to live like this."

You are rendered speechless. All these years you have only wept in self pity. All three years you've only thought how wronged you were, how difficult it was for you.

But what about Seungcheol? How did he cope up? Was there ever a scope of healing for him?

Clearly not. You could see the entire span of heartbreak in the way he's sobbing now, face hidden behind his palms.

You want to engulf him in your embrace. Want to take all of his pain away. But you know if you reach out it would only hurt him more. So you wipe your tears hastily and walk out of his room.

Were you really going to do him any good? That's what you could think of.

"All you had to do is stay.", Seungcheol murmurs to the door which slammed shut when you walked out.

The flashlights are blinding. The fake smiles are nauseating. The entire venue is suffocating.

But you know better, being the wife of Choi Seungcheol comes with a whole lot of baggage. The most displeasing one to you being in the limelight. And Seungcheol knows it well, hence he has been attending every event he could despite his busy schedule only to drag you along with him in each one of them.

He takes pleasure in your discomfort throughout the night. His lips curl up everytime an obnoxious person approaches you just to sprut nonsense or talk business, your interest in neither.

You don't let go of your husband's arm. Though you know it attracts more of an unnecessary crowd, you don't let that grip loosen, not even for a moment.

"I don't understand you sometimes.", Seungcheol says as you both occupy a table at the corner, "You say you don't like the limelight but isn't that what you've been running for? You did marry me for my money, my status and my fame. What else do you want?"

Your gaze is fixated on the some random couple you don't know when you say, "What if all I need is you?", you crane your neck to meet his gaze.

Seungcheol breaks the gaze from you and he leaves the table. You have been confessing your feelings at every chance you could but to Seungcheol it's amusing, how swiftly you could lie through your teeth even without batting eyelashes. Marvelous he thinks and he hates you more each time.

That night, like any other, he fucks you dumb till the dawn.

You are not unaware of Seungcheol's hostility towards you. He thinks of you as nothing but a gold digger, a ruthless woman who wouldn't hesitate to trample people if they come the way of something you wanna achieve.

It's already been three months since you both got married. Three month of you chasing Seungcheol and him pushing you away.

When you, every morning take your sweet time in his walk-in closet only to select an attire he'd wear for the day, he later would unabashedly walk out wearing an entirely different outfit.

You can't cook to save your life but you wait for him, everyday at the table for breakfast but on spotting you, he walks out informing Ms. Oh he'd grab something on the way. But that didn't stop you. Nowadays you grab his arm forcefully and take him to the table, pester him until he gives up and eats the breakfast that's served.

He never spends the night with you in the sheets. Even though you're begging, he pads out of your room as soon as he's done.

You never miss to say the 'I love Yous' everytime he walks out of the door.

And you believe someday he'd say it back.

You take a deep breath as you arrive at the Choi mansion. It's kind of a ritual for the Choi's to hold a family dinner at least once every month. The last two times were kinda awkward but manageable.

But this time you're a lot hesitant because unlike for the last time, Seungcheol's father would be present and you're still thinking of making an excuse to skip it. But you also know Seungcheol looks forward to it a lot because it's not like he gets to spend a lot of time with this parents. Their busy schedules allow only a limited amount of time for togetherness and the three of them put every effort to make it happen.

"Welcome my sweethearts!", your mother in law coos as she embraces you both.

Seungcheol has noticed how stiff you go around his mother all the time now. Doesn't click, because when you both dated you and his mother got along really well. He wonders what could have happened.

His father walks out to recieve you both and Seungcheol suddenly feels a strong grip around his arms. He looks to find you sticking closer to him, your eyes unsure as his father approaches you both. He finds it odd. But again he knows his father and you never got along since the old days. It was mostly his father, who didn't let go if any chance to express his disliking towards you.

The dinner proceeds with horrible awkwardness. It's mostly the son catching up with his parents. You just sit quietly only giving short answers if asked anything. Your appetite is long gone.

"I have packed some dinner for Wonwoo.", his mother says, "and asked him to come and get it. That boy never joins us even though he drives you here everytime.", she says disappointed.

"Mom, that's how he is.", Seungcheol adds light heartedly.

"How are things going with your music academy?", Mr. Choi asks you and waits for you to speak with undivided attention.

"It's going to be hectic since it's gonna be the competition season soon.", you answer curtly.

"Are you going to participate or perform in any of the events?", Mrs. Choi asks.

"In a couple of them.", you say smiling at her.

You're heaving a sigh of relief as you walk out of the mansion to get some fresh air. Meanwhile, Seungcheol is bidding goodbyes to his parents. You don't think it's ever gonna get easy.

"I hope you're treating her well, son.", Mrs. Choi says with an undertone.

Seungcheol just looks at her in disbelief before speaking, "Are you being serious? That woman had broke me apart and you want me to treat her right?", he hisses, "No, sorry, I can't and I won't."

His mother sighs, "She is the one for you, Cheol. Make things right while you still have a chance. Don't do anything that you'll regret later."

"Mom, why--"

"Because there are things you might be unaware of. You don't know what the person on the other end might have gone through.", she smiles sadly, "Marriages are not meant for revenge, not when you both have feelings for each other."

Seungcheol laughs, "Feelings? I hate her mom!"

"You hate her because you have those feelings entangled in your heart, all in your head.", she pats his arms, "Otherwise it's been years Cheol, if there are no such feelings involved, you should been apathetic towards her."

Seungcheol knows he lost the debate then and there. But he's ready, to stab the knife and twist it. He has been preparing to suck out your soul hollow.

"You didn't have to come here, I know I make you uncomfortable."

You don't move on hearing the voice. You just keep looking ahead.

"I'm sure you must be happy, Mr. Choi.", your lips curl up slightly, "We aren't making any progress, he still hates me the same."

Mr. Choi chuckles bitterly, "Nothing I do would make you forgive me but I'm sorry. I'm really ashamed for what I had done--"

You hold your hand up to stop him and turn to look at him, "It's all meaningless and I know you don't mean a thing you say. All I could hope is that this time you don't interfere in our relationship"

You're walking out before he could speak further. When you get home, Seungcheol finds it odd once again when you don't try to initiate any conversation with him but rather go straight to your room, closing the door shut.

"Is it that bad?", you ask in a small voice, "Sorry, but this is all I could come up with."

There's no response from the other end. You think you might cry because the expression on Seungkwan's face, you're sure can't be of something good.

You get up embarassed, "We don't have enough time to create something else. I think you should ask someone else or take my name out the competition. I'm really sorry."

Then you're turning back to walk out of the room.

"I have never heard of anything this good.", comes Seungkwan's stern voice.

And the next few moments go by you chasing him and him running, screaming around in the hall to save his life.

"Aashole, I'm not taking part anymore", you say catching your breathe, "I'm done with you."

"You are not, honey.", he sits on a chair and says, "I heard you've taken a bunch of invitations out this time. Is it what I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. I'm going to invite Seungcheol, his parents, Wonwoo and some more people.", you deflate instantly, "Though, I'm assuming none of them would be attending."

Seungkwan chooses silence because he has nothing but some mere words of consolation to offer.

"I'm going have lunch with Seungcheol today, I'll give him the invitation card then."

"Okay ma'am! See you in the evening?", he asks, you nod.

Ridiculous or not, this is the first time you are visiting the Choi enterprise after your marriage. The staff are greeting you throughout, offering to guide you to Seungcheol's office but you had already texted Wonwoo and he diligently waits for you at the reception.

Something's off, you can sense it from Wonwoo's demeanor. He's not as bitchy as he generally is. When you're out of the elevator, he says, "The last cabin on the hallway."

You acknowledge and pull out an invitation card. He's surprised when give it him saying, "I hope you'll come to watch."

Wonwoo in turn surprises you with his respond, "Sure, I'll be there."

You gape at him but defer yourself from asking, not wanting to probe further.

"He doesn't have any meetings scheduled for the next two hours right?"

"No he doesn't and this is the time he usually has lunch."

"Ok thanks.", you excuse yourself and walk to his cabin door. You take a deep breath, anxious because Seungcheol doesn't know about your visit yet and you're not sure how he'd react.

You knock at his door and hear a faint come in. Sliding the handle you're met with an unpleasant sight.

Rather an unpleasant person, Jiah almost hovering over your husband. Seungcheol's brows cock at your unannounced presence.

"What are you doing here?", Jiah asks and you stand over crossing your arms. The response never comes.

"I asked what the hell are you doing here? Who gave you the permission to come here?"

You take out your phone and click a photo of both of them at such an angel which looks a lot more compromising than it actually is.

"What are you doing?", Seungcheol asks but you ignore him.

"Out.", you say glaring at Jiah.

"You are bold to assume I'd listen to you.", Jiah scoffs.

"So you'd listen to Seungcheol then.", you say smiling and look at your husband, "Tell her to get out of here."

Seungcheol generally is unbothered but something in your aura is scaring is him today. He knows of your anger and he wonders what could happen if you're ticked off.

"Jiah, leave.", Seungcheol commands and Jiah looks at him as if betrayed.

"Heard it, now get lost.", you say while approaching her. Jiah instantly gets the flashback of her getting slapped by you on your wedding day. She gets a shiver through her spine and she's almost scurrying out.

"You had done something to her, haven't you?", Seungcheol asks you, "I think I just now saw terror in her eyes."

"Doesn't concern you.", you snark at him.

"Why did you take that picture?", he asks again.

You lips curls up in a cold smile and Seungcheol for some reason feels petrified, "Oh this", you hold out your phone for him to see the picture you took, "If she stayed, I would have sent this to the media. And I'm not sure how'd your companies handle the reputation damage."

Seungcheol is rendered speechless because he knows you can be cynical at times.

"Let's have lunch after that you'll take the medicine and then we'll head home.", you say, "Or do you wanna go home first?"

Seungcheol gives you an incredulous look, "What nonsense are you blabbering? Why would I go home now?"

You return him a sharp look, "Because you're having a splitting headache."

Your husband is once again, rendered speechless. He gulps once, blinks twice and asks, "H-How did you know?"

"Does that even matter?", you say getting up, "Your eyes are red, you're biting your lips every two seconds and your legs, you're continuously tapping them."

While Seungcheol gapes at you, you're calling Wonwoo.

"Does he have any important meetings today?", you ask, "No, actually, can all the meetings be rescheduled to some other day?"

Seungcheol doesn't get to hear Wonwoo's response but he watches as the creases on your face flats out in relief.

"Thanks, please reschedule them and also could you please pull out the car? We'll be heading home now.", you tell him, "No need to come up here, I'll bring him with me."

And you're making another call.

"I won't be going back to the academy, please reschedule my classes.", you inform. Seungcheol listens to your side of conversation carefully, "Yes, with my husband.", then you're nodding your head, "Sounds good. Thanks a lot."

Suddenly Seungcheol becomes an obedient man. He let's you grab his coat and briefcase. He also let's you take his hand and guide through his entire office.

Throughout the way, anyone who comes across you both, coos in amazement. The way you're carefully treading your way holding your husband and the way your husband's eyes are only on you is enciting. Pictures are being taken, praises are being whispered.

On the way to home, you call Ms. Oh, instructing her to cook something light but definitely not bland because Seungcheol won't even touch it at the sight.

When Seungcheol comes to the dining table after washing up, he finds you waiting for him. He's surprised at himself because he doesn't deter you when you're holding the spoon to his mouth. He eats all of it without uttering a word. When you're handing him the glass of water, he waits for you to hand him the medicine. When you take him to his bedroom, he lays down, subtly towards the inner side leaving you space to sit.

He is discreetly grabbing the corner of your dress when you massage his head. He hopes that his grip doesn't loosen when he falls asleep. And he feels your lips gently grazing his forehead as he falls asleep.

Seungcheol might be surprised at his own behaviour but you're definitely not. You know your husband becomes unhinged clingy whenever he feels unwell so if tonight he goes back to his asshole behaviour, you'd surmise that he has recovered.

The next day, when Seungcheol is getting ready for office, you walk into the room already dressed up and before he could scold you're handing him the invitation card.

"I had visited your office yesterday with the purpose of giving you this invitation card.", you smile, "There's a competition and I'm gonna perform. It's in a month later, so please clear your schedules ahead. I hope you'd come."

You are already dejected because you're sure he won't be attending but there's still a silver lining in your heart which makes you think he might come and watch you perform.

While Seungcheol takes a look at the card, you are rushing out saying him bye.

The dining table is empty but Seungcheol sits trying to simmer down his curiousity but ultimately fails.

"Did she already have breakfast?", he asks Ms. Oh.

"No", she answers with concern, "When I asked her, she said something about having classes throughout the day, because she couldn't take those yesterday. Also, she said she'd be returning late at night."

"Her phone has been ringing since early morning", she adds, "She was waiting for you get up so she could give you the invitation card.", a smile spreads across her lips, "She gave one to me as well."

Seungcheol knows your dedication towards music and he is aware that the academy is your lifeline.

You had to skip breakfast and now that you have another set of classes lined up, you are running on heels to grab quick lunch. The competition season are meant to be hectic for the tutees as well as the mentors. And you being the only one with Cello being the instrument it's getting tougher.

It's 2 at night when you are finally done with the classes as well the paperwork. You check your phone and among the enormous amount of calls and texts your mood deflates when none of them belonged to Seungcheol. What did you expect? He's probably happy with you off his tail. You're not sure why but suddenly you think it's better to stay the night at the academy to avoid the hassle. You've pulled this before as well and it's convenient when you have to take early classes.

It's not like anyone is waiting for you at home.

This goes on for the whole week. You barely get to spend time at home. Early mornings you would sneak into your husband's room whom you dearly miss, just to catch a glimpse of his pretty face while he's asleep. And it becomes a habit, you press a soft kiss on his forehead each time carefully because he's light sleeper.

Despite knowing everything, despite of the hectic schedule Seungcheol is pulling you in for another event. Even though you tried to decline he's not listening. So here you are in another event that is making you sick.

You catch a breathe when you spot Eunsoo attending the same event.

"I barely see you these days", she says leaning against you.

"Only the people in the academy see me all the time.", you gruff, "I'm already so tired and now I had to attend this event."

"Seungcheol won't let you catch you a breathe.", Eunsoo laments, "How are you both doing? Any progress made?"

You sigh wishfully, "I really wish. Though he doesn't scowl as soon as I come in the periphery of his vision, he still can't quite tolerate me."

"Have you ever thought of telling him the truth?", Eunsoo asks.

"It will beat the purpose of hiding it at first place itself.", you say as you look at your husband talking with which you assume is a business partner, "It would hurt him a thousand times more than it did. It's for his sake."

"What if he doesn't change? How long are you going to keep on trying?"

The question falls on you like a bucket of ice cold water.

As long as your heart prevails, you think.

"What are your plans for Tuesday?", Eunsoo cocks her brows comically, "Can we meet atleast?"

"Honestly, I wanna catch a breathe.", you say tiredly, "But you all won't let me do that."

"It's your birthday bitch, stop being a granny.", Eunsoo rolls her eyes, "I'm not sure whether your dickhead husband knows it or not, we won't let you mop over him."

Your heart hurts. Ofcourse Seungcheol remembers but he won't acknowledge it as for you know.

"I have made a prior appointment so you can't cancel on us", she tugs at your arm.

"Ok fine, anyways I have taken the day off.", you say, "But let's spend it at Mingyu's house. Also, nothing too fancy please."

"Noted Ma'am. I'll go catch up with Miyeon.", she says and leans in to whisper in your ear, "Your husband is literally undressing you with his eyes, gross.", and then she walks away.

You do everything to passtime but never once look at Seungcheol. Because whenever you've swept your gaze it's always some random lady trying to leech onto your husband and him never ushering them away. You know he's doing it on purpose just to irk you but for the past few days it's getting to you.

Like now, your presence feels like a joke.

Blame it on exhaustion, blame it on lovesickness, there are tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

And that's why you're standing at the balcony of a deserted area frantically wiping your eyes and cheeks. Seungcheol wouldn't even notice if you're gone, that thought itself brings another bout of fresh tears to your eyes.

As the cool breeze grazes your face and arms, your mind lingers back to the past few months since you've been married. When you were mentally preparing nerve will to get back Seungcheol, he was also equally preparing to get back to you.

You might have underestimated Seungcheol's pettiness. You might be questioning your determination now.

"What are you doing here?", you are wiping your tears once again upon hearing Seungcheol's voice.

"Nothing much.", you say dismissively, "I think I'm gonna head out now. You can stay, no need to be bothered."

As you're walking out, a strong grip makes you halt in steps.

"Let's leave.", he says when you look at him before walking out of the venue hand in hand. The ride back to home is heavy. It sits on your chest.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Seungcheol.", your voice cracks, "You know me all too well, you know how to throw a jab. But this is me trying."

Seungcheol is skeptical, about you, about everything you say, not his fault, you have made him the man he is today.

"I know you love to win.", your blootshot eyes look at him, but they hold so much grievance within them, "I might as well let you win this time."

The door shut echos throughout the house, just as your words echoes in Seungcheol's head.

"Isn't that Wonwoo?", you squint your eyes one more before confirming.

"Wonwoo!", you call him out and the later get startled and once spotting you freezes on spot.

A tutee you have been mentoring has her mother admitted in the hospital whom you've been visiting regularly.

"What are you doing here?", you ask him and notice his dilated pupil.

"Are you okay--"

"Mr. Jeon", you see a doctor standing beside him say, "Your brother's condition has deteriorated and if we delay the surgery it will cause more implications.", his voice turns grimer,"The reports don't look good, please let us know your decision as soon as possible."

Wonwoo collapses on the floor as soon as the doctor leaves.

"Oh my god, Wonwoo!", you hold him, make sit on the chair and bring him a glass of water.

You panic when the man in front of you suddenly bursts into tears. With no idea what's happening, how to console him, you watch him quietly as he pours his heart out.

Once he calms down, you take him to the nearby cafe. Wonwoo isn't a guy of many words so as expected he's keeping his mouth shut when you ask him. Bonus, you know he hates you.

When you almost threaten him with digging information yourself and calling Seungcheol, he pleads you not to do so. That's when you come to know that his brother has been suffering from a rare disease and has been hospitalized since last three years. Seungcheol knows about this and has already been paying Wonwoo generously so he could cover the bills. But his brother needs a series of surgeries which would cost a lot more and what's more devastating is it doesn't even ensure recovery.

"Have you talked to Seungcheol about this?"

Wonwoo vigorously shakes his head, "He has already been paying me a lot more than promised. I can't leech of him."

"He's not only your employer, Seungcheol's your friend as well.", you tell him, "Fine you don't have to ask him, how much do you need?"

His eyes go wide and he thinks he has misheard.

You are smiling when you place your hand upon on his on the table affirmingly, "Let me help you please. I know you don't consider me as a friend, but I do."

"No. Never. I shouldn't--"

"It's not for free.", you say and Wonwoo gulps nervously.

"Y/N, please. I can't take help from you. I won't be able to repay you."

"Then I'm telling Seungcheol--"

"Ok fine.", Wonwoo says hesitantly, "Please tell me how I could repay you?"

You smile mischievously, "Well for the starters you can stop being a bitch to me."

Wonwoo gapes at you and when laughs when he finally gets the joke.

"Thanks Y/N. I'll be forever indebted to you."

"Wonseok will be recover soon."

He nods, "Hopefully.", he's a little hesitant but thinks that there's never a right time more than this to bring this up.

He takes a deep breath and asks, "I overheard your conversation with Mr. Choi that night at the mansion."

He watches you freeze.

"I think it has something to do with.....", he doesn't speak it out and continues cautiously, "I might sound rude, but please tell me all of it because no matter how much I think about it now, it's not making sense."

You're hot on heels. You think you should immediately run away but that was never an option so it isn't as now.

"I'll tell you", you say fumbling with your fingers, "but first promise that you won't tell Seungcheol."

"Are the papers ready?", Seungcheol asks Jiah while going through some documents on his laptop.

Jiah's ear to ear grin says it all. She fishes out a file from her bag and hands it over to Seungcheol.

"What will happen if I take her lifeline away from her?", a sinisteric smile splits across his lips. His disgust, pettiness and hatred towards you have only curved into a humungous ball ever since he saw you again.

He hates when you claim to be his wife, he hates when you act as if the betrayal never happened, he hates the sight of you. So he has been waiting. Waiting for the right time to break your bones.

He wants nothing but for you to have the taste of your own poison.

"When are you planning to strike the hammer?", Jiah asks excitedly.

Seungcheol smirks, gazes at the pages of the flat open file, "This is gonna be interesting. The more buildup, the more pain. I'll be the one to nail the coffin, when the time is right."

He's already imagining your deserted state and the rush he's feeling through his body is impeccable.

He checks the calendar and your birthday pops up. Let it be the start, he plots.

Tuesday rolls in a blink of an eye with you currently groaning because your phone keeps on ringing disrupting your long planned sleep schedule.

"Mom", you grumble into the phone, "Let me sleep..."

"Happy Birthday to our precious!", you hear both your parents wish from the other end, "I'll be making all your favourite food, please come soon. Your dad has even baked your favourite cookies", you hear some rumbles before she continues, "and burnt his hands in the process."

You are not surprised, not at all.

"I'll be there in an hour.", you inform, "I have plans with my friends as well."

"And what about Seungcheol?", your father asks and you're quick to dismiss it.

Battling the urge to sleep for the whole day, you finally separate yourself from your bed. You have your whole day planned ahead and not a thing in it includes Seungcheol.

Before you could stow away, Ms. Oh catches you, making you drink the seaweed soup. You gulp down the delicious soup while your brother, who's out the country for attending yet another business matter facetimes you.

The day goes by you getting pampered by your parents who don't let you leave until it's Eunsoo, Mingyu & Seungkwan who physically had to barge into your parents house to take you away.

You are pleasantly surprised to see Wonwoo already waiting for you by the car.

"He's a gang member now.", Mingyu declares happily.

Another round of cake cutting and recieving gifts before you all catch up and drink to wash away the worries of life. Every time your phone dinges, you anticipate it to be from the one who hogs your mind but it's never him.

You decided to call it a night, thanking your friends happily and bidding them farewell as Wonwoo who on purpose kept low on drinking to drive you back home.

It's almost 11, you check the time while entering. You are crossing the hallway when you notice something on the centre table, a 3 tier red velvet cake sitting on it. Not trying to mind it, you are beelining towards your bedroom when you Seungcheol walks out of it.

"Happy Birthday, Y/N.", he wishes you with crescent eyes and toothy smile which makes you think you had one too many drinks so now you're hallucinating.

It's not until Seungcheol holds your hands, you snap of it.

"We've still got sometime until it's midnight", he then turns you back to hallway, "Let's cut the cake."

You push all the brewing questions at the back of your mind. For once you want to be happy without thinking of causes or consequences.

When you cut the cake, Seungcheol sings the birthday song. He makes you take a bite of your favourite cake before you could feed him. He brushes the cream off his fingers onto your cheeks and nose. Just like the old days, when you both dated.

The music starts all of a sudden and he's taking your hands. Your feet dance perfectly to the rhythm because you both have done this before, for many times.

As your heart soars, you try to blink away the tears. But also, unknowingly you're falling into your husband's woven webs of opacity.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

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wannabespiderman · 8 months

Text

Starving.

Thank you so much to everyone that was so nice to like and reblog my previous post <3 I really appreciate it and it gave me inspiration to write more! Fair warning that I wrote this while being a little tipsy so some typos may have occured.

Bucky Barnes x reader

Bucky completely forgot what it was like to be touched in a way that wasn't punishing. Well, until he met you.

Bucky Barnes was a conundrum. He was strong, stoic and had a head through the wall attitude. On the inside though…he was like a frail house of cards on a windy day. It was about a fifty-fifty chance if he turned cold or broke down. Well, actually, when he was out and about he would derealize and turn passive a hundred percent of the time. With you on the other hand, in the confinement of your own home, this massive, build man would turn into a weeping little boy. At first he didn’t know what to do with himself when his walls broke down in front of you. It was a feeling he wasn’t familiar with and the vulnerability made him feel small and weak, something he experienced regularly while he was still with hydra, something that he wasn’t allowed to show back then.

The same night he broke down in front of you for the first time you had your arms wrapped around him before his tears could even start to fall. Bucky’s mind went haywire the second your body touched his.

It was like he couldn’t comprehend how a touch could be this soft and warm, so void of anger or malicious intent.

It felt like it made him almost feel worse but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to rip himself away from you.

And then he got hooked.

He was always flirty with you and heavy on the PDA, constantly having his hand on your waist or leg or hell, even on your ass while his face was buried in your hair. He could touch you easily, shower you in physical affection in front of anyone who was unfortunate enough to hang out with you two at the same time.

When you touched him, you had to be alone because that was the time his guard went down. Only you were allowed to hear him sniffle and whimper and see him curl into a ball on your bed while he let you run your fingers through his hair. Bucky never talked about why he cried so you could only speculate if someone said something triggering or if last night’s nightmares tortured him throughout the day but you didn’t ask him about it. All you knew was that he needed your touch and you were not only happy to give him that, you took this job very seriously.

You’d tenderly catch his tear drops with your thumb while he leaned into your touch like it was his oxygen and held him in your arms when he basically folded himself in half to fit into them. But it wasn’t only when he was sad or overwhelmed that he needed your touch, actually it was allowed any time of the day as long as you two were alone. He appreciated every small brush of your hand when you gestured too much with your hands or tried to push past him in the narrow hallway and almost every time a small sound would escape him. He was just…addicted as he’d call it. Addicted to your soft hands that fit the equally soft touch.

He'd say he’s addicted while you knew the truth. The poor man was touch starved and hell, if you weren’t gonna be the one who’d give him what he so terribly needed.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #marvel #fluff #slight angst #bucky barnes

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wileys-russo · 6 months

Text

before the void (fresa’s version) II a.putellas

filling the void (one) filling the void (two)

so many of you sent me cute little thoughts and ideas about what you thought childhood was like for fresa and so to soften the blow of all the angst i've been posting, here they are as some cute little memories before the void (fresa’s version) II a.putellas

with the significant age gap and both her older daughters supposedly responsible eli would often leave you home alone with them when having to work the night shift, the extra money needed now as a single mother of three.

"can i have the one with the red lid now pequeña? por favor." alexia asked holding out her hand as you frowned, staring down at the series of small spice jars by your side.

grabbing the one you deemed correct you held it up to your sister who grinned. "muy bien, gracias fresa!" you giggled as she tickled your stomach and turned back to dinner.

"is it ready now?" you asked eagerly, swinging your legs where you were sat on the counter, at five years old you seemed to have an insatiable appetite and very little patience. "did i say it was ready?" your sister replied with an amused smile, the almost nineteen year old quirking an eyebrow.

"no." you sighed with a frown. "then no fresa it is not ready!" alexia laughed as again you huffed, hungry scowl deepening. "don't you remember hermanita if the wind changes and you're making an ugly face you get stuck like that forever?" alexia warned as you paled in fear and quickly forced a smile.

"much better." your sister ruffled your hair and gently grabbed you, helping you down from the counter. "can you put these on the table?" alexia held out three spoons as you nodded, taking them from her and darting away.

"done! now is it ready?" you collapsed tiredly into your sisters leg whose body vibrated with laughter. "soon. can you go get alba please nena?" alexia ran a hand through your hair staring down at you in amusement as you sagged against her.

"when i come back will it be done?" you asked hopefully as the older putellas rolled her eyes fondly, more than used to your questioning and impatient ways.

"sí pequeña, when you and alba get back it will be all ready." alexia promised as you perked up and tried to run off but the older girls hand held the collar of your shirt. "ale!" you whined trying to push her away.

"beso." your sister squatted down and tapped her cheek as you huffed but begrudgingly kissed her cheek, trying to run off again but her strong arms held you captive.

"did you just roll your eyes at me? no manners fresa!" alexia tutted, grinning as you squirmed and wriggled trying to slip out of her hold, whining and smacking at her arms to no avail.

"finish dinner, i'm starving." you gave up fighting and instead went limp, pouting up at her. "well i know alba snuck you cookies an hour ago so tell your worm to stop eating all your food! then you wouldn't be so hungry." alexia teased, poking at your stomach and kissing over your face before finally letting you go.

"tan impaciente fresa. vamos!" she playfully kicked your behind with a grin sending you stumbling forward as you shot her a glare as mean as you could manage but ran off before she could grab at or kick you again.

reaching up you pulled down on your middle sisters door handle, pushing it open and frowning at how dark it was inside, nose crinkling at the strange smells in her room.

"alba. alba!" you tried calling from the doorway, seeing a large lump under her covers as your fifteen year old sister was taking a nap, something your mami had warned you teenagers did sometimes when they were in a bad mood and going through something called 'puberty'.

"alba." you called again, wandering toward her bed and reaching up for the corner of the duvet, tugging on it as you were only met with an annoyed moan and a hand shooting out to push you away.

"dinners done, vamos!" you huffed impatiently, grabbing her now limp arm which hung off the edge of her bed and attempting to pull her out of bed with a grunt, failing miserably as she didn't move an inch.

"go away diablillo." your sister groaned, rolling over onto her other side as you pulled yourself up and onto her bed. "i'm hungry and we can't eat till you get up." you kicked at her under the covers only getting a tired grunt in reply.

"alba!" you scowled kicking her harder as her arm shot out again to shove you away, almost sending you tumbling off the bed as you caught yourself. "get up!" you shook her shoulder as she pushed your hand away, eyes still closed.

"now alba." you huffed, intending to hit her shoulder only as she rolled over again to try and pull you into bed with her your hand collected against her cheek with a rather loud smack and her eyes shot open as your widened in fear.

"muerto!" your sister growled as you leapt down from her bed, sprinting away and hearing her footsteps thunder after you. "ale!" you yelled as the eldest putellas frowned and you quickly hid behind her.

"nice bed hair idiota." alexia snickered as alba scowled and scraped her hair up into a bun, sending you a menacing glare where you peeked out.

"leave fresa alone and go sit down." alexia ordered pointing at the table, having started to dish up. "but she-" alba began to argue, falling silent at the hard look from her older sister and retreating to the table.

"i can do it!" you tugged on your sisters shorts as she grabbed both her bowl and yours, having already placed alba's down at the the table which the girl was hungrily digging into.

"be very careful por favor." alexia warned as she carefully handed you the bowl and you nodded, holding it in two hands and very slowly walking to the table. "alba!" alexia warned seeing the younger girl about to try and trip you over, her leg retreating with a huff.

"aqui." alexia took your bowl again and put it on the table as you climbed up onto a chair. "gracias." you smiled at your sister who sat down beside you, kissing her cheek and starting to eat as alba mumbled her own thanks among a mouthful of food.

"no you do it." alba argued with a shake of her head, collapsing down into the sofa as alexia held out a towel in her direction awhile later. "i made dinner! we're both supposed to help out when mami's at work." alexia reminded, a sharp crack echoing around the living room as the towel snapped against her younger sisters ankle.

"ow! puta. this is me helping, if i do it i might be tempted to drown her!" alba shrugged honestly as your eyes widened and you tugged again on alexia's shorts. "you do it. i don't wanna drown!" you begged as your eldest sister sighed but nodded.

"make yourself useful and wash up then. now hermana!" alexia snatched the remote where the girl reached for it, tucking it into her pocket as alba groaned but got up and made her way to the kitchen.

"para eso! diablillo." alexia laughed as you stood up in the bath and kicked water at her, soaking her shirt as she dropped your towel on your head and pulled the plug from the bath.

"can't see!" you complained as you tried to pull the towel off but alexia held it over your head, lifting you out of the bath and placing you carefully onto the mat on the floor.

"when's mami comin back? soon?" you asked hopefully once your sister had dressed you, hanging up your towel and hoisting you up onto her hip despite the fact you were old enough and more than capable of walking.

"she'll be back when you wake up tomorrow, bed time fresa." alexia covered your face with her hand as you tried to argue, already well prepared for what was coming as she made her way down the hall and into your bedroom.

"the sun is still up!" you protested, standing up in bed with your arms crossed and a frown making alexia smile, the large shirt you'd insisted on wearing drowning your tiny body and making you look a lot cuter than you were trying to convey with your current scowl.

"because it is daylight savings nena, the sun goes to bed at nine but you go to bed at eight!" alexia pulled the curtains shut as you groaned. "one more hour." you bargained as the older girl shook her head and sat down in the chair in the corner.

"no." "half hour?" "no." "twenty minutes." "no." "sí." "no." "sí!" "no!" "sí."

"n-dios mio why am i arguing with a five year old. bed time, now fresa." alexia sighed fixing you with the best stern look she could manage but it did nothing as you shook your head and leapt out of bed, racing off as alexia threw her head back and sighed deeply.

"sorry for hitting you hermana." you climbed up onto the couch and dropped yourself into alba's lap, kissing her cheek with a charming smile your sister was unable to resist, messing up your hair with a fond roll of her eyes.

"hey! that is not your bed fresa, go." alexia appeared, pointing to your bedroom behind her as you shook your head and grabbed albas arms wrapping them around you.

"come on ale mami isn't here, let her stay up a little later." alba chuckled taking your side as alexia scoffed. "yeah ale, you're not mami." you grinned cheekily as your eldest sister gave in with a sigh, handing alba the remote and sitting down on the other end of the couch.

"one episode and you're putting her to bed then." alexia warned getting comfortable as alba clicked into your favorite cartoon and you grinned happily, wriggling around a little before settling, your sisters hand tangling in your hair.

between the rising and falling of alba's chest and her arms tightly wound around you paired with her fingers scratching lightly at your scalp you barely made it a further ten minutes before you'd gone completely limp.

another five and alexia glanced over with a snicker seeing both you and alba now dead asleep on the other end of the lounge together. with a roll of her eyes she pushed herself up, gently shaking alba's ankle whose eyes fluttered open.

"go to bed hermana." the girl chuckled, gently picking you up as you immediately latched on, alba sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "no its fine you said you wanted to watch that new movie, put her to bed and i'll find it." she stretched out and blinked a few times before grabbing the remote.

"don't you have class tomorrow?" alexia questioned with a raised eyebrow. "relájese mami i have a half day, i don't start till eleven." alba rolled her eyes mockingly and gestured for her to put you to bed.

alexia was grateful you barely stirred as she tucked you in, brushing your hair out of your face and kissing the crown of your head, backing away and leaving your door open just a crack in case you woke up and called out later.

"popcorn?" alba asked with a hopeful smile before alexia could even sit down, the older girl rolling her eyes but retreating to the kitchen none the less as alba clicked play on a horror movie they'd both been wanting to watch.

as they both settled in, fixated on the screen and the popcorn shared between them, neither girl heard your door push open a little more or the soft patter of your feet as you rubbed your eyes and left your room.

as a kid you'd always had eager ears, you might have been loud and outgoing just like your sisters but you also learned from a very young age that sometimes staying quiet was just as beneficial.

so knowing well enough if either one of your sisters saw you you'd just be sent right back to bed you quietly made your way into the living room, ducking down and sitting on the floor by the arm of the couch where neither of them could spot you.

your eyes struggled to stay awake as you leant your head against the couch, but hearing the murmured chatter of your sisters just above your head was comforting as your body sagged and you fought to keep your eyes open.

though that wasn't an issue as suddenly someone was violently decapitated on screen and you couldn't help but gasp, the unexpected noise making both of your sisters jump more than the movie was.

"pequeña! you are supposed in bed what are you-" alexia was by your side in an instant, scooping you up as you hid your face in her neck and alba hurried to turn the movie off as the violently gruesome murders continued.

"hey hey fresa está bien, its just a movie its not real!" alexia felt you tremble and held you tighter, taking a seat again and rubbing your back softly. "come on nena, its way past your bedtime." alexia sighed once you'd calmed a little, standing to her feet.

you glanced toward alba over alexia's shoulder who drew her finger over her throat and flopped her head sideways mimicking the beheading making your eyes widen in fear before she was out of sight.

"your bed." you poked at your sister and shook your head firmly when she attempted to put you down, clinging on tightly with arms locked around her neck. "no fresa, your bed." alexia sighed and pryed you off of her, your hands gripping at her shirt with another shake of your head.

"i told you hermanita it was just a movie, you are very safe in your bed. alba and i are here, mami will be home soon and you need to sleep!" alexia poked your nose and stood, again prying your hands away from where they fisted at her top.

though as she kissed you goodnight and tucked you in again, the moment her back turned she heard you move and glanced over her shoulder as you now stood right behind her.

"you are not sleeping in here tonight, are you?" alexia sighed knowingly as you shook your head firmly, arms crossed across your chest. "vale. go get in my bed and i will be there in a second pequeña." your sister gave in, shaking her own head as you sprinted off toward her room.

alba having headed off to bed it would seem alexia checked all the doors were locked and left the lamp on for whenever eli got home, heading after you to her own room.

"are you mad at me?" you asked quietly with a worried frown as after changing and flipping the light off your sister climbed into bed beside you. "no fresa, you are too cute to be mad at. but go to sleep por favor!" you whined as she pinched your cheeks and you tucked yourself into her side.

over the years your co-sleeping habits had been something that was a point of contention. when you were much much younger and your sisters slept on the floor by your crib you grew accustomed to not being by yourself even as a baby.

as a toddler it was a fight for your parents not to wake up with you wedged between them or curled up on the end of the bed not unlike a cat did, and no matter how many times you were put back in your own bed you seldom stayed there more than a few hours.

but there was one person who would never turn you away the moment you could walk well enough to make it to her room and that was alexia, relishing in the fact you wanted to spend so much time with her and enjoying nothing more than being able to tease alba about being your favorite.

though as alexia grew older she started to want her own space, but without a lock on her door you seemed to arrive near every night tugging on her arm or climbing up into her bed uninvited.

"no fresa, your own bed!" the teenager would groan, removing you from where you'd snuck in, carrying you under the arms to your own room and dropping you back in bed.

but when that didn't work she'd made eli invest in a lock for her door and for a few months you finally spent the entire night in your own bed, albeit a few nightmares where eli took pity and allowed you into her bed.

as you got even older alexia didn't need to lock her door anymore as it seemed the habit was finally broken, but then when your father passed and the house was no longer the bright laughter filled space it used to be, the tides shifted.

"hey pequeña." your eyes fluttered open tiredly, finding your eldest sister knelt down by your bed, bags under her own eyes as you rubbed yours. "ale?" you rasped out as she hummed and pushed your fringe back out of your face.

"can i sleep here with you fresa?" your sister asked as you frowned, confused by the request. "why?" you questioned sitting up a little, but moving over as alexia slid into your bed beside you.

"you are sad?" you asked when alexia didn't answer your original question, slipping underneath her arm as your body slumped tiredly into hers. "sí nena, i am a little sad." alexia confirmed, her feet hanging off the end of your bed but that was the least of her concerns.

"cause of papi? cause he isn't coming home anymore?" you questioned, alexia wincing as everyone had been baring the brunt of trying to explain to you why he wasn't coming home as gently as they could to a five year old.

"sí. but you know what always makes me feel better when i am sad?" alexia whispered as you shook your head. "a hug from you, you give the best hugs fresa." alexia smiled as you looked up at her.

"really?" you yawned as your sister hummed and you shuffled around to get a little more comfortable. "you can have hugs whenever you want ale." you mumbled tiredly, tiny body clinging tightly to hers as the older girl wiped away a stray tear.

"gracias fresa." alexia kissed your forehead, your eyes already closed as you firmly fisted her shirt and she hugged you even tighter.

"but next time we can hug in your bed you're too big for mine." you sighed honestly, alexia covering her mouth to stifle a laugh, something which hadn't left her in what felt like forever.

"oh nena please don't ever grow up."

when you were younger you were a bubbly kid, intelligent too and incredibly empathetic and caring. but you did have one fatal flaw, at least to your sisters, and that was your inability to lie.

to eli you were a blessing in that sense, and though she'd always raised her girls to be honest if the older woman smelled anything amiss you were her to go for confirmation.

not unlike the first time you'd caught alba sneaking back in after a night out with friends, your sister hardly sober she'd climbed back in through the wrong window scaring you near half to death and hurrying to throw a hand over your mouth as you almost screamed.

"what are you doing!" you asked wide eyed, heart rate a near million miles an hour as your sister laid down on your floor. "dios mio fresa why is your room spinning!" alba groaned throwing a hand over her eyes as you leapt out of bed.

"no! you can't tell." your sister grabbed at your ankle sending you hurtling to the floor with a thump. "let go!" you grunted trying to pull away as alba clung on, the two of you bickering back and forth before your door opened.

"pequeña? what-" to alba's relief it was only alexia as she relaxed and you managed to yank your ankle free, shuffling away from her. "alba came through my window and now she's being weird and says my rooms spinning and-" you rambled on as alba groaned and alexia quickly realised what happened.

"you're drunk!?" alexia hissed as alba shushed her and you frowned. "whats drunk mean?" you questioned alexia who faltered for a moment, grabbing alba's hands and hauling her to sit up. "nothing. wait here fresa!" your eldest sister ordered firmly, pulling alba properly to her feet.

mumbling angrily at your other sister in spanish alexia very carefully guided alba out of your room and toward hers, wincing as alba's head thumped against the door frame.

but she breathed out a sigh of relief as eli's door stayed closed, practically dragging her younger sister to her own room as you stayed put, getting back into bed where you'd been rudely awoken.

after a few minutes and making sure alba wasn't going to choke on her own vomit alexia returned, kneeling by your bed. "you can't tell mami that alba came through your window fresa." your sister spoke firmly as you gave her a curious look.

"can i say she was drunk?" you questioned, at seven years old not able to know what that meant. "no, you can't tell mami anything." alexia shook her head. "but what if she asks me?" you questioned with a frown as your sister sighed.

"she won't. promise me you won't tell?" the brunette held up her pinky as you gave her a suspicious look. "if you do i'll take you to the beach after school tomorrow." the older girl bargained as you nodded. "will you get me ice cream?" you questioned again as alexia sighed but agreed.

"now go to sleep!" her fingers shoved at your forehead making you huff and swat her away. "i was! till drunk alba woke me up." you rolled your eyes. "not a word about it fresa, i mean it." alexia warned as you yawned and nodded, closing your eyes again.

that next day just as promised alexia picked you up from school and drove the two of you to the beach, alba meeting you there dropped off by one of her own friends.

"can i go get some shells?" you questioned, hovering by where both your sisters laid out in the sun. "sí. alba will go with you!" your eldest sister pushed at the others shoulder who groaned. "you take her." alba mumbled, voice muffled by the cap covering her face.

"no i think you will, or else maybe mami will learn where you were last night." alexia smiled smugly closing her eyes and rolling onto her back, alba pulling the cap away from her face with a dirty look as you tapped your foot impatiently.

but this little interaction didn't go unnoticed by you, and neither one of your sisters could have predicted how it would come back to haunt them as alba sighed and stood up.

"vamos, lets go find some pretty shells then hermanita."

"alba." you spoke up a little later as your sister hummed, busying herself shifting through a handful of shells for the best ones. "what does drunk mean? ale wouldn't tell me." you questioned as the older girl paused.

"uhh it means you feel sick." alba dismissed, refusing to look up and meet your eyes she felt burning a hole in her head. "like when you eat too much ice cream?" you questioned again, bending down to poke at the sand.

"uh sure, like that. oh look at this one!" alba held up a large pink spiral shell as your eyes lit up and as hoped your attention focused elsewhere, taking your sisters hand as you both wandered further down the beach and the topic didn't arise again.

"i win!" you cheered as you beat your sister back to where alexia was now sat up, watching with a smile and sunglasses dropped over her eyes.

"did you find some good shells fresa?" alexia smiled as you and alba returned and you launched yourself at her in a hug, tackling her onto her back making her laugh. "yeah. alba has em!" you nodded to your other sister who was carefully placing them into your bag.

"i think thats enough sun for you today then hermanita." you huffed as a cap was pulled down over your eyes sending the world dark for a moment before you pushed it back up.

"ice cream?" you asked hopefully as your sisters packed everything up. "we had ice cream when we got here, no more today nena." alexia chuckled pulling your hat down over your eyes again.

"i think more ice cream." you announced, pushing the hat up with an innocent smile as alexia gave you an odd look. "well i said no fresa, vamos!" she held your bag and hers in one hand and offered her other for you to take.

"i think yes, or else mami finds out about alba last night." you took her hand and parroted alexias earlier words, alba rooting in spot a few feet ahead and slowly turning. "what did you just say?" the older girl asked in disbelief.

"ice cream or i tell." you shrugged as alba scoffed. "this is your fault. arréglalo!" she pointed at alexia who stared down at you in a mix of shock and fear.

"so, ice cream now?"

another thing neither of your sisters had planned for was eli to suggest you all went to a local carnival which was on for the weekend in the centre of town that night.

both of them hoping the beach ice cream incident was a one off had been unable to say no to your puppy dog eyes that they both come when they tried getting out of it, each of them cancelling plans with friends to go to the carnival instead much to your delight.

and for the first couple of hours, everything was going well.

your sisters argued over who got to hold your hand, bickering over which rides to take you on or whose turn it was to sit with you much to eli's amusement as she trailed after the three of you, one of her friends from work joining you all on her night off.

she'd always been cautious about how her older daughters would react to her news of having another, especially with a 10 and 13 year age gap, but there hadn't been a single second where she'd regretted her decision to have you.

both your sisters fiercely protective from the moment you were born it was now to the point it almost seemed as if they'd had you themselves the way they carried on sometimes, though the more older you got the more they seemed to insist on babying you in sheer disbelief that one day you needed to grow up.

"this one." you decided, sat on alba's shoulders as the three of you stopped in front of some sort of game which looked to involve shooting down some ducks, both older girls now arguing over who could win you a prize first as alba carefully lowered you to the ground.

"ready to lose reina?" alba challenged as your eldest sister scoffed and rolled her eyes, paying the attendant and readying herself as it counted down and you watched on in awe.

though of course and as per usual it was alexia who came out on top, cheering happily as alba dropped the fake gun with a scowl. "which one fresa?" your sister hoisted you up onto her hip as the attendant pointed out which prizes you could have.

pointing out a bright purple stuffed pig your eyes lit up as it was handed to you, alexia placing you back on your feet as you hugged your new friend tightly. "that one? he is so ugly." alba frowned at your choice as the three of you wandered off to find eli.

"you are ugly!" you shot back in defense of your new friend, alba's eyebrows raising as suddenly you bolted, your sister hot on your heels as alexia yelled after you both to be careful with a shake of her head.

this afternoons events were all but forgotten as you shovelled treat after treat into your mouth, still at the age where as the youngest nobody really ever said no to you, least of all your mami.

but on reflection your sisters perhaps should have taken into consideration the two ice creams and multitude of rides and running around you'd engaged in when buying you whatever you wanted all evening.

all but asleep in alexia's arms now your eyes fought to stay awake as eli waved off her friend and the four of you headed for the car, your eyes opening again as fireworks sounded in the distance and you looked up in wonder at the bursting colours above your head.

but as you were buckled into the car, you started to feel a little funny.

"mami i feel sick." you mumbled, alba leaning over with a frown and laying the back of her hand against your forehead. "she's not hot." the brunette shrugged before suddenly you careered forward and threw up all over yourself.

"oh hija." eli winced sympathetically, hurrying around to the side of the car as alexia hunted around in the boot for something to change you into, alba too busy complaining about the smell to be of any help.

having a few small sips of water and changed into one of alexia's old training jerseys she'd pulled out of a bag you were sat back into the car, body sagged against your sisters as she'd swapped seats with alba, running her fingers through your hair.

"ale?" you spoke up as the older girl hummed. "think i'm drunk." you mumbled out as the car jolted to a stop at a red light and your sisters eyes widened, eli whipping around to face you in shock.

"you are what?"

from your very first day of school it became a routine that alexia would both drop you off and pick you up, the start and finishing times never clashing much with her training schedule whilst eli was almost always at work and alba at school of her own.

over the years alexia had gone bright red when asked if she was young when she had you, quick to explain she was just your sister as the embarrassed blush shifted to whoever had asked the question, a rambled apology normally following.

though now ten years old your school this year was trialing two half days on a thursday and tuesday for some sort of study, and with this new introduction there was a shift in routine, eli normally taking her lunch break early to quickly collect you and bring you back to work with her.

which is why on thursday when you'd finished around lunchtime you were surprised to see alexia waiting for you instead, barcelona kit on and shifting anxiously from foot to foot checking the time on her watch as her eyes roamed the playground for you.

as they found you and you waved she smiled, gesturing for you to come as you hugged your friends goodbye and raced over. "where's mami?" you questioned right away but upon your arrival something else had captured alexia's attention.

"stuck at work. what happened to your face fresa?" alexia dropped down right away, cradling your face in her hands and turning it side to side to inspect the fresh cut above your left eyebrow.

"and your knee! mierda." the eldest putellas gasped suddenly seeing the nasty gash on your right knee, dried blood already scabbing over. "thats a bad word." you reminded your sister who ignored you, too busy inspecting your knee.

"what happened? did you fall over? were you running too fast? did you have your backpack on? did you forget to tie your laces again?" alexia fired a million questions your way, only stopping when your small hand covered her mouth, sometimes the only way you knew how to shut her up when she got like this.

"i got pushed over. do you think i'll get a cool scar?" you asked excited by the prospect as alexia swatted your hands away to stop you touching the cut on your head.

"who pushed you and why?" alexia asked firmly, hands cradling your face again with a frown.

"a boy. we had to speak about our heros in class and i was telling everyone about you and how you play football for spain and barça and he said girls can't play football. then i told him he was stupid and you're better than anyone in the whole world at football and he pushed me over!" you explained, alexia's face softening for a moment.

"you said i was your hero?" she asked, a little choked up as you nodded and she pulled you into a tight hug. "ale you're all sweaty!" you groaned trying to push away from her much larger body.

"now. who pushed you?" alexia snapped back to the problem at hand as her eyes quickly scanned you for any further injury, frown depending seeing a few small cuts on your palms where you'd clearly tried to use your hands to break your fall.

"him." you pointed out the boy who caught your eye and paled as your sister let go of you and turned, face like thunder as the boy quickly cowered behind his father, alexia ordering you to wait here for her as she marched over to the pair.

you couldn't hear what was being said but watching your sisters hands flail about you knew she was angry, and it seemed the boys dad was angry too, yelling back at her for awhile.

and as much as alexia would have loved to continue to give the man a piece of her mind she knew she was already running late to return to training. so settling for threatening legal action if a single hair on your head was touched again she turned on heel and stormed away, grabbing your hand and tugging you to fall into step with her.

"vamos, you're coming to training with me pequeña."

"cutting it a little fine aren't we ale? going from a half an hour early to only ten minutes?" leila teased as alexia appeared in the change rooms still with your hand held securely in hers even as you tried now to pull away.

"we're late cause ale got into a fight at my school!" you chipped in, succeeding in yanking your hand free and making a beeline right for leila who dropped down to hug you.

"a fight huh?" marta raised an eyebrow as alexia rolled her eyes, sitting down to change out of her trainers back to her boots, still with an outdoor session to go before she was finished for the day.

"yeah she beat up some boy for pushing me over. do you think i'll get a cool scar?" you questioned leila as a few more of the girls came to greet you, your battle wounds quite the topic of conversation as your head was turned side to side over and over and your knee was poked and prodded at before marta gently covered it with a plaster.

"i didn't beat him up fresa!" alexia groaned at the questioning looks sent her way. "no she fought his papi." you corrected as laughs echoed around the change room and alexia hung her head in her hands.

"i did not fight anybody!" alexia huffed as you took your backpack off and handed it to her to be put away in her cubby, your sister quick to smother your face in sun cream much to your attempts to push her off as she explained what really happened.

"well i think that boy is stupid and you will have a very cool scar nena." patri grinned, scooping you up and tossing you over her shoulder. "badass!" you chirped as alexia's head swiveled toward you. "who taught you that?" your sister questioned as your eyes lingered on a guilty looking pina.

"you're not allowed to be left alone with claudia anymore." alexia sighed with a shake of her head, making her way out of the change rooms as patri carried you over her shoulder.

you busied yourself chattering away to mario who hung behind you with a grin at your very animated recount of what you assumed alexia had said to the boys father, your sister now just out of earshot as she walked ahead.

"do you have homework fresa?" alexia questioned with a raised eyebrow at the singular book and pen in your hand once the others had all made their way onto the pitch.

"no?" you tried with an innocent smile as your sister chuckled. "still a terrible liar diablillo." your sister teased as you deflated and begrudgingly showed her the times tables you needed to practice.

"diablillo huh?" a new voice sounded as a girl you'd not met before appeared with a grin. "fresa this is maría, she's my new team mate." alexia introduced the both of you explaining you were her sister as the girl commented on the obvious age difference.

"i was an accident." you stated suddenly as alexia frowned and bent down. "who told you that?" she questioned with furrowed eyebrows. "that boy who pushed me today." you shrugged, not too bothered by it.

"well he is wrong, sí? you are not an accident fresa, do not let anyone tell you that. you were a surprise, and surprises are always good. a perfect little surprise for alba and i, vale?" she pulled you into a very tight hug as you nodded and hugged her back making her smile.

mapi squatted down next and extended her hand toward you as your sister let you go and stood back up.

"cool!" you ignored the handshake and instead marveled at the tattoos littering her arm, tracing them in awe making both older girls laugh. "you can call me mapi, you like these huh?" mapi asked as you nodded eagerly.

"like the ones on ale's back. i tried drawing some more on her but she wouldn't let me!" you commented with an eye roll. "you wanted to draw them on my face!" alexia reminded with a scoff. "yeah your face is boring hermana." you grinned, ducking as her hand reached out to mess up your hair and the whistle blew.

"well anytime you want to draw me some more cool tattoos diablillo you are very welcome to." mapi promised with a wink before running off. "if you need help come get me or ask somebody, go do your math por favor!" alexia nodded for you to go sit in the shade as you did so.

you tried to do your math but found that watching your sister and her team train was far more interesting, book and pen abandoned in your lap after only five minutes as you watched on in awe until the final whistle blew to end training.

most of the girls headed back toward the change rooms alexia wandered over, taking a seat beside you and handing you a water bottle. "nice math fresa." she snatched your book before you could with an amused smile.

"yo te ayudaré." she rolled her eyes, shuffling a little closer and walking you through everything, pausing every now and then as a few of the girls came over to speak with you both.

"my head hurts." you complained, falling sideways so your head was in your sisters lap once you'd made it halfway through, alexia chuckling.

"must be the cut." you nodded pointing it out causing the older girl to fondly roll her eyes, deeming that was enough for now and helping you both up.

"you know fresa, you are my hero too. mi pequeña héroe!" alexia smiled softly as you both walked back into the training centre as you looked up at her in surprise.

"really?" "really nena."

"and mi hermana favorita, but do not tell alba." she winked, foot flicking up to kick you in the behind. "hey thats not fair! my legs not long enough." you tried to do the same to her almost sending yourself tumbling over as alexia laughed and grabbed the back of your shirt to steady you.

"maybe one day fresa, maybe one day."

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso blurbs #🍓☀️

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stars-for-circe · 5 months

Text

Bones and All - Part 1

Part 1, Part 2 - wip

Tags / cw: Cannibal!reader x Vampire!Ellie, reader is a psychopath, Ellie is over 100 but physically 23, reader is around 27-30, reader is sophisticated/classy, gore, blood, suggestive, dark themes - read at your discretion, murders, drugging, cannibalism, reader is rich

On Monday, you were reckless. Starved. It had been three days since you had last feasted. And even now, after catching a meal, it was only a leg. The poor victim crawling away in agony as you dined on his limbs. And when he dared to pause his escape, to look back at the sight of you tearing through flesh with your teeth - your white cocktail dress now wine red, drenched with his life - he screamed.

"Y-you fucking monster!" He was dry heaving at this point, saliva and snot and tears dripping out as his body tried to keep itself alive.

You merely turned to look at him, and grinned - bearing your red teeth.

"And what did your wife call you? When you hit her? When you killed her?"

He whimpered in realisation. This, this wasn't some random attack. This was planned, methodical. This was karma. Whatever god that ruled above had breathed a purpose into you, as a vessel of retribution. You simply took back what your victims stole. A life for a life.

"Darling, don't act so righteous. You and I? We are no different." You were almost patronising, void of any empathy, any remorse.

He promptly passed out. Either from the blood loss or the shock - or both, you considered - it made cleaning up easier when the mess wasn't screaming for help. Unfortunately, the pill you slipped into his glass didn't work for long. You realised as such when you noticed his brows scrunch as you dragged him out of your car and into the forest. God, there was so much blood. Painting the forest floor, the fallen Winter leaves now reflecting the colour of Autumn. It was nauseating.

And usually, you were meticulous. In choosing your victims (who were always as evil as you, in their crimes, their abuses), in luring them out of hiding, in drugging them until you killed. You made sure to be inviting, enticing, making them eager to have dinner at your manor, or drinks at a quiet bar.

Of course, dining at home was easier for you to slip something in their food, but most bars were dark enough for a dissolving pill to go unnoticed. And sometimes you enjoyed going out - the thrill of possibly getting caught, the clouded eyes of your victims thinking you were taking them to bed. Well, you did, but it was to their deathbed, rather.

You would undress them, bathe them, even talk to them. Because who knows? Maybe they could still hear you in their dreams, amidst all the drugs in their system. Then, in a bathtub filled halfway with warm water, you would slit their throat. And you would let them drain until there wasn't any blood left. Because unlike your other, more famous peers, you hated blood. Its metallic taste on your tongue oh-so unpleasant, when you'd rather savour the other delicacies in humans.

But this time, you had no choice. The son of a bitch woke up halfway home. You had to take a detour into the forestry surrounding the manor. You had to eat. You couldn't wait any longer. That sense of panicked urgency now overtaking your ravenous hunger. And as the drugs wore off, he was thankfully still weak enough to drag outside, and leave laying against a tree. But as the drugs wore off, he screamed and begged for his life when the glint of your knife shone under the moonlight.

You just begged for some peace and quiet while having dinner. But, some dreams would only remain dreams. And he would remain screaming as the knife sunk in.

So that night, you ate. A disgusting, bloody meal. But a meal nonetheless. It tasted horrible, but it would last you another few days - it was enough for now. The creatures of the forest would eat the rest.

On Monday, Ellie smelled the blood. It was fresh.

On Tuesday, Ellie found the source. 7 miles away, in some forest in the middle of nowhere. Wolves, surrounding a carcass of what was once a man, now just fertiliser. The leaves, damp from early morning fog, squelched under her feet as she got closer. And vampires, being at the top of the food chain, bowed to no-one. The wolves ran away at the sight of her.

"Holy shit..."

It was missing a fucking leg. A clean cut - the wolves weren't this clean in hunting. And it couldn't be because of the wolves - they never attacked people. This was a body, left in the forest, missing a fucking leg - and Ellie didn't know why.

For a moment, she suspected another vampire in her territory. This was in the outskirts after all, maybe they didn't recognise her markings. But vampires didn't do this. They were discrete - which was part of the reason why it was so difficult to hunt in this era, with the amount of fucking CCTV everywhere. Ellie herself hadn't eaten in weeks. This? This was a fucking mess. There were clothes thrown everywhere, the body was still identifiable, and the smell reached miles on every side.

But most importantly, there was blood. So much blood. And Ellie was a vampire, for fucks sake. Another vampire wouldn't kill for no reason - and this looked like the blood was avoided on purpose. Her mouth watered. Fuck, it was unintentional - this was so gruesome she could have thrown up at the sight. But the coat of fresh blood spread everywhere made her wish the body was still alive - still warm.

So Ellie was confused. And honestly? She was really fucking spooked, too. This forest was quiet - eerie even. There were no birds singing, no crickets chirping, even though they should have been wide awake. It screamed of danger, even to her. Vampires were predators, but for some reason, Ellie felt like prey. Her leg started twitching, begging her to run out of this place, lest it be next.

So she got out of there as fast as she could, in whatever direction was in front of her. The fog, still cold and damp, blanketed both the forest floor and herself, and Ellie couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or nervous that send the chill down her spine - but she ran. And after an hour, spent narrowly missing hidden branches and rocks (No, she didn't trip), she found a break in the clearing. Thank god.

Wait, was that a manor?

…

She ran the wrong way.

"Son of a-"

"Fuck these fucking forests and their fucking trees and their fucking rocks and houses-" She kicked a nearby tree, breaking the trunk in half. Then a rock, then the dirt. The volume of her yelling caused the birds to fly out of the trees. She glared at them, and then ran back to the proper way out. Fuck the blood for smelling so enticing.

On Tuesday, You heard commotion in the clearing near your house. But no human dared to come near, so you blamed it on the wild animals.

On Wednesday, You built an appetite. But so did Ellie. And this time, you were prepared.

On your bedside table sat a sugar bowl, a vintage style of ornate - only the sweets worthy enough deserved to be held within. It was rather beautiful, as the early morning sun gently reflected off the edge of it. It garnered your attention, as you slowly woke up. And slowly, as you leaned against the headboard of your bed, and reached over to sit it on your lap, your mouth watered at the promise of the treats inside. Today was the day.

You took the little gold lid off, eyeing the candy inside. Each piece wrapped in a different type of paper than the last. You licked your lips tentatively - what would you fancy today? Gooseberry? No, you had that one two days ago. How about Grapefruit instead? A tough choice to make, given the amount of flavours to choose from. Gently, your fingers circled the rim of the bowl, tracing the intricacies drawn onto the china, before you dipped your hand into the bowl and pulled a piece out at random.

The pastel green wrapper crinkled as you unwrapped it, before popping the candy in your mouth and closing your eyes as you savoured its taste. Green apple - an old favourite of yours. Though, it had definitely been a while since you last had that one in particular, because they were always the hardest to catch. Hidden in the ridges and bumps of the bowl, seen rarely, and chosen even lesser. Hm, you had your work set out for you tomorrow.

You clenched your fist in contemplation, and felt a poke from the crinkled wrapper still in your hands. You almost forgot. And at your favourite part nonetheless! You sat your self up, now cross legged on the bed as you unfolded the wrapper in anticipation. It was silent for a moment, as you raised a brow, absorbing the information in front of you.

Oh?

Written, in small font, was her information. Her age, her name, her crime. A lovely choice. And it was ironic, that out of all the ways she would be punished for it, you were her executioner. How cyclical, you thought. But never mind that, for she was just another victim to get rid of - nothing more, nothing less. You bit down on the candy, breaking it inside your mouth. It’s sour taste clouding your senses as you contemplated your methods. And yet, it would be a shame not to have fun with this one, after all, it wasn't often you feasted on one of her kind.

'Ellie Williams, 23, vampire.'

A dinner party at your manor would suffice, to lure her into your clutches, and to celebrate your forthcoming victory.

On Wednesday, Ellie was reckless. Starved. 3 weeks since she had last fed - and she was ready to do anything for another taste.

Taglist: @bready101 @elliewilliamsblunt @aouiaa @strangehuman101 @lov3lylotus @wishbones999 @seraphicsentences @les4elliewilliams @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

#tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #Ellie Williams the last of us #Ellie Williams tlou #Ellie Williams the last of us 2 #Ellie Williams tlou2 #tlou

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readychilledwine · 4 months

Text

Pieces of You pt 4

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings- Mourning, loss of a partner, loss of a friend, loss of parent, babies and the complications that come with raising them, slight neglect, slight angst to wrap it up before Fluff and smut begin, same editing warning (friend is arc reading, Liz will catch any other mistakes when she rereads this with fresh eyes)

A/n - I promised they wouldn't be a part long. What you're all waiting for will happen in the next part. 🫣

✨️ Series Masterlist ✨️ Rhysand Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

This nanny was not you.

You had the left house, as promised, Monday morning. You hadn't taken a single dress Rhys had bought his Little Mor, a single one of her toys, you didn't even take the blanket he had paid for with her name stitched into soft buttery fabric.

He watched as Nyx fought the female he had hired. He would only latch to her for a few moments before wailing, piercing the now all too quiet home with his confusion and frustration. This nanny was not you, and Nyx clearly was not going to accept her.

He had hoped by the afternoon Nyx would have been hungry enough to just latch, to cave, but that was not the case. The young heir was crying again, frustrated and hungry as he slowly wore himself out into another unscheduled nap. Rhysand zoned out the noise, his mind now on you, on the second chance of love, devotion, happiness he allowed to walk out the door.

Nyx had taken to you. He was a momma’s boy the second he was about to show preference. But Morwenna, Morwenna was Rhysand's. His own breathing filled the void of silence that had fall over the house, and as he stared at his paperwork, tears began to fall, he just hoped your mind was on him, or at least Nyx, as well.

His mind went to his Little Mor, his sweet girl. Her eyes always lit up for him, shrieks of joy and excitement were common in Rhysand's office.

You sighed and sunk into the couch, Azriel beside you as you did. “Come home,” he had been begging for the past two hours for you to see reason, to forgive Rhysand. He had explained what happened at dinner, watching as you slowly fell apart all over again. “He didn't mean a single word. I can tell.”

Azriel swallowed before standing, “I will be back. Kiss my niece for me when she wakes up. I'll come back to sing her to sleep tonight.”

You shook your head, leaning back into the couch as you did. “It felt like he did, Azriel. It felt like he just-” you stopped yourself from crying, not willing to hurt over some male who so easily threw you away. “He said I needed to stop acting like Nyx's mom.” You watched Azriel's face fall. Watched as his sun-kissed tan skin paled. “Then tried to tell me I could not take Morwenna with me.”

Screaming. Screaming was all Azriel heard as he walked into the new Riverhouse. Rhys was pacing the floor, bouncing Nyx as the sun fell and Cassian stood there, eyes watering and wide in panic. He took a spot next to Cassian, sharing a look of concern with his brother. “He refuses to latch on to his nanny,” Cassian's voice cracked. “And Madja keeps trying to tell Rhysand it's just going to be an adjustment period, but Nyx is hungry.”

Azriel nodded, mind flashing back to the subtle looks of pain on your face as you so much as moved or held his Little Mor. “And he won't just suck up his pride and take him to y/n?”

Cassian sighed. “He said he can't do that after what he has done. That there is no fixing the hurt he caused.” Anger had leaked into Cassian's soft voice. “I do not get how she can do this to Nyx.”

“You would do it to if you mate ignored your bond.” The weight of those words hit Cassian's chest, screaming in his like an alarm. “What.”

“Y/n and Rhysand are mates,” Azriel went to Rhys, stroking Nyx's back. “Let me take him to her?”

Rhys shook his head, ignoring the tears falling at his son's frustration. “I just need him to adjust.”

“Starving is not adjusting, Rhysand. It is neglect.” The High Lord turned to Azriel, glaring hard. “I know what you said to her. Go there, apologize, and have her feed him at the very least. She loves him.”

As if it was a spell place to curse Rhysand, Nyx must have caught the faint scent of you lingering to Azriel's soft t shirt. The heir calmed significantly, reaching for the material. “Give me your shirt so I can lay him down and we can discuss this.”

Azriel obeyed, hoping just the scent of you would be enough to give him a small nap while Azriel convinced Rhysand to let him take Nyx to you. Just for the night.

Rhysand sighed, laying Nyx down with Azriel's shirt underneath him. He would have been lying if anyone asked him if he had savored that soft scent clinging to the shirt. He walked out of the room and hardly made it 5 steps before the wailing began again. Rhys pulled the bottle filled with the mixture Madja had made from his pocket world before going back in.

Nyx was inconsolable. He had spent the better portion of the morning crying, screaming, refusing to sleep.

Rhysand picked him up, praying to anyone who would listen and wishing on every star that Nyx would just take this bottle. As soon as he latched, Rhysand watched his flawless little face make a deeper scowl before pushing the bottle away. You were Nyx's sole thought. Your smell, your skin under his, your voice. The piercing wail had Azriel and Cassian running up the stairs as soon as they heard.

Rhysand knew Nyx didn't fully understand the noise about to come from his mouth. Nyx didn't know it expressed exactly what he wanted, nor what the sound would mean. He didn't know that it would make his father crawl back to you less than 12 hours after you had left. The heir released a strangled cry over and over again of one of the only sounds he knew to make, "Ma. Ma. Ma!”

"No," Rhysand choked down the tears that were getting ready to fall. "He's crying for y/n. He's crying for his mama.” Rhys didn't wait for them, he didn't even say goodbye, he winnowed into your living room. You were curled up on the couch, instantly awake by the sounds of Nyx's crying.

"Is he crying for Feyre?" Cassian went to take a tentative step forward, just for Rhysand to stand and move quickly out of the room.

Rhysand didn't even have to ask. He didn't have to beg. You took the heir instantly and pulled him to you, placing him in his favorite spot to eat.

His tears had triggered Morwenna, though, and soon her soft cries filled the air. Rhysand ran to her. He ran to his daughter and cradled her tight to his chest. Her bright eyes instantly looked up at him, a smile taking place of where a deep frown was. “Hi baby girl,” her giggle instantly changed his mood. He walked her to the living room, watching as she instantly because to smile and shriek at the sight of Nyx.

“Give him a little bit, baby,” you didn't even look up from the tiny illyrian, stroking his brow as he ate. “He is very hungry and mama needs him to eat.” Rhys sat across from you, holding Little Mor tight to him. “She's been making d noises all day. To me, to Azriel, to no one. Just “dah duh deh” all day.”

“She missed her daddy,” Rhys held her up, rocking her gently side to side, “didn't you Morwenna. You missed daddy? 13 hours apart is much too long, isn't it, my little darling.” You shook your head, fighting the smile as Wen giggled at Rhysand.

You felt your heart skip a best as he kissed her cheeks and then her tummy. Rhysand was a wonderful father, and watching him in this element, this area of self-doubt, he had made all feelings of anger melt away. He looked to you instantly, claws gently tapping on the fortress of your mind before you allowed him in. “Let me take us home?” Home, the word replayed in your mind before you nodded, holding a hand to him. Home sounded so good.

He winnowed you two back to the Riverhouse, making Wen giggle even more at the starlight that surrounded you four. You walked in and stopped dead in your tracks, eyes Azriel up and down. “Where are your clothes?”

Azriel looked shameless, muscled torso on display as he held Cassian in a headlock. “I'm choking out Cassian and your concern is my lack of a shirt?”

Cassian raised a hand to you, face slightly red. His eyes had a hint of guilt in them as he tapped Azriel's abs. “Y/n,” Cassian moved to guide you to the couch, smiling at a still latched Nyx and then moved Rhysand to be next you. “I want to apologize.” You knit your brows at him as he sat and Azriel glared.

“I made some unfair statements without consideration for you and Rhysand. I did not think about how my words would affect your relationship with each other, or how I cheapend the new mating bond you two share.”

Cassian looked raw. Like months of build up and emotion hit him. “We prepared you know? We knew she was going to die, we begged and prayed for a solution, and just when hope came it crashed like a tidal wave. Nesta and I won't even touch each other. The guilt-”

“You have nothing to be guilty for, Cass,” Rhys interrupted him. “I'm the one who had sex with her. I'm the one who-”

“It was an accident,” you spoke softly, pulling the focus to you. “Feyre's death was a tragic mistake and accident. You all did not know the extent of her shifting magic. You didn't know it temporarily changed her that deeply.”

Rhys seemed love drunk as he handed you Little Mor, kissing both babes before you walked away. He was silent until you left, eyes trailing your body. “Cassian, I love her.”

Rhys sobbed softly, hearing words from you many had whispered before felt so different. Like a soothing balm over a wound, slowly healing it. “Cassian, Nesta did not know that the outcome of her bargaining with a God would be a cruel trick. There's no guilt to be had. She gave everything back, made herself the Cauldron’s servant. She was too young to read those unspoken lines.” Nyx finally let go, deep asleep in your arms. “I'm going to go lay him down. There is nothing for me to forgive because you did not intentionally harm me, Cassian, but maybe you three should speak.”

“I know.”

“That doesn't mean I never loved Feyre. Nor that I've forgotten her.”

A second “I know” broke through Cassian's lips, his shoulders falling as it did. “I miss her.”

Rhys felt the tears welling, felt them falling before he could will them away. “I do too. Every fucking day I miss her. I miss her hair, her laugh, her voice. I miss her correcting me.” He watched Cassian fall more, mourning the sister he had lost openly for the first time.

“But when I'm with y/n, it hurts less. When I see y/n smile, I feel more whole again. When I hear her laugh, I feel like I'm alive again. When I see her with Nyx, when I see his smile when she's holding him or playing with them, I feel like Feyre is here, nudging me towards y/n.”

Azriel's voice came, soft and slow. “Feyre would want you to move on, Rhysand. She would have wanted you to find happiness. She would probably fight all of us for being this sad.”

The thought of that made Cassian genuinely smile. His eyes sparkling with fond memories of Feyre Cursebreaker stomping her feet when he'd beat her during a sparring match. “Her and Feyre both do this thing, maybe it's an artistic thing, where they look at things really close and back away slowly.”

Rhys started laughing immediately knowing what his brother meant. “Y/n did it with one of my outfits. She said I looked great as long as she stayed 5 feet away.”

Azriel put a hand on Cassian's shoulder. “This is a roundabout way of us telling you we support you, Rhysand. We support you and y/n.”

“Two mates,” Cassian said slowly. “Imagine having two mates, Az. Two females that you get to love unconditionally and annoy whenever you'd like.”

Rhys and Azriel shared a silent look, a soft, "Not yet” coming through to Rhysand's mind. “We will leave you and y/n alone to talk.”

“There won't be much talking,” Rhysand stood slowly. “I've always been better at expressing my emotions physically.”

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#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhys x y/n #rhys x you #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand fic #acotar fanfiction

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comfortless · 7 months

Note

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

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wanologic · 5 days

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college au prequel: what happened to danny during junior year - 2940 words

Viscous green liquid sludges through a dry river bed, whetting the cracked ground and seeping deep into the void. Soil softens, becoming fat with nutrient. In the most basic definition, still itself, but filled with new matter, ready and accepting of more. This is what it was made for, its purpose. It has been sitting, dry and untended for too long. In this symbiosis it is more than it dreamed to be. Complete in the sense that it has been starved.

Danny wakes up, the dream lingering.

He’s been feeling odd lately, despite the fact that he is more comfortable in his skin than ever. He has a goal, he has support.

A bridge, he called himself.

Even if he’s only sixteen and his influence is contextually small, he has time. People are listening. Ghosts are listening. Small steps over a long period will get you where you need to go, and he’s still just a kid.

A kid who has to get ready for school.

He goes through the familiar motions, snags a quick breakfast and lets his parents know he’s headed out, that he’ll see them later. He’s out the door and on his way before he knows it.

Danny’s grades have improved since his freshman year. The pressure to keep things secret has all but alleviated and his family is sticking close. The world might not know that Fenton and Phantom are the same, but the people who matter do.

He’s managing. Thriving, even.

His extracurriculars are atypical of a high school junior, but he plays his role well. The Ghost Investigation Ward meets Phantom and the Fentons on neutral ground that evening, working their way methodically through a tangle of red tape. Teaching, learning. There’s always danger in compromise, but both parties are being two faced. It’s civil for now.

He’ll do this from the opposite angle on another day, playing border guard for the dimensional tear nestled into the fabric of his basement. Walker would be proud of him. He’s enforcing the Rules.

And it’s all going well as far as he can tell. Things are so much less chaotic than they were, his brawls feel like bonding, his head is no longer on a swivel.

For now, it’s off to his room. A space for himself to decompress after a long day's work.

He spends a lot of time thinking about a prehistoric past. What the future might look like once his job is over. This solid physical reality fed that swirling and infinite realm of emotion directly, once. It didn’t last, but time has passed.

Danny is more aware of this fractured nature than most. He’s sure it’s why he’s had so much success. Why the responsibility falls on him. He feels it every time he calls upon his second self.

And that’s what it is, isn’t it? Human first, ghost second. Humanity is the frame of reference he was born with. Everything new he experiences in this strange half-life is compared against it. Spectra once asked him what he was. But humanity is in his nature. He is a creepy boy with creepy powers. He’s sure of it.

Going ghost.

Returning to humanity.

Not that he prefers one over the other. He’s made the choice. More than once. When his memories were erased or his powers short-circuited he always took them back. Felt the thrumming and euphoric energy pulsing through his being once again. His shape projected and unreal. Weightless. It feels incredible.

At some point, some late night discussion about feelings, whether it was with family or with friends, he realized his dual nature was more of a privilege than he could ever hope to fully comprehend. His human half feeds his ghost half everything. His ghost half is complete. No wonder he’s so determined, so strong. He has never once craved emotion the way the others have. He has intrinsic access to everything. Every failed test, every frustration, every joy, every thrill. He is comfortable and whole. Has no need to lash out. Two separate identities working together as two polar magnets, inseparable through the strength of their attraction, moving through the world as one.

He slips the familiar glowing rings across his body, the cool wash of ectoplasm coursing through his veins. Back again, blood pumps oxygen to his cells. Human. Ghost. Human. Ghost.

This time the dream is stranger.

The river craves the ocean.

Danny feels the sand cake beneath his nails as he digs a trench, a violation of the river’s established bed. There’s a trickle as a thin and frothy stream flows out of sync with the current along the path he lays. It longs for the larger disconnected body ahead. A curious tendril seeking an easier path. He digs deeper, automatic, compelled by a force he doesn’t quite understand.

Is this a bridge too?

He’s both excited and afraid to find out.

The liquid pools at his fingertips as fast as he can dig. Nudging. The sand is saturated and wet in front of him. He’s not sure how much further he has to go. But if he can claw his way through this dense barrier he’s sure it will pick up momentum even without him. The fluid mass can carve its own trench. Wider. Faster. Wider again.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. He somehow feels incorporeal. This isn’t right. He looks at his hands. His fingers in the dark. Clean. Spotless. He feels the sheets beneath his body, the press of the blanket above. So he’s still human then, wrong as it may seem. He clutches at his chest as he tries to calm his racing heart, quell the strength of an intense emotion that he cannot describe. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

He stops digging and fashions a dam, not yet ready for what the final connection could mean.

His head hurts.

Nausea tucks itself against his gut.

He takes a shower.

It’s Saturday and he has business in the Ghost Zone.

He shifts, expecting the weird feeling to subside. Instead it’s more of the same. Something is off. He ignores it. A thing to worry about later when he has less to do.

His work that day goes smoothly, another step in what he can only hope is the right direction. And it feels nice, giving in to the compulsion and focusing on what is in front of him, what is currently begging his attention, rather than the problems lurking beneath the surface. It is a learned behavior, one he falls back into easily.

Upon his return he feels like he is dragging a piece of the Infinite Realms back with him. The air seems to thicken, the cold steel walls of the portal are closing in on him. The exit is a pinpoint. He’s being called back. He wants to move forward. He can feel silky fingers worm their way over his skin, hundreds of tendrils trying to pull him into their embrace. He stays strong. Moves with intent. The invisible hands can’t find enough purchase and he is finally welcomed back into the Physical World like the denizen he is.

The caress stays with him much longer than he’s willing to admit.

Weeks go by and he only feels stranger and stranger. High. His attention slides off of everything so easily, his eyes blurring mid-conversation, a stuffy feeling, like a balloon that’s expanding well past the boundaries of his head. He loses time. Cancels appointments. He doesn’t feel well, sorry, he’s going to stay home today.

There is something Danny knows he needs to do. He can’t keep existing in limbo like this, his job only half-finished, pulled in two directions but choosing neither. His powers will wane once again in his indecision. His purpose sits unfulfilled.

He lays back and stares at the softly luminescent stars pasted to the ceiling of his room. Takes deep and even breaths as he struggles to remain present. His sister is worried for him, he’s sure. The best he can do for her is secretly practice what she has preached.

Danny eventually thinks back to that trickling stream. The slimy offshoot of the coursing river. He thinks of the dam he dreamed up all those weeks ago, sure it’s bigger now. His denial adds weight and height to the metaphor. Every day it feels less like a figment of his fucked up imagination and more like the worlds are trying to tell him something. What’s on the other side now, he wonders? Is the river still flowing? Are the fruits of his labor still there or has that little hand-clawed pathway dried up? How large is the reservoir pressing up against that sandy hill if it hasn’t?

He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to know.

But this isn’t what he promised himself.

A peek can’t hurt.

The dream comes easily, now that he lets it.

The funny thing about water is that it always finds a way. No matter what people do, how they try to tame it, erosion is inevitable. It starts as a dark wet splotch, the faint idea of a tiny breach in the all-but-permeable barrier between worlds—the river and the ocean. As the spot expands a dip forms on the horizon. The water moves. Under, through, over. Destructive. Alive. Danny shouldn’t have looked but he can’t stop what has already started. Equilibrium will be achieved one way or another. It was only ever a matter of time. He stands in the shallows, cowed as the wall comes down. Slowly first, then all at once.

The edges of panic are sharp and he realizes what is happening only a beat too late.

The dam breaks.

He screams.

He was the dam, he is the trench, the rapid connection of energy flowing out of bounds and rushing along a new path. Lightning striking the rod to avoid burning down the house. The portal below him is a wound, a tear. He is something asked for, something natural. His mind can’t keep up as he struggles to regain ground and prevent being swept away by the violent current.

Dim awareness of his physical body comes back to him slowly as he writhes against the foreign dimension assaulting his senses. A second death. His double life was a conceptual marvel, a switch flipping from on to off, and back on again. He is the embodiment of two worlds, split, distinct. His quest to join them together requires this of him, doesn’t it? Whatever autonomy he has against the will of the universe cannot remain if he truly wants to serve his purpose. It’s a choice he has to make. One that he has been making. One that has been made.

He takes a deep and shuddering breath.

He tries to let go, and finds that he can’t. It’s like being electrocuted all over again, his nerves fried and his joints stuck rigid. It’s a feeling that is impossible to control, tense as he is.

His breath still comes ragged as colors around him saturate and the world warps. He can feel his fear, his desperation, feeding the momentum of whatever is happening. The exchange of emotion, osmosis through a rapidly deteriorating membrane. Thousands of overlapping inputs assault his mind as he feels the energy sliding around in the folds of his brain. He breathes through it. It’s not at all painful, but it is intense. His human points of reference aren’t working to help him conceptualize what is happening. His atoms are buzzing with newfound energy and the world is no longer solid. He tries once again to attempt the mindfulness ritual Jazz has been shoving down his throat, tries to name five things around him. The exercise fails him as he feels his brain liquefy in his skull. He gasps at the sloshing sensation, back arching. He’s going to be unmade.

Instead of loosening his grip, he tightens it. Remembering what it is to be human with all the force he can muster. His knuckles are white. Sweat slips down his brow. If he can’t let go, he has to hold on. He is gasping, thrashing. He’s hyperventilating, he’s sure, but no oxygen floods his system. He wants release, wants off this ride. The world outside of his perception ceases to exist. Flesh slips from his bones and it feels so, so good.

Then he sees it.

His eyes are blind, but he perceives it, somehow. The yawning void of the infinite realms is so much bigger, so much hungrier than he had ever thought. Reading that tablet, all that time ago, he thought his purpose was something simple. Easy in a way that a fourteen year old imagination could rationalize. The earth and the zone were two physical spaces that only needed to understand each other and hold hands to achieve that elusive harmony.

He’d been wrong.

It’s not the earth that feeds the realms. Dimensions aren’t something that can be explained by an elementary understanding of mass and matter. They aren’t some static three dimensional points in time and space. They are universes of their own, expanding, interstitched in a nasty and sticky web of inexplicable physics folding over and back on themselves, forever too complicated to pry apart.

The realms are fed by the conscious universe perceiving itself, the soul, the spirit, whatever you want to call it. Emotions aren’t some grid of faces on a paper, they are infinite, they are cause and effect, the chicken and the egg, projecting forever in a möbius loop human understanding can never truly describe.

He’s going to go insane, he concludes. Here on his bed, on some random weekday, alone in his room. The magnetic pull of his two halves are phasing into each other, becoming imperceivable as the two separate forms he once knew. He’s not even sure that he really exists at this point.

There is another choice to make.

He thinks back to what he knows about this buried history, Pariah Dark, The Ancients, wonders if they considered this connection, what they knew about how this should happen. Is there a way to do this that is objectively correct? If he knew more would it be easier? Or would it go down just the same? He has no desire to conquer. Only to be a bridge. A tether. An example. To show that this merging from two to one can be peaceful, a shift in perception rather than a violent overhaul. It is unavoidable now. His only wish is to remain recognizable as himself.

He focuses not on his mind but on his body. He has to rebuild from the ground up or risk losing himself forever. Start small, a beating heart. Vascular systems. Skeletal. Muscular. Take a breath and pump blood into the empty cavern of his skull. Human is what he knows, though he’s never had to think about it quite this way before. His nerves lace through the structures he’s struggling to create, half intuition, half memory. It feels like being a ghost, all projection and thought, a deep and innate understanding. He knows this. He’s existed this way every moment of his short life and he can do it again. He’s alive, his blood is red, his flesh is tangible.

His brain slams back into his body and he promptly throws up.

The worlds are connected once again.

Danny’s hands shake as he tries to get a grip on himself. He’s been changed. He can feel it. The Infinite Realms has marked him as he has marked it. The world is flowing through and from him. Energy hums under his skin, and in it there is access to a well so deep he’s not sure it could ever run dry.

He finally gets it. This is what being a bridge between worlds means for him.

He gets off his bed slowly. Half floating, half stumbling for balance. His instincts are scattered and his breath no longer sits in his body the same.

This change gives him the authority and the power, the perception and understanding to mend the bleeding fracture between dimensions. He will be listened to. He cannot be hurt. His appearance no longer matters, he is what he is, wholly and entirely. He exists as a linchpin. He is the keystone in the arch where one side is living and the other is dead.

Gravity feels so odd. Like someone changed the coefficient.

He sobs and grabs his dresser for support, woozy and unbalanced, a newborn deer walking on unfamiliar legs. He intends to make his way downstairs. Wants to fall into the embrace of his parents. Needs someone to hold him and tell him that everything will still be okay. He looks to the door.

And without moving, he is there.

Breath comes hard and fast as he steadies himself. His perception catching up to the new perspective. His hand is on the handle, he radiates a trail of semi-physical matter with every motion. It will take practice to appear normal again. He’s reminded of his freshman year.

When he finally opens the door, a swirling green wall is all that meets him. He stares at it, the cold vapor of the Realms slipping around and through him.

He knows the observants exist on the other side. He is sure of it as he is sure of anything. They are there to acknowledge the crown above his head. To observe what he has finally made of himself.

He will tell him that he didn’t want this, didn’t ask for it.

They will tell him that he is lying.

He steps through the threshold.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #horror #i wanted to explore this part of the au but it is too long and weird for a comic so hey #you get some more writing #fanfic #writing #college au

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eveningepiphany · 1 year

Text

reconnect | h.s oneshot

my masterlist

summary: lockdown is tough on both you and harry. you miss the feeling of physical touch so much you start chasing to fill that void in one another.

warnings: sweet and dirty smut, unprotected sex, fingering (fem rec), spitting, deep conversation, lil bit emotional, touch starved harry & y/n, lockdown and covid mentions.

a/n: something hot and sweet for y’all ily!! highkey wish I had harry during my lockdown era writing this, my god.

———

You felt entirely numb as you heard the familiar news reporter say the words you had been dreading of hearing. Tahnee was was always on at this time of the day— you didn’t even know her name however many months ago.

Restrictions had been easing just a week or so ago.

Her voice continued to echo through the lounge room as you cupped your face in your hands with a sigh.

“—we understand the effect this news may have on viewers at home. In these unprecedented times we must stick together as much as we can. Look after yourself everyone… we’ll see you next with our sporting updates after the ad break.”

She sounded glum, like she hated being the one to deliver the news to people. In the end, she too has to go home and cope with the numerous amounts of restrictions on her life.

You reached for the remote, turning off the tv and throwing it back into the duvet that now permanently lived on the couch, good for the cold nights and binge watching TV shows because you had nothing better to do.

Other than ignore your upcoming college assignments. Which you’re going to continue to do. And procrastinate finishing them and how much you hate the pressure of online schooling.

You had other shit to dwell on too.

You miss your family. You miss your friends.

You’re sick of living out birthdays and your college life on video calls.

You missed being hugged, and kissed and touched.

You were so grateful to have your best friend of all people stuck with you. But you still craved so many kinds of social interaction.

Now you just wanted to cry.

You stood up, knowing harry wouldn’t know yet. Probably in bed on his phone, and you just needed his company.

You quickly went to escape the silence of the lounge room, padding down the hallway in your sweatpants and a baggy tshirt you know for a fact you stole from your dad.

His door was only half shut, and you gently said his name.

“Harry…?” Your voice wavers.

“Yea, love?” His voice is soft, welcoming as it always is.

You push through the door to see him laying in bed, also in sweatpants and a rolled up long sleeve.

He looks at you and tears immediately start to spill over your waterline without you even realising.

He props himself up, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

You invite yourself over to his bed, and his arms pull you into his chest the moment you’re close enough.

A gesture that is just too much given the circumstances, and although the sweetest, it tips you over the edge.

You feel the tightness in your throat as his hands move to caress your back. Before you know it, your chest is rattled with a sob. You felt so dramatic but you needed to let it out.

He waited no time to wrap you straight into his tightest hug, trailing his hands up to your the back of your neck, stroking the skin there with his thumb.

“Darling.” He whispered, concerned of what had happened, but not wanting to push you to tell him. Just letting you cry.

Eventually it wracked out of you,

“We’re— we’re going back into stage four restrictions.” Your reasoning came out with a shaky voice.

You felt his intake of breath once you’d said it, and it got held in his chest for a few seconds before getting let go all at once.

“Fuck.” He cursed out defeatedly.

You sit in silence, but not once does his grasp on you loosen.

“I just want to see my family outside of a fucking FaceTime.” You whisper.

“I do too…” he closes his eyes, “I wish there was something I could do to make it better, y/n. I’m sorry.”

He grabs your hand, amending what he said before.

“I know this is shit, but we’ll get through it. We get through everything together.” He smiles, it doesn’t quite crinkle the corners of his eyes like it usually does, but it’s an attempt at the least.

“I’m so sick of feeling so alone, Harry. I’m glad i have you here, but it’s so lonely at the same time with just us.” You say quietly, hoping not to offend him.

He nods against your head, which is tucked into his shoulder, letting you vent without interruption.

“We can’t do anything. We can’t see anyone. I havent felt another persons touch outside of yours in weeks.”

He doesn’t get offended, he understands exactly where you’re coming from and you’re so grateful for that.

He just plays with your hair as you talk.

“Same here, baby.”

“I don’t mean it in a rude way, you’re very affectionate given our circumstances, but I just…”

Your sentences falls off short, and you shrug. You missed romantic touch too.

“Y’miss being touched.” He enunciates the word in a more suggestive way.

You nod, “not to sound… gross or anything. But I do miss being touched, and held, and kissed.”

He pulls you in a little closer as you speak, almost without realising he was doing it. Absentmindedly ready to do any thing to make you feel a bit better. A bit more connected.

“It’s not gross. It’s normal.” He frowns, “We have gone months without seeing our own family. I can only guess neither of us have had anything romantic going for us. Nothing wrong with missing that.”

“It seems kind of— i don’t know— weird to miss in comparison to the other things.”

“Y/n, tell me you’re not feeling guilty for missing getting kissed. Or laid.”

“I’m…” you sigh as you realise you can’t even pretend you’re not, and he rolls his eyes lightly.

“Jesus.” He let’s out a breathy laugh.

��It’s not just that, atleast, that I miss.” You shake your head, still feeling a little embarrassed.

“I miss the connection. The feeling of it.”

His facial expressions quickly get more serious as you talk. All of the words coming from your mouth can be interpreted in varying ways, but his mind can’t help but veer towards the more sexual aspect of it. Especially since you didn’t deny you missed getting laid.

“I get it. I miss having the opportunity to want someone.” He nods again, watching your reaction to what he says like a hawk.

You look away, almost shy, “To really want it.”

“Yea…” he glances at your lips without realising he’s doing it, and the feeling you’re both discussing at this very moment is welling in the pit of his stomach.

His hands reach out to wipe away the damp glaze on your cheeks from your tears.

“I’m proud of you.” He sighs.

“What— Why?”

“Because. You may think you’re not, but you’re doing so well.” He looks utterly sincere as he says it.

“Harry…” you shake your head as his name slips past your tongue, and you bury your face further into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, lips accidentally brushing the base of his neck.

This has him tingling, your soft mouth so close to his pulse point, he wonders if you can feel it racing.

“Y/n.” He squeezes your hip, “If you want me to kiss you, just know all you have to do is say the words.”

He swallows as you still, processing the offer he’s just put on the table.

“But—“

“I miss it too. The really wanting it.” He caresses the soft skin of your waist with the hand that’s now slid underneath your shirt.

You go quiet, suddenly the air so thick with tension you couldn’t breathe.

“If you want anything from me, I’ll give it to you.” He whispers, so softly. Like he wants you to hear him, but also not at the same time.

You’re not sure how to even react.

You’re horny. Emotional. And frankly a little bit too infatuated with his lips to breach into the territory of being able to touch them with your own.

“Harry.” You repeat, sounding unsure.

“Baby, if you wanted it, I would do it.”

He scratches his fingers down your spine, noting the absence of a bra strap.

You shudder at the sensation. Realising no one has made you feel like this in so long.

“Very sudden.” You blurt, trying not to push forward with you hips whatsoever, despite the ache that’s quickly conjured between your legs.

You fear that if you feel him, all sense of rationality will be gone.

“I know.” He says, lips dragging down your temple.

“M’beginning to realise, y/n, that i would do just about anything to keep you happy.”

Your heart pangs and you indulge a little, hands coming up to weave through his hair and pull on it gently.

And he groans, sounding so pretty.

“You deserve this too.” You carefully say. You’re not even sure where the line is between the two of you. But you continue talking anyway,

“Always so sweet… so giving. Who would I be to not make you feel loved on too.”

“Christ.” He whispers as you tug on his brown curls again, which slide against your fingers like silk.

“How far is this gonna go, H.” You ask, needing clarification before you go insane.

“Far as you want it.”

“I need specifications.” Your hands come to his cheeks, “I don’t want to be making any assumptions here.”

“Angel, If you asked me for my mouth on your pussy, I would give it. Want my cock? It’s yours. Use me, touch me, anything you want you already have.”

You feel yourself melt at the words.

You cave, leaning forward and capture his perfect lips, feeling their shape slot against yours like an art piece.

His lips feel heavenly, and you nearly black out at the sensation that overtakes your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good love.” Harry says against your mouth, his tongue jutting out to swipe over your bottom lip.

You hum in the back of your throat, and he tugs your hips so you’re properly seated into his lap.

You can’t miss his erection underneath your core. His clothed length is pressing into you and a moan slips out of you before you can even stop it.

“Need it. Please.” You start to beg, no matter how desperate it comes across.

His hand comes to your waistband, “you’re sure you want me to touch you?”

“Yes, yes.”

It dips underneath the fabric, finding you without underwear and almost dripping you were that wet.

The thing is, going so long with just your hand and a vibrator, the second any kind of prospect of getting dicked down is there— you’re immediately slick with arousal.

“Jesus fuck, y/n.” He drags his middle finger through your cunt, feeling the wetness along his finger tip. “You’re soaked.”

“Harry— oh my god—“ he slid it back down, teasing your entrance with his fingertip.

“Been that long huh. Just the thought of it works you up this much?” He chuckles.

Your hands fly to the collar of his shirt, tugging at the soft material, gripping it in your fists.

You hum in agreement. “More, please.”

“Mm, so glad you’re letting me do this.”

He pushes in further, and just his one long finger is touching places that has you clenching around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Praise is spilling from your lips as he curls his digit in you.

You slouch into his strong frame, hand slipping down between the two of you, palming over his erection.

He peppers your neck in open mouthed kisses, moaning at the feeling of you squeezing his clothed cock.

“Can I— fuck— get you out.” You ask, reaching to dip under his sweatpants.

“Yes. Don’t even have t’ask, pretty.”

You flush, hand moving underneath his waistband, finding him also without underwear.

Relief flooded you as you got your hands on the smooth skin of his cock.

He moaned at the contact, “Shittt. That feels amazing. S’much better than my own hand…”

He slides another finger into as you begin stroking along his length.

You both begin to move in sync with one another, the sound of your pleasure beginning to echo around the room.

“Can hear how wet you are.” Harry grunts, fingers curling inside you.

Your hand squeezes around his cock as he does that, causing you both to moan.

“Harry. I need you inside me… please.” His fingers were already close enough to making you come and you weren’t sure how he’d react if you came before he even got close to being in you.

“Can I make you come first? Want you to feel good, baby. If you can handle more than one orgasm, please?”

He wants you to feel good.

Before himself.

You realise this man in genuinely a saint. Like more than you ever could have imagined.

“Seriously?” You still don’t even believe he means it. Maybe he’s just saying it to be nice, and actually wants you to say no?

“What do you mean?” He looks a little confused, slowing down the kisses he was placing along your neck.

“I— sorry. I’m just not used to being so… looked after, I guess?”

“Have other guys not made you come first…?” He looks shocked.

“No… not usually? Occasionally, if I’m really horny and it wouldn’t take long.”

“I know there’s some scumbags out there, but with a pussy like yours… they should be begging to please you.” He shakes his head, not finished talking.

“For the record, lovie, if you weren’t so adamant in getting filled with my cock, I’d be making you come atleast twice before I fuck you.”

He pulls his hand entirely away from your cunt, allowing you to feel his absence as he talks. “Then I’d edge you with my fingers to the brink of your third. Until you’re begging me to stretch you out.”

He delivers a gentle slap over the hood of your clit once he’s done talking. Sliding his middle and pointer finger back down into your entrance to gather the arousal there, and slip it up to your clit.

“Oh.” You breathed out. A whiney noise following from your throat shortly after.

You were surprised. Not because it was Harry, if anyone would be like this it would be him. But you’re used to being a second thought sometimes. Just an aid to an end goal.

You’d become accustomed to it. Now there’s a man in front of you, who wants to please you because it seems to make him happy.

He reaffirms that thought, “I don’t think you’re aware how happy I’m gonna feel when your cunt is pulsating around my fingers in a few minutes.”

With saying that, he pinches and rolls your clit between his fingers and you struggle to find words to respond to what he said.

“Fuck— I— thank you.” You’re shaking a little as he increases the speed as he works over your clit.

“Nono. Thank you. You’re so nice under my fingers. So wet and warm.” He hums as you begin to squirm against his touch.

Your hand movements around his hard cock have gone to a lax and languid stroke, and almost stop all together when he dives his fingers back into your hole.

“Mhm— Harry!” You gasp, quickly starting to lose all your sense of self as he plays with you.

“That’s it, Y/n. Let me take care of you.”

He works you expertly, and your cunt is so unprepared for the attention from someone other than yourself. Its making it hard to hold yourself together.

You’re clenching around his fingers, and the tension in your stomach is quickly building.

“I’m gonna… fuck I’m gonna come soon, H.” You moan, followed by another curse of his name as he flicks your clit with his thumb.

Your pushing your hips against his hand, grinding into every movement. Chasing that explosion of pleasure in your abdomen.

“Wanna feel it. Come on, let it all go f’me.” He coos, keeping a hard and fast pace with his hand.

You cry out his name, nails scraping down his skin as you beg for the final push, which comes quickly.

A curl of his thrusting fingers and your movement lapses immediately, jaw going slack as you come around his hand.

It’s better than he could ever imagine, the noises coming from your lips are sinful, and you lean forward, open mouth panting over his cheek.

Hot breath fanning across his face while you’re still clenching around him.

He moves to bite your bottom lip, earning a jerk of your hips and another moan from you.

After your heart rate slows, he gently removes his fingers out of you.

“Good girl. Took it so well.” He pecks your nose with his lips.

“Can take your cock better.” You let out a breathy laugh.

He smiles, dimples popping out.

“Little minx. C’mere.”

He draws you into a hug, pulling your middle flush to his chest.

“D’ya need a minute, or no?” He asks gently, voice close to you ear.

“No, I’m ok, I’m good.” You blush.

“S’it too much to ask to take your shirt off?” His hand pulls at the hem of your tshirt.

“Can yours come off too?” You chuckle, leaning back to settle your eyes on the long sleeve covering his chest.

He nods, still smiling as he lets you take his off first. Revealing his toned chest and inked skin.

You run your hands along the ridges of his abs as he reaches for to pull off your own shirt.

Lifting your arms, you hear his little intake of breath as he remembers you don’t have a bra on.

The shirt gets tossed elsewhere as he is focused solely on your chest.

He looks transfixed as he trails a hand up to ghost over the skin on the side of your breast.

“Fuckin’ hell. Look at you, Angel. Got the prettiest tits.” He says it with such endearment.

You squirm with pleasure as he cups you in his hand, bringing your nipple to his mouth. His hot, velvety tongue slicking over the sensitive skin there.

Your back arches immediately, a moan sounding from you.

“Fuckkk…” you drawl out, letting him suck it into his mouth.

The sensation is enough to have you a mess in his hands again. The way he works his mouth over you like it’s nothing.

You take his cock back into your grip— having momentarily let go during the haze of your orgasm— and run the head of him through your folds.

His mouth falls open around you, moaning, letting his breath fan over your sensitive nipple.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.” He groans against you.

“So hard…” you whisper, rubbing his tip over your clit.

He lifts his head away from your chest, glancing down to see the connection between the two of you.

And he moves a hand down, lacing it over the top of yours.

You felt so connected with him. Just with his hand now over yours, and his length pressed into your clit.

You can’t even imagine the state you’ll be put in when he’s inside of you.

“Harry… need you.” You plead again, without care of if he’s sick of hearing it.

You need him. Need him so bad it’s consuming you. All you can think about is him. Not even in the sense that all you want his cock.

You just need to feel like you’re close as you possible can be to him.

“I know baby, I know.” He kisses your cheek, “Y’want me to use a condom?”

“Only if you want to. I’m clean and still on the pill.”

“I trust you. If that’s what you want.” He reaffirms with you.

“H, I have to feel you. Just need to be close to you.” You lean into his neck, kissing the skin there.

“And s’this position comfortable for you?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll take you anyway, any position. Whether you want me on top, under you, bent over… don’t care. Just want you.”

“God, you’re such a good girl. So amazing f’me.”

You let him guide your hand to the base of his length. And then slowly, with his hand interlocked over yours, drag his tip to your entrance.

Your already letting out whines, free arm coming to lace into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You lower your hips down on him, feeling the head of his cock slip up into you.

You both let out a moan at the sensation, whispers of each others names falling from your lips. Gently you keep sliding him in further, soaking in every second you feel him stretch you out.

This was what you missed. The feeling of connecting with someone. Not necessarily with just the sex. But feeling intertwined. Like you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his begun.

“You’re better than I could’ve dreamed, lovely.” He praised, earning a clench of your cunt. One he wasn’t expecting, that had him moaning into the shell of your ear.

He sounded perfect. Like an Angel. And you melted further into him at the sound.

“This is perfect, Harry. Needed it so bad.” You stroked his hair as you spoke.

He removed his hand from over yours, coming to rest both of them on your hips, guiding you down further.

Once you moved your own, you could let him slide you all the way. Your clit brushing over his pubic bone once you reached the base.

“Clenching ‘round me like that—“ he hisses, “gon’ make me come too fast, darling.”

“Let me feel you for a second.” He holds you in place, letting you sit still over his thick cock.

“So wet, so warm. Made to fit my cock, hm?” He squeezes the skin of your waist.

He bucks his pelvis up to you after you moan out an agreement, “Made just for you, Harry.”

And he’s starting to thrust slowly in and out, guiding your hips through the movements.

“Lay on me.” He rearranges himself so you can lay your chest onto his, and rest your head next to his cheek.

Your breasts press up against him, and clit is now being stimulated even more by his front.

“Need you close to me.” He whispers, and you start to bounce onto his cock gently. Bum slapping on the strength of his thighs.

“Me too, H. Have to feel every part of you.” You moaned, circling yourself on him. Each rotation hitting your clit, causing you to moan.

He also is in shock at the sensation of being inside of you. It almost like a surprise to his entire nervous system.

He draws his fern-adorning hips back, only to snap them back upwards. Skin slapping at the movement.

Not to mention the sound of your wetness gliding along his cock each time you got thrusted into, which was echoing through the room.

“Listen to how wet you are. All for me.” He groans, picking up the pace.

Your lips find a spot to suck below his ear as he talks, nipping at the skin.

“I’m so… you make me so wet.” You agree, pussy pulsating around his bare cock.

“Love it. Don’t you? Us using each other like this.”

He says it, knowing the dirty talk in turning you on even more. But you both know it goes beyond getting a quick fuck.

This is everything to you both. Feeling like, for the first time in so long, you are truly not alone.

“Want you to use me, Harry.” You roll your cunt, pushing your clit onto any part of him it reaches, still clenching at the contact.

“Dirty Girl. So fucking desperate.” He laughs, kissing your hair.

“Who would I be to talk, though.” He grabs at your ass, “I’d beg you for this everyday. This sweet cunt around me. For you to touch me. Anything.”

He admits it with a moan following after it, your pussy fluttering.

You feel it building it inside the pit of your stomach.

“Want you to fill me up.” You state, panting as your thighs start to shake, and you realise in a few minutes your going to come. And hard.

“With my come, huh? Want me to put it deep inside y’baby?” He asks you, hips bucking excitedly at the prospect.

“Yes! Fill me with your warm come, Harry.” You’re starting to go delusional.

Filthy fucking words flying from your mouth as your arousal overtakes every rational part of your brain.

“Shit—“ He is pressing you flush to his body, holding you as close as he possibly can. The pace of his cock slapping into you increasing by the second.

“I wanna see it drip out of you, Y/N.” He groans, fucking into you hard and fast.

You feel amazing, your heart racing in your chest, and your whole body vibrating. You’re being stimulated in so many places. Your nipples pressed up to his toned chest, clit being rubbed by his pubic bone, god— and his cock fucking you.

“Thankyouthankyou—“ your mind is quickly turning to a mess with him swallowing you up like this.

You feel your orgasm approaching with a tension in the pit of your stomach. It’s quickly becoming the only sensation you can feel outside of the harsh thrusts Harry is giving you.

“Good little slut.” He grabs your face, lust taking over the both of you like you’re teenagers.

His pace doesn’t let up, and he stares at you with half lidded eyes.

“Spit in my mouth.” You beg, not even sure where the fucking thought was from before it came out of your lips.

“God… fuck— open your mouth.” He grunts, tilting his head to angle his lips to yours.

You open it, sticking your tongue out a little past your bottom lip, ready to catch anything that would drip given the fact you’re still on top of him.

He purses his lips, gathering up his saliva and dropping it down onto your tongue.

It was fucking feral, and you loved every second of it.

It tasted of him, and you swallowed it without even being asked.

Just watching that happen had him fucking you like it was his sole purpose in life. His thrusts became despeate for you.

You shook with anticipation, “I’m— I’m gonna come!”

“Yes… fuck yes. Come on, baby, finish all over my cock.”

His words were your breaking point, your cunt clenching so hard around him that he groaned aloud.

“Fuckfuckfuck— make me come, Y/N.” before he started to pulsate in you, putting his load deep into your pussy.

Having it happen almost all at once prolonged your orgasm, making you continue to moan and writhe in his grip for what felt like forever. Squeezing him until he had nothing left to give you.

Once you slowly both regained your awarenesses, you stayed on top of him. Sweaty and sticky, but you stayed close as possible to him.

You couldn’t fathom that just happened.

“Harry…” you whispered, and he hummed to the quiet chant of his name.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Stop thanking me baby. You did just as much for me.” He smiles into your cheek.

He brought his arms up to cage you to his chest, “and it’s so nice to be holding you.”

You move to kiss his lips, gently sucking his bottom one into your mouth. Lulling your tongue over it, letting it go with a pop.

“I haven’t felt this present in… in months.” You say quietly.

“Neither have I. Y’make me feel safe. Which might sound odd, but s’true.” He glances at you, watching you smile at his words.

“Im so glad we did that.” You make sure he knows you don’t have a single regret in following through with everything.

“Once we’re showered, gonna have a serious conversation about the fact you asked me to spit in your mouth.” He chuckles.

You flushed, not sure whether to be embarrassed about it or not.

“Got a little uhm.. carried away.” You tried to justify.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he laughs, indicating he was just teasing, “thought it was so hot. Just never would have expected it.”

“I wanna know what else you’re into, yknow.” He licks his lips.

“What other dirty little secrets your hiding up in that head of yours.”

You shake your head, “shut up.”

“M’serious. We’ve got a lot of time to kill.” He’s still chuckling, hand coming to stroke through your hair.

“And I loved that. Loved feeling you so close. You’re a dream.” He pecks your cheek again.

“Make me some of your good cooking and I’ll think about it.” You joke.

“But really…” you pause, “thank you too, H. That meant everything to me.”

He didn’t reply with words, they wouldn’t be enough, so he just kissed you. Kissed you with every ounce of his being.

———

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