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izukuwus · 4 years

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Housewarming (NSFW) (Bunny!Izuku x Reader)

Summary: Izuku comes over to spend the weekend helping you finish moving into your new house. You learn a few things about the habits of rabbits, including just how deep the rabbit hole goes. (bunny!Izuku x reader) (smut smut smut smut smut)

Warnings/notes: fuckin. just straight up fuckin. biting, hair pulling, tail and ear pulling, oral (giving and receiving), uhhhhh reader has tits and a vag but gender is not confirmed. reader and izu are both switches, praise kink with reader receiving, uhhh I think that’s it? a gratuitous amount of focus on the fact that bunnies wiggle their noses to express interest in things.

A/N: so uh. I’ve NEVER written smut before so please be gentle. but I had a conversation on discord the other night with some of my lovely wives. that conversation started something like this:

the following is how the conversation ended. (writing smut is apparently much easier with live audience commentary, i’ve learned.)

Word count: 8100+

Spending weekends with Izuku has always been at the top of your list of favorite things, pretty much second only to the man himself. Can anyone blame you? Your rabbit-eared best friend (read: longtime crush) is pretty much the sweetest guy you've ever met, his mom is a wonderful woman, and often, you feel more at home curled up with Izuku on his bedroom floor (neither of you ever want to take the bed only to leave the other on the floor, resulting in a history of cuddling each other to sleep and entirely defeating the purpose of sleeping on the floor to begin with) than you do your own house most of the time.

Spending the weekend together has been a monthly ritual for the two of you for years now, beginning in your last year of middle school (consisting of an extremely flustered bunny) when you still lived in the same apartment complex. You've since moved and the years have been kind, the innocent ritual remaining steadfast no matter how busy you or Izuku got with school or training or any matter of thing.

Only... This weekend is different. Because in the past, the two of you were always in the dorms or at his mom's apartment. There were always people somewhere nearby to pop their head in and offer fresh cookies or join in beating you at Mario Kart or put in a noise complaint if you laughed too loud.

In a way, there were always limits.

This weekend is the first in your new house, bought for a surprisingly low price that you can assume is the result of being relatively small and not in a very desirable area.

This weekend, you're completely alone with him.

Realistically, it's likely not that big of a deal. He's just coming over to help you unpack after you spent the past week preparing for the move. A housewarming sleepover is the perfect way to get you used to sleeping in the new place, after all, and you'd be much more comfortable if Izuku were there with you! (Besides, free labor.)

But you can't help but be just a little high strung.

You've reminded yourself a thousand times now that it's just Izuku. You trust him with your life, after all, and he's trusted you with every secret he has (even those he's technically not legally allowed to be disclosing to you). You were the first person he told about his new quirk, even before his own mom. So why the hell are you so nervous?

You're busily and restlessly looking between kitchen cabinets to decide where your dishes will go when he arrives, landing three firm knocks on your front door. You greet him with a smile and nearly cry when you realize he's brought flowers and pizza, his trademark nervous grin on his face.

"Great! This is the right place!" Izuku says, and you smile and step aside to let him in. "Your new place looks great, [name]!"

You smile, relaxing at his presence as you watch him walk in to explore. "Nothing's really set up yet," you say as he investigates the new house. "I've got a couch, a table, and a lamp and that's about it."

He turns to you, nose twitching excitedly. "It's got a lot of potential! I can't wait to help you get everything set up so we can really see how nice it is! Oh, and these are for you! I know it's traditional to give something, you know, useful for a housewarming gift, but I-I wanted to congratulate you on finally getting enough together to get your own place, and I think having something nice to look at is useful, too, so—"

You accept the bouquet with a faint blush, smiling up at him. "I love them, Izuku. Thank you." (Privately, you think that just his presence here gives you something nice to look at, but you suppose the flowers will stay a little bit longer.)

There's a quiet moment where the two of you just look at each other, and man, Izuku is really good at making you think he might actually be attracted to you, huh. (Probably just wishful thinking.) "Let's... let's go ahead and get started, yeah?" you say, eyes drifting hungrily to the box he has balanced on one hand. "I see you've brought pizza. I haven't put together the chairs yet, so wanna sit in the middle of my kitchen floor and eat pizza?"

He chuckles, ruffling your hair. "Lead the way."

An entire pizza between the two of you and with the entire kitchen unpacked, you fling yourself onto the couch with a sigh. "God, I'm so tired of this move already," you whine. "I just wanna be done already."

Izuku laughs as you drape yourself over the back of the couch dramatically, throwing an arm over your face. "That bad, huh?"

"Yes!" You take a moment to peek at him as he crouches by your TV, but his back blocks your view of what he's actually doing. Instead, you watch his fluffy tail with amusement. It twitches whenever you speak, and you swear to god it's the cutest thing you've ever seen. "I spent the past weeks packing when I wasn't at work only to unpack it and I'm tired, 'Zukuuuu."

"Well, what if we took a little break?" he offers with another twitch of his tail. He stands, brandishing your favorite controller as he circles around behind the couch to hand it to you. "You up for it?"

You roll your eyes, shifting to reach for the controller. The minute your fingers brush against it, though, Izuku takes a step back, his nose twitching quickly. The corners of his lips pull up into a poorly-concealed grin, and you sigh, flipping over and reaching for it again.

"Izuku..." you say, tone playfully warning as he pulls the controller just out of your reach a second time.

"You sure you want it?" he teases, pulling the controller just far enough away that you pop up on your knees, propping yourself on the back of the couch with one hand as you reach. "You want me to destroy you that badly?"

Ohgodpleaseyes—You choke, your hand slipping out from beneath you. Before he has the chance to be too concerned, you let out an annoyed noise and fling yourself over the back of the couch, chasing after him with a beet red face. Izuku yelps and runs the other direction when he sees you coming, hardly giving you the chance to break into a sprint before he's down the hall.

He stops a few feet down, watching you with one ear raised up, the other dropping against his shoulder. The grin on his face is downright goofy, and you let out a small giggle before giving proper chase.

Izuku, naturally, is not one to be caught. Even without the use of One For All, bunnies are naturally very fast, and you learned fairly quickly that he does not get caught if he doesn't want to be. Still, you'd be damned if you weren't going to try. You try to tackle, he somehow manages to slip around you and back down the hall, evading you constantly until the two of you have bounded through every room of the house, narrowly avoiding boxes and as-of-yet still-disassembled furniture just to get your damn controller between his amused laughter.

Izuku stops and watches you again just as you're starting to get out of breath, nose twitching a mile a minute. You come to a stop just in front of the couch, panting a bit from the exertion of chasing your fucking menace of a best friend around your house. He has both controllers held behind his back, and that's about when he does the single cutest thing you've ever seen in your life.

He fucking binkies, leaping into the air a few feet as he flicks his head, his ears flopping with the movement. You let out a giggle, trying very hard not to completely lose your composure, and, in a fit of goofiness, mimic the motion. It doesn't quite work the same when you're not the adorable one with the bunny quirk, but apparently, it does something, because Izuku's face goes full red in an instant, eyes widening as he searches your face.

He drops the controllers.

Your eyes flick to them as they hit the ground, and you realize that if you're going to get those controllers you have to do it now. You make a move to sweep them off the ground, but the second you move, it's apparently over for you.

The slightest sound of electric sparks reaches your ears before the wind's knocked out of you, your back hitting your couch cushions roughly as Izuku slams into your body, one hand cradling the back of your head protectively before he straddles your waist, looking down at you with a downright ecstatic look, green lightning sparking around Izuku for just a moment longer as he stares down at you, nose still twitching like it's run by a motor, ears straight up in the air, but that's hardly the key detail here.

His face is beet fucking red as he stammers. "D-do you really mean that?"

"Uh... wait, mean what?" You tilt your head, a little flustered from suddenly getting tackled and pinned down by your incredibly attractive best friend. Is your head spinning, or is that just the room?

Fuck, are you imagining things, or does he look excited beneath all that blushing?

"Y-you did it back, usually that's, uh, it means— um..." The excitement drains from his face steadily and his expression drops. (His ears also drop.) You've never seen him look so wounded, and now you're really confused. His next words tumble out of his mouth at a dizzying rate. "I-if you don't know what I'm talking about then nevermind, I obviously messed up, I can leave—"

The moment Izuku pushes off you and stands, very obviously embarrassed and looking on the verge of tears, you regain your bearings just enough to tackle him back down so now he's the one being pinned down. "No, you're not backing out of this. Did I really mean what, Izuku?"

He stammers incoherently for a second, his eyes roaming over you like he's not sure where to look, and you're suddenly a little self-conscious at the fact that you've just pinned him to your couch with no room for interruptions if things were to go the way pinning someone down on a couch is probably supposed to go, but you refuse to let up until he gives you an answer. You bring a hand up to his cheek, swiping a thumb where the first of several tears is moments away from slipping out.

"Come on, Zu-kun. I obviously did something to upset you, and I don't know what I did, and won't know what I did until you explain it to me."

He lets out a shaky sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if it'll change the situation.

"'Zuku..."

Finally, he opens his mouth to answer. "It's, um, w-well, usually when rabbits, y'know, c-court each other, to, y'know..." His hands come up to cover his face in sheer embarrassment as he says the next words in a hushed hurry, so quick and quiet you almost don't catch them. "Y-y'know, m-m-mate and stuff like that, they, uh..."

Hot shame floods your being as you slowly come to a realization of what, exactly, you may have implied to him.

"It's, it usually, um, there's, kind of a m-mating dance? And w-when, um, I-I didn't really mean to, but um, at the end, i-if one of them binkies and the other d-does it back, it means, um—" He lets out a mortified whine. "P-please don't make me explain it any more than that," he says finally, sounding defeated.

Oh. Oh.

Well, that's something along the lines of a "disaster" if you've ever caused one.

"Oh fuck, I am so sorry, shit Izu. I didn't mean to—"

"I-it's okay," he mumbles, dragging his hands off his reddened face. "You can get off me now."

Jesus, he's about seconds away from crying as he gently tries to push you off him.

Well, fuck. Unless you're mistaken, the expression on his face is utter heartbreak. You're already in the worst position possible here, so...

You lock your thighs in place around his waist to resist his gentle push. "Izuku, wait."

"[name], it's okay. Please just, give me a minute to—"

"Izuku." You firmly place your hands on his chest, pushing him back down. "Please listen for a sec?"

His hands remain on you, but he stops pushing, not meeting your eyes as he waits in silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that binkying back at you like that would imply that I, you know, wanted to get with you, but that doesn't..." You chew your lip, locking your eyes on the controllers, still on the floor from when he dropped them. No backing out.

You mumble the last part (the most important part) so fast you almost hope he doesn't hear you: "that doesn't mean it was the wrong idea or anything—"

His head is still turned away, but his eyes flick to your face with a surprised sniffle. "...what?"

You furrow your brow, your heart hammering away in your chest. "God, please don't make me say it again," you whine, your hands coming up to hide your own face.

"No, please say it again," he breathes. "I mean, I already misinterpreted once today and I don't want to—"

You let out an embarrassed whine, pressing your hands to your face even harder. "I didn't mean to say it but that doesn't mean it wasn't something I meant to say eventually," you hiss out slowly and much louder than you would have liked.

You peek at Izuku through your fingers, desperately looking for any reaction to tell you whether you just irreparably fucked things up with your best friend.

Izuku is, and always has been, a very expressive person. You've been able to gauge his emotions at a glance for as long as you've known him—even if he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve, generally the angle of his ears and the movement of his nose or tail have always been more than enough to keep tabs on how your best friend is feeling.

Right now, though, aside from the flush on his cheeks and slight parting of his lips, Izuku is carefully blank. It's like he's shut down, mentally—blank eyes, nose still, mouth just slightly open but not with any hint of emotion to it. Not positive, not negative, just mild shock and a practiced blankness that has your face burning and you moving to get off him.

You feel him shift beneath you just a moment, and then once again, you yelp as you suddenly find yourself on your back, but this time, you're not looking up at Izuku, because his lips are pressed to yours, one leg hanging off the couch while the other is wedged firmly between your legs. You can feel his hands tremble as they cup your face, your eyes blown wide with shock. He's unpracticed, but his lips are soft and it's him kissing you so enthusiastically that you really have no right to complain.

Your eyes flutter shut as you begin to kiss back, your hands gently coming up to tangle fingers in his hair. You let out the tiniest whimper as your reciprocation seems only to spur him on, him kissing you somehow even more passionately.

You can't help but giggle into the kiss when you feel his nose twitching against your face, causing him to pull back just enough to breathe. His obsession with training over the years has clearly done him well—his breathing seems mostly unaffected by the kiss, while you lay there panting and trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Izuku watches your face for just a moment, seemingly shocked at his own actions, but leans in again, brushing his nose against yours adoringly. "I-I'm sorry, I was just... really happy..."

You let out another tiny giggle, leaning up to kiss him again. Much like in all other areas of his life, he's quick to kiss back, already seeming to kiss you with a bit more precision than the first. He pulls back, hot breath ghosting against your lips as he whispers to you. "I-I've loved you for—" —he breaks off to plant another tiny kiss on your lips— "—s-so, so long, [name]."

He goes to kiss your lips again, but whines when you turn your head so he hits your cheek instead. "I love you too, 'Zuku," you hum, continuing to dodge his kisses playfully.

"[naaaame]," he whines. "I've got a lot of lost time to make up for, stop dodging me..."

Cute, sweet kisses are lovely and all, but as long as you're trapped between his muscles and the couch, you might as well tease him a little, right? And you've got just the idea to push him a bit further.

You look up at him with a playful smile as he glares heatlessly at you. His hand, previously cupping your cheek sweetly, grows a little bit firmer in its hold in an attempt to hold your face in place so he can kiss your lips. He darts down to capture your lips again, exactly according to plan.

Your fingers, still entwined in the mop of green he calls hair, grip carefully and tug his head back before he can properly kiss you.

Bingo. You can't help but grin with flushed cheeks as he immediately grinds his hips down onto your leg, letting out a breathy moan as something suspiciously firm and growing rubs against your thigh, bare from the shorts you dug out of your clothes this morning.

You watch his face in awe, his freckles disappearing among how purely red he's gone, and give another gentle tug to his hair. This time, he borderline whimpers, hips moving like he's being controlled. His eyelids flutter shut, hot pants causing his chest to heave as green eyes stare down at you, darker than you remember.

No lies here, the fact that he can't help but grind on you is... really hot. So hot, in fact, that you can't help but shoot him a teasing smirk as he watches you with half-lidded eyes. "Excited, Jackrabbit?" you muse.

He whines as his head drops to your shoulder. Quietly, so quietly you almost miss it, he mumbles, "how can I not be when you of all people finally take an interest in me?"

God, if he weren't still grinding his hard-on against you, that would've been adorable. "If I'd known you were into me, we could've been doing this years ago, 'Zuku baby." You punctuate your sentence with another tug to his hair, to which he retaliates by biting down on the crook of your neck, dragging a drawn-out moan from your throat.

He pulls off with a small giggle of his own, eyes staring down at you playfully. "Aw, are we sensitive, honeybun?"

You don't dignify him with a response. At least, not a verbal one. You pull him back down for another heated kiss, lips moving against his as your hands slowly drift from his hair, down to his chest. You splay your palms out, just feeling his muscles for a second before you pull back, take a breath, and shove him as hard as you can. He lets out a tiny "guh?" before you're straddling his hips, hands returning to his hair and lips returning to his.

He's shocked, but clearly he's more than happy to continue making out with you like this. You, however, have a curiosity stemming from years of Izuku dodging around you touching his ears that you just have to sate, so your hands slowly but purposely crawl up to the base of his ears, thumbs brushing the velvety appendages gently before you pinch the base and give them the slightest tug.

Izuku pulls back with a moan, shivering as you continue to thumb his ears in slight awe at their texture. "[n-name]~"

You bring a hand up to laugh. "Aw, are we sensitive, Izu?" you tease, drawing a glare from him. Just to drive it home, you shift and grind your hips down, planting both hands on his chest to steady yourself, effectively killing his glare as he lets out another shaky moan.

"T-that's not fair," he whines.

"Life's not fair," you muse, grinding down one more time before leaning down and tugging at his shirt. He doesn't seem to notice, lost in pleasure just from grinding with his eyes closed. "'Zuku baby, can I see a bit more of you?"

Another whine tears from his throat, and he opens one eye to look up at you. "O-only if I—hah—get to see more of you, too."

You smile, locking your legs around his hips and giving him a show as you slowly peel your shirt off. When it's over your head, you look down and wink, almost losing your composure completely.

His jaw's dropped, eyes locked on your body, and when you wink, he bucks his hips up. You yelp, barely managing to steady yourself at the sudden force, and this time when you lean down and go to pull his own shirt off, he helps you wiggle it off of him. You suppress a groan at the sight of his bare chest, shifting up a bit so you're straddling his abs and he can't grind against you as easily. (You love it, but can't have him getting too excited, now.)

Scarred, calloused hands settle on your waist as he just admires you, completely wordless. You've half a mind to be self-conscious about his lustful gaze on you, but it's hard when you've got your own view to devour.

Izuku really is gorgeous. Sure, it's not the first time you've noticed over the years. Where he was once your scrawny bunny boy, years of training and hero work have left him littered with scars and bursting with muscles, maintaining his lithe form without sacrificing any amount of strength. Among the scars is a smattering of freckles decorating his shoulders, and that's just his body. To say nothing about his face, still young-looking despite the years and, as of right now, dripping with utter adoration for you.

"You're gorgeous," he breathes, thumbs gently rubbing circles into your hips.

"Says you." You smooth your hands over his chest, dragging your nails teasingly. When you barely brush against his nipples, he shivers, letting out the slightest gasp. You smirk and repeat the motion, watching his face as his fingers twitch around your waist. You could honestly tease him like this for hours just to watch his face and feel his muscles as his stomach trembles between your legs. (Again, Izuku has always been the epitome of expressive, and it's moments like these that you truly understand how much that shines.)

Izuku, however, has a better idea as he effortlessly sits up with you in his lap, trembling as he gives you a slow, charged kiss. (You'd like to imagine his thought process right now is something along the lines of "holy shit holy shit holy shit", but it's difficult to tell.) When he pulls away, he buries his nose in your neck, letting out a shuddering sigh as you glance down over his back. "I-is it okay if I touch you, too?"

You stifle a laugh when you finally notice his tail hitting the couch a mile a minute, forgetting for a moment that Izuku asked you a question. "Just do it already, Jackrabbit," you tease. "You don't have to ask."

He doesn't waste a moment at your permission, immediately shoving your bra up and out of the way to take one of your breasts into his mouth, a hand coming up to knead the other one excitedly. For a moment, you simply hold him as he enjoys himself, letting out little gasps as he lathes a hot tongue over your nipple and lets out a tiny moan of his own. But naturally, your eyes drift to his tail again. The ball of fluff seems to be moving of its own accord, and honestly, you can't resist drifting your hand down to grab it and give it a little tug.

The mouth on your breast leaves as Izuku immediately tosses his head back, letting out a strangled moan louder than you ever thought possible. His hands squeeze instinctively as his eyes roll back, ears falling back and brushing your hand as he momentarily loses himself.

Your face flushes as you watch his with renewed interest. You swear you can see hearts in his eyes, the blush on his cheeks creeping down his neck and shoulders, and holy fuck do you wish you had a camera ready. You want to look at that expression every day for the rest of your life.

He lets out a few garbled noises that might have been words, had he been two percent more coherent. Your laugh dies in your throat when, upon collecting himself, he gives you a look about four shades darker than you ever thought your sweet Izuku to be capable of. You knew he was gorgeous and fun and amazing, but now you can add "panty-dropper" to the list of words describing him.

You don't fight back when he practically flings you back onto your back and clamors to hover over you, nipping at your neck as his hands find the waistband of your shorts. He yanks both your shorts and your panties down at once, leaving them to pool around your knees as the force pulls you back flush with his hips. When you give his tail another weak tug he growls into your neck. You're gone. You're officially gone. Between the not-so-gentle reminder that this boy can fling you around like a ragdoll whenever he wants (and that you kinda wanna thank him for doing so) and the growl, just...

Goodbye, panties. You're living a better life now.

When he looks into your eyes with that same heated gaze from before, your breath catches in your throat. His voice, however, is far from matching when he speaks. "I-I really want to take things slow a-and do things right, b-but if you keep pulling my tail like that, my patience is gonna run out, you know?"

You watch his face with wide eyes for a long moment, pulling the most innocent face you can muster. "Pulling your tail like what, Jackrabbit?" you say teasingly.

And then.

You pull again.

Izuku's moan turns to a whine and mixes with your own as he bites down on your neck a third time to muffle himself. He pulls up when he's collected and reaches behind himself, one hand firmly wrapping around your wrist while the other grabs your other hand. Slowly, purposefully, he pins your wrists down in one hand, attempting to intimidate you with a glare. There's no heat to it, though, especially not like this, not when there's hearts in his eyes, not when he's panting and sweating and blushing down his neck and you're now fully aware that he moans like a goddamn pornstar.

To his credit, none of that makes you any less horny right now.

Now that he's got your wrists pinned down, he takes another moment to just look at you with hungry eyes. They roam your disheveled form, paying particular attention to your tits as they bounce with every heavy breath. His eyes drift up to your face, and he swallows harshly at the look you're giving him. It takes him just a moment longer of admiring you, the damn near animalistic look from before slipping away to something more Izuku before he speaks.

"I-if we're going to do this, I want to make sure you feel good, too," he says evenly, no longer looking anything but purely genuine. "So please keep your hands to yourself for a little bit?" He tilts his head, ears flopping with the motion, eyes innocent as if he's not asking you to hold still so he can drive you to madness without interruptions.

You nod slowly, swallowing a bit and stilling in his grasp. His fingers twitch, his face lights up, and for just a moment you swear he's more like a puppy than a bunny.

He shifts, his hands releasing your wrists but hovering over them a moment longer. "If you need me to stop at all, just let me know, okay? The last thing I want to do is push you further than you're okay with it."

"Okay," you whisper breathlessly, watching with interest as he properly lets your wrists go. He glares playfully for a moment, watching to see that you don't move your hands, and when he seems satisfied that you'll actually listen this time, he begins tracing down your arms with featherlight touches.

He's painfully slow in his movements, fingertips grazing your skin as he moves down. He briefly leans down and pecks at you softly, first your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then grazes your lips just enough to draw out a whine as he cups your cheeks. With every tiny kiss, he mutters against your skin— "love you—" "—so much—" "—so fucking much."

"Love you more," you chirp sweetly.

"Hmm, that's debatable," he hums. "But let's come back to that later. Right now, there's s-something I want to do."

With that, he continues running his hands down your body, smoothing his rough palms out just to feel your skin. He exhales slowly as he palms your breasts, smiling fondly down at you as you gasp. "You're so soft..." he whispers, mostly to himself, as his nose twitches a single time. He only plays with your breasts for a moment before his hands continue to move down your body, eliciting a surprised giggle when his scarred hands smooth over your sides. He slowly moves in with both hands, dipping between your thighs, and just when you think he's finally going to touch your dripping slit...

He gently parts your thighs and continues moving, lightening his touch as fingertips drag over your inner thighs. You let out a mournful cry when he continues down your legs, hands smoothing against your outer thighs and hooking underneath as he reaches your knees.

He exhales, flicks his eyes up to your face with a blank look that usually spells trouble. Without warning, he yanks you toward him in a controlled jerk, leaning down as you yelp. Before you can get your bearings, his hot tongue is dragging flat against your heat. You let out a moan that almost drowns out his own at the flavor.

"God, y-you're so wet for me, [n-name]." His breath is hot against you, green eyes locked on yours. "You taste so good."

You'd like to respond, really you would, but he goes right back to eating you out, tongue firmly dancing over your clit before dipping into you. His hands grip your thighs as he enthusiastically gets to work, little moans peppering the space in between your own gasps and pants. You throw your head back as he works—he's a messy eater, to be sure, but you swear you can feel him learning as he goes. He's probably cataloging every noise you make, every twitch of your thighs, especially if the rhythm he quickly falls into is anything to go by.

When he moves to latch his mouth over your clit, his eyes closed as he loses himself to pleasuring you, and you're so so close, maybe you can get away with at least winding your fingers through his hair—

The moment your hands move, his eyes shoot open, and he pulls away from your pussy with a look that screams nothing but disappointment, though it doesn't quite cut. "Honeybun..." he says, voice husky and gently chiding, your slick glistening on his lips. "You said you'd keep your hands to yourself."

You instantly slam your hands back down to the couch, letting out a whine as you give him a pleading look. "B-but I wanna touch you, Izu," you whine out.

His hips buck against air at your words, his nose twitching in surprise as his eyes widen. Seeing a crack in his armor, you have to pounce. "Come on, Jackrabbit," you insist. "You're so good to me. Can't I make you feel amazing, too?"

He's so stunned that he hardly reacts as you prop yourself up on one elbow, yanking him down for a hot kiss with a hand on the nape of his neck. You wrinkle your nose in distaste when you realize you can taste yourself on his lips, but that doesn't mean you're going to stop, not by any means. You lift a knee, opening one eye to make sure you're aiming correctly, and rub against his aching bulge just as his tongue slips into your mouth.

The poor boy jerks away from your mouth, letting out a quiet, drawn out moan as his cock twitches against your knee.

He stares at you for a moment, face flushed and breathing heavy as tiny tears form at the corners of his eyes. "I-I'm so sorry, [name], I wanted you t-to—"

You cut him off with a sweet kiss, locking lips with him as you carefully shimmy out of your bra and bottoms (both having been left hastily shoved out of the way), tossing them out of the way. When you're properly stripped, you gently push him back so you're both sitting up and pull away with a sweet smile.

"We're only done here if you want to be, Zuzu," you say, dripping with affection (and perhaps maybe something else).

He immediately shakes his head, ears following the motion as his face flushes worse. "N-no, I want to... I want to keep going."

You chuckle softly and slide off the couch, gently guiding him to sit in front of you properly before you reach up to toy with the zipper of his pants. "Then, let's keep going, hm~?"

He nods, nose twitching relentlessly as you slowly pull his zipper down and slide your hands into his pants. You cheekily smooth your hands over his ass before actually beginning to pull his pants and boxers off in one go. You giggle as his cock springs out, somehow still hard despite the obvious mess of cum clinging to his thighs and the inside of his boxers. You slowly lean forward, sure to make eye contact with him. Instead of going for the mess he's made just yet, however, you run a thumb through some of his cum and smear it over his abs, just to have an excuse to lick it off.

You're slow and sweet as you lick up his abs, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. The look he gives you is almost one of betrayal as you pull back, and you bring a hand to your lips with a coquettish grin.

"Sorry Izu baby, I've been wanting to do that for the longest time," you admit, resting your arms on his legs and your head on your arms.

He groans lowly at the admission, head dropping back. "H-how long—" he breathes out, cutting off when you drag a finger over his length.

God, even his cock is gorgeous. Long, thick, honestly just a little bit intimidating. You're functionally a virgin thanks to your formative years spent being silently in love with a certain green rabbit boy, so you're a little concerned that he'll split you in half when you actually fuck.

...You might not complain if he does.

You admire it with adoring eyes as he whimpers. "Now's not the time for asking questions, Jackrabbit," you coo, glancing up at him for only a moment before wrapping your hand around his cock. (Christ, you can barely wrap your whole hand around it.) "I was good long enough, so you'll let me return the favor, right?"

"I'll be good," he whines, bucking into your hand something fierce. "I'll be good so please, [name], please—"

You lift your head from where it rests, guiding his tip to your mouth to press a tiny kiss there. Izuku whimpers in response, attempting to buck his hips again. You smile, snaking an arm around behind him to gently run your thumb over the fluff of his tail. You keep a light hold on it, just touching it enough to feel it as you take a deep breath in preparation. When you're ready, you lean forward again slowly, teasingly breathing hot air onto his cock before finally, finally taking him into your mouth.

"Fuck," Izuku breathes as your mouth closes over him, gripping the couch cushions with white knuckles.

If you thought you'd take this slow and teasing, well, regrettably, Izuku can't seem to control himself well enough for that. He bucks into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease as you choke. You tug his tail ever-so-slightly as a warning, but his response is almost more than the way he lost his mind earlier—his hips move frantically, leaving you to do nothing but relax and take his cock down your throat.

"I-I'm sorry," he babbles. "Y-your mouth is so— so good, you're so good for me, honeybun, I'm sorry, I don't think— ahn~ I don't think I can be good like you asked, it's too good, you're too good, s-soooooooo—"

You manage to tear yourself away from him just in time for him to erupt, hot ropes of cum hitting your face and the top of your breasts, precious little making it into your mouth as you gasp for air. His tail twitches in your hand as he babbles, legs shaking and feet gently thumping the floor. You gently, carefully, clean him up, pausing to grab your discarded shirt and wipe your face off.

When you're both clean and still out of breath, you rest your head against his leg, tilting up at him sweetly as you trace small, soothing circles over his opposite thigh. "You said you'd be good, but I guess this makes us even, huh, 'Zuku?"

He mutters something you don't quite catch.

"What was that?"

"I said—" —you're suddenly tackled once again, skidding across the floor from sheer force as Izuku pins you down— "—not. yet."

Well. Mark me down as scared and horny, I guess.

"S-still raring to go, Jackrabbit?" you force out in your best teasing tone. "Huh, guess it's true what they say about fucking like—"

"Hush," he hisses out in a dark tone. You gulp; all the adoration and sweetness you're used to from him has melted away, leaving only something dark and carnal in his eyes that has you shivering. And then, almost instantaneously, he slips into a saccharine tone. "Be a good girl and let me take care of you, okay sweetheart?"

Oh god. You nod so quickly it's dizzying, so slightly that if it were anyone other than Izuku watching you, they might not notice. But it is Izuku and he notices, just like he notices your breath hitching when he does something right, notices how you respond to his praise, notices how you watch him, excited and intimidated all at once, and the smile he gives you is deceptively sweet and innocent and so so unsuited to the situation at hand that if the circumstances were different, you'd laugh. But you're not laughing. Not when you feel his head prod against your entrance and circle teasingly.

He doesn't tease you for long, though. One whine from you is all it takes for him to slide into you, made easier by how soaked you get the moment his goddamn guttural groan reaches your ears. He shakes as he enters you at a torturous pace, drawing a cry from your lips as you feel yourself stretched in a way you've never been before. The slightest squelch fills your living room as he finally bottoms out in you and stills to let you adjust to his size.

You're not sure whether to thank every deity that he's got at least enough self control to let you adjust (or that he's going to fuck you at all) or to plead for him to please god just rearrange my guts already before you lose your fucking mind. Izuku forces himself to open his eyes and watch you as you take him in, biting his lip as your face contorts. It's so much, so much to not just ruin you right off the bat, but he's careful to wait and not hurt you... too badly, at least.

You just watch him, meeting his eyes with a half-lidded gaze of your own as you pant and lie still. After a moment, Izuku realizes why you're so still and quiet—

His head drops into your shoulder as he chuckles. "You really are so good for me, honeybun. Are you ready?"

"P-please~" you mewl into his ear.

That's all he needs to hear. Slowly, carefully, he pulls out of you until just the tip of his cock is left throbbing inside of you, and then he snaps his hips forward in one sharp motion. That damn smile drops from his face, his jaw going slack as he starts a slow pace, trying his absolute damnedest to not completely lose himself. As much as he adores watching your expressions, he can't help but throw his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he pistons into you, panting heavily.

"Hah~ Fuck, [name], y-you're so— so tight~"

When he finally brings himself to take a peek down at you, he can't help the sudden increase in both speed and force as he grips your hips. With every thrust, your tits bounce in response, and your expression is nothing short of starstruck as he damn near slams into you. Before he even realizes it, a stream of words fall from his lips, every one of them truthful, adoring, and just a little bit incoherent. Your mouth hangs open in silence, unable to even moan as he drills into you at a pace quickly approaching brutal speeds.

"God, y-you feel so much— so much better than I ever expected-hoped-dreamed about, honeybun, and I really mean that, really mean that, you're so— guh, so tight around me, i-it's hard to believe you weren't made to take my cock, you know? You're so hot and wet and tight and I— I-love-you-love-you-love-you oh godddd I love you so much you're so gooooooood~"

If you were able to focus enough to think, let alone speak, you'd probably make some comment about how he's literally fucking you like a rabbit, but it's all you can do to claw desperately at his back, legs locking weakly around his hips as you quiver beneath him. Between the way he's babbling nonsensically to you and the wet slaps filling the room and the charming sloppy-enthusiastic way he's fucking you relentlessly it's almost too much. If you can walk after this, it'll be nothing short of a miracle.

You've been almost silent, practically unable to moan due to the overwhelming bliss from being stretched out so deliciously, but the keen that tears from your throat as the building knot in your stomach finally snaps is loud, nails dragging down his back one last time as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.

There's not really any doubt left in Izuku's mind that he's fucked you stupid, not with your walls fluttering around him, not with your hands desperately moving, searching for something, and he's got an idea of what it is when your hand brushes his tail and yanks, rougher than you have before, hard enough to send him crashing over the edge with you and nearly making his legs give out from the pleasure.

Izuku's vision blacks out as the pleasure crashes over him, the pair of you riding out your orgasms in tandem as he paints your walls white. You're dizzy as he finally collapses on top of your body, shuddering and not bothering to pull out of you as he rests his cheek against your heaving breasts.

"Holy shit, Izuku," you breathe, hands tangling in his hair as you stare up at your ceiling.

"Now we're even," he says, shaking a bit as he chuckles.

"I hope you know I'm never letting you go." His hair is soft as you nuzzle into it. "Holy shit."

"Aw, am I that good?" he teases, slowly pulling out of you. You whine at the loss. "Shh, it's okay, honeybun. I promise that won't be the last time."

"Thank god," you mumble, playing with his hair lazily. "Go out with me."

"No."

Your hands still, your blood running cold. "Oh."

"You go out with me," he finishes, smiling against you.

You lightly smack the back of his head. "You scared me, dick."

"Is that a yes?"

You go back to playing with his hair. "I guess. But you have to go out with me, too."

"Yes, that's how it works."

"Really?" you retort. "You had me fooled, rejecting me so you could ask me out instead."

"What can I say?" He lifts his head, pushing himself up to plant a soft kiss on your lips. "I wanted to win."

"You could've killed me, Izu," you whine. "You're heavy and then you say no—"

He rolls his eyes, nuzzling into your neck. "You know I could never actually say no to you, right?"

"Oh~? Are you saying you're too in love?" you tease.

He giggles, pressing tiny kisses along your neck. "Yes, I am. I've been in love with you since middle school. Got a problem with it, honeybun?"

"O-oh." Huh.

"What? Got nothin' to say to that?" he teases.

"S-sorry, I'm just... fuck, you're saying I could've had you years ago?" You press a kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears. "I've been in love with you for just as long and this whole time I've just been pining instead of kissing you."

"Pining?" he echoes, rolling off of you with a grunt. He immediately wraps his arms around you to pull you flush with his side, smirking at your little squeak of surprise.

You blush, burying your face in his chest. "Y-yeah, I said it. Pining."

"Tell me more, Honeybun. I'm interested to know exactly what you mean." A large hand drifts up to card through your hair affectionately, and you sigh as you drape your arm over him.

"Izuku," you whine. "It's embarrassing."

"Please, [name]?"

"...fine," you mumble. "I was always... You were always so sweet and kind and passionate, and in middle school you were cute and I wanted to protect you. But then we got to high school, and oh no he's hot, I guess... I mean, shit, Izu, you got muscles. And scars. I know you don't like them much but they're hot."

"'Hot', huh...?"

You don't have to look at him to note how much he's clearly enjoying this. "Keep making fun of me and you can sleep on the floor tonight."

"That's okay, as long as you're here, too," he replies without missing a beat. "Do you wanna get up and go wash up? I can't imagine all that feels very comfy right now."

You laugh nervously. "I'd love to, but, uh. I still can't feel my legs. I don't think I can walk."

Izuku lets out an affronted gasp as he sits up. "[name]. I'm offended at the implication that I'd make you walk." He pushes himself up. "You wait here, and I'll run you a bath."

"Mm... no," you reply, watching him with subtle amusement. "Run us a bath, Jackrabbit."

He laughs, shooting you a wink. "Anything for you, Honeybun. I'll be right back."

He rushes off on shaky legs. You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles when he returns not even a moment later.

"Hey, [name]?"

"Hm? Could it be that you don't know where my bathroom is?"

He rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Maybe."

You laugh. "Down the hall, first door on your right."

"Right. Gotcha! Thanks, Honeybun. Oh, one more thing?"

"What's that?"

His expression shifts, eyes dripping with fondness as he looks you over. "I love you."

Your heart swells, smile unwittingly stretching your cheeks at the confession. "I love you too, Izuku."

#midoriya izuku x reader #bnha x reader #smut #not sfw #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #my fics #bnha reader insert #midoriya izuku x reader smut #bunny!izuku #bunny!izuku x reader

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athenamgh · 3 years

Text

DON'T FORGET ME - #II

a/n: soo this is part twoo... part threee? Hmmm.. not sure yet..

paring/s: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

summary: two broken hearts need to heal each other.. but will they..

warning/s: tears, angst, fluff (i am not sure....)

word count: 2.8k

Chapter I || Chapter II

Natasha Romanoff MASTERLIST

As you stood in front of a mirror smoothing your palms over the small wrinkles on your dark velvet suit, the only thought that was lingering in your mind was how desperately you wanted to crawl up in a ball in your bed and just stay like that forever. You didn’t want to go to that party.

Of course, you wanted to see your dear friends but the thought of how much it will hurt to see Natasha again was almost unbearable. The one that still was, as you understood from Wanda, just as unhappy as you were and you absolutely hated yourself for that.

Your eyes slowly started to travel up your body, the suit still suited you perfectly, shaping your strong arms and wrapping your torso just in the right way. Your gaze stopped at your neck, if a person had very attentive eyes he could spot two necklaces wrapping your neck. You could feel the material of dog tags coldy gazing at your skin, but the other, smaller necklace, you didn’t feel, you just knew it was there, but you didn’t dare to pull it out from under your shirt and look at it, you didn't have the strength, not yet at least.

You felt your heart race as your eyes slowly moved up your face, first they captured your dry lips and a small knife cut scar just above the right corner of your lip. Your tongue brushed it, feeling the roughness of the wounded skin. Finally your eyes connected in a mirror and you saw how your natural pupil color turned to hungry flaming red, your eyes now gloomy, the normal white conjunctiva turning black.

You clenched your jaw at the sight. And you heard a whisper, too familiar whisper: “This is exactly why you could never have her.”. You clenched your fist so tightly that made your knuckles turn white at the words. “You are weak” the voice screamed inside your head and you punched the mirror. It broke, the pieces fell to the ground and your knuckles now covered the blood because of the little cuts. You cursed to yourself remembering that you spent hours picking this mirror and now you will need to order another one again.

---

You already spent around an hour at Tony's party. And you were surprised at how you were still standing here and didn’t leave in the first thirty minutes, because the music was too loud for your enjoyment and people too unrecognizable. You made small talk with almost everyone you knew and now there standing next to the window, your right hand occupied with the glass full of liquid, the other one resting in your pants pocket.. Damn, you missed this view, you could oversee the whole night city from here. People, cars, animals, the smallest lights, streets and buildings, it all were at your feet.

“Unforgettable feeling, huh?” you didn’t even need to turn your head, to know who exactly was standing beside you.

“As you say old man..” you said chuckling, glancing to the side where Tony stood.

He embraced your shoulders with his left arm, “Ahh, that is exactly what I was missing this past year.” You looked at him with a bit surprised expression, arching your eyebrow at him, Tony never was a guy to share too much of his inner feelings. “What?” he asked. You threw your hands up in defence shaking your head. “Those suckers need you” he points over his shoulder, making you turn around and look at Wanda, Steve, Thor and others talking. “Also, I could use your brains for my new project.”

“Do you?” you said playfully not looking back at him. Your eyes wandered through the crowded room, desperately searching for a certain someone, you haven’t seen yet.

Tony definitely noticed it. “It’s still Natasha, isn’t it?” he said quietly. You clench your hand tighter around the glass, taking a swing of the drink.

You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as hard as you could just to relax it again. Taking a deep breath you answered “It’s always been her,” You chuckled “I am pretty sure it’s always going to be her.”

“Then, why did you leave?” Tony asked with a serious tone, his straightforwardness made you take a few steps back .

“You know why I left..” you turned to face him, a tired look on your face. You already did this ritual with Steve months ago, you didn’t want to do this again. “I am dangerous!” you said wanting to wrap this up already, but you could see an ignorant expression appear on Tony’s face, he was not satisfied with your answer. “What do you want me to say?”

“What about, something that is not total bullshit?” he said with a dumb smile.

You sighted in frustration looking around the room “I could never give her a happy, normal life for a long run.. never..”

Tony placed his hand on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes again, “Maybe, you should have let her decide what is her definition of a normal life.. Cuz kiddo, none of us here'' he pointed to other avengers ''are living a normal life and never will.” You looked down at your boots, you knew this all too well, this horrible thought bothered you all the time. Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you rushed, maybe you needed.. well, now it was too late, you screwed up and badly.

You finally look up at him, changing the topic “So, you said you have a project for me?” this yearned a smile from Tony.

“Right this way, kid” he said, chuckling. As you passed others from the corner of your eyes you saw Tony give a small thumbs up to Steve, but you brushed it away.

---

Your eyebrows narrowed and eyes carefully running through the prototype Tony has been working on for the past few months now. It was a confusing and complicated mechanism, but it looked cool and had a bunch of advanced and very beneficial functions to fight off any alarming threats. “Why haven't you connected the A site area to G one, to decrease the speed in case of an overload?” you said pointing to the red area with big letter A.

Tony looks down at the scheme and rubs his palms, “Ahh, you right. How could I have missed that!?” he said, connecting the dots.

“Cuz you old..” you said, chuckling and getting a light punch to your shoulder. You couldn’t lie to yourself as much as you were trying to convince yourself that you didn't miss all of this: helping out Tony, teaching new recruits with Steve, testing Wanda's abilities.. training with Natasha and cuddl... ahh you did miss it.. and a lot actually. The memories of staying up late just to find yourself waking up on top of the table to the smell of Wanda’s pancakes and soft Natasha's touches..

“Tony? Steve said you needed me?” your thoughts interrupted a person whose voice you could have recognized anywhere in the world, no matter how loud or quiet how big or small the place was.. you just in an instance. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw no other but Natasha Romanoff herself. Your jaw dropped as you saw her red curly hair falling perfectly down her shoulder, her black dress hugging her figure just in the right places. She looked stunning. You swore she was one of the most beautiful people that have ever walked this earth.

As she saw you she freezed in her steps, her lips escaped a gasp, “Y/n..”.

“Natasha..” you said almost immediately. You looked at each other frozen, forgetting everyone around. After, what it looked like was a whole minute, you heard Tony shift besides you. And suddenly, you realized the whole signal to Steve and this secret twisted plan. You turned to Tony with narrowed eyes “You didn’t need my help, did you?”

Tony cleared his throat “I’d say no, cuz I am a genius playboy millionaire, but you actually did help to improve the prototype. So that was unexpected.” he said smiling innocently. You rolled your eyes at him.

“No..” you heard the whisper slip through Natasha's lips, you quickly turned to look at her. She shook her head if your eyes weren’t so perceptive you wouldn't have noticed how her eyes watered, she turned around and stormed out of the room.

You glanced at Tony for a second and he mouthed at you ‘GO!’ you took off and started running towards Romanoff.

---

You were about to knock on Natasha's room door but you heard a sob in the opposite direction. You knew exactly who's room it was.. or used to be. You turned around facing the opposite room door, on it was still engraved your name.

Your lips split a gasp as you opened a door and found your room untouched. The bed, the table, hanging photographs, your favorite painting of the Avengers 'squad' , damn you were and still are such a nerd, shelves full of books, all the stuff you forgot to pick up from the compound was still left untouched.

You saw Natasha sitting at the other side of the bed, her back to the entrance. It was quite now, you couldn't hear even the smallest or quietest wail…

''Na- '' you started but she quickly cut you off.

''You know, people knock..'' she said with a serious tone. Her voice was firm, you couldn't hear any cracks in it.

''Technically it's still my room, you know..'' you said playfully.. wishing to ease up the gloomy atmosphere surrounding both of you. But she seemed to ignore your statement..

After a few seconds of silence you spoke up again, with a light voice ''Nat''.

''No'' she quickly said standing up. ''I can't do this..'' she said still facing the wall, her arms now hugging her torso tightly.

''Please, Nat, listen to me'' you were ready to beg for her to just listen to what you had to say.. just listen, that was all you wished for.

''Why, y/n?'' she finally turned around and for the first time in months you really looked into her forest green eyes. They were cold and puffed from tears, her face pale, lips tight and nose a bit running. You noticed that she was also analyzing your face and expressions. ''Tell me why should I listen to you? Why after all this time you decided to explain yourself?'' she was hurt… so hurt.. and damn you hated yourself for that..

“Sometimes… sometimes I just want to rip out my heart and give it to you. Because, I can’t. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t hold this pain in my heart. Because I can’t close my eyes without dreaming of you. I can’t walk anywhere without seeing you. I can’t do anything without you.. y/n''

These words struck you like lightning, your heart clenched in your chest, your eyes watering and vision becoming blurry. You clenched your jaw, looking down. Natasha never was the one to talk about her feelings so freely, but from her eyes you saw that she had enough, she needed to express everything she was feeling, all the pain. But all your lips could spread was only her name "Nat.."

''What? You left me y/n!'' This agonizing scream made you look back at Natasha, her eyes filling up with painful tears. ''You promised that you'll never leave.. and you did..'' she said, her voice cracking. She was right.. Natasha, this amazing woman, who gave you her heart and you crushed it.. and why? Because of your own fears and demons? For being afraid to lose control and put her in danger, for being afraid of losing her because of your selfish acts? ''And the worst thing is that all I can think of..'' she continued, brushing the tear running down her cheek. ''Is that it is all my fault..''

''No no no..'' words quickly spilled through your lips as you took a few steps forwards to be just a little bit closer to Natasha, but she left standing frozen in her place. ''Nat.. it's not your fault.. it never was..'' you said with so much assurance in your eyes.

''Then why?'' Natasha now took a few steps towards you, leaving the two of you a hand stretch apart.

At her question your hands started to shake a little, you closed your eyes taking a deep breath. Your right hand brushing through your hair and stopping at your neck, eyes turned away, intensely staring at the floor. Somewhere deep down in the back of your mind you could hear that awful whisper, cruely reminding you 'you're not worthy of her.. have you forgotten who you are..'

Natasha noticed your body reaction, she grabbed you by your forearms, bringing you a little bit closer to her. Even from such a distance you already could feel the warmth radiating from her, her scent already invading your lungs, oh how much you missed this, even if small, but closeness to her.

''What's wrong y/n'' she asked you, her voice now softer and you could hear a hint of worry in it too.

''I.. '' you stuttered. ''I am so sorry Nat, I didn't want to hurt you.. I.. ha- hate'' your words getting caught in your throat because of upcoming tears ''I hate myself for how much pain I caused you.. I am sooo sorry'' your hands began to shake even more intensively, your eyes shut even tighter.

Natasha brought her hands to your face, cupping your cheeks. ''Y/n look at me'' you shook your head, you couldn't let her see you like this. ''Please..'' she said so warmly and quietly, her warm thumb brushing your cheek with staining tears that you thought you had dried months ago, asking you to look up at her.

Your arms eased up, you took another deep breath, straightened up. You opened your eyes looking at her. You saw how mixed emotions ran through Natasha's face as she for the first time saw your reddish beast's eyes, her hands clenched tighter around your face in surprise. ''I am cursed Nat..'' your eyes watered again, you were ready for her to push you away, but you were confused as to why she was still here, still holding your face so dearly, like her life dependent on it.

''I left because I couldn't let you love somebody who everyday puts you in so much danger.. I couldn't let you love somebody who is forever cursed… you do not deserve it Natasha.. you deserve someone so much better… someone who can actually make you happy.'' a few tears more ran through your cheek, you felt how her thumbs brushed them just beneath your eyelids, she didn't seem to be disgusted or scared of you.

Suddenly she looked deep into your eyes. Those two green orbs staring right back at you, your heart skipped a beat as you realized those eyes still had that unconditional love in them that you missed so much. ''I loved you Nat.. I love you Natasha Romanoff, but I am afraid I do not deserve to have your heart..'' at these last words you felt how Natasha's hands slipped further and wrapped around your neck, bringing you two closer and connecting your lips into such a longing kiss. You secured your arm around her waist at the touch of your lips in an instance, smashing your bodies even closer together. She tasted so sweet and comforting and everything that you missed about her.

You finally separated your lips because you were in need of such mundane thing as oxygen. Taking a deep breath Natasha spoke up ''There is no one more deserving than you y/n..'' she said, brushing the loose strand of hair from your face. ''I do not need a normal life.. hell nothing about my life is normal.. it never was'' she said looking back to your eyes, with light surprise. You could feel that your eyes were back at her natural color shape again.

''And this?'' you gestured to your eye level. Her thumb ghosted just below your right eyelid and then brushed the slim finger lightly against your bottom lip.

She smiled ''I don't care y/n..'' she looked deep into your eyes.. ''I just want you''.

You could feel your eyes sparkle, heart beating like crazy. You took her right hand and brought it to your lips, kissing it lightly, you forgot how indeed soft they were. ''Will you forgive me?'' you asked with so much hope.

''Yes..'' she said with such a light voice and bright smile on her face. You couldn't suppress your happiness anymore. You picked her up and spinned around. As you placed her on the ground you kissed her again. More passionately this time, putting every single drop of love and affection and everything that you were feeling towards her.. so she would know it. Without any doubts.

Natasha broke the kiss away gasping for air. ''Woah, calm down tiger!'' she said with a smile ''We have a lot to catch up'' she said with a smirk spreading across her face, making you arch your eyebrow at her seductively.

#natasha x y/n #natasha #nat #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widdow #black widow fic #black widow x reader #reader #natasha x reader #story #avengers #avengers x reader #the avengers #avenger fanfiction

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

May passes into June and they quietly acknowledge that it has been one year since the day Mulder walked into the autopsy bay. They spend their weekends watching movies, making love, and hanging out with the Gunmen, Missy often in attendance as she and Byers become somewhat of an item. Every other Sunday they have lunch with her mother, Mulder meeting Bill by way of an awkward phone call and a promise that they will come out to visit San Diego sometime soon. The moratorium on weekday overnights fades away and the days they spend in each other’s beds begin to outnumber those that they don’t.

One day in early August, Mulder laments how lonely Priscilla gets when he’s gone for the night, crying and following him from room to room when he comes home and plaguing him with guilt. Scully suggests that he bring her over with him, setting up a litter box and food bowl in an unused corner of the living room. Without the daily need to care for a cat, he spends more and more time at her apartment, his suits taking over half her closet and his T-shirts occupying one of her drawers. He still has his fish to feed and so they can tell themselves that they don’t technically live together, though it’s been weeks since anyone slept at his apartment. The excitement of new love gives way to the familiar comfort of domesticity, questions about their lives prior to meeting morphing into what they’re having for dinner and whether someone can pick up toilet paper on the way home from work. They each visit the doctor for a full workup and, everything coming back clear, stop using condoms, relying on the progestin shot Scully goes in for every three months to prevent pregnancy.

Far from boring, they find worthy sparring partners in one another, debating everything from whether the moon landing was a hoax to the merits of String Theory, arguing their points of view passionately before they agree to disagree and then let their clothes fall to the floor. They discover the things they love best about one another; Mulder’s unrelenting curiosity and Scully’s bottomless compassion, as well as those they like the least; his forgetfulness when he’s focused on something and her tendency to shut him out when she’s upset. Whether completing a crossword puzzle together or watching Jeopardy, they embrace the ways that they are different and how they balance one another out; his creativity to her order, her planning to his impulsivity, his acceptance to her skepticism. Yin and yang, tall and small, bold and tempered; there is a completeness in their union that makes them each feel whole.

Even in their intensity and their commitment, Mulder has never again uttered the words ‘I love you’ and Scully has never said them at all. Far from a red flag or a hesitance to be vulnerable, they simply don’t feel the need to express it aloud. She knows he loves her when he drives forty minutes out of his way to pick up her favorite donuts or reads the latest issue of JAMA just so he can discuss the articles with her. He knows she loves him when she indulges him in theoretical discussions on the mating rituals of Sasquatch, not bothering to point out that the creature doesn’t exist, or wastes entire Saturdays watching movies that were bad enough to earn Razzies because he finds poorly made films entertaining.

Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, accepting his explanation that his mother is cold and his father distant, which is why she feels caught off guard when he calls her at work on a Tuesday to tell her that his mother had a stroke, and he is on his way to the hospital. He doesn’t ask her for anything, but she leaves work anyway, approaching the reception desk of the emergency department with a level of calm only a doctor is capable of.

“I’m looking for Teena Mulder, she should have been admitted within the last few hours,” she says to the young woman behind the desk.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman answers, “but visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 and someone is already with her now. Are you family?” The woman looks at her expectantly.

“Um, no, I’m not,” she replies, not bothering to explain that Tenna Mulder is her boyfriend’s mother, who she’s never met.

“You can take a seat then,” the woman says with a well-practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She finds an empty seat and pulls in a deep breath, taking out her cell phone in hopes she can reach Mulder, though cell reception in hospitals is notoriously bad.

“Excuse me, are you Dana?” someone says from a few seats away, and she turns to see an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with receding dark brown hair and tired bags under his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies, eyeing him skeptically as he rises from his seat and takes the one just beside her.

“I’m Bill Mulder, Fox’s father,” he says, offering his hand.

She takes it, scanning him for similarities to Mulder and finding none, other than his complexion and hair color.

“Oh, hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Mulder,” she stumbles, a bit confused. As Mulder tells it, his parents are divorced and not on friendly terms.

“Please, you can call me Bill,” he says with a small smile, and she nods. “Fox is with her now, though I don’t think she’s awake,” he offers.

They sit in awkward silence, Scully realizing she has absolutely no information with which to start a conversation. Mulder has told her nothing about his parents, aside from the details relevant to his sister’s abduction. She doesn’t know what Bill Mulder does, or did, for a living, or where he lives. Just when she’s considering going home, Mulder emerges from a set of double doors.

He was clearly looking for his father, but when he sees Scully his eyebrows knit and his chin puckers in relief. She stands and he scoops her up, squeezing her so tight it hurts.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers hoarsely into her ear.

They part, hands clasped, and he addresses his father.

“Mom just woke up, you can go see her soon, but since Scully is here I’d like to take her back first.”

Scully gives him an incredulous look.

“Mulder, I’m sure your mom doesn’t want to meet me for the first time from a hospital bed,” she pleads.

“I know, but I want you to look at her chart. I just want to make sure that what the doctors are saying is accurate,” he says with desperate eyes, and she nods.

He leads her back through the double doors and into a room where a tall white-haired woman is reclining in the bed, an oxygen cannula tucked under her nose. While she saw little resemblance between Mulder and his father, the likeness to his mother is almost jarring; her stately nose and hooded eyes curating in Scully an immediate fondness for her. She blinks slowly at them, confusion furrowing her brow.

“Mom, this is Dana,” he says, and her expression shifts into one that is slightly pained.

She attempts to speak, one side of her mouth rooting for words that she can’t quite find.

“Hi Mrs. Mulder, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” Scully offers, “I’m a medical doctor, Fox asked me to take a look at your chart, if that’s okay?”

Teena nods and closes her eyes, and Scully goes to retrieve her chart from near the door. After she’s looked it over, they say goodbye and return to the lobby to find Mulder’s father.

“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll see you in there,” Mulder says, and then walks Scully to her car.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as they stand next to her open car door, worry crumpling his features.

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, Mulder. Her stroke was significant, you can see that by the degree to which it’s impacting her speech and gross motor function. It shouldn't get any worse, but she’ll need to go through rehab, and likely need some in-home care for a bit until we know the long term impact. It’s very possible that she’ll be able to continue living independently, but not right away.”

Mulder heaves a big sigh and nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, but I think I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” she replies, bringing her palm to his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, again, for coming down here. You didn’t have to.”

“Mulder, of course I did,” she says with concern. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

He kisses her one, two, three times, pulling her close for a beat, clinging to her for dear life.

“I love you,” he chokes out, and she hugs him tighter.

“I love you too,” she replies, her chin tucked tight into the crook of his neck.

When he releases his grip on her, she brings her hands to his jaw, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out,” she assures him, and he nods tersely.

———

She’s in bed reading, Priscilla curled up on her stomach, when she hears the thunk of the deadbolt.

“Mulder?” she calls out, and he pokes his head through the door.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be in in a minute,” he says, then disappears again.

He returns ten minutes later, shower-fresh and warm. She sets her book aside to envelop him in her arms, his head finding a home on her chest as his arms snake around her ribcage.

“How is she?” she asks as she strokes her fingers through his hair and down his neck soothingly.

“The same,” he says with a defeated tone, “they might release her to rehab tomorrow.”

“And how are you?” she asks, giving his neck a little squeeze.

He groans. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About your mom?”

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbow to look at her, “about life, I guess.”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to toil away in the BSU for the rest of my life, Scully. If I die tomorrow, what will I have to show for it?”

She frowns at him sympathetically.

“You make a difference in the BSU, Mulder. You help catch murderers, prevent further loss of life. It may not seem like it because you’re so far removed from the people it impacts, but you do.”

He flops back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re probably right, but it still feels pretty pointless.”

“What would you rather be doing?” she asks gently, rolling on to her side to face him.

“Honestly?” he steals a glance at her before continuing, “investigating The X Files. Making progress in understanding what happened to my sister. Working to expose those who are responsible for the coverup of secret government operations.”

“Maybe you should talk to AD Skinner, try again. Maybe The X files could be reopened,” she says softly, brushing her palm over his arm.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Scully. They won’t let me operate without a partner and no one wants to work with me.”

“I’d work with you, but that’s against bureau policy,” she says with a small smile, and he looks at her with an affectionate gaze.

“I’m sure you’d have a field day debunking all my work,” he says coyly.

“I would never,” she retorts sarcastically.

He rolls back towards her, pulling her close with her head tucked under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“Well you do have me, so there’s no point in thinking about it,” she replies.

He sighs deeply, reaching past her to turn off the bedside lamp, and they sleep.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

the himbo chronicles

part i | part ii

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: kissing, underage drinking, kissing with consent while under the influence, please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: roman/logan, offscreen patton/virgil

word count: 8,877

notes: i simply could not resist writing about these good good boys for a moment longer. i love them. this work takes place in the late summer/early fall between logan’s freshman and sophomore year of college, or almost four years after the main storyline. if you need a quick rundown of the characters (i know seven new characters might be a lot to digest!) here’s a quick guide to each of the boys. please enjoy!

⁂

one had a certain expectation when it came to many college-aged boys living in the same house together. partying. general revelry. chaos. messy surroundings. the loud blaring of video games. more than just a touch of hedonism, certainly.

logan sanders is a rather atypical college-aged boy. in his past reveries when considering college, he'd thought of the libraries he'd spend hours in, the books he'd pore over, the professors that would come to mentor him. perhaps the occasional errant thought of a party he'd be dragged to, but then his brain had moved to college newspapers and their framing on pieces when it came to excessive drinking and how to interview fraternity presidents concerning their unsettling hazing rituals.

during his senior year, a fair amount of his fretting had transitioned into how to handle the distance from his father, patton, and pseudo-father, virgil, back home in sideshire, which proved itself solved quite handily; yale is close enough that it's not even a notably long drive. the other worrisome part, though, were how to visit his long-term boyfriend, roman, who was no longer even in the same state. but they'd made it work, over the past year, and logan is currently sitting in an armchair he'd dragged over to the front window of the house, trying and miserably failing to pay attention to some of his class reading.

once he'd gotten to college, though, those social expectations for the rest of his peers had certainly been proven, if simply by virtue of examining the rest of his classmates. his life, however, seems ill-contented to have left it at that; he can safely say that his social circle is not entirely like he'd expected his college friends to be.

for instance, as he hears the creaking of the old wood floors behind him—

"if you start making fun of me for waiting by the window for roman again i will take points from your good noodle chart," logan threatens, and adam scampers off with barely-contained snickering.

he had not expected to have to say that sentence during his college years at all.

there's a hastily-stifled laugh, and logan swivels around to see jordan, who is certainly paying very studious attention to his own class reading.

logan's eyes narrow at him.

"you usually study in the kitchen," logan says, just barely keeping an accusing tone out of his voice.

"more natural light in here," jordan says, nodding to the window, his lip caught between his teeth.

logan scowls.

"...okay," jordan relents, "and—"

"i knew it."

"c'mon, none of us have met him before!" jordan protests, even as logan is calculating the chances of being able to kick jordan out of here. they are not particularly good; he can hear andrew, derek, and edward loudly talking about their SQUH-SQUH-SQUH SQUAT CHALLEEEEEENGE! in the living room, which is open to the kitchen. the counting of the squats they can do is very noisy, not even factoring in the trash-talk.

"privacy would be appreciated," logan says.

"in this house?" jordan says skeptically, which is a fair point; there are nine of them crammed into five rooms. logan's room is technically a single only by virtue of it being an attic that can barely fit a lofted bed with a desk and a dresser warring for space underneath. logan is fairly certain that janus's shared room with matthew in the basement was never intended for long-term human habitation, either.

"i knew i should have met him at the station," logan says, ruffling the pages of his book.

"is logan talking about us?" matthew shouts from the living room. his feet pound against the hardwood as he poked his red head around the corner, his eyes going as teasingly pleading as jordan's. "you're not gonna make us miss meeting our step-daddy, are you, mom?"

the "mom" thing is somewhat new, too, and also an aspect of college life that logan had not foreseen. perhaps logan should have seen it coming when he started instituting a chore chart and a chart for good behavior with plastic dinosaur toys as rewards. for reasons that elude him, the boys named it the "good noodle" chart.

he had mostly started the chart after what might have been a joke from janus, in retrospect, but he certainly isn't going to stop now, not when it's been proven to be so effective.

what he says instead of respond to matthew's question is "have you finished the dishes?"

matthew hesitates, looking back over his shoulder to the countertops.

"...yyeesss...?"

logan arches an eyebrow at him. "if i walk in there, will there be dishes in the sink?"

matthew attempts to model his eyes after jordan, widening them and trying to look innocent. he isn't as gifted at it.

"it would be a shame if you had to be demoted on the good noodle chart because you didn't finish your chores and—" he glances at a notecard— "chirped me about roman."

a pause.

"was that accurate?" logan says. "is it 'chirped?'"

"cory!" matthew bellows over his shoulder.

"yeah?" cory shouts back.

"hockey trash-talk is chirping, right?"

"yeah!"

"thank you!" matthew shouts back and turns to face logan. "yeah, it's chirping."

"hockey," logan mutters, scrawling this onto the notecard. the influx of sports-related slang to his notecards is another unforeseen aspect of college life. "it's hockey-specific, that's what i was missing."

a beat.

"the sooner you can get them done you can pass it to the next person on the chart. do the dishes," logan adds severely, and matthew stumps off to the kitchen, grumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like “ugh, mom.”

say what one will about the good noodle chart—it certainly is a successful motivator.

perhaps the plastic bag full of dozens of mini bubble-wands that the boys saw logan receive in the mail this week is doing more of the persuasion rather than the necessity of the chores, or logan himself, but it works.

“logan?”

“hmm?” logan says, distracted by wondering if derek vacuumed the living room or if he dragged around a dining chair make lines in the carpet again.

jordan, grinning, nods to the window, and logan whips his head around just in time to see a taxi pull into the driveway.

the sudden surge of excitement and happiness and eagerness is enough to make him stand up, because roman is right there, logan can distantly see him in a red shirt in the back of the taxi. logan hastily tosses his book onto the nearest table and goes for the front door as quickly as he can without running outright.

by the time he is near enough to roman to see the details of how he’s styled his hair that day, a piece of lint on his shoulder, the way he’s slung his bag on his shoulder, he’s paying the taxi driver.

he turns around to face logan, and logan loses his breath.

god he’s so handsome.

logan doesn’t know if it’s a month’s absence, or if roman has indeed grown more beautiful by the day, but roman is so lovely. his skin glows in the late summer sun, grinning at logan wide and bright, and logan can’t stand there and drink in the sight of him, chronicling every single miniscule difference that he can, because roman grabs logan in a hug, pulling him close.

logan wraps his arms around roman as tight as he can, burying his face into roman’s shoulder and inhaling; the familiar scent of his cologne, his floral body wash, the gel he uses in his hair.

“i missed you,” roman whispers, breath warm against logan’s ear.

“me too,” logan mumbles, squeezing him tighter. usually, roman hugs him even tighter back, but today, he falters.

“um.”

logan pulls back enough to see the quizzical look on roman’s face. roman nods at something behind him.

“i think we have a bit of an audience.”

logan glances back over his shoulder in time to see all seven of the boys—plus a peek of janus in the back, surely egging on the chaos—jostling for the best view at the window where logan had just been keeping vigil.

“it’s not too late to call the taxi back and go somewhere private,” logan says, turning to face roman again. “i could show you the library.”

roman grins at him. “are you kidding? i’ve wanted to see if you were exaggerating about them for ages.”

logan scoffs. “as if i’m the one prone to exaggeration in this relationship.”

roman’s grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “fuck, i’ve missed you so bad.”

what else can logan do but pull roman in by the waist and kiss him?

even muffled by the closed door and the thick glass of the window, logan can hear the boys hooting and hollering and yelling “GET IT, MOM!!!” and “ow OW!” and roman laughs against logan’s lips.

logan smiles into the kiss, and he thinks that roman’s weekend visit probably couldn’t have gotten off to a better start if he’d tried.

⁂

the first thing that someone says when logan and roman walk into the front door is “what the FUCK, mom, you didn’t tell us he was HOT!”

roman swivels to face logan, offended.

“of course i think he’s hot,” logan says, bemused. “i’m dating him. he’s obviously my type.”

“yeah, but,” adam says, and he gestures to roman’s body at whole. “he’s fucking hot, though.”

there’s a rumbling of agreement from the other boys—sans janus, who has obviously met roman before—and roman immediately preens at the attention.

because roman is undoubtedly hot. his brown skin is glowing—logan has seen him wearing facemasks on their video calls enough times that he knows it’s not incidentally clear, perfect skin—and he’s maybe not quite as bulkily built as, say, derek, who can pick up logan and janus simultaneously without breaking a sweat, but roman is strong by virtue of his profession and it shows.

“thanks,” roman says, grinning.

“i mean,” adam adds hastily, “all respect to you and logan, i mean this in, like, the bros-appreciating-bros way, not the i’m trying to steal your man way.”

“i figured,” logan says dryly, considering that adam, notably lacking in a sense of impulse control, has never offered any romantic inclination towards men before.

“well, roman, this is—everyone,” logan says, and points at each housemate as he says their name.

“adam rothschild—”

“hi,” adam adds belatedly.

“—matthew van doren—”

“'sup,” matthew says, with an upward nod of his red head.

“—cory hollingsworth—”

cory flashes a peace sign from where he stands beside janus.

“—jordan arlington—”

“nice to meet you, man, logan’s been looking forward to this for fuckin’ ever,” jordan says.

logan, refusing to blush, continues with, “edward morton—”

“shalom, bro,” he says.

“—andrew de loughrey—”

“hey, dude.”

“—derek carmichael, and you remember janus, of course.”

“nice to finally meet you all,” roman says, an arm wrapped comfortably around logan’s waist.

“you’re fucking yoked, bro,” derek says, appreciative. “what does your leg day look like? your quads are insane.”

“thanks, man,” roman says, extending a denim-clad leg with all of his typical grace. his legs are insane, to be fair. “part of the job—has logan mentioned i’m a ballet dancer?”

there’s a chorus of agreement, and so as they relocate, unspoken, to the living room. all of the other boys listen to some of the exercises roman discusses, and roman offers demonstrations of barre warm-ups upon request, his hand on the kitchen island, to great enthusiasm.

logan probably should have guessed that hearing about the workout regimen of a ballet dancer would go a long way in convincing this house full of “jocks” that roman was worthy of their adoptive, same-age mother. he’s pleased that by the time this line of conversation is winding down, it has been proven to be a very effective icebreaker.

even if he is a little grumpy to lose the warmth of roman’s hand where it had been resting on his knee.

however, once that conversation does trail off, logan gets to his feet.

“how about i take you on a tour of the house? i can show you my room.”

“ooh, mom, get it,” andrew says, to great whooping and a wolf-whistle which elicits more laughter from the other boys.

“remember, house rule, sock on the doorknob!” says someone who can surely only be adam.

“i’m making a bad noodle chart now,” logan says, attempting to fight the blush that’s surely creeping onto his face, “all of you have been demoted to the bad noodle chart.”

roman reaches out and takes logan’s hand. “you actually have a noodle chart? i thought you were kidding.”

“i am not kidding,” logan says sourly, directing a glare toward the boys.

jordan, mercifully, provides a very handy distraction by order of shouting out “MARIO KART TOURNAMENT I CALL ROSALINA,” which immediately descends into chaos as the boys fight over who gets peach, or yoshi, or else fighting over their “lucky” switch controllers.

janus meets eyes with logan, rolls his eyes, and promptly siddles his way into one of the four coveted spots to play as wario. somehow janus never has to engage in this arguing, even though logan, the house mother, has to fight with the boys to get to play with isabelle—

whatever. it’s fine. as adam launches himself at jordan to literally wrestle him to the ground for the honor of playing as rosalina, logan takes advantage of this to slip further into the kitchen with roman.

“we could probably make a getaway attempt now, it would be an ideal time,” logan says, a touch anxious; this is roman’s first time meeting the boys, and logan knows better than most people that being in the (boys-and-janus-dubbed) himbo house can be overwhelming.

“no way,” roman says warmly, squeezing logan’s hand, and logan’s heart flutters in its chest. “show me the rest of the house, c’mon.”

logan shows roman the good noodle chart in its place of pride in the kitchen, taking a moment to detract a gold star sticker from adam for tackling jordan, writing unnecessary violence (mario kart) on the line beneath specifically meant for the reason for the latest detraction in red dry-erase marker.

he adds a star for jordan without writing exactly why.

roman takes a moment to survey the chart and immediately barks with laughter at the bottom line.

“don’t,” logan grumbles.

“but c’mon!” roman says, delightedly pointing at the section of the chart that has special microscope stickers instead of gold stars.

it says logan workaholism

and then, in different handwriting and a different colored marker, (and drunk shenanigans).

“yes, well, you’ve seen the chart now,” logan says evasively, tugging roman along, and roman follows with a smile on his face that’s a bit too big for logan’s liking.

logan hadn’t even been on the chart. but no, he listened to adam’s recommendation for a drink one time (he should have realized that would turn out to be a horrible idea) and now he was on the good noodle chart, specifically so they could detract a sticker. he shouldn’t be on the chart, he runs it!

he still has the most stickers of anyone, though, so there.

logan shows roman their kitchen, which is more well-stocked than one would expect a stereotypical a college kitchen to be. there’s two mini-fridges so that edward can keep kosher. within the normal fridge, and in the cabinets, there’s an overwhelming supply of protein bars, shakes, and powders, in addition to plenty of fruits and vegetables.

he slips with roman up the stairs, unnoticed by everyone screaming at the four lucky players of the first leg of the mario kart tournament. from a glance at their ridiculously oversized flat screen, janus seems to be swiftly overtaking the lead due to taking advantage of a secret passage.

logan gestures vaguely to the rooms leading off the landing, telling roman who occupied which, as well as the communal bathrooms, but as there are no common spaces on either of the floors that roman has not already seen, he essentially leads roman straight up to the attic.

his room.

he tentatively opens the door for roman to look in and behold it, which roman immediately does.

logan’s lofted bed is crammed against the wall that divides the attic at the apex of the roof, as the opposite wall slants with the angle of the roof. everything is lit by the window opposite the door; logan debates flicking on the overhead light, and decides against it. the afternoon sun does just fine.

logan’s bed is made, his indigo duvet tucked neatly over his white sheets. his desk is pushed beneath the bed, with his laptop, a notebook, and a mug from remy’s café full of pens resting on it, the shelves above the desk that the boys had helped logan install nearly toppling under the weight of all their books. logan’s backpack sits in his desk chair, logan’s dresser shut. the rest of the floorspace is overtaken by a comfy rug and a pitiful excuse for a beanbag chair, which roman promptly sits on, wiggling to get comfortable.

“i like it,” he proclaims. “it’s cozy.”

logan tries to smile at him. the room is cramped and logan knows it.

all the other occupants of the house come from, to put it in plain terms, the same world of wealth and status that his grandparents occupy. as a matter of fact, his grandparents had been incredibly pleased that logan’s roommates had been “up to snuff,” a roundabout way of saying they’re of an appropriate caliber for our ivy-leaguer grandson.

logan knows that it was no coincidence that his roommates offered him his “cozy” room and therefore a lower amount for rent, all of them reasoning that as he had the smallest and least convenient room and if he was not there to supervise the house would surely explode, as part of this offer was surely due to the fact that they knew that his budget did not stretch as far as theirs did.

for one, he is the only roommate with a job. for another, he is the only one who knows how to budget.

well, janus would likely be able to figure it out, but he’s never needed to, which is the point.

derek hadn’t even recognized what “those little slips of paper” in logan’s hands were when logan attempted to discreetly coupon during a grocery outing.

educating them on what coupons were was... an experience, to be sure.

logan’s musings are interrupted when roman takes hold of his hand and gently tugs at logan. logan obligingly sinks onto the ground to join him, settling practically on roman’s lap.

“hey,” roman says, voice husky.

“hi,” logan says, in a tone that strikes him as strangely shy.

roman reaches out and makes a grabby hand, to which logan rolls his eyes and settles more decisively on roman’s lap, unable to keep the smile off his face, which roman can surely see, given the way that logan is now directly facing him.

“better?”

“much, thank you,” roman says graciously, settling his hands at logan’s waist and gently squeezing.

“i must agree,” logan says, resting his hands on roman’s shoulders and squeezing back. roman offers him a slanted smile.

“love, what a long way, to arrive at a kiss,” roman says, pausing to pick logan’s hand off his shoulder and press a kiss to his palm, achingly soft, “what loneliness-in-motion, toward your company!”

“you can’t just quote neruda off the bat, it isn’t fair,” logan complains, despite the fact that his heart has been sent aflutter, but he is cut off when roman’s lips meet his.

oh, how logan’s missed this. he’s familiar with the pressure of roman’s lips against his, the warmth and breadth of roman’s hands wrapping around him, the way logan’s hands fit perfectly on roman’s shoulders, and missing it has been like an ache.

languid, unhurried afternoons in the summers by the town’s lake; inexperienced hands slipping up shirts in their childhood bedrooms; illicit kisses in the gazebo when they were both meant to be at home; his memories seemed to pale in comparison to having the real thing, right now. roman’s heartbeat and the rush of logan’s pulse in his own ears and the sweet, perfect slide of their mouths. they break to breathe, staying forehead-to-forehead.

“but you and i, love,” logan murmurs, “we are together, from our clothes down to our roots: in the autumn, in water, in hips, until we are together—only you, only me.”

“you skipped a few lines,” roman teases.

“i editorialized,” logan says. “taltal is not particularly applicable to our situation, is it?”

“and i suppose it isn’t raining,” roman says, mock-thoughtfully. logan smiles and leans in for more.

roman responds, sliding his hands down logan’s back and eventually coming to grip at logan’s thighs, and logan arches into the touch—

—"ow!”

—and logan leans back, careful to avoid the slant of the roof he’d just hit his head against, putting a hand on where his head throbs in complaint.

“oh, i’m sorry!” roman says frantically. “i’m so sorry, c’mere, c’mere, let me look—”

“it was just a bump, it’s not so bad,” logan says, but he squirms and twists so that roman can see the point of impact.

roman cautiously runs his fingers through logan’s hair, paying close attention, and gently presses his fingers down. logan winces.

“tender?”

“a bit.”

“i’m sorry,” roman repeats, now running his fingers through logan’s hair, careful to keep his touch light.

“i hit my head getting out of bed and getting up from my desk for a full week before i got used to the angle,” logan says with a shrug. “kissing you is the most pleasurable way this could have happened.”

“well, now, still don’t like that clever little brain of yours getting bumped around,” roman says, frowning.

logan points to where, at this angle, roman can see the protective pool noodle secured to protect himself from hitting his head against his bed while standing up from the bed. janus had cut it for him with an exacto knife. logan is unsure where janus keeps this exacto knife. he hopes it’s hidden somewhere safe; sharp implements were just asking for trouble in this household.

“better now,” logan says, then, when roman’s still frowning, “i’m used to it, really. and besides, i’m the second-shortest in the house; no one else would take this room. well, janus would be the only other person who wouldn’t be constantly hitting his head, but i think he prefers the basement.”

“like an evil lair,” roman grumbles.

“precisely what he said,” logan says dryly. “can you imagine derek in here?”

they both take a moment to imagine derek, who stands at six feet and seven inches tall, slouched over at most points of the room.

“yeah, that’d be a bit of a tight squeeze,” roman acknowledges.

“besides,” logan says. “there are plenty of ways to be comfortable.”

he adjusts to sit on the comfy, fluffy rug—bought specifically for floor-sitting in mind—and pulls roman along. roman, getting the idea, moves the beanbag to use as a pillow, and lies back against it. logan curls up on the ground with him, resting his head over roman’s heart.

roman takes a moment to switch to scratching his fingernails against logan’s scalp, and logan tries not to shudder with pleasure too obviously.

“i like it in here,” logan says. “i like that i can go out of the window to sit on the roof, if i wanted. i like that i have the clearest view of the night sky. i like that i have a single room. and—”

he points to the side of the rafters that would not be visible to someone standing in the doorway of the room; only from within it are the stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars surrounding the photographs of logan’s loved ones are visible. the one most visible from here is himself and roman eating lucy’s at the winterfest where they had their first kiss.

“—i like that there are unique decorating ideas i could only put into function in this room.”

roman kisses logan’s head, and, with that, curled up together on logan’s bedroom floor, they start talking about everything and nothing at all, and logan’s heart feels full and fit to burst with happiness.

⁂

look. matt’s fully aware that he’s cynical about love. it’s a bit hard not to when, growing up, his primary example of love was his dad and his revolving door of brides.

he’s pretty sure he’s on stepmom number eight, by now, he isn’t really sure, he hasn’t met the latest one.

(dad scheduled the wedding during peak crew season and matt’s dad, a yale alum himself, is all proud about him being on the team of the first rowing club formed at an american college. so matt didn’t go and his dad might have just assumed he had a regatta then. whatever. matt isn’t too fussed about it, seriously. he thinks her name might be tina? tara? fuck, he should probably work that out before thanksgiving break, shouldn’t he.)

(wait. goddammit. the last girlfriend was trisha. did he end up marrying trisha? he thought his dad dumped trisha because trisha got pissed at him for doing something in a dream of hers. fuck he seriously needs to do some googling before thanksgiving break.)

(wait. shit. it was tori who did the dream thing, because she was super into the astrology-dream-palm reading deal and she’d tried to figure out matt’s birth chart, so now he can flex that he knows he’s a leo sun taurus moon sagittarius rising to the girls he tries to pick up. that happened years ago, god damn it, who the fuck is his dad married to right now?!)

ANYWAYS. he doesn’t really have an optimistic view of love, especially at their age. so back when he’d first been getting to know logan, he’d been pretty surprised to hear that logan had a long-term boyfriend. logan didn’t really seem like the stereotypical college kid clinging to their high school sweetheart, like, at all.

there had been a girl on his floor freshman year who woke up half the dorm during her kicking-and-screaming fight with her high school boyfriend that she’d tried to long-distance with and ended up dumping after a month. he’d kind of been expecting to hear that logan was going to break up with his boyfriend, because, like, how many childhood sweethearts actually make it?

but no, no screaming fights for logan—honestly, matt’s pretty sure if he heard logan actually yell it would be the scariest thing ever—and now the boyfriend is here.

who is, like, not exactly what matt had expected? he’d thought roman would maybe be a copy of logan, someone else crazy smart and crazy dedicated to school, and, in the kindest way possible, a major nerd.

roman seems... cool.

like, first of all, he’d immediately understood and talked training routines with the rest of the house, which, like, respect to logan, who goes on runs and keeps his shit pretty tight, but he isn’t exactly the most gym-rat kind of dude.

roman’s routine sounded really interesting. matt’s got pretty good legs himself—you kind of have to, to be on the rowing team—but roman’s calves and quads and glutes look unreal. man could probably beat them all in a squat challenge tournament without breaking a sweat.

also, logan keeps himself looking like a eighteen-year-old tax accountant, with his polo and tie, but roman is dressed, like, suave. casual enough, sure,but his short-sleeved button down shirt looked like it was made of silk or satin or some fancy shit like that. it’s unbuttoned to show off the gold necklace he’s wearing. he’s wearing dark jeans at the exact right place on his waist.

logan has not exactly stepped into “going out” clothes, except for like combing his hair and wearing blue jeans. they’re going the pub that logan invariably picks on the rare nights he goes out with the rest of them—a coffee shop by day, a bar by night, and very unfancy.

logan is absently fixing roman’s collar so it sits straight as roman examines himself in his phone’s camera to check out his reflection. he flashes a smile toward logan in thanks.

logan smiles at him, something in his eyes going soft that matt’s never seen him do before, and—

and, okay, if anyone he knows is smart enough to figure out how love works this early on, it would probably be logan.

⁂

"you sure, bro?” andrew says, leaning against the open car door, not yet sliding into edward’s bmw. “’cause i can dd this time, i think it’s my turn anyway—”

edward’s already shaking his head. “shabbat’s tomorrow, dude. gotta get up early to go to temple anyway, gramps would derail the whole service if i turned up hungover.”

andrew shrugs. “if you’re sure,” he says, and at last he slides into the car that is absolutely filled up with people over the legal capacity.

usually, logan picks a fit about this, talking about things like seatbelts, but right now he’s perched on his boyfriend’s lap and doesn’t seem to mind at all.

janus, sitting beside them in the very back, is eyeing them like he’s ready to start elbowing them if they get too lovey. which like. logan, getting lovey? unlikely.

(however, the seven of them have made a pact to be as obnoxious as possible if the boyfriend gets too lovey. they didn’t include janus on this, because apparently janus and roman had a brief rivalry Thing in high school and it would probably piss logan off if they started fighting, but anyways. bros take care of bros.)

“are ya ready, kids?” edward asks as he starts the car.

“aye aye, captain!” the other six of his bros and, a little surprisingly, roman, call back. logan looks confused at this, as he usually does, and janus rolls his eyes, as he usually does.

“to the pub!” edward declares, and so they’re off as cory and jordan frantically play rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the aux cord.

jordan wins and as such immediately puts on his playlist, a few of the boys starting to sing along to nicki minaj—oh, sick, it’s the pump-up playlist. hell yeah, that means that beyoncé is coming up. edward fucking loves beyoncé.

edward peeks into the rearview mirror, and he sees roman pressing his face into logan’s shoulder, like he’s hugging him, and logan smiles, looking very pleased.

and as edward drives on, everyone joining in when “love on top” comes on, even over the raucous performance of ther rest of his bros, he could swear he hears roman’s voice, floating up to the driver’s seat even from where he’s singing in logan’s ear.

“baby it’s you, you’re the one i love, you’re the one i need...”

damn, edward thinks to himself, impressed. he’s got a good voice.

logan’s cheeks go a little bit pink, and he smiles, ducking his chin; roman takes a moment from singing into his ear to kiss him on the cheek.

also, that’s cute as fuck.

⁂

“shots?” cory demands. “shots, shots, shots?”

“we just got here,” logan says, usually the sole voice of reason and also being boring, but he doesn’t seem to be standing as firm as usual. that might have something to do with his boyfriend, who has an arm going over his shoulder, saying “hell yeah, dude!”

“getting shots my treat!” cory says, and he rushes into the scrum in front of the bar before logan can protest and try to pay for himself.

janus catches his elbow and allows himself to be pulled along with him, which is cool. janus is probably cory’s closest non-sports friend ever, because he and jan are, one, roommates, but two, kids adopted from other countries as symbols of their white parents’ supposed generosity (he’s chinese, janus is haitian, they handshake meme over white people misunderstanding the culture and history of their countries of origin) so they tend to get each other’s deal more often than other people in the house.

they’re already planning their “oh so sorry we’re busyyy” excuse and activities so they don’t have to go home over thanksgiving break.

cory leans down to talk into janus’ ear—it’s a friday night, so it’s as busy as it gets here—and practically shouts, “how long have they been dating again?”

“four years,” janus says back; cory has no idea how, but janus can always be heard in any crowd, he never has to shout.

“are they, like,” cory says. “i mean. are they like. i dunno what i’m even asking. is their relationship, like, nice, i guess?”

janus arches an eyebrow back. “do you happen to remember my previous relationship?”

mm, yeah. asher fleming, resoundingly shady, but very willing to dole out the cash whenever janus so much as pouted at him. which janus seemed to like, so good for him, cory guesses, even though asher fleming was sketchy as fuck, in his opinion. dude could rest in fucking pieces.

“what about that makes you think i am a good person to ask.”

cory opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again.

“hey, what can i get started for you?”

oh thank god. “uhh, nine—wait, ten—ten shots of vodka? boyd and blair, if you’ve got it. and open a tab,” cory adds, forking over his card.

“you got it,” the bartender says, taking it, and then pauses, taking a moment to take stock of cory.

cory flashes a smile at her. she smiles back, and turns for the bar, going to hunt down ten shot glasses and a tray, her brunette ponytail bouncing as she goes.

janus nods after her. “she’s cute.”

“yeah, but she’s working,” cory says, turning to lean back against the bar and scan the pub to see where the rest of his dudes have gone. “i’m like ninety percent sure not asking out a girl when she’s trapped at work is part of bro code.”

janus follows his lead, leaning against the bar.

“they’re adorable,” he says abrubtly, his eyes fixed on the table that the rest of their roommates have claimed, jostling each other for space.

“huh?”

“logan, when he’s with roman. they’re adorable. it’s disgusting. he gets all,” janus’ mouth twists. “sappy.”

“really?!” cory says, stunned. logan, sappy? the closest they’ve ever gotten to sappy logan is after running the full gamut of logan’s stages of drunkness.

“bet you fifty bucks logan initiates pda within ten minutes,” janus says.

“i’ll take that bet,” cory says immediately.

as he approaches the table with the tray of shots, logan reaches over to squeeze roman’s hand and then just hold it on the table. he realizes what he’s started to realize every time he makes a bet against janus, which is that he probably shouldn’t have made a bet against janus. cory literally never wins.

⁂

"hey, man, they made this wrong,” andrew lies cheerfully, setting the glass in front of logan. “you like peach schnapps, right?”

this is a thing he and the other dudes like to do, and logan gets into a snit when they do, but c’mon. andrew has literally unlimited access to cash, why shouldn’t he use it to spoil his friends?

and then logan usually says something about taking care of himself, but like, it’s covering your drinks, dude, it’s not a big deal.

logan gives him a look, a i know what you’re doing here look, a i am about to throw a fit because you paid for me look, but before he can say anything roman breaks into the conversation.

“oh, damn, i was gonna pay for logan’s next drink,” he says, sounding a little disappointed that he couldn’t treat logan to his drink of choice. “how much was that? i’ll cover it and you can get my next one, l, like we’re on a date.”

andrew, skeptical, waits, because this kind of tactic doesn’t work with logan, but—

logan relaxes back into the seat, turning his eyes to andrew.

“oh,” andrew says, and turns to crane at the menu. “uh, since it’s wells night, five or six bucks should cover it.”

“nice,” roman says peaceably, and forks over a ten. “just to cover my bases for my next drink on the tab—hey, who opened that, anyway, and what’s their venmo? i wanna be sure i have it so i can pay my share in the morning.”

“cory did—i’ll pull it up,” logan says, taking roman’s phone from his hand and searching for cory’s venmo profile.

huh. crisis averted.

andrew gives roman a thumbs-up over logan’s head, and roman grins back at him.

⁂

look. there are certain stages of drunkenness, right.

derek could be called a party—what was that word janus said? cone-is-sour?—connoisseur. like, he knows these things, okay. he knows that people have certain telltale signs of what they do when they start getting drunker.

for him, he gets all overheated and red-cheeked first, then he kind of stops having the concept of volume control, then everything sounds like the funniest thing in the world, there’s a bit about hugging his bros and singing along to whatever song the bar’s playing super loudly thrown in there most nights, and then he gets really sleepy, and after that his memory gets blurry. easy, simple way to tell how drunk he’s getting.

logan’s stages of drunkness are... pretty wild. like, holy hell is logan a lightweight. he got, like, very past tipsy after drinking two wine coolers once. they’ve all kind of taken it upon themselves to improve his drinking tolerance, gradually.

anyways. derek thinks he’s got logan’s stages figured out by now, along with the rest of the dudes, and the stages are as follows:

rambling when he talks

Science!

I Love My Friends

wandering off, most likely to fall asleep in a weirdass location

it turns out there might be a stage 1.5, but this stage might only be unlocked when his boyfriend is here.

stage 1.5 of logan drunkness is cuddly.

they’ve been playing the “who can pay for the most drinks for everyone but mostly for logan” game, which means that they’ve been mixing their alcohol (careful to steer clear of beer, though, ‘cause that could turn to beer before liquor during the next round, beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you’re in the clear, derek knows his fuckin’ booze) and trying drinks of what everyone else is trying, seeing if they can come up with a new favorite drinks combo before the night ends.

with one hand, logan’s currently stirring his plastic straw in a cocktail called a bramble. with the other, he’s got his arm flung across roman’s shoulders, occasionally adjusting his stance, and any time he catches anyone’s eyes during a conversation he beams, like, this is my boyfriend, isn’t this so great?!

and, like, look. he knows it’s basically dude code to kind of haze each other a little bit, whenever a new significant other comes around, just to make sure they’re up to snuff, but c’mon.

their uptight, workaholic house mom, drinking on a friday night like he doesn’t have a care in the world? practically unheard of.

derek’s pretty sure he can pin the sudden lack of tension in logan’s shoulders and jaw on the man that logan is currently staring at. roman is telling a story about a drag show he and his girl friends went to see in new york, and logan’s looking at him like roman hung all the stars in the sky, grinning whenever roman looks over at him.

like. come on. how is derek meant to haze that. it’s too fuckin’ cute.

⁂

logan is putting in an order for waters at the bar because while the boys are good at remembering to hydrate for sports reasons, no one ever remembers to hydrate for drinking reasons. a hand gently touches his waist, and, with a whiff of familiar cologne, roman slides in next to him at the bar.

“hey,” logan says, a little too aware that this is the closest they’ll get to a private conversation for the rest of the night.

“hey,” roman echoes, loose and easy with alcohol. something low in logan’s belly thrums pleasantly at the sound.

“check-in?” logan requests. “i know that this can be a—a lot.”

to put it delicately.

roman grins at him. “your friends are cool, this bar is cool. you’re cool. i love you so much.”

logan, who would later put this decision down to being plied with alcohol, pulls roman in by the collar and kisses him hard.

roman seems surprised, just for a moment, before he responds in kind, pulling logan in at the waist and kissing him back, equally enthusiastic.

his boyfriend is visiting, he’s making out with him in a bar like a normal college kid would make out with a significant other, and everything seems wonderful.

roman, looking thoroughly kissed, handles the ribbing and joking the boys start as soon as they get back to the table with good humor, grinning at logan like it’s a private joke between the two of them.

god, logan’s so in love with him.

⁂

"hey, babe?” roman says.

logan hums around his straw, looking at roman with half-lidded eyes. fuck he’s so hot.

roman shakes himself a little, trying to focus, before he asks, “on a scale of one to ten, how chill would the guys be if i suggested we go somewhere we can dance?”

logan swallows, and roman’s eyes follow the of his bobbing adam’s apple.

“probably very chill about it,” he says dryly.

roman smiles. “and how would you feel about going somewhere to dance with me?”

logan bites his lip, but still smiling.

“probably very enthusiastic about it,” logan says quietly.

roman grins at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

with a swiftness that probably belies how eager roman is at the very concept of holding logan close in his arms, roman calls out to derek, “hey, dude, is there a good club around here? i kinda wanna see y’all dance.”

derek puffs out his chest.

“oh, bro, you are not ready,” he says gleefully.

adam leans across the table.

“hey, wait, you’re, like, a professional dancer, right? maybe you can teach us a routine!”

oh, now roman has the perfect routine in mind.

⁂

adam has been known to get down at a party, okay. he’s a pretty decent dancer. his party trick is being able to swing around on poles installed into frat basements for “structural integrity.”

but, like, adam also knows that a literal professional probably has some tips, so he’d asked, right, which has now turned into—

“okay, again, from the start, ready?” roman asks, standing at the front of the group. janus and logan are at the edge of the room. adam’s pretty sure janus is recording this on his phone.

they’re also, like, in the center of most of the club’s attention, but roman seems very cool with it. which, likes, makes sense; dancing professionally, crowds come with the territory. the other six of his roommates are standing in loose lines, spaced out so they don’t kick each other in the heads.

“five, six, seven, eight,” roman starts, then, over the sound of six dudes who are all over six feet tall jump-kick then drop rapidly into what roman called a grand plié, which you would probably do slower for a stretch but this is CHOREO, sings, “now from the top, make it drop—”

⁂

logan, after trying so hard not to laugh at the sight of his boyfriend teaching tiktok dance choreography to what, ostensibly, looked like a group of typical frat boys, is attempting to catch his breath and hydrate at the bar.

well. dehydrate, technically. a vodka soda is certainly working to dehydrate him.

“hey,” roman pants, appearing from the crowd, flushed, with at least two more buttons popped than he’d had when they entered. “hot over there—can i—?”

before he can ask, logan offers his vodka soda, and roman says “thanks” before he gulps down a good portion of it, fanning himself.

“i love dancing,” he says happily.

“i know, dearest,” logan says, perhaps not as dryly as he would if they were not both intoxicated.

“oh! and i love this song!” roman says brightly, as the dj transitions into a new song.

logan smiles at him; the song is not a recent release, and logan thinks he might be able to place it.

“dance with me?” roman says, his eyes pleading. logan finds himself helpless to resist, and so he drains the rest of his drink.

roman smirks at him and takes hold of logan’s tie, gently leading him to a corner of the dance floor, rather than in the midst of the scrum of it, which logan appreciates; while he is perfectly willing to dance with roman, he is not so adept as to not make a fool of himself in the case of any impromptu dance circles.

there is, logan realizes once he listens to the lyrics, perhaps another motive of roman’s for dragging them into a less populated corner.

i’m telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe, but you keep frontin’, say what you’re gonna do to me, but i ain’t see nothing...

roman’s hands slide from logan’s tie to wrapping around logan’s shoulders, pulling logan so that they’re pressed up against each other, and logan grips roman’s hips, which are shifting sinuously to the beat.

“couldn’t dance like this at the chilton winter formal, could we?” roman says lowly into logan’s ear, and logan snickers.

“not unless we wanted to be lectured by mr. gardiner, no.”

“ugh, he was a fucker, i still haven’t forgiven him for being so strict about your math quizzes,” roman says, scowling. then, with a laugh, “no drawing lots to see who gets breathalyzed, no snooty rich kids to judge us—”

“i’m still surrounded by rich kids.”

“yeah, but your rich kids seem nice,” roman says thoughtfully. “‘cept for janus.”

“he’d take that as a compliment.”

“why did i bring up janus when i’m trying to grind on you,” roman mutters to no one in particular, and he then proceeds to handily distract logan by pressing impossibly closer.

roman’s hands slide up logan’s shoulders to briefly cup logan’s face, then slide back down to squeeze his shoulders, using the movement to roll his hips against him, and logan’s world narrows down to the heat of roman’s body, the scent of roman’s sweat and cologne, the beat of the song thrumming through to his very bones.

roman twists in his hands, leaning forward, then standing back upright to lean against logan, swaying his hips all the whlie. he reaches a hand lazily back, dragging it down logan’s face before cradling logan’s jaw.

logan twirls roman back to face him again, his grip on roman’s hips tight and possessive, and logan leans in to devour roman in a kiss. he can feel the pounding of hearts against his chest, and they’re so close he’s uncertain whose pulse is whose.

⁂

“—I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO TALK BEHIND MY BACK ‘CUZ A BITCH KNEW BETTER THAN TO LET ME HEAR!” jordan screams at the top of his lungs, along with the rest of his bros. all ten of them have piled back into edward’s car, and roman has taken over the aux, which is actually a phenomenal move, he has put on banger after banger.

edward—the sole sober one in the car—is grinning to himself even as he turns into his parking spot near their house.

they all groan when he turns off the car, and therefore turns off the music.

“yeah, yeah,” edward says, good-natured. “everyone out, i wanna go to bed!”

everyone pours from the car, logan stumbling slightly when he jumps down from the suv.

“i’ve got you, my love,” roman says grandly, and squats before logan. logan snorts, slightly, but then proceeds to clamber onto roman’s back, accepting his piggy-back ride.

“onward!” roman declares, and jordan grins a bit, shaking his head, before he jogs ahead so he can open the front door for them. he watches logan giggle and mash his face into the side of roman’s neck, and he watches roman’s face glow.

the rest of the dudes kind of split off, from there. edward, true to his word, goes to bed; adam, derek, cory, and and andrew sit in front of the tv to start up a drunken game of mario kart; matt pours himself a glass of water and starts chugging it; jordan goes to grab his own water bottle from his room, because he has dish duty next and he doesn’t want to give himself too much trouble.

by the time he’s changed into more comfortable clothes and gotten his water, he runs into roman on the stairs.

“oh! hey, dude,” he says.

“hey,” roman says. “uh, hey, do you guys have spare blankets and pillows and stuff, and where do you keep them? i figured i’d probably crash on the floor or the couch or something.”

jordan surveys him.

“yeah?” he says, in a tone that’s carefully neutral. they continue down the stairs together.

“yeah,” roman says casually. “uh—i know he’d wanna cuddle, but we’re both a bit drunk, so. got him some water, got him into bed, he fell asleep pretty quick.”

jordan knows it’s the bare fucking minimum to take care of your drunk significant other, but he feels his respect for roman rise, even just a little bit. that’s a bro move.

“yeah, man,” jordan says. “uh—we’ve got blankets down in the living room, but some of the dudes are playing mario kart, so you might have a while to wait to free up the couch.”

roman brightens.

“oh, sick. does anyone play peach?”

jordan snorts. “you’re gonna have to fight someone for it.”

“bring it on,” roman says.

⁂

roman hums to himself, quietly, as he ascends the stairs. he has to take a couple minutes to juggle the plates in his hands to be able to open the door, but he succeeds eventually.

“rise and shine, nerdo,” roman sings, careful not to be too loud.

he sees logan stir, and, before roman can say anything in warning—

thump.

“fuck!” logan snarls, flopping back in bed with a hand to his forehead, glaring up at the ceiling that has grievously injured him.

“oh, baby,” roman says, setting down his plate on logan’s desk before he rises on tip-toes so he can see logan’s face. “lemme see.”

logan groans and pulls his pillow over his head.

“still a morning person, i see,” roman teases, before he nudges a plastic water bottle into the bed. “drink that, baby, it’ll make you feel better.”

“nerdo isn’t your best work,” logan grumbles, muffled by the pillow.

“yeah, well, i stayed up until three with the dudes playing mario kart,” roman says dryly. “birdo, nerdo?”

logan peeks out in time to grab the water bottle, squirm as upright as he can, and proceed to chug it as mechanically as possible.

“how’d you sleep?” logan says, once he’s drained about half of it.

“eh, fine,” roman says. “the couch is pretty comfy.”

logan frowns.

“it was couch or floor,” roman says, before logan can say anything. “i think we could maybe squeeze to fit up there, and considering we were, y’know—”

“i get it,” logan says.

“i was gonna make you a big breakfast, but,” roman says and hands over a plate with two pieces of toast sliced into triangles and slathered with crofter’s. “figured you’d like this better.”

logan smiles, taking the plate, and then leans wildly out of his bed in order to cup roman’s face and kiss him good morning.

the kiss is good. it’s very good. but—

“your breath stinks,” roman says, and logan chucks a pillow at him.

“you aren’t exactly a morning rose, either,” logan grumbles, and roman snorts, taking a bite of his own crofter’s with great fervor.

over their breakfast—logan in the bed, roman on the beanbag—they talk about their plans for the rest of the weekend; going on a walk around campus, going to see logan’s favorite spot in the library, getting tacos from the best little spot in town for lunch.

“granted,” logan says thoughtfully, “i have these ideas in place today, but we’ll see how the boys interfere with it.”

“i’d be fine if they did,” roman says.

“yeah?” logan says.

“yeah,” roman says. he grins up at logan. “wanna explain why they kept calling me step-daddy when i was making us toast?”

logan flops back on the bed with a groan, and, even with all of his theatrics, roman can tell logan’s very pleased that his boyfriend and his friends get along.

(they absolutely get along. roman has already promised to record a dance tutorial for them to “dancing queen” next.)

⁂

notes: major thank yous to @teacupfulofstarshine and @airiervessel for helping me flesh out the boys! songs in the order they’re mentioned: “love on top” by beyoncé, “wap” by cardi b. ft. megan thee stallion, “buttons” by the pussycat dolls, “thot shit” by megan thee stallion, “dancing queen” by abba.

#my fic #my fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #the sideshire files #wyliwf #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides

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ask-the-crimson-king · 3 years

Text

More Stuff from Betrayer

[While on the topic, I want to show the various humans out there a very interesting scene out of Betrayer.

Two, technically, but one that's a bit longer than the other. Image IDs will be provided at the end of the post, cause there's going to be a LOT.

Some interesting insights into how Lorgar views Chaos and a bit about the Emperor as well. I always find this scene to be fascinating, especially since he's borrowed the astropathic choir of the Conquerer to listen to worlds dying across Ultramar while he muses on this.

And then there's when Angron walks up.

Some interesting, albeit a bit morbid, banter between brothers. I do like how Angron even greets Lorgar on the way in, and Lorgar is just standing there stunned. The insights into how Angron views the Devourers is also neat, and it is to be expected at this point. Lorgar trying to argue for them and trying to get Angron to stop ignoring them outright is another neat touch.

The two begin talking of Ultramar, and Lorgar reveals that Nuceria is going to be the capstone for his ritual. Angron asks why, and the following is said:

I like this passage for a few reasons. Firstly, how Angron "dreams" has always been something of interest to me. Because I doubt he ever really gets much rest and respite. Here we get some insight into this, although this also was already expressed a bit earlier. This passage also leads into Angron's recollection of the Night of the Wolf, but I wanted to focus on this.

Lorgar and Angron's "bond" is something that's always intrigued me. It definitely feels more one-sided, with Lorgar seeking for brotherhood that isn't really there, but there are a few moments to make it feel a bit more genuine. However, there is still something missing from these interactions. I can't really describe it other than a barrier between two primarchs who will never see eye-to-eye. Lorgar does, to his credit, try to be understanding and patient throughout, but I can also definitely feel his annoyance coming through at certain places.

In a way, I can almost feel a similar sort of vibe to how Magnus interacts with some of his brothers. Namely with Perturabo in one of the opening chapters of his primarch novel. However, the bond between those two is still very different from the one Angron has with Lorgar; those two actually do have a deep connection, while these two don't. There's a misunderstanding and underestimation coming from both sides in certain aspects; Lorgar in almost sounding condescending to Angron, and Angron still thinking Lorgar a weakling.

TL;DR, Betrayer good.

Image IDs below the cut:

Image ID 1 & 2: A scene from Betrayer where Lorgar is standing and listening to worlds burn. It reads:

Serving as conductor for an astrological orchestra was more taxing than he’d dreamed, though his blunter, more militant brothers would struggle to grasp the finer points of his efforts. Exhaustion left him wondering, even if only briefly, whether absolute peace would create a stellar song as divinely inspired as absolute war. Fate had played its hand and Chaos was destined to swallow all creation whether or not Horus and Lorgar raged against the Imperial war machine, but if what if they’d stayed loyal to the Emperor? What then? Would the Great Crusade have shaped a serene funeral dirge, to play behind the veil as humanity died in a defenceless harrowing?

Therein lay the fatal flaw. The Emperor’s way was compliance, not peace. The two were as repellent to one another as opposing lodestones. It didn’t matter what enlightenment the Imperium stamped out in its conquering crusade when obedience was all its lords desired. It didn’t matter what wars were fought from now into eternity. The Legiones Astartes would always march, for they were born to do so. There would always be war; even if the Great Crusade had been allowed to reach the galaxy’s every edge, there would never be peace. Discontent would seethe. Populations would rebel. Worlds would rise up. Human nature eventually sent men and women questing for the truth, and tyrants always fell to the truth.

No peace. Only war.

Lorgar felt his blood run cold. Only war. Those were words to echo into eternity.

He didn’t trust the Ten Thousand Futures the way Erebus claimed to. Too many possibilities forked from every decision made by every living thing. What use was prophecy when all it offered was what might happen? Lorgar was not so devoid of imagination that he needed the warp’s twisting guesswork to show him that. Anyone with an iota of vision could imagine what might happen. Genius lay in engineering events according to one’s own goals, not in blindly heeding the laughter of mad gods.

More than that, Lorgar sought to keep one thing in mind above all else. The gods were powerful, without doubt, but they were fickle beings. Each worked against its own kin more often than not, spilling conflicting prophecies into their prophets’ minds. Perhaps they weren’t even sentient in the way a mortal mind could encompass. They seemed as much the manifestations of primal emotion as they did individual essences.

But no, there was a wide gulf between hearing them and heeding them. Gods lied, just like men. Gods deceived and clashed and sought to advance their own dominions over their rivals’. Lorgar trusted none of their prophecies.

Image ID 3-5: A series of screenshots from Betrayer. Angron comes into the scene. It reads:

Angron entered the basilica, armoured in his usual stylised bronze and ceramite and with two oversized chainswords strapped to his back. He even wasted time with a greeting, raising his hand in the first time Lorgar could ever remember such a gesture from his broken brother. The Word Bearer tried not to let his amazement show at his brother’s new consideration.

‘Lotara says you stole her astropathic choir.’ Angron’s lipless smile was a ghastly thing indeed. ‘I see that she may have been correct.’

‘Stole is a strong word. “Appropriated” seems much less ignoble.’ Lorgar spared a glance for the skies above the cathedral, as the Lex ripped onwards towards Nuceria.

‘What do you need them for?’ Angron asked. His wounds from being buried alive had already faded to scrunched scar tissue pebbling his flesh, just another host of scarring to overlay the last.

The Devourers lurked behind him, stomping into the cathedral without the primarch sparing them a glance. To be one of Angron’s bodyguards was no honour, despite how fiercely the World Eaters’ champions had fought for it in the first, optimistic years. Angron ignored them no matter where they went, never once fighting alongside them in battle. In their Terminator plate, they’d never managed to keep up with their liege lord, and they were as prone to losing control as any other World Eater, meaning any hope of them fighting as an organised pack was a forlorn one at best.

Lorgar watched the Devourers – those warriors who’d spent a century learning to swallow their pride and pretend they weren’t ignored – speaking amongst themselves at the basilica’s entrance.

‘Hail,’ he greeted them. They seemed uneasy at being addressed, offering hesitant and wordless bows.

Angron snorted at his brother acknowledging them. ‘Bodyguards,’ he said. ‘Even their name annoys me. “Devourers”, as if I’d named them myself – as if they were the Legion’s finest.’

‘Their intentions are pure,’ Lorgar pointed out. ‘They seek to honour you. It’s not their fault you leave them behind in every battle.’

‘They’re not even the Legion’s fiercest fighters, any more. That rogue Delvarus refuses to challenge for a place in their ranks. Khârn laughed when I asked him if he’d ever considered it. And do you know Bloodspitter?’

‘I know Bloodspitter,’ Lorgar replied. Everyone knew Bloodspitter.

‘He beat one of them in the pits, and carved his name into the poor bastard’s armour with a combat knife.’

Lorgar forced a smile. ‘Yes. Delightful.’

Angron’s face wrenched again, at the mercy of misfiring muscles. ‘What primarch ever needed guarding by lesser men?’

‘Ferrus,’ Lorgar said softly. ‘Vulkan.’

Angron laughed, the sound rich and true, yet harsh as a bitter wind. ‘It’s good to hear you joke about those weaklings. I was getting bored of you mourning them.’

It was no joke, but Lorgar had no desire to shatter his brother’s fragile good humour. ‘I only mourn the dead,’ Lorgar conceded. ‘I don’t mourn Vulkan.’

‘He’s as good as dead.’ The World Eater smiled again. ‘I’m sure he wishes he were. Now, what are you doing with Lotara’s choir?’

‘Listening to them sing of other worlds and other wars.’

Angron stared, unimpressed. ‘Specifics,’ he said, ‘while I have the patience to hear such details.’

‘Just listen,’ Lorgar replied.

Angron did as he was bid. After a minute or more had passed, he nodded once. ‘You’re listening to the Five Hundred Worlds burning.’

‘Something like that. These are the voices of the freshly dead, and those soon to join them. The mortis-moments of random souls, elsewhere in Ultramar, as our fleets ravage their worlds.’

‘Morbid, priest. Even for you.’

‘We’re inflicting this destruction on them. We mustn’t consider ourselves distant from it. It may not be our hands holding the bolters and blades, but we are still the architects of this annihilation. It’s our place to listen to it, to remember the martyred dead, and to meditate on all we’ve wrought.’

‘I wish you well with it,’ said Angron. ‘But why steal Lotara’s choir? What happened to yours?’

‘They died.’

It was Angron’s turn to be surprised. ‘How did they die?’

‘Screaming.’ Lorgar showed no emotion at all. ‘What brings you here, brother?’

Image ID 6 & 7: Two screenshots from later in the previous scene, when Angron asks 'Why Nuceria?'. It reads:

‘The metaphysics are complicated,’ said Lorgar.

That had Angron growling. ‘I may not have wasted days in debate with you and Magnus inside our father’s Palace, but the Nails haven’t left me an absolute fool. I asked the question, Lorgar. You answer it. And do so without lying, if you can manage such a feat.’

The Word Bearer met his brother’s eyes, and the rarely-seen palette of emotions within their depths. Pain was there in abundance, but so was the frustration of living with a misfiring mind, and the savagery that transcended anger itself. Angron was a creature that had come to make his hatred a blade to be used in battle. He’d weaponised his own emotions, where most living beings were slaves to theirs. Lorgar couldn’t help but admire the strength in that.

‘We’re going to Nuceria,’ he said, ‘because of you. Because of the Nails.’

Angron stared, and his silence beckoned for his brother to continue.

‘They’re killing you,’ Lorgar admitted. ‘Faster than I thought. Faster than anyone realised. The rate of degeneration has accelerated even in the last few months. Your implants were never designed for a primarch’s brain matter. Your physiology is trying to heal the damage as the Nails bite deeper, but it’s a game of pushing and pulling, with both sides evenly matched.’

Angron took this with an impassive shrug. ‘Guesswork.’

‘I can see souls and hear the music of creation,’ Lorgar smiled. ‘In comparison, this is nothing. The Twelfth Legion’s archives are comprehensive enough, you know. Your behaviour tells the rest of the tale, along with the pain I sense radiating from you each and every time we meet. Your entire brain is remapped and rewired, slaved to the implants’ impulses. Tell me, when was the last time you dreamed?’

‘I don’t dream.’ The answer was immediate, almost fiercely fast. ‘I’ve never dreamed.’

Lorgar’s gentle eyes caught the warp’s kaleidoscopic light as he tilted his head. ‘Now you’re lying, brother.’

‘It’s no lie.’ Angron’s thick fingers twitched and curled, closing around the ghosts of weapons. ‘The Nails scarcely let me sleep. How would I dream?’

Lorgar didn’t miss the rising tension in his brother’s body language – the veins in his temples rising from scarred skin, the feral hunch of the shoulders, no different from a hunting cat drawing into a crouch before it struck.

‘You once told me the Nails stole your slumber,’ Lorgar conceded, ‘but you also said they let you dream.’

Angron took a step closer. He started to say ‘I meant…’ but Lorgar’s earthy glare stopped him cold.

‘They give you a serenity and peace you can find nowhere else. Humans, legionaries, primarchs… everything alive must sleep, must rest, must allow its brain a period of respite. The remapping of your mind denies you this. You don’t dream with your eyes closed. You dream with your eyes open, chasing the rush of whatever peace the Nails can give you.’ Lorgar met Angron’s eyes again. ‘Don’t insult us both by denying it. You slaver and murmur when you kill, mumbling about chasing serenity and how close it feels. I’ve heard you. I’ve looked into your heart and soul when you’re lost to the Nails. Your sons, with their crude copies of your implants, have their minds rewritten to feel joy only in adrenaline’s kiss. Those lesser implants cause pain because they scrape the nerves raw, thus your World Eaters kill because it gladdens their reforged hearts, and ceases the pain knifing into their muscles. Your Butcher’s Nails are a more sinister and predatory design, ruining all cognition, stealing any peace. They are killing you, gladiator. And you ask why I’m taking you back to Nuceria? Is it not obvious?’

End Image ID.]

#warhammer 30k #word bearers #world eaters #lorgar #angron #enjoy some betrayer folks #long post

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arhvste · 4 years

Text

OIKAWA TOORU - 11:11

- summary - oikawa’s always believed in the 11:11 wish and he wants to make sure you do too - fluff

- an - first fic for olivia week!! this one is kinda long? but i had fun writing it and it made me hella soft :,)

olivia week masterlist

You first laughed even when you found out your boyfriend took the ‘11:11 wish’ urban myth seriously.

He was adamant.

“Call me silly y/n-chan but it really does work!”

“Yeah? I’m sure it does Tooru.”

No matter what, Oikawa never failed to make his 11:11 wish every night and he always shot you a text a couple minutes before trying to convince you to do the same. You’d always laugh and send the same ‘not happening’ text back to him before he’d whine and tell you that you were the one missing out.

Iwaizumi was the other victim of Oikawa’s relentless preachings of the ‘pointless’ ritual before he threatened to block his best friend if he didn’t relax.

You joked that your boyfriend was manifestation motivated and all the good things in his life such as him being made captain of the Aoba Johsai team and featuring in several monthly volleyball articles, spreads and interviews were all because he’d simply manifested them. Another thing was to tease him about how his good looks had come from him using subliminals to which Oikawa adamantly denied and claimed he was “all natural” even though use of subliminals wasn’t technically artificial.

No matter how ridiculous you thought your boyfriend was being, you still couldn't help but think how ridiculously cute he was wittering on about the alignment of stars and how wishes do come true if you believe it enough.

It was a typical Thursday night for you after dragging yourself home from a long day of school. Between being a third year with final exams to worry about, having your own club activities and dating the star boy on the famous boys volleyball team, exhaustion was an understatement of how you felt.

You dropped your bag to your ankles and flopped face first onto your bed, savouring the feeling of the plush cushions and mattress beneath you.

It was already 6PM and you’d only just got in from school. Staying behind with Matsukawa and Hanamakki to ensure they were prepared for their mock exams in the week to come had drained out the last bit of energy you had left.

You felt your phone softly vibrate against the pillow causing you to hum and look up to grab it.

kawa <3 : 5 hours until you need to make your wish !

Softly sighing you unlocked your phone to type out a reply to your wishful boyfriend

y/n-chan : whatever you say tooru <3

Softly smiling to yourself, you stared at the little contact photo above Oikawa’s messages. This boy never failed to make you smile even when he wasn't trying.

Forgetting about your phone, you went about your evening as usual, going through modules you knew would be coming up in the mock exam which were fast approaching, eating dinner and taking a long, warm shower allowing all the stress and weight of the day to cascade off of you and down the drain before hopping online with Kunimi for a few hours just to listen to him vent about how annoying his classmates were and how he couldn't bear to sit through another hour surrounded with bothersome people.

By the time you’d completed all your usual tasks for the night the time was hanging around the 10:46PM mark so you went to check your phone.

Odd.

No text message from Oikawa to tell you to look out the window at the stars to make your wish. Maybe he was busy at the moment.

You left it and went downstairs to grab a glass of water and a sweater you’d left on the sofa.

By the time you’d returned and bid your family a good night, it was 11:01PM and still no message from Oikawa.

You knew you’d always brush off his attempts to convince you to make a wish but had he actually decided to stop sending you reminders? Even though you didn't take them seriously, they still made you smile whenever he’d drop the text you’d become so familiar with.

Frowning at the phone you sighed and dropped it down on your mattress as you sat by your window staring up at the twinkling stars above the town's sky. No wonder Oikawa liked looking up at them so much. The sky was clear and a million twinkling stars were scattered across the sky emitting a soft glowing light from each one. Lost in the beauty the stars held, the sound of something hitting your window brought you out of your trance and made your heart jump. Ready to shout at a rebellious neighbourhood kid, you opened the window only to find your boyfriend in a big hoodie and sweatpants smiling up at you.

“I knew you’d give in eventually, were you about to make your wish?” he offered a warm smile with a teasing tone lingering in his soft voice.

“Ha, you wish!” you teased back grabbing your phone off the bed to check the time.

“Actually, tonight I wish for you to come down and let me take you somewhere, you’re gonna need to be quick though.”

11:05PM.

“Okay, gimme a sec!” You gently shut the window and hastily slipped on some shoes by your bedroom door and grabbed the sweater that actually belonged to Oikawa and throwing it on before quickly slipping down the stairs and through the hall to your front door. Gently shutting the door you turned to immediately be faced with the setter who only smiled and grabbed your hand before pulling you off into the peaceful streets of miyagi.

“Sorry y/n, I’m only rushing you cause we’ve only got a couple minutes left!” The boy tugged at you as you tried to keep up with his long strides as the two of you ran through the grassy patches until you reached the small hill you’d play on back when you were the tender age of 7 years old.

Oikawa pulled you along with him until you reached the top, the two of you huffing and catching your breath before Oikawa pulled out his phone, the screen being the only other light besides the sky above you had.

11:10PM.

“Perfect.” Oikawa sighed before quickly sitting down on the soft grass and pulling you down into his lap. Arms snaked around your waist and you felt your boyfriend rest his chin upon your shoulder as you smiled back at him.

11:11PM

“Go on, make your wish y/n.” He softly whispered looking up at the glimmering stars dusted across the dark night sky.

“Tooru,” you tilted your head up slightly to look up into his glittering eyes as the tiny specks of stars reflected back into his usual honey pooled eyes only making him look a thousand times more ethereal. “Do you know why I don’t usually make an 11:11 wish?”

He hummed and looked down at you with confusion and amusement written across his face. “No, I always just thought it was because you just didn't believe in such myths.”

You shook your head softly before looking back up at the stars only to look back at him.

“It’s because I have everything I’ve ever wanted and I never had to wish for it.”

Oikawa’s eyes gleamed as he lifted your body with ease to turn you to straddle his lap as he faced you.

“Yeah? And just what is everything you’ve ever wanted?”

With a soft sigh, you smiled earnestly at the boy.

“You.”

At that moment, the world was put to a halt. It was just you, Oikawa and the shining stars painted overhead.

Oikawa could feel his cheeks warm, contrasting against the cool temperature the night carried. His heart, full of love for you and thoughts consisting of nothing but you. You’d be the death of him he swore.

Letting his actions talk instead of his words, Oikawa moved his hand against the warm skin of your cheeks, delicately ghosting the pads of his fingers of your cheekbones before moving his face close to yours. Kissing was nothing new to the pair of you, but this kiss was new. Oikawa made sure to pour every ounce of love and adoration he had for you as he softly kissed you, bringing you in closer and wrapping his hand to hold the base of your neck as the other laced his fingers into your own. He could only hope you could feel exactly how he was feeling through the kiss. He never hesitated in telling you just how much he loved you regularly, but Oikawa was a strong believer in the preaching that actions speak louder than words and he was never one to just throw thoughtless words out with all bark and no bite.

He pulled away catching his breath and watched as you caught your own too as you tried to form the right words to say only for him to beat you to it.

“God, I’m so in love with you.” He spoke so softly as if those words were for your ears and your ears only.

You giggled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before looking back at his loving expression. “You wanna know another reason I don’t need the 11:11 stars to make any wishes?”

He hummed and wrapped his arms securely around you again waiting for you to answer.

“Because you’re my favourite star, and every wish I make, you’re the one who makes it come true.”

As if Oikawa Tooru couldn’t love you anymore than he already did. He had never felt raw and pure emotion for anyone before. You brought out the best in him and loved him for all his good and bad, never holding him against his own flaws and showing him nothing but patience and time, something Oikawa needed to open up to someone. You were someone who had brought out an emotion stronger than love, he couldn't even find the words to describe just how much he loved you. If anyone was the star here it was you.

He sighed and rested his forehead on your shoulder tightening his grip around you even more if that was possible. You exhaled and basked in the warmth he emitted.

“I know you’re not meant to tell anyone what you wished for but, since I have what I’ve wished for, what's the harm in telling you.” Your boyfriend raised his head up to look deep into your eyes which he swore he could stare at forever.

“I’ve wished for you to feel happy when you’re with me, I’ve wished for you to know and feel just how in love I am with you.”

A warm laughter bubbled up in your throat as you flashed Oikawa a bright smile.

“I’ve always wished to get the chance to know what it’s like to be so stupidly and hopelessly in love with someone, you gave me that chance.”

It was true.

The two of you were stupidly and hopelessly in love with each other and Oikawa couldn’t wait to fall in even deeper under the soft night sky as you rested against him, soft mumbles of professions of love exchanged between the two of you just like Oikawa had wished for countless times.

general taglist → @atsumuwoah @bloody-bella @bbymilkbread @miracleboy420 @doggonudez @atsunakaashi @peteunderoos @tsukishimagizzard @saturnfarie @toffees-main @zumisace @boosyboo9206 @totorosleaff

#olivia week ✨#oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa scenario #oikawa fluff #oikawa fic

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

The World is Better Now

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Words: 2503

Summary: Nearly a year since the fall of the Capitol, the reader and Peeta have lived happily together in peace. They have helped each other through the darkest nights and the worst nightmares. Now, the reader feels a new kind of fear.

Notes: I rewatched the Hunger games series and I forgot how adorable Peeta is. So here goes nothing. As always, let me know what you think! (So this is an AU where the reader was in the Quarter Quell, just in case anyone was confused. Katniss is just a friend in this one.)

You thought you knew what life was like. You thought that you would die in the Games and be just another fallen Tribute. When you won, you thought you were safe. When President Snow announced that the Quarter Quell would select from a pool of Victors, your hope for a better life was gone. But then he happened. Even after everything he had been through, he still had this light. A light that you thought you had lost forever. Somehow, he brought it back. So yeah, you thought you knew what life was like. But this was so much more than that.

“Y/N!” Peeta called from your little house on the hill as you seemingly searched the meadow for something. His voice was like a distant murmur. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you could feel it. Before you could think too much on it, you felt arms wrap around your middle and a puff of breath against your neck, blowing through the few strands of hair that had fallen from the hairpins you had put in that morning. You couldn’t help but jump, flinching away from the sudden contact. You turned to see your husband, clearly trying to hide the hurt in this eyes.

“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling the shame turn your face slightly pink. Now he felt bad. You hated it when you made him feel guilty. He deserved the sun, if you only had the power to give it to him.

“Hey,” He just smiled, quickly putting your mind at ease as he took your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me calling. I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he wasn’t in any way upset before taking your hand. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

With the exception of Katniss and Haymitch, the two of you were alone out here. You weren’t part of the new society after the fall of the Capitol. Instead, you sought refuge in the rolling fields outside what was once District 12. Due to your isolation, there was technically no legality to your marriage. In fact, the only ones there to witness your vows were Katniss, Haymitch, and even Effie, who insisted on bringing endless yards of fabric with her to help you make a dress. You exchanged rings and vows, promising to love each other through everything and to never forget what you’d been through together. You didn’t need anything official. You were his and he was yours and that’s all you could have ever hoped for.

He, of course, was far better at cooking than you were so he often made dinner. Tonight, he made fresh bread and some seared fish from the lake nearby. You hardly touched any of it, feeling your stomach twist and turn, suddenly feeling ill. Your face had grown pale and Peeta’s expression morphed with concern.

“Are you okay?” He stood from his seat across the table to move closer, examining the sweat that now glistened across your forehead. You nodded, but you quickly pushed away from him, burying your head in the sink and losing what little you had eaten. You felt Peeta’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down your skin trying to comfort you. When you slid down against the cabinet, he sat with you, grabbing a towel to wipe your lips.

“Sorry.” You muttered through heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know where that came from.” You stood on shaky legs, but after a moment, you felt fine again. Strange, but fine. There was nothing in the meal that would have made you sick and you hadn’t been feeling ill at all that day. Deep in your gut, you started to worry.

You spent the morning wandering the woods with Katniss. It was a weekly ritual for the two of you. Some time away from the guys. You liked to think that she opened up a little more when it was just the two of you. As if you had been friends since you were little girls. Growing up in District 5, you had a much cushier life than both her and Peeta, but you’d grown accustomed to the quieter, simpler life outside the New Panem.

“Peeta said that you were sick last night.” Katniss started, looking up into the trees. You grimaced. Of course he did. There were few secrets between the four of you since you all lived out here by yourselves.

“Yeah, but I feel fine.” You debated whether or not you should share your fears. That your illness was anything but random. That it meant something far more frightening than an upset stomach. Katniss noticed your uneasy expression and put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” You took a deep breath. You needed to tell somebody.

“I’m worried that I might be…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, but she understood. Her hand slipped off your shoulder and she crossed her arms, trying to process.

“Oh.” She just stared at you for a moment, barely even blinking. Katniss was never really one with words. You exhaled deeply and explained to her your suspicions. This wasn’t the first time you had been sick. This wasn’t even the third. On top of that, every time you looked into the meadow, you felt like something was coming. You could search and search, but you never figured out what. When you finished talking, Katniss sighed. “Follow me.”

She took you back to her house and found a small box she had hidden in the back of her kitchen cabinet. Handing you the box, she gave you a very uncomfortable smile. You dumped a small bottle into the palm of your hand.

“What are these?” You shook the bottle gently, hearing pills rattle around inside.

“Effie made me promise to give them to you when you and Peeta started thinking about... you know.” She rocked back on her heels. “It’s some kind of test from the Capitol.” You gave her a look.

“Why’d she give them to you?”

“She didn’t want you guys to think she was pressuring you or something.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like she could give them to Haymitch.” You both chuckled, breaking up some of the awkwardness.

“Thanks.” You stuffed the bottle into your pocket, the small item somehow making your hand feel heavy. You started to leave, but you paused. “Don’t tell him about this, okay?” Katniss gave you a crooked smile and nodded. And just like that, everything changed.

A day passed and you didn’t tell a soul. The test was positive. You were pregnant. In just a few short months you would be bringing life into a world that had taken so many lives from you. And that never seemed clearer than when you got letters from Annie. Sweet, loving Annie whose son would never meet his father. As Peeta read her encouraging words, all you could hear was Finnick. His laugh, his smug little jokes to cheer you up. Even though you’d only been a Victor for two years longer than Katniss and Peeta, Finnick was the one to help you adjust to the new lifestyle. He was really the closest thing you had to a brother. You winced, his laugh replaced by his dying screams in your head.

“Love, Annie.” Peeta finished reading with a small smile and tucked the letter into the picnic basket beside him. “I’m glad she’s been able to somewhat adjust.” You nodded in agreement. You had barely said two words to him since you found out. Maybe you were afraid that you’d let it slip. Peeta had noticed your silence, but he chose not to press you. He knew that sometimes you would just let your thoughts wander without saying a word. But there was something different about the way you looked at him.

“Peeta,” You said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. You took his hand in yours, bringing it slowly up to your lips to place gentle kisses on his fingertips. You didn’t want anything to change. Peeta held your hand in between his own, his eyes shining with both admiration and concern. You had to tell him.

“Y/N, are you sure that everything is- what, what is it?” He noticed your eyes grow wide, staring at his hand. His gaze followed yours and his breathing quickened with panic. A wasp crawled across the back of his hand, it’s bright yellow exterior providing little comfort. It wasn’t a tracker jacker, but it didn’t matter.

“Peeta, it’s just a wasp.” You assured him, hoping he would look at you and not the insect.

“I-I know.” He said, but his voice was shaky and his hands started to tremble slightly as he strained to keep still. You’d never actually had to encounter the mutt insects, but you knew that he had in his games. Tracker jacker venom was also what they used on him to try and distort his memories to turn him against the rebels and even you. His hand jerked away, but he only aggravated it more. He yelped as it stung him, flying away to safety. Though the pain was brief and minimal, it was the memories you feared more.

Peeta tried to hold it back, but his mind swirled between the present and the past, mixing with all the horrors he had seen. You took his face in your hands, urging those beautiful hazel eyes to focus on you.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay.” You pulled him close to you, his head resting on your chest, hoping that the sound of your heartbeat would calm him. It usually did, despite how rapidly it was beating now. You ran one hand up and down his back while you gently stroked his blonde hair with the other. “It’s okay.” Sitting there, holding him, you knew more than ever that you couldn’t do it. How could you bring a child into a world that had done such cruel things to such a kind person? A world that had broken him in ways you would never understand. It had broken you.

After his episode, Peeta decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing inside. He settled in front of his easel, using a mix of blacks and greys to replicate the storm clouds gathering overhead. In contrast, he painted the yellow flowers beneath them, their brightness only slightly dulled by the gloomy atmosphere. He looked out the window, watching you walk slowly through the patches of primrose.

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss said from behind him. He turned and gave her a small smile.

“I want it to remind her that there’s brightness growing out of the dark.” He’d noticed that you had had a hard time adjusting to a life of peace after the horrors that you’d all been through. Sometimes, he was sure you were still trying to escape the games in your mind.

“She should probably get inside.” Katniss noted, looking out to the flowers, but you weren’t there anymore. “It looks like it’s going to storm.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder. There was another sound; a faint cry muffled by the closed window.

“What was that?” Peeta slid the window up and listened closer. Another boom was followed by another scream. “Y/N.” Your names left his lips in a panic as he ran down the stairs and out into the rain.

“Y/N!” Katniss shouted, the rain starting to pour down, pounding against the pavement. She might have been more scared than Peeta. She knew the truth. It wasn’t just you in danger anymore. Peeta’s eyes swept the trees while Katniss checked around the houses. After the loudest crash of thunder yet, the screams became words.

“No! Finnick!” You were running through the trees, looking up at the sky where you saw the faces flash in your head. Each boom of thunder was another canon, another death. Haymitch, Annie, Katniss… Peeta. “Peeta!” You shrieked, falling to your knees in the mud. “Peeta!”

“Y/N!” He knew those cries. You often screamed like that when you had a nightmare, clawing up at the air as if he was flying away from you.

You curled up on the forest floor, not caring that mud covered your cheek or that the rain pelted against your back. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, wishing that you could make it go away. You knew that the next canon was for your baby.

“No!” You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t raise a child in this never ending storm.

“Y/N! I found her!” Peeta’s voice was barely audible over your own screaming and the rain. You flinched away from his touch as another canon sounded in your head. You felt his strong arms wrap around you and lift you up, holding you close to his chest.

“Peeta…” You whimpered, weakly tugging at his shirt. “T-the canons.”

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.” Katniss found him and he quickly took you back to the house, rain still pounding against your skin. You looked up at the sky one last time, seeing Finnick’s face once again flashing against the clouds. Peeta put you down on the sofa and wrapped as many blankets as he could around you while Katniss went to grab some dry clothes.

“I can’t do this.” You cried, trembling violently from the cold. “Everything is so dark and cold and cruel. I can’t curse someone else to live through what we did.”

“What do you mean?” Peeta pushed your wet hair out of your face.

“The… baby.” He froze.

“What?”

“Peeta, I’m pregnant.” You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach. “And I don’t want to bring a child into this place.” Despite your distress, Peeta could barely contain his smile.

“We’re going to have a baby?”

“Peeta… what about everything we’ve been through? Can we really condemn another person to that, let alone our child?” He put his hand on top of yours, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Y/N, the world is better now.” He gave you a comforting smile. “We can raise our children in peace knowing that they will have a better life.” Your smile was still unsure so he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will never, ever let anything happen to them.” You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek.

“You’re going to be a great dad.” His face lit up and he scooped you up in his arms, causing both of you to laugh.

“And you are going to be the best mother.” He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his words sink in. Cradled in his arms you felt like nothing would ever harm you. Maybe it was possible, after all this time and through all of the fears, to be truly happy.

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination

#this is my favorite gif of him #peeta mellark x reader #katniss everdean #hunger games imagine #josh hutcherson

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

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Vampr Erik Origin: Part Two

okay so I wanted to quickly get this out to basically wrap up the origin half of my new vampire Erik series Faerie and Vampr that I am starting.

Origin Part One

Let’s start with a little background on vampires:

In order to create a vampire, a human must be drained of their blood by a vampire and the blood lost needs to be replaced by some of the vampire's blood. The vampire and human must then sleep in the ground (this is presumably the point where they technically die) until the newborn rises as a vampire the following night. The newborn and the maker will subsequently have a maker-progeny bond, unless the maker deserts or releases their progeny.

If the head, or the heart are missing at the time of death, the person in question will not wake in transition; but simply stay dead. Currently, it is unknown what will happen to a person who lost other organs, such as a liver, or kidneys, and woke up in transition. Most fatal injuries, such as snapped necks, slit throats, stab wounds, and shattered bones from falls will be healed before the fledgling vampire awakens in transition. Furthermore, the person must be mortally wounded or ill to the point that conventional means cannot save their lives. I

A newborn's existence depends upon their abilities, which are taught to them by their maker. These abilities take time to learn and develop. As vampires age, they become more adept at controlling their abilities. According to the history of the creation of vampires, two-thirds of newborns die during their first year without the guidance of their makers.

Newborn vampires will be thirsty and will need to feed to survive. Although newborns have some control of their abilities, they are mostly controlled by their impulses and can cause serious harm and accidental deaths to humans around them. In addition, newborns cannot resist blood at all, as resistance develops with age. The biggest difference is the fact that a vampire gains extreme strength, and has much agility and reflexes. This is more than a match for almost every human alive, and serves the vampire well for hunting and feeding. Of course, like humans, some vampires are just naturally stronger than others.

Also, if a human who is strong is turned into a vampire, then that human strength is added to the vampire strength, creating a very powerful vampire. This is why many vampire leaders will sire huge men; they make incredible bodyguards even against a Slayer. As a vampire grows older, it’s demon side becomes more and more powerful. Vampires do not age, their bodies are, for the most part, just reanimated preserved corpses, and do they, through supernatural means, stay the same forever. There are some exceptions, for example, vampires still appear to grow hair...though perhaps at a much-reduced rate.

A vampire can suffer terrible injuries and heal from them easily. Since they can only be killed by a few select things, they can suffer injuries a human could not heal from, like a broken spine. Gunshots, swords, and any injuries caused by weapons that aren’t wood can’t kill a vampire, only cause pain. Certain vampire poisons and magic do exist though, which will permanently hurt, or kill a vampire. In 1610, a powerful witch named Antonia Gavilán de Logroño cast a spell that summoned all vampires within a 20 mile radius to expose themselves to sunlight. This caused a number of vampires to die and caused vampires to be very fearful of necromancy.

Another example of the supernatural preservation is that vampires don’t need to take oxygen to live. They can, however, force air in and out of their lungs, which allows them to do things like smoke, or perhaps cool air into their chest if they get too warm. They do not have a beating heart like humans do. Although this is true, through some supernatural means they still seem to have blood flow. Without a blood flow, a vampire can’t bleed, or react to drugs, which they clearly do. They can’t however become pregnant or produce waste.

Vampires are recognizable from their fangs, which are located behind the maxillary lateral incisors (as opposed to the canines, as per vampire mythology). Fangs can be extended and retracted by choice, and are controlled by the movements of certain facial muscles. However, fangs protrude automatically when vampires are feeding, angry, excited, sexually aroused (colloquially referred to as a "fang boner"), need to fight, or see blood. Fangs can also be removed, but grow back after three months. Without fangs, vampires cannot feed on live victims unless the victim is already wounded….

——————————-

Erik’s eyes shot wide open in a flash. Darkness surrounded him and his large, muscular body was resting on a hard surface. He could hear the springtails, beetles, centipedes, and ants that make their home in the soil, crawling around. The katydids and crickets were chirping much louder in his ears now. He could smell the odor of dry blood and decay in the earth from the deceased. His body no longer aches and he felt like he had the strength of an entire army.

The last thing he remembered was waking up on a makeshift bed surrounded by burning ritual candles enchanted with herbs, oils, and crystals chosen for their metaphysical and magical properties. He could recall a voice, a captivating voice speaking Jamaican patois in his ear. Now that he forced himself to remember while lying beneath the cold, damp earth, she said she was Mama Dalma; Tia Dalma. The powerful voodoo priestess Erik heard many stories about in his youth.

Like flashes, Erik could vividly see her coming down on him speedily and sinking her teeth into his neck, draining him of his blood. What was she? She said that she would give him the power of immortality, superhuman strength, and healing capabilities. Did that include drinking blood too? From what Erik could tell from his razor-sharp senses is that it’s nightfall. His hands reach above him, feeling around since he could only see pitch black. He noticed wood beneath his fingertips. Erik pushed with ease, although the top flew off and landed somewhere far within the distance. He sits up, finally breathing in the night air.

Erik stares at his hands in bewilderment before looking around him. Erik could see the full moon peeking through the branches of the oak trees. As his eyes moved he could make out a sprawling wooden shack surrounded by a damp, gloomy world. It’s a steamy bayou and the forest within this area looked like a spooky cypress where fireflies flickered in the heavy air. The swamp water surrounding the shack was eerily still. The sprawling shack clings to the branches of a tree within the swamp. This had to be Tia Dalma’s home.

...Yuh can stay here on muh table and die slowly...or I can give yuh immortality….

Her words rang true in his ears. Tia Dalma saved his life. Erik was about to die by the hands of white men who seeked revenge for burning down their homes and killing their families. He now remembers tasting the mixture of saltwater and freshwater, also known as brackish water in his mouth after being tossed inside the swamp by the white men. The gators would have devoured him in minutes if it wasn’t for him being pulled from the swamp. He figured Tia must have killed those men and rescued him.

Standing slowly, Erik tested his ability to move by stepping out of what appears to be a wooden coffin and into the shoveled-out ditch. He clearly recovered from the multiple stab wounds to his abdomen. His cream colored linen blend shirt with a collar was still covering his torso even though it was ripped. Erik delicately touches the skin of his much smoother chest, his head lowering to follow his movements with fascination. His blood still stained the shirt that is also covered in dirt and grass stains. Lifting his shirt up, he examined his abdomen, the muscles crunching the more he bends his back to get a good look.

There are no wounds. The jagged knife used on him to create deep gashes was apparently gone. All that’s left is smooth skin and an eight pack so rock hard that if a mortal punched him their phalanges down to their carpals would be fractured beyond repair. Erik breathes irregularly and his eyes are wide with astonishment. He quickly touched his face and head, his hands moving rapidly with shock. His face is back to normal before the white men kicked, punched, and pistol-whipped him.

“Wut kind of magic is dis’?” He spoke with a staggering voice. While staring at his hands, a drop of blood landed on his skin. Startled, Erik touches his nose, bringing it down to examine. He’s bleeding. After that realization an insatiable need to eat overpowered him. It hit him so fast and strong that it made his body weaken and stumble. He grabbed at his throat as more blood dripped from his nostrils. Erik lets out agonized gasps that turned into deep growls. His fingers damn near clawed at his throat. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t eat something, anything.

“Wah yuh still doin’ down dere?”

Erik turned with great speed towards the direction of the vivid voice. Standing above him, was Tia Dalma herself. She’s wearing the same sheer, black gown Erik remembers, her long, slender dreadlocks framing her face and a sneaky smile was plastered on her black painted lips.

“Wut happened to me? Did I die?” Erik says while looking up at Tia Dalma with his inky black irises outlined crimson twinkling in the evening night.

“If yuh climb out of deh, Mama will tell yuh everything,” Tia Dalma steps back, “Come mi child.”

Erik grabs hold of a few vines sprouting from the soil-covered wall before climbing up with superhuman agility, his body standing before Tia Dalma in a matter of seconds. The speed still amazed him. It felt like everything around him was moving at a slow pace. Tia locked eyes with Erik before circling him. She was especially proud of herself. She finally has a progeny after 175 years of immortality. Tia smelled Erik’s dreadlocks and squeezed his muscles while circling his beautiful frame.

“I give yuh more life, Erik Stevens. Yuh will walk deh earth unstoppable, like mi,” Tia caresses Erik’s cheek with her sharp, long black nail. He looked her up and down before his eyes moved to the finger on his cheek. He gently brings his hand up, grabbing her finger and bringing it away from his face.

“Wut am I?” He spoke carefully with squinted eyes.

“Yuh a Vampr, Erik, a creature of deh night, deh undead.”

“Ondèd? Mwen? Ondèd?” He walks away, his head moving up, down, and side to side with curiosity and confusion. Mama Dalma watched like a proud mother with her arms crossed, allowing Erik to get a feel of things before she started teaching him. The sooner the better since he’s a newborn. Erik could see with perfect clarity in the darkness of the night, to the point of being able to detect bodily heat emanations. The keenness was comparable on many levels to a bat or owl but ten times more.

Erik starts moving extremely quick, testing out his new abilities. He would run to the left and stop, then turn and do the same thing, creating diagonal patterns with his movements. This speed made it impossible for him to be detected. The more he moved, the more excited he became. He was like a curious child, wanting to explore what else he was capable of doing. Erik ran towards an oak tree, wrapped his arms around it, and without even trying, he uprooted the entire tree before dropping it. The oak tree landed on the ground heavily, causing it to shake like an earthquake. This startled the animals, leading to a few deer and owls fleeing.

“Just rampin around huh?” Tia Dalma laughs before walking up to Erik. His eyes are wide and his nostrils flared. All he wanted to do was move. Staying still only agitated him. Mama Dalma grabs his arm, yanking him towards her with her strength superior to Erik’s since she is much older.

“Ah, yuh have deh bleeds,” Tia wipes Erik’s nose with her fingers, “Deh is what happens when yuh need to eat.” She checked his ears, and sure enough, he’s bleeding from there as well. Erik raises a single brow in question, clearly not understanding a word she was saying.

“Out and bad, yuh will have deh chance to play, but for now, mi have to teach yuh about what it is to be a vampr. Listen to mi, Erik,” She spoke sternly while grabbing his chin harshly, “Yuh have to feed. Deh is mi first lesson. Feedin’. Come.”

Tia Dalma grabs Erik’s hand and the both of them zoom off into the night.

___________________

A white young lady named Isabella Guidry was playing her violin on the open porch of her family's plantation home. The Guidry plantation had about thirty field slaves before they were all freed because of the abolition of slavery. The only negros left we’re the house negros who prepared meals, cleaned, and baby sat. Isabella had just turned 21 years old and she was in preparation to be wed to a veteran named Alex Bellefleur who served as First Lieutenant in the 28th Louisiana Infantry. She suddenly stopped playing her violin when she heard her mother calling for her.

“Isabella! Come in darling! Yvette has to do ya hair! Ya have to teach the new debutants in da morning!”

“Coming, mama!” Isabella places her violin back in its case before securing it. She fluffed out her full forest green skirt that reached the ground, the bustle providing fullness in the back. The cream-colored corset top with cotton bell sleeves cinched her waist giving her an hourglass appearance. She stepped inside of the grand plantation home, the eldest house negro named Mabel approaching her cautiously. Mabel was wearing an apron over her withering cotton dress, her silver hair sprouting from underneath her sun bonnet.

“Miss Isabella, ya needin’ any help?” Mabel asks.

“Just take my violin, please,” Isabella spoke dismissively, “Da last time one of ya broke my precious violin...DONT break this one,” Isabella spoke harshly.

“Yes ma’am,” Mabel grabs the violin case from Isabella carefully before turning to leave with a limp in her leg.

“Why are ya walking like that, Mabel?” Isabella studied Mabel’s legs.

“Nothin’ just tired is all,” Mabel smiles despite her pain before turning the corner to leave.

“Isabella!”

Her green eyes looked up to find her mother standing at the top of the stairs dressed in a black gown with a full skirt, her jet black hair pulled to the back of her head in a neat bun, and pearls dangling from her slender neck. She was clutching a handkerchief and before Isabella could ask why her mother began coughing into it.

“Get up here, Bella. Yvette will put barley curls in ya hair and roll dem up. She’s waiting in ya room.”

Her mother turns away abruptly, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor before disappearing into her bedroom. Isabella climbs the stairs to her room, worry filling her belly for her mother. When she finally made it to her room, Yvette was waiting for her patiently by her Astoria Grand Vanity. Yvette is a mulatto slave who Isabella’s father treated differently from the others because she’s his secret daughter. Her father slept with a house slave named Edna and impregnated her. Isabella’s mother found out and sold Edna to another plantation; the Compton plantation in St. Tammany Parish.

“Evenin’ Miss Isabella,” Yvette spoke with her beguiling voice. She has smooth tawny skin, loose curly, sandy brown ringlets framing her face while the rest was hidden beneath a red and khaki tigon, which was simply the French New Orleans version of an African head wrap. She wore a brown southern belle dress with lace drop shoulder sleeves, a low neckline, and a voluminous skirt. Isabella hates that this is her half sister and the fact that she gets to dress so nicely.

“Who gave ya dat dress?” Isabella asks with an attitude and jealous eyes.

“I made it, Miss Isabella,” Yvette blinks her chocolate brown eyes away, “I have to do ya hair.”

“I know, barely curls,” Isabella takes a seat at her vanity, her eyes sharp on Yvette. Yvette could feel her burning holes through her head with her furious eyes while she took down Isabella’s black hair. Yvette grabs a brush to smooth it down, “Well? Wut are ya waitin’ on?! Do my hair!”

“Yes, Miss Isabella,” Yvette moved at a faster pace before grabbing a clip to pin up some of Isabella’s dark strands.

“I hate ya,” Isabella didn’t hesitate to say, “Ya brought down my family, ya negro tramp.”

Yvette bites her tongue. She had a lot that she wanted to say to Isabella but she would only end up killed. It wasn’t her fault that her father slept with her mother, Edna, around the same time Isabella’s mother was pregnant. Yvette didn’t ask to be here. She couldn’t control the fact that she was half white, even though she despised that side of her because of how they treated blacks. Yvette will always feel disgusted about that part of her. While Yvette began working on Isabella’s hair, wetting a few strands, a scream rang out from her mother’s room. It went on a few more times, the sound so scary it made Isabella’s fingers tremble. Yvette was in the middle of wrapping Isabella’s damp hair around a piece of soft rag to form the curls when she stopped, a startled expression on her face.

“What da hell?” Isabella stands, “mama?” She called. Her father wasn’t home yet from an outing with her fiancé, Alex, and the rest of the men for drinks, preferably hard apple cider and rum. It was unnaturally quiet. A pin dropping would probably echo throughout the room from how silent it was. Isabella lets out a panting breath before standing from her vanity. Yvette began to quickly clean Isabella’s vanity, her hands shaky. She heard tales about Ricardo Dupoux and his revolt burning down plantations throughout Louisiana. She didn’t want to be around for it to happen.

“Go see what dat noise is!” Isabella ordered. Yvette pauses, giving Isabella a dirty look.

“Did I stutter, nigger?! Go see what dat is! NOW!” Isabella yells with a trembling finger pointed to the door.

Yvette drops the items in her hand onto the vanity before gathering the bottom of her dress to walk away. Before she could even make it to the door it was torn from its hinges. Yvette runs to the other side of the room, tripping over the bottom of her dress, and falling to the floor while Isabella screams, falling back against her bed. Standing at the door, both bodies covered in blood, is a black man and a black woman. Their eyes are round with pitch black irises, mouths wide open and sharp fangs protruding automatically to threaten. Their faces from the nose down are covered in blood and some of it stained their clothes. The woman, however, barely wore any fabric, her small breasts with hardened nipples and her hairy mound clearly visible.

“WHO ARE YA?!!! WHAT DID YA DO TO MY MAMA?!!!” Isabella yells with fear. Yvette was hugging herself in a corner, tears filling her eyes as she prayed in Haitian creole.

“Chè Bondye, tanpri, mwen pa vle mouri,” She sobbed while praying.

“No use in cryin’ child, hush yuh mouth,” Mama Dalma spoke with an evil tongue, “hole yuh cahna, gurl,” She insulted Isabella, putting her in her place when she kept yelling about how they are a bunch of niggers and how her father will find them and kill them.

Erik tasted his first victim and it was glorious. It was like an unimaginable, indescribable sweet heavenly nectar. It’s like being able to perpetually exist off nothing but sweet desserts without any negative health repercussions. The taste of Isabella’s mother's blood reminded him of fresh gala apples. It satisfied his hunger but it didn’t give him that feeling he yearned for, a feeling close to an orgasm. A feeling close to his dick chubbing up in his brown knickers. As he stared at Isabella with predatory eyes, he could hear her heart racing, and smell her fear, a scent that Erik relished. While he was draining Isabella’s mother dry he could hear Isabella’s heartbeat through the thick walls. His new powers as the undead allowed him to see Isabella’s blood and brain activity as well.

“Mwen pa ka tann pou tiye sa a,” Erik spoke with a deep, gravelly voice before licking blood from his chin with his thick pink tongue. Mama Dalma gave him a seductive look, her clit jumping below her tightly coiled pubic hair. Yvette shudders from his words. He said he couldn’t wait to kill Isabella. Yvette wondered if he would say the same about her.

“Eat mi child,” Mama Dalma says with a wave of her hand, granting Erik permission to drain Isabella dry. Mama Dalama couldn’t keep her eyes off of Erik’s blood-covered lips and fangs. Isabella tried to run with a high-pitched scream filling the room but Erik already detected her escape, running up on her at a whizzing speed that ripped through the air, grabbing her by the back of her frail neck and slamming her face first on the hardwood floor. Erik twisted her neck painfully before sinking his fangs deep into her pulsating jugular vein. Since he’s new, he drank from Isabella with so much excitement to taste her blood that Tia had to stand by him to instruct him.

“Patience, Erik, slow down,” Mama Dalma moves some of his dreads from his face, “Feel her heartbeat...yuh feel that? Yuh hear it slowing up? Deh is what yuh want to look for. When yuh feedin’ yuh must never take deh last breath or it will draw yuh in and yuh will drop out. If yuh plan on feeding yuh have to learn how to do it without killing dem, yuh know?”

Isabella’s cries grew fainter and fainter. Yvette was staring her in the eyes, watching the life drain from her body. Tears of fear fell from Yvette’s eyes and a hand came up to cover her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She didn’t understand what she was witnessing before her eyes.

“Good job, Big up yourself,” Mama Dalma congratulates Erik on properly feeding from his victim, “Now, yuh may finish her off.”

Erik didn’t need to be told twice. He sank his fangs deeper, ripping the flesh from her neck, and in a matter of seconds, Isabella was lifeless. Erik retracted his fangs before dropping her body to the floor with a loud thud. Her blood was much better than her mother’s, it tasted like cinnamon apples. He could easily tell Isabella and her mother apart from their bodily odor, down to their blood types.

“Now, appreciate yuh prey,” Mama Dalma smashes Isabella’s head like a watermelon with her bare foot, “Deh are food, and only food.” She reminds a newborn Erik.

“More,” Erik says while the blood of his victims electrified his body.

“There’s one more,” Mama Dalma points her sharp black claw nail at Yvette, “She’s a pretty one too...I bet she tastes better,” Mama Dalma says with a honeyed voice.

The echo-sensitivity of Erik’s hearing is what made him notice Yvette. When his eyes landed on hers and his nose sniffed the air she openly cried, her hands flailing and pretty face stained with tears. His sheer speed made it impossible for Yvette to escape. Erik picks Yvette up by her neck and slams her against the wall, grabbing her chin to aggressively turn her head so that he could have access to her neck, or, another area…

“Mwen...Mwen...bèl, Mwen,” His eyes are glued to the copious amount of cleavage she has spilling over the top of her dress. Her skin was translucent to him and he could see her veins and arteries contracting and pushing blood throughout her. Then, Erik could hear her heart like ritual drums pounding his ears. She smelled so...good. Her scent was like Heliotropes with their vivid purple beauty that reminded Erik of cherry pie.

“Tanpri, pa touye m’. Mwen ansent!!!” She pleaded and shook with fear, “Mwen gen yon ti bebe k ap grandi andedan mwen!!” She couldn’t look Erik in his killer eyes.

Erik retracted his fangs, his eyes tearing away from Yvette’s cleavage with great restraint. He lets go of Yvette walking away to control himself. Yvette slides down the wall to the floor clutching her belly. She trembled as she cried. Erik clenched his fists, trying his best to control his breathing and his temptations to drain her dry.

“Erik? Wuh are yuh doing?!!!” Mama Dalma spoke with rage, speeding over to Erik and standing in front of him, “Yuh stopped...why did Yuh do deh?!” Mama Dalma was hysterical.

“Not dis one,” Erik spoke with a low trembling voice, “She’s pregnant.”

Mama Dalma tilted her head up at Erik before grabbing his chin roughly, causing her sharp nails to sink into the flesh of his cheeks, drawing blood,“Yuh came here to feed, right? Wat a gwaan? Yuh killed the other two just fine. Yuh can’t have remorse, it’s not in our nature.”

“I can’t do it,” Erik moves his head away from Mama Dalma’s grip, “There has to be another way, I can’t-I can’t kill her.”

Mama Dalma’s eyes were scornful on Erik. He didn’t cower under her gaze because he knew she wouldn’t kill him, she needed him, that much Erik could tell.

Mama Dalma closes her eyes with a shake of her head, “Yuh queff dem whites...Yuh need to glamour this one then, wipe her memory.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed with confusion.

“It's a form of hypnosis. Come, I’ll show Yuh.”

Both Mama Dalma and Erik dash to Yvette causing her to scream. Erik places a hand over her mouth to calm her but it wasn’t working. Mama Dalma rolls her eyes with frustration, preferring to kill her but Erik did need to learn how to glamour his victims.

“Alright, now, stare into her eyes.”

Erik locks eyes with Yvette.

“Keep eye contact...yes...now, yuh will feel yourself invading her mind...when yuh feel that connection, hold it with all Yuh might. Now...use your voice to compel her to do wuh yuh want her to do...now try.”

Erik felt tethered to Yvette’s mind. It was hard to hold on but Erik pushed himself to keep Yvette under his control. He liked the challenge and if this was going to be his life he needed to do it right the first time. That was the perfectionist in him, even as Ricardo Dupoux.

“...I’m going to release ya mouth now….” Erik spoke calmly and carefully. Yvette didn’t make a sound as Erik’s hand left her mouth. She stared at him with a dazed expression like she was in a dream-like state.

“Tell me, what’s ya name, girl?” Erik asks.

“Yvette,” She spoke with reverie.

“Yvette...ya very lucky tonight. Ya get to leave dis plantation and never look back. Ya can find ya family, and be free with ya babies,” Erik smiles with his blood stained lips and deep charming dimples causing Yvette to smile.

“I can finally see my mama?” even in a stupor, Yvette couldn’t fight the tears of joy falling from her eyes.

“Yeah, ya can go to ya mama. Ya won’t remember wut happened here tonight, ya never even saw me, or her,” Erik reaches out to stroke Yvette’s face. She leaned into his touch while staring at him like she was stuck in a daydream.

“Now, I’m gonna let ya go now, girl. Forget this plantation, just keep going and don’t look back, ya hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl, now, go on, love, leave and never, ever look back.” Erik stressed while holding the eye contact he had with her. Yvette blinked her pretty chocolate brown eyes at him like she was under a love spell, “Say, yes sir so I know you understand what I’m telling ya to do.”

“Yes sir,” Yvette says with a nod of her head. Erik left her in suspended animation while Yvette lifted from the floor, gathering the front of her dress, and walking out of the room. She was gone.

“Yuh gonna tell mi wuh happened back dere?”

Erik turned to Mama Dalma and she was on him in a flash, slamming him to the floor hard and breaking the floorboards beneath him. His fangs extended and he hissed at her with his dark eyes unblinking on her. Mama Dalma’s hands are a blur as she holds Erik down with his arms above his head. She hissed in his face harder, her fangs inches away from biting a hole through his pouty bottom lip.

“Yuh enjoy misbehaving I see. Let me tell yuh something,” She spoke with venom, “I am Yuh maker, I created yuh, and I can take Yuh life away,” She snaps her fingers before dragging her hand down his body to his crotch, squeezing his erection hard, “Just...like...deh, do yuh understand? I command yuh, I have a link to Yuh body and when I call on yuh...yuh come to mama,” She whispered before pushing off of him with great speed, standing above him.

“Retract yuh fangs,” She says. Erik glared at her on that floor, disobeying her yet again.

“As yuh maker, I COMMAND YUH TO RETRACT YUH FANGS...NOW!” Her voice boomed.

Erik retracted them without any more trouble.

“Good boy,” She says, “Now get up. I’m not finished feedin’.”

_______________

There are rows of Cajun homes within New Orleans that belonged to many white people. Some were plantations, others were of regular architecture. Mama Dalma and Erik have been feeding all night and it would be dawn soon in a couple of hours. Since Tia has already killed the men that attempted to kill Erik, Erik seeked revenge on their families. They couldn’t walk into the homes unless they were invited which is what got them inside of the Guidry plantation. An elder house negro named Mabel invited them inside when Mama Dalma persuaded her. As soon as Mama Dalma and Erik stepped into the home, Mama Dalma killed Mabel by draining her blood through her throat.

Mama Dalma made Erik glamor each white person that owned the homes so they could invite them inside to kill them. Bloody footprints made a trail up the road to each and every home. Children, mothers, and fathers all lay in a bloody pile for the flies to swarm them. It was sensual and addictive to feed from his victims. He didn’t feel sexual attraction towards them, especially the racists whites all over New Orleans, but the tastier the blood, the harder his dick became. His mortal life was becoming an afterthought, especially with what happened at the Guidry plantation. He couldn’t bring himself to kill Yvette, even as a newborn, because she was pregnant. Her fear and her words made him think about Justine Dupoux; his wife, and his two little girls, Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux.

With Dawn approaching, Mama Dalma and Erik are simply walking through the bayou, dried blood on their skin from head to toe. Mama Dalma tells Erik the story of how she was created. A mob of pirates came looking for her to kill her because of a curse she placed on them. They hunted her down and each of them took turns raping and stabbing her to death. She was coughing up her own blood in her shack in Cuba similar to the one she has in New Orleans. Just minutes later, a handsome vampr with smooth bronze skin, a broad and hooked nose, thick curly hair, and a tall, slender frame cane upon her. He said he had traveled from the Eastern Desert that extends from the Nile Valley all the way to the Red Sea Coast. He was stunned by Mama Dalma’s bravery and beauty, so he granted her the gift of immortality.

Erik impressed Mama Dalma for his thirst for things. She, however, knew that Erik was going to be trouble since he’s not used to taking orders from anyone. Within their walk in the remaining hours of darkness, Mama Dalma taught Erik all about the world of a vampire and its history from what her maker shared with her. As for Erik’s new powers, he was beside himself with the pleasure of it all. He will live forever, he is strong and unstoppable, and he can hypnotize people at will. One downside to it all was that he was going to miss the feeling of the sun on his skin, releasing endorphins such as serotonin; proven to improve mood, and energy, and increase feelings of calm and focus. Another downside stood before his eyes right now. Erik didn’t mean to come here.

Hiding in the trees, Erik stares at his old home. It was a beautiful forest retreat surrounded by green. He remembers building this home from the ground up. Focusing his eyes, Erik can see an oil lamp ignited in the small window of the living room. Just beyond the glass, Justine could be seen praying with Erik’s mother, Fabiola. He could hear them calling on the spirits for help to bring Erik back to them. Rose and Felicie are sound asleep in their beds. Erik can hear their soft breaths. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he would enter that home, kicking off his riding boots and sneaking up on his wife while she sewed their daughters clothing, placing a delicate kiss to her neck before trailing those kisses down to his wife’s copious cleavage. He could almost feel her curves against his solid frame. Then, the smell of his daughter's hair; a lavender scent. They were always so happy to see him.

“Come on, we’ve stayed long enough,” Mama Dalma says with a hand to Erik’s shoulder, “A vampire's life is a life of discretion.”

“Discretion?” Erik looks down at Mama Dalma as his eyes become glossy before they leaked bloody tears, “Why must we hide, Mama Dalma? We are da powerful, we are da immortal, we should walk fearless in da open,” Erik spoke with a raucous voice. He didn’t like that he had to leave his family behind. Stopping here to see his home one final time was a grave mistake.

“Deh cannot be, mi child,” Mama Dalma wipes away Erik’s bloody tears with her fingers, slipping them into her mouth to clean off, “Mortals must never know bout’ us for deh sake of our kind-

“So I can never know my family?!!!” Erik’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Not unless yuh plan on killing all of dem. Yuh have to cut out, Erik,” She steps closer to him, her eyes more serious, “Yuh must be dead to deh world.”

“I can’t accept dat,” He steps away.

“As yuh maker, I command yuh to leave yuh family behind.”

Erik’s body felt like it was being controlled just from those words alone. Mama Dalma starts walking away, and Erik has no other choice but to follow her while bloody tears stained his cheeks.

“Yuh will do nothing but feed and feed until yuh are satisfied. We are savages, it is time for yuh to understand deh...I am sick of repeating myself wit yuh,” Mama Dalma scolds, “Now, let us go to ground until tomorrow night, I’m craving infant blood,” Mama Dalma wickedly laughs while twirling around in a state of euphoria, her hands playing in her dreadlocks, “I know where deh newborn nursery is at Charity Hospital!! Nice, plump babies!!!”

Tia Dalma is the epitome of vampiric evil and malice, all because of her abusive, cold-hearted, and manipulative maker named Abasi. Abasi and Tia traveled all over from South America, Africa, Europe, and North America.Together, Abasi using Tia’s abilities to seduce and entice men and women, he lured them into his clutches, thereby raping and murdering countless men and women then mutilating their bodies. Abasi created a sadistic vampire. Erik has yet to see what Mama Dalma is capable of and she couldn’t wait to transform him into a male version of herself, just as cruel, limitless, sadistic, and torturous.

____________________

It is the year 1891, three years after Erik Stevens was made vampr. Mama Dalma and Erik often traveled to the French Quarter, also known as Vieux Carré and Barrio Francés. Anglophone Americans and Francophone Creoles would meet and do business in both French and English. It was a big tourist destination. There are multi-story Creole townhouses with businesses occupying ground floors and living quarters above. There were railroad tracks, warehouses, and industries built near the riverfront. Some wealthy Quarter residents relocated to Esplanade Avenue and North Rampart Street when things became overcrowded. Here, Mama Dalma and Erik felt most alive at night. It’s been a while since Erik came to the French Quarter.

The old Lalaurie mansion that was burned down by a mob in 1834 and remodeled in 1838 is used as a public school for girls. Evening parades with drunken civilians who engaged in sex and violence thrilled Mama Dalma and Erik. There is a luxury hotel that Mama Dalma and Erik often decide to bombard and take the riches from the wealthy whites after draining them. Erik especially loved to steal three piece lounge suits and polished shoes for himself from local shops. He looked dapper with the slim fit, always wearing his jackets partially undone to reveal the high buttoning waistcoats and watch-chain. He didn’t bother buttoning his shirt since he preferred it to be open to show off his defined pectorals and sculpted eight pack. He still dawned the Vodou jewelry he adored so much.

Mama Dalma is a confident woman who screams sex. She often wore long, sheer gowns that gave you a view of her nudity. She wore heavy jewelry like Erik and dark makeup that made her inky black eyes pop. She was determined to fuck Erik, waiting patiently for him to finally accept his new life. It took him over a year to freely accept being a vampire. He never talked about his family again which made Mama Dalma very happy, especially if he was going to be her lover. It was his compelling eyes, his remarkable body, his voice, the way he fed on his victims, how his dick would thicken and leave an enormous bulge that she wanted nothing more but to ride, suck, and nibble on with her fangs. She noticed the way women; white and black, looked at him. She noticed a lot of traits in his new vampire body. Erik is calculating, disobedient because he didn’t like to be told what to do and when to do it, seductive, calm and methodical unless pushed towards a lethal violence with surprising strength for a newborn.

One evening, Mama Dalma and Erik visit a brothel, posing as a wealthy black couple. The prostitutes of the brothel were a mixture of races; French Creoles, Spanish, Haitian Creoles, African Americans, White Americans, and the list goes on. It’s been three years since Erik had sex with a woman. He would often lure and seduce them to kill them or feed but not to have sex. Seeing all of the half naked women offering themselves to him stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt since his wife. He could never see them again so there was no use in denying himself of what he craved besides drinking blood. Mama Dalma sensed his struggle and decided to let Erik have some fun while she watched, that is, until she intervenes.

Erik chose a beautiful African American girl named Althea who physically reminded him of his wife; short, curves in all the right places, and lips so round and full he wondered how good they tasted. She wore tight, barely curls in her hair and Victorian lingerie with a corset in a peach color. She looked timid, constantly staring at her bare feet to avoid Erik’s piercing black eyes. Just simply extending his hand for her to grasp made her gasp. When Erik took her to a room draped in red velvet with fancy suede red furniture lit by an electric lantern, he informed her that Mama Dalma simply wanted to watch them have sex. This poor girl Althea didn’t know what was coming to her. Mama Dalma took a seat in a corner, removing her long coat and revealing her sheer gown underneath.

“I’ve never done dis before...having a woman watch me,” Althea whispered nervously.

“Just act like she’s not even there, girl,” Erik kisses down Althea’s neck, “Ya like da way I kiss?”

“Yes,” Althea gasps when Erik’s tongue snakes down her neck to her cleavage, “Ya sure love to lick my skin, Sir,” Althea laughs nervously. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of Mama Dalma.

“Ya smell just like honey,” Erik drags his nose along Althea’s skin, “I bet ya taste like honey too, girl...right here,” Erik says while rubbing her pussy lips through her lingerie.

“Please,” Althea lays back in the bed, “ya so handsome, I need ya to fuck me.”

Mama Dalma brings her hand down between her legs, resting her fingers over her curly pubic hair. Wet wasn’t even the word to describe how slick her folds are. Watching Erik undress Althea made her fangs extend on its own. Luckily, she’s in the shadows and Althea can’t see. Erik used one had to rip Althea’s corset and lingerie from her body, causing her to moan from his aggressiveness. Althea has nice big, round breasts with dark chocolate areolas and nipples. Mama Dalma could only imagine how it must feel to sink her teeth into all that flesh.

“Goddamn, girl,” Erik practically rips his shirt from his body followed by his waistcoat, trousers, and shoes. Althea couldn’t believe the body before her was real. She touched Erik with intriguing eyes filled with so much desire they began to water.

“What a beautiful man,” Althea expresses, “What are ya?”

“Ya Master,” Erik gives Althea a wicked smile, “And da one dat plans on making ya cum,” He licks his lips before leaning forward to suck on Althea’s nipples.

Her heart rate banged in his ears and the constant pulse coming from her veins and arteries was driving him insane. He was extremely hungry and after three years of being a vampire his control became better. His fangs didn’t extend prematurely anymore, now, Erik could control it. Althea’s sweet moans made his fat dick cast iron hard. He quickly drags his lips down Althea’s body while she grabs a fist full of his long, slender dreadlocks. Erik wasted no time while bringing Althea’s legs up and out, causing her to whimper. The smell of her inner folds was what caused his fangs to extend. Althea heard it and lifted to try and see but Erik held her down with a single hand around her throat while he vigorously lapped at her pussy. Pussy. He forgot how amazing it tasted but with his heightened senses he had to be licking grains of sugar.

“Oh, yes, oh God, yes,” Althea was gripping the sheets while struggling to breath from Erik’s strong hand around her neck, “Yes, Master, eat my pussy like dat.”

Mama Dalma was rubbing her clit in a circular motion with her razor sharp eyes focused on the way Erik’s tongue would lick Althea’s pussy. That thick, pink tongue would flick Althea’s clit up and down and then he would occasionally move that muscle side to side up and down Althea’s inner folds. She was nice and engorged down there, her hips constantly jerking like she wanted to shower Erik with her liquid. The minute Erik’s full lips wrapped around Althea’s clit and labia, Mama Dalma slips three fingers into her pussy to stroke herself. Althea couldn’t handle it. Mama Dalma however would have taken that sweet torture like a champion.

“Unh! Unh! I’m cumming! Master, I’m cumming!”

Althea’s hips levitated off of the bed and Erik followed her movements with his lips still sucking on her clit.

“Jesus,” Mama Dalma whispers, “Yuh tore deh girl up, Erik...her pussy is nice and wet now.”

Erik’s lips slowly pulled off of Althea’s clit to place kisses along her inner thighs. He licked with a circular motion to make her shiver before sinking her teeth into her thigh. Althea screams, yanking Erik’s dreadlocks. Her entire body spasms beneath him, soft whimpers escaping her mouth. She didn’t understand what was going on. Erik retracted his fangs before licking her blood up that constantly leaked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before kneeling between Althea’s legs with his dick in hand. Althea watched him clutch that long pipe before bringing her knees back further.

“It’s so big,” She says with a stunned voice, her hands holding her pussy lips open now with desperation, “ya fucking me wit dat?” She was nervous and aroused at the same time.

“All of dat,” he leans over Althea’s body, his dick in one hand and his other hand wrapped around her curly strands. Erik rubbed the wide tip of his dick against her clit before slowly entering Althea. She let out ragged breaths with her mouth unhinged. Erik licked and kissed all over Althea’s neck all while his hips were pistoning in and out of Althea’s pussy. The entire bed would moved, the brass headboard banging against the wall covered in elegant ornate French Victorian wallpaper that is a black and red color.

“Fuck, dis pussy is so tight,” He whispers.

“It’s so much dick, Master, so much dick!!!!” Althea pushes at Erik’s chest but he wasn’t going anywhere, “Jesus! it is filling me up!! unh, FUCK!”

“Ya better take all dis dick I’m giving ya girl,” He whispered to her, “Don’t run from me, I’ll hold ya down and fuck ya some more.”

Mama Dalma moaned from his words before bringing her fingers to her mouth to taste herself. With her spit covered fingers she rubs her clit, bringing one leg up so she could have a better reach. She could only imagine the pleasure Althea was experiencing. The more Erik fucked her the more possessive Mama Dalma became. Althea was taking all that dick, dick that belonged to Mama Dalma. Erik’s stroke was dangerous. The muscles in his back rippled and flexed each time he entered Althea.

“Ya making me cum again!” Althea twisted her head to the side, tears falling from her eyes, and moaning into the pillow beneath her, “UNH GOD!”

Erik’s inky black irises dilated when he saw Althea’s jugular vein protrude from her neck. While stroking her, Erik takes a single finger to trace her vein before extending his fangs from simply flexing his jaw, startling her by coming down on her with speed, his teeth sinking right into her vein. Like a pipe bursting, Althea’s blood spilled into Erik’s mouth. His eyes rolled and the grip he had on her hair became painful and uncomfortable. Her screams turned into scared cries as her hands attempted to push him off of her.

“Yes, feed, mi child!!! take her blood!!!” Mama Dalma felt overwhelming joy and lust instead of a building orgasm since she is the undead. Mama Dalma sucked the lubrication from her fingers before speeding over to the bed. She moves Erik’s dreadlocks out of the way so she could sink her teeth into Althea’s right breast. The fleshy area was like a cushion for Mama Dalma’s lips while she fed off of her. Althea could do nothing but cry. Erik continues to fuck her until his body tingled and the same overwhelming lust that Mama Dalma felt blasted through him. It was strange and intriguing to not ejaculate but still very powerful like an orgasm. It hit him so hard that the hand in Althea’s hair yanked some of her strands out. Blood began to soak the sheets and Althea’s body soon became lifeless.

“FUCK,” Erik stares at Althea’s dead body. Her blood was so rich and sweet Erik couldn’t help but to lick and suck on his fingers. His dick was standing straight up and pointed out with deep veins and a tight sack.

“I’m gonna suck and fuck deh sweet dick so good, Erik,” Mama Dalma grabs Erik’s dick, her fingers barely touching, “Oooh, it’s so damn thick.”

“I bet ya been wanting to suck dis dick for a long time...wut took ya so long? Huh?” He says with a sly smirk.

“Eva since I first laid eyes on yuh.”

Mama Dalma forces Erik to the bed with her superior strength. Erik’s fangs retracted instantly when Mama Dalma started stroking his dick. Erik hisses while taking his strong hand to rip Mama Dalma’s dress to shreds, revealing her toned body with small breasts. Mama Dalma lowered her head between Erik’s legs and with her superhuman strength and stamina, Mama Dalma tightened her jaws and bobbed her head expertly to fill her entire throat with his dick. She would suck him all the way down to the base and back up.

“Fuck, kenbe souse m’tankou sa,” Erik closes his eyes, “sa kaka santi li tèlman bon,” He spoke gruffly between moans. He was telling Mama Dalma how good it felt and that she needed to keep sucking on him. Erik felt a pinprick on the side of his shaft that made him bite down on his pouty bottom lip, drawing blood. Mama Dalma was tasting the blood from the throbbing and protruding veins of his meaty length. Erik instantly healed from her bite.

“Yuh are one sexy man, Erik, and yuh are mine. I always get wuh I want. I will take it by force if I have to. Deh dick is mine, yuh hear me? Alllllllllll Mine.”

Mama Dalma couldn’t be stopped the more she gave Erik fellatio. Suck long, suck hard, and suck often. That’s exactly what she will do every chance she gets. With Erik’s newfound strength, his dick was practically impenetrable; unyielding; tremendously solidified. That pleasure stick will have Mama Dalma feeling intimacy stronger than she ever did in her early vampire life. It was different at first for Mama Dalma to be sexual but not in a reproductive way. Since discovering Erik, she felt the strongest sexual lust in her 175 years of being a vampire. Mama Dalma mounted Erik speedily, grabbing his dick at the base before lowering herself on him.

None of the sex is quite as good as vampire sex, though, which can happen at the astonishing rhythm of 120 bpm while simultaneously devouring one’s neck and making your eyes roll back into your head. If they go from a base level, vampires create a hole in the neck where there wasn’t one before. It’s a devirginization—breaking the hymen, creating blood and then drinking the virginal blood. And there’s something sharp, the fang, which is probing and penetrating and moving into it which is pretty sexy.

As she bounced on his dick Erik fed from her neck, tasting the very blood that heightened the feeling like ecstasy. His strong, powerful hips met hers in sort of a race to see who was in charge. Mama Dalma clawed at Erik’s chest with her sharp nails, creating deep claw marks that healed instantly. Her nimble body moved at a swift speed above Erik causing him to grip her hips to try and keep her in place. They were fucking so hard and fast that the bed banged against the floor loudly. The mind-blowing passion was most exhilarating while feeding. It’s not simply “feeding” but it’s sex, breathing, having the best dinner you’ve ever had, feeling the life force of another filling you and making your flagging essence re-surge with vitality. It bolstered your sense of well-being as well as gave life to your body, mind, and demon spirit.

The sensation of feeding is akin to an orgasm, but even more powerfully so in some instances, particularly when properly hungry, which is why stopping can be an issue for vampires. That’s what Erik was experiencing. He lets out a guttural rasp, gasping for air until Mama Dalma finally stops. Erik sucked on her nipples and trailed kisses all over her flesh before forcing her head down so he could nibble on her lips with his fangs. Her moans were stuck in her throat the more Erik fed from her lips. She couldn’t get enough of it, and neither could he.

_____________________

After three months of torture, kill, and sex, Erik became concerned for his family’s welfare when a pox epidemic broke out. Just when he was finally accepting his vampire life, Erik was soon reminded of his mortal family and how they must be struggling to survive. Maybe the faith of the Vodou Religion kept them stable but this epidemic was killing hundreds of people. After Mama Dalma and Erik had sex at their home in the shack, Mama Dalma went to ground earlier and that gave Erik an opportunity to check in on his family. He speeds over to his forest home, peeking through the trees to see how things were. It was dark inside, almost lifeless. Erik became afraid and made the risky choice to approach the home. Out in the clearing now, Erik walked towards the home, nervous and afraid for his family to see him like this.

“Ricardo?! Ricardo se ke ou?!”

It was Justine, standing on the porch wearing a poor Victorian style dress made from cotton with her hair wrapped in a tigon. She looked exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. She was 30-years-old now, and his daughters would be 8-years-old. Fabiola’s birthday had just passed in August, she turned 56-years-old. All of the time had slipped away. Living as a vampire, time wasn’t important with the exception of when dawn was approaching. Justine had lost weight, her fullness that Erik loved no longer there.

“Kote ou te ye?!!” She yells while running down the front steps to their home. She wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, pulling him down into a tight, suffocating hug. Erik’s nose landed in her hair and it smelled earthy, floral, sweet, and relaxing. This was the scent he remembered. It took all of his will power not to sink his teeth into her neck. They stayed like that for some time while she weeped into his cotton shirt.

“Ti fi Yo? Manman m?” Erik asks, pulling Justine away by her upper arms so that he could look at her. He asked where the girls and his mother were. Justine broke down crying again, her knees buckling. Erik held her tightly while a crease formed in his brow.

“Ricardo, ou ta dwe retounen!!!! Poukisa ou kite nou!!!!” Justine attempted to push Erik over and over but he wasn’t moving.

Hearing Justine refer to him as Ricardo felt strange. He almost forgot that was his birth name.

“I had to leave...for ya safety...dem white men would have killed all of ya.” Erik squeezed her tightly to calm her down.

“Fabiola...li mouri.” Justine’s voice was barely audible when she told him the news. Erik felt like he was dying all over again. Fabiola was dead.

“How?” He asks, holding back his tears.

“Fever... a year ago... couldn’t save her...she died in her sleep,” Justine’s words halted as she began to cry again, “Her last dyin’ wish was to see ya again but ya never came back!” Justine looked at him like she was looking at a stranger, “Ya look so different, Ricardo.”

“Da girls, Justine, I want to see dem,” Erik says.

“Ya too late,” Justine fought for oxygen in his arms.

Erik’s eyes grew wide and he stormed past Justine and into the house. There, lying in a coffin, was Rose Fabiola Dupoux and Felicie Ines Dupoux. They are dressed in cotton gowns, one purple and one pink with floral crowns and white dress shoes. Their coily hair is long and luscious, even in death. The last time he saw them they were five years old, running through the little garden in their yard, playing hide-n-seek. They were covered in pox that left nasty scars on their beautiful melanin skin. Erik couldn’t stop the bloody tears that began to flow. He walked up to their wooden coffins, his hands reaching out to touch them. Erik dropped to his knees, loud, uncontrollable sobs filling the room as his body shook.

“I tried, Ricardo...dere was nothin’ I could do,” Justine kneeled by his side, resting her head against his shoulder, “Dese precious girls…I prayed to Papa Ghede for help but nothing worked. I’ve exhausted all of my tears…I accept dat dem girls have to go...Marie is dead, ya mother is dead...I had no one to turn to.”

Erik stands, walking up to each of his daughters to place a final kiss to their heads. He felt disgusting. If he wouldn’t have chosen this life, he would have been here for his daughters, he would have been here for mother, and he would have been here to comfort his grieving wife. He couldn’t begin to understand what Justine was going through. She assumed that Erik had perished when he left their home to go with Augusto. Justine clings to Erik so tightly she was afraid he would slip through her fingers. Erik tried to hide his face from her but Justine’s delicate fingers smoothed his dreads from his face so that she could give him a kiss. It’s been three years.

“Ricardo, ya so cold,” She says before her eyes fell upon the bloody tears spilling from his eyes. Frightened, Justine practically leaps away from him before grabbing a shotgun that used to be Erik’s. She pointed it at Erik’s back with her shaky hands before cocking the gun.

“Who are ya?! Wut did ya do with my husband? Ya not Ricardo, ya are a demon!!!! A zombie!!!” Ricardo turns, his hands up in surrender. The blood tears made him look like a monster.

“Justine, it’s me...it’s Ricardo,” Erik walks towards her, “I won’t hurt ya. I just wanted to check on ya to make sure everything was fine. I can’t stay, not like dis-

“DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!” Justine yells, “I WILL SHOOT YA!!!”

“Justine-

Pop!

Justine shoots Erik in the chest. He stumbles back with disbelief that she just shot him before his eyes went down to stare at his wound. The bullet wound healed immediately causing the bullet fragments to fall on the floor. Justine drops the gun, screaming at the top of her lungs while running towards the door.

“Justine! Wait!” Erik was right on her tail but his maker, Mama Dalma unexpectedly appeared at the door. She grabs Justine, pulling her towards her and holding her hostage with her hands, yanking the tigon from her head and grabbing her by her hair, pushing her down to her knees. Erik’s fangs extended, ready to attack Mama Dalma. Justine gawked at the sight of his fangs. She was ready to scream but Mama Dalma brought her to her feet speedily, wrapping a single hand around her neck.

“If yuh so much as scream, I will rip yuh throat out,” She spoke between clenched teeth before showing Justine her fangs, “I don’t care if yuh are Ricardo’s wife or not, I will FUCKIN’ kill yuh.” Mama Dalma snarled in Justine’s face, scaring her half to death. Justine was paralyzed with fear.

“Tia, let her go...now,” Erik says as anger stirred within him.

“Yuh planned on leaving mi? Erik?”

Panic surged through Justine, “Erik?! Who is Erik?!”

“Yuh hear deh? She wants to know who Erik is…tell her, Erik, tell her who deh is,” The corners of her mouth quirked up into an evil smile, “TELL HER!!!!”

“I’m Erik, Justine,” Erik spoke to Justine but his eyes were focused on Mama Dalma.

“So, if yuh Erik, why would Yuh come back after I told Yuh not to? Dis isn’t yuh life anymore. When yuh left yuh home that night, yuh left Ricardo behind.”

“I-I don’t understand,” Justine’s stomach clenched.

“Of course yuh wouldn’t understand, child, it’s alright, yuh won’t see Erik anymore after dis...Erik, yuh know wuh yuh have to do, right?”

“Tia-

“DO IT. It’s either deh, or I kill her.”

“I can’t do dat to her-

“So killin’ her is better? Fine,” Tia was on Justine fast, Feeding on her viciously from her neck. Justine’s throat tightened and she could no longer scream.

“STOP!” Erik speeds over to Mama Dalma only for her to push him off of the porch. Erik fell painfully against the ground.

“AS YUH MAKER-

“ENOUGH!!!” Erik yelled so loud his voice could probably be heard a mile away, “Awrite, I’ll do it...I’ll glamor her.”

Tia drops Justine carelessly, “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Justine’s body felt numb and the blood froze in her veins. Erik approached her, his eyes locking with hers, holding her gaze before finally connecting with her brain. Justine was transfixed under Erik’s spell. He tried to hold back his tears but they disobeyed him.

“Justine,” Erik strokes her face with his fingertips, “Ya never saw me, ya never saw her, I am dead, have been for da past three years. Ya will move on with ya life, start a new one hopefully because ya deserve it.”

“Yes,” Justine’s pensive eyed saddened Erik.

“Now, I want ya to go on upstairs and get some rest. Rose and Felicie will be buried in da St. Louis Cemetery. Ya can go visit dem anytime ya want.”

“I’d like that,” Justine says.

“I know, baby,” Erik kisses her forehead. He brings his fingertip to one of his fangs, pricking it before bringing it down to the bite mark on her neck, rubbing his blood into the wound to heal it, “Everything will be just fine.”

Erik stared at Justine one final time before she stood up, walking into the house and up the stairs. Erik’s temper sparked again when he noticed Mama Dalma smiling like the entire thing was a joke.

“If you would have killed her, I would have ripped ya fucking head off,” Erik says.

“With what strength more than mine? Yuh can be angry all yuh please but dis needed to be done. Now, yuh have no reason to come back here.”

“Ya evil, ya have no remorse, I’m exactly like ya. Didn’t care to check on my family, I let my manman die, my babies die, Nothin’ will change dat.” Erik was defeated.

“Like I told Yuh, yuh are a vampire now. Deh won’t EVER understand deh. Keep this up, and yuh will end up dead. If anotha vampire catches yuh acting weak deh will make an example out of yuh. It’s okay...I have a lot more to teach yuh. Now, let’s bury deh babies and leave for good. Deh is deh last time I’m telling yuh.”

“Erik Stevens,” A single bloody tear fell from Erik’s eye.

“When yuh bury deh babies, yuh burying Ricardo Dupoux. As yuh maker, I command yuh to never come back here, and never go back to deh cemetery. Do yuh hear mi, child?”

Erik simply nods his head before walking into his old home to grab the coffins that held his deceased daughters. What this vampire life has in store for him Erik could only hope it would get better.

#killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #black panther killmonger #vampire #nahimjustfeelingit-writes

264 notes · View notes

radiorenjun · 3 years

Text

Rain Rituals || Z.CL

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader

Genre: Comedy, fluff

Summary: Chenle's high school life was more than tedious to say the least. That is when he caught you screaming under the rain.

Warning: fluff. Comedy. Mentions of detention. Second hand embarrassment. Cliché

Wordcount: 2.8K (it's short)

A/n: please ignore my terrible editing skills and happy birthday Chenle!

Chenle was just a simple rich high school boy who, like any other student, just wants to get school and exams over with as soon as possible. He was bored of waking up everyday only for the same exact thing to happen over and over again.

Wake up. Eat. Go to school. Endure hell for 6 hours straight. Go home. Eat. Study. Sleep.

Repeat.

It was boring to say the least. Chenle wanted something to spice up his life, anything to make life more worth living. He wasn’t one to pay attention to whatever’s happening around him, he just wasn’t interested. But one faithful day, a chaotic social hazard of a Chemistry classmate of his decided to change that. Well, technically, the situation was unexpected and absolutely ludicrous for the young boy’s mind to comprehend.

It was a cold, raining evening. Chenle was just getting out of basketball practice, sweat trickling down his forehead as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. Chenle was just on his way to the parking lot, fumbling with the car keys in his hand, his uniform blazer draped over his head to prevent him from getting even more wet than he already is.

A loud scream pierced the quiet atmosphere, causing Chenle to flinch at the sudden sound. His head rapidly turned to see where the scream had come from before his eyes squinted at a blurry figure standing in the middle of the school garden.

‘What the fuck?’

Curiosity kills the cat, as they say.

Chenle went closer to the figure who let out another alarming scream, his brows furrowed in confusion as the figure became clearer and clearer with every step. The soles of his new Air Jordan’s making soft sounds as they made contact with the puddles that formed on the ground.

He leaned his head to the side when he was close enough to see the figure clearly. His eyes widened to see none other than you, the class clown of his grade. Also known as ‘That Girl Beside Me Who Wrote Three Pages Worth Of A Test Answer To Spite The Teacher’.

You were quite infamous for your extroverted demeanor. Making friends and cracking jokes left and right as if it was as simple as breathing air. Joking around and riling up teachers as if they were your closest friends.

To Chenle, you were quite peculiar.

But the sight before him was more than odd. You were standing soaking wet in the rain with your arms stretched out, your hair sticking to your forehead as you leaned your head up as if you were doing some kind of satanic ritual or religious sacrifice.

You let out another scream before groaning in frustration. “Jesus Christ!” you cursed out, kicking a puddle with your shoes as if it would do anything to make your frustrations go away.

Chenle just stood awkwardly not far behind you as he watched you throw a mini tantrum for whatever reason, his pupils dilating in concern with a frown on his lips. ‘This is just sad and embarrassing,’ he thought with a shake of his head.

The second hand embarrassment Chenle felt as he watched you push your wet hair back, letting the raindrops hit your face was almost as extravagant as the time when he watched his seniors attempt to flirt with one of his classmates.

A part of him wanted to just leave before someone (or you) catches him staring at you with a look of disappointment and sympathy. But another part of him was interested to see what you were whining on about in the middle of a heavy rain at 4:57 PM in the evening when you could be doing all this nonsense in the comforts of your own home like a normal person.

“God dammit!” you cursed once again. “Why the fuck am I single!?”

Chenle’s frown deepened when he heard those words exit your mouth. ‘Seriously?’ he thought with a click of his tongue, ‘she’s screaming out here like a lunatic all because she’s single?’

“Come on! Being single is a choice, right? I didn’t choose to be the only single one in all of my friend groups, so why the fuck am I single?” You rambled, letting out a loud groan afterwards. Chenle shook his head in disappointment, he wanted to walk away instead of looking at whatever you were doing. But yet again, he was far too entertained to even look away.

“Oh God.” you clasped your hands together, intertwining your fingers and shutting your eyes tighty. “ If you can hear me up there. If you can hear me screaming my lungs out like a lunatic. Please, oh please, give me a fucking boyfriend! I think I deserved that much for being good for all my life, right?” You paused at the last part, opening an eye as if to rethink your words before you shut them tight again. “Well for the most part of it, anyways!” you added.

Chenle couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, his arms crossing as he let out a soft laugh. ‘This is just getting really sad, I almost feel bad for her.’ he thought before looking down at his Apple Watch, eyes widened at what time it was. He turned to make a run to his car, pulling out his car keys to unlock it.

As Chenle dried himself off with the spare towel he usually keeps in the compartment box of his car, he made a mental note to himself to bring this up to you the next time he sees you. He’s sure that your reaction to him having blackmail is just going to be absolutely satisfying.

You were sitting in your desk, listening to your friend ramble about the things she did with her significant other after school the other day. A small sad smile forming on your lips as you try to listen to her conversation without feeling too sad about your pathetic, almost nonexistent, love life.

But yet again, it’s been a couple of days since you threw a tantrum at the school garden. Cursing at the sky and rain to give you a boyfriend. Only for the principal to come up to you to tell you to go home and get some rest, her expression filled with worry and concern. She probably thought you had your screws loose. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her.

You screamed till the boys at the basketball team had already gone home, your parents scolding you for being out so late in the rain. You spent two days in bed with a fever, worrying if anyone saw you acting like a delusional maniac for two hours straight. But you were relieved to see that it’s been a while since your little outburst and nobody had brought up the topic of you screaming and yelling in the middle of the rain.

Not even the janitors.

That is until you had your Chemistry class.

Your desk mate, who was none other than the infamous Chinese rich boy, Chenle came up to you with a grin spread across his face. You had never spoken to Chenle before, mostly because he was quite cute and you didn’t know what to say to someone so adorable and quiet.

You were just minding your own business, jotting down notes that your friend lent you because you couldn’t make it to school last class because of said fever. “Hey,” Chenle greeted, nodding at you as he placed his bag on his chair. You look up in surprise, eyes widening slightly at the fact that Chenle was actually talking to you and starting a conversation with you.

“Hi?” your throat was dry as your mind went blank, trying to use your extrovert powers to desperately try to come up with something to keep the conversation going. “What’s up?” you added, looking down at your notebook as you continued jotting down notes. Chenle sat on his chair, staring at you with a suspicious smirk spread across his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hummed a small ‘yes’ under your breath, eyes scanning your notes.

“You have to answer it truthfully, though.”

You replied with another small hum, nodding slightly.

“Were you that girl screaming like a lunatic in the middle of the rain the other day?” he asked with a casual hum. His words made your hand stop writing, your eyes going wide as you felt your heart almost stop beating. ‘Shit. Oh god. Oh Dear God, no. You can’t do this to me,’ you thought with a nervous bite of your lip.

You attempted to shrug it off casually, keeping an emotionless expression as you continued writing on your notebook. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded, feeling your heartbeat nervously against your chest. Chenle’s smirk widened at the way you gulped nervously and avoided eye contact when he brought it up.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure I saw you kicking and stomping puddles the other day, cursing and what-not,” Chenle taunted, watching as your hand weakened their grip on your pen. You cleared your throat, “again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? You sure you weren’t the girl who screamed ‘Dear God, give me a damn boyfriend already?!’ in the middle of the school garden like some kind of deranged maniac?”

“You saw that?!” you gasped, your head shooting up to glare at him with wide eyes. You then cupped your mouth when you realised you accidentally gave yourself away. Chenle let out a laugh, pointing a finger at your reaction. “Called it! So you were the girl doing a satanic ritual the other day!” he exclaimed, an amused smile playing at his lips.

You frowned, rolling your eyes as you looked back down at your paper. “Shut up, Zhong Chenle,” you grumbled with a small pout on your lips. “Come on, Y/n. What the hell happened to make you go all bat-shit crazy like that? I mean, not gonna lie it was quite amusing, you should definitely do it again,” he chuckled, leaning his chin against his hand, his elbow propped up on his desk.

You gave an exasperated sigh, looking up at him with a tired expression. “God I wished I took a video of it. Sadly, my phone ran out of battery at that time,” he added with an innocent smile. “You done? I get it, I publicly embarrassed myself. Is there anything you would like to add to that?” Your lips twitched in annoyance when Chenle took a moment to actually think of an answer.

“Give me a minute,” he hummed.

“That was a rhetorical question,” you frowned.

“I publicly embarrass myself on a daily basis, Chenle. What do you want from me?” you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at the boy. “Threatening to spread the information isn’t going to embarrass me that much. I’ve done worse things,” you added, finishing the last few words of your notes.

“No shit, you walked into the boys bathroom to hide from some guy.” Chenle exclaimed with a laugh. “Survival is a reasonable explanation. I still wanted to live, you know! I’ll have you know I only got two weeks of detention for it,” you closed your notebook with a huff, getting up from your seat.

“And was your little tantrum under the rain another part of your survival instincts?” Chenle provoked, causing you to clench your teeth. “I don’t think doing a religious sacrifice on a rainy school day can be called survival, Y/n. Especially whining about how single you are,” he snorted against his palm.

You flushed in embarrassment, turning your body away as you grabbed the notes you borrowed from your classmate. “Shut up. I should’ve performed a demonic ritual to wipe you off of the face of the earth instead,” you spat back, walking away from your shared desk to head on over to your classmate’s.

“It still won’t get you a boyfriend, though.” Was the last words Chenle said to you before you walked away.

It was safe to say you had to apologize to your friend for crumpling their notes.

“I still can’t believe screaming like a lunatic under the rain actually works,” you shuddered, sipping your hot cocoa with a traumatized expression. It’s been almost a year since then. You graduated high school, now you’re in your first year of college.

It was honestly a surprising journey but a couple months after your little tantrum, you manage to find yourself an actual boyfriend, who you now share a flat with. It’s all just ironic really, you screaming under the rain like a deranged psycho was supposed to be something to laugh at in the near future.

But now, the story became even more laughable when the world decided to drop your boyfriend right in front of you not too soon afterwards. Even though you didn’t get along very well at first, it was still pretty worth it, if you say so.

“You still can’t believe what, babe?” you heard your boyfriend call out from the kitchen, the sound of his spoon stirring inside one of your ceramic mugs hitting the air. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you scrolled through your old picture file on your laptop. Pictures you and your friends took before you all graduated high school to capture your last moments with each other.

“Remember the day I screamed and cursed at the sky because I was tired of being single?” you laughed, remembering the moment as if it happened only yesterday. There was a small pause before a loud dolphin-like laugh pierced your ears. “Oh my god, that was so iconic!” he exclaimed, tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug.

“Right? God it was so embarrassing! I finally stopped when I realised the principal was going home. Damn, thank god I didn’t get detention,” you joked, opening a picture of you and your boyfriend laughing and smiling under the heavy rain. “I’m still pissed off that I didn’t record it, it could’ve pinpoint the day I decided to talk to you,” Chenle chuckled, coming out of the kitchen with a mug of his own.

“Shut up, I know for a fact you’re never going to let it go if you actually did record it,” you stuck your tongue out teasingly, scooting over to the edge of the couch to make room for him to sit. “Indeed, it could’ve gone viral, you know. I could post it on Tik Tok or Youtube with the caption ‘Girl Screams At How Single She Is Not Knowing That Her Future Boyfriend Is Standing Right Behind Her, Recording Her For Epic Black Mail!’” Chenle grinned, emphasizing his words with his hand.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, I hate you,” you huffed, pushing the laptop closer to the two of you so he could see. “What are you looking at by the way?” he asked, leaning over to see your screen clearly as he sipped his beverage. “Old photos from high school, you were way more annoying then,” you commented, giggling.

“I’m not annoying now?” he raised his brow at you, making you grin. “You still are, don’t worry. Just slightly less than back when we started dating,” you pinched his cheek gingerly causing him to chuckle. “That means I’m not doing my job as a good boyfriend,” he pouted, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Chenle, no.” You shook your head at him.

“Chenle, yes.” He nodded with a cheeky grin.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you deadpanned, turning away from him to continue scrolling. “Sure you would,” he said sarcastically, wrapping an arm around you lovingly. “You love me too much to even think about breaking up,” he said, grabbing your cheeks in both of his palms, turning your head to make you look at him. He pressed your cheeks together, making your lips pucker up for him to press a loving kiss against them.

“Remind me why I like you so much?” you mumbled against his lips before he pulled away. He hummed, thinking it over for a moment. “I’m just too damn amazing. Plus, a clown like yourself deserves someone to over-clown you,” he giggled. “I prefer the term ‘rival’ because over-clowning isn’t a thing but go off, I guess.” you let out a soft laugh, nuzzling your nose against his.

“Maybe you should do what I did and start screaming at the rain to make us rich,” you suggested.

“Y/n, no. You’re not funny.”

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neo-constellations #nct x reader #chenle x reader #zhong chenle scenarios #chenle scenarios #zhong chenle x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct u x reader #nct 127 x reader

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years

Note

A fic that includes a Voldemort obsessed with James Potter. Sirius does not like Voldemort interest in James. In this fic, James is a brilliant leader with powerful magic, and is always one step ahead of Voldemort. Love fics that includes a possessive Sirius. Please and thank you!

“I don't like it," Sirius said, aware as the words came out of his mouth that he was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"I know," James said. It's what he always said these days. In the beginning, he used to explain to Sirius why it was necessary or how it didn't matter because Voldemort was never going to get what he wanted.

What Voldemort wanted was, in a word, James. He found him 'fascinating'. Naturally, as his boyfriend, Sirius took personal offense to that. Voldemort also wanted to rule the Wizarding World and have everyone bow to him, but he thought James was a much easier target. Joke was on him, because ever since he'd picked up that little obsession, James had gotten proactive, and Voldemort's position in the Wizarding World was worse than ever. "You're not considering it, are you? It has to be a trap."

"A trap wouldn't do him any good," James said, tapping his fingers against the table as he thought. His brow scrunched up, and Sirius wanted to kiss him there, so he did. James shot him a quick smile, then went back to thinking. It was war, and time was often important-- the difference between life and death for everyone opposing Voldemort.

"A trap could get him you," Sirius said, but James shook his head.

"A trap would get me killed; that's not what he wants."

"Maybe he changed his mind." The only thing worse than James getting kidnapped was James being killed, in Sirius's opinion. Getting captured was something he could be saved from. Death was death. It was permanent, and no amount of thinking on Sirius's part would get around that.

James shook his head, dismissing Sirius's concern out of hand. It used to be that that would bother Sirius, but he trusted James to have a better grasp of the situation than he did. He went back to tapping his fingers on the surface of the table, and when it got a touch too frantic, Sirius put his hand on the back of James's neck and rubbed.

"Why don't we put this down for the night? It's late, and you know that you don't think as good when you're tired."

James sighed, sagging a little. Sirius knew that he was going to agree before he even opened his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks. I don't know how much sleep I'll be able to get, though, when I'm worried like this."

"Let's go to bed anyways and see. If you can't get to sleep in a couple hours, you have my full permission to start working on this again."

James glanced up at him, surprised. "Really?"

"I promise," Sirius said. It was a stacked deck though, because he knew exactly how to make James unwind. He'd be out like a light in one hour, not making it anywhere close to two.

"What's the one thing Voldemort is obsessed with?" James asked, walking around the table. He had his different tics that helped him think, and right now, it was more nebulous than usual. Hence, pacing around the table in countless circles. Sirius was sat with his feet propped up, acting as a sounding board. He wasn't half as good at this chess, secret war planning thing as James was, but sometimes James needed someone to talk to.

"Other than you?"

James snorted, giving Sirius head a fond nudge when he passed by. "Yes, other than that. Besides, you have him beat out in that department. He wants me on his side, but it's not what he desires more than anything. He wants to rule the Wizarding World, but again, that's a want, not a need. What does he feel he needs?"

"Sycophants?"

"They're definitely nice. A good bonus, but not the end goal," James said. "We're thinking too small. He already has those. He already has a manor and all measure of wealth. He's set up for life."

"Several lifetimes," Sirius corrected. Between all his followers, he had enough to live in luxury for a millenia.

"Several," James repeated, chewing on his lip. "Several." He stopped walking and turned to Sirius. "That's it."

"It is?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn't know what 'it' was, much less if 'it' was the thing Voldemort wanted above all else.

"He wants to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's the best, most powerful wizard of all time, and how do you do that? Taking over the Ministry, all the followers, those are facets. Window dressing, but not the goal. What is everyone afraid of? Death."

"Right, but he's not invincible," Sirius said. "Hell, back at the start, you caught him in that explosion and he started bleeding."

"Exactly, and that's when he decided that he wanted me on his side. Not invincibility, but something even better: immortality. It's why the setbacks from our plans-"

"Your plans," Sirius corrected.

"-didn't piss him off. He thinks that he has all the time in the world. Whatever he's done to extend his lifespan, he's already done it. If he lives for three hundred years, it won't matter to anyone that it took him ten years instead of five to take over Britain."

"That makes sense, but how did he do it?"

James went back to pacing and made a vague gesture with one hand. "Still working on that, but there's a trick to everything. No spell or ritual is infallible. Something that extended his lifespan would've given a boost to his power, so at least we know why no one can take him on in a one-on-one duel."

"Can't be a vampire," Sirius said, and James shook his head in agreement.

"Too many drawbacks. He'd be indebted to whoever turned him, and he's not willing to give someone else that kind of power. So what else is there that could extend his life?"

Sirius made a face. "Mating a veela." He knew Voldemort wouldn't have done that, but they were talking about every possibility, and technically mating a veela did give a power boost and extend a wizard's life, even if that extension was only twenty years and the power boost was said to be negligible.

James laughed. "I'm sure you're right, but I think we'd know if he was hooking up with a veela. That's the sort of secret that would get out."

"Something completely hidden, then," Sirius said, and James nodded. "A ritual for something that powerful would take years."

"And take place during solstices, full moons, et cetera. One of his followers would've noticed that he was missing during those times."

"Before he started the war, then."

"Has to be," James agreed.

They were both silent for another two trips around the table, then Sirius scratched at his ear. "A deal with the fae?"

James looked at him curiously. "Are they real?"

"Not sure."

"Same issue as with vampires though. Voldemort's not what I would call honorable. He wouldn't make a deal if he had to give up anything important for it."

Sirius shrugged. "Just throwing it out there."

James hummed, chewing on his lip some more. Sirius wanted to kiss him, but he thought he should wait for a slightly better time. Distracting James with sex while he was thinking usually resulted in some epiphany while Sirius was balls deep, and he didn't appreciate having to stop then.

The topic turned from how Voldemort accomplished immortality to what they were going to do about it. If they had a theory for what he'd done and just needed to confirm it, that would be easy, but James felt that getting a read on him would be their best bet. After a while, Sirius stopped trying to change his mind and helped him plan it.

They decided on a complicated network of runes to put in place and plan a fight happening there. There wasn't any chance of Voldemort circumventing it, which meant that they had to make sure he was drawn to that fight. The easiest way to do it was for James to be there, but that was a whole other parcel of worry. Sirius was equal parts wanting to convince James to change his mind and wanting to shag him blind. He kissed James once they were done planning for the day, pushing him against the table. James just grinned and hopped up, giving Sirius space to stand between his legs.

"You love me, right?" Sirius asked, pausing in pushing James's robes out of the way.

James smiled and tucked Sirius's hair behind his ear. "Always have and always will. I'm yours, love, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You love me too, yeah?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I do," Sirius said, rolling his eyes but giving James another kiss just in case he'd ruffled any feathers by rolling his eyes at him.

"Well you asked first, so I thought I'd check."

Sirius kissed him again and stuck his hand down his pants. It was the last thing either of them said for a while.

#prongsfoot #fanfic #marauders #james potter #sirius black #filled #established relationship #first war #siriuslystarbucks

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raveneira · 3 years

Text

Since Yashahime is such a dumpster fire Im just gonna rewrite the sequel to what I THINK would have been the better alternative to the whole SessRin situation and also some story elements that could really be improved and would make this series alot better.

For starters, if we HAD to go the SessRin route then I would make it take place 21 years after the end of final act, Kagome was 18 when she returned to the feudal era and 3 years had passed at the end of the final act which made her 21, Rin should have been about 11-12 at that point, if we count 21 years from then, Kagome would be 42 while Rin would be 32-33, meaning when the twins were born Rin was 18-19, I know that might make ppl a bit uncomfortable still but atleast she would be a legitimate adult where you can atleast say "alright...Im KIND of ok with this, I still dont like it but atleast she is technically an adult capable of consenting and not a literal child being taken advantage of"

Thats if they HAD to go the SessRin route, then I would atleast make it done tastefully where it doesnt promote pedophilia, plus the old gang being in their 40s wouldnt be that big a deal because they'd still be capable of fighting.

Now for my PERSONAL take on how the sequel should have taken place, SessRin wouldnt happen at all, because the beauty of their relationship stemmed from this ruthless cold hearted demon who hated humans, learned to love and care for a small child to the point of nearly crying when he thought he lost her for good, there are all different kinds of love and the love Sesshomaru had for Rin was pure and innocent. He was someone she adored as her savior and caretaker and she was someone he cared for and wanted to protect, to me that bond was far more impactful and meaningful than anything romantic or sexual building up between them, but simply two people whom the other simply cannot live without because they mean THAT much to eachother. Such a pure and sweet relationship did NOT need to be twisted into a romantic and sexual light. Rin could have continued to adore Sesshomaru and he could have continued to check up on her and bring her gifts as he did in the final act until Rin decided she wanted to travel with him again.

Now onto the rewrite, as I stated SessRin WOULDNT happen and their bond would remain as it was in the OG series, so who would be the twins mother? well if we HAD to go the half demon route to show Sesshomaru's development full circle, and we didnt wanna undo Kagura's death because it was a critical moment for Sesshomaru's development, there were several other routes that could have been taken.

1 Create a new character and develop her over the course of Yashahime through a series of flashbacks as we unravel the mystery of what happened to everyone through the girls travels. If you want to go the angsty route you could have her die giving birth and have Rin raise them as a sort of surrogate mother figure, kind of like Clementine with AJ.

2 Use an already established character, one possibility being Nazuna, a human girl that debuted back in the early OG series, she had black hair and black eyes but as we see from Yashahime, the girls clearly didnt inherit their mothers looks as in the OG series Rin's hair was black and her eyes are brown while Setsuna's hair is brown and she has blue/purple eyes while Towa has red eyes, features that neither of their parents have. They also have a random red streak in their hair for some reason.

So based on this, Nazuna would be a good possible candidate as she was a teenager in the OG series and would be an adult by the end of the series when she would give birth. [Correct me if Im wrong about her age but she looks like a teenager, but if Im wrong then I would just adjust the timeline to where she would be an adult at the time she gives birth]

Another potential candidate would be Momiji, true she may have been anime only but since this is an anime only sequel she is a plausible candidate. She has red/auburn hair which would explain the strange red streak in the twins hair. Like Nazuna, she was a teenager in the OG series so she would also be an adult by the time she'd conceive and give birth.

Another candidate would be Kaname Kururugi, a game exclusive character, but the fact that they went through the trouble of creating a complete OC and fleshed out her backstory to such a degree and allowed her to build relationships with established characters, including Sesshomaru, its safe to say they could have incorperated her into the anime canon considering they already had an established foundation they could have just built off of and meshed it into the anime. Plus she has brown hair and blue/purple eyes just like Setsuna.

Now that we have all the potential candidates, who's the one that seems the most plausible? In my opinion, I would personally go the Kaname route because she has such a deep and fleshed out backstory and they actually took the time to even animate scenes specifically for this game, so she does TECHNICALLY make an appearance in the anime, just not in an actual episode. And just like Kagome, she could have grown fond of the feudal era as well and wished to go back and somehow found a way to do so at the end of the Final act or maybe a month or year later after Kagome returned.

So going with the Kaname route, I'll begin my rewrite.

Being as Sesshomaru hasnt seen her since she was 15 like Kagome and vanished for several years, when he finally sees her again she will now be 18-19 when they reunite and a relationship would start to build and ensue.

Continuing where the game left off, Kaname would continue on with her normal life as Kagome did and eventually graduate when she is 18. She would still often think about her time in the feudal era and miss all the people she spent time with and bonded with there, one person specifically being Sesshomaru.

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^ A refresher for those who forgot the Sesshomaru ending.

As she comes home from graduation, another Doll Festival of Wishes is being held and it reminds her of Sesshomaru whom she wishes to see again, she goes and buys one of the dolls and writes his name on it as she did when she first returned home, thinking to herself that its no use and is probably a waste of time, but with what little hope she has left, she does the ritual anyway.

Afterwards she goes over to her father to help him with the festival, who like last time asks her to go get something from the storehouse. As she enters the storehouse, the hole in which she fell through before has been patched up, as she walks through the storehouse, she walks on the patched up floor which caves in when she walks on it and she is once again transported to the feudal era.

She once again lands in a forest not far from where Kaede lives, as she wakes up, she is greeted by Sesshomaru, who had saw her unconscious on his way to visit Rin and watched over her till she woke up. Overjoyed and also in disbelief, she hugs him which surprises Sesshomaru who isnt used to recieving this type of affection but he doesnt push her away, nor does he reciprocate by hugging her back.

As she lets go she tells him how much she missed him and everyone there, then, noticing Rin wasnt with him, asks him where she was, worried that something might have happened to her. He reassures her that Rin is fine and that he was just on his way to visit her at Kaede's village which relieves Kaname. She goes with Sesshomaru back to Kaede's village where she reunites with everyone much to their surprise but they are all very happy to see her again.

Anyway Im not gonna do a play by play step by step storytelling so Im just gonna mention the main story beats and you guys can fill in the blanks for yourself.

Anyway after the happy reunion and catching up, Sesshomaru prepares to leave back on his travels which saddens Kaname who had longed to see him again and only got to be reunited with him a short time. Reluctant to be apart from him again, she asks, or rather insists he allows her to come with him on his travels. He tells her that if she comes with him it'll be a dangerous journey for her, she replies confidently that she can take care of herself and promises to not be a burden to him. Reluctant but not willing to argue, he tells her to do as she wishes and flies off. Kaname hops on A-Un and soon follows, and the two begin their travels together.

Thats pretty much how'd we leave off the final act, atleast a month or two after, you can decide your own timeline.

As for what happened on their journey and how their relationship developed will be shown through a series of flashbacks over the course of Yashahime as we solve more of the mysteries.

In episode 15, we'd get the same flashback but with Kaname being the one to give birth to the twins with Rin, Kagome, Sango, and Kaede there for her as support. It is said that when Sesshomaru and Kaname found out she was pregnant, he brought her back to the village where she could have a safe pregnancy and birth. Of course Sesshomaru isnt the mushy type to stay there with her through her pregnancy, but he does visit from time to time when giving gifts to Rin but also goes to check on her and see how she’s doing, although he doesnt admit thats what he’s doing.

After the twins were born, everything plays out relatively the same, but instead of just taking the twins without a word to her, he atleast reassures her that he's taking them someplace safe from harm, although he cant explain to her right now what that harm is, Kaname says she trusts him.

As I said, things play out relatively the same after that.

As for Rin, what exactly happens with her? well if we MUST pair her off with someone, it should be Kohaku, someone she has an established relationship and bond with that is closer to her age. Whether or not they have kids I'll leave up to you to decide, but I like the idea of Kohaku having a little demon slayer son to carry on their legacy. It would be interesting seeing his bond with Setsuna since Rin would essentially be like a sister figure for the twins although they dont remember her, it would be interesting and sweet to see Setsuna develop a bond with their son who for the sake of simplifying things, we'll call him Korin.

Korin, if we want Rin to be an adult at the time she gives birth, would be 4 years after Kaname gives birth to the twins when Rin is 18-19, making Korin 10 in the present. Like the twins, Korin has no memories of his mother since she was sealed away in a tree for whatever reason, so the only mother figure he's ever had has been Setsuna, which would be an interesting dynamic to explore since it would be similar to how Sesshomaru filled a parental role for Rin who didnt have anyone at the time.

Moroha would NOT be this uncaring about her parents, infact she would be insanely curious, maybe even furious wanting to figure out why they abandoned her and vanished without a word since nobody seems to have told her anything that happened. She would want answers and wouldnt stop until she gets them. The OG crew if we MUST have this mystery drawn out, would tell her that it would be better if she found out the truth for herself and that any answers they give her wouldnt be the answers she wants. So Moroha's driving force in the story wouldnt be about some stupid bounty hunting debt, although she could still be a bounty hunter, but her main motivation would be trying to discover the truth about her parents and why they abandoned her.

Also this BS with Koga giving her up would NOT happen, it just wouldnt, that is BEYOND OOC for him to do and I will not be having it. Instead, Koga would be IN character and not let Moroha out of his sight, he would treat her like kin like the rest of the wolf demon tribe, maybe even give her special treatment because of her connection to Kagome. Koga would train Moroha himself, not going easy on her because he wants her to be strong enough to fend for herself, concerned because of her being a quater demon and having her demon powers sealed, he’s hard on her to toughen her up to not have to rely on it.

If we must include Yawaragi, then she would be sort of a bodyguard assigned to watch over Moroha by Koga for when he cant. The storyline of the rat armor would still relatively be the same but instead of selling Moroha off to some shady bounty hunter which Koga would never allow or forgive her for doing, she simply introduces him to her as a long time friend, Moroha would take interest in the bounty hunting business as an opporunity for training, and potentially finding info on her parents since Jyubei seems to have alot of connections and intel that’ll be useful in her journey. Yawaragi instead of pursuing the key alone would bring Moroha with her when they are approached by the shady demon whos name I cant be bothered to remember, he blackmails her with the key telling her to fight Moroha if she wants it, Moroha scoffs at this telling him that she wouldnt do that and that they’ll both fight him together to get the key instead, but to her surprise Yawaragi attacks her.

Everything plays out relatively the same, Moroha is hurt at her betrayal and lashes out at her. Yawaragi, like in the episode uses this fight as one final lesson for Moroha, with full intention on dying by the end of it. Moroha is hesitant to fight her because she still cares about her as she was like a second mentor and somewhat mother figure to her. So to get Moroha to fight seriously she lies to her by saying that everything was a lie and that she never cared about her etc I wont go into a ton of detail, Moroha is reluctant to believe her but is eventually convinced when she attacks her full power, seemingly with the intent to kill her. This pushes Moroha to fight seriously as well, remembering what she taught her about using her clever thinking and successfully strikes her down.

After this she goes over to her and Yawaragi admits to lying to her so that she would fight because she knew chances are the shady demon wouldnt have given her the key and since the rat armor was close to killing her anyway she decided she would rather die by Moroha’s hands rather than being crushed to death by the armor. Moroha would be devestated and guiltridden since she is the reason she was in the cursed armor to begin with, but Yawaragi reassures her that it isnt her fault and that it was her own negligence to see through the trap that resulted in this outcome. As a reward for defeating her, she gives Moroha her sword [yes Moroha wouldnt have her sword until now] and tells her to get stronger with it so that she wouldnt have to rely on her rouge, but win using her own strength. Moroha promises her that she will and Yawaragi passes away shortly after that. Everything plays out relatively the same after that.

As for the twins their motivations can mostly stay the same, but they also wouldnt be so uncaring about their parents, or specifically Towa wouldnt. Towa would be furious at her father and want to find him and maybe even kill him for abandoning them and causing them to be separated with seemingly no regard for their safety. Setsuna can maintain her non caring attitude, but given Towa's upbringing in the modern era, it makes sense for her to be furious at her birth father's neglect after experiencing what a loving home and father feels like.

As for what happened to Kaname, like I said you could go the angsty route where she died giving birth, or you could have her be kidnapped and used as a bargaining chip to blackmail Sesshomaru into doing the enemies bidding. You could have it where Sesshomaru was able to prevent Rin from falling into the enemies hands but not Kaname. Or maybe Kaname sacrificed herself for Rin, agreeing to go with the enemy in exchange for them sparing Rin, which is what leads Sesshomaru to sealing Rin in the tree to prevent them from potentially coming back for her. You guys can come up with your own conclusions there, these are just some scenerios off the top of my head. But for the sake of the rewrite we'll go with Kaname being kidnapped and used to blackmail Sesshomaru.

I’ll make an actual rewrite in a separate post with how I would PERSONALLY make the sequel, this post is just me tweaking and making slight alterations to the way Sunrise chose to write the sequel, the separate post would be how I feel the sequel could have played out instead for the better.

#Anti-sessrin #anti sessrin #Hanyou no Yashahime #Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon #rewrite

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