#healing through the power of love fuck yeah
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Lute: wait how’d you get your wings back
Vaggie: power of vile and blasphemous love, baby
#hazbin hotel#healing through the power of love fuck yeah#vaggie hazbin hotel#chaggie#lute hazbin hotel
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I still unironically think that hashirama's and tobirams's mom was a hatake and was one of the key factors in the mokutun kekkei genkai and not just senju bs alright good night everybody
#i love how this makes zero sense if youre not invested in narutos lore#results from my very very late night energy spike but im crashing now so yippeeeeeeee#some elaboration cause i feel like it. i personally headcanon that the hatake clan used to exist but was killed around the same-#time as the uzumaki clan#the reason they werent so well known in the fire country is cause they originated from the lightning country#the hatake and uzumaki clan became allies after the lightning country became fearful of their white charka and turned hostile#the uzumaki clan deeply related so the two quickly became fierce allies and that's how tobiramas mom happened#basically konoha met the hatakes through the uzumakis extremely early on in their history and was a key result of the mokuton#in my brain white charka works like this. its an extremely volatile but powerful charka nature but its not made up of any one element#its basically pure energy that has the ability to heal and build upon existing jutsus to make them 10× more powerful#thats why people were so fearful of them as they could take your own jutsu and make it way more lethal in a blink of an eye#another plus is that the healing properties are unlike any another. basically it was well known of hatakes healing uzumakis that had-#pushed their charka systems too far during sealing. blowing out or even collapsing part of their charka network#white charka would basically restructure their network to a 'fixed' or 'pure' state#it was also very common for hatakes to work alongside uzumakis to help them control and share the vast power of their charka so that-#if anything happened. they could siphon majority of the kickback and make sure they didnt just fucking ko in a heatbeat#thats my argument to why things such as charka chains were much more common in the past cause youre SUPPOSED to have-#a hatake on standby who helps heavily in stabilizing their charka and shares the power while making it more durable and controlled#thats why karin and kushina fucking combusted each time they did the charka chains and its NOT supposed to be a-#solitary jutsu!! get you a fucking hatake to HELP YOU OR YOU WILL REGRET IT!!! yeah anyway so im making an oc
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Ruin Me H.S
Summary: When the good girl / bad boy trope is just as hypnotic and addictive as everyone says it is OR y/n decides to get Harry's handwriting tattooed on her thigh (badboy/gang LHH trope?)
Warnings: SMUT!! oral (f receiving), edging, spanking (with hand and belt), hair pulling, squirting, masochism, dom!harry, mocking/degradation, dacryphilia, bondage (with a belt), Injuries (black eye, split lip, gunshot wound & wound cleanup)... I think that's it 😅
Word count: 13.7k+
Author's note: This is loosely and I mean SO loosely inspired by Guilty As Sin by Taylor Swift and yeah I know what that song is about but this is based off literally one line in it... I definitely got carried away with the story hehe
- Find my General Masterlist here -
You never liked the bad boy, good girl narrative. The power imbalance and toxicity that came with someone so ruined and so problematic trying to heal his soul in someone that deserved better. She would always think she could change him, that he was just misunderstood and needed someone to love him. That his soul could be healed.
It was bullshit. Until you found yourself in that exact situation, believing just that. That he was misunderstood and so kind underneath his rough exterior. You even found yourself loving the hidden hookups and midnight cleanups. A knock on your door at all hours in the night to be let in for some charged, desperate fuck or to be fixed up because he got in a fight.
You didn’t even know how it started, really. Harry was an enigma. A shadow in the wind that appeared one moment and disappeared the next on a dark bike just as mysterious as he was. That was how you met him, in a fleeting moment which at the time meant nothing. Until it meant everything.
He drove by the cafe you worked at. You were closing up for the night and locking the door when the loud purr of his bike filled the entire street. You were already on edge being by yourself after the girl closing with you had to leave sick so your head whipped around to follow the loud noise.
That’s when you saw him for the first time. He drove through the quiet street with a girl on the back of his bike that you had never seen before, both dressed head to toe in dark clothing and leather. They each had a black helmet covering their heads and yet you still knew that they were both looking at you.
It was unnerving and an interaction that had you walking a lot faster to your car in case they circled back and decided to give you trouble. Your town was used to damaged, dangerous shadows. People like Harry who came in for a night or a weekend for something illicit, only to never return.
You weren’t sure why your small town attracted people like that, but only being a 45-minute drive from the closest big city made it the go-to place for affairs, romantic getaways, illegal meetings and everything in between.
Harry was meant to be like that too. Someone who just passed through. Until he met you.
The very next day he found himself visiting the cafe in hopes you were there. Harry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to go there since he was meant to be driving back to the city the morning after his rendezvous, but there was something about your eyes that he couldn’t get out of his head.
He didn’t even know if you’d be there and yet by some chance or fate, you were. Your back was towards him, busy on barista duty making coffees for the many customers waiting for their orders. He recognised your hair first; pulled back in two long braids down your back. You wore the cafe logo on your t-shirt and this pair of jeans that made your ass look incredible.
You had no idea what the mystery man from last night looked like but you spent the night filling in the blanks of what was hidden beneath his helmet. Your brain seemed to be fixated on the stranger with some magical pull like you knew him already. Your body definitely seemed to like him already, that’s for sure.
“Harry? Americano two sugars.” You called out, sliding the takeaway cup to the edge of the counter before moving on to the next coffee. When the figure approached the counter, you went into your automatic greeting, “have a nice da-”, but the words got caught in your throat when you looked up and locked eyes with the same stranger last night.
You knew it was him instantly. There was no rhyme or reason to explain it, but you knew and he was even more good-looking than you ever could’ve imagined. With piercing green eyes and a strong jaw, plump pink lips and tattoos running up both arms that had your core clenching. The most unexpected feature of all though, was his long luscious curls pulled back from his face and running just past his shoulders.
Harry smirked, visibly seeing the wide-eyed, freeze response your body had just at the sight of him. It was a reaction he got often. He was tall and handsome and the dark clothing he wore made him appear far more intimidating than the usual curly-haired white boy.
“Thank you, love.” He smirked, grabbing the takeaway cup before casually slipping a $100 bill into the tip jar. He was walking out of the cafe without another word, looking at you over his shoulder before he was walking down the street and out of your view.
That night it wasn’t just his face you were dreaming about.
You never expected to see the handsome stranger, who you now knew as Harry, again but as the weeks went by he came to visit the cafe time and time again. It was always the same order and the same ‘thank you, love’ that had your head spinning and then he was gone with no idea of when he’d return again.
Then one day he took things a step further and asked you when your break was. It was the longest you heard him speak and the more words that came out, the more you found yourself hypnotised by the way his mouth wrapped around the syllables. Your coworkers warned you that men like him were dangerous and not worth the excitement and pleasure they always offered.
Time and time again you had helped your friends through some shitty breakup or worse with one of the travellers that rolled through town and you always promised yourself you wouldn’t put yourself in a situation like that. It was clear from the very first night that he was trouble but as much as you wanted to keep your distance, you just couldn’t.
You had never felt so mesmerised by another person before. That initial burning attraction hot enough to take your breath away. In only one sit down with him, you were ready to risk it all. He was so gorgeous and charming and sweet. The epitome of that misunderstood bad boy.
Just like his frequent cafe visits, your lunch breaks soon became his. You two would sit and he’d always ask you about yourself. You did most of the talking and he did most of the listening, never giving much away of himself. He’d show up with bloody knuckles or a bruised eye but would mask the pain and simply shrug when you asked him if he was okay.
It was starting to feel like he knew everything about you and you knew nothing in return. You wanted to know everything about him. After weeks of these little interactions, he never tried to fuck you or pursue things with you or make you feel like you owed him for all the $100 tips he left. All he wanted to do was talk and if anything, that made you want him more.
Then one night… everything changed.
You were woken in the middle of the night by a crash in your living room. That would be scary for anyone, but it was even scarier when you were on the top floor and the only access points to your apartment were the front door and the fire escape out the window.
You went into immediate panic mode, snatching the steak knife you had tucked under your pillows between your top sheet and your fitted sheet in case this very thing happened. Living alone had its challenges and one of them was the intense fear someone would break in in the middle of the night. By now you could recognise the sounds of your apartment and building so not every little creak freaked you out, but anyone could recognise the sound of broken glass and your pot plant being knocked over.
Sticking the knife out in front of you, you tip-toed out of your bedroom and down the hallway to your living room where the noise came from. Your phone was clutched against your chest, the three-digit emergency number ready to be called in case it wasn’t your cat, Mouse, knocking things over. Mouse was a fragile little thing and sometimes got scared by the smallest things. Even setting a mug down on the bench too hard could have her jumping out of her skin.
You prayed it was only her being skittish.
When you made it to the end of your hallway, you pressed yourself against the wall and tipped your head out ever so slightly to look into your living room. A whole wave of emotions rushed over you at once at the sight. It wasn’t your cat, but rather a tall dark figure holding your purring pet.
It was a figure you recognised immediately, even with his strong back facing towards you.
“Harry? What the fuck?” You hissed, turning your phone off while turning the lights on at the same time.
“Hey, bunny.” Harry flashed a sly smile, turning to look at you. You noticed the dried blood on his lip and eyebrow instantly and the swollen ball forming on his cheek. Fucking hell.
That smile instantly dropped when his eyes ran over you, taking in the ratty loose t-shirt and tiny underwear you were wearing. The t-shirt had a worn-out collar making it slide down to expose your collarbone and one shoulder. Your nipples were pressing through the thin material, all pebbled and hard from the cold air now blowing in from the window Harry accidentally broke on his way in.
Getting dressed was the last thing on your mind before venturing out here and you suddenly regretted not putting pants on at least. To be fucking fair though, you never would’ve guessed Harry would break in through your window when A. you had a very suitable front door, B. he didn’t even have your number and C. you never told him where you lived.
“What the… how do you know where I live?” You asked a little shakily, crossing your arms to cover your chest while still keeping the knife on guard in front of you.
Harry set down Mouse and she immediately ran over to you, purring while sliding her body against your calf. He walked over to you slowly and the closer he got, the worse his injuries appeared. A split lip and split eyebrow and a deep purple hue starting to form around his socket. He looked awful.
“Are you going to stab me, bunny?” He drawled, almost mockingly. You stood your ground, trying not to show your shaking as your hand tightened around the handle of the knife. His eyes were dark and he allowed himself a final drag over your body, stepping so close to you that the tip of the knife pressed into his stomach while he towered over you. “Gonna cut me open? Give me another scar to add to my collection?”
Even though you knew you should be scared, you weren’t. He found your address and broke into your house and yet physically, you weren’t the slightest bit worried that he’d hurt you. You knew nothing about him, didn’t even know what illegal venture he did for work and yet you trusted him.
Because you trusted him, your shaking was for a very different reason. Having him in your apartment all bloody and bruised and still as handsome as ever had you completely worked up. The thought of… of doing just what he teased, of giving him a scar that reminded him of you forever… god, it was so fucked up how horny that made you.
You were obsessed over a man who hadn’t even kissed you, yet knew every single thing about you. It was ridiculous. That felt even more ridiculous than playing off this entire interaction as a somewhat normal experience.
“I’ve got a perfectly fine front door, y’know.” You whispered, looking over to the broken window. You kept your knife against his stomach, even testing the waters by pressing it harder ever so gently into the toned muscles beneath his shirt. “And you’re paying for that to be fixed, by the way.”
Harry laughed, wincing ever so slightly at the tinge of pain in his face. But still, he laughed. And it was golden. “I’ll pay for whatever you want,” He murmured, smirking while looking down at the knife. “I’m sure you’re very skilled with a blade, bunny, but will you put it aside for now and clean me up instead? Need a pretty girl to make me feel better.”
You looked between your knife and his eyes, reluctantly dropping your hand beside your hip. “Come on.”
Saying nothing else, you spun around and walked into your bathroom. Harry followed closely behind, looking around your apartment with curiosity before his eyes fell on you. You pulled your t-shirt down as far as it would go, but it still rode up as you walked and he found himself unable to look anywhere else.
“Sit.” You pointed to the closed toilet and set your knife down on the bench, crouching down to get the first aid kit from the cabinet below the sink.
Harry did as told and shrugged his leather jacket off, setting it down on the bench before sitting on the closed toilet lid. He watched you intently, saying nothing as you set up your tools to sanitise and clean his wounds.
After grabbing some gauze and betadine to clean the open wounds, you soaked the material and started to clean the small gash on his eyebrow. Harry kept completely still, barely feeling the pinch. Your touch was so soft, so gentle. He found it more relaxing than anything else. Once that wound was clean, you moved onto his mouth which Harry found a lot more sensitive.
“So how did this happen?” you asked softly, dabbing his lip with the small cloth. His eyes closed as he tensed, hands fisting on his knees to stop himself from getting too worked up. Pain didn’t affect Harry, at least not in a normal way. Every sting and bite at your hand was turning him on in an inappropriate way. You were his bunny, his girl. He couldn’t get hard around you when all you were trying to do was help him.
“Oh, y’know...” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on you but not giving anything away.
“I don’t, actually.” You responded.
“It doesn’t matter how it happened, just that I’ve got a pretty girl fixing me up.” He attempted to smooth it over with a soft smile and a loving tap on your chin. It was the most he ever touched you, a little tap on your chin or a graze of his fingers on your cheek. He never touched your knee or your hand or anywhere else. It was infuriating.
“It does! You show up here in the middle of the night and break in. I don’t even know how you found my address but I’m cleaning your cuts and you won’t even tell me how you got them. How is that fair!? I know nothing about you Harry.” Your voice bordered on a sigh and a yell, exhausted with him showing up out of nowhere and charming you before disappearing again. You weren’t sure what to make of it and he wasn’t giving you any ideas on what he actually wanted from you.
“It’s better that way, y/n.” He looked away from you, leaning back so your fingers weren’t holding his chin anymore to keep him in position. “You don’t want to get involved with me.”
“That’s not fair and you know it. You show up constantly and-and what? Have lunch with me? Get to know me? You can’t do that and not expect me to want to know something back.” You expressed frustratingly, shoving the first aid items into the small bin beside your cabinet.
“I want to keep you safe, y/n.” He stood from the toilet, sighing when you refused to look at him. “The less you know about me, the safer you’ll be.”
“So why do you even keep coming back if you don’t want me involved with you? It’s killing me!” You snapped, looking up at him accusatorily.
“Because I can’t stay away from you.” He whispered, sliding his hand over the side of your neck. Your breath hitched at the touch, your body automatically leaning into it as he rubbed his thumb over your jaw and towards your mouth. Oh. “I’m so fucking obsessed with you it’s unhealthy. I think about you all the time. All the fucking time, y/n.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.” Tears pricked at your eyes, “you’re so confusing Harry because you look at me like that and say things but you don’t even touch me. You haven’t kissed me or-or anything. Just tell me what you want from me so I know where to set my expectations.”
“You think I don’t want to kiss you?” He cocked his head, turning your bodies so your back was to the basin. His hand looped to the front of your neck and it was like every cell in your body suddenly put their focus onto him. You couldn’t breathe or think or move or anything. Not when his large ringed fingers were wrapped around your neck like he was carrying a trophy. A prize to claim. “You think I don’t want to touch you?”
Harry pressed his hips into you, eliciting a gasp when you felt his long, hard cock pressed against you. He used his hips to nudge you against the cabinet, pinning you there so you couldn’t go anywhere. “All I think about is kissing you. Kissing your lips and your neck and… everywhere. The things I want to do to you y/n are so unsavoury your pretty little head would explode.”
He always thought you were this pure… innocent angel. One of the rare people in the world with no ill intentions. You were polite and sweet, even after Harry significantly brought you out of your shell since he met you. You were studying to be a nurse for Christ’s sake, some of the purest of the pure.
He wanted to ruin you. He wanted to take that innocence away more than anything on this planet. It was his built-in fucked up default program. To want what he couldn’t have. To want to destroy everything around him.
But he couldn’t do that to you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, even if it hurt him in the process. Harry had no light in his life, no hope until he met you and he knew that the moment this became real he would destroy you. His life would destroy you or Harry would do something to fuck it all up and he’d hurt you.
He’d break your heart.
“It won’t.” You rushed out, “It won’t explode. I… I want it.” You could barely articulate yourself. Not when his whole body was pressed to yours. All you had been thinking of for months was having him completely dominate your body. Just to touch you and please you. Even if it was only one time before he disappeared from your life forever.
You needed it.
“I’ll ruin you.” He promised, leaning in closer so his nose bumped against yours. He breathed out a ragged breath, feeling so close to completely giving in to his desires. All of them. “I’ll destroy every good thing about you, y/n. You don’t want that.”
The scariest part of all… was that you did want it. You were becoming the exact person you didn’t want to be. A good girl sacrificing herself to save the soul of someone who might never be saved. But you believed Harry would be saved. You could fix him. Help him to get away from whatever life he lived that made him hurt so badly inside.
You wanted to save him.
“I do. I do want it.” You nodded desperately, grabbing his other hand to guide it towards your clothed mound. You pressed your hand over his, using your own fingers to press his against the silky wet patch on the crotch of your underwear. He swore under his breath, taking the initiative to stroke his fingers along the wet material. “Ruin me. Please.”
So he did.
He ruined you over and over again that night and for many nights after. It completely changed everything for you two. Like it was the last barrier stopping you two from being completely open with each other. You had always told him the things you told everyone else. Your likes and dislikes, the show you were watching, your workplace drama.
But your desires… your needs and wants. They were reserved for no one but yourself. Until he came along.
Harry told you he’d ruin you and he stuck to his word. The things you did together were dirty and depraved and left you with such a feral need for the man, you would’ve let him do quite literally anything to you. As would he, you. And you practically had. Every desire or curiosity was sated and he was willing to do anything to satisfy you.
Harry became as violently obsessed with you as you did him and even though it was a hell of a trip to see you, he did so as often as possible. He couldn’t help himself. Not when he had such a pretty girl waiting to please him and take care of his heart, body and soul. You filled the hole in his life in all aspects, which is what he feared would happen when he saw you that very first night.
Someone so magnetic would ruin him and he was enjoying every moment of it.
You had no idea he traveled from the main city just to see you until you two started sleeping together. He continued stopping by for a coffee or to disturb your lunch break but very quickly, your time spent together turned into an after hours activity. He’d come to get fixed up and then he’d ruin you. Or… his sole intention was to ruin you all along.
There were many sleepless nights because of him. Not that you minded. He opened up to you more and told you more about himself and what he did. When you started to learn small things, you realised that he was probably right in you being better off left in the dark. It was a lot more elaborate than you could’ve imagined and it made sense why he did so much to keep you protected.
Running an elaborate drug smuggling operation wasn’t exactly the safest job out there, nor did it give you much opportunity to switch careers. Somehow, though, you weren’t deterred by it. Maybe it was because you were already in love with him the second he ruined you for the first time.
His high job security didn’t stop you from fantasising about a different life with him. Harry leaving that life for you. The only part of the job Harry liked was the financial stability and the power. The control he had. But you felt like Harry was destined for so much more, that he could live a much happier, safer life. With you.
“Have you ever thought about running away?” You asked, playing with his long hair. It was unruly and sweaty and you were threading your fingers through the knots formed from the midnight hookup. You were still hot and sweaty too, but Harry quite liked the sticky feeling of your skin and the lingering scent of sex in the air.
“Running away? I couldn’t.” Harry breathed through a laugh like it was unfathomable. “You couldn’t either.” He looked up from his work, reaching for your hand to bring it to your mouth to kiss your knuckles. “You’ll be a nurse soon and you’ve always had your heart set on Mercy. You’ll get a job there and it’ll be everything you want.” He smiled softly, guiding your hand back to his hair so you’d play for it while he finished the artwork on your upper thigh.
The thin marker was steady in his hand and he only had one letter left before the piece was complete, not that four letters took a particularly long time to write. But he wanted it to be perfect, for the permanent marker to last as long as possible on your pretty skin. You’d never do it permanently, after all you were still his good girl and no good girl would be as rogue as to get her lover's handwriting tattooed on her thigh after only a few months. Or ever. Permanent marker and baby powder always did the trick to make a design last a while, though, and Harry hoped it would still be there the next time he snuck through your window.
“I want you, Harry.” You whispered, finding his concentration both adorable and so damn sexy you were getting all worked up again. If he looked a little to the left to where your bare cunt was so so close to his fingers, he’d probably be able to tell too. “And the good thing about being a nurse is I can do it anywhere. I can…” you swallowed your nerves, unsure what his reaction would be to your suggestion. “I can work anywhere and-”
“It wouldn’t work, y/n.” He interrupted curtly, leaning back to observe his work while putting the cap back onto his pen. Harry rarely used your name, he was too fond of his pet name for you. “You will always be mine. Always. But I think we both know that what we have is temporary.” Your heart broke at his words and you felt the pain fizzle through your body like a burning liquid. He looked up at you as he blew on the temporary tattoo. “When I inevitably break your heart, bunny, you’ll move on and find someone who can love you the way you deserve. I’ll never move on from you, but you will and you’ll be happier for it.”
“That’s not true.” You all but whimpered. Harry ignored your plea, tapping against your skin to test whether the marker was dry. “You always say that you’ll break my heart, Harry but that’s not true.” He looked up at you for a moment, trying to hide the heartbreak he felt at seeing how sad you were. Grabbing the little bottle of baby powder, he sprinkled it over the little word, massaging the surrounding area of your leg. “I… I love you and I know you love me. If you loved me you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Bunny, I love you more than anything else on this planet.” He assured, shifting up onto his knees in all his naked glory. He spread his hands over your belly, rubbing his thumbs a little harder into your skin. “I would never do anything to hurt you but this life… it follows me wherever I go. There’ll be a time where I need to sacrifice my love and happiness to protect you. But you’ll always be mine. Until the day I die.” He smiled softly, looking back down to the pile of powder on your upper thigh. He ran his thumb over it, rubbing away from the white substance and leaving the matte four-letter word.
Mine.
“See?” He smirked, looking down at the ‘tattoo’, “I can’t promise you forever, bunny. But I can promise you that I’ll be yours at least until this fades. Who knows what could happen by then.”
You sat up, pressing your hands behind you on the bed for balance as you looked at his artwork. There was something so sexy about being branded like that, even if it was temporary. Your otherwise empty skin now looked complete with his mark there. In his handwriting.
What other sign could be more clear that you belonged to him than his handwriting on your thigh stating just that?
“I love it.” You whispered, tracing over the cursive letters. “Will you be back?” You settled on asking, pausing for a moment, “before the tattoo fades?”
That was one thing that troubled you about your relationship with Harry. The fact that you never knew when you’d see him again. You both openly professed your love and obsession for each other and yet you didn’t go on dates or text or call. Harry just showed up.
He told you it was to keep you safe. It was the very same reason he snuck through your window instead of knocking on your front door. There was less chance of anyone finding out about you. Whoever ‘anyone’ was.
Harry nodded. “I should be. I’ve got a job this weekend though so it might not be for a little longer than usual.” He plastered a soft smile on his face to calm you and reached out to cup your face. “Better make sure it’s still here when I get back. Okay, bunny? Unless you want me to mark it on your skin another way.” That smile tilted to a smirk, promising you foreplay that both of you knew would have you begging him for release.
This time you nodded, “I’ll be good f’you.”
Shit.
“Good girl, Princess.” Harry cooed, looking down briefly at his own cock, already hardening even after filling your mouth and pussy with his cum. He couldn’t help it really. Not when your naked body was so gorgeous and now marked with his handwriting. “now c’mere.”
You smiled, shifting up on your knees to join him halfway in a searing kiss. It was nearly 2 am already but you knew that you wouldn’t get any sleep at all.
The days that followed were restless. You kept looking at those four letters on your thigh and thinking of all the things you had and hadn’t done together. The many trysts you shared with hushed conversations and messy top lip kisses. How his hands felt on your body and his lips on your skin.
You had no idea how long it would be before he came to the cafe or broke into your apartment again. There was no word from him or rumour that he was passing through town. The shadows that liked to drift in and out became known the moment they visited more than once and Harry… well he had become a regular now.
The next time Harry snuck into your apartment, bordering on an entire week after he wrote ‘mine’ on your upper thigh, you were ready. You weren’t sure why you knew because sometimes you had no idea until you felt his presence in your bed. Mouse didn’t even meow or run in fear when he entered through the window anymore, making his entrance sometimes as silent as wind whistling through an empty street.
But tonight… you knew.
There was a shift in the room temperature and a lingering scent of tobacco in the air that had your core clenching just at the thought of him visiting you. Of him seeing the surprise you had for him. It was all in your head of course, a delusion brought on by obsession. Still… you knew.
And just like clockwork, you heard the sound of your window sliding upwards just past midnight. He thankfully hadn’t broken the glass since the first night, but for him to just slink in you had to keep the window unlocked. Before meeting him you obsessively checked every lock on every window and your front door every night, fearing that one of the shadows coming through town would try and hurt you.
You’d think that getting involved with someone like Harry would make that fear worse and yet… it didn’t. Somehow you felt safer. Harry once made a passing comment about keeping an eye on you, that he always knew if you were alright. He didn’t have to elaborate for you know that meant he had hacked into security cameras or had someone he trusted watching your apartment at all times.
6-months-ago-you would’ve been creeped the fuck out. Scared for your life that you’d allow one of the shadows to get you so hooked on him, you’d let him have a security guard of sorts around you 24/7, or even just the fact you let him so casually break into your apartment. It made total sense to you somehow because with all the theatrics and abnormal parts of your relationship came the love and happiness you got when you saw him.
Even though it was most likely your lover opening your window, you still fished for the knife under your pillow, now replaced with something pink and shiny and far more deadly. Harry decided that if you were going to protect yourself, you needed something more dangerous than a serrated kitchen knife. You treasured that pocket knife and you and Harry have had a lot of fun playing with it.
“Harry?” You whispered, creeping down your hallway.
“It’s just me, bunny.” His voice echoed, low and husky.
You smiled, rushing out to find him pushing your window back down and locking the latch. His hair was pulled back into a bun, sitting messily at the back of his head and he was wearing his classic leather jacket and dark jeans. God, you had missed him.
“You really need to start locking your window, y/n.” Harry drawled, turning around to face you. “A madman might try to break in and hurt you.”
You giggled, throwing your pocket knife on your rug carelessly to pounce on him. Literally. He smiled and caught you easily, letting you wrap your legs around his hips while your arms wrapped around his neck.
Your mouths joined almost instantly, lips brushing against lips in a heated exchange. You threaded your fingers in his hair and tugged until his bun came loose and his hair fell to his shoulders. He groaned at the feeling and ran his tongue against the seam of your lips, nibbling down on your bottom lip.
“I missed you, madman.” You whispered once your lips broke, shifting in his arms. His hands supported your bum, squeezing while he devoured your mouth once more. His body was sore from his weekend job, but he’d never let that get in the way of having his girl in his arms.
“I missed you too, bunny. So much… I couldn’t breathe without you.” He murmured, setting you down with a little wince. You noticed it immediately and ran your hands over his face, angling his head around to look for any injuries. He wasn’t bruised on his face for once, but you knew he was hurting somewhere.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?” The questions came out spitfire, making Harry smile down at you and set his hands on your hips. Your eyes found a dried substance at his collar and you recognised what it was immediately. “Is that blood?”
“Not mine.” He assured, “I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry.”
You ignored his assurance and started running your hands over his chest, looking for any sign of pain or visible jerk out of tenderness. When your fingers grazed his lower abdomen, he couldn’t hide the clench of his jaw. You glared up at him, pressing harder against the spot so he’d feel a little payback for lying to you.
Harry groaned and dug his fingers into your hips, ensuring it was hard and painful enough to leave a bruise. You didn’t mind though, in fact, you quite liked it.
“Jesus Harry, you got shot!?” Your eyes widened when you tugged up his t-shirt to find a bloody gauze. You knew what it was immediately. You had seen your fair share of bullet wounds in your work placements at the hospital as well as the dodgy ways they tried to mend them themselves. “When did this happen?” You decided to peel off the gauze to see the wound for yourself, not trusting the temporary mend he had done. The wound had been stitched up quite well actually, but it was inflamed and a few stitches had broken. It needed to be mended.
“Did it go all the way through? Is the bullet still in here? Why didn’t you tell m-”
Harry interrupted your second spitfire of the evening by pressing his lips to yours. It was quick to shut you up, especially when he slid his tongue against the seam of your mouth and dominated his way in. His tongue slid against yours, tobacco and whiskey heavy in the kiss.
You whimpered against his mouth, almost forgetting about the bullet wound until you felt its blood soak your fingertips. Pulling back, Harry tried to chase your mouth, needing you violently. Insatiably. He had missed your soft skin and your delicious mouth and especially missed your sweet sweet pussy. One he had a severe craving for. He could almost taste it on his tongue.
“Bathroom. Now. Your stitches are busted.” You pushed your finger to his chest and he easily backed away. He was completely whipped by you, willing to do anything you told him.
“Alright, bunny. You’re the boss.” He murmured, shrugging his jacket off to dump it on the couch before following you to the bathroom. You both followed the same routine as always. He sat on the closed toilet seat and you readied your supplies to treat his wounds.
“Top off.” You instructed, using a lighter to sanitise the end of the needle you threaded already.
“Yes ma’am.” He chuckled softly, stifling a groan as he grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his shirt off his head. “You’re feisty when you’re mad.”
“You shouldn’t have lied to me.” You shot back, sanitising the scissors next with your betadine.
“It’s just a bullet wound, bunny.” He tried to soothe, watching you approach him and rub the wound with betadine in preparation to cut his original stitches and do new ones. “Didn’t even go straight through me.”
“So the bullet’s still in there? Jesus, Harry. Why didn’t you go to the hospital? I’m not equipped to remove a fucking bullet in my bathroom.” You snapped.
“It’s not in there, y/n. One of my boys removed it, okay?” He chuckled softly, both loving and hating how worried you were. He reached up to cup your face, “I’m fine. The only thing wrong with me is a busted stitch.”
You ignored him, keeping your glare strong on your face. His hands dropped to his knees and he remained completely still while you worked on the wound. He hated that permanent crease on your brow and all he wanted to do was make it go away.
“What’s wrong?” He nudged, poking at your leg when you stayed completely silent. You were in your usual oversized t-shirt, underwear combination, but this particular t-shirt was long enough to cover your bum and the tops of your thighs. “C’mon bunny, talk to me.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“And you’re ignoring me. I don’t like when you’re cross with me.”
“Well I don’t like being left in the dark for an entire week and when you show up you’ve been shot.” You snapped, pulling the needle tighter than you’d usually do to make a knot, just so it hurt a little more. He clenched his jaw, but he was more concerned about you than the temporary pain of his stitches. “What if you died Harry? Then what? I would’ve…” you looked away to grab the scissors, trying to blink away the tears. When you returned, his gaze was soft. “I would’ve never known. You would’ve left me and I… I’d never know.”
You couldn’t even focus on his wound with how hard your hands were shaking. You managed to cut the excess thread, but the moment it was done Harry pulled the scissors and needle out of your hand and brought your shaking ones to his.
“Y/n, I’d never do that to you. Never.” Harry scanned your face, reaching up to cup you to get you to look at him. “I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny.” He wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, gently pulling you down to rest your forehead against his. “I should’ve told you.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” You agreed, unable to stop a few tears streaming down your cheeks. “You’re an asshole.”
“I am.” He nodded, trying to kiss you until you turned your head away from him. “I fucked up. I’ll never, ever do that again. Never.” He promised, tipping his forehead to your cheek while threading your fingers to press your hand against his racing heart. “My heart belongs to you forever.”
“I’m yours, Harry.” You promised, pulling back to wipe your tears away and get the bandage to cover his wound. He sighed and grabbed your waist instead, pulling you closer between his legs so you wouldn’t go too far. “But I need… I need something. I can’t keep waiting for you to show up with nothing in between. I can barely sleep when you’re not here.”
“Okay. I’ll… I’ll get a burner. Untraceable. Just for you and me.” He suggested, “You’ll never go a day without hearing from me again.” It was a promise. An oath. He never wanted to be the cause of your tears again, even if he knew he would be. It was why he didn’t want to keep your hopes up about a future, even if he wanted it more than anything in the entire world.
“You promise?” You asked, running hands over the placed bandage to seal it in place. He nodded, looking up at you with a soft smile. You hated how easy it was to forgive him. But you loved when he looked at you like that. Like you were his entire world.
“I promise. Cross my heart.” He murmured, running his hands over your waist and hips, “now will you stop being mad at me and give me a kiss?”
Harry stood up, overpowering you with his height. Using one hand on your waist, he nudged you against the basin and used the other hand to cup the side of your neck. His gaze was dark, eyes blazing with a need to please and be pleased. He was hungry for you, just like he was since the moment he got on his bike to drive down to see you.
“Please, bunny. Let me make it up to you.”
All you could do was nod.
Harry was easy to succumb to your influence, easy to follow instructions and do whatever you wanted. But he was just as easy to overpower you, to dominate you. To get you reduced to nothing but a whimper and a nod of your head.
He was quick to duck in and clasp your lips together. It started slow and steady, a languid dance of your mouths that turned into something far more passionate. It always did. He slid his hand to the back of your neck, threading his fingers into your hair to move your face in the direction he wanted while he nibbled on your bottom lip and slid his tongue against the seam of your mouth.
You let him in easily, loving the slow, deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. That familiar tobacco mint flavour was heavy in the kiss, a mix of the cigarette he no doubt had before climbing up the fire escape and the mint gum he liked to chew on to try and curb the habit. It never did work, but you liked the taste of him trying to stop the nasty addiction.
You pulled him closer by his hips, digging your fingers into the slight pudge just above his belt. It was one of your favourite parts of him to kiss, to bite. You had dug your teeth in it so many times Harry was tempted to get a tattoo of your bite so he could remember the feeling of your teeth sinking into him forever.
“Wanna taste you, bunny.” Harry groaned, tucking his hand under your shirt to fiddle with the band of your lace underwear. Your hips bucked up to meet the touch, desperate to get him doing more than just play with your underwear. “Missed the sweet taste of you on my tongue.” He kissed you softly, dragging your bottom lip back between his teeth until he released it with a pop. “Always dream of it when I’m away.”
“I guess what’s one way to apologise.” You breathed, sighing when he pinched your thigh. He tucked his hands under your ass, hoisting you up so you’d wrap your legs around his hips.
“Mhmm. I’d happily die apologising to you. Over and over.” He had this smirk playing on his lips, but you didn’t particularly find it funny.
“Don’t talk about dying.” You reprimanded softly, playing with his hair while he carried you to your bedroom.
“Not even if it’s death by your sweet pussy?” He grinned, lowering you onto the bed. You shuffled upwards, rolling your eyes as he knelt on the bed to hover over you.
“For someone who gets shot for a living, you have the humour of a 13-year-old boy.”
“And you don’t like that?” Harry raised his brow, grinning while leaning in to kiss you. You hummed into the kiss, tugging on his hair until his groan rumbled into your mouth. He pressed his weight against you, ensuring you felt every inch of his arousal for you.
He could feel yours right back. How wet you were, how warm your pussy was pressed right against his jeans. You had properly soaked through your lacy underwear and Harry could feel his jeans slowly dampen from the way he was grinding his hips against you. It was heaven. He could hardly wait to get his mouth on your sweet little cunt, especially when you were already so worked up for him.
“Your humour is only funny…” you paused to gasp, head tilting back so Harry could nip down along your neck. “…sometimes.”
“And you’re sexy all the time.” He murmured, simultaneously pushing your oversized t-shirt up while kissing downwards. He ran his hands over every inch of exposed skin, pushing the shirt above your breasts so he could clasp his lips around one of your nipples.
You took the shirt off immediately, whimpering and bucking your hips to meet his while you scratched at his back. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud, tugging and sucking hard enough to make your head spin. While he assaulted your nipples, his hands ran over your belly and hips down to your thighs spread wide underneath him. It was only when his fingers crawled to your very inner thigh ready to tease you through your underwear that he felt the thin film of plastic.
“What’s this?” His movements stopped immediately as he felt over the thin plastic film. You whimpered at the sensitivity, feeling particularly sore after your adventure yesterday.
“I did something and you can’t be mad…” You breathed, watching him sit back on his haunches.
His eyes widened when he got a better look, resting his hand on your thigh while he ran his thumb over the four little letters now permanently marked on your skin. Harry was no stranger to tattoos, he was practically covered in them. But the last thing he ever expected was for you to make your temporary tattoo last longer by making it permanent.
His handwriting. His claim. Harry permanently etched on your body forever.
“Bunny…” Harry murmured, looking between you and the tattoo. “What did you do?”
“You said you couldn’t promise me forever but you could give me until the tattoo fades…” His eyes focused on you and you felt yourself already becoming pliant just with the dark look on his face. “...now it’ll never fade.”
He said nothing for a moment and just stayed staring at your tattoo. His eyes drifted upwards ever so slightly to where your pretty lace underwear was pressed snugly to your pussy. Then he looked further upwards to your soft belly and your perky tits and finally… to your face. Your pretty eyes and your lips, the lips he loved to kiss more than anything.
Harry was back over you in an instant, cupping your jaw while kissing you like he was ravenous for it. You whimpered into it, tugging on his hair until your lips parted in a gasp.
“Can’t believe you did that, bunny. Got a fucking tattoo so I’d be stuck to you forever.” He murmured, smushing his mouth to yours again. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? Force my hand so I’d be yours forever.” He started to kiss back down your body again, making sure his tongue pressed against your skin with every touch.
“I love you. I want… I want to be yours forever.” You whimpered, watching him settle between your spread legs with an evil smirk on his face.
“And you thought a tattoo was the right choice? Hm? You thought letting some other man permanently alter your body was the way to go?” He dipped his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tearing the lacy material in two. He was completely rough with it, making sure it ached as he pulled torn pieces off your body.
“It wasn’t a man. She… shit.” You couldn’t even find the words, not when he spread you wide and stared at you like you were some fine dessert.
“You think that makes it better, bunny? You think who did the tattoo makes a difference?” He raised his brow, running both his thumbs up your outer labia to tease you.
“I told you not to be mad.” You whined, pressing your hands to your face.
“I’m not mad. I think this is quite possibly the hottest… most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.” You peeked through your parted fingers, looking down at where he was looking up at you, spreading his hands to kiss at the thin layer of plastic. “So fucking sexy.” Harry murmured, looking down at it in awe.
“So why do you sound mad?” You whispered, looking down at him.
“I’m not mad you got a tattoo, I’m mad I wasn’t there. Didn’t I always say I wanted to be there for your first one?”
“Well yes but-“
“And didn’t you promise me that I would be?”
“Yes…” you swallowed thickly. He was speaking at you in such a condescending way. Like you were a child being taught a basic lesson for the first time. It was belittling.
It turned you on in such a feral way. He could even mansplain anything and you’d be happy to play into it. As long as he sounded like that and wound up between your thighs afterwards he could speak to you however he liked.
“So you went against your word, hm?” He smirked as your thighs trembled on either side of his shoulders, your body growing more and more sensitive and needy as he started tracing over your pussy.
“I guess so.”
“Do I go against my word? Have I ever broken a promise before?”
“Yes.” You tried to defend, knowing very well he always stuck to his word. Harry had never broken a promise to you. Not when he told you he’d be back in three days or when he didn’t know but promised he’d return to you safely. He always kept his word.
To be fair though, it was hard to stay clear-minded when he was caressing your pussy like it was something cute to pet. It wasn’t. And with every stroke of his fingers, every slide through your crease to spread your arousal up to your clit before coming straight back down like he didn’t even know what a clit was, your mind was spiralling. He was killing you.
“Oh really?” He nudged a finger to your entrance, pressing just hard enough to slip the very top inside of you. You always were the most sensitive at your g-spot then right here, at the very beginning where all your nerves were alive and your pussy was clenching around nothing because you needed something inside. Specifically Harry’s cock. “Tell me. When?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clit and finally slid his finger inside of you, eliciting the prettiest whine.
“Um… Uhh…” You couldn’t speak or think with his tongue slowly sliding over your clit now. He traced languid circles and waves, taking complete control and doing it all at his own pace. Harry was tasting you for his own pleasure more than he was yours, even if he did love the way you came for him.
“Exactly.” He smirked, “So let me take my time with you. I’m owed that, aren’t I?”
“I thought you were meant to be apologising to me? This feels like an unfair system. A bullet wound is more serious than a tattoo.” You complained, sliding your hands into his hair to try and drag him closer to you.
After being away from him for so long, one of the longest times apart since you started dating-or whatever you two were, all you wanted was to feel him. You wanted his pleasure and the weight of his body on top of you. Teasing wasn’t fun when you were apart more than you were together.
You prayed that would change after the gesture you made. The permanent commitment to him.
“Which one is permanent?” He grinned lazily up at you.
“You could’ve died.” You argued.
“But I didn’t. Now will you stop complaining otherwise I’m more than happy to stop. It’s been a big day I could easily go to sl-”
“No!” You jumped a little too quickly, making him laugh and press spongey kisses against your inner thighs. “No… no, please. I’ll take whatever you want. I’ll be good.”
“Yeah?” He smirked, pressing his fingers into your fresh tattoo. You gasped, clutching his hair tighter in your hands. “That’s what I like to hear, pretty girl. Besides, I think letting me take my sweet time tasting you is the best punishment out there. Don’t you think?”
Harry pressed a few chaste kisses along your thighs, feeling just how tense you were. You were clenching around his finger and holding onto his hair tight so he wouldn’t move away. But he couldn’t have you so tense… he needed you to relax.
“Calling it a punishment scares me…” you whimpered, feeling his tongue slide over your clit in a sloppy figure-eight pattern.
“mh… just relax, bunny. Stop thinking and let me take care of you… you’re my girl, aren’t you? My sweet, delicious girl. My girl?” He ran his thumb over your tattoo, speaking right against your clit like he was talking to your pussy instead of you.
“Mhmm.”
“Then relax… you deserve to be spoiled after all you do for me…” Harry looked up at you, smiling as you forced your body to melt into the bed.
Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back when his mouth returned to your clit. He gently added another finger inside of you, curling them both into your g-spot in a steady stroke. They felt so deep inside of you, nowhere near as full of his cock but still so so good.
The combination of his tongue and his fingers were driving you crazy, but he did them in such a relaxed, languid way that you knew it would take you ages to cum, if he even let you.
“See? ‘S nice isn’t it?… you always take care of me, bunny. Always clean my wounds and take good care of m’cock… m’heart too…. Always make me feel so happy.”
“You make me happy too… scare me a lot too…” You sighed, fisting his hair as he grazed his teeth over your clit.
“I don’t mean to,” Harry murmured against you, kissing against your clit in an infuriatingly light touch. “Only want to make you feel good… feel safe…”
“You do… you do… just-fuck, please… More… Harder.”
He smirked at your begging, the whiny tone in your voice going straight to his cock. Barely a couple minutes into it and you were already getting desperate. Already tugging at his hair and starting to wiggle.
He loved you like this because he had the ultimate control over whether or not he gave you what you wanted. At this point, it could go either way.
“Not yet sweetheart, ‘m having too much fun just like this…”
Your back arched when he pressed his fingertips into your tattoo, purposefully digging into the soft skin. It was a small tattoo, tiny in comparison to half of Harry’s work but you had a relatively low pain tolerance and your very inner thigh was quite sensitive. It was torturous paired with the way his tongue softly stroked against your clit.
“Please, Harry…” You begged once more, using your hands in his hair to try and drag him closer to you. You were writhing beneath him, desperate for something more than just light teasing shapes. You could barely handle it anymore.
“Ah.” Harry tutted, slipping from your clit with a little pop of his lips. He grinned up at you, mouth and chin all soaked and dripping before pulling your hands from his hair to push them down on the bed beside you. It was possibly one of the most erotic things you had ever seen. “Y’know I like my hair pulled, bunny but if you keep pushing it, I’ll make sure you don’t cum at all. Let me enjoy you.”
“Okay…” You nodded quickly, hoping he wouldn’t stop altogether. “m’sorry. I’ll be good.”
“Good.”
Harry released your hands before grabbing a hair tie from his wrist and putting his hair up in a bun. God when he did that… it did unspeakable things to you. You watched him obsessively, frothing over the way his arms and chest stretched and flexed with every small movement. Up behind his head then back down to the bed when he settled between your thighs while staring at you with this triumphant fuckboy smile.
“You’re so pretty, y’know that. So so pretty and all mine.” He murmured, tracing his finger through your crease while looking straight at your pussy with complete awe. Harry was fucking obsessed with you.
“Harry…”
“I know,” he sympathised, voice almost mocking at your flushed cheeks. He loved when you got nervous. “You’re so pretty when you blush, y/n.” He blew gently over your clit, sliding his two fingers back into you.
Closing his mouth around your clit, he started pleasuring you again. He moved his tongue against you harder and curled his fingers into you with far more purpose than before. And finally, finally you were starting to feel that relief. It was exactly what you needed to start to feel that twist in your stomach and shake in your thighs… the rush before that euphoric release. Your toes were starting to curl and your fingers tightened into his hair, tugging so hard he had to dig his fingertips into your tattoo to ground himself from how desperate he was getting from his hair being played with.
“Oh god… I’m… ‘mgonna…”
And then the rush stopped, that spiraling wave freezing right before it tumbled over the cliff. Harry removed his mouth and halted his fingers, kissing over your thighs instead with an evil grin you could feel against your skin.
“Harry” you protested, gasping while looking down at him. Your legs attempted to clam around his head and you tried to tug his mouth back to you but he easily overpowered you and used his arms to pin your thighs wide against the bed.
“You’re cute when you’re desperate. Might be my second favourite look on you.” He bit down on your thigh, chuckling against your skin.
“What’s the… what’s your favourite?” Your breathing felt laboured, skin already feeling a little sticky from being teased for so long.
“When you orgasm… sometimes it’s when I’ve got you so far gone you’re fucking sobbing for me. Only like your tears when they’re because of m’cock.”
He was evil.
Was it fucked up that knowing he liked to make you cry turned you on?
“You’re so mean… you know I-oh” your words got caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed again when he started tracing his tongue over your clit again.
Harry started to tease you again, going back to that languid, gentle touching. He was enjoying every second of it too, moaning into you, using his spare hand to grab on your belly and your breasts. He pinched at your nipples before pressing against your tattoo, all to rile you up and build your orgasm again so damn slowly.
Harry was nearly about to burst. You were so wet and so fucking sweet and though he loved having his face between your thighs for hours on end, it turned him on beyond anything else on the fucking planet. He had to keep focusing his mind elsewhere, on anything but the way your cream was coating his fingers and dripping down his palm, or how you were so fucking wet just one slide of his tongue through your crease echoed around the entire room.
But then you got a little too sensitive, a little too desperate and tugged his hair so hard it slipped from the bun he did earlier. He was just as happy to punish you than he was to rest his face between your thighs.
The pleasure stopped once more and you were flipped so fast onto your belly, you didn’t have an opportunity to try and wiggle away. He gathered your hands quickly in one of his so you couldn’t move and ignored your whine of his name.
“I warned you once, y/n, and you didn’t want to listen…”
“Harry ‘m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.” You protested, at Harry’s complete mercy. He pinned you to the bed with one hand, keeping your hands pressed to your lower back while he pulled his belt out of his belt loops. You wiggled beneath him, trying to get out of his tight grip only to be suddenly swatted with his belt over your ass.
You gasped at the sting, feeling the spot on your skin grow a heartbeat of its own. It was a warm spiced feeling, oozing down to your aching clit that Harry had teased all night.
“You did this to yourself, bunny. I wanted to be nice and I wanted to enjoy your sweet little pussy but you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. Could you?” Harry looped the belt around your hands then tightened it with the buckle so it was snug around your wrists. He tugged at it just to be sure you couldn’t slip out before hovering over you to kiss you gently on your shoulder.
“Okay?” He asked, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.
“Mhmm.” You nodded.
“Colour?”
“Green.”
“Good girl.” He whispered the praise against your shoulder, kissing the middle of your back on his way back to kneel behind you.
Harry was quick to pull your ass up off the bed until your face was pressed to the duvet, giving him the perfect access to all your pretty holes. You were practically dripping. Already edged once with no relief and now he could just taste you and bury his face without having your hands in the way. His perfect girl.
“See…” He murmured, tracing his hands over your ass. “Isn’t this better? Now I can enjoy you in peace.”
You responded with a noise of indignation, squeezing your fists when he chuckled and spanked your ass in that same spot he whacked his belt. Your skin was pulled taught with the way your chest was pressed to the bed, making the sting heavier than usual.
Even though you whimpered and your whole body jerked at the feeling of his palm on your ass, Harry knew you enjoyed it. Just like you enjoyed being tied up.
The only reason you protested having his belt around your hands was because you hated it like this. Behind your back or pinned to your sides or thighs. You didn’t like not being able to feel him, especially when you couldn’t see him either. With Harry always gone you just wanted to touch him as much as humanly possible when he was around him.
You always had a hand on him. In his hair or scratching his back or in his pocket or intertwined with his fingers. You just needed that touch. Craved it. And now it had been taken away.
“God, you taste so fucking good, bunny.” Harry groaned, spanking your ass roughly. He spread your cheeks wide, pulling back to spit right on your tight rim of muscles before he was sucking over your clit again. “Like a fucking dream.”
He groaned against you, nuzzling his nose right against your entrance to press just hard enough to dip into you. The way he used his entire face to pleasure you was completely feral. He’d be able to smell you for days and taste your sweet sweet arousal for hours to come. That’s exactly how he liked it.
He was completely wrapped around your clit, sucking in that perfect rhythmic pressure he knew you liked. The same pressure that had you tumbling towards an orgasm within two minutes flat. Now he seemed to be doing the opposite of his torturous teasing. He was trying to make you cum and he was doing it in the messiest, most feral way possible.
That was somehow more evil because you had nowhere to go. You couldn’t move your hands or grab his hair, not even hold his hand until he reached for you. With the tight grip on your hips, you were pinned in his grip. You didn’t mind though, because he was finally… finally giving you that delicious pleasure.
You were hopeful, your entire body tense and trembling. Your mouth was gaped against the bedding, soft moans muffled into the material. Until your entire world crashed and burned when it all stopped. Again.
“No. Harry...”
“Shh, it’s okay, bunny.” Harry pressed his mouth over your ass, sliding his fingers out of you to run through your crease to your clit. “Still green?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Then let’s keep going, shall we?”
You lost count at how many times he edged you. After five it all turned into a blur; a teary, stinging blurr where your mind was completely in the clouds and your body felt like it was melting into a puddle. You were completely heavy in the bed, legs sore and trembling and your arms aching after being behind your back for so long.
Every touch was torture, every flick of his tongue or suck over your clit sent your mind into orbit. You needed to come so fucking badly but there was nothing you could do to get him to let you finish. He was happy to just taste you and lick you until you were reduced to a pile of tears and sore muscles on the bed.
“Please Harry… please I need it so bad… need y’cock so so badly…”
It wasn’t the first time you begged for it, but it was certainly the first time you cried for it. You were crying softly against the bedding, wiggling and clenching around his fingers. Your nails were digging into your palms, trying to counteract the pressure your entire lower body was facing.
“Yeah? Wanna give it to you, bunny. So fucking bad…” Harry’s cock had been painfully sore since your fourth edge, so fucking hard he got rid of all his clothes just for some relief. His jeans were pressing so tight against his cock, he could barely handle it.
Harry was a sadistic fuck, though and he liked the pain. He liked being sore and he liked to edge himself so when he finally got inside you and got that ultimate pleasure, the entire experience was better. He liked it when he made you come multiple times, but there was something romantic about edging you until you cried then letting you finally come when he was deep inside you and about to orgasm himself.
Simultaneous orgasms were a rarity, but Harry liked the challenge. Often it was him timing his with yours anyway. You were terrible at holding your orgasm, practically incapable of it. That’s why edging you was so fun… Harry had complete control over it. He knew the signs of your body reaching that point without you even verbalising it and knew the exact moment to pull away before you tipped over the edge.
And even when you cried and it was sore, your colour remained green the entire time.
“Got me so hard f’you… just need to make sure you really want it, huh?” Harry bared his teeth against your ass cheek, biting down on one of the spots his various spontaneous spanks had made their mark. Your ass was beat red at this point, covered in teeth marks and hand prints from Harry getting too damn excited. He knew it would be sore for a couple of days, but that’s what he wanted.
He wanted his memory on your skin… and now after your tattoo, it would be. Forever.
The thought of that was exhilarating and one of the most terrifying things in Harry’s world.
“I do… I need it so bad, Harry. Feel so empty without you… so sore…” Your words all joined together, a slur of neediness and sniffled tears.
“Oh, I bet, bunny…” He cooed, sliding his fingers out of you before sucking them clean. He then moved up on his knees behind you to gently undo the belt from your wrists. “Bet you’re so sensitive n’sore, aren’t you?” He threw the belt to the side, massaging your wrists in his hand to soothe the reddened skin.
You just nodded against the bedding, curling your fingers back to hold his hands. He sighed at the sight, leaning down to quickly kiss your fingers before rolling you on your back.
“Aw, baby. Look at you all teary-eyed…” Harry cupped your cheek, letting your legs fall wide on the bed as he wiped the tears from under your eye. With his other hand, he grabbed his cock and guided it to your pussy, sliding the head through your folds. His teeth gritted at the sensitivity on his desperate cock and he was trying so hard to not lose all strength in his body just at that one little touch. He was the one desperate now.
“Y’look so pretty like this… fucking gorgeous you are…”
“Harry…” You sighed, holding onto his wrist with one hand while grabbing his hip with the other. Just the feeling of his cock through your folds was heavenly, a sign that you’d finally get to come.
“I love the way you say my name, pretty girl. Like a fucking angel… shit”
His hand slid down your face to your neck, looping around it in a loose hold while he pressed his tip to your entrance and slowly eased his way in. Your pussy was so sensitive from all his teasing and he could tell too. Your cry was loud and your nails dug deep into his hip. He was addicted to the feeling.
“Shit… oh god…” You whined out, head thrown back against the bedding. Your mouth was wide in a pant, chest heaving just at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you. His cock was always an adjustment… thick and long and fuck, every time you thought of it your mind went a little dizzy.
It ached to have him inside you without being edged so much and now it was like a hot fire in your womb. Your clit was aching, your belly was aching, and everything was so tightly strung all you wanted was just to be fucked. Even if you were more sensitive than ever, you just needed to be fucked hard into the bed.
No teasing. Nothing. You just wanted him to fuck you until you came undone around him.
“Fuck me… please, Harry just fuck me…” your words came in a rushed, desperate plea; your hips jutting to try and get him to move.
“Fuck, bunny. Got a filthy fucking mouth, don’t you…” Harry cursed, tightening his grip around your neck. “I’ll fuck you, alright. I’ll give you exactly what you want…”
He started rocking his hips against you, wasting no time to get to a steady, bruising pace. It was hips snapping against hips, your thighs wide on the bed while he used his hand around your neck for balance. His balls slapped against your ass and his noises of pleasure were so goddamn erotic you knew you’d never forget the sound of them.
It was euphoric.
“God baby, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me. And you’re all mine, aren’t you? All fucking mine…” Harry grunted, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from finishing too fast. He was practically going to burst the moment his cock slid inside you. “And this…” He pressed his palm to your thigh, heavily running his thumb over your tattoo… “is so sexy… so fucking sexy…”
Neither of you seemed to care about the fact he had fresh stitches and a fresh bullet wound because the way he was fucking you was too good to care about something that could be so easily fixed. That pain in his abdomen did very little to stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved, even if that meant he’d have to sit through another angry stitching done by you.
Hopefully, this time you weren’t as angry or as rough with him… though he wouldn’t have minded if it meant he’d have you again like this.
You couldn’t even respond to him because it felt like your mouth had disconnected from your brain. Your body was so overstimulated that your mind could barely function. But you could drag him down with two hands on his jaw and kiss him. It was messy and uncoordinated but that didn’t even matter. All that mattered was that his body was on yours and you felt the closeness you had craved since the moment he tied your wrists behind your back.
“I love you… I love you so much…” You murmured, already feeling your orgasm approach again. It hardly took any time, not when he was fucking you so good and so hard. He felt deeper than ever before, so deep you could feel that deep pit in your stomach start to churn. It was a feeling that didn’t happen very often, but one both you and Harry reaped the benefits of.
“I love you so much, angel. My love forever and always.” Harry groaned into your mouth, gathering your hands in his and intertwining your fingers together. He pushed on either side of your head, pressing them into the bedding as he started to kiss along your jaw and neck to get a bit of air.
The dirty talk kept spilling out of his mouth, some coherent and others just desperate strung together sentences that made your head spiral and your pussy clench around his cock. He had a way with words, both in and out of the bedroom and it never failed to knock you to the fucking floor.
That deep churning in your pit only grew and started to press right against your clit. You could feel the pressure building and building until it felt like you were going to burst. Your clit was aching; a pinching white-hot pleasure beating from it like it had its own heartbeat.
“Oh… shit… shit. Harry… ‘m gonna… ‘m gonna squirt” The words barely got out, all thrown together in a loud cry right in his ear before you felt the damn burst from inside of you.
It rolled over you in a crash. An initial euphoric crash of pleasure hitting your body from all angles. Waves and waves of pure ecstasy made your thighs tremble and your toes curl. Your whole body shook as the first spray of your arousal hit Harry’s lower belly and with every squirt after, another jolt of electricity.
“Shit baby. Good fucking girl. Fucking hell…” Harry cursed, grinding his hips against you to try and draw as much of your orgasm through. He felt it coat his cock and the hairs at his base, dripping down to his balls until it started to dampen the bedding beneath you. “Jesus, bunny. ‘M gonna cum… Can I?...”
“Want it… want it inside, please…” you whimpered, squeezing his hands tight as the pleasure started to die down to a low beat in your clit.
Harry’s mouth smushed against yours as he fucked himself once more inside of you, groaning against you as his body trembled above you. You could feel the hot bliss of his come filling you to the brim and the sudden weight of him on top of you when he let himself relax against your body.
“Shit, bunny…” He sighed, dropping his forehead to the crook of your neck.
You were both exhausted. Your skin was damp and sticky and the bed below you felt exactly the same. It was a mess. You were a mess and yet you were the happiest you could’ve been. Sore muscles and a fire beating on your ass and fresh tattoo meant nothing compared to the fulfilment you had just being with Harry.
“Are you okay?” He whispered after a moment of silence, resting his chin on your chest to look at you. He needed to collect himself before he checked on you so he was physically able to take care of you and provide whatever you needed. He definitely needed to have a shower or bath with you and rub some cream on your wrists and bum.
“I’m good,” You whispered back, smiling softly at him. “A little sore but so good… are you okay?”
“I’m perfect,” he smiled and softly kissed your sweaty skin, “can I pull out now?”
With a small nod, he gently pulled himself out of you and then started your normal routine. He went to get some water and a damp towel to clean you both up and then returned to clean you while you guzzled the entire thing. Some nights you two jumped in the shower straight away, but that was only if you weren’t going to have another round or were prepared to change the sheets at the same time.
Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. After you went to the bathroom quickly you returned and you both curled into each other’s arms to have your usual pillow talk. It was your favourite part of sleeping together because it was often when the truth came out or you found out more things about him. You loved that.
“I still can’t believe you did this…” Harry murmured, looking down at the tattoo. He traced his fingers over it, looking at it obsessively.
“Was it too much? Be honest…”
“What?” Harry was a little taken aback and looked up at you with a furrowed expression, “Never. Fucking unexpected but I love it,” he reached up to grab your cheek and you immediately nuzzled into it, holding your hand over his, “I love you, y/n. I don’t say it often enough but I do. And I want you in my life, I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to keep you safe.”
“Let me come with you.” You responded, “next time you go back to the city, let me come. I want to see where you live and… I don’t know, maybe meet your friends? Or…” you felt a little embarrassed at the next words that came out of your mouth, but you weren’t exactly sure how else to say it, “work colleagues…”
Harry cracked the biggest fucking grin at how you phrased it, but he tried to not laugh so he wouldn’t embarrass you. “Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll take you back with me.”
“Tomorrow?” You blinked, not expecting him to just willingly agree like that.
“Yes. I don’t have a job until Thursday so we’ll have a couple of days together. But that’s only if you don’t have college or wo-”
“I don’t.” You interrupted quickly, knowing very well you did have university and work. Harry knew that too, he just wanted to see if you’d really skip a few days of responsibility for him. “I’d love to go.”
Harry smirked, nearly getting all worked up again at the thought of his angel skipping classes just to spend time with him. “Good…” He then cleared his throat and sat up so he could look at you, “I want you to have this.”
He removed his signature cross necklace from around his neck and motioned for you to sit up as well. “Harry… I couldn’t”
“You can.” He pressed, placing the necklace over your head. He eyed the way it fell right between your breasts and pulled your hair out from underneath it so it wouldn’t get tangled. “Always wear this, y/n. I mean it. The moment I take you into the city there will be people who care that you know me and they’ll use it against me.” Harry played with the cross between two fingers, rubbing his thumb over the front of it, “Wearing this… it’s a protection.”
“How?...” You whispered, looking between the necklace and his gorgeous green eyes.
“Because this-” his hand fell to your thigh, squeezing over the plastic film of your tattoo, “-tells me that you’re mine and this-” he grabbed the chain again, tugging it ever so slightly, “tells the entire fucking world.”
━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━
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— satosugu as boyfriends —
it’s hard to decide who’s your bigger fan, satoru or suguru. they’re so in love with everything you do & are so supportive! it took a LOOONNNGG way though— let’s say you met them when they were still in school & so were you. though — you were not a sorcerer. satoru doesn’t mind, he hated non-sorcerers before for making him the reason he’s so looked upto. now thanks to suguru, he wants to protect them. suguru knew you much before than satoru, you were his neighbor after all. how else could you hangout with people who have such major power differences?
things changed after the riko incident— you could see the hatred that suguru slowly festered within him. there were days satoru came to suguru’s apartment to relax & play games with their other juniors like nanamin or haibara. these days you could hardly see the fun… suguru goes out and comes home & that’s all. you and him used to play together as kids and despite you reaching out, suguru was shutting down.
it was until he killed his own parents — that satoru took matters into his own hands. killed hundreds of people & adopted, some girls!!?!?!?? what was even happening!! to protect you, satoru shifted you to the gojo estate. it was simple really, you were a non-sorcerer & suguru would not really care about your life right now just to prove a point.
a year went by just processing what was happening. of course— spending a year with gojo satoru also meant that you two had become incredibly close. earlier, you were invited by suguru over because you & him had always played gaming consoles together. right now, it was totally different. you didn’t know satoru was so mature, and so kind when needed, although keeping his childishness still intact. you were the only one he could openly talk about suguru with. not even shoko — her & yaga had started calling him geto to detach maybe. yet it’s endearing to see such fondness in satoru’s eyes for his bestfriend aka almost lover aka what could have been.
long story short— suguru could not kill you. it’s sickening to think he could do so with his parents but after a year or two when he finally went to the gojo estate having known your whereabouts & missing the chaste peck he stole when things were alright. he cried. hugging you tenderly. expressing how he thinks he shouldn’t have been high on adrenaline that day & did what he did… he wants people like satoru to suffer less. he wants to do something ‼️
it takes a while for suguru to start healing, no one suspects that the strongest sorcerer satoru gojo had secretly kept his best friend in the gojo estate along with his almost girlfriend. :33 even the girls are present with megumi and tsumiki & despite their contrasting personalities— things have seemed to settle for once.
you knew suguru liked to cook so you were now greeted by him preparing you the sweetest ever breakfast in bed, meanwhile satoru insisted you sleep with him (to protect you) :3 yeah as ifff 💁🏻♀️ man was too shy to make the first move just yet because you had been trusting him so good. afraid to fuck up. though when you agree? oh he is out of this world. suguru is happy too, in a way he also gets to spoil satoru like this.
satoru uses his old money to ensure you three go on trips at least once every 2-3 weeks. the recent one that you remember is paris. for new years !! it was beautiful to confess your love for each other and finally officially start dating. you were spoiled by insanely hot balcony sex that day. ;)
suguru has improved & also started honing his skills. though during one of the much intimate conversations, you had asked him to trust you enough to come home to after swallowing the sabotaging negativity of a curse & to let you kiss it away. <3 you trust him to follow through with it.
suguru can get especially testy when you’re around your period and satoru decides to mess with your mood. normally, satoru’s teasing is ignored but during those days he gets smacked from sugu. :3 satoru just wants your mood to be better :(( not in the same sense as suguru perhaps. so satoru takes on the role of your sugar daddy as usual. getting you your favorite snackies and stuff.
there is no power dynamic as such between the two of them. really— they’re just equals and you like that despite being in a relationship, satosugu can be switches to each other and daddy doms to you as always.
satoru was the first one who discovered that making you feel smaller, would regress you up a little. you’d cutely pout & get subby and babytalking to you during that rare occaision would actually get him you in the form of putty in his hands. so satosugu are mostly like “let daddy handle it sweetness.” / “oh no you’re too small for that, give me.” / “no baby you can’t reach there, let daddy help.” and ugh it makes you so fucking submissive for them they love that & YOU love that😩
satoru and suguru together decided to get you another cat which would be a cute little brother for your pet. they are such good pet fathers you often wonder how good they’d be to kids — oh wait, 😏 you have their adopted babies to witness that first hand too! how lucky! 🍀
nsfw hcs later alligator i’d elaborate on this more later too! enjoy my word vomit besties 👯♀️ send me jjk askies 🙇🏻♀️ thank you!
#gojo satoru#geto suguru#gojo x reader#geto x reader#gojo fluff#geto fluff#satosugu x reader#stsg#satosugu hcs#satosugu#jujutsu kaisen#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satosugu fluff#satosugu comfort#gojo imagines#geto imagines
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little aphrodite
sex on fire chapter nine
the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.
warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.
word count: 7.5k
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He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.
But you didn’t.
Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.
Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.
And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?
No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.
I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.
You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.
But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.
You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.
Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.
Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.
You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.
And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.
But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.
Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.
He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.
But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.
You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.
The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”
He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.
“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.
Joel sighs under his breath.
“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.
She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.
So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.
Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.
Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.
“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.
He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.
He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.
You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.
He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.
He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.
This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.
His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.
“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”
Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.
Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.
“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.
He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.
His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”
“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.
He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”
Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.
She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.
“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”
Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.
The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.
Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”
The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.
The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.
“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”
Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.
Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.
How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.
How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.
“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”
Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.
He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.
Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.
Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”
And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.
“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”
The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”
Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.
He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.
He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.
“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.
“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”
“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”
He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.
It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.
Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.
A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.
“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”
“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”
Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?
And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?
He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.
When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.
“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.
You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.
The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.
You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.
Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.
He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.
And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.
He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.
He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.
Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.
He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.
There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.
A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.
“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.
He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.
You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.
You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.
You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.
You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.
“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.
Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.
Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.
“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”
You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.
He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.
His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.
You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.
“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.
You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.
“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”
His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.
You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.
“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”
Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.
You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.
You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.
He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.
“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”
“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.
“Best head you ever had. I know.”
He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.
“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.
Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.
He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.
He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.
But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.
The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.
You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.
It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.
That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.
His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.
The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.
“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.
“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.
“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”
He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”
And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.
He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.
Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”
Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”
“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”
“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”
Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”
Placating. It pisses Joel off more.
“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”
“Taken?”
“Hired. By me.”
The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.
“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”
Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”
Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.
He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.
And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.
You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.
Joel Miller has never been in love.
He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.
G’night, love you.
I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.
Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.
It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.
He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.
He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.
But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.
Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.
The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.
Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.
He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.
Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.
Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.
And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.
He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.
Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.
None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.
Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.
And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.
He loves you. He – no, fuck.
He doesn’t just love you.
He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –
blood spilling all over the pristine floor –
pathetic and adolescent in its nature –
butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –
in love with you.
He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?
But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.
He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.
Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.
And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.
He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.
He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.
“Smile,” he says, and you do.
“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.
He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.
Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.
You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.
She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.
Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.
There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.
“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.
You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.
The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.
He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.
He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.
You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.
“What’d you say, baby?”
You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.
“Please don’t ever leave.”
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#ceo!joel miller#ceo!joel#sugardaddy!joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fic#tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#sex on fire
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Hey absolutely love your stuff (obviously since I keep requesting lol) anyways could I request Adam who somehow survived after getting beaten up by Lucifer and stabbed who even knows how many times by Niffty gets found by the reader who while an overlord isn't that powerful is super rich (I also picture them being like a mix of Alastor and Vox where like Alastor still holds a lot of more old timey views but also tries to adapt with the changing views like Vox) and decides to take him back to his mansion to try and help him survive (wants to make a few bucks later using him) after a bit the two share an oh fuck moment when they realized they have caught feelings. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!
Overlord reader?? Uh fuck yeah!! I fucking love this ask so much xoxo/p
Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 ; Part 5 ; Part 6 ; Part 7
Chains on my lips just add flames to the fire
pairing: Adam x male!reader
warnings: language & sexual tension
note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers
The battlefield was a mess through and through and while the devil and his daughter had built up the hotel again, a new, more inviting looking building was now located on the lonely hill in the pride ring, you still felt Adam's presence. The residents of the hazbin hotel must've already forgotten about him and therefore didn't notice you at all, too caught up in their doing.
The first man was badly injured and while you normally wouldn't care for such things, especially because it was an exorcist angel, this case was special. Because not only was the brunette laying in front of your feet the first man god had ever created, no, he was also the leader of said exorcists. You could only imagine how many sinners and Hellborn people would pay a good amount of money to harm him, even if it was just the slightest injury possible. So you bowed down and scooped the passed out man in your arms. If these sinners and even Lucifer didn't care for him, you would put him to good use. For your own benefit that was, but no one had to know about that yet. So you carried the first man across the entire pride ring of hell until you reached your home. The brunette man in your arms was still unconscious and given the blood he had lost and the hits he had taken that was pretty normal.
Once inside your mansion, you headed to the hospital wing, walking through the building with slow, heavy steps that echoed through the empty hallways. The hospital wing was close to the entrance, a decision you had made after stumbling through the doors with a fatal wound that had been exposing your guts. It was quicker to reach in an emergency and while those rarely occurred, you didn't like the risk. You put the first man down onto one of the beds, your claw sliced smoothly through the fabric of his once holy robe to get it out of the way. You needed to take care of the stab wounds the nifty little demon girl had caused. The stabs were deep but nothing you couldn't fix. You gave Adam one last glance before you stepped over to the medicine cabinet and for a quick moment you asked yourself why Lilith and Eve had left Adam, he wasn't bad looking at all, quite the opposite. And Lucifer had mentioned that Adam had ‘kinda let himself go’ which meant back when the two women were married to him, he must have looked even better. You quickly shook your head, what in the devil's name were you even thinking?
With wound cleaning supplies and a healing potion you stepped back to Adam's bed, the first human ever seemed to be slowly waking up. He braced his palms against the mattress, tried to lift himself up but you were quick to push him back down, the more he moved while his wounds were still ripped open the more blood he lost. And while Adam would be able to recover either way, the more blood stayed inside of his body, the better. At least that's what you thought. “Stay,” you hummed as you cleaned the blood from his skin. It was unusual to clean off golden blood instead of the red mess you were so used to. But you didn't mind, didn't care even.
Adam flinched away from your touch, tried to lift himself up yet again. Your hand took a hold of his throat and held him down by it, “I said stay, stupid angel.” Adam's eyes seemed to clear up a little, the fog that had covered his golden eyes, had made them seem yellow, lifted and the brunette stared at you, clearly not knowing what to feel. You saw anger in his eyes, rage and hatred but at the same time there was fear. Fear and pain.
Once the blood was no longer staining his perfect skin, you took the potion you had grabbed, popped the cork and held the smooth, cold glass against his bottom lip, “Open up,” you demanded, yet your voice stayed gentle. Adam hesitated and you really couldn't blame him. “It will cause your wounds to heal,” you explained to the former leader of the exorcists and he seemed to consider his opinions for a moment. Then he actually parted his lips and let you spill the disgusting liquid onto his tongue. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste and he kept the liquid in his mouth. “Swallow it, Adam.” Adam looked up at you, once again seemingly considering alternatives he had. Given the fact that he did as you told him, there hadn't been many.
Adam checked his chest as the wounds that had caused enough pain to make him pass out healed quickly. The only hint left that they ever even existed were golden scars that seemed to be permanent from now on, but the first man couldn't complain, could he? He was still alive and on top of that there was no more pain. The first man frowned at you, mistrust was lingering heavy in his eyes as golden orbs followed your every move. Yet he remained silent, not a single word was falling from his lips.
Your hand that had been holding him down by his throat let go of him and Adam was sitting up right in his bed in an instant. His hands traced over the new found scars, you watched him in silence. There was something about him, about his vibe that was different. It wasn't the fact that he was an angel, no, even though that made his vibe different too, but it was something soft, something afraid to break. You cleared your throat loudly and Adam's eyes were on you within a heartbeat, while mistrust still lingered heavy in them, curiosity was close behind and you couldn't help but catch yourself that you were curious about him too.
-
Adam always bragged about being the first man, like that was his biggest accomplishment and if you looked at it from a different viewpoint it wasn't even his accomplishment but God’s, Adam didn't create himself after all. Yet it was the only thing worth mentioning whenever he didn't want to do something, “I’m the fucking man, not your fucking housewife, I'm not gonna fucking clean that.” You sighed as you took a step towards Adam and he flinched, trying to back up but his back hit the kitchen counter sooner than expected. Your hands grabbed a hold of his waist and you effortlessly lifted him up to sit on said counter, Adam was taken aback by that.
It had been a couple of weeks since you had found and saved him and the mistrust that had been filling his eyes from the first second on had never truly left them. He would always leash out on you only to back down as soon as you reacted in some way that seemed too unpredictable for him. “When will you learn to think before you speak?” Your voice held a certain amount of softness, it always did when you were speaking to Adam. The guy wasn't a threat to you, not in his current situation. And you were trying to use that to your advantage. Because he was scared, basically a deer in the headlights, why not put that fear to use? You nudged his knees apart to stand between his legs, still taller than him you hovered over the first man with a mix between a sly grin and a soft smile. “When you start to suck my fucking dick,” you chuckled as his choice of words, very aware that he simply wanted you to fuck off and leave him be, you acted oblivious to that. One hand was placed on the counter to steady yourself, right next to his thigh, the other grabbed his chin to tilt his head upwards, forcing the brunette to look you in the eyes.
“Right now? Right here?” your voice sounded so delicious, Adam wanted to eat it up, in fact, he wanted to devour you entirely, feast on every piece you had to offer and only stop once he swallowed it all. In Christ's holy name, what was he thinking? Your lips were so close to his, so so close, all he would need to do was - he leaned into your touch, why he wasn't sure, it was as if his body was following a call sent to him by nature itself. And then his lips met yours and a low groan spilled from his throat as his hands grabbed your shoulder firmly, he was afraid you'd pull back, that you'd leave him like Lilith and Eve had and he didn't even know why. Why was he afraid of losing you, a sinner, a man he barely knew? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. And yet he kissed you like his life was depending on it.
The hand that had been braced against the counter was now on his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh playfully and drawing a delicious sound from Adam's lips. Oh you could drown in the noises the first man made, the little huffs and puffs, his groans that he tried to keep as quiet as possible, the whimpers he would later deny. Adam was the most beautiful creature that had ever set a foot into hell and you mentally punched yourself in the face for wanting to use him to make money. There was no way you'd use such a divine, holy and glorious man for that, no. Adam was yours, your little secret and you'd keep it, keep him.
When you two partened a sting of saliva connected your lips and both of your eyes were hazy, he looked blissed out and it was then that you decided you wanted to see him like that more often - as often as possible. You were to lean in yet again, wanting more, needing more. But your phone rang. “Pick it up, bet it's something fucking important, they don't fucking call overlords for shits and giggles, do they?” You knew Adam was right and you hated it. You pushed your body away from the first man's and you saw how he wanted to reach out, wanted to keep you close but didn't say a thing about it. You grabbed your phone off the dining table and answered the call, “The fuck do you want, Vox?” It was the first time Adam had heard you speaking so vulgarly, you usually seemed to be collected, considering your words wisely, but that? In the name of God, that was truly something else. And it was ridiculously hot. “No I fucking can't, ask someone else,” and with that you hung up, tossed your phone carelessly back onto the table and found your place between his legs yet again. “Where were we?” you hummed through hooded eyes. And it was only then that the two of you seemed to realize what exactly you had just done, what you were about to do again.
Both of your eyes widened and the next thing you felt were Adam's hands on your body, not just your shoulder this time but also your waist, your chest, your thighs, your back. It seemed as if he was claiming you with his hands and the worst part of it? You truly didn't mind, you even enjoyed his touch on you, leaned into it and closed your eyes to fully focus on his hands roaming over your body.
Fuck, you had fallen deep for this man, way deeper than you ever thought you'd fall. But Adam had followed you, had fallen with you.
“You were about to suck me off,” Adam mumbled, his voice already sounded fucked out and you hadn't even started yet.
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Fixing Bad Dreams
masterlist
summary: without even realizing, you’ve been using your powers to turn butcher’s bad dreams into good ones.
pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader
rating: R for language
word count: 1.4k
warnings: language, talk of sex
timeline: set after season 3
gif source
When Butcher had realized you were a Supe, obviously his first thought was that he had to kill you. But he soon realized you weren’t like the others. Not in a “oh she’s still a good person” way, but in a “wow she’s fucking weak, she’s basically still human” way. It was true. Essentially all you could do was send telepathic messages to people. That was it. (You also had a slight healing factor, but even that wasn’t very strong.) You couldn’t read minds, you couldn’t move things with your mind, you were barely a Supe.
Or, maybe he was just trying to justify sleeping with you. Whether he’d admit it or not, he really liked sleeping with you. Not just the sex, he liked physically sleeping next to you. With you. He’d sleep best when it was next to you. He wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat, he wouldn’t have nightmares about watching his wife die bloody.
Most of the time, you woke up before him. You’d find his shirt from the night before and put it on, along with your panties if you could find them. Although, Butcher tended to rip your more delicate ones.
As you tiptoed around the room looking for where he had thrown your underwear you heard him mumble something in his sleep. You hurried next to him, his brows furrowed as he clenched the sheets in tight fists.
You held his cheek, bent down, and kissed his forehead. That always calmed him right down, you didn’t know why. And it did just that; he unclenched his fists, unfurrowed his brows, and let out a soft breath of air.
You smiled at the thought. The great William Butcher like forehead kisses in his sleep. That’s what calmed him down.
He stirred awake shortly after, seeing you looking around the room still.
“Mornin’ love,” He yawned. “What’re you lookin’ for?”
“Good morning,” You smiled and walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed. “You sleep okay?” You ran a hand through his hair then down his cheek, stopping to bend down and kiss him sweetly.
“Great, love,” He smiled. “Was havin’ a bit of a nightmare but it turned into us making out in the office the other day.”
“Really?” You furrowed your brows a little.
“Yeah, why?”
“Uh…no reason,” You shook your head a little.
“So, what were you looking for?” He asked, intentionally changing the subject.
“Where the hell did you throw my panties last night?” You asked, turning to glance around the room. He reached under his pillow and pulled out what you’d been looking for.
“I may have hid ‘em so you’d make me breakfast without wearin’ ‘em,” He smirked.
“All you had to do was ask,” You smiled. You leaned down and kissed him again before you stood up. “Bacon and eggs ‘ll be ready in a few minutes, come meet me in the kitchen?”
“I’ll be right there.”
**
“You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” Butcher chuckled a few days later. You walked up to him cooking pancakes, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Smells amazing,” You hummed. You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
As you sat down at the table you let out a soft laugh.
“Okay, seriously, why’re you in such a good mood?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” You shrugged.
“Cause the A/C stopped working halfway through the night and we both lost a good two hours of sleep?” He raised a brow.
“Remember last summer? We went to that water park with Hughie and the others after the tests came back negative and you were cancer free?”
“Yeah, what about it?” He turned to look at you fully, suddenly very interested in each word you said.
“After the A/C went out I had the best, most intense dream about it! I mean, the smell of the chlorine in the wave pool, the sound of those birds that kept trying to take your fries, everything!”
“Huh…I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Butcher mumbled, a huge smile plastered on his face.
“What?”
“Nothin’ love, I remember that day too.”
**
Grass so green it looked fake, the sky so blue and clouds so perfect it all looked like a Bob Ross painting. Birds chirped in the trees as Butcher dipped down and kissed you again.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” He smiled. He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, under your floral dress.
A picnic in the park with William Butcher. A fucking dream come true.
The cruel sound of the alarm jolted you awake. Butcher stretched his arm out and over you, hitting the snooze button.
“Perfect fucking timing,” He grumbled. “I think I was about to get lucky.”
“Me too, actually,” You laughed a little. “Guess we’ll have to make it up to each other.”
**
“Hey, let’s eat breakfast outside,” Butcher suggested.
“You hate eating outside?” You laughed a little. You took a sip of your coffee as you watched Butcher cook breakfast.
“Don’t be silly! On occasion, picnics can be fun!”
“P-Picnics?” You furrowed your brows. “What gave you that idea?”
“Just a dream I had.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Were you putting thoughts in his head? Messing with his dreams enough that it influenced his life when he was awake? How else were you messing with his head?
“Earth to Y/n!” Butcher pulled you out of your head.
“Huh?”
“I said food’s ready. Now, c’mon, get off your ass and eat outside with me.”
“Okay,” You smiled, hiding how worried you actually were.
You followed him out to the balcony overlooking the busy city.
“So what was your dream?” He asked when you both sat down at the outside table.
“Wh-What dream?” You asked.
“Remember? We both woke up to the alarm, both said we were about to get lucky in our dreams, and then we had earth-shattering morning sex. So, what was your dream?”
“I- I don’t really remember it…now all I’m thinking about is the earth-shattering morning sex,” You smirked a little.
“Ah ha!” He matched your expression, but added a sense of pride. “That’s my job, love.”
**
“Butcher, we need to talk,” You said later that night. He was ready for bed and already under the covers.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows knitted with concern.
“I- I don’t think I sh-should sleep with you anymore,” You replied, tears in your eyes.
“You’re breaking up with me? Why?”
“No! I- I fucking love you and that why I need to get as far away from you as fucking possible!”
“Y/n, you’re not makin’ any sense,” He got out of bed and walked up to you. You backed away from him, shaking your head.
“I- I’ve been- I think I’ve been messing with your h-head somehow,” You let the tears fall. “Not on purpose, I swear! But I- I’ve been controlling your dreams, so who knows how else I’ve been controlling you!”
“I know about the dreams.”
“What?”
“I figured it out a couple weeks ago. You were going into detail about a dream you had the night before, and it was the same dream I had.”
“Why didn’t you say something! Butcher I could be completely controlling you! You probably don’t even really want to fucking be here! Fuck!” You put your hands on your head.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to act how you’re acting right now. I knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me your dream.”
“B-But what if…”
“What if what, Y/n? You really think you could accidentally force me to love you?” He took a few steps closer to you, this time you didn’t back away. You nodded. “Alright, how ‘bout this. Right now, try your absolute hardest to make me do something.” He put his hands on your shoulders and touched his forehead to yours. “Go on, use your powers on me.”
“I’m trying!” You exclaimed. You really were, but he was right; you weren’t nearly strong enough to mind-control someone. You let out a breath of relief. “Fuck, that would’ve been a fucking nightmare!”
“Well, good thing that’s your specialty then, love. Turning nightmares into the best fuckin’ dreams I could ask for.”
“I love you, Butcher,” You smiled and he did the same.
“I love ya, too,” He mumbled as he kissed your lips.
#the boys#billy butcher x reader#butcher x reader#the boys fanfic#the boys fluff#billy butcher#billy butcher x you#the boys tv#by mind empty just fictional people#by jean
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bruised part seven -> the healing power of shit talking
m.list
♪ now playing: first love/late spring by mitski ♪
“Are there any concerns you have going into Worlds?”
Iwaizumi bounces his knee, leaning back against the chair at his desk. He stares attentively at his computer screen, her face pixelated across it. It’s strange, he thinks, to see the face he’s known since he was a kid splayed out on screen, twisting in thought.
She’s always hated interviews, ever since her first one, and he can see it on her now. When she gnaws on the inside of her cheek. When she crosses her arms tightly over her chest, fingers tapping against her bicep. When her lip slightly twitches before she speaks. “The bracket’s stacked with a lot of heavy hitters,” she answers, and Iwaizumi can hear the forced diplomacy in her voice, even through the poor audio quality of his desktop’s speakers. “So I just have to make sure I go in with a clear head and play to my own strengths instead of fixating in on my opponent’s. That’s gotten me into trouble before.”
He chuckles at her answer. It’s so strained and uncharacteristic. Because if it was him that had asked her, she would roll her eyes and say, “Yeah, fucking of course I do. It’s Worlds. Don’t be stupid.” But because there is a camera on her face, she puts up a front of faux concentration and gives the first bullshit answer she can think of.
Iwaizumi taps a finger against the edge of his desk, resting his chin on the heel of his other palm. He studies her as she fields another question about her disadvantages against pressure fighters. Her left hand slips under her right elbow, cradling it, thumb drawing circles over the bone. He huffs.
It’s bothering her. Of course it’s bothering her.
His first frustrated thought is that she’s stupid for not telling him, because he told her to keep him updated on how the healing progressed and if she had any pain.
And then his second, worse thought is that it’s entirely his fault that she didn’t.
My world doesn’t revolve around you, y’know.
Iwaizumi sighs, reaching forward to knock his thumb into the space bar, pausing the video right as she started delving into her defense training. He knew it would work. Still, he was just sort of hoping it wouldn’t.
And now that it has, it feels shitty. Really fucking shitty.
Absentmindedly, he digs into his pocket and fishes out his phone, hoping that there might be a notification from her and hoping that there might not be. He’s more disappointed than relieved when there’s nothing.
He opens their conversation, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Iwaizumi looks at her last words to him just a few days back: okay, whatever. He swallows, and types out a quick and plain: I’m sorry.
Iwaizumi stares down at the unsent message. He doesn’t know how to apologize without taking it back. He doesn’t know how to take it back without setting the distance.
There’s this urge in him to be selfish. To apologize and do whatever groveling is needed to get back to how they were before. But he knows that they can’t go on like that forever. That he would always be standing in her way. That he can’t always be the person she’d choose over anyone else. And if there was a time for his honesty, he knows for certain it’s passed.
Iwaizumi deletes it letter by letter. He knows she needs the distance.
He turns his attention back to the screen and presses play on the video. She picks up mid-sentence, giving them a canned line about how to effectively defend when she’s pushed up into a corner.
“And one last question for you and then I’ll let you get back to training. Is there a driving force behind your punch? What inspires you to fight?”
She was asked the same question back in their university days. He remembers her answer, word for word as it was back then. She grinned, brightly and genuinely, and looked right at the camera as she said, “I promised my friend I’d win.”
Now, she offers a half-hearted shrug and says with a light chuckle, “Who knows these days?”
fun facts!
yn typed out “np” with actual tears in her eyes
when she said “i know i can be clingy sometimes” she did mean it but there was a (big) part of her hoping he’d deny it and say he likes the attention she gives him
iwaizumi on the other hand was trying very hard not to say exactly that
he didn’t know what the right thing to say was so he just said generic word salad and then immediately regretted it
he’s not doing great either rn
yn has a hyperextended elbow and has had issues with dislocation in the past; she’s been able to avoid surgery but she’s been getting worried abt it acting up again
she wears compression sleeves while she trains to try and keep it at bay
bonus!
taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @ahseyy @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @baskin-robinhoods @polish-cereal @iheartamora @ferntv @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @pinkiscool @hikikaimar @needtoloveoutloud @iheartpinky @makkir0ll @cr4yolaas @k8nicole @cannibalsrider @bookworm-center @causenessus @frootloopscos @0moonii @ekeio @michivrse @phoenix-eclipses @rinthegoose69 @melancholy-nightmares @kottonkndyy @hermaeusmorax @milkwithspiceyicecubes (please complete form linked in masterlist to be added)
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#haikyuu fluff#hq x reader#hq x you#haikyuu smau#haikyuu texts#hq#iwaizumi x reader smau#iwaizumi haijime x reader#iwaizumi angst#iwaizumi hajime x reader#iwaizumi x you#iwaizumi fluff#hq iwaizumi#iwaizumi x reader#haikyuu iwaizumi#iwaizumi hajime#iwaizumi hajime x reader smau
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here we go again - pt.3
pt. 1 , pt.2
jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader
empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again.
or will you? can things be forgiven?
Word count - 1.9K +
Watch it - reader so sad but dw bae it gets better ! jude. Just jude. hehehe
—--
Madrid is bleak and bland when you get back, eager to find a routine, to busy yourself with anything, everything.
It's almost like there's a big joke being played on you because you're given Jude to create promotional posters for. It makes you want to cry, but you suck it up, download the pictures and get to work. Even if you have to scribble his face out the whole time.
Avoiding Jude becomes your obsession. You make it your top priority to avoid seeing him in person under any and all costs. You refuse to go anywhere near the stadium, training facilities. Blocking official accounts and avoiding tv when you know they're set to play.
You find jude everywhere. In the cracks of sidewalks where flowers bloom. Inside coffee shops when the smell of vanilla hits your face, under bridges where graffiti of smiley faces litter the concrete.
His presence looms over the city like a specter, mocking your attempts to move on. You long for the day when his memory no longer haunts you, when you can walk through Madrid without feeling his presence at every turn.
Until then, you cling to the hope that time will heal the wounds he left behind, and that one day, you'll be able to reclaim the city as your own. But for now, Madrid remains a bleak and lonely place, haunted by the ghost of a love lost.
—-
Trent calls you about a week after you land, in the middle of your morning routine.
“How are you?”
You stifle a sigh, picking at your nails, “I'm really just peachy Trent,” padding over to your kitchen, opening the fridge.
“You know what I mean.”
You grab what you need, using your hip to close the fridge “I don't know why you keep calling me Trent. I'm fine. Tell jude to fuck off yeah?”
You hear a sigh from the other end, “jude has nothing to do with me checking up on you.”
“Sure.” you hang up. And he doesn’t call again.
—--
The office is always full of energy on match days, and you hate how it's become a tradition to all watch together. Weather in the stands or from the actual office. Your desire to show up in a barca jersey is very very strong.
Today is one day where you walk single file to the stadium and find your seats. Curse working for madrid, it brings you a little too close to the pitch for comfort. You spend half the game on your phone, even when your coworkers gently nudge your shoulder when Jude speeds to the post, you mumble something about work that needs to be done (you're on your settings.)
Jude scores, of course he does. And it's a beautiful goal, straight power, nothing but net. You're up cheering before you can stop yourself, smiling. You're smiling at Jude scoring.
He jogs over to the crowd per usual, caught up in the adrenaline. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to scoring at home. The feeling is unbeatable. His eyes scan the crowd, and they just so happen to land on you.
You're here? The cheers of the crowd fade out, his arms falling to his side, he's staring right at you. He's taken back to the night he left you alone. He’s a fucking idiot. You don't look away, if anything you lean forward in your seat. You're here.
—--
Against better judgment he goes looking for you after the game. Running down hallways still in his kit, looking a mess with grass stuck all over him. At least he managed to kick his cleats off and grab the nearest slides he could find. He's pretty sure these aren't his but he doesn't care. Not right now.
He knows the staff tend to hang around after games, the issue is where.
Curse the never ending construction. The place is a maze, an awful one without, with it feels like he's entering a different dimension at every turn.
He hears laughing and speeds down to find himself in a lounge full of people, all who rush to him to sing praises. He smiles. Trying not to get blinded by flash photography. A voice cuts through the crowd, a soft laugh.
You're here. Oh you're here.
He sees you tuck a piece of paper into a folder, smiling softly, patting the back of what he assumes to be a coworker as you make your way to the exit.
He tries to get past the people who surround him, but you're already gone. He's lost you again, all while you were right in front of him.
He goes home that night unable to sleep, eat, think. He blames himself, of course he does. It's his fault isn't it?
Somewhere during his night routine he thinks that there's an ounce of hope to fix this.
He calls trent.
“I don't know man.” Trent mumbles on the other end.
“I gotta at least try right?”
There's a beat of silence that lasts a moment too long, “if that's what you want.”
Jude thanks him for his time anyway. Tucking himself into bed.
He scrolls through instagram on his burner account, finding your account again. The request button taunts him, but he knows you wont accept. Instead clicking on your profile picture, watching it take up his screen and he sighs. He really has to get his life together doesn't he.
—--
The next time Jude sees you is at an event. Black tie in a nearby hotel. He misses getting ready with you for these, with all your products and accessories lining his sink while he watched you fondly.
“Do I look okay?” you would ask each time, leaning a hand on the sink while the other smoothed down the creases on your dress. Doing a once over in his mirror.
He would hum softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “you look amazing.”
You'd blush, swatting him away playfully. Pressing a kiss to his cheek and promising to see him there.
The same mirror now stares back at him cooly. His sink is empty, as his house is. He misses the smell of your perfume, your clothes that littered his space. He misses how you made it a home.
He sees you there all the same, mingling with your coworkers. You look amazing, that hasn't changed. The dark circles under your eyes have, two purple half moons stamped rather aggressively on your skin. How long has it been since you got proper nights rest jeez.
He makes his rounds to everyone. Brand ambassadors, staff, teammates, a list of high profile people he doesn't care to repeat. He leaves your little corner last on purpose. He doesn't want anything to get in the way.
He slides over to where you hug a glass of water to your chest, nodding along to something a man in a blue suit is saying. Pfft blue what a rookie choice. Jude is in all black, did you notice? It was your favorite on him.
You did notice, and try to suppress the desire to hurl when he walks over to you.
Jude gets to say no more than a sloppy greeting in Spanish before he's grabbed by the arm and taken back to where he thinks the owner of the hotel is standing.
You sigh in relief, and he sighs in frustration.
Fate has driven you apart once more it seems.
—--
Jude is a stubborn stubborn man. You can't seem to outrun him, no matter how many calls and texts you ignore, or block his accounts. Nor how you manage to slip out from right in front of him. Fate is on his side today it seems.
He shows up to your office, flowers in hand. Your favorite flowers, tied neatly with a ribbon of your favorite color, a card neatly tucked under the petals.
Your coworkers are in uttersock, not even trying to hide their surprise as he marches over to your desk.
You type faster, ignoring him, or trying to. The gazes on you burn, almost as much as they did on the night he left you to rot. Why is he here?
“Hey,” he tries, meekly. He wants to punch himself in the face. Hey? Really?
You don't look up from your monitor, opening more tabs, swiping your mouse against your desk furiously. You think the battery just fell out.
“Listen, I know I'm horrible, a piece of shit, the worst man alive, I don't deserve you in the slightless. But I love you.” he scrambled out in one breath.
You whip your head up at him,”love? You love me so much you took me to a club on valentines day?”
He winces, “it was so stupid. I'm so stupid. Please, let me make it up to you.” he pleads.
You sigh, throwing your head back in your chair, rolling your eyes,”are you actually going to change Jude. Are you going to stop this nonsense and treat me like you actually mean what you say?”
“Yes,” he nods furiously, “I promise. Not a day will go by without me proving it to you, I swear.”
You look back at him. He's worn your favorite cologne, the sweater you used to always steal on cold nights. The flowers are beautiful. You missed him, you missed him so much, to the point that you're really considering it.
Someone coughs in the cubicle next to you and you groan, gathering your things and hastily walking to the door, motioning for Jude to follow.
He looks like a newborn puppy, almost tripping on his feet while he follows you through hallways and corridors till you reach a stairwell you know for certain no one will walk through.
“Jude, I hope you know what you did broke me, it really broke me. I think you ruined my ego, permanently.”
He nods, leaning on the railing while he clutches the bouquet with so much force you're scared they're going to be wrung like a wet rag.
“But,” you raise a finger to him, “ and this is a big big but, if you can prove these things instead of saying them, i'll consider giving you another proper chance okay?”
You see the tension visibly ease from his shoulders as he sighs softly, “Okay, yes, thank you. Thank you so much,” he brings the flowers forward, waiting for you to take them.
And you do, gently picking the note from the petals, you'll read this when you get home.
“I uh also, booked a dinner of your favorite place in a few days, in case you were willing to give me another chance i didn't want to mess it up again and if you don't have anything else going on and i just-” you take his hand in yours, stopping his ramblings effectively as he looks away. All of a sudden so shy as if you haven't stayed at his place for days at a time.
“I'll go Jude. I'm free, don't worry.”
“Great. 7 sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Ill see you then okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, soft and sweet.
With a smile you send him off, almost flying down the stairs in pure glee. You shake your head fondly, heading back to your work. The flowers weigh more than just their physical weight. The letters feel like a ton on its own.
You hope you made the right choice.
#jude x you#jude bellingham#jude bellingham x you#jude bellingham x reader#jude x reader#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham one shot#jude Bellingham x y/n#jude bellingham angst#trent alexander x you#trent alexander imagines#trent alexander arnold x reader#trent x reader#trent alexander arnold#taa x reader#taa imagines#taa66#taa#bahr footy#football fanfic#footballer fic#footy fic#footballer x reader
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In the mood for...
Jan 16th
LINK LIMIT REACHED (please look in replies for more recs ^^)
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1. Hello, looking for fics that discuss or focus around wy being in a different body and yeah kinda just focused around that. thanks!
the soft animal by cafecliche (T, 5k, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, the physicality of moving on: the fic, LWJ is the best husband, Podfic Available, (the presence of) MXY, and a whole bunch of Baby Lans)
a better world by ilip13 (G, 1k, WangXian,
Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Soft WangXian, mild body dysphoria, Hopeful Ending)
a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, low angst, Happy Ending, seriously in spite of the tags this fic is very soft, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)
~*~
2. hopefully something similar to this
thank u!! @/weiwuxianfan34
hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)
~*~
3. Hi, for the next itmf, do you guys have and lwj/wwx/lxc recs? Like with the three of them together in a relationship. It can be cannon era or modern era, I don't really mind either but I would prefer cannon era. Thank you for the help.
our close and kindred ties by exmanhater (E, 41k, WangXianXi, Pregnancy Kink, Incest, almost incest, Post-Canon, Gender Changes, Always a Different Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Established Relationship, Situational Incest Only, POV Outsider, Pregnancy, Family Feels, Fluff, Incest Adjacent, Threesome - F/F/M, Relationship Negotiation, (slight) Pregnancy Kink, Kid Fic, Parenting, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Double Penetration, LWJ is a service top, Strap-Ons, Anal Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Restraints, Parenthood) has f!wangxian but otherwise i think it's post-canon-ish setting?
oh we have moved forward in pain by rainbowshoes (E, 47k, WangXianXi, past 3zun, past Niecest, Incest, Post-Betrayal Depression, Severe depressive episodes, Bruises, Bite marks, Consensual sexual injuries, Self harm through sex, self harm ideation, Nightmares, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Excessive Drinking, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Scars, Past Child Abuse, implied ace jc, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, Canon-verse version of safe-wording out, Canon-verse version of subdrop, Child Abuse, discussion of death and murder, Discussion of wwx’s first time in the burial mounds, Broken Bones, Starvation, eating corpses, Insecurity not-so-accidental child acquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sort Of, Sibling Incest, mix and mash Mashup of cql verse and novel, anti-lqr)
set my soul alight Series by Skadiseven (E, 42k, WangXianXi, Modern AU, Jadecest, Sibling Incest, Toronto, Halloween Costumes, Halloween, Canada, Jade Xianwich, WWX POV, Power Play, LXC POV, Rough Sex, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Aftercare, Sort Of)
take this weight of mine by soliloqui (E, 84k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, LXC in Seclusion, Depression, touch starvation, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Unreliable Narrator, Dual Cultivation, mild fuck-or-die, Mild Consent Issues, please check end notes of chapter 2 for more information, Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, gentle smut, Healing, demisexual LXC, demisexual lwj, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, lqr's a++ parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending)
🔒Embers by xantissa (E, 38k, WangXian, XiXian, WangXianXi, Jadecest, Angst, drama, Fluff, Falling In Love, sex pollen trope (curse), dub con, Comfort, Grief, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Sibling Incest, Switching, Flirting, Learning to live again, Magic, Curses, Everyone is Badass, lwj has a sense of humor, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)
🔒Magnificent by Anonymous (E, 36k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Deepthroating, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Blow Jobs, Jadecest, Light Angst, Past NieLan, Sharing a Bed, Canon Compliant, Top LWJ, Switch LXC, Switch WWX, Spitroasting, Face-Fucking, Come Eating, Snowballing, Facials, Praise Kink, over-stimulation, Ass to Mouth, Intercrural Sex, Laughter During Sex, Rimming, Come as Lube, Magical Healing Cock, i guess, Come play)
给我再去相信的勇气 // the courage to believe by howodd5ever (E, 55k, WangXian, WangXianXi, Threesome - M/M/M, Jadecest, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Undernegotiated Kink, Choking, Spanking, Dom/sub, Rough Sex, dub con but trust me wei ying is into it, Polyamory, Getting Together, First Times, porn with a tiny bit of plot if you squint, Bottom wwx, bratty WWX, Marks, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, mostly cql canon timeline but otherwise franken-canon, angst but not about the poly stuff, Cockwarming, a little rimming as a treat)
Fraternal Fissures by Foregone_Shadow (E, 33k, Jadecest, WangXianXi, Angst with a Happy Ending, Threesome - M/M/M, Dual Cultivation, Healing Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Sibling Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Somnophilia, Reference to relationships between 3zun, POV Alternating, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Tender Sex, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Care and aftercare, Bondage, dom!lwj, Sub!lxc, Top / Bottom Versatile Characters, LWJ is canonically huge, Size Kink, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Light BDSM, Voyeurism, Depression, Dubious Consent, LWJ talks dirty, Marathon Sex, switch!WWX, Lots of bathing, gagging, Blindfolds, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Belly Kink, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Play)
~*~
4. hello! this is an itmf request. i would love:
A) recs on good case fics - i have a soft spot for those that take place during the cloud recesses study arc, but any and all case fic recs welcome :)
B) recs on de-aging/age regression fics - whether wangxian or other characters. thank you thank you! @/potatokunst
4A)
see you yesterday by glyphic (M, 138k,
WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Ghost Hunters, Time Loop, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn) if OP is open to modern AUs
🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)
🔒 Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, wangxian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, those two are so in love it hurts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, badass LXC, Canon-Typical Violence, topLWJ, Bottom LWJ)
build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, …then sexual intimacy, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)
爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror)
in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda??, Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)
there was recently a whole event about casefics! Not all of them are wangxian but a lot are so maybe one will catch your interest
💖 I’d be the one to hold you down (kiss you so hard) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf & tardigradeschool (E, 85k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, NMJ/LXC, modern, leverage au, canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, depression, heists, found family, murder, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending)
🧡 moonlight caught in mutton fat by Raitelzen (T, 45k, WangXian, Case Fic, Curses, Curse Breaking, Transformation, mild body horror, Hurt LWJ, Ghosts)
Your Hand in Mine by cerbykerby (T, 20k, WangXian, Humor, Comedy, Pining, cursed to hold hands, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, First Dates, Embarrassment, Fluff, bathing together, Canon Compliant)
Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, m.. maybe??, its not as intense as a kink, Fluff, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication)
this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending)
4B)
grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, podfic available)
home is where we are by halfdemonvash (T, 17k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, JC & WWX Reconciliation, but only somewhat because these these things take time, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Feels, Hijinks & Shenanigans, accidental baby acquisition but it's actually your older brother, references to wwx's past being homeless, and also his past food insecurity, rated T for jiang cheng's language, and light sexual content in the beginning, Post-Canon, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Junior Trio Shenanigans)
Bringing Up JC by Mikkeneko (T, 31k, JC & WWX, JC & JL JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, Kid Fic, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff and Angst, anticipate about one part kid cuteness to two parts angst, Reparenting, reliving trauma, unpacking JC's childhood issues, no therapy in the jianghu so this will have to do, Take Care reveal, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, WWX Is Good With Children, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Golden Core Reveal)
🔒 Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, fluff & angst, happy ending, fix-it of sorts, family bonding, established relationship, non-sexual intimacy, BAMF WWX, pining, protective WWX)
found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, kind of, Nightmares)
🔒suddenly an old song fills my heart with home, my eyes with tears by RoseThorne (T, 724, WangXian, JC & WWX, Curses, Rebirth, Memories, Memory Loss, Age Regression/De-Aging, Recovered Memories, POV Third Person)
~*~
5. Hi, I am looking for fics in the canon-ish setting where characters undergo major injuries or illnesses that disable them but they are still bamf? (Last part added to a FF)
we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) WWX loses a leg & continues fighting the SSC with no-one being the wiser
🔒 no new age by everythingispoetry (M, 146k, wangxian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC/JGY, LXC/NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Self-Discovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship) LWJ is left disabled by the 33 lashes punishment, & pushes through it, which I would think qualifies for BAMF status
🧡 Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)
🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)
Obscuring the Sun by Karmiya (E, 24k, WIP, WangXian, WWX & WN, the sunshot campaign, Past Domestic Abuse)
~*~
6. ITMF a fic where preferably wwx is an amputee but lwj is okay too and I’d also prefer it in modern setting but again cannon timeline is fine as well @/zerokogane
we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) link in #5
🔒some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)
Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor!wwx, swordflight instructor!lwj, Fluff, give lwj friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations)
~*~
7. Hey! Do have any recs where wwx never loses his golden core? Like the Just Say Yes series? Could be an au, or anything. Thank you!
Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not YZY Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)
Until The World Embraces Me Home by azri (T, 5k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ LWJ, LWJ Has No Golden Core, Role Reversal, Not LXC Friendly, Not JC Friendly, Not cultivation world friendly overall tbh, Sunshot Campaign, Friends to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, WangXian Get a Happy Ending) LZ loses his core but WY keeps his
A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX is not adopted by Jiangs, develping friendships, miscommunication, misunderstanding, nightmares, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, slow burn)
~*~
8. Hi, itmf recently completed wips. What's new and good is ready for the binge reading. Thank you! @/best-before-end
pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he's very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)
~*~
9. Hello! I am in the mood for a wangxian arranged marriage fanfic. I would prefer a longer story (over 50k words, if possible). It can be canon or even AU. I would like the story to focus not only on the relationship between LZ and WY but also on the politics behind it. It can also be omegaverse. It would be great if their relationship is rocky at first and then becomes better. If there's more fanfics like this, I would be grateful for all of them. Thank you very much. @/broodyelii
Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)
🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 179k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage) Definitely meets the length criteria, though its been long enough since I last read it that I don't recall how much it went into the politics of the marriage
love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)
❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX)
The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)
~*~
10. Itmf wangxian fics with WWX in peril (happy ending only please).
pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, wangxian, post-canon, outsider pov, BAMF WWX, kidnapping, violence)
❤️ kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)
~*~
11. I am currently reading "Get it right (mdzs time travel) Series" by AmiraAlzilu (AO3) and now I'm ITMF for a time travel fic where LXC and LQR are specifically called out for their lack of trust in LWJ witness testimony (aka child/elders in the Burial Mounds) and believing a sworn brother over family. Bonus for a) apologies or b) digging a deeper hole aka surely LWJ is mistaken, Meng Yao would never, I'm looking at you chapter 15 to 17 of this fic LXC (yes I'm salty). Bonus bonus for consequences on LXC's loose lips telling things to others he was asked to keep in confidence.... @/mreisse
I'm #11, and you know what? Recs calling out LXC and LQR is also fine :)
Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) Okay so this isn't a time travel fic, so feel free to disregard, BUT! Does have LXC coming to WWX for help & seeing the truth, & characters calling him tf out on how it took him this long, so requester may still be interested
~*~
12. this is an itmf ask!!
fics where wwx is in his full yiling patriarch glory, I want to see scary yllz, possessive yllz (for lwj ofc) anything. longer fics pls but anything is fine, just no wips please haha!!
🔒hold me fast, fear me not by cicer (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fairy Tale Elements, Mpreg, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, YLLZ WWX, brief reference to abortificants, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, may be interpreted as noncon by some)
curse of the dragon emperor by lulu_kitty (E, 96k, WangXian, Dragon AU, Canon Divergence, Mythology References, Identity Porn, Cursed WWX, Trans LWJ, Trans Male Character, Misgendering, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender Dysphoria, gender euphoria, Phoenixes, Dragon WWX, Fox WWX, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Dirty Talk, Submissive LWJ, Trauma, WWX Has PTSD, Minor Character Death, Prince WWX, Emperor WWX, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Mpreg, Trans Male Pregnancy, Size Difference, Dragonxian has two dicks, YLLZ WWX, technically!, It's more like YLLZ adjacent)
your darkest roads by comefeedtherainn (E, 76k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, non-yunmeng wwx, Kinda, No Golden Core Transfer, Dark WWX, d/s dynamics, No noncon, playing with subverting some tropes/expectations)
~*~
13. I swear the only reason I can still consume Wangxian content daily is because of your recommendations.
There’s a couple fics I’ve been craving for a while and haven’t been able to find any I really love, so any help/ recommendations would be much appreciated!
A) Lan Xichen focused fics. It’s so hard to find fics that centre him.
B) Lan Sizhui focused fics. Mainly him with his dads/ family, but also him remembering his past would be great! Baby or adult A-yuan.
C) Wangxian being parents. Wei Wuxian being single parent. Just them being amazing dad’s content.
I’d appreciate any of these prompts 💞✨💫 @/jinxedjaz
13A)
Chapter 2 of Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, Madam Lan & WWX, Madam Lan & LWJ, Madam Lan & Lxc, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that's so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & QHJ, Give Madam Lan a name of her own, let Madam Lan find out that QHJ died in a fire as a treat, now with bonus Lan Xichen!) chapter 1 is more focused on LWJ and WWX, I recommend both :)
Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) link in #11
i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending) it's SI/OC but heavily features LXC (including some chapters from his POV). also has one of my favorite characterizations of LXC i've seen in fic
To Love What Is Mortal by treemaidengeek (T, 22k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, [Podfic] To Love What Is Mortal by flamingwell) as well as most of the works in this series.
Gentle Exile by rynleaf (E, 9k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Epistolary, Post-Canon Exploration, [PODFIC] Gentle Exile by flamingwell, semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))
13B)
When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue (T, 39k, WangXian, WWX is in a coma, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Single Dad LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Parenthood, YZY's A+ Parenting, JFM's A+ parenting, wangxian family) this is completely from lsz's pov
this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)
The Living Looked That Day by violettressed (T, 19k, LSZ & WN, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Ritualistic Self-Harm, Mild Gore)
🧡 Lan Sizhui Sees Dead People Series by darkbrokenreaper (T, 30k, WIP, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, JC & LSZ, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, lsz sees dead people, Paranormal)
as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, wangxian, canonical character death, found family, food issues, trauma, LSZ pov, angst w/ happy ending, fluff) LSZ raised by ghost!WWX
Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, One-Sided ChengXian, One-Sided ChengZhui, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by wwx, Wwx still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC’s Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit) LSZ gets to have a lil revenge, as a treat
Remember, Remember by Izzyaro (Isilarma) (G, 1k, LSZ & WN, LJY & LSZ, Character Study, Post-Canon, Family, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Angry LSZ, LSZ Needs a Hug, not for jc fans, LSZ gets a hug) LSZ remembers a few things, & gets to be angry
the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 39k, wangxian, after yiling date, sick child) LSZ is sick for a chunk of this but is still the central character
keeping score by hauntedotamatone (T, 6k, LSZ & WWX, Background WangXian, the opposite of reconciliation, Protective WWX, Duelling, Grief/Mourning, not for jc fans, Swordfighting, Resentment, LSZ centric, No JC & WWX Reconciliation) featuring protective dad WWX
Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) being a coming-of-age type story as LSZ discovers his past with WWX
13C)
emergent properties by luckymarrow (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Family Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans LWJ, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Adoption, Baby LSZ, Teen MXY, Crossdressing, but not as a kinkgender expression, Dilf4Dilf Wangxian, Penis In Vagina Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, gender euphoria, Cunnilingus)
at no other time by luckymarrow (M, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Child LSZ, Family Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, farming, Wangxian Run an Organic Farm as God Intended, Found Family, Families of Choice, Adoption, Trans Male Character, Married WangXian, Established Relationship)
Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending) this one also has WangXian being great parents, but it's not the main plot of the story.
my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)
box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)
❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)
❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)
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14. thanks for your hard work admins! itmf darkji fics :) once again, ty!!
~*~
15. Can you please give me all the Fic Recs you can find on A) WWX getting his body back? Post canon. I’m struggling to find them. And also B) post canon reconciliation docs with JC and Jin ling, and/or C) post canon fica where wwx night hunts and gets injured, and nearly dies? And worries everyone. Please and thank you. @/the-daydreamer
15A)
Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) by brrrrrRawr (T, 3k, WangXian, WWX in WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Names, Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria, So OOC)
15B)
Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, [PODFIC] Rotten Work by sakizar) qualifies for both 15B and 15C
Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) this fic works for both b and c I think
Imprints by Lisa_Telramor (G, 47k, WangXian, accidental puppy adoption, Humor, Panic Attacks, phobia recovery, Post-Canon, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Poor Life Choices, Self-Acceptance, Developing Relationship, fluff with a side of anxiety lol, WWX adopts a puppy, Dogs)
other side of paradise by blueseam (T, 12k, JC & WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Platonic hair-washing, excessive amounts of communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)
singing through the dark by twigofwillow (G, 13k, JL & WWX, WangXian, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros reconciliation if you squint, angst with a tiny bit of fluff)
everyone else is spring bound by Lise (T, 18k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Minor WangXian, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, JC Needs a Hug, POV JC, Family Feels, Light Angst, Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations)
some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Road trips, rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, [Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin )
an aging wound by Lise (G, 7k, JC & WWX, POV WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations, Light Angst, but mostly just the awkward conversations, Dysfunctional Family, Post-The Untamed (TV), Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels)
With Absolute Splendor by Lise (T, 43k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Wedding planning, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a happy ending, [Podfic] With Absolute Splendor by kisahawklin, [PODFIC] With Absolute Splendor by Gwogobo)
Jiang Cheng goes Traveling Series by gbuzy12 (G, 11k, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Light Angst Post-Canon, yunmeng bros reconciliation)
Reeds in the Wind by merakily (T, 26k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Rabbit Therapy, Sewing Therapy, PTSD, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC Needs a Hug)
15C)
let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, 2k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)
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16. Any fanfiction about the xicheng ship.
Audience of One by WinterDreams (T, 181k, XiCheng, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Celebrities, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Singer LXC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Slow Burn, Family Feels, Family Bonding, past emotional abuse, Post-Betrayal, Venerated Triad Feels, Yunmeng Duo Feels, Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Babysitter Ā-Qìng, Domestic Fluff, SongXiao mentioned relationship, Soft XiCheng, Eventual Happy Ending, implied MingYao)
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17. pls rec some post canon fluff :)
with such a suffering, such a deadly life
by cqlorphan (T, 7k, wangxian, post-canon, curses, curse breaking, getting together, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, affection, touch-starved LWJ, LWJ whump, cuddling & snuggling, love confessions)
Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Continuation, wwx builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining, gay disaster lwj, Post-Canon Fix-It)
Deeper grows my longing by feyburner (T, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, First Kiss, Deeper grows my longing [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)
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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***
#wangxian#mdzs#wangxian fic recs#i'm in the mood for a fic#the untamed#wangxian fic search#wangxianficfinder#long post
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Full disclosure, I have not seen the Teen Wolf movie and no I do not plan on it. I have caught a few things through the magic of tumblr and I had some thoughts. So if everything I saw is accurate; Derek has a kid Eli (basically a Stiles replacement since Dylan wasn’t in the movie. Also, nobody knows who his mother is?) and Derek dies, and he leaves his kid to Scott and Allison. Am I right so far? I’ve seen a few posts entertaining the idea of Stiles being Eli’s other dad, fix-its that have him resurrecting/saving Derek in some capacity. And so it got me thinking of my own version of how I would fix this dumpster fire and like,
What if Stiles was not Eli’s dad?
No no no, hear me out, okay?
Derek had Eli with some one night stand or whatever, it’s not important. She’s not in the picture but neither is Stiles. Stiles is just the one that got away, he’s the guy Derek has been pining over for the past fifteen years, and nothing more. Stiles finally got away from the supernatural shitshow and Derek is not going to be the one to drag him back into it just because he has feelings for him.
But Stiles is still the closest thing Derek has ever had to family and it makes sense for Derek to entrust his family with Stiles’ family. So what if he left Eli in the care of John? (hIS NAME IS JOHN, FIGHT ME ON THIS.) And John, he kind of adores the kid, right? Of course when Derek dies (because he does) John takes Eli in just as he promised he would.
But John is getting older. Eli is a handful because he is just like Stiles. John has to tell Stiles eventually what happened and he really could use some help trying to wrangle a grieving teenager, so he calls Stiles.
Stiles is FURIOUS when he finds out what happened. He hasn’t been in contact with Scott for years because he realized what a piece of shit Scott was, but the fact that Scott didn’t even call when everything was happening makes him angry. The fact that they let Derek die?? More than angry. Angry enough to kill somebody. But when he meets Eli, all that anger disappears. Eli, who is this weird mix of Derek and Stiles, who is mourning the loss of his only parent, his only family. He knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but even after his mom died, he always had his dad. Eli doesn’t have that so Stiles makes it his responsibility to become that figure for him. Not his dad because nobody could replace Derek, but a guardian.
He moves back to town, he bonds with Eli, and in his spare time he maybe starts to explore the possibilities of necromancy. Death in a place like Beacon Hills has never been permanent– Peter and now Allison are proof of that. He doesn’t tell anybody because he doesn’t actually plan on bringing Derek back, it’s just a thought that keeps him from falling apart entirely. During this time, he realizes not only his feelings for Derek, but Derek’s feelings for him. He wishes he could have just a few minutes with Derek, wishes he could go back in time and redo everything. Maybe he would have stayed in Beacon Hills, or he would have asked Derek to leave with him. And time travel, yeah that’s a possibility, too, but time is a fickle bitch and Stiles isn’t willing to gamble with it. What if he messes something up and erases Eli from existence?
In the end, bringing Derek back is kind of an accident.
Years have passed and Eli is healing, Stiles is healing– they even manage to fix the jeep together because symbolism. Stiles is going through some old journals or something of Deaton’s and he finds something that looks kind of promising (something about true love being the one thing more powerful than death or something equally as cheesy) and he’s reading it out loud and it just happens. No fanfare, no sparks, almost like it’s not magic at all. One second, Stiles is alone, and the next, Derek is there– older than the last time Stiles saw him, just as beautiful. There’s some panic because what the fuck, the last thing Derek remembers is the fire and being so sure he was going to die and thinking if only I could see Stiles one more time and now he’s here, standing in front of Stiles– also older than the last time Derek saw him, and just as beautiful. But after the panic, there’s some kissing and some crying and some long awaited love confessions, and by the time they go home, Stiles still isn’t sure exactly what happened, what he did, what the consequences might be, but he’s got his arm around Derek’s waist and the burn of Derek’s stubble on his lips and Derek is alive so nothing else fucking matters.
#teen wolf movie#teen wolf movie spoilers#teen wolf#sterek#i haven't written sterek in years#and yet here i am#derek hale#stiles stilinski#anti scott mccall#because i never liked him anyway#fix it#because i hear this movie needs a lot of fixing#eli hale#eli stilinski hale
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sam i didnt even watch fhjy but can you tell me more of ur thoughts abt kipperlilly? any thoughts even stream of consciousness, she seems so teenager rage gone wrong im so fascinated by her
HJBFESJBFEKSFS THIS IS SO FUNNY OFC ok this is going to be a range of thoughts about the reactions i've seen from both ends of the rat grinder Discourse™
i think it's fine to be like, yeah, what kipperlilly's anger stems from is like deeply unsympathetic and comes from a very privileged status. i think being like "no that's normal for a teen girl" is silly. she is very much not normal she's a little upper-middle class brat and i love her. i love that she's so deeply distasteful and unappealing to people LOL. hate when female characters have to be smoothed down to be liked! like we don't have to downplay her negative traits when people are obsessed with male serial killers all the time etc etc
BUT i also think people forget that like... the bad kids were reading private thoughts she shared with her therapist (which is a massive invasion of privacy)! like of course it was fucked up. that's why she was going to a therapist lmao!!! it stresses me out that people are this vitriolic about a teen character who is pretty explicitly mentally ill and trying to get better about it but is being manipulated by a deity of rage and possibly her adult vice principal like. you don't have to LIKE her but calling for her to be violently murdered is wild to me. the bad kids had never even HEARD of her before this season and you can metagame about brennan not having invented her character yet all you want but in canon u gotta assume she was successfully keeping that rage down until she got got and is now being actively corrupted by a powerful rage deity lmaoooo
and like! she got her narrative punishment!! the monkey's paw curled and she lost her best friend she's got her traumatic backstory now!!! she's already suffering and at her lowest i don't need her to die (again!)
i think brennan is past the point of making teen characters irredeemable so i can only hope that the cast follows through on that bc i feel like redemption and healing from trauma is one of the strongest themes in fantasy high like i bawled my eyes out in every aelwyn and adaine scene. which is why it's really funny to me that siobhan is kipperlilly's biggest hater because i feel like she's a great mirror to adaine's spite and aelwyn's redemption..... like siobhan's characters are all very appealing to me because of their rage. god im hoping and praying they don't kill the rat grinders in the finale god bless
oh final petty thing i think saying kipperlilly's name wrong was only funny the first 200 times <3 love u all mwa
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fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace part 2: you can't be fucking serious
Masterlist > Next
TW: abuse, injuries, concussion, sedation, medical whump
Morgan awoke slowly, the sting of antiseptic in his nose. The only thing he could hear past the painful ringing in his ears was the soft beep of medical equipment. His body ached, especially his knee and upper back, and his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He knew exactly where he must be -- in the medbay at his boss's lair -- and the longer they thought he was unconscious, the longer he could relax and heal before the punishments began.
His memories were vague. Lights overhead. Voices. The beeping of medical equipment. A rubber mask on his face.
He lay there, drifting in and out. The pain felt so fuzzy and indistinct. Painkillers? That was new. Salcedo never gave him painkillers. He loved to watch Morgan suffer way too much for that. You wouldn't make it far among the crime lords of the city if you didn't enjoy your work, after all.
Maybe there was some trick to the fact that he was being allowed this pleasant buzz. Let him relax and let his guard down so it'd hurt more later. He could figure that out when his head felt better.
"...awake..."
Fuck. It was starting. Morgan tried not to react.
"Morgan, are you awake? We just need you to respond to make sure you've woken up from the anesthetics, and then you can go back to sleep, promise."
Morgan couldn't help his face twitching as he recognized that absolutely infuriating voice. Arthur. His blasted nemesis.
Oh, that's right, he had been captured. Lucky fucking him. He got to be completely at the mercy of the hero he'd been tormenting for years. And at the end of it, he might get the wonderful experience of his boss busting him out of captivity only to punish him for his failures.
"Morgan, please, wake up."
Begrudgingly, Morgan opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Even the dim light of the room was like an icepick to the brain. He looked over to see the smug fucking face of Arthur, and that was even worse.
"I'm awake. What do you want?" he said, his voice weak and slurred. He was definitely drugged, he could tell, because he could barely even muster up the strength to be scared of what was going to happen to him.
"Good. That's very good," said Arthur. He sounded kind. No, he sounded like he pitied Morgan. Oh, fuck that. "You gave us all quite a scare. It was a little touch-and-go for a bit there, but the surgery went well, and you should make a full recovery, as long as you get lots of rest."
Morgan swallowed hard, trying to comprehend this. He'd been given surgery? What the fuck had they done to him? He was in pain all over, but he certainly didn't feel like he'd been turned into a mantis-man hybrid or anything like that. Or been lobotomized.
...Had they seriously just patched him up? After everything he'd done? If there was anyone naive and soft-hearted enough to do that, it was his fucking nemesis.
"How are you feeling?" said Arthur, his voice too gentle.
"Like your whole team shoved me into a woodchipper and danced on the mulch."
"Yes... Julie went a little too hard with the energy blasts. She's still learning how to control it," said Arthur. "But you know, you were..."
"None of this would've happened if I weren't trying to install a zombification device inside city hall? Yeah, got it, lesson learned, next time I install it in your stupid fucking hero lair."
Arthur scowled. "Was the plan your idea or your boss's?"
"As though my boss could build something like that. Did you even notice the craftsmanship, or were you too busy punching it apart?"
Arthur sat back in his chair, looking as if something was on his mind.
The room was filled with medical equipment, the kind Morgan could control with his technomancy. He reached out slowly, feeling like he was fighting through a wall of cotton, and got no response. The familiar, tell-tale feel of power suppressors. They were probably in the restraints.
"You know, Morgan," Arthur said after a long moment, "when we had you under for surgery, our medic, Laurel, performed an examination."
Morgan turned away. He could tell where this was going.
"There were a lot of injuries there. Injuries that didn't seem like ones you got while fighting us."
"Training."
"It looked like you'd been kicked in the ribs repeatedly without proper healing," Arthur said. "And there were marks that looked like they'd been left by a taser, and a lot of electrical burns."
"Heavy training."
"That's not training, Morgan!" Arthur actually sounded angry, now, and it took all of Morgan's willpower not to flinch away. "I'm not even discussing the massive amount of nasty bruises or that infected cut on your shoulder. Those could've been sustained while fighting heroes. But not all of that. And even if they were, everything looked like it had healed wrong or been left to scar. There's no way that's normal. I know your usual activities. I see the reports of all of your fights. No hero did those things to you. Certainly not my team."
Ugh. What was the point of all this? To humiliate him? Now his nemesis probably knew all about his poor condition, his chronic pain and his trick elbow and the scars littering his back. And it wasn't like it was going to get any better when his boss got him back. Fucking wonderful.
But Arthur didn't sound humiliating or mocking. He sounded concerned, which was almost even worse. "Morgan, did your boss do those things to you?"
Morgan rolled his eyes and turned away. Or he would've turned away if he weren't so heavily restrained he couldn't roll over.
"Morgan, I'm serious. Did your boss --"
"No, of course not," said Morgan, packing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "You know how Salcedo is. Every time you defeat me, he gives me a nice pat on the head and a participation trophy, and he tells me that it's okay I failed, because I tried and had fun."
Arthur sighed. "He's abusing you."
"He's giving me my quarterly performance reviews. You're abusing my patience."
"While you were sedated, you kept fighting us off, saying you weren't allowed to sleep. Does he prevent you from sleeping?"
Fucking drugs. Morgan barely remembered what had happened, much less what he'd said. He remembered hitting the wall, pain, pain, pain, and then the most beautiful and relaxing feeling in the world, and finally oblivion.
"...It's been obvious to me for a long time that your health is deteriorating."
"Shut the fuck up," said Morgan, his sarcasm dissolving with his frustration. "You don't understand a goddamn thing about my life, so don't pretend like you do."
"I understand that you're being abused!"
"I'm being trained to fight your team," said Morgan through gritted teeth. "Rich of you to go on about being abused when it was Julie who gave me a sixty mile per hour impact with a concrete fucking wall."
"That was an accident and you know it. And there's a huge difference between thwarting your plans and casually abusing you."
Morgan looked down at his hands. Like he hadn't noticed how the hero team always pulled their punches to avoid injuring him too much, even when he was scheming something really nasty. Like he wasn't so much more afraid of his boss than his nemesis. Like he really needed his nemesis's smug pity.
Why couldn't Arthur just fucking take revenge or whatever? It wouldn't even be that bad while he was hopped up on drugs. Hell, Arthur was probably too soft a heart to pull half the shit Salcedo liked to, even though he had far more reason. Just get it the fuck over with.
"Could you spare me your fucking after school special bullshit and just tell me what you're going to do with me?" With any luck, they would throw him in ordinary jail and not that awful psychiatric hospital. Either way, it wouldn't stop his boss from finding him and pulling him out again whenever he decided Morgan was needed. Or needed to be punished.
"Well, we can't let you go free, obviously," said Arthur. "But if we put you in jail, you're just going to get captured by Salcedo again."
Oh, Morgan hated the way he phrased that. Captured. Like he was a civilian being taken hostage and not Salcedo's right hand man and a terrifying villain in his own right.
Arthur was leaning in closer. "You don't have to work for Salcedo, you know."
Morgan's eyes went wide with shock as he realized the turn this conversation was taking. He laughed sharply, a little maniacally. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, Arthur?" he said. "Did you also hit your head on a wall? Did you forget who you're talking to?"
"I think I know you quite well by now, yes."
"And you're seriously trying to get me to go straight? Join your merry little band of idiot heroes?"
"...it would take a lot of work, and a lot of trust, but yes, eventually. It's something I've thought about on more than one occasion," said Nemesis, who, against all odds, seemed to be completely serious. "Look, let's cut the bullshit. Salcedo is abusing you. Don't even try to deny it, because I've seen more than enough evidence. He's beating you, burning you, god knows what else. He's working you to the bone on ridiculous plans that will never work, and makes you the fall guy for them while he escapes unscathed."
Every word of that was true, and hearing it from Arthur made him want to punch him in the face.
"You're a smart guy. Ridiculously smart. And despite what you claim, you have ethical standards. Remember the time the two of us teamed up to get those kids out of the burning school?"
"They were kindergartners, c'mon --"
"You have ethical standards, no matter how shaky they can be. And you have courage and talent," said Arthur.
"You think I can be won over with cheap flattery, seriously, Arthur?"
"How about cheap flattery and a cool costume?" he said. "But seriously consider what I'm telling you. You're a smart guy. We pay well, maybe not as well as Salcedo, but enough, and you'd get overtime when you have to work late. We have health insurance. Most importantly, nobody is going to beat you to within an inch of your life if you screw up."
"Oh, yeah, sure thing, I'll just do that," said Morgan. "And I'm sure that, after everything I've done to you, you're all just going to protect me when Salcedo shows up to get me back."
"Yes. I will. I absolutely will," he said. "...Because he's going to kill you. We both know that. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. And you don't deserve that."
Fuck. He sounded so serious. He was using his superhero voice. The one he used to tell terrified hostages that he was going to save them and that nobody was getting hurt. The one that was usually directed at the civilians Morgan was menacing.
"I don't expect you to make this decision overnight," said Arthur, standing up. "You've got a lot of healing to do. A lot of time to think over where your life is headed."
"And you're just gonna let me heal?" said Morgan skeptically. "You've got me totally at your mercy in what I assume is your underground secret lair, and you're just going to let me lay here and heal up my injuries?"
"Yes. I mean it. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. As long as you don't try to cause harm to any of us, no harm will come to you while you're here. I swear it." Arthur turned as he was about to walk out the door. "All I'm asking is that you think about what I said to you. We'll talk again. The nurse is here to see you."
And he was gone, and Morgan felt utterly exhausted.
An older woman wearing scrubs with pride-flag-colored fish on them entered the room. She looked tired and a little scared. "Well, uh, Arthur tells me you're awake and lucid, Mr.... uh... Mr. Morgan," she said. "That's good. You were in pretty bad shape."
"Hmph."
"Can I look in your eyes with this penlight, please? You had a really nasty concussion, so you're probably going to be very tired and disoriented for a while as you recover."
Great. It was super great to be concussed and useless in the hero's lair. Still, he submitted to Laurel's eye exam without a fuss. It was one thing to sass his nemesis -- putting up a fuss for the medic was pointless when she was just trying to do her job.
"The only thing you can really do right now is get some rest," she said. "I can give you some painkillers, and some sedation if you think you'll have trouble sleeping. Would that be okay?"
Morgan let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, sure, yeah, I really want to be drugged up and helpless in the hero's lair."
"Well, you're not going anywhere," she pointed out. "You'll heal a lot faster if you get some rest."
Morgan scowled. He couldn't afford to be lounging on a bed in a drugged haze. He had to work on finding a way to escape, preferably with some valuable information or a hostage, in the hopes he could catch Salcedo in a good mood.
But no matter how he looked at it, he was already exhausted, concussed, power-repressed, and in restraints. He wasn't successfully escaping a team of heroes in this condition, sedated or not. And if they wanted him at their mercy, they could come knock him out whenever they felt like it.
So what difference would it make if he were drugged again? God knows his life was going to fucking suck enough once Salcedo came to drag him back. Might as well feel artificially good for a few hours.
"Yeah, I'll take it. Give me the good shit," said Morgan.
"Right away," she said with a laugh. She pulled a few bottles of clear liquid from her pocket, and, consulting a chart attached to his bed, began to measure out doses. "You know, it's really interesting to finally get to meet you, Mr. Morgan."
"Scared?" he said, attempting his most menacing grin.
"...well, I haven't forgotten the things you've done," she said, which really wasn't what you wanted to hear when someone was preparing a syringe for you. "But the team thinks you deserve a chance, and it's a medical professional's responsibility to provide care for anyone, no matter their past. So I'll treat you like I would any innocent person. You have my word." The look in her eyes was distant. "You're not so frightening now, anyway."
Morgan tried to push down his unease. "Fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace."
"Of course you are," she said, injecting the drugs into Morgan's IV line. "This should kick in in a few minutes. It's going to make you very drowsy. I suggest actually getting some sleep and not fighting it. We'll be monitoring you, but if you have any complications, hit this button."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Morgan, smarting from the fact that he couldn't even intimidate the medic. He was at her mercy. He didn't like being at anyone else's mercy. He knew how he treated people he had at his mercy. How his boss treated people.
He hated being on the receiving end, when he was normally such a fearsome and threatening...
Fearsome and threatening...
Ohhh.
Whatever Laurel had injected hit him like a truck, because suddenly he was feeling real fucking good. It was like all of his anxiety melted away, his tight muscles loosening, the pounding in his head finally lightening up. He felt like he were being wrapped up into a wool blanket and carried off on a soft cloud to slumberland.
Any thoughts of trying to scheme his way out of the hero's stronghold evaporated from his mind. He didn't even bother fighting as his eyelids grew heavy and threatened to close. He was so tired and felt so good. Sleep would feel amazing.
You're a smart guy. Just think about it. Arthur's words echoed in his mind as he began to drift.
Fuck you, Arthur. Like it was all so fucking simple.
Arthur probably knew him better than just about anyone. He must know that it would never work. Why even bother?
Morgan couldn't help but picture himself laughing and joking with Toshiro and Satomi and Julie, dressed in one of their ridiculous bright uniforms, working on gadgetry to help people instead of constantly getting his beautiful machines smashed to bits.
Ridiculous. The fact that he was even thinking about it was the drugs talking. And now, the drugs were whispering to him that he should really just get some sleep. When would he ever get to sleep this well? Certainly not when his boss came to pick him up.
Part 1 >> Masterlist > Next
@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedme @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @whumpshaped @sparrowsage
#whump#villain whumpee#whumper#medical whump#sedation#concussion#abuse#morgan#arthur#laurel#fuck you i'm a goddamn menace
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Pretty please gen v jordan li x fem reader. Maybe they’re at the gala for Brink and both are having a shitty night, readers parents came to visit and are giving her a hard time. She goes out to get some fresh air and to get away from all the chaos. Jordan does the same and they find reader outside crying. Jordan begins to comfort her and they just talk and comfort each other. Just fluff and comfort and hugs and kisses:)
Thanks doll💋💋
Kisses Under the Moon's Eye
pairing: jordan li x fem! reader
tw: cursing, alcohol consumption, SHITTY PARENTS, slight self-harm but it's not really that highlighted, crying, kissing, established relationship, fluff?
description: parents can be a pain but at least you and jordan have each other.
a/n: hiii! sry this took me so long to answer i've been a little swamped. i hope you enjoy this even if i did sort change the request a bit. this was so interesting to write and honestly i do sort of need a jordan hug around now. again requests are open and thank you for reading <33
You sat awkwardly on the side as your parents and sister laughed and exchanged jokes with one of the board members at God U. It was like you were invisible to them, it had felt that way for your entire life. Always being the second option, the second choice. You fucking loved your older sister but sometimes you had the urge to strangle little Ms. Perfect. It was your second year at this damn school and somehow you were still known as El’s younger sister.
She was considered the cooler sibling out of the two of you as well. She had like a billion different powers, ranging from teleportation to matter distortion while you were left with plant manipulation and advanced healing. Not that you hate your powers or anything you just… didn’t feel like enough.
“Yeah, and then Y/N-”
“I’m sorry Y/N?” Ventured the board member as he interrupted your sister’s story, she shot you an apologetic glance but right before she could open her mouth to respond your dad cut in.
“Oh no one to worry about. Now tell me, what plans do they have for that school gymnasium?”
Their voices faded to a dull roar as your jaw dropped. You were used to having them brush you off, but in front of a member of the board? With you sitting less than a meter away from them? Fuck. Briefly you wondered if Jordan was faring better than you with their parents.
El just gave you a tight smile before she turned back to the man. A man with balding hair and an ill-fitting suit. You felt your nails dig into your palms, breaking the skin slightly until your powers kicked in. Goddammit.
You picked up the flute of champagne you had stolen, drained the bubbling liquid before standing up abruptly from the uncomfortable chair. It scraped loudly against the floor making the little group jump and finally turn to look at you.
“If you’ll excuse me.” You said, trying to keep a brave face on but you could feel a sob gurgling up in your throat. The material of your dress swished against the heels of your feet, making an itchy feeling echo through your body. You brought a nail up to your lips and started to pick into the soft flesh.
Finally the feeling of cold air hit your fevered skin as you stepped outside the gala. A fucking joke of a gala if you were being completely honest. You hadn’t known Luke as well as you probably should have because you spent so much time around the friend group but he was… nice. He was fucking nice. He didn’t deserve to be painted as a monster.
You felt a few tears finally slip from the confines of your eyes when you sat down onto the cool concrete. You were sitting right next to one of the randomly huge trees that dotted the campus, an effort by Vought to seem more ecologically friendly. You snorted wetly before you started to pull at one of the wildflowers to come up through the soil.
Your powers were like a soft blanket around your shoulders. You knew that some supes were not blessed with powers like yours, which made you extra glad sometimes that they were so “boring” even if they did make you seem like less in the eyes of your parents.
A soft huff left your mouth as your sniffles started to calm down. Your legs came up to rest beside you on the concrete platform and you dropped your head down with a thud. Briefly you wonder to what extent you could push your healing powers to, when a warm presence sat down heavily beside you.
“Seems like we’re both having a rough night, huh?” The distinct voice of your partner cut through the chilly night air.
“Fuck Jord, I’m so sorry I left you in there. I’m just-”
“No need for apologies, darling. I know how your parents can get.”
“I know how your parents can get.” You muttered as you shuffled upwards and laid your head down onto their lap. Instantly her deft fingers started to comb through your hand and trace little nonsensical patterns on your scalp.
“You’ve been crying…” Jordan says as they notice the tear tracks emphasized by the moonlight shining on the two of you.
“My parents probably wouldn’t care if I was alive or dead.” You finally choked out as another sob came out of your body. Your little wildflower tries to circle around your wrist in comfort as tears fall from your eyes again.
“I’m sure that’s not true, and if it is they don’t realize how utterly wonderful you are and how lucky they should be to have you as a daughter… I think my dad wishes I was dead.” Jordan utters, their confession coming out in whispered words.
“Hey, Jordan, no. Your dad is an asshole, never ever listen to a word he says. You are the most incredible, ethereal, smart, cool person I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” You said as you pushed yourself out of their lap and hugged their frame tightly to yours. Their arms circle tightly around your waist as you both just let yourselves cry into each other's arms.
“I don’t know what I would do without you.” Jordan mumbles into the side of your neck as they squeeze you tighter, almost like she is afraid you’ll disappear.
“I think we both would be wrecks if we didn’t have each other.” You said as you carefully pulled away so you were now leaning your forehead against Jordan’s.
“I’m really sorry about them… and Luke.” You finally say after a moment of just basking in Jordan's haze.
“I wish it wasn’t like this… for either of us.”
“I know… it’s just you and me against the world huh?” You say with a giggle, one that Jordan mirrors as they stare into your eyes.
“Forever and always.”
“Forever and always.”
You repeat back to them as your lips finally meet in a soft press. It was pure comfort, like eating chocolates after a long day. God, you were so fucking lucky. You both thought as the moon seemed to be sending a beam right towards the two of you.
also if you want to be on my gen v and/or jordan li taglist lmk and i'll add you (can't believe i forgot to do this before)
#gen v#gen v fanfic#gen v amazon#gen v spoilers#andre anderson#jordan li#marie moreau#luke riordan#golden boy#the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#gen v tv#maria writes#the boys series#the boys amazon#jordan li x reader#jordan x reader#gen v x reader#jordan li x you#jordan li x y/n
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Angelic Rip Off - Hazbin Hotel
AN: Okay, so, this is just like....a testing concept I guess? something that came to mind after talking over theories and such with @lpwrites about what's going on, and i thought this would be a fun reader to explore! i dunno if it's gonna be a series, but at least its something fun to maybe add to. this part here i guess serves as the...set up?? if you're curious about anything that happens in it, lemme know and I'll expand - i just threw this together at midnight so...yeah :D
lemme know what you think
Contains my own headcanons
Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Spoilers
A million thoughts went through your head when you spotted Lilith being escorted into Heaven.
The first was of Lucifer. Most of them were of Lucifer, if you were being honest with yourself. How he wasn’t with her, which meant he was alone, which meant something went really fucking wrong if she was in Heaven on her own. Though not alone, which as your next though as you trailed after her and the angels that escorted her – fucking Adam was there, chattering away about something you couldn’t hear from the distance.
That made it double bad.
You were so caught up in your thoughts about what Lilith being in Heaven meant that you didn’t realize you were being too loud. Lute whipped around, glaring as she barred your way from continuing forward.
You stopped short. “Move,” you demanded.
“No.”
“I think you forget your place, which isn’t in front of me, so fucking move.”
“How about you eat shit and stop fucking following us.”
“Excuse me?”
Adam appeared behind her like a cursed shadow, the grin of his mask far more disturbing than it should’ve been. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, gripping Lute’s shoulders to move her. He shifted as he did, giving you a glimpse of Lilith entering an elevator far down the road, with Sera at her shoulder.
The angel’s eyes widened as her gaze locked with yours before the doors slid shut.
Lute stepped to one side of you. Adam, the other.
The silence that pressed in from the street finally told you how you saw something you shouldn’t have been able to see. You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.
The days following were a blur – it didn’t matter that you’d spun the cosmos into existence, that you’d had an impeccable record for thousands of years, or that you didn’t actually fucking do anything – you were dragged in front of the angelic council with claims of rebellion. Adam and Lute provided testimony that you’d been conspiring to overthrow the seraphim and install yourself in their place, that your age and knowledge of the universe gave you more right to head it than anyone else.
Sera looked you dead in the eye as she found you guilty and dropped you from Heaven.
You landed in the immaculate front yard of one of the Goetia. It took months for him to help you heal correctly – your wings were a disaster for longer than that, all six of them shattered from the fall – but Stolas was happy to assist you, especially when your hand in creating something he loved about the world came to light.
He was less than thrilled when you told him that you needed an audience with Lucifer once you were fully healed almost a year after you crashed.
“Um, no,” he said, turning away from you, releasing the wing he’d been helping you to stretch.
You fluttered the appendage as it settled against your back with the other five, frowning at his statement. “Why not?” you asked. You stood. “You’re a prince of Hell. You’re more than qualified to ask for an audience – it’s practically standard right? You have meetings all the time.”
“Well, yes, of course we do, it’s required to ensure Hell runs smoothly,” he said as he turned back to you. You arched an eyebrow. “As smoothly as it can,” he corrected.
“So, what’s the problem?” you demanded, “I need to speak to him, and I have no foothold here, I have no power. You can sponsor me!”
“I can,” he agreed. He rubbed his claws together, glancing over his shoulder as he quickly waved them at you – keep your voice down.
You crossed your arms, folding into yourself as you perched on the edge of the bed. You were a secret to his wife – one he shared with his very curious daughter. He’d been terrified the day Octavia had stumbled upon you stashed away in one of the many rooms of the mansion, but you’d charmed her with your stories of the stars and galaxies that existed beyond Hell, and his worry had faded. “Why won’t you?” you whispered.
“When’s the last time an angel fell from Heaven, hm?” he asked as he gently sat next to you.
You pressed your wings tighter to your back. “That’s the whole point – that’s why I need to speak with him,” you murmured. You look up at your friend, whose wide red eyes stare at you with obvious concern. “Please, Stolas. I wouldn’t be asking for such a large favor if it wasn’t important.”
He rubbed his claws together again. “If you leave, you won’t be able to come back here,” he sighed. He leaned against his knees with a guilty slump to his shoulders. “It’s far too dangerous to sneak you in a second time,” he explained.
“I know,” you replied, “I wouldn’t want you to trouble yourself again for me. You’ve done far too much as it is.”
He smiled. “You’re my friend, my dear. I’d move stars for you, if I could.”
“I’d move them for you again,” you replied with a smile.
“You’ll visit, though?” he asked after a long moment of silence, “If all goes well.”
“Well, I can’t really leave Hell, Stolas,” you said, “And you’re my friend. Of course I’ll visit you.”
His feathers fluffed, and he smiled.
He didn’t hesitate in making the meeting after that. He made sure that it sounded urgent, said, “It cannot wait, sir, the sooner that we can meet, the better.”
You vaguely heard the reply of, “I have time this afternoon.”
Stolas escorted you, making sure that you would be alright once you were done, ensured that you knew multiple places that you could stay if Lucifer didn’t open his doors to you.
He hugged you before you entered the gates of Lucifer’s palace. You returned it fiercely, and promised to call him before the day was done. He passed you off to an imp waiting nearby, insisting that you were attending the meeting in his place, and disappeared.
You were led inside without a word.
The imp scurried off once you were led into the parlor, leaving you to look around the room unsupervised. There were large portraits with a very familiar Lucifer and equally familiar Lilith, and a young woman you didn’t recognize. There were plenty of apple motifs around the room, balancing out the wallpaper covered in patterns of long trees. It was a lovely parlor, and you wondered how much of it was Lucifer’s decorating or Lilith’s.
Though, if she had left him in Hell, you weren’t sure you cared too much about her decorating choices.
“Prince Stolas,” came a bored but familiar drawl, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You turned to the door that the imp had disappeared through. He hadn’t changed. He looked a bit taller than when you’d last seen him, though he had been dragged through the very empty streets of heaven at that time. He was dressed sharper, but didn’t wear a smile until he finally looked up from the floor to meet your gaze.
Then he froze.
Lucifer didn’t know what to say when he saw you in his palace. There was supposed to be a gangly owl Goetia standing in his parlor, not an angel, and especially not one he’d been ashamed to say he missed over the last ten thousand years. He hadn’t seen you since the day before his fall. You’d both watched the stars you had worked so hard to make move across the sky as you talked about what you both hoped the world would be, and he told you about Lilith, and Eve, and the Garden, and joked about Adam.
“I know,” he remembered you saying, “You told me when it happened, Luci.”
“Well, you can’t blame a guy for being excited!” he’d replied. He’d sighed, leaned into your shoulder, and wistfully told you how beautiful she was. And you had told him how happy you were for him.
No, he thought as he sluggishly moved forward, eyes scanning over your face. No, the last time he’d see you was when you’d been running after him while the angels had dragged him before the council.
He whispered your name as he got closer, glancing at the door behind you, then laughed nervously. “Is this a joke?” He moved around you, staying close to the wall of the parlor as he inched towards the door. “Lil?” he laughed again, “You playin’ a prank? You come home and bring me an old friend?”
“Luci,” you whispered.
“No, no, no,” he said, shaking the apple atop his cane at you. “You’re not supposed to be here!” he trills, turning back to you, “You’re supposed to be in Heaven! You’re supposed to be there—”
“Where Lilith is?” you cut in.
He audibly swallowed.
You moved towards him, stopping short when he backed up against the wall. “They kicked me out, Luci,” you said with a sigh, “About a year ago, I saw Lilith up there, and I questioned it, and they put me in front of the council and kicked me out.”
Lucifer all but lunged towards you, dropping his cane as he gripped your arms. “You saw her? Is she alright? Did they hurt her?”
You squeezed his arms with a frown. “No, she was fine. Sera was escorting her somewhere, what?” your frown deepened, “Why was she there in the first place, Luci? What happened?”
His grip on your arms tightened for a moment. Turning, he guided you towards a couch set near the fireplace in the parlor. He moved for you to sit, then fell into the spot next to you.
“Heaven asked for a meeting,” he sighed, pulling his hat from his head, “Said that they were worried that, with our growing number of Sinners, we would start a rebellion.”
“What?” you asked. You shook your head. “That’s never come up. Who…”
“Sera,” he said, slumping, “And Adam, of course, can’t keep his nose out of people’s business.” He fiddled with the snake on the edge of his hat. It slithered, it’s head resting on his hand. “They wanted to come down and do a mass extermination. Wipe out,” he paused, his breath hitching in his throat, “Wipe out everyone. From the imps to the sins.”
“That would change the face of Earth,” you said, shaking your head, stuttering over your worlds, “That would change everything.”
“We know,” he whispered. He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “We made a deal. All of the hellborn would be safe from the extermination,” he said. He smiled, weakly, looking up at you, “We have a child, you know. A girl. Her name’s Charlie, and she’s amazing.”
You blinked slowly. Your heart twisted in your throat at the news, realizing why the girl in the portraits looked so familiar, but you smiled and whispered, “You’ll tell me all about her, I’m sure,” followed by, “She went in exchange.”
“Lilith did, yeah,” he replied, “Said that we couldn’t just include Charlie in the deal, we had to include everyone. She’s attached to them all, like they’re her own children, too.”
You sat back, sliding your hands over your face as you sighed, “Because she’s the mother of all demons.”
“Exactly,” he groaned. He flopped back next to you, allowing the snake to crawl over his fingers. “So, she’s there. Collateral or…a hostage, I dunno. She offered herself up. Not that there was a choice, there was no fucking way they were letting me back in under any circumstances.” He slumped. “I’m glad you’re here, though,” he said with a small smile, “I’ve missed you, starlight.”
You leaned against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, too, sunshine,” you whispered. You held your hand out for the golden snake to investigate. “I’m here now, you know. I’ll help you however I can.”
“Thank you,” he replied. You both watch the snake wrap around your wrists in lazy circles. “I’ve made, like, a shit ton of rubber ducks ever since Lilith left. You wanna see them?” he suddenly said, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Is this because you can’t see the ducks on Earth?” you asked with a slow smile.
“Obviously. I worked so hard on them, I’m fucking furious that I can’t see them," he scoffed, shifting, a large pout on his face, "And there’s no ducks here, I can’t get them to thrive, it’s annoying.”
You snorted. Gently pulling your hand free from the snake, you patted Lucifer’s knee and stood. “Show me your ducks,” you stated, “And tell me all about Charlie.”
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Hello! I've been binging your fics/imagines lately and I just can't get enough! I don't know if this was ever done before, but--
Could you do a general, platonic (perhaps mildly romantic, like how I see Dean kinda gushing over Y/N idk, your choice!) imagine on how the men (Sam, Dean, Castiel, maybe Crowley [which would be funny]) would react to Y/N being some kind of powerful angel, like that sits at a pretty high rank and has the power to do all sorts of stuff? Healing, destroying, anger being so destructive it could kill a human (but albeit a peaceful being). This angel would probably serve as a guardian to the Winchesters, or a superior to Cass or a complete surprise and maybe unlikely companion for Crowley? I imagine it'd be a scenario where they're saved last second during a massive fight, probably get to know er type deal. This sounds kind of cheesy as I ask someone else to write this but I hope it doesn't sound too weird, I almost wanna go anonymous HAHA. I know this is VERY specific but I don't wanna confuse you! It's something I wanna write out into a fic myself but the way you write would make it super interesting! :)
So sorry if this was too much, I'm very descriptive!
Angel. (SPN pref!) 🩷
a/n: stop omg. this idea is so cool! also - thank you for the kind words!! i appreciate you so much!! i hope you enjoy this!
warnings: slightly romantic!!
Dean:
Dean met you on a hunt
he was being himself and basically bleeding out, but he was still fighting
you, being in charge of the dink, had to come down and help out
when you appear, a bolt of white light strikes the ground and your voice projects through the atmosphere
“you will not hurt this man.” you say, hair blowing in the wind and eyes glowing
dean was flabbergasted, also a little scared, but also a little bit in love
eventually you just kill the entire vampire nest because they’re stupid and you turn to dean.
“are you okay?”
he’s even more confused because this angel just came down and slaughtered the threats to him and now they’re talking so.. nice.
you heal his wounds and boom. now he’s your friend
he follows you around like a lost puppy and also brags that he’s friends with not one, but two angels, and one is even more powerful and higher up than fucking CASTIEL.
as he gets to know you he knows how sweet you are and it inteigues him even more because - as i said, you’re a powerful angel who can kill anyone but you’re so nice to him, Sam, Bobby and Cas.
the first time he sees you angry he literally gets all red and falls for you
—
Sam:
You first met sam when he was basically bleeding out in a motel room
Dean had gone to get food and sam had been hiding a pretty nasty gash from him
so now he was sitting alone trying to patch himself up (and being unsuccessful)
so, you made your appearance and tried to keep him calm
you appeared and he saw you and went 👁️👄👁️
“it’s okay. i’m an angel. i will not hurt you.” you say softly, stepping towards him
sam is still a little wary but he lets you heal him
you press your fingers to his forehead and he’s all good (albeit a little scared hahah)
he always has the smuggest little smirk on his face when you get angry on his behalf
he likes the feeling of having such a powerful being watching over him all the time but it also makes him nervous because of… his past💀
addicts recover
—
Castiel:
When you came down from heaven to help the Winchesters and Castiel, he was happy to see you
he knew, despite rebelling from heaven, you wouldn’t judge him
he spends a lot of time near you
like, standing right next to you
i like to think that you have better “people skills” than him for whatever reason (it’s just funny) and he just kind of sticks to you ykwim
he thinks you’re so cool
he dosent step in to help you in fights because he knows you can handle it and kill anyone you want
he’s blushing and kicking his feet when he sees you🤭🤭🤭
absolute power couple if you guys got together like omg
but yeah
he always defends you if anyone says shit
he’s just such a cutie pie
—
Crowley:
you popped in when crowley was holding dean and sam hostage
you came into the room, eyes rolling already.
“let them go.” you said, voice sounding bored as you’d done this multiple times already.
crowley looks at you
“oh god, you again.” he scoffs
BUT he dosent even bother to argue and lets them go
which shocks the boys because that’s not like crowley
but he’s smitten for you
it’s giving enemies to lovers
but anyways
you guys have many encounters and end up talking a lot
crowley talks about hell and you talk about heaven
and he finds himself not hating you
and suddenly he wants to be around you more and learn about you and watch you be a badass angel
#love u mwah#thank you sm for this request#dean winchester#castiel x reader#sam winchester#dean winchester x reader#castiel#sam winchester x reader#crowley#crowley x reader#dean winchester supernatural#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural imagine#supernatural x you#supernatural x reader#castiel supernatural#supernatural#crowley supernatural
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